Murder on Pea Pike

by Jean Harrington

  “You leave me no choice.”

  “No, you leave me no choice. At least none I want to make. As I tried to warn you this morning, the state police will be taking a good, hard look at you. You don’t want to prejudice your case.”

  “My case?”

  “All right, your situation. The point being this isn’t the time to do something stupid. Like repeating this little caper. Now put the file back.”

  I returned the folder and shut the cabinet drawer.

  “Did you remove anything?” Matt asked.

  “No.”

  “Sure?”

  “Would I lie?”

  “I could frisk you to find out.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  He laughed, and together, like two empty-handed thieves in the night, we left Winthrop Realty. After locking up and pocketing the key, Matt followed me home in the cruiser but was thoughtful enough to leave off his blue lights.

  I hadn’t exactly lied to him about not removing anything, for I hadn’t taken a single thing, not really, just noted the name of Mr. Ames’ client, the one interested in Sloane’s acres.

  International Properties, LLC, Fayetteville.

  Chapter Nine

  Ring, ring. The phone jarred me out of a deep, beautiful dream. Astride a Harley Goldwing, racing down the highway, fast and free, the wind blowing in my hair, the sun shining on my face, nothing but …. Ring, ring.

  Eyes still closed, I groped for the phone. “Hello.”

  “Oh, Honey, did I wake you?”

  “No, no, Amelia, I’ve been up for hours.” I eyeballed the clock. Noon. And on a Tuesday. I groaned and fell back on the pillows.

  “Mrs. Otis said you hadn’t come in yet, so you must be out on a showing. But I took a chance you’d be home. Joe’s back.”

  Wide awake of a sudden, I sat up. “Back where?”

  “In town.”

  “The nerve of him. When did he get here?”

  “He said sometime last week.”

  I was afraid to ask but had to. “Where’s he staying?”

  “With his cousins out on Suggs Road.”

  “Omigod.” I gripped the phone. “He came by.”

  “Yes, last night. He wanted to see the boys.”

  “You let him in? But you have a restraining order.”

  “How could I deny him his sons?”

  “Easy.” I perched on the edge of the bed, swinging my legs to the floor. “Did he threaten you?”

  “No.” She paused. “Not this time.”

  But the next.

  “So what did he want? You know Joe always wants something.”

  “He said,” her voice trembled, “he wants his family back.”

  “Oh, God.” I flopped down, flat out on the mattress. “What did you tell him?”

  “I’d have to think about it.”

  “You did? Remember what your therapist said. Once an abuser, always an abuser.”

  “I know.” Panic had crept into her voice. A bang echoed in the background. A dropped sippy cup or a plateful of lunch?

  “I have to go,” she said, the standard closing to most of our phone conversations.

  “Hold on a sec. Why don’t I take the afternoon off and we all go out for a while? Have a picnic by the creek. Let the boys run around and play. It’s a gorgeous day.” I think.

  “That would be wonderful. They’d love it. So would I.”

  “Pick you up in an hour.”

  Alone with two little bundles of mischief and practically no money, Amelia didn’t get out much. This would be a chance for her to have some fun and for me to help stiffen her spine. Joe Swope had already proven what he was, and if Amelia went back to him, anything could happen. None of it good. Then where would her boys be?

  I closed the phone, leaped up, and got dressed. After pulling on cutoffs and my favorite U of A T-shirt with “Never Yield” scrawled across the chest, I scrunched my hair into a ponytail and washed the midnight hour off my face. In no time at all, I’d tossed together some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut apples into chunks, and loaded bottled water and juice drinks into my picnic cooler. A half hour later, humming “Redneck Woman,” I hopped into the car.

  My bedside squint through the blinds had been a good guess. The day was sunny bright and carpeted with grass as fresh as a new parlor rug. Even the dogwood bloomed pink and pretty.

  At the Norton farm, as soon as Amelia unbuckled their car seats, Joey and Jimmy zoomed up the meadow like little blond bullets.

  “I’d better go with them.” Amelia laughed, some of the weariness lifting from her face. She reached into the trunk for a tote stuffed with bath towels, toy pails, and shovels and hurried off.

  As she ran after the boys, I grabbed the cooler and a blanket and followed along. At the top of the slope, I took a deep breath of sweet spring air and glanced down at the creek that curled like a narrow blue ribbon around the base of the hill. On both sides of the sandy bank, tanning teenagers on blankets and families with little kids were enjoying the day too.

  Joey was tearing at his sneaker laces. “Sneaks off, Momma. Sneaks off!”

  “Off, Momma, off,” two-year-old Jimmy echoed.

  Within seconds, they raced barefoot to the creek’s sandy edge.

  “Wonder if the water’s cold,” I said as they waded in.

  “It’s so shallow, I doubt it.” Amelia laughed as Jimmy plopped down and let the water wash over his chubby legs. “Now let’s see if he can get up.” She toed off her sandals, ready to go after him.

  Though Jimmy had nothing to hold on to, and the creek bottom was soft and squishy, the little guy didn’t cry or ask for help. He got to his knees, one at a time, then tottered upright, took a few steps and dropped back down. This time he wailed his head off. Like a lioness to the rescue, Amelia dashed in after him.

  “Fishies, Momma, fishies!” Joey squealed.

  “Ooohh look, Jimmy, fishies.” Amelia planted him back on his feet.

  “There are minnows in here,” she called to me. “What fun!”

  No way could I miss the first minnows of spring. I hurried down to the water, and feeling like a young’un again, waded in and gazed down. Darting among the reeds and pebbles, tiny silvery shadows wound their way south. Even Joey and Jimmy were quiet as they watched.

  Finally, the show over, the boys went back to digging up the sand. Amelia and I waded out of the creek and sat on the bank in the sun.

  Eyes on her children, Amelia hugged her knees to her chest. “What am I going to do, Honey?”

  “Well, for one thing, how about telling Sheriff Rameros Joe violated the restraining order?”

  She shook her head. “If I call the police on Joe, he’ll get back at me somehow. Some way.”

  “If you don’t, you know what can happen.”

  She picked up a handful of pebbles. One at a time, they dropped from her fingers.

  “Did Joe say when he’d be back?” No point in even asking “if.”

  “He wasn’t sure. He has to borrow his cousin’s car.”

  “Good. I’ll pray it gets four flats.”

  She laughed, warming my heart.

  Pail in hand, Joey struggled out of the creek and up the bank to us. He flipped the pail upside down, dumping its contents like a love offering at his momma’s feet.

  “Thanks, sweetheart.” She kissed his wet cheek. “Want to get me another one?”

  Eager to please, he dashed back into the water.

  Tears shone in Amelia’s eyes. “I’m worried, Honey, and not over Joe alone. I’ve got to find a job. My money’s about run out.”

  I understood how worried felt and squeezed her hand. “Something you could do from home might be good.”

  She nodded. “That’s my thinking too. All I know how to do is waitress and take care of little ones. So I thought maybe I’d open a daycare center. You know, take care of some tots for pay. Put an ad in the paper.”

  “Why not? Sounds good. When I get back to the
office, I can check to see if your street is zoned for business. And if the town has any licensing restrictions.”

  “Oh.” Her face fell. “I never thought of all that.”

  “No, no, it’s a good idea. Just let me do a background check first.”

  “Or I could work nights at the roadhouse. If Joe’s mom would sleep over or something. Either way, thanks to you, I don’t have to worry about the house for a while.”

  “Oh, I was happy to ….”

  She tore her eyes away from the boys for a moment to send me a sly little grin. “Mr. Dwyer may be helping me, but he’s doing it for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Showing what a good man he is, and you know something? He is. The next thing, he’ll be asking you out.”

  I laughed. “You’re late. He already has.”

  That grin of hers spread ear to ear. “You went, I hope.”

  “Once.”

  “And?”

  “I turned down a second date.”

  “Oh, no. He’s a great catch. Go for it.”

  Jimmy came toddling up from the creek. A shiny stone sitting atop a creek-side boulder caught his notice, and not to be outdone by his brother, he plucked it off the boulder and laid it, like a cherry on a cupcake, atop the pile of sand.

  “For me?” Amelia asked.

  He stuck a finger in his mouth and nodded.

  “Give me a hug.”

  He did, pressing his chunky little body into hers, soaking her shirt up to the neck. She didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she hugged him tighter.

  As I glanced over at them, I noticed the sun’s rays were running through Jimmy’s yellowish cherry stone as if it was glass. Curious, I picked it up and held it out to Amelia.

  “Look at this.”

  She turned the pebble over in her palm. “You can almost see through it.”

  “Yes.” Near the boulder where Jimmy found it, half sunk in the sand, another stone like the first caught my eye, and I reached for it. Like the first, this one shot out pinpricks of light each time I moved my hand.

  If polished, these pebbles would shine like stars. Hey, wait a minute. My heart skipped a beat. No, they couldn’t be. Not possible. That was downright silly, still ….

  “You ever hear of anybody finding diamonds around here?” I asked.

  “Never.” Amelia chuckled. “That’s a funny question. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I have a crazy idea that’s what these might be.”

  “You mean it?”

  We stared at them, held fast by the possibility hidden in each lump of stone.

  “Cleaned up, I wonder what they’d look like?”

  “I don’t know. There’s never been a diamond sighting in these parts, though down in Murfreesboro, folks have been finding them for years. It’s kind of a tourist attraction. You pay a few dollars for some panning equipment and anything you find, you keep.” She shrugged. “But Murfreeboro’s a long way from here.”

  “True, but suppose, just suppose, these are real diamonds. Why, people would be pounding on Violet Norton’s door, begging her to sell the farm to them.”

  Amelia nodded. “That would be a good thing. The poor ol’ soul’s been living hand to mouth for years. Her husband passed last month. He wasn’t much, but he was all she had. Sad to think about.”

  “Maybe Violet’s luck has changed. But no point in getting her hopes up for nothing. So if it’s agreeable with you, I’ll take the stones to a jeweler before we say anything.”

  “I don’t object to that.”

  A sudden scream shattered the calm.

  “Momma, blood!” Joey yelled. “My foot, my poor foot.”

  “Uh-oh.” Amelia leaped to the rescue. “He’s hurt.”

  I dropped the stones into the pocket of my cutoffs and hurried after her, not caring just then whether or not I had a fistful of pebbles or a pocketful of diamonds.

  Chapter Ten

  The following morning, I called Amelia to see how Joey was feeling.

  “Just fine. He’s back to rocketing through the house.”

  Cheered by that good news, I phoned Mrs. Otis to say I wouldn’t be in until tomorrow. Since I’d chalked up two sales in less than a week, I figured taking another personal day wouldn’t be too upsetting to Ridley’s Real Estate. Also, I needed time away from the office to get used to my new normal. Employment by a soon-to-be-married Sam Ridley.

  Then I combed my closet for city clothes. Black skirt suit, an ivory silk shell, and patent-leather heels. At Christmas I’d splurged on what the consignment shop called a “gently used” Kate Spade bag in wide black and ivory stripes. The one bitty spot hardly showed. With my hair brushed straight to my shoulders, pearl studs and a fake tank watch, the outfit was as city as I could manage.

  Not far from the University of Arkansas campus, Franconia Jewelers turned out to be a small store with a glittery front window. As I peered in, I’ll admit all the sparkly stones had me a tad frazzled. A salesman in a double-breasted suit with a red silk handkerchief peeking out of his jacket pocket saw me looking and buzzed me in. He was all smiles until I took the little cloth sack from my Kate Spade and shook the two unpolished stones onto the glass countertop.

  “These are?” He arched a brow.

  “My goodness, I haven’t the faintest idea.” I laid on the Southern. “That’s what I was hoping an expert like you could tell me.”

  He smiled again, briefly, and held a jeweler’s glass to his eye. While he made a study of first one stone and then the other, I stared at the sparkling gems in the display case. It was all I could do not to tap a toe.

  Finally, he set down the glass and placed the stones on a velvet mat laid out for that purpose. “Uncut gems like these aren’t a household item. Do you mind telling me where you got them?”

  Gems. Fluttering my lashes to soften the blow, I borrowed Matt’s favorite line. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “I see.” He drew himself upright and looked at me down the long shaft of his nose. “Well, in my opinion, they are diamonds. Yellow. Not of the first quality. And the smaller stone contains a few flaws. But that said, they’re the real deal.”

  Not wanting him to know my knees had gone to mush, I leaned on the counter for support. “What might they be worth if polished and cut and everything?”

  He cleared his throat. “We don’t do that kind of work here.”

  “I’m just saying ….”

  “It’s hard to establish a price, with accuracy that is, until after they’re cut. Cutting releases the color and clarity, and both affect value.” He raised the glass to his eye and gave the bigger stone another peek. “I see no major flaws.” He lowered the glass and the stone to the countertop. “If you’re lucky, and this turns out to be a fancy yellow, it would probably fetch several thousand dollars, retail. And the other one?” He shrugged. “Every jeweler has a cupful of small diamonds. They have many uses.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  “Indeed.” He tore his gaze from the stones to rivet it on me. “Do you wish to sell them?”

  “You’d be interested?”

  “I could be.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” I scooped up the stones and dropped them into the little sack. “But they’re not for sale. I’m acting on behalf of the owner.” I put the pouch in my bag and zipped it. “Should she be inclined to sell, though, I’ll ask that she contact you first.”

  “And you are?”

  “Miss Smith. Miss Molly Smith.”

  Though a shadow of doubt filmed his eyes, like any good salesperson, he wasn’t ready to give up on a possible customer. “Until that happy day, may I interest you in something else?” He glanced at my wrist and sniffed the way you do when you detect a rank odor. “A new watch, perhaps?”

  “Wouldn’t that be lovely? But my daddy gave me this one years ago, and I’m not happy unless it’s on my wrist.” I waved a hand at his glittering display cases. “Y’all are in
the love business, so I know you understand my sentiment.”

  “Completely, Miss, ah, Smith.”

  I think he understood only too well, but he shook my outstretched hand and escorted me to the front door, smiling all the way. I really didn’t feel guilty telling him that lie about the watch. No need for him to know Daddy never gave me much of anything except maybe a backhand to the fanny. But would he have been as smiley if he knew I had kind of swiped them … those diamonds?”

  Chapter Eleven

  I hurried to my car, excited as all get out to know the stones were diamonds but still wondering why they were out on that boulder by Norton Creek. Washed up by a winter storm? Or proof of a new Arkansas diamond field? Unlikely answers, both of them. The winter had been mild, and besides, Eureka Falls wasn’t on the same glacial ridge, or volcanic pipe, or whatever force of nature had created the Murfreesboro diamonds. Hmm. And to think we found them right by the path everyone took to get to the water.

  My heels pounding the sidewalk slowed to a crawl as the same nasty thought from yesterday popped up stronger than ever. Suppose someone playing head games had planted the diamonds right where they’d most likely be found? A crazy notion, but I couldn’t shake it.

  People brushed past me while I plodded on, unable to keep denying the question when the answer seemed clear. To sweeten a land deal. Which meant little ol’ Violet Norton was likely mixed up in a swindle. At that, I balked. Surely not Violet. But if my hunch was correct, somebody had done the dirty.

  A woman carrying a heavy shopping bag knocked into me, bringing me back to the moment. I’d never solve the problem standing on a Fayetteville sidewalk. Anyway, I didn’t have time to dwell on what Momma would have called my “troubles.” I still had to find International Properties, LLC.

  I unlocked the car, slid in, and set the GPS for IP. The lady with the bedroom voice led me down Razorback Road, through a bunch of confusing turns and more traffic than Eureka Falls saw in a month. Finally, “Take your next right, Downtown Square is five hundred feet ahead.”

  The Square was a flower-filled block crisscrossed with brick walkways and lined with Victorian-era buildings that had shops on the bottom floors and what appeared to be offices above. My target, 1990 Center Street, a modern office complex snugged in the middle of all the stone gingerbread, was easy enough to spot. Inside, the lobby had an atrium with a soaring ceiling and the State of Arkansas logo embedded in its marble floor. Like an island in the middle of a sea, an information desk sat plumb in the center of the space.