“I don’t suppose,” he said. “Quincy Puckett was buried over there by Rose Dutton, otherwise known as Casey Grindle.” He paused and looked at Ma Maggie. “And earlier, Waning Crescent.”
Valerie Rose Dutton had been eighteen and beautiful when Uncle Ernest discovered her bathing in the river behind Bramblewood early one September morning in the mid-1960s.
“She told me she had been abducted and abused by a man who called himself Shamrock, and that he had held her prisoner and forced her into going along while he robbed merchants and committed numerous other crimes,” my uncle related. “They had spent the night ashore, and when she awoke that morning, Rose said Shamrock had taken their raft and left her there. She’d been begging him to change, she told me, to give up the way they were living. She was afraid to leave him, she said. Afraid of what he might do.”
We had moved to the kitchen where Uncle Lum fried bacon while I whipped up a dozen eggs for scrambling—holding out one, of course, to soft boil for my uncle. Uncle Ernest nursed a cup of coffee and looked out the window at what had been his young wife’s garden. “She was so young, so very lovely, and I was in my midthirties and had never had a lasting relationship with a woman before—never felt that strongly about anyone.”
“That’s because he’d never seen one bathing naked in the river,” Grady whispered behind me. I gave him my “shut up” look.
“I believed her, of course,” our uncle continued. “I was a fool, but I didn’t care. Even when the news came out about the raft being found and the girl, Waning Crescent, was named in the newspapers as an accomplice, I never doubted her story. Shamrock had purposely sunk the raft and continued on foot to throw off the police, she said, and I wanted it to make sense so badly, it did.
“She cried; Rose was good at crying, and begged me not to give her away. She had no family, she said. I was all she had in the world, and so we were married.”
For somebody who had been awake since before dawn, my grandmother’s eyes were wide. “You told us you met Rose during summer session at the college, said she’d just completed her sophmore year and was taking some time off to decide on her major.”
Uncle Ernest almost smiled. “I was her major,” he said. “For a little while, at least. I was happy, she was happy—or I thought she was, and nobody was the wiser. She left me only a few months before our second anniversary, said she’d made a big mistake.” He rubbed gnarled hands over his face. “My God, how could I have been so stupid?”
“You said you weren’t surprised that Rose had turned up,” Grady said as he dealt plates around the kitchen table. “What made you think she was close by?”
Uncle Ernest put a pitcher of orange juice on the counter and searched the cabinet for enough glasses. “When they found that skeleton over in Remeth and the police told me it was that of a man who died about the same time Rose came,” he said. “And we knew somebody had used Ella’s cat to lure her to the edge of that drop-off. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t figure out why Rose would do that until Violet said something about Ella’s recognizing the voice.
“But it was that thing with the yellow jackets that convinced me. Somebody didn’t want Belinda to find that epinephrine in time.”
“Where is Belinda?” Ma Maggie wanted to know.
“In Atlanta with her daughter for a week or so,” Uncle Ernest said. “After what happened at the reunion, I felt uneasy about her being here.”
Grady just couldn’t resist. “Are you two gonna get—”
“Married?” Our uncle poured juice all around. “Well, Grady, I haven’t asked her yet, but when and if I do, you’ll be the first to know—if she accepts, that is.”
Sheriff Yeager, after an obligatory, “Oh, no—I couldn’t!” not only joined us for breakfast, but insisted on making the toast. “I can’t understand, though, why Rose has waited this long to turn up. Why now? And where’s she been all this time?”
My uncle reached for the strawberry jam. “For one thing, she wanted me out of the way, and probably Belinda, as well. Guess we’ll have to wait to find out why when they catch up with her—if they catch up with her.”
My grandmother excused herself from the table and folded her paper napkin as if it had been fine linen. “Well, I’m going to have to wait a while to find that out, because I’m going home and take a nap—and you should, too, Ernest. Ella’s service is at three and we’ll have all those people dropping by afterward.”
“I’ll drive you home,” I said, taking my plate to the sink. The idea of sleeping the morning away was sounding better and better to me—Rose, or no Rose.
Outside, Ma Maggie stood on the front steps staring across the road at the pasture. “Will you look at that, Kate? It’s Shortcake! Now how do you suppose she managed to get back inside the fence?”
“Somebody must have found her,” I said. But of course, I knew otherwise.
We were getting into my car when I saw a blue Toyota approaching the house at breakneck speed.
“Who in the world is that?” Ma Maggie said. “They’re driving like a maniac!”
“I can’t imagine,” I said. “I don’t recognize the car, do you?” Maybe it was somebody coming to tell us they’d arrested Rose, I thought, but if that were the case, wouldn’t they have already contacted the sheriff? Whatever they wanted, it must be urgent.
I got out to greet the driver as the car slammed to a stop about four inches from Uncle Ernest’s cherished Chevrolet, then stood watching mutely as my husband jumped out and ran across the lawn to meet me.
“Kate, is everything all right? You had me worried sick! I didn’t know where you were! And what’s that police car doing here?” He stood about a foot away from me and looked as if he didn’t know what to do with his arms. Finally, he put them around me.
“What do you mean, you didn’t know where to find me?” I said, reluctantly pushing him away.
“Nobody answered at your parents’ house this morning, which is where you said you were staying, so I called Ma Maggie’s and there was no answer there, either. Then I finally phoned Marge, who said you were here at Bramblewood. What’s going on?”
“How much time do you have?” I asked.
Ned shoved back the lick of straw-colored hair that refused to stay out of his face. “I’m sorry about poor Ella. What happened? When I phoned yesterday, somebody told me she’d fallen or something.”
“Phoned where?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my grandmother creeping discreetly into the house.
“Why, here. Didn’t you get the message?” Ned started to put his arm around me again, then thought better of it. “Can we go somewhere and sit down? I had to go practically around the world to get here, and frankly, I’m beat.”
Oh, please, tell me about it! I directed him to the porch. “What message?” I said again.
“I called here yesterday and got some woman named Mabel. She’s the one who told me about Ella dying.” My husband collapsed in a rocking chair and closed his eyes. “Poor soul, what a way to go! Must have been a terrible fall.” He yawned. “Anyway, she said she’d tell you I was on the way.”
“Mabel Causby.” I pictured a slight woman in her seventies with dentures that didn’t fit. “She’s in Ella’s church circle.”
“Said she’d write it down.” Ned yawned.
“Don’t go to sleep yet,” I told him, “I’ll be back,” and I went inside to look at the note pad on the telephone table. I found a potted chrysanthemum on top of it. Underneath, on a scrap of paper, someone had scribbled: Kate, your husband called. His flight’s been canceled twice, but he says to tell you he’s on his way and should be here by tomorrow.
“Tell me about those canceled flights,” I said, jarring my husband awake. “I thought you weren’t coming back for another week.”
“One of the speakers couldn’t come at the last minute, and I had an opportunity to rearrange the schedule and get home earlier than I expected.”
I noticed he used the word hom
e. Ned stood and took both my hands in his. “Kate, I was miserable. Too much time to think, I guess. You and Josie—nothing else is important to me. Tell me I’m not losing you.”
I wanted to fall into his arms, for everything to be the way it was before, but there was too much left unsaid. I turned away. “You hurt me, Ned. I needed you, and you shut me out. Why?”
“Kate, I’m so sorry. I wish I could explain.” He put a hand on my shoulder and I felt his closeness behind me. “I don’t understand it myself—except that I felt useless when I was out of work, had to depend on you to take care of us, and then when we lost the baby, I felt somehow that was my fault, as well.”
“Ned, I explained to you what the doctor said. No one was to blame. I begged you to see a counselor.”
“But I was the one causing all the stress—dumping added responsibility on you at a time when you should have been able to relax and take care of yourself.” Ned’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “I suppose I thought . . . well . . . that you and Josie would be better off without me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing, but stepped over to the sturdy stone pillar by the front steps and placed my hands upon it, seeking its strength.
“I do love you, Kate,” Ned said, speaking from behind me. “And I know I need help. Won’t you give me another chance, please?”
Earlier I had attributed my husband’s bleary eyes to lack of sleep, but when I opened my arms, I learned there was more as we cried quietly together.
I waited until both of us were composed before I told Ned how we had almost lost Josie.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he said. “You know I would’ve turned the world upside down to get here!”
“Unfortunately, I was just as lost as she was, and neither Marge nor Ma Maggie knew how to reach you,” I said. “When we finally got back, I tried to call you at the hotel but they said you’d checked out.”
Ned took my hand and led me to the porch glider where I sat with my head on his chest. “I tried to get an early flight back,” he said, “but the first was delayed for several hours, the next was canceled and at least two were rerouted.” He counted on his fingers. “During the last few days, I’ve slept around, Kate. I’ve slept in the Houston airport, the Chicago airport, the Atlanta airport—and probably some I can’t even remember in between! Then this morning I finally made it to Charlotte, and here I am!”
I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped my hand inside. “And here I am,” I said, and closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I moved apart from Ned as if someone had driven a wedge between us. Augusta sat on the bottom step with a silly smile on her face and a bunch of daisies in her hand.
“What is it?” Ned reached for me again. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head at Augusta and mouthed the words go away!
“Have you spoken to Josie?” I asked my husband. “Does she know you’re here? She misses you so much, Ned. This has been hard on our daughter. We can’t do this to her.”
“Or to us.” He kissed the top of my head. “She was still asleep when I called—and I missed her, too—missed both of you. But, Kate, we’ll work things out. I know I’ve been making things difficult—seems I couldn’t help myself, but a friend at work gave me the name of a good counselor . . . we’re going to make a go of this. I promise.” Ned grinned. “How long do you think Josie will sleep?”
I twirled my car keys in my hand. “An hour or two at least, and there’s nobody at my parents’ house.”
I scooped up the bouquet of daisies Augusta had left on the steps and hurried to the car. I finally got to bed. But I didn’t get much sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It began to rain as we left the cemetery after Ella’s funeral. “It’s almost as if God was crying because she had such a sad end to her life,” Burdette said as we drove back to the house. Neighbors were kind enough to look after their children and Josie so that the four of us could help Uncle Ernest greet friends who came to pay their respects at Bramblewood, and there was a steady procession throughout the afternoon.
The last caller had just left when Sheriff Yeager drove up, and I knew when I saw his face he had something important on his mind.
Uncle Ernest hurried to meet him. “Have they found her?”
The sheriff took off his hat and looked around for a place to put it. “Not yet, but we found out where she’d been before she came here.” He passed the dripping hat to Grady, who stuck it on the bust of Darwin the college had given my uncle upon his retirement. “It’s that same town in Pennsylvania where Beverly Briscoe was living.”
“I knew it, I just knew it!” Cousin Violet said. Her hunch about Casey had been right and she was reluctant to relinquish the limelight, but this time everybody ignored her, including me.
“Do you think they knew each other?” Grady asked.
“I’m sure they did.” The sheriff accepted a seat on the sofa and a cup of punch from Ma Maggie. “When we did a background check, we learned they’d worked at the same place—the Sow and Grow—some kind of gardening store, I think.”
Uncle Ernest started to sit, then changed his mind. “So . . . you think Rose had something to do with Beverly’s death?”
Sheriff Yeager nodded. “It certainly seems likely. The police up there spoke with some of the employees and they told them Beverly talked about Bishop’s Bridge a lot—you know, the people here and all. Couldn’t wait to get back here, they said.”
“I spoke with one of Beverly’s coworkers at her funeral,” Ma Maggie said. “Nice young woman—Debbie, I think her name was. She said they used to tease Bev about being from the South, but Bev just laughed and told them she was going to write a book some day about some of the more interesting people she knew.”
“Meaning me, I suppose.” Uncle Ernest finally decided to sit. “Only the word is eccentric, I believe.”
I could tell the sheriff was trying not to smile. “Actually, she had told some of them about you, but I—”
“And how I still kept up my wife’s garden even though she’d been gone almost forty years?” My uncle’s eyes were bleak.
Ma Maggie put a hand on his arm. “Ernest, it was no secret that you never got over loving Rose—not for a long time, anyway. Beverly knew that as well as anybody.”
“But why kill Beverly?” My husband stood behind me, his hand on my shoulder.
“Rose knew you had some valuable property that had become even more valuable over the years,” the sheriff said to my uncle. “And from what we’ve been able to piece together, once she learned you hadn’t remarried, that you obviously still cared about her, she must have thought she would inherit.”
“Imagine the conceit!” Violet, who was collecting empty cups, almost dropped the tray. “To think you’d leave anything to her!”
I don’t think I imagined this, but Uncle Ernest actually blushed! “To tell the truth, I never did get around to changing my will,” he said. “Guess I’d better make an appointment with Goat.”
“The sooner, the better!” my grandmother told him.
“But when Rose learned you’d started seeing Belinda, she knew she had to act fast,” Burdette pointed out.
“Right.” Sheriff Yeager finished his punch and gave the cup to Violet. “We’re speculating here, but I think it’s a given that Beverly told her you were interested in someone.”
Grady nodded. “She would. It made a good story, and Bev loved telling stories.” He smiled. “She really should’ve written a book.”
“But that meant Beverly had to go,” I said. “Rose knew Bev planned to come home, and would know immediately who she was.”
“Casey arrived here soon after Beverly was killed.” Uncle Ernest spoke softly. “My God! What kind of deranged person has she become?”
“A greedy one, I’m afraid,” the sheriff said.
He was getting ready to leave when he got a call on his cell phone informing him police had apprehended Rose Dutton at
a rest stop near Wilmington, North Carolina.
“Has she admitted anything?” Uncle Lum asked.
“Not yet, but they haven’t had time to interrogate her,” the sheriff said. “They did say, though, she didn’t act surprised when they caught up with her.”
While Ned and Burdette went to collect the children, Marge and I helped Leona in the kitchen.
“Can you believe Rose was posing as a caretaker to take care of her own garden?” Aunt Leona splashed detergent in the sink and turned the faucets on full force.
“Except Uncle Ernest wouldn’t let her in there,” Marge said. “But Rose knew about taking care of lawns and liked being outside, and Uncle Ernest says she was always good with flowers, so I guess it was a natural idea for a cover-up.”
I snatched a dishtowel from the drawer and started on the punch cups. “Sounds like she kept her distance from Uncle Ernest as much as possible. I think Ella was the one she dealt with mostly.”
“Yeah, she dealt with her all right!” Marge scraped food scraps into a trash can—no garbage disposal here. “I guess she thought Ella wouldn’t recognize her or had forgotten all about her by now.”
“I don’t think Ella forgot much of anything,” Leona said. “She could still quote some of those long epic poems she memorized in high school.” She smiled. “You didn’t want to encourage her.”
“Ella must have said something to make Rose suspect that she knew who she was, and—oh, my Lord, it makes my blood run cold!” Marge shivered. “I guess Rose felt she had to get Ella out of the way before everyone got here for the reunion and she confided in somebody.
“Thank God Hartley found Belinda’s purse before she ended up the same way! And to think I scolded him for playing with it.” Marge took a broom to the kitchen floor as if she were walloping Rose herself.
“And I felt sorry for Casey when Uncle Ernest tore into him for not getting rid of those yellow jackets,” I said. “But that was when Violet says she first began to suspect.”
The Angel Whispered Danger Page 20