The Twelve Dice of Christmas

by Gail Oust

  Grady snatched another cookie as he lumbered to his feet. “Ever think about replacing your backsplash over the sink? Maybe subway tile with a pretty glass accent. I could get you a nice discount.”

  “I need time to think over everything you’ve told me,” I said, escorting him to the door.

  That was an understatement to top all understatements. If the bones proved to belong to Waylon Snow—as I was certain they would—then what had happened to the money he’d allegedly embezzled?

  Could it have vanished along with his killer?

  Chapter 10

  I breezed into the sheriff’s department later that afternoon. “Hey, Tammy Lynn. Here I am, as requested.”

  Tammy Lynn stopped filing and gave me a deer-in-the-headlights stare. “I did?”

  “You called to say my statement was ready for a signature. Remember?”

  Tammy Lynn let out a sigh of frustration. “I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m more absentminded lately than Meemaw.”

  “Stress affects all of us differently. It’s only natural you’re worried about your grandmother. How is she doing, by the way?”

  Tammy Lynn darted a look at the closed door of the sheriff’s office. “Meemaw is in with him right now. I asked to be with her, but he refused. He told me it would be inappropriate, a conflict of interest, me workin’ for the department and all. He did relent, however, and let Aunt Cora go in as long as she promised to keep quiet. My aunt seems to have a calmin’ effect on Meemaw.”

  Tammy Lynn’s worry was contagious. I mentally crossed my fingers, praying that the sheriff wasn’t planning to make an arrest. “Did Sheriff Wiggins say why he wanted to talk to your grandmother?”

  “He said it wasn’t an interrogation, only an interview. He told me I should think of his office as neutral territory.”

  Semantics were a funny thing. While the sheriff regarded his inner sanctuary as neutral territory, I tended to think of it more as ground zero.

  “I’m grateful Aunt Cora was with Meemaw when the sheriff called, and she offered to drive her here. She’s always so helpful. My family and I are so happy she decided to move back to Brookdale. She’s been a godsend.” Tammy Lynn slipped the last of the paperwork into a file cabinet and closed the drawer.

  We stopped talking as the door to the sheriff’s office opened and Cora and Eula emerged. “There, there,” Cora crooned, her arm protectively wrapped around her sister’s shoulders. “This will all work out for the best, you’ll see.”

  “I don’t know how.” Eula sniffed. She appeared to have shrunk overnight. “All these years I wondered if Waylon left me for another woman. Yet . . .”

  “I know, honey, truth is stranger than fiction. Think about it. The whole time you thought he was with some Jezebel, he was right there in the root cellar, right under your own two feet.”

  Hearing this made me cringe. I knew Cora meant well, but what an image to put in her sister’s head. Eula looked so distressed, I was afraid she might dissolve into tears.

  Tammy Lynn came out from behind her desk and rubbed her grandmother’s back. “I know this is hard on you, Meemaw. But Sheriff Wiggins is real smart. He’ll get this all sorted out right quick.”

  Eula gave Tammy Lynn a watery smile. “Sweetheart, the sheriff considers me—of all people—a person of interest in Waylon’s murder.”

  “Does that mean that the . . . remains . . . definitely belong to your husband?”

  Eula seemed to be noticing me for the first time. “Who else could they possibly belong to?”

  Cora shook her head sadly. “My sister made a sworn statement that the wedding ring and watch found with the remains are Waylon’s.”

  “DNA has been sent to the lab in Columbia, but it’ll take a while to get the results,” Tammy Lynn added. “There’s still a chance it isn’t Grandfather.”

  “No, dear, there’s no mistake,” Eula replied. “I have to face facts. The remains your friend found belong to my husband.” Tears trickled down Eula’s lined cheeks. “I gave him that ring on our wedding day. I had it inscribed with our initials and the date. I don’t need to wait for gibberish on a piece of paper from some fancy lab in Columbia to tell me what I already know.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Eula,” I said for lack of anything more profound.

  “Cora”—Eula wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her sweater—“will you please take me back to my son’s? I need to lie down and rest.”

  “Certainly, dear. You’ve had an upsetting afternoon, and things will probably get worse before they get better. Once the media hears the body has been tentatively identified, they won’t give you a moment’s rest.”

  Tammy Lynn and I stood side by side as we watched Cora guide her sister out of the office.

  Tammy Lynn bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “It’s bad enough that Meemaw has to cope with losing my grandfather all over again, but she also has to deal with the press. Eric told me—confidentially—that she should hire herself a lawyer, but I don’t think she can afford one.”

  Suddenly I was struck by an idea. “What about BJ Davenport, Claudia’s husband?” I asked, my mood brightening. “BJ might be willing to advise your grandmother on what to say—or, more importantly, what not to say.”

  “Do you think . . . ?”

  “Don’t know unless we ask. The worst he can do is say no. Why don’t I ask Claudia the best approach? She might even be able to persuade BJ to help your grandmother pro bono.”

  Tammy Lynn’s eyes rounded. “You’d do that for me?”

  I gave her a quick hug in return. “Hey, us Bunco Babes stick together through thick and thin.”

  “Even though the sheriff would never admit as much, you’re good at crime solving.” Tammy Lynn’s eyes went glassy with unshed tears. “Meemaw loved my grandpa. She’d never do anything to harm him. Please, Kate, promise you’ll help find out what really happened before the sheriff arrests her for something she didn’t do.”

  I grimaced at hearing this. “Granted, I’ve been lucky a few times but . . .”

  “Going to prison would just kill her, Kate,” Tammy Lynn rushed on, “as surely as putting a gun to her head. Meemaw’s old and frail. Her heart would surely give out if she was sent to prison.”

  Her plea tugged at my heartstrings. It was clear Tammy Lynn and Eula shared a special bond. I hoped one of my granddaughters would feel the same if—heaven forbid—I ever found myself in similar circumstances. “I can’t promise to find the person responsible for your grandfather’s death, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thanks, Kate! I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” She threw her arms around my neck in a bear hug, then, self-conscious at her display of emotion, stepped back. “I have your statement ready for you to sign,” she said, slipping back into professional mode. “It’s somewhere on my desk in that mess of paperwork.”

  “While you search for it, I’ll have a quick word with the sheriff. Won’t be but a minute,” I added, seeing consternation cross her face.

  I hurried off before she could utter a protest. After a quick knock on the door, I barged in without waiting for an invitation that I knew wouldn’t be forthcoming. Sheriff Wiggins frowned when he looked up from a file he was studying and saw me. “I don’t recall you havin’ an appointment.”

  “I can see you’re busy, but I’ll only take a minute of your time.”

  “A minute’s sixty seconds too long,” he growled.

  “Fifty-five seconds, then.” I sat down opposite his desk, my purse in my lap, my hands folded primly on top. “I have some important information regarding our investigation.”

  “Our investigation . . . ?” He leaned back in his swivel chair and glowered at me.

  “Don’t forget that I’m the one who found the remains. That gives me a vested interest in learning what happened to Mr. Snow.”

  “What makes you so certain Mr. Snow is our victim? DNA results aren’t in yet. Lab sometimes gets backed up, gets behind, could ta
ke awhile.”

  “Have you requested that Mr. Snow’s dental records be sent to SLED? That might speed the process up a bit, don’t you think?”

  I could tell he wasn’t pleased at my suggestion. His dark gaze nearly skewered me to the chair. “I repeat,” he said, his voice deceptively mild, “what makes you so sure the bones you found are Waylon Snow’s?”

  “Eula, his wife, positively identified the wedding ring and watch. It’s only a waiting game until there’s a match to his DNA and dental records. What can you tell me about the COD?”

  Sheriff Wiggins maintained a stony silence.

  “Cause of death,” I elaborated. “COD used to stand for cash on delivery in the good old days, but times of changed. From the hole in the skull, I assume the official cause of death will be listed as blunt-force trauma to the head. Did your men find the murder weapon?”

  “Sorry, I can’t comment on an active investigation.”

  “Okay, how about TOD?” I asked, using another favorite acronym, which translated meant time of death. “My estimate is that it happened twenty-five years ago, around the time of his disappearance. Care to give me your opinion—off the record?”

  “No comment.” Leaning forward, he returned his attention to the file on his desk. “Consider your fifty-five seconds expired.”

  “What about the money?”

  “Money?” His head snapped up. “What money you talkin’ about?”

  The unguarded surprise that crossed his dark features told me he had no inkling what I meant. And telegraphed to me that no hidden stash of cash had been found in or around the coal bin. “I told you I had information,” I said, feeling a trifle smug. “I’m referring to the sizeable sum Waylon Snow allegedly embezzled from his own construction company.”

  “Tell me what you heard and who you heard it from.”

  “I’m thinking of remodeling my en suite. A contractor by the name of Grady Mayfield was Waylon Snow’s former employee. Grady bought the business from Eula after Waylon disappeared. According to Grady, Waylon cooked the books and stole a substantial sum before vanishing. My working theory is Waylon got into a heated argument with someone regarding the missing funds. One thing led to another and Waylon ended up in the root cellar with a hole in his head. If that’s true, whatever happened to the money? What if it was hidden somewhere? It started me thinking. Did your deputies search the entire house, or just the root cellar?”

  Sheriff Wiggins reached for the phone. “Tammy Lynn,” he barked, “get hold of Judge Blanchard. Tell her I’m comin’ over with a search warrant for her to sign.”

  I took this as my cue to exit stage right.

  Chapter 11

  “Just when y’all think it can’t get any worse . . .”

  “It does,” I completed Connie Sue’s lament. We were seated on the sectional in Connie Sue’s spacious great room. A fire burning in the fieldstone fireplace dispelled the day’s chill. I’d dropped by to inform my friend of the latest catastrophe to befall our plans for transforming Eula Snow’s home into her vision of an enchanted Christmas cottage.

  “Did the sheriff give you any idea how long the house will be off-limits? Even if we attack it like gangbusters, the home tour is barely two weeks away.”

  “I know this puts us in a time crunch, but we don’t seem to have a lot of options.” I helped myself to one of the purportedly low-fat cookies from a plate Connie Sue, the consummate hostess, had set on the coffee table. Expecting to find the cookie rather bland, I was pleasantly surprised to find it quite tasty.

  “I think we need to be proactive,” Connie Sue continued. “I made a special board on Pinterest, titled it Cottage Christmas.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “If we have to, we can pull all-nighters like we did in college.”

  “There goes my beauty rest,” Connie Sue groaned. “How will it look if a former Miss Peach Princess has bags under her eyes?”

  “Honey, that’s why God created concealer,” I said with a smirk.

  The doorbell pealed just then and Connie Sue jumped up to answer. “That must be Claudia. She’s borrowing my digital luggage scale since hers quit workin’.”

  While Connie Sue went to answer the door, I stared into the flames dancing in the hearth. Guilt gnawed at me like a dog on a bone. I kept wondering if I’d been too hasty going to the sheriff with Grady Mayfield’s tale of embezzled funds. After hearing of it, the sheriff immediately called for a search warrant, one that would undoubtedly include the entire house from attic to cellar. The house would be wrapped in crime scene tape tighter than a ball of twine. On the other hand, I felt compelled to tell the sheriff everything I knew so he could get to the bottom of this mess and find the truth.

  “Kate!” Claudia shrugged off her rhinestone-studded quilted jacket as she entered the great room and flung it over the back of the sofa. “Connie Sue said she’ll join us as soon as she fixes us a nice pot of herbal tea.”

  I scooted over to make room for her next to me on the sofa. “I wanted to give Connie Sue an update on my meeting with the sheriff. Your guess is as good as mine when we’ll gain access to Eula’s house.”

  Claudia wagged her head sympathetically. “Sheriff Wiggins can be such a stickler for rules.”

  Connie Sue returned minutes later with a pretty china teapot and matching cups on a bamboo tray. “I thought tea would be perfect on a gray, gloomy winter day. That along with a nice fire sure makes everythin’ cozy.”

  “Who knew we’d use a fireplace this far south?” I said, accepting a cup from Connie Sue. “I’m so glad Jim thought of it when we built our home, especially since heating systems are radically different down here.”

  “Hey, how do you like my new nail color?” Claudia waggled her fingers, the tips painted navy blue, the same shade as the cashmere sweater she wore. “It’s called Northern Lights.”

  “Snazzy,” Connie Sue drawled as she poured tea for Claudia and herself.

  I contemplated the nail color, which was far removed from her usual conservative pink or peach shades. “I like it . . . I think.”

  “I thought our cruise would be a good chance to experiment.”

  Connie Sue arched a brow. “Are we still talkin’ nail polish?”

  Claudia gave Connie Sue a playful punch in the arm. “Remember, you’re talking to a woman who is still in the honeymoon phase.”

  “In all seriousness, Claudia, I was going to call you later,” I said.

  “What’s up, kiddo? You need some of BJ’s free legal advice?”

  Hmm. Maybe I had prevailed on my friend’s hubby a time or two for his august opinion, but he never seemed to mind. “Not for me this time, but Eula Snow is besieged by the media. The poor thing doesn’t have a clue how to deal with them. I hoped BJ could provide a little friendly counsel. Unfortunately, Eula can’t afford to pay him very much, but she’s in desperate need of some guidelines.”

  Teacup in hand, Connie Sue settled deeper into a corner of the sectional. “Sort of like BJ payin’ it forward.”

  “Or a random act of kindness.” Claudia nibbled a low-fat cookie. “I’ll talk to BJ about it over dinner tonight. He’s very kindhearted when it comes to helping folks. He might even offer to do it pro bono.”

  I exhaled a sigh of relief. That’s exactly what I’d been hoping to hear. “Not only is BJ kindhearted, your man’s smart as a whip and as shrewd as a fox. If anyone can help Eula, he’s the one for the job.”

  “Everyone at the nail salon was talking about the skeleton you found. Apparently it’s breaking news on every TV station in Georgia and Carolina. Crews are coming from as far away as Greenville and Atlanta.” From her self-satisfied expression, Claudia seemed to relish being the purveyor of gossip.

  “What else are people saying?” I fought the urge to bop myself in the head. I should know at this stage of my life that if you don’t want an answer, don’t ask the question.

  Claudia sipped her tea, savoring her moment in the spotlight. “The most popular t
heory,” she said at length, “is that Eula killed her husband deader ’n a skunk in a fit of jealousy, then hid his body, thinking it would never be found. Tiffany, my nail tech, told me her mother once hired Waylon Snow to build an addition. She recalls him being Rock Hudson handsome.”

  “Tammy Lynn insists her grandmother is innocent,” I said, adjusting the throw pillow behind my back. “That Eula loved her husband and would never hurt him.”

  “Naturally,” Claudia scoffed. “What would you expect the girl to say?”

  Connie Sue frowned thoughtfully. “Why would Eula want to kill her husband?”

  Claudia brushed a crumb from her slacks. “Talk has it Waylon might’ve been in love with another woman and planned to leave Eula. He and Eula argued—and pow!—she killed him. A crime of passion, simple as that.”

  I helped myself to another cookie, rationalizing they were low-fat. “I understand why Tammy Lynn is devoted to her grandmother,” I said. “After her parents divorced, her mother moved away. Eula filled the void left in her life.”

  “Tammy Lynn even dressed like her meemaw till I got my hands on her.” Connie Sue chuckled, remembering the makeover of epic proportions.

  I half listened as Connie Sue and Claudia chattered on about their plans for the holidays. According to the local grapevine, either another woman or money problems could have been the reason for a homicide. But which one?

  • • •

  As I was about to pull out of Connie Sue’s driveway, my cell phone jingled. Pawing through tissues, lipstick, pens, checkbook, and credit card receipts, I fished my phone from the bottom of my purse. Gloria’s name and photo popped up on the display.

  “Hey, Gloria.”

  “Kate, you’ve got to come over. Right now. It’s mother.”

  “Is Polly all right? Please, tell me she hasn’t fallen and gotten hurt.”

  “Nothing like that. But hurry!” she said, then ended the call.

  The usually unflappable Gloria had sounded frantic. Whatever was going on with her mother was enough to make her call in the second string—namely, me. With one eye on the speedometer, I drove as quickly as I could to the house Polly shared with Gloria and her husband. From a half block away, I could see the reason why Gloria panicked. A van from an Augusta television station idled in front of the house. Antennas sprouted from its roof as though ready for a close encounter of the third kind. A burly man in jeans shouldered a heavy camera as effortlessly as a child’s toy. Up and down the street, neighbors congregated in yards to gawk and view the entertainment.