by Rhett DeVane
Jerry threw his head back and laughed. “That surprises me not at all.” He wiped meat juice from his lips.
“Enlighten me, then.” She pointed her fork in his direction and made tiny circles with the tines. “Explain why half of Chattahoochee looks at me like I’ve ushered in a herd of rats carrying the Black Plague. Like they’re ready to circle the wagons and hide the babies and little old ladies.”
He gave a little chuckle. “That’s a bit strong.”
“No it’s not. I won’t delude myself into thinking I’m such a dish, everyone comes into the Homeplace to gawk at me, but there it is.”
“I come for the pie and coffee.”
She jabbed him in the arm with a finger.
“You could get arrested for molesting an officer of the law, ma’am.”
“I thought that only applied when you were in uniform.”
She noticed his faint grin. He winked. They stared at each other for a moment, until she looked down.
Jerry cleared his throat then said, “You asked about Jake and Elvina. Jake’s the only son of Colonel and Betsy Witherspoon. The Triple C Spa used to be his parents’ place. Everyone still calls it the Witherspoon Mansion. Short version: Jake left town after Daddy died. Mother pissed away a fortune. Jake returned for the funeral and had next to nothing once he sold the mansion and paid off Mama’s debt. Still, he managed to buy the florist shop and move into the back of it.”
Jerry stabbed a tomato. Juice and seeds spewed into a pool of dressing. “Enter Hattie Davis. Her mama died—her dad had passed several years before—and Hattie returned home. Met back up with Jake. Jake falls victim to a hate crime, nearly dies. Hattie ends up moving back to The Hill and marrying this writer fellow who came to town to write about the hate crime. Holston bought the Witherspoon Mansion after the original buyers decided to sell.”
“Talk about drama.” Mary-Esther bit into a hunk of garlic bread.
“It was pretty hairy around here for a bit. FDLE and the FBI crawling around. Reporters camped out at East Bank. Total media hullabaloo.” He shook his head. “Somewhere in there, Bobby meets a local woman, and makes nice with his sister. He lives out there on the property now, in a log home he built himself.”
Mary-Esther’s head spun. It was like hearing a synopsis of the World Book Encyclopedia. And “makes nice with his sister,” what was that about?
“Now, on to Elvina Houston,” Jerry said. “She’s a piece of work. Knows dirt on the majority of Gadsden and Jackson counties. When I’m researching a case, one of the first people I turn to is Elvina. Woman has her finger smack dab on the pulse of things. She inherited the honor from a woman named Piddie. That was Hattie’s aunt; Dan Davis was Piddie’s much younger brother.”
Jerry smiled. The skin around his eyes crinkled. Is that cute or what.
“Piddie was the most original woman I have ever met in all my years of law enforcement,” he continued. “She had this hairdo that added a good foot to her height, and she stuffed flowers and all sort of things in it for decoration. She had a saying for any situation. One of the most honest, kindest, and funniest people who ever existed.
“When Piddie died—at dang near a hundred, I think—she passed the baton on to her best friend Elvina. Elvina is like a little banty rooster. Get her feathers ruffled, she’ll come after you with spurs flying. And I guarantee you, you won’t get the better end of it.”
Mary-Esther’s chest constricted. “I should have never come here.”
“But you did. Didn’t you?” He reached over and ran the tip of one finger down the side of her face. “Don’t you think you owe it to yourself, and to everyone involved, to see it through?”
Her gaze dropped to her plate to avoid the warmth shining in his brown eyes.
Jerry polished off the last bite of his porterhouse. “As to the other kin, let’s see. There’s Joe and Evelyn Fletcher. Evelyn is Piddie’s daughter.” He pinched his eyes shut for a beat. “I can still call up the fishy aftertaste of one of her casseroles I tried at a church social over there.” He whistled low. “If you happen to get invited to any family functions in the future, try to find out if any of the dishes came from her kitchen. No, take that back. Find out if she made them. Joe’s a fine cook. He owns the Borrowed Thyme Bakery and Eatery on West Washington. Best cathead biscuits you’ll ever put in your mouth.”
“I’ve had the biscuits. First time I passed through town.”
Hindsight brought things into focus for Mary-Esther. Was everyone part of that family?
Jerry stood and returned shortly with two dessert plates. “Mama sent the pie. Can’t take credit for that.” He snapped his fingers. “Dang. I forgot the ice cream.”
“I’m good.” She dug in. Flakey crust. Gooey apples inside. The right combination of tart and sweet.
He sat down. “Joe used to be a psychiatrist up at the mental hospital before he retired. Evelyn sews. I know ladies in Quincy who wouldn’t dream of going to a party without commissioning Evelyn. She’s even made dresses for the first lady of Florida.”
“Amazing, the stories behind people.”
“That’s how it is,” Jerry said. “Folks think because someone is from a rural area, they’re dull. Let me assure you. Not the case.”
*
This time when Mary-Esther stepped into the sheriff’s office with Jerry, LaJune’s red-haired niece didn’t greet them. Instead, a young man with a severe buzz-cut acknowledged Jerry and tipped his head once toward Mary-Esther.
Jerry stepped to the metal security door separating the reception area from the rest of the sheriff’s office. A latch clicked and he opened the door. “You can come on back with me.”
Mary-Esther followed him down a polished tile hallway.
“If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I’ll only be a few minutes.” He nodded to a small room with a desk and two chairs. Was this where they interrogated people? “After the shift check-on, we can go.” She listened to the squeak of his shoes on the polished tile.
Mary-Esther took a seat in the cramped room and watched other officers file past. Some nodded. Others gave her an inquisitive glance. A few minutes later, the process reversed. The ebb and flow of a law enforcement tide.
Jerry walked in. “You ready to roll?” There it was again. The uniform. The broad shoulders. All that leather. The authority. Wow.
“Sure.” Mary-Esther swallowed. “It’s kind of fun to see the inside of this place. To think, I was born in this very building.”
Jerry looked around as if he was peering into the past. Every movement he made elicited a creaky remark from the various accessories clipped to his belt. Mary-Esther found the sound alluring. She imagined herself as the femme fatale who asked the gunslinger if he ever took off his gun then tried her best to provide such an opportunity.
“There’s a ladies’ room down the hall on the right, in case you need to visit before we leave,” he said.
As Mary-Esther aged, she couldn’t pass a restroom. Yet another thing that came with the territory. She reminded herself of a dog on a walk, how it would pee a few drops on every bush and blade of grass.
The man knew a thing or two about older women.
*
Outside, they stood beside his car like two teenagers stealing the last few minutes of freedom before their parents intervened.
“Eww . . . can I sit in the squad car?” Mary-Esther asked.
“If you’d like. Suit yourself.” He opened the passenger door and she crawled in.
“Oh, thank God. I had this fear you’d make me sit in the cage in the back.”
Jerry slid behind the wheel and buckled in. “Only if you act up and don’t do what the nice officer asks you to do.” His grin flashed.
Mary-Esther tilted her head and one corner of her lips lifted. “Who would think a law man would have such a sense of humor?”
“There are a lot of things folks don’t know about me.”
Oh yes. She could only imagine.
The radio
chattered. The dispatcher spoke to different units. Mumbo jumbo and numbers. Ten this, ten that.
“Why all the code talk?” Mary-Esther asked. “Why can’t you say someone’s shooting someone. Go to John Doe’s house on Main Street, or something.”
“If we did, we wouldn’t sound nearly so important and mysterious.”
“I see.” She trilled her fingers across the dashboard then mentally chided herself for acting like such a kid. “Where are you going tonight?”
“The county is broken up into zones to make it easier to manage the available officers. I’m over in zone four tonight. That’s Chattahoochee and surrounding areas.”
“Do you ride around and look for bad guys?”
Jerry chuckled. “Guess so, in a sense. Dispatch contacts us when a call comes in. Units in the area respond. As a sergeant, I supervise, but I answer calls and back up other units too.”
“If there’s nothing happening, it must be pretty dull.”
Jerry cranked the cruiser. “It does make the time go by faster when folks are up to no good.”
Mary-Esther studied the equipment and fought the urge to hit the switch for the siren and lights. “Wish I could go with you. That would be such a kick.”
“They had a ride-along program a few years ago. Citizens could sign a form and accompany an officer for a shift.”
She clasped her hands together and giggled. “I’d love that.”
“They discontinued the program. Liability issues. We have auxiliaries who periodically accompany us, men and women who’re attending the police academy.”
“I’d have to sign up for law enforcement training to ride with you?”
“That, or break the law. In which case, you’d be comfortably ensconced in the cage in the back.” When he smiled, Mary-Esther noticed those faint dimple parentheses beside his lips. One of those guys who grew more attractive by the second.
“I’ll pass. I’ve never had so much as a speeding ticket. Oh, I lied about my age to get married when I was young and rash. And I’ll admit to driving when I really shouldn’t have, years ago. I’ve never committed a felony or anything.”
“Nice to know, Mary-Esther.” He locked eyes with her for a long moment.
Heat passed through Mary-Esther. She’d never kissed a man in a police car. Would that be a crime?
The radio crackled, causing them to jump. “Code Blue. 110 Satsuma Street, Chattahoochee.”
“Code Blue?” She asked.
“EMS call-out. Means someone dialed nine-eleven. The call transferred to them, so it must be some type of medical emergency. Our radios scan the channels, and we hear the call-outs for fire, EMS, and for the different units.”
The realization hit.
Mary-Esther’s jaw dropped open. “Oh, my God, Jerry. That’s the Herring’s address.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Hattie suspected something as soon as she stepped into Bobby’s house. Elvina occupied one end of the leather couch, her casted leg propped on an ottoman. Jake sat in the matching chair, and Bobby rested in the recliner. Their stalled conversation hung in the air. The three looked like kids caught leering at their dad’s porn magazines.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m being set up?” Hattie removed her sweatshirt jacket and hung it on one of a series of wooden hooks.
Jake pulled a face. “Now, Sister-girl. Don’t go all dramatic.”
Hattie’s gaze rested on Bobby. “I dang near broke my neck rushing down here when you called, dear brother. Thought something bad had happened.”
Bobby coughed. “It’ll take a week or two to get all the crud from my lungs, but I’m hovering few feet back from death’s door.”
“And Elvina. Glad to see you up and around.” Hattie flashed a smile in the old woman’s direction. Elvina didn’t return the gesture, only nodded.
“Coffee’s on, if you’d like a cup.” Jake motioned toward the kitchen.
“Must be heavy to round up the posse this late in the day,” Hattie said.
“Sister-girl, stop looking for boogers behind every bush. Come with me and get a cup of coffee, then we’ll tell you why we’re here. Oh, and no worries, the coffee is decaf.” Jake grabbed his mug and cane and shuffled to the kitchen for a refill. Hattie followed.
When they returned, Hattie settled into a wooden rocking chair by the hearth and cradled the hot mug. “Okay, who’s going to tell me the reason for this little powwow?”
Jake glanced from Bobby to Elvina, waiting to see if anyone would take the lead. “Let’s don’t all jump at once.” When the other two remained silent, Jake took a seat and continued, “We’re here because we’re concerned about this alleged sister.”
“Ah…” Hattie looked to her brother. “So you’ve heard. I came to tell you right after I found out, but you were so sick, I didn’t think it was the right time.”
“No worries,” Bobby said. “Half of Chattahoochee has called me. The other half has stopped Leigh on the street.”
“One thing about this town,” Hattie said, shaking her head, “no need to concern yourself about running your own life. Someone will always be there to prime the pump.”
Jake set his coffee cup down and leaned forward. “Sister-girl, we all know how sensitive you are.”
“I’ve heard you’re one step shy of carving that Cajun’s initials on our family tree,” Bobby said. His voice had a slightly mean edge. Hadn’t heard that since he’d sobered up.
“Okay, wise guy. Have you even met her?”
“Nope. Don’t need to,” Bobby said.
Wow. Not the least bit curious? Not buying it, buddy. “You go to the Homeplace all the time.”
“Been sick, and busy. Besides, it’s not that important . . . to me.”
What a load of chicken poop. Unless her brother crawled in a hole, he’d bump into three-quarters of the residents in less than a week. That tiny muscle beside his left eye jittered like it always did when his words and the truth didn’t match.
Hattie shifted her eyes from her brother’s twitchy face and looked toward the others.
“How do you know the woman isn’t some kind of scam artist?” Elvina jabbed her finger for emphasis. “She could be anyone.”
“Has she shown you solid proof?” Bobby asked.
Hattie held up one hand. “If you’ll slow down enough for me to get a word in edgewise. First of all, she has a name—Mary-Esther. In answer to your question, no proof, other than a birth certificate from the same hospital where Sarah was born . . . and died.”
“Hundreds of people were born over there,” Jake said. “It was the place most women went to around here, if they didn’t have a home birth.”
“Yes, but don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence? Mary-Esther has the same birth date as Sarah, not to mention she looks exactly like Mama.”
Elvina sniffed. “Well, there’s that. She does bear a striking resemblance.”
Bobby popped a cough drop in his mouth then said, “Hattie, all of us know how you love to pick up strays.” The scent of menthol wafted Hattie’s way.
“This woman could be setting you—all of us—up for a hard fall.” Elvina shook a finger in her direction. “If she contacts a lawyer and proves her case, she’ll weasel her way into part of your parents’ land.”
Hattie frowned. “Are you really all sitting here trying to tell me that someone who never even heard of Chattahoochee, much less the Davis family, all the way clean from Louisiana, for God’s sake . . . what? Read Mama’s obituary from a couple of years back, did the research, then went to a boatload of bother to look us up?” She stopped to suck in a breath. “If our last name was Rockefeller or Vanderbilt, I might entertain the idea. But the Davises of Gadsden County? Come on. Get real.”
Jake cocked his head. “It does sound a tad far-fetched when you lay it out.”
“Still, Hattie,” Bobby interjected, “I need to see proof.”
“That’s why Jake and I asked that Sloat woman to consent to a DNA
test,” Elvina added.
Hattie’s mouth gaped open. “You what?”
Bobby held up his hands. “If she really is a Davis, we’ll know for certain. I sure ain’t budging on this.” He coughed. Phlegm rattled in his chest. Another breeze of menthol wafted her way.
Hattie took a sip of coffee, considering. “I happen to believe Mary-Esther. It’s a feeling, deep inside. Mama and Daddy would be disappointed if they looked down and saw us not treating their middle child with kindness and respect.”
“Good Lord, Hattie. You’re such a sap,” Bobby said.
Elvina repositioned her foot on the pillowed ottoman. “If she is your sister, you know we’ll do whatever it takes to blend her into the fold.” Elvina shot a warning glance toward Bobby. “If she isn’t, then it’s best to know now, before you get too attached.”
Jake looked at Hattie, his gaze soft. “The truth will win out, Sister-girl. It always does.”
Hattie rocked back and forth. Somehow, the gentle pitching of a rocking chair had always soothed her. Kept her from wanting to lash out at her brother.
Bobby reached over to a small wooden table beside the recliner and held a plastic envelope toward her. “Cheek swab, Hattie. I’ve already done one. As soon as we take this by to Mary-Esther, we’ll send it off to the lab.”
*
By the time Sergeant Jerry Blount arrived at the Herring’s home and parked, an ambulance idled by the side entrance, its emergency lights turned off. He noted a Chattahoochee Police Department cruiser. Not a good sign. If someone required fast transport to Tallahassee, the ambulance would have been long gone. The absence of frantic activity pointed to one of two scenarios: the call-out had been unnecessary and the person was all right, or the person was beyond help and did not need the services of the paramedics. Given the age and frail health of Mr. and Mrs. Herring, the later was more feasible.
He glanced in his rearview mirror. Mary-Esther pulled the van in behind the cruiser and jumped out. Jerry caught up with her at the side entrance and held the unlocked door open.
Rose sat at the kitchen table, a confused expression on her weathered face. In the back of the house, Jerry heard the muffled conversations of what he assumed to be the paramedics and the local officer on duty. Jerry knew the drill. If a death had occurred, the call would go out for the coroner. After the death was officially confirmed and recorded, the funeral home would be contacted. Eustis Herring would leave on a gurney, but not one bound for the hospital forty miles away.