Murder on Pea Pike

by Jean Harrington

  In the meanwhile, I put away my worries and sorrows and hurried home to get ready for my payback dinner with Cletus.

  When I walked up the Inn’s broad front stairs, Cletus leaped off a rocking chair on the veranda and hurried over to me. “Well, aren’t you something? Has anyone ever told you that you’re the prettiest girl in town?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, Cletus Dwyer, someone just has. Thank you.”

  He offered an arm. “May I escort you into the dining room?”

  I tucked my arm in his and, despite my misgivings about the evening, I found myself perking right up. I’d been to the Inn before, for Rotary Club breakfasts and such, but never this late in the day. The most expensive restaurant in Eureka Falls, the Inn dated from before The War and was where the town’s rich people ate supper when they weren’t at the country club. In the three years I’d lived with Saxby, he had never once invited me here, and I had to admit, being escorted in like a lady on the arm of a gentleman—even one wearing a lavender shirt with a white collar—felt mighty fine. I hoped the outfit I’d copied out of a magazine, a sleeveless black silk dress and a single strand of fake pearls, looked right. The skirt was kind of short and the heels kind of high, but it was too late to fret about that now.

  At the sight of me, the hostess squealed out a surprised little “oh,” but Reba Fuller recovered fast and led us to a white-topped table in front of a glowing fireplace. She handed me my menu with a wink.

  “How’s the new house treating you?” I asked her.

  “We love it. Every inch.”

  “I’m so glad,” and I was. A few months ago, I’d sold the Fullers a small bungalow, a fixer-upper off Main Street. Reba worked at the Inn nights and weekends to help pay for the repairs.

  “This table is perfect,” I said to Cletus when she left us. The warmth of the fire felt wonderful on my bare arms.

  “That’s what I was aiming for. A perfect evening for a perfect woman.”

  Uh-oh. “I hate to disappoint you, Cletus, but no one is perfect.”

  “You come darn close. White or red? Or something stronger?”

  Oh shoot, wine. I would have loved a Bud Lite instead, or even one of those fuzzy drinks, Lambrusco, I think they call it, but that might be the wrong thing to order in a place like this. “White would be elegant,” I fibbed.

  While the waiter hovered, Cletus took his time studying the wine list. Apparently, nobody hurried Cletus. Or pushed him around. I heaved a mental sigh. On that point, I still had Sam to deal with.

  “You’re a thousand miles away,” Cletus said.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s so elegant in here that for a moment I got lost in a dream.”

  “What are your dreams like?” he asked softly, eyes fixed on mine.

  My face warmed. His voice, the way he asked the question, the way he reached for my hand on the tabletop, struck a chord in my soul. Usually I could sleep through his conversation and not miss a thing, but so far tonight wasn’t shaping up like one of those occasions. Maybe that was partly because he was wearing a suit coat, so I couldn’t tell if he had on his sleeve garters or not.

  Our server returned and made a fuss out of opening the wine. Cletus took a test sip before nodding at him to pour mine.

  “Do you ever make them take one back?” I asked.

  He smiled. “When I have to.”

  “When does that happen?”

  “When I’m not pleased.”

  Ah, a peek into the mind of Eureka Falls’ biggest wheeler-dealer. He must be pleased. At all costs? My jaw tightened. Not tonight. Though Cletus didn’t know it, my pleasing days were over forever. At least in certain departments. For a change, a mutually enjoyable experience would be welcome.

  A heavy drift of musk, followed by, “Well, if it ain’t Miss Honey Ingersoll, of all people.”

  I glanced up, though there was no need. I’d know that heavy scent and sugar voice anywhere. “Hello, Saxby.” Matching his sugar with my own brand of syrup, I raised my glass and took a sip. He ran his glance over me, making me glad I’d worn a dress with a high neckline. Saxby’d had enough free peeks. And then some.

  He’d gained weight in the six months or so since I’d last seen him. And lost more of his hair. A girl hardly out of her teens, with long black curls and long white legs, stood holding his forty-five-year-old hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Winthrop.”

  “Oh, we’re not married.” She reddened. “We’re just—”

  I waved a hand. “No need to explain. Some men hate the very thought of marriage. To the likes of them, wife’s no more than a four-letter word.”

  Saxby’s quick, sucked-in breath was my reward. “Do tell me,” I continued, “how is Miss Eloise, Saxby’s beloved mother?”

  “Oh, I haven’t met Miss Eloise yet,” she said, in the same voice you’d use to refer to the Almighty.

  “I never met her either.” I gave out a little tinkle of a laugh, the kind that sounded like breaking glass. “Sometimes I wonder if there really is a Miss Eloise.”

  That she existed, living in a big, antebellum mansion surrounded by acres of groomed lawn, I knew only too well, but Saxby always had an excuse as to why I couldn’t meet her. When I finally understood he didn’t want his momma to know about me, I realized I had to change into the kind of girl a man didn’t hide behind the barn like a pile of manure.

  Out went my big hair, platform stilettos, and cherry-flavored chewing gum. To try and figure out how society girls dressed, I studied the pictures in every style magazine I could lay hand to. Still did. I even stopped having Cindy Mae color-streak my hair, and I tossed all my tube tops. Didn’t buy another one, either, not even when Belinda’s Boutique put them on sale. Instead, I bought a navy-blue suit, the kind where the skirt matched the jacket, and a white cotton shirt I kept buttoned at all times … well, almost.

  And when dealing with people looking for upscale houses, I said far fewer “y’alls” and far more “How are yous.” Though I admit, on a few occasions, when flustered or something, I am liable to forget some of the niceties.

  None of this was exactly a college education, like going to Emory or anything, but it helped. As a result, here I was tonight, sitting across from the most prominent citizen in Eureka Falls and gloating a little, I’ll confess, when Saxby said, “Momma exists all right, but I’m guilty of forgettin’ the manners she taught me. You two lovely ladies haven’t met, yet, have you? Well let me correct that failin’ right now. Honey, this is Mindy, my secretary.”

  I arched a bitchy brow. “New title?”

  He flushed but otherwise didn’t let on I’d been uppity. Smooth as buttermilk—Saxby could be smooth when he chose to be—he said, “Now, if you would kindly excuse us. We’ve been working late and need a bit of reinforcement.” He stepped away then suddenly swiveled back. “Oh, by the way, Honey, I heard you sold the Hermann farm. Congratulations. I’ve been trying to unload that run-down place for years.”

  “I’m not surprised you heard about it. The Star had the story all over yesterday’s paper.”

  “Not the details of the sale. I got those from the buyer.”

  I darn near dropped my glass. “Mr. Ames?”

  “The same. He was inquiring about Sloane’s acres, that parcel of land next to Hermanns’.”

  “I didn’t know the Sloane family wanted to sell.”

  “They don’t, not yet, but Ames is hell-bent on bringing them around to that way of thinking.” Saxby lowered his voice. “He asked me to keep his interest quiet, but I know you and ….”

  He knows me. I ignored his smirk. “Interesting.” And loose-tongued. So typical of the Saxby I knew and detested. Also somewhat strange that Mr. Ames hadn’t asked me if those acres were for sale. Perhaps knocking a man senseless wasn’t the best way to build a clientele list … still ….

  Mindy coughed, a delicate clearing of her throat, just enough to tell Saxby she’d tired of our shop talk.

  His hand tightened on her elbow. “
Sorry we can’t have the pleasure of conversin’ longer, but our table is ready.”

  “Of course, you must run along.” Cletus reached for my hand across the tabletop and, with that gesture, dismissed Saxby.

  I loved him for doing that. I positively did, whether he had garters hidden beneath his jacket sleeves or not.

  “Well, well, quite the hostile exchange,” he said as they strolled away. “No doubt about it, you jerked a knot in Saxby’s tail.” He smiled. “I don’t think that happens to ol’ Sax very often.”

  I tossed back my wine and pointed to the bottle cooling in the ice bucket. It wasn’t a good, cold Bud, not even a fuzzy Lambrusco, but it was growing on me. He poured what amounted to a tumbler full. “The truth is, I’m far from perfect. For a while there, Saxby and I were, uh, together.” I’ll take care of you, missy, but you’ll work for me. Understand?

  “So I heard.” Cletus’ gaze was on me, his voice unruffled. “You were waitressing at Josie’s Diner, and he offered you a job. With strings attached.”

  To avoid his searching gaze, I stared into the fire. “So he did, and I accepted his offer. My apologies for how I up and sassed him just now. I have no right to be bitter.”

  “You have every right. Saxby’s more than twenty years older than you and a wealthy man. He took advantage of a beautiful, distressed young girl.”

  Forgetting about the fire, I snapped my gaze back to him. “You know the whole story?”

  He nodded and poured a little wine into his glass. “The town banker hears everything.”

  “Yet you asked me out.” I managed a smile. “For a night without dessert.”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Ask away. For you, my life’s an open book.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very cool?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, Miss Honey Ingersoll, someone just has. And now, what do you say we summon our waiter and order something mutually enjoyable?”

  Ha! How cool was that?

  Chapter Six

  On Monday morning, a hint of aftershave cologne floated in the air of Ridley’s Real Estate. A new, expensive scent, not Sam’s usual Old Spice.

  Is he back?

  Giving Mrs. Otis a skimpy little nod, I hurried over to the corner office, hoping, hoping … yes!

  The soles of a pair of size twelve loafers stared me in the face. I didn’t care; it felt perfect walking toward him. Tilted back in his swivel chair, Sam had planted his long, chino-clad legs on his desktop and rolled back the sleeves of his white, oxford-cloth shirt. His cowlick was blonder than ever, and the hair on his arms shone like gold against his newly tanned skin. The sun on those bayous must be powerful strong.

  He glanced up from the newspaper spread out on his lap and beamed me one of those smiles that showed off his high, angled cheekbones.

  “Good morning, Honey.”

  “You’re back.” Duh. Couldn’t I think of something else to say? Something smart, for a change?

  “Yes.” He swung his feet off the desktop. “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. My date left midweek, but I really couldn’t. An old college pal had big plans for the weekend, and I didn’t want to let him down. Especially not after I heard you were okay.”

  “I understand.”

  “Now why don’t you close the door, have a seat, and tell me all about it? Begin with the Hermann sale and don’t leave anything out.”

  When I finished my tale, he said, “Let me get this straight. You knocked a client unconscious—”

  “I couldn’t help it. It was an accident.”

  “I know,” he waved the apology away. “My point is, after you knocked this guy on his behind,” a mischievous smile lifted the corners of Sam’s lips, “he needed medical treatment, but he insisted on buying the property before seeking help? Then this same guy approached Winthrop about buying Sloane’s acres.”

  “So Saxby told me,” I said.

  He rocked in the swivel for a moment. “I don’t like the sound of this. Nothing’s moved on that side of town for years. Now, out of the blue, someone wants to buy two tracts of stony farmland. The question is why. Did this Mr. Ames give you a reason?”

  I shook my head. “The view, I thought.”

  “No, not that alone. My ol’ salesman’s instinct tells me something’s up.”

  Old? He’s only thirty-two, for Pete’s sake, a fine age.

  “We need to find out what it is.”

  We.

  “Should you hear anything, anything at all, let me know. As soon as I go over my mail, I have a notion to pay a little call on Cletus Dwyer. He hears all the latest rumors. We give him so much business, he should be willing to clue me in.”

  Uh-oh. Well, Sam would likely hear the Amelia story sometime, so better sooner than later. Though, after our cozy Saturday evening, Cletus might soft-peddle my meddling visit to the bank. On the other hand, I had turned down his offer of a second dinner date next Saturday. For an Arkansas gentleman, it was a handshake on the first date, a kiss on the second, and on the third … I couldn’t go there with Cletus, as sweet as he’d been all evening. Especially not with Sam sitting across from me, tanned and smiling, his deep voice playing up and down my spine like music on a keyboard.

  As I stared across the desk, drinking him in, I saw a frown flit across his face. “We’ll have to rethink your role here at Ridley’s. You put yourself in danger going into that abandoned house alone. In fact, the whole concept of a female agent needs to be reassessed.”

  My heart nearly stopped. “Why? Haven’t I done a good job? My sales have gone up for three years in a row. As you very well know, I’m in the top ten percent of all realtors in Yarborough County. There’s no reason for—”

  “Whoa, little lady.” He held up a palm. “You’re an excellent agent. Have been right from the beginning. Your safety’s what concerns me, not your sales ability. Suppose you’d walked in on the murderer? You could have been killed too. From here on in, I don’t want you …”

  Oh, God, he’s going to fire me.

  “… going into these abandoned properties alone.” His soft blue eyes warmed as he glanced over at me.

  I was glad that today, instead of a business suit, I’d worn a new outfit to celebrate spring, a cotton sweater in the same robin’s egg blue my granny favored, and a flowered skirt with flouncy little pleats all around. At first, I’d been afraid the skirt was a tad too fluttery. I’d stood staring at it in the changing booth so long, Belinda came knocking on the door. But in the end, I decided I loved it so much, I went ahead and bought it.

  “From now on,” Sam was saying, “we’ll call on these isolated places together, or I’ll go alone. I don’t want anything to happen to you, Honey.”

  He didn’t? My heart leaped up … too soon.

  “The day you left Winthrop’s to come over here was one lucky day for Ridley’s. You’re the best agent a realtor could have.”

  Agent. “Thank you, Sam.” My heart fell back to its normal pulsing. “Well, I’d better get over to the station and sign my witness statement. Then I have an appointment to show that small ranch near Dolby’s Corners. It’ll be a second callback. I think the buyers are really interested.”

  “Excellent,” he said as I got up from my chair. “But before you go, I have some news for you. You might as well hear it from me, instead of reading about it in the Star.”

  No doubt about it, he was excited over something. That edge in his voice ….

  “What is it?”

  “I’m engaged.”

  “To be married?” My question came out as a squeak.

  He laughed. “What other kind of engagement is there?”

  Some news you could take standing up. Some you had to take sitting down. I fell back into the chair I’d just left. “Congratulations. Who’s the lucky girl?”

  His eyes gleaming, he sat there at ease, a happy man just swiveling away. Kind of like Tarzan, ready to poun
d his chest and roar at the jungle.

  “Lila Lott.” His tongue played with her name as if it tasted as sweet as, well, honey.

  “The senator’s daughter? The beautiful brunette who’s always in the society pages sitting on a horse or something? That Lila Lott?”

  “None other.” Pure satisfaction rolled off his words.

  He shifted in his seat but didn’t put his feet back up on the desk. Good thing. Let him try, let him just try, I’d ….

  “She’s coming in later today. While we were in New Orleans, I spoke so highly of you and Mrs. Otis, she can’t wait to meet you both.”

  The hired help. No, no, and no.

  “I’d love to meet her, Sam,” I lied, “but I do have to get over to the station and sign my statement. After that, there’s the callback I mentioned. Sorry. Maybe some other day real soon.”

  Forcing my rubbery knees into action, I hurried from his office and dashed into my cubicle. I grabbed my purse and ran past Mrs. Otis without a word.

  As the door slammed behind me, she exclaimed, “Well, I never.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Well, I never either, Mrs. Otis.” I stomped toward my car. “I never had a chance with him.”

  Not surprising. Why should a man as successful, handsome, and well-connected as Sam Ridley bother with a girl from a double-wide? A girl who ended up in Eureka Falls for only one reason? Billy Tubbs’ motorcycle had run out of gas and so had Billy.

  I shoved the key in the ignition and drove along Main Street, tears streaming down my cheeks and cussin’ like mad. Finally, as I rounded the corner from Rolly’s Hardware, I was crying so bad, I had to pull over to the curb. Snatching a tissue out of my purse, I blew my nose good and strong, clearing my head for further reflection.

  Why was I so upset, anyway? I’d known all along Sam would never fall for me. As traffic whizzed by, I snorted, blew again, then wound down my window and flung the tissue into the street. A new low. Worthy of a citation or something. Well, what could you expect from somebody like me? Lila Lott would never do such a thing. Not Lila, the product of Chambliss School and Yale University. Not Lila, the glamorous hostess at her daddy senator’s garden parties. Not Lila, who rode horses not Harleys. Not Lila, who lived on a plantation outside of Eureka Falls and in a townhouse in Washington, D.C. No more tissues, dammit.