Magnolias, Moonlight, and Murder

by Sara Rosett

“Story time at the library.”

  “I miss story time. I’m already looking forward to next summer when we can go with you,” Abby said. “I love teaching, but sometimes feel like I’m missing so much time with Charlie.”

  “Are you thinking about quitting?” I asked, surprised. Abby had never waffled about going back to work.

  “No, not really. I just feel guilty sometimes that I’m not with him all the time.”

  “Abby, I’m with my kids almost all of the time and I still feel guilty.”

  Abby transferred her gaze from the boys to me. Charlie abandoned the truck and Nathan pounced on it. “When I’m doing laundry and dishes and all that routine stuff that I have to do, Livvy’s constantly asking me to play with her and Nathan wants my attention, too. So while I’m cleaning the bathroom, I’m feeling bad that I’m not playing hide-and-seek.”

  “So you’re saying no matter what I do I’m going to feel guilty.” Abby laughed. “Great! Thanks, that makes me feel so much better.”

  “Sorry, but it’s true.”

  “Yeah. I think deep down, I already knew that,” Abby said. “So, what’s going on with the Find Jodi stuff?”

  “I don’t have any new transcripts from Nita and I can’t find out anything about William Nash’s death. It’s weird, there’s not even any news coverage about the lynching. I checked the newspaper archives at the library today and there wasn’t anything. I did see Sherry Wayne on the national news. She practically accused Coleman May of Nash’s murder.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. She said he knew what happened that night.”

  A voice sounded behind us, “Hey, ladies! Happy snow day!”

  Nadia perched on the chair beside Abby. I was glad to see she didn’t have her camera with her. No “snappies” today, thank goodness. She leaned across and tapped my knee. “I hear you’re working on the missing persons case.” She leaned back and her dark hair swayed against her earlobes. Petite, perky, and curvy, Nadia was the epitome of cute. Today she had on a red cardigan trimmed in plaid over a long-sleeved white shirt, dark jeans, and red boots. Very festive. Usually smiling and upbeat, she always made me think of a cheerleader.

  Her daughters rushed up, miniature versions of her with their long dark hair held back with matching red plaid bows that went with the trim on their sweaters, which also matched the trim on Nadia’s outfit. Just thinking about the time it would take to coordinate all those clothes made my head hurt. And Nadia did it every day. “Mommy, mommy, can we go in the jumper?” they shrieked, bows quivering.

  “Yes. Off you go,” she said, and waved them away. “So, do you have any leads on what happened to Jodi?”

  “I’m not really investigating anything. I’m just helping Nita Lockworth.”

  “Right.” Abby exchanged a look with Nadia.

  I shrugged. “Sure, I’m curious. After all, it’s more interesting than cleaning and figuring out what we’re having for dinner.”

  “There’s Kendra,” Nadia said, and waved to a young woman entering the backyard, who hugged the birthday girls and then moved in our direction. She was tall and skinny and had wavy blond hair and pale skin sprinkled with freckles.

  Nadia introduced her to me and said, “Ellie has a knack for figuring out puzzles. She’s interested in Jodi Lockworth and that poor William Nash.”

  At the name Nash, Kendra stiffened. “I’m sick of people spreading rumors about Mr. Coleman. He didn’t do anything that people are saying he did. He’s too sweet.”

  Nadia wrapped her arm around Kendra’s shoulders. “I know it’s upsetting, but you should tell Ellie about the Coleman May you know. So far, all she’s heard are those rumors. Shouldn’t she hear what you have to say, especially since Sherry is being so vocal?”

  Kendra shook her head. “Since Sherry’s been on TV, everyone’s forgotten about how nice Mr. Coleman is. I haven’t. He’s always been nice to me.”

  “So you’ve known him a long time?” I asked.

  “Yes, since I was five. He was always outside working in his yard and there weren’t that many kids on our street, so I’d ride over. I had a bell on my bike and I’d ride up his sidewalk, ringing the bell. It drove my mom crazy, but he didn’t mind. He’d let me ring it all I wanted. And he’d talk to me while he worked. Mrs. Ava had a crystal candy dish on their hall table. When I left to go home, she’d give me a piece. She was sick a lot, but on the days she was feeling good she’d always bring out the candy. They were either peppermints or butterscotch. Or sometimes, if it was really hot she’d bring me a glass of lemonade when she brought one out for him. They were so sweet. He was always taking care of her, watching out for her. When she died it was incredibly sad. My mom and I used to go over there after that, to cheer him up. He kept that candy dish full and always gave me some when we left.”

  I tried to ask my next question as delicately as possible. “You know what the rumors are. Was he racist?”

  Kendra had been leaning toward me, but now she straightened up. “He’s over eighty years old. He grew up in a different era.”

  I took that as a yes.

  Kendra’s lips thinned as she pressed them together; then she said rapidly, “I know what you’re thinking, but using derogatory names and physically harming someone are two different things. He’d never hurt anyone. You should talk to his family. His son Durwood lives here and his granddaughter, too. They know him even better than I do.”

  Nadia said, “Durwood May? Isn’t he the mayor?”

  “Yes,” Kendra said, “and his granddaughter is Colleen Otway.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Colleen Otway is his granddaughter?” I asked. She hadn’t mentioned anything about being related to him at the homeowners’ meeting. In fact, I didn’t even see them speak to each other that night.

  Kendra continued. “She lives right around the corner from me. I never really got to know her until she moved into my apartment complex—she didn’t visit her grandpa that much—but she’s as nice as can be. She can tell you what a sweetheart he is.”

  “Miss Kendra,” a voice called. “Come see our snow angels.” I turned to see Livvy flailing on her back in the snow along with some of the girls.

  Kendra said good-bye and I leaned back in my chair.

  “That was interesting,” Nadia said, her eyebrows arched. “You’re going to talk to the granddaughter next, right?”

  “I suppose so.” And get a hold of Nita.

  Topaz approached the fenced-off area. She looked as eccentric as always in her low-slung jeans, starburst peasant blouse, and a belt of metal medallions that matched her dangly metal earrings. A red Santa hat topped the highlights that striped her dark hair. She said, “Okay, it’s the little guys’ turn. Ready to be sketched?” Topaz asked the boys. They stared at her, wide-eyed.

  “This is Topaz, a friend of mine from high school. Instead of doing photos, Juliet is having all the kids sketched,” I explained.

  “Oh, hi,” Abby said. “Don’t worry about sketching the boys. They’re fine. Just let them play.”

  “Nope, I have to sketch every kid here. Juliet’s orders. Who does this one belong to?” she asked, pointing to Charlie.

  Abby bristled. “This boy is my son, Charlie.”

  Topaz leaned over to pull him out of the play area. “Let’s start with Charles.”

  As soon as she slid her hands under his armpits, Charlie wailed.

  Abby was at the fence in an instant. “It’s Charlie,” she said, taking him from Topaz and walking a few steps away.

  Topaz looked perplexed. “None of the other kids cried.”

  “Why don’t you just sketch Nathan inside the play area?” I said, shooting for the least problematic solution.

  “Sure, I can do that,” Topaz said, and placed her sketchbook on the fence.

  “I think Charlie needs a diaper change.” Abby marched inside.

  I exchanged glances with Nadia, then looked back at Topaz. Her back was turned to
me, but I could see the unhesitating black strokes on her sketch pad. In just a few seconds, she caught the essence of Nathan as he hunched over his toy, his face intent with concentration as he tried to stack rings on a pole.

  “That is beautiful, Topaz,” I said when she handed me the drawing. “I can’t believe how fast you did that and how much it looks like him.”

  Nadia said, “You have quite a talent.”

  Topaz shrugged. “Thanks. I don’t think about it. It’s like an instinct, something I’ve always been able to do. I used to sketch in the margins at school all the time.”

  I smiled. “That’s funny. I don’t remember that at all.”

  “Oh, I kept it pretty well hidden. Couldn’t have Mrs. Daniel yelling at me for doodling instead of taking notes.”

  “Have you sketched my girls?” Nadia asked.

  “Everything’s on the porch. Want to take a look?”

  Nadia and Topaz headed for the porch and I saw Abby take a circuitous route back to me to avoid them.

  She set Charlie beside Nathan and said, “Kind of bossy, isn’t she?”

  When I got home a few hours later, I had an e-mail from Nita with more of Jodi’s notes, but I didn’t even get to open it because Livvy dropped her snow globe from the birthday party goodie bag on the kitchen floor. I spent a good portion of an hour drying tears and keeping the kids and Rex out of the kitchen until I could sweep up the glass fragments mixed with glitter.

  After that fiasco, it was time to fix dinner. Once I had both of the kids tucked in bed, I went back to the computer. Rex rested his chin on my leg and fixed his brown eyes on me. Even the dog wanted my attention.

  I rubbed his ears as I opened my e-mail, then tossed his tennis ball while it printed. Rex settled down to gnaw on the tennis ball as I skimmed the first lines of the e-mail. I didn’t see the name Nash. I went back to the top and slowly worked my way through the notes, matching them with Jodi’s articles, which included a feature on an elementary school hosting a local author and the articles on the Jackson Hollow debate. I read those notes and articles slower, but it seemed to me that Colleen was right.

  Jodi had been pretty even-handed in her coverage. She’d quoted Scott’s arguments and the council’s concerns and then interviewed the residents of the neighborhood. Of course, they’d been impassioned and emotional. Their homes were at stake. Thinking about it from Scott’s point of view, I could understand why he wouldn’t be too excited about the articles. It did make him and STAND look as if they wanted to kick people out of their homes. But on the other hand, was keeping a small neighborhood intact worth risking the possible closure of Taylor Air Force Base, which employed most of the town? Her last entries were story ideas for January about resolutions.

  I leaned back in the chair, frustrated. Everything seemed pretty straightforward. No extra notes about Nash. Had she even pursued her idea for a story about him?

  I picked up Rex’s tennis ball and bounced it once. He’d been twitching as he dozed, but once that ball hit the floor, he was up and ready to play. After a few more throws, I called him outside. I went through the screened back porch and onto our small concrete patio; then I threw the ball as far as I could. It was dark now and Rex shot though the pool of light from our floodlights into the darkness around the pines at the back of the yard. A few seconds later, he reappeared.

  As I tossed the ball and he trotted back and forth, I thought about what I was going to say to Nita when I called tomorrow. I still didn’t see why Jodi hid the notebook. All the notes seemed innocuous, even the one jotted mention of Nash. There was nothing there that I could see that needed to be hidden.

  Rex was walking back now, so I called him inside and put him in his kennel for the night. I grabbed the file again and curled up in the overstuffed chair. I wanted to go over everything one more time. I’d used a red pen to check off each item in Jodi’s notes as I found the information in one of her published articles. I scanned down the list of checkmarks until my vision went bleary. I took a break, downed some Hershey’s Kisses with a tall glass of milk, then went back to the list.

  On the last page, I found three names without a red checkmark: Sherry, Rosalee, and Mary. They were at the end of a long interview with the Jackson Hollow residents, so I told myself not to get too excited. I’m sure that a reporter wasn’t always able to use every bit of information and research in the finished article, but I double-checked and their names weren’t in any of her articles. Sherry could be Sherry Wayne, but who were Rosalee and Mary?

  Thursday morning I pulled into Nita’s driveway and parked under a magnolia tree. I’d called her and told her I wanted to drop off the notes and articles. I grabbed the folder and used it to shield my head from the rain as I sprinted up the sidewalk to the shallow concrete steps of the modest rancher she and Gerald lived in on Scranton Road. It seemed a bit ironic to me that Gerald had built so many of the new homes in our subdivision, yet he and Nita lived in a rambling ’60s rancher. Of course, he had taken care of his daughter, I thought as I rang the bell. He’d made sure she had a brand-new house to live in with all the latest amenities.

  The porch was barely wide enough to protect me from the rain. A storm had rolled in during the night, banishing the crisp fall weather. Now the blazing leaves hung limp and wet under the slate-colored clouds.

  Nita opened the door, looking as neat and trim as she always did in a crisply ironed orange shirt with jack-o’-lanterns embroidered on the collar points. “Come in. What a dreary day. No little ones with you today?”

  “No, it’s Mother’s Day Out for my daughter, and Dorthea agreed to watch Nathan for me since I have an appointment after this.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you,” she said as she led the way into a sunken living room where a huge brick fireplace filled one wall. “Were you able to find any discrepancies in the notes? I have to say nothing leapt out at me as I worked on transcribing them.”

  “I only found two things that didn’t match any of her articles.” I flipped to the passages. “Two lists, one of story ideas and another of names.”

  Nita picked up the paper and I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or not. “I did notice the name Nash when I transcribed the notes, but there was nothing else about him?”

  “Not that I could find.” I sighed. “Here’s the other list.” I turned to the pages at the end.

  “Sherry. That could be Sherry Wayne. And Rosalee…I know that name.” She tapped her lips with her fingers. “Where have I heard that? It’s an unusual name.”

  The phone rang and she said, “I better get that. Excuse me.”

  She picked up the phone in the kitchen. I couldn’t hear her words, but she hung up quickly, then hurried back into the living room. “Ellie, dear, I appreciate all your work on this and I hate to rush you out the door, but I have to leave right now. Can I write you a check later?”

  “Of course,” I said, already walking to the front door. I didn’t doubt Nita for a moment. This clearly wasn’t a ploy to get out of paying my fee. Heck, I’d have done it for free, but I could tell by the quiver in her voice and the constricted look on her face she was worried. “Do you need anything? Can I help?”

  “No, thank you. I need to go,” she said as I stepped out the door.

  “All right, well, I’ll get in touch later—” I stopped. I was talking to a closed door. It must be something urgent for her to completely abandon me on her doorstep. In the South, leaving usually took at least as long as the visit, I’d found. I recognized her at the wheel of a gold Taurus that zipped past me on the road as I drove to STAND’s office.

  In the parking lot, I hauled my bin of supplies out of the Jeep. The cars on the interstate whipped by, a continuous drone of wet swishing in the distance. The dreary weather had settled into a steady drizzle.

  Today Candy’s earrings were scarecrows and jumped as she folded letters and stuffed envelopes. “Hey,” she greeted me. Between chomps on her gum she said, “Scott’s out today, but he
said for you to go on back. Have at it.”

  “Great.” I hefted my plastic bin into the other office. I turned on the light with my shoulder blade, set down the bin, and pushed up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. I’d worn work clothes since I was going to be mucking out the storage area and I knew it would be a dusty job.

  After setting up my supplies—trash bags, marking pens, and labels—I opened the door, flicked on the light, and got to work sorting. It was actually nice to be on my own in the beginning stages of an organizing project. I moved quickly, shifting through boxes and stacks of paper. Some of the items I’d have to check with Scott about whether or not to keep, but most of the stuff in the storage area was pretty obvious. It went in either the trash bag or the “keep” pile, which I divided into long-term storage and current files.

  After about an hour of working, I heard Candy shout, but I couldn’t understand what she said.

  I went to the doorway. “Excuse me?”

  “What?” Candy spun from her monitor. “Oh, sorry. I won the auction. On eBay.” She swiveled her computer monitor toward me. “I collect vintage sewing patterns. This one is very World War II. Look at those shoulder pads. They don’t design clothes like that anymore.”

  “That’s interesting. I haven’t heard of that type of collecting before. Do you make the clothes?”

  “Nah. I just like having the patterns. I collect Depression glass, too.” She clicked her mouse, studied the screen and said, “No good Depression glass today. Sometimes the best place to find that is at Crooner’s. You never know what he’s got in that junk pile of his.”

  Candy stood up and caught sight of the storage area behind me. “I didn’t think it could look any worse, but it does,” she said, surveying the drifts of paper and bulging trash bags.

  “It may look bad, but this is the first step to clean it out. You have to get everything out and sorted.” I showed her the different piles and asked if the office had a shredder.

  “Sure,” she said, and pointed to a tiny one.