An Angel to Die For

by Mignon F. Ballard

  At the cottage Mom tried to get Ola to swallow one of her pills, but she either couldn’t get it down or didn’t want to make the effort. Pug phoned for an ambulance, but I didn’t have much hope it would get there in time.

  Ola lay on the living-room couch and reached out for Joey, now happily sucking down his liquid supper, and I held him close to her face. She closed her eyes and kissed him. “He won’t remember me,” she said, “but he gave me so much joy. I hope he can forgive me when he learns what I did.”

  I stroked her hand. What could I say? This woman had deliberately poisoned Sonny Gaines and caused him to drive in front of a train, taking my sister with him. Even if she lived, Ola would certainly go to prison. “I promise we’ll love him as his mother did,” I told her. “We won’t let him forget you.”

  Ola Cress opened her eyes briefly and smiled. “She’s here. I can go now.”

  “Who’s here?” my mother asked.

  “Why, the angel. Don’t you see her? She’s been here all along.”

  “Do you think Ola really saw an angel?” Mom asked as we drove back to Smokerise a few days later.

  “I’m sure of it,” I said, glancing behind me to see if Joey was still asleep in the backseat. Through Tisdale Humphreys we had finally gotten in touch with Ola’s brother and made arrangements for her body to be shipped back to Tennessee. Pug had left with his father the day before, having convinced Pershing Gaines he needed to be under a doctor’s care, this time with more closely supervised conditions.

  “You know, she swore she saw her before—several times back at the cottage.” Mom turned to me with a teary-eyed smile. “Said her name was Augusta.”

  I smiled back, couldn’t trust myself to speak.

  “Funny thing is,” she continued, “for the first time in ages I felt peaceful there. Even with that worry hanging over us with Sonny’s family and all, I felt protected at Ellynwood—at least until Pershing Gaines showed up.”

  “But . . . hey, he reduced the moccasin population!” I said.

  “If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t have been in that awful snaky place,” my mother reminded me.

  “How in the world did you know that old mill house was there?”

  “Elaine said her children used to play out there with their cousins, and I’d seen it when I was walking with Joey, but never thought about going in.” Mom shuddered. “Prentice, it shivers me all the way to the bone to think that snake had probably been in there all along.”

  And so had the angel, I thought.

  The baby woke and Mom reached back to reassure him. “About this Pug,” she said, glancing at me. “Just what’s all this about a nursery at Smokerise? Is he serious about that?”

  “Seems to be. His uncle and some of his partners have been looking for a place, and Pug sort of lucked up on Smokerise when he was trying to get in touch with me. He asked around and somebody told him I might be interested in letting them lease it.”

  “And are you?”

  “Maybe. Mom, I’d like to raise Joey.” I waited for this to sink in.

  “Where were you planning to do this?” she asked. I was surprised at the calmness in her voice.

  “For now I thought I’d stay at Smokerise, at least until I see how things are going. I’d like to keep the house. Pug’s uncle’s more interested in leasing the land.”

  “And what about Pug? What’s he interested in?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. I knew what she meant.

  “Is he interested in raising Joey too? And what about his brother? And there’s a sister too, I believe.”

  “His brother has three children already and the sister’s still in grad school, and yes, I think Pug wants to be a part of Joey’s life, but I think we can work it out legally to everybody’s satisfaction. He seems to think so too.”

  My mother sighed. “Prentice, you must know I have no desire to live at Smokerise.”

  I started to answer, but she shushed me. “I want to be a part of Joey’s life too, and I’ll be there for you as much as I can, but my days in the country are over.”

  I laughed. “Mom, I know that.”

  “Living in Savannah has given me an idea of what I can do, what I’d like to do,” she said, “but I do want to live closer, maybe get a little place outside Atlanta so it would be convenient for all of us.” She touched my hand almost shyly. “I know you sometimes thought I favored your sister, honey, but that wasn’t the case at all. It was just that . . . well, it seemed Maggie needed more attention.”

  I could see she was close to crying. “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. And meant it.

  She smiled and sat straighter. “I don’t ever want to be far from you.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be going away anytime soon,” I assured her. “Pug tells me his uncle’s interested in finding a public relations person, and Dottie’s been lining up a few clients as well. Of course we have a lot more scurrying around to do, but I don’t know why we couldn’t launch our own PR firm.”

  “Then I suppose England’s out?”

  “England’s on the other side of the big pond,” I said, and I started to tell her about my experience with Rob when the mobile phone rang startling us both.

  “Now who in the world could that be?” Mom asked. She had turned in her rental car in Savannah and we were using mine, but the phone belonged to her. “I don’t remember giving anybody this number; did you?”

  I groaned. “Afraid so,” I admitted.

  “Prentice! That you?” Cousin Be-trice asked. “Where are you now?”

  She sounded even more breathless than usual. “About an hour away,” I said. “Why?” I was afraid she was going to tell me the cat was stuck in a tree—or worse.

  “It’s Aunt Zorah. I swear I think she’s really gone and flipped her lid this time. How fast can you get here, you reckon?”

  “I don’t know. What’s she done?”

  “Nothing yet, ‘cept she won’t eat and looks like an old cornstalk. Don Weber just called to tell me she’s up there at Poindexter Point where Faris was supposed to have died in that wreck. He said she’d even called in the local press. God knows what she means to do!”

  I almost ran off the road. “But why? She’s not running from the police, is she?”

  “The police! What makes you say that?” Be-trice warbled.

  “Who?” Mom tugged at my sleeve. “What police?”

  I waved her quiet. Now I would have to confess my suspicions about Aunt Zorah, admit what I had done.

  “Be-trice, you said yourself they’d questioned her about Jasper,” I reminded my cousin.

  “Oh, him. Guess you didn’t know. They’ve charged Maynard Griggs with killing Jasper. I knew it was him all along!”

  “But I thought they were holding Faris . . . Shh! In a minute!” I whispered to my frantic mom.

  “Couldn’t come up with enough evidence,” Be-trice told me. “Faris finally tracked down a couple of neighbors who had seen him in Florida on the day Jasper was killed.

  “And then there was the button.”

  “What button?”

  “The button off Maynard Griggs’s shirt cuff. Jasper had it in his hand when he died.”

  So that was the secret evidence Don Weber wouldn’t discuss! That must have been what they were looking for when they searched our house and Aunt Zorah’s closet.

  “It was some kind of fancy pearl button,” Be-trice continued. “Not your ordinary kind. The old geezer may be stingy, but he doesn’t skimp on himself; wears expensive duds.” She laughed. “If he hadn’t been too tightfisted to destroy the shirt, he might’ve gotten away with it. Maid found it while she was spring cleaning. Said it was stuffed way back on a closet shelf behind a big box of Christmas ornaments. Guess he didn’t expect anybody to look there for a while.”

  “Seems Faris is off the hook for killing Jasper,” I told Mom as we rushed to Poindexter Point. “Of course he’s still an accessory to what happened to Maynard’s lady friend.�
� I explained about the shirt button and Faris Haskell’s Florida alibi.

  “But hadn’t they already searched the Griggs place?” Mom asked. “Why didn’t they find the shirt earlier?”

  “You know what a huge house that is. It was hidden in a storage closet, and they must have been concentrating on his personal things.”

  Mom glanced back at Joey who was beginning to make waking noises. “Prentice, can’t we go a little faster? We have to stop Zorah before she does something foolish! What on earth can she be thinking?”

  I didn’t answer. I only knew I was thinking the worst.

  About fifty minutes later we pulled into the small wayside viewing area at Poindexter Point to find my aunt standing on the low stone wall overlooking the valley far below. Gathered about her were five or six curious onlookers who probably happened to be passing by, Stanley Causby, one-man staff of The Liberty Bend Gazette, and local radio announcer Bud Riley (who always put a y in the middle of column, and omitted the first r in library). Also on hand were Donald Weber and another policeman. And, of course, Cousin Be-trice.

  “Oh, dear!” Mom threw open her door. “She’s going to jump! No, Zorah! Don’t do it! He’s not worth it. Please! Oh, please don’t jump!”

  “My goodness, Virginia, I’m not going to jump,” my aunt said calmly. “I’m only here to take a step in the right direction. It’s something I have to do . . . I know that now.”

  “What kind of step?” the deputy asked, edging forward.

  “A positive step. I’ve been a fool too long. Today I mean to execute an act of justice long overdue.” My aunt made a dramatic sweep of her hands that almost threw her off balance, and her spellbound audience gasped in unison.

  My mother moved toward her through the crowd. “We’ll work this out, Zorah. Come on now, do me a big favor and let’s go home.”

  Aunt Zorah nodded and kinda halfway smiled. I think she was glad to see us. “All right, Virginia, but first I want to do a favor for myself.” And she reached deep into her fringe-edged pocket and brought out Faris Haskell’s Phi Beta Kappa key, then held it up for everyone to see and tossed it over the side of the mountain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Wonder what will happen to Maynard Griggs,” I said to Mom as we followed my aunt back into town.

  “He’ll never see the light of day again after all he’s done, though I doubt if he’ll make it to trial. Something the matter with his liver, I hear. Probably all that formaldehyde.”

  “Can you believe it? Old Man Griggs—cold-blooded murder!” I doubted if we’d be calling his son senator anytime soon, although the unfortunate man had nothing to do with it.

  “I remember when Maynard used to greet people every Sunday at church.” My mother shuddered. “Always held on to my hand a little too long when he shook it. Made me want to go home and wash, but I never thought he’d murder anyone!”

  “He says Colette Champion’s death was an accident, but he meant to kill Jasper Totherow,” I said. “Waited until he saw Aunt Zorah leave after the two argued that day in the barn, then followed Jasper into the loft and hit him with the shovel.”

  “There were times when I felt like bashing Jasper myself,” my mother admitted.

  “Mom!” I pretended shock.

  “Well, the little weasel deserved it—you know he did, although I wouldn’t wish him dead. Ralphine said he was scared to death of somebody. Guess he found out the hard way he’d pushed Maynard Griggs too far.”

  “I’m just glad it wasn’t Aunt Zorah!” I said.

  “Zorah? Are you saying you suspected your own aunt of murder?”

  I reminded her about the incident with the shovel. “She admitted she wanted to hit him, Mom.”

  “Who wouldn’t? But what happened to the shovel? Did the police test it for prints?”

  “No, and they wouldn’t find any if they did.” I looked straight ahead.

  “And why not? Prentice, you didn’t?”

  “Oh, but I did. Went straight to Aunt Zorah’s tool-shed, and there it was—right where that rat Maynard Griggs had planted it. Meant to incriminate her to throw the police off his own trial, only I didn’t know that then.”

  “Did you really think Zorah put it there?” I could tell my mother was making an effort to keep her voice even.

  “It was Dad’s shovell Remember that little crack in the handle? What was I supposed to think? I wiped the handle clean and hosed off the metal part. Last I saw, it was sticking out of a sack of manure in our shed.”

  “Prentice, you destroyed evidence. That was probably the murder weapon.” Now Mom’s voice really did crack.

  “I know,” I said. “But after what happened with Uncle Faris, it seemed Aunt Zorah deserved a break. I’m not proud of what I did.”

  I waited for Mom to speak. “I am,” she said quietly.

  “I guess we’ll never know what makes Aunt Zorah tick,” I said. “I can’t imagine what made her do what she did today—and in front of all those people. You know how proud she is. She didn’t have to humble herself like that.”

  “Says an angel told her to,” Mom said.

  “An angel?”

  “That’s what she told me. Said she came to her in a dream, and Zorah knew then what she had to do.”

  My mother smiled. “I wonder if it’s the same one Ola saw.”

  I didn’t doubt it for a minute.

  Mom was going to spend a few days with Aunt Zorah to help soothe her fractured id, so I left the two of them in town and drove back to Smokerise with Joey. It was the first time I’d been responsible for the baby on my own, and I was a little nervous . . . well, okay, I was scared silly about it. What if he got sick? Wouldn’t eat? What if he cried for Mom, for Ola—anybody but me?

  Mom had fed and changed Joey at Aunt Zorah’s and he’d dropped off to sleep in his car seat. Now I lifted him, all pink and warm against my shoulder, and carried him inside, dreading the cold, empty house. What on earth was I thinking? Was I really going to do this: Chance a new business venture with Dottie with few clients and very little capital? And I knew absolutely nothing about babies!

  I hesitated on the bottom step, took a deep breath, and shifted the baby in my arms, feeling his soft hair brush my cheek. If I planned to begin my new life with Joey at Smokerise, I’d have to learn to deal with whatever came my way. And I might as well start tonight.

  It was already dark outside but I was glad to see a light in the kitchen. At least the house wouldn’t seem so gloomy.

  I was surprised to find the back door unlocked, and for a moment fear held me paralyzed until I saw the fire dancing low on the hearth and knew who had put it there. Augusta, eyes half-closed in contentment, circled the kitchen, swaying in rhythm with the cat as a partner to a tune I recognized as the “Jersey Bounce.”

  I inhaled deeply. Something smelled wonderful. In all the excitement of my aunt’s so-called press conference, I hadn’t had time to eat and my stomach was unforgiving.

  “Supper in twenty minutes,” Augusta said with a feather-touch of her fingers to Joey’s sleeping face. She wore her ginger-gold hair tied back with a vivid green ribbon and blew a kiss as she twirled past. Noodles nodded wide-eyed over her shoulder and kept time with her tail.

  I snuggled Joey into his waiting crib upstairs and tucked the blanket around him. The puffy stuffed rabbit, an early Easter gift from Ola, grinned from the foot of his bed.

  We were home.

  There were two messages on my answering machine. The first was from Dottie who was excited over a definite “maybe” from a small construction company outside Atlanta. The second was from Rob. Four words: I do, you know. It wasn’t enough.

  Augusta had set the small drop-leaf table in the den with Mom’s white damask bridge cloth and my great-grandmother Scott’s dainty rose-patterned china. She served a vegetable casserole I knew I’d never see the likes of again, no matter how hard I tried, with crusty French bread, pears, and cheese. The wine was light and dry with a s
light citrus flavor, and I’d never seen my mother’s five-dollar garage sale stemware look as elegant.

  Augusta touched her glass to mine. “To choices,” she said.

  “To choices,” I echoed, lifting my glass in salute. But still I asked, “What choices?”

  “Yours. Choices made and those yet unmade.”

  “You mean the right choices?” I asked, and Augusta seemed to study the gleam of firelight on her wineglass.

  “Sometimes—many times—there aren’t any right or wrong choices. It’s how you live with the ones you make.” She lifted her eyes to mine. “Your aunt made a choice today. You made one tonight.”

  It was a statement rather than a question.

  “About Rob. Yes. I think I’ve known it all along.”

  “And would Joey’s uncle have anything to do with it?” I saw amusement in her eyes.

  I couldn’t deny the attraction, and I sensed that Pug Gaines felt it too, but it was too soon. Much too soon.

  “He cares about Joey,” I said, “and I think he might care about me.” It warmed me thinking of Pug’s smile when he looked at the baby, the tenderness in his eyes, and I experienced a glow that had nothing to do with Augusta’s presence.

  “It seems the two of you have reached an agreement about the child. His future.”

  “He believes I should be the one to raise Joey. Pug’s mother died several years ago, and his father—well, you saw his father.”

  “But there are other family members to consider,” Augusta reminded me.

  “A brother and younger sister, and there will have to be a family conference, of course, with both sides, but Pug seems to think they’ll want to do what’s best for Joey. Naturally I plan to take legal steps to adopt him as soon as things are settled.”

  “So it’s definite then? You’ll stay on here at Smoke-rise?”

  I nodded. “There’s no reason I can’t work out of an office here, and with Pug and his uncle leasing the land for their nursery, he’ll be able to be a part of Joey’s life almost as much as I will.”