Murder Most Thorny (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 2)

by Loulou Harrington

  “Why do you say three people?” Joe asked when Jesse paused to take a breath.

  “Because Roy Lee had two shovels and a tarp with him, and I’m guessing after Winnie showed up at the levee, he was planning to drive to her house and meet the other two.” Jesse gulped in a mouthful of air and leaned forward, eager to get the rest of her theory voiced.

  “There were obviously two people at Winnie’s this morning. They used two shovels from her barn to dig up whatever was in the hole they left in the yard. My guess is they used the tarp that was missing from the barn, along with my truck to transport it. They had to improvise since Roy Lee never showed up with the shovels and tarp he was bringing with him. And for some reason, they had to get it done today, while they had the chance.”

  Joe shifted in his chair, and Jesse held up a hand to stop him from interrupting her again. This was all too confusing for her to stop before she completed her thought.

  “That suggests to me that the body is identifiable and can be linked to one or all of them if it were found,” she continued. “So we’re looking for two men connected to Roy Lee—his two brothers or two friends or some guys he got into a bar fight with and one of them died and they all decided to hide the body so they wouldn’t have to answer any questions.”

  “Or two guys who showed up at the levee looking for him and found him sitting in a thorn tree where a tornado left him,” the sheriff supplied helpfully. “Do you think his murder has anything to do with the body in the backyard?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t think that whoever shot him is one of the two people he buried the body with.”

  “Why?”

  “The two things overlapped, which wouldn’t be something you would arrange ahead of time. And then when Roy Lee got shot, it forced the other two to change their plans. So, unless they wanted to create a big, screwed up mess, the two things weren’t connected.”

  “Unless there was a fourth guy involved,” Joe suggested. “And his agenda was different from everyone else’s.”

  “And that’s why I’m glad you’re the sheriff, and it’s your job to solve this. Meanwhile I get to sit back, drink wine and play guessing games with my friends.”

  “So I guess that means I won’t be running into you everywhere I go tomorrow.”

  “Uh…”

  Still talking, he unfolded himself from the depths of the chair, retrieved his Stetson from the coffee table and made his way toward the door. “And I don’t have to remind you that the bad guys are still out there. And they know who you are even if you don’t know who they are. So you might want to be careful who you trip over at your next little garden party meeting.”

  At the door, he settled his hat back on his head and gave her a parting nod as he exited.

  “Garden club,” Jesse shouted after him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The night was quiet, and the day’s tension eased, carried away on the cozy scent of hot spiced tea. Vivian and Jesse sat alone, side by side on an overstuffed sofa in the sunroom. Cool air flowed through the open, screened windows, while outside, crickets sang, their music bolstered by the occasional bass note of a frog.

  “Wow, this is good.” Jesse breathed in the aroma of cinnamon and oranges as she took another long drink from the cup cradled between her palms. “What did you put in here this time?”

  “An orange and spice green tea, with cinnamon and honey added.” Vivian lifted the tea pot and refilled Jesse’s cup, then her own. “It’s like drinking a health food. Cinnamon is good for so many things, and we just don’t get enough of it.”

  “Good for me or not, this is absolutely wonderful.” Jesse took another sip, and then got down to business. “So where did you stash Winnie?”

  “The Jean Harlow room.” Vivian smiled over the top of her cup, projecting satisfaction.

  “Oh, my heavens, the girl will never be the same!”

  The room was a fitting tribute to the breathtaking blond delicacy of its namesake, and not what Jesse would have chosen for Winnie. Done in shades of butter cream and champagne, the fabrics were all silk, satin or tufted velvet, and Jesse had spent months locating the Venetian mirrors and antique lead crystal chandeliers that Vivian had insisted on. The room shimmered like a giant pearl draped with diamonds.

  Clearly pleased with herself, Vivian giggled, a girlish sound that never failed to startle Jesse, but one she had come to cherish in her sophisticated friend of a lifetime. “Anyone who’s had the day Winnifryd has, deserves to be pampered,” Vivian stated.

  “Well, I agree, but don’t you think she’s more the Doris Day room type?” Jesse remembered the cotton gingham drapes in big yellow-and-white blocks hanging in pinched pleats over the full-length, south-facing windows. And the crisp white of the seersucker duvet cover with white eyelet ruffles along its edge. The whole room was yellow, green and white, daffodil bright and filled with sunshine.

  Slowly, emphatically, Vivian shook her head from side to side. “I think that from the time her mother died, and Winnifryd lost the guidance of a female in her life, she has been settling. She has taught herself to expect less rather than more, and to be happy with what life brings her. It was convenient for her father, and it was convenient for her husband, and I think it’s high time Winnifryd stopped making it so damned convenient for everyone else and learned to demand a little more for herself. For once, she needs some shimmer and sparkle in her life.”

  It was moments like this that had made Vivian her hero since Jesse was a little girl, and it was moments like this that made her want to hug the older woman until she squeaked. Instead, she said, “I had never looked at it that way, but I think you’re probably right. Winnie’s always given her dad a lot of credit for raising her by himself, but I’m sure she must have missed her mom terribly.”

  “How well do you know her father?” Vivian asked the question like a woman who was still in the midst of making a point.

  “Not well,” Jesse answered. “Especially considering how much time I spent with Winnie when we were growing up. We were always together at school, or at my house, or your house. We never seemed to spend any time at her house. As a kid, I just always figured I’d rather be where people made cookies.”

  Smiling, Vivian nodded. “Winnifryd always seemed to feel the same way. Plus, your mother and I were able to give her a little bit of what a mother would have. And I wouldn’t want to say anything bad about her father. He always seemed to be a good, God-fearing, church-going man. He certainly doted on his daughter and never appeared to look at another woman after his wife died.”

  “Uh, huh,” Jesse agreed. “So, what are you really trying to say?”

  “Just that he seemed a little overly strict maybe. Not unfriendly, exactly, just very private. And, for whatever reason, Winnifryd never seemed to have any friends other than you.”

  “Are you saying that was because of her father?”

  “I just remember Michael mentioning that her father didn’t seem to like it when boys got friendly with her. He practically chased Fisher off one time when he gave Winnifryd a ride home after you all went to the movies together one weekend. And she did end up marrying the only man she ever dated.”

  “Why didn’t I ever hear about that?” Jesse couldn’t help an inward cringe at the mention of Vivian’s son Michael, Jesse’s best friend and the love of her life, who died in a car accident just months before their high school graduation. Fisher had been the third leg of their inseparable trio and was still like a brother to her, a brother she had, in a moment of impulsive youth and grief, been married to briefly. But that was a story for another time.

  “The boys didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Vivian said. “They didn’t want to embarrass Winnifryd or get your temper riled. You were such a little hot head back then.”

  “According to Mom, I still am.” Jesse fought a silent battle through the feelings of love, loss, and regret that memories of Michael always stirred. It was the same shared love, loss and
regret that had bonded her so irrevocably to his mother Vivian

  “And Joe Tyler—don’t forget him,” Vivian reminded Jesse, bringing her back to the present.

  Stifling a groan, Jesse muttered, “Talk about hot heads.”

  By the time the sheriff had stalked out of his private meeting with Jesse, exiting the house without a sideways glance of acknowledgement to anyone, Winnie had already been ushered to her room and settled into bed by her guardians Sophia and Vivian. And with only moments to spare before his departure, Sophia had caught a ride home with Connie, leaving her own Cutlass convertible behind for Jesse, who was without a vehicle until her truck was found.

  “I was too busy to hang around and listen,” Vivian continued. “Did he yell much? And what do we do now?”

  “Not too much. And for the moment, we wait. I put in a call to SueAnn, gave her the names of Roy Lee’s mother and Averell’s wife and asked her to see what she can find out about them online. She was already good at that stuff, and now that she’s taking criminology classes, she’s becoming the human equivalent of a blood hound.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  Jesse stretched and let out a surprise yawn as the events of the day settled heavily on her. She finished what was now the tepid tea in her cup, grateful for the sweet richness of the flavor.

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated, forcing her sluggish brain to hang in there just a little longer. “Tomorrow I try to locate LaDonna Stroud and see if I can get her to confide things she might not want to tell the police. I need to know a lot more about Roy Lee Rogers’ state of mind, such as why was he hanging onto this other woman if he was trying to get Winnie to come back to him.”

  “You realize the answer could be as simple as ‘some men are greedy,’” Vivian said. “But, no matter how shallow his state of mind might have been, I’m sure you can pry something useful out of her. Oh, and I promised Winnifryd that I’d take her around to a few places tomorrow. She has some errands to run. But I don’t want you to go sleuthing all by yourself.”

  “I got the impression that Mom was planning to go with me. She seems to think that unless she’s there to guard me, I’m going to get into some sort of trouble.”

  “Can’t imagine where she’d get that idea,” Vivian offered. “So, I guess I’ll leave you in Sophia’s capable hands. But we can’t have you doing everything. Why don’t I call the others and make sure everyone will be here at 3:30 for the garden club meeting tomorrow. We can go over what we know and figure out what to do next.”

  “Sounds good. How about Bliss? Will she be back?”

  “Not tomorrow, I don’t think. And you were right. She’ll never live in that house again.”

  Jesse picked up the tea pot and sloshed the contents to see if there was enough for one more cup. “Do you think she’s going to sell it?” she asked pouring herself a little more than half a cup of the sweetly aromatic tea.

  “No. She wants to use it for some kind of charity. Women, kids, veterans, something like that. She’s meeting with various foundations to see what would be the best use for the house and land. You know Bliss. She wants to be involved. She’d like something where the gardens could be expanded and working with the land could be part of the therapy. It’ll take awhile to get it all worked out, but it helps her put what happened behind her and move on with her life.”

  “Holy mackerel, that sounds like a big undertaking. What about the car dealership?”

  “She still owns it, but the people who work there are running it, and in return, they get a share of the profits.”

  Jesse took another sip of tea. Listening to the singing of the insects outside the window, she wondered where Winnie would be in a few months time. Would she be settled and starting to move forward, or would she be mired in the sadness and regrets of the past?

  It seemed that whenever a life was taken in violence, the ripples spread outward, encroaching on the edges of other lives—jostling, shaking, and sometimes toppling them from far away. That’s what happened with the death of Bliss’s husband, Harry Kerr, and that was what would happen with the death of Winnie’s husband, Roy Lee. It was as inevitable as it was unfortunate. And, for some, it would be disastrous.

  “I’m proud of Bliss,” Jesse said. “I’m proud of her for moving on, for creating a new life, for being happy.”

  “Because she had people who loved her, who fought for her,” Vivian answered in the voice she used when preparing for battle. “We have to make sure Winnifryd knows that she is loved, and that we will fight for her.”

  “Oh, hell, Viv, there you go again.”

  Not even bothering to resist the urge this time, Jesse turned and carefully wrapped her arms around the slender shoulders of the elegant older woman sitting beside her. She adored Vivian Windsor, and the big, roaring heart that beat inside her. And Jesse would do many unwise and possibly downright foolish things in defense and in aid of the woman who was as dear to her as family.

  Vivian’s hand fluttered near and then closed over Jesse’s arm. “You and Bliss are all I have left,” she said, soft as a whisper. “You do know that, don’t you, Jesselyn?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  “Well, then, good.” She patted Jesse’s arm, then straightened, releasing the embrace. “You just remember that,” Vivian said, smoothing her hand over any stray hairs that might have been ruffled.

  “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

  Jesse was about to plant a spontaneous kiss on Vivian’s cheek, when she was stopped by the boogie-woogie tune coming from her phone. It was SueAnn’s personal ring tone, put on not only Jesse’s phone by SueAnn, but on Sophia’s and Lindsey’s as well, which had all three of them reaching for their phones anytime they were together and the song began. Jesse would have long since removed it if she only knew how.

  As it was, she snatched her phone up and barked, “Yes?”

  “Hi, Jesse,” came the perky voice of SueAnn Bailey, “I know it’s getting late, but I just thought I would tell you what I’ve found out so far. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “No, SueAnn.” Jesse didn’t bother to point out that it was only eight o’clock. SueAnn knew very well what time it was, and was just taking a dig at Jesse for once suggesting that SueAnn might fall asleep behind the wheel of her Jeep before Jesse realized it was only eight o’clock on a Sunday night, the exact same time it was at the moment. “I’m with Vivian. Is it okay if I put you on speaker?”

  “Sure. Hi, Mrs. Windsor.”

  “Hello, SueAnn, dear.”

  “Okay,” Jesse interrupted, “what have you found out?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And don’t ask me why I’m calling, because I’m getting to that.” There was a pause filled with silence until SueAnn asked, “Are you there?”

  “Yes,” Jesse answered.

  “We’re here, dear,” Vivian said.

  “You said not to say anything,” Jesse added.

  “Oh.” SueAnn laughed. “Sorry. Okay, well, I called every nursing home, convalescent home, assisted living and hospice from Grand Lake to the Arkansas line, as far south as Ft. Smith and all the way to the Kansas border. No one has or has had a resident by the name of Martha Dawson Rogers, or anyone with her description with a variation of that name. They’ve never heard of Hansen Rogers or Roy Lee Rogers. Then, I tracked down the pastor of the church she used to attend.”

  Vivian caught her breath audibly.

  “I know,” SueAnn agreed proudly. “I impressed myself on that one. Anyway, he hasn’t heard a word from her, or about her, since that summer almost two years ago. The ladies in the church who used to talk to her regularly haven’t heard from her either. They check the obits every day because her health had gotten so bad they don’t know how she could still be alive. So then I checked hospital records and death records, and there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. There’s no sign she’s dead. There’s no sign she’s alive. There’s just nothing. That’s really not possible, Jesse. That’s what I’m callin
g to tell you. Everybody alive leaves some kind of footprint, and she is leaving nothing. Now, the other one—that’s a different story.”

  “The other one?” Vivian asked, looking at Jesse.

  “Patsy McBride-Rogers,” SueAnn supplied. “Averell Rogers’ wife. The one who went missing.”

  “Oh, yes.” Vivian seemed pleased. “You were able to find something about her?”

  “Better than that. I was able to find her. She didn’t stay with that guy in North Dakota for very long. Winter hit, and she hightailed it back to Oklahoma. Hung out in Bartlesville long enough to file for divorce. And she’s been back in Houston for almost a year now and is getting remarried in June. She seems happy, and it’s her opinion that there’s something fishy about that whole damned family—her words, not mine. Said Averell stalled on the divorce until she agreed to just forget about financial disclosure, and they each left the marriage with what they came in with by mutual agreement. She was already back in Texas and engaged to her new man by then and just wanted it over with. But she said Averell didn’t have enough money to fight over, so she didn’t know what his problem was ’cause it was just a technicality anyway.”

  “Wow,” Jesse said. “How did you get all of that?”

  “Online court records, Facebook, long distance information, and then Patsy just seemed to want to vent, so I let her. And I took notes.”

  “Damn. If I was paying you for any of that, I think I’d have to give you a raise.”

  “Maybe we could start a private detective agency,” SueAnn suggested eagerly. “I’ve been thinking about this. I think we have a real future here.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Vivian agreed just as enthusiastically.

  “Wait. Slow down,” Jesse said. “I already own part of a tearoom and an antiques shop, plus I take commissions on stained glass art, and now we’re even getting real projects for a garden club we started just to help hide the investigating we were doing. There will be no new businesses started any time soon. At least none involving me.”