Devil Sent the Rain

by Lisa Turner

  “What was that about?”

  “I don’t know.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “It’s so depressing. The last time I saw Caroline we were screaming at each other.”

  She reached over and turned on the radio. A swing version of “Blue Skies” came on. “Oh, God. That’s Caroline’s favorite song.”

  “I know.”

  She snuck a glance at him.

  He turned onto the state road that would carry them past the diner. His next question was going to set her off. If he had any sense, he would wait until they were closer to Memphis to get into it.

  “Saunders talked about giving every woman in the family a .32 derringer,” he said.

  Zelda’s mouth curved down. “So?”

  “The bullet that killed Caroline was a .32.”

  She stared at him. “You’re accusing me again of murdering Caroline?”

  “Where’s your derringer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s not a serious answer,” he said.

  “Oh, really.” She flashed him an angry look. “You got a cigarette?”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  She flipped down her sun visor. “You keep insulting me and I’ll be willing to start.”

  He decided not to push it. Riding in a car didn’t make this any less of an official interview. If she said the word “attorney” the conversation would be over. He decided to hold his peace and let silence do the work.

  A couple of miles passed before she spoke again. “You know I’ve moved three times in the last five years. The gun is packed away. Swear to God, I don’t remember where.”

  “You know how to use it,” he said.

  “I’m a hell of a good shot, but you know I hate guns.”

  “Then why not give it back to Mr. Lee?”

  She stared ahead, glassy-eyed. “Uncle Saunders gave me that gun. Me. Same as Rosalyn and Gracie Ella. Same as Caroline. Grandmother Taylor and Grandmother Lee carried derringers everywhere, even to church. That pistol means I’m a Lee.”

  Chapter 33

  They rode in uncomfortable silence past rows of tarpaper shacks. He had a lot on his mind, but was still aware that the people living inside those houses couldn’t afford an electric bill, so they cooked with butane that blackened the walls and left half an inch of soot clinging to the ceiling. These were families left behind with no education and no hope. They lived with sagging sofas on their porches, rusted cars put up on blocks, and yards full of weeds and snakes. The systemic poverty in the region made his heart ache.

  As they drove, the fields became pine forests. Soon they approached the gravel apron of Kane’s Kanteen parking lot.

  “I’d like to say goodbye to the place,” Zelda said. He parked. She left the car to pick her way through mounds of leaves and clumps of brown spiky gumballs that had fallen beneath the row of sweetgum trees. She wandered over to where the picnic table once stood and stopped there to look around.

  Billy sat in the quiet and watched her, aware that lights now burned in the diner. Someone had wiped off the Kane’s Kanteen sign and propped it against the side of the building, possibly the new owner. He pulled out his mobile to check for messages. No bars. No service. He got out and stood between the car and open door.

  “Let’s go,” he called.

  Zelda shook her head and waved him over. He wanted to get back to the city but knew the best way to get his hands on that derringer was to humor her. He closed the door and walked over.

  She inhaled and grinned. “Smell the pine? It’s like Christmas. I have such great memories of this place. How about you?”

  “Not exactly like Christmas,” he said.

  He’d grown up cleaning out the diner’s grease trap and washing dishes. Long days ran into nights, which meant he’d be up until one in the morning getting his homework done. He hadn’t minded the work as much as the loneliness. His uncle had provided a roof over his head, but besides sharing chores and watching major league baseball on TV, they had little in common.

  His best memories were those two summers with Caroline.

  She had called him one night, whispering to meet her at the felled tree in the pasture behind the barn. She was waiting for him, perched on the fallen trunk with a bottle of red wine she’d pinched from her father’s liquor cabinet. They drank the wine and watched the July moon roll across the sky. She brushed her bare thigh against his, slipped her hand inside his cutoffs and crooned a love song in his ear. He’d never forgotten the warmth of her lips against his.

  Zelda put her hand on his arm, bringing him back. “Do you know who bought the diner?”

  “No, but the utilities are on. They must’ve closed the sale.”

  She kicked a soggy gumball. “I used to stop here on my way to Airlee. I’d sit at the picnic table reading a book and eating pie in your honor.”

  “You knew I baked the pies?”

  “Oh, sure. I’d watch through the pass-through window, the way you’d crimp the piecrust between your thumb and fingers to trim the edges. You were so serious. I thought, ‘Now there’s a guy with passion.’ I was pretty passionate myself at the time. I wanted to be a choreographer like Helen Tamiris. We have the same crazy hair. Aunt Gracie Ella was the only one who understood me.”

  She rose on her toes and lifted her arms, danced across the parking lot and did a pirouette at the border of undergrowth. “Remember the raccoon?” she called.

  “Of course.”

  “You came off the porch swinging that mop. You were going to rescue Caroline and me.”

  Truth was, he hardly remembered Zelda being there. His attention had been on Caroline, always on Caroline.

  Zelda walked back to him. “I was hoping when this is over—” she plucked at a strand of yarn on her sweater “—you and I could get together.”

  The image of Zelda standing in Caroline’s driveway came to him—the lime green coat and pink nightgown. Her angry tears had seemed heartfelt that day, but finding out about her resentment toward Caroline was disturbing. Getting together with Zelda was the last thing on his mind.

  He took too long answering.

  She looked down. “Geez. I guess not.”

  A late model Saab with a ten-foot ladder strapped to the roof swung into the parking lot and pulled next to Billy’s car. Robert Highsmith climbed out of the car wearing the same Cubs jacket he had on the night before. He went to the trunk and fetched a bucket and paint brushes.

  What the hell was he doing in Nowhere, Mississippi?

  Highsmith walked over. “What’s up?”

  “Hi, Robert,” Zelda said. “We’ve just come from Airlee. I wanted to say goodbye to the place. Caroline and I loved the diner.”

  “What about you?” Billy asked.

  Highsmith held up the bucket. “I bought the place.”

  Zelda’s mouth fell open. “No way.”

  After their conversation last night, Billy could come to only one conclusion. “You bought it for Caroline.”

  Highsmith’s face reddened. “We need to talk. I have notes in the car.”

  Billy thought of two options—Highsmith wanted to get to his car and make a run for it, or he was ready to give up some answers.

  “Zelda, please wait in my car,” he said.

  “Are you kidding? This is getting interesting.”

  “Then go for a walk.”

  “It’s too cold.” She put her hands on her hips, stared at him, then huffed. “Okay. Robert, may I look around the diner?”

  “If you want.” He handed her a ring of keys. “But it’s a mess.”

  A panel van rattled by as he and Highsmith started toward the Saab. The driver honked and waved. Highsmith had done a proper job of cinching the ladder onto the roof rack, not something Billy would’ve expected. The guy didn’t seem like the handy type. There were four gallons of paint on the floor in the back. A laptop case lay on the passenger seat.

  Highsmith retrieved the laptop. “What you’re
about to see is not a formal statement, but you’ll find the timeline accurate.” He set up the computer on the trunk, pulled up a document, and invited Billy to scroll through.

  The gist of it was Highsmith and Caroline had started an affair not long after he joined the firm. She wanted to keep the relationship secret until she made up her mind about marrying Sharma. Highsmith had gone along, trying to swing her vote his way.

  After she’d called off the wedding, he wanted to make their relationship public thinking the revelation would derail Sharma’s harassment. Caroline didn’t see it that way and wanted to wait.

  The situation had changed eight days ago when Caroline told him she was expecting his child. He was ecstatic. She wanted a quick ceremony held at Airlee so her father could be there. They would fly to Chicago to introduce her to his family and return to Memphis to announce their marriage.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that last night?” Billy asked.

  “Because you assumed the man she was planning to marry was the one who’d killed her. I wasn’t willing to be arrested.”

  “What you’ve written here is your version of events. You say you were in love with Caroline, you believed she was carrying your child, so you wouldn’t have killed her. But she’s dead. How do you explain that?”

  Highsmith took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Last night I told you I had another angle to consider. I’ve discovered what I believe is malfeasance inside the Lee Law Firm. It could be the reason for Caroline’s murder.”

  Billy wasn’t surprised that Highsmith was laying a false trail to divert suspicion. “Before we get off in the weeds, let’s stay with your step-by-step movements on Monday night.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” Highsmith said.

  “No, I get the picture. Go ahead.”

  Highsmith shrugged. “All right. I was working from home on Monday afternoon to pull as much information as I could on the malfeasance. I was desperate for answers, but I needed more time. I called Caroline and asked her to go ahead to Airlee, but to delay the ceremony until ten o’clock that evening.

  “By the time I started for Airlee, I was convinced Martin was going to prison and possibly even Saunders and Rosalyn. Caroline’s name appeared on several files where there were suspicious discrepancies. I couldn’t tell her what I’d found, because if she was involved she might destroy evidence.”

  “What type of discrepancies?”

  “Money siphoned out of trust accounts, hundreds of thousands, probably millions embezzled over the years. I was faced with the probability that my future in-laws were crooks and my bride might be one too. I started driving. My head was really messed up. I felt trapped. I stopped at the Hollywood Cafe in Robinsonville to call Caroline. Her mobile was off, so I assumed she was driving.”

  Billy was holding back his temper but listening. “What time was that?”

  “I don’t know. Sometime before nine.” Highsmith shook his head. “I went inside for a beer and to think about what to do next. The place was packed with people from the casinos. I ordered a beer and stood against the wall. A woman was banging out honky-tonk on the piano. I finished the beer and tried to reach Caroline again. Finally, I texted her that I was calling off the marriage. Then I drove here. I had a bottle of scotch in the car, so I went inside and got very angry and very drunk.”

  “You were angry with Caroline?”

  “Of course I was. And at my own bad judgment. I have a talent for trusting the wrong people. The State’s Attorney in Chicago wanted me to throw a case brought against a local politician. He assumed I would go along. I walked. He tried to make it appear as if I’d been the one planning to throw the case.”

  Highsmith blew air through his nostrils and tromped away, his back turned to the car while he stared at the road. Then he came back.

  “I need to back up and explain. I’d met Caroline at an American Bar conference in Miami. I fell for her on the spot, but she was engaged. After the conference we stayed in touch, networking and all that. At one point she mentioned that her firm was planning to add a litigation department. By then I wanted out of Chicago. I’d been sending resumés around, so I sent one to Rosalyn. She made me an extremely generous offer.” He shrugged. “Look what it got me.”

  Heat crawled up the back of Billy’s neck. Caroline was dead and this guy was feeling sorry for himself. “You tried to call her Tuesday morning, didn’t you?”

  Highsmith’s head dropped. “I woke up with a hell of a hangover and feeling guilty. Caroline was the last person I wanted to talk to. This is a dead zone so I couldn’t call out anyway. My life had been jerked out from under me. I decided I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

  Billy slammed his fist on the trunk, his anger boiling over. “Bullshit. Nobody jerked anything. You said you would marry Caroline then had second thoughts. The baby could’ve been Sharma’s, but she tagged you. You decided she’d lied about it to get you to commit. You felt trapped all right. You shot her in the face and left her to die, you son of a bitch.”

  Chapter 34

  “She was shot in the face?” Highsmith asked.

  He had that catatonic stare rookies get at their first exposure to unspeakable violence. It’s a pure expression. It can’t be faked. A cold gust of wind swept grit off the road and circled the Saab. Billy wasn’t moved by Highsmith’s reaction. Neither did he dismiss it.

  Highsmith struggled for words. “Did she suffer?”

  “I can’t say. But she knew her baby would die. That’s suffering.”

  Highsmith looked like he was going into shock. His gaze wandered from the road to the diner and stayed there. “She told me she came here on Saturdays with her dad and cousins. She loved it. I bought the place as a wedding present. We were going to fix up the house and use it on weekends. A friend in Chicago wants to leave his law practice and move here to open a restaurant for the casino trade. I told him I would give him the diner.”

  He took a breath. “Even if it turned out I was wrong about the embezzlement, I figured Caroline would never forgive me for thinking the worst of her family. Then I left her at the altar. My life with her was over. My job in Memphis was gone. My future in Chicago was pretty well screwed. I spent a day and a half doing chores around here trying to decide what to do.

  “I decided to go back to Memphis and figure things out from there. I was almost to the highway when my mobile started to light up with texts. I pulled off the road expecting a blast from Caroline, but the first was Rosalyn’s statement to the attorneys about Caroline’s death. I assumed she’d been in an accident on the way to Airlee until I brought up a news article about her murder. I sat there unable to breathe. I read more texts. One was your request for Sharma’s harassment file. That made me check the Shelby County ‘Who’s In Jail’ site to see if you’d had him arrested. When he wasn’t on the list I called his answering service. They indicated he was still taking appointments. The son of a bitch was free. Walking around.”

  He brushed his fingers over his forehead. “I wanted to get my hands on him and make him confess. Not my best thinking. I drove to town instead. Went straight to your place. You made it clear there was nothing I could do about Sharma. I thought about the embezzlement scheme and wondered if that was somehow connected to Caroline’s murder.”

  “Is that the angle you mentioned last night?”

  Highsmith nodded. “First I had to prove the embezzlement had taken place. The firm’s database showed the files I needed were in Caroline’s office. There were twenty-three of them. I searched her office, but the files were gone.”

  Billy knew why. Rosalyn had removed them. He noticed Zelda watching them through the diner’s front window. He waved for her to join them. She picked her way through clumps of wet leaves, her arms hugging her chest as if she was cold.

  “All done?” she asked.

  “Almost. Those twenty-three files you mentioned. Is there something unusual about them?”

  “Can you be more specific?”
r />   “Are they different from other client files?”

  “Sure. The attorneys can go into the database and look at the preliminary documents within the files, but you need a password for access to the entire file. That’s why when Robert asked to see the physical files and I mentioned it to—”

  Billy interrupted her. “Who has that password?” He didn’t want Highsmith to know Caroline had been upset he’d asked for the files.

  “Saunders, Rosalyn, Caroline, and Martin have their own passwords.”

  “Why Martin?”

  “He personally supervises those trust accounts.”

  “Do you have a password?” Highsmith asked.

  She hooted. “They don’t trust me to turn off the lights.” She rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. “Let’s talk about this someplace warm.”

  Billy gave her the car keys. “Turn on the heat. I’ll buy you dinner later, but for now I need you to wait in the car. We won’t be long.”

  “If we don’t leave in fifteen minutes, I’ll miss the tap dance class I teach at the Y,” she said.

  “I’ll tell the manager you were assisting me in a murder investigation. This is important.”

  She took the keys.

  Shadows lengthened as he walked with Highsmith through the pine trees to the tiny house where he and his uncle had once lived. The white clapboard siding needed to be scraped and painted. Plywood had been fitted into the bathroom window frame to replace broken glass. The porch sagged in the middle. Other than that the place looked in pretty good shape.

  The shotgun house consisted of a front room with the only bedroom directly behind that, a walk-through bathroom, and then the kitchen where he and his uncle brewed coffee before opening the diner at 5:30 am. Uncle Kane had added a lean-to mudroom on the back of the house that they’d converted into his bedroom. He kept his clothes and a few of his mother’s keepsakes stored in a footlocker beside the bed. For company, he tacked up a poster of his hero, home run king Hank Aaron at his induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1982. The mudroom was where he’d slept until he left for his freshman year at Ole Miss.