The Wiles of Watermelon (Scents of Murder Book 2)

by Lynette Sowell

“Yes, we’re both here having lunch. I’m going to put you on speaker phone.”

  “All righty.” His voice filled the room. “I wanted to let y’all know that we have a warrant out for the arrest of Gabe Davis for the murder of Honey Haggerty. We had an anonymous tip that placed him at the scene of the crime. That, and his wife told us he’d admitted to stopping by the restaurant the night Honey was murdered. Plus, you and a roomful of other people witnessed Gabe threaten her.To top it off, we found some physical evidence that he’d been involved in the strug- gle. Skin cells under Honey’s fingernails. Someone spotted his truck in Selmer, so it’s only a matter of time before we locate him and bring him in.”

  Ben and I stared at each other. I found my voice first. “Thanks for letting us know.”

  “Not a problem. Ben, I’ll call you later.” Jerry hung up.

  “Gabe Davis, a murderer.” I shook my head. “And he has so much to lose. His wife adores him, his little girl is a doll. Murder doesn’t make sense. I mean, it never makes sense, but there’s such a thing as self-control. He should have thought of his wife. His child.”

  With a rustle of paper, Ben folded up his empty burger wrapper and tossed it in the trash. He began striding around the small sales floor. “It doesn’t feel right. Honey fired him, but I don’t think Gabe would have killed her. I really don’t. I betcha Jerry has the wrong guy.”

  “What can we do?” I watched him pick up a package of glycerin soap and sniff it.

  “Only one thing to do. We’ve got to find the real killer. ” He returned to the stool next to mine.

  I nodded. “Maybe when the killer hears someone else was arrested, they’ll relax. I still wouldn’t be surprised if Gretchen had something to do with her sister’s death.”

  “What about your aunt’s case? Are you going to try to solve both of them?” Ben frowned. “I don’t see how you’ll have time to work on both.”

  “Whichever I pursue, I have a feeling I’ll find the other killer, too.” More was at stake than a hometown restaurant. I knew that God would take care of us, whatever happened to Honey’s Place. But the fact that two people had been murdered, two one-time friends. . . I had to find the connection.

  Chapter Twelve

  People usually heard Junker Joe Toms coming before they saw him. At Honey’s small graveside service, he’d shown up thirty minutes late, his rust bucket of a truck chugging and snorting and spewing a smoky cloud from the tailpipe. Joe’s truck looked bad and ran worse, and it was a wonder the vehicle ever passed inspection.

  At the funeral, he’d been well-lubricated with his favorite brew and said nothing to us. Today he was the next stop in my search for Bobby Johnson. Joe and Honey had a curious relationship, and I never understood why they didn’t just get married.

  I pulled my Jeep up to Joe’s storefront, which was actually the front of his house on a quiet side street near downtown. It looked like a perpetual yard sale. If you weren’t careful, you might get lost in the maze of yard ornaments and old farm equipment. Somehow he’d gotten his property zoned commercial, and as long as he kept price tags on the stuff, nobody could complain about his yard. That, and no one wanted to see a flash of Honey’s wrath if they complained.

  A handpainted sign, JJ’s Junk, didn’t seem necessary. The place was self-explanatory. I approached the chainlink gate to the front yard, realizing in all my years of growing up in Greenburg, I’d never crossed the threshold of Junker Joe’s.

  The hinges complained as I entered the yard. Somewhere inside, a dog barked. Guitar music filtered to the screened-in front porch. The front windows were open, and a box fan roared in one of the openings that happened to lack a screen. I placed one foot on the front step. The guitar music stopped.

  “About time you came by,” a crusty voice said from inside the house. “C’mon in and get a sodie.”

  I entered the porch where Junker Joe had a desk set up and shelves along every wall. Wherever there wasn’t a window, the shelves stretched to the ceiling. “Hi, Mr. Toms.”

  “Go ahead and call me Joe. I don’t mind none.” Joe came onto the porch. He wore the same plaid shirt he’d had on the day of the funeral. Once I really looked at him, I realized he was no more than fifteen years older than I was. Years of hard living had etched a map across his face, noticeable despite the shadow of beard. That was unusual. He’d shaved his customary hairy face for Honey’s funeral. I imagine she’d have flipped if she knew. On more than one occasion I’d seen her tug on his beard before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Now it looked like Junker Joe was trying to get the beard back.

  “Okay, Joe.” I glanced at a shelf. Did I need an old waffle iron? Still in its original box, a bargain at five bucks. A film of dust on the cover begged me to run a finger across the surface. Momma would be running around with a dust rag and throwing all the boxes and old magazines in the trash. “So, how are you doing since. . .”

  “Been holding up.” He gave a solemn nod. “It ain’t the same without her around here. Too quiet. I ain’t had a good shoutin’ match in too long.”

  “It definitely hasn’t been the same. We’ve been scrambling at the restaurant. Or, I should say, Ben has.”

  “I told Honey she was full of stale pork rinds, will- ing that whole thing to y’all. Your man don’t have the experience for running a place like that. No offense.”

  “None taken. I was totally surprised when the lawyer read her will.” A potential sneeze tickled my nose. “Owning a restaurant sure wasn’t in our plans. If it’s any consolation, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop to see if her sister contests the will. But as far as I know they haven’t spoken in years.” I regretted the words as soon as they came out. Who knew if Joe would run and say anything to Honey’s family?

  “You know, Honey was closer to me than to her own family. I been around her longer than you and your truck-driver cook.”

  I shivered. “You’re right. I agree. You were closer to her. You knew her better than anyone, probably. And that’s why I came. I’m trying to find Bobby Johnson. He and my aunt—”

  “I know. They ran around with Honey. We all did. No more than kids, really, who thought they knew everything.” Joe rubbed his chin. “And Honey thought the world of your family. Didn’t want to cause you pain.”

  “Ironic.” I found a chair covered with stacks of Popular Mechanic magazines on sale, twelve for three dollars, stacked the magazines on a nearby box, and took the seat I’d cleared for myself. “With her will, she left a note for us. She mentioned making up for what she’d done. Do you know what she was talking about?”

  Joe nodded. “It’s time for me to show you what Honey left for you.” He shifted to stand, joints popping for one so relatively young. “Be right back. Get you a sodie from out o’ the cooler.”

  Joe disappeared into the main part of the house, and I spied a cooler next to his desk. I found a can of diet cola floating among other cans in the melting ice.

  A fly buzzed at the top of one of the windows. I watched it struggle against the glass. The outside and freedom lay beyond the pane, just like my answers lay at the other side of what I could see. Just give me a bread crumb for a few more steps on this trail.

  “Here we go.” Joe reemerged from his house. “Honey gave this to me a long, long time ago. She knew nobody would find it here, and she trusted me with it.” He handed me a vinyl suitcase, a shiny light beige that had once been white, covered with large neon flowers. “People want to protect the ones they love. She didn’t want any questions popping up. Even if someone found the suitcase way back when, oh. . . what a mess for a lot of people. That and your papaw, full of fire ’n’ brimstone and all of God’s wrath.”

  I placed the soda on a nearby shelf and checked the suitcase’s tag. But I didn’t need to. Once upon a time, I’d seen its cousin, a larger suitcase, in my grandparents’ closet. “Aunt Jewel’s. When did Honey give this to you?”

  “Almost thirty years ago.”

  “Honey knew Aun
t Jewel was leaving.” I sank back onto the empty chair. “All those years.”

  Joe took his place behind his desk. He might have worn a tailored suit, the way he situated himself in his chair. “I wasn’t goin’ to say anythin’, and she made me promise not to. I shoulda married her when she asked. Maybe none of this would have ever happened.”

  “What? She asked you to marry her?”

  “Impossible to wrap your mind around that one? Believe me, I know.” He shrugged then grabbed a flyswatter. He leapt to his feet and whacked the pesky fly in the window. “Take that, ya booger!”

  His sudden action made me jump. “But you didn’t get married.”

  “No. She changed her mind after Jewel disappeared. Wouldn’t tell me where she got the suitcase, either. I wonder if anyone else knew about it. . .”

  “And killed Honey for it?” I set the suitcase down as if germs coated it. They probably did, and I didn’t care to think about that. “But why? Who would kill Honey because of a suitcase? Especially if it’s been here for thirty years. I’m trying to find Bobby Johnson. I bet he’d know.”

  “Bobby left when Honey went away and won big at the casinos. Same weekend. You remember times like that.” Joe sighed and reached for a cigarette and lighter and tugged an empty coffee can toward him. I couldn’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke, but on the other hand, I couldn’t leave without hearing everything Joe had to say. “Honey came back, guns blazin’, but Bobby didn’t. We thought Jewel left with him.”

  “We all did. Joe, I already know about Jewel not leaving. She’s been in the watermelon field for years. But what is it I don’t know?”

  “Just take the case and go. I didn’t want anyone to find out about it and come after me.” Joe blew a smoke ring then waved as if to send me off.

  “Thanks for telling me about this.” I think. “I’m going to turn the suitcase over to the police.” Time to leave the smoke-filled junk room. But I didn’t agree with Joe. Now that Jewel’s body had been found, the fact that she hadn’t left made the suitcase a non issue. At least it was to me. No one would be coming after Joe.

  “They got the wrong guy, you know.” Joe’s words made me stop my trek to the door. “I don’t want to say anythin’ much since you’re rubbin’ shoulders with that crowd. But Roland and Honey. . .”

  “I know about them. But I understood that was a long time ago.”

  “You don’t know about her ads in the paper, do you?”

  “What ads?”

  “It had to do with money. Had to. The green stuff really turned Honey into a wildcat. If she could get it, she would. Spent it, too. That customized Harley of hers wasn’t cheap.” A gleam entered his eye, which gave me a thought.

  If the will said anything about her Harley coming to us (which I definitely didn’t want, and Ben had better not want, either), and no one contested the will, I’d talk to Ben about giving the motorcycle to Joe. Ben wasn’t into motorcycles, anyway. At least I didn’t think so. Or he’d better not be.

  Joe opened his mouth, and his phone shrilled. Before he answered it, he looked at me. “Go. Now. I’m not telling you anythin’ more.”

  Fine. All I wanted to do was leave. I knew I should take the suitcase directly to Jerry, but I wasn’t going to just yet. I was going to Momma’s instead. She and Diana and I needed to look at the contents. I wasn’t about to do it without them. A finger of doubt niggled my mind, but I wasn’t about to let Jerry be the first one to see some of the last things my dead aunt had ever touched.

  “I’m so glad I have the afternoon off.” Di sat across from me at Momma’s kitchen table. “I would’ve been mad if you’d done this without me.”

  Chances were, the suitcase and its contents would vanish again, this time relegated to an evidence locker and not a junk store. I promised myself to be very careful as I examined its contents. Aunt Jewel had packed this little suitcase with hope, expectancy, and love. Had she sung a song in her heart as she made plans to start her life with Bobby? She loved him enough to at least consider leaving her whole life in Greenburg behind her.

  “Well, get on with it then.” Momma stood by the stove and looked at the suitcase as if it were a wild animal that had crawled up onto the table to attack her.

  “Okay.” I pulled on a pair of Momma’s disposable stretchy gloves that she used when she touched up her roots. “I realize this could be evidence. But I want us to see it before turning it in to Jerry. Di, do you have the camera ready?”

  Di waved the camera in front of me. “Got it.”

  The metal zipper glided easily around the edge of the suitcase. When I lifted the top, a musty smell drifted up. I didn’t have to look at Momma to know she was crying. A lump swelled in my throat. Aunt Jewel had probably been the last person to zip this case closed. I fought to speak around the lump. “Okay, here’s some clothes. She was so little. These are genuine vintage now. Rags Fifth Avenue downtown would sell these for big bucks. A cosmetic bag.” The camera flashed.

  Di leaned over the case. “Unzip the bag so I can get a good shot.”

  “Back up.” I touched Di’s shoulder. “Don’t you watch CSI? Not completely realistic, I know, but you might contaminate this with stray hairs.”

  “As if it’s not contaminated already.”

  Jerry was going to be angry that I hadn’t brought the suitcase to his office straightaway. But I couldn’t do that to Momma.

  The cosmetic bag contained a bottle of perfume, a Cover Girl compact, remarkably still intact, some mascara, several tubes of lipstick, and a bottle of red- hot nail polish.

  “I can smell her perfume.” Momma clutched her throat. “Sweet Honesty. Avon.” Then we found a simple white cotton dress with a longish skirt, something a young woman might wear to elope.

  “We don’t have to do this.” I paused, clutching a lime green polyester blouse with one hand. Aunt Jewel had worn this blouse and loved it enough to want to take it with her.

  “No. We need to see if there’s a locket in there. Daddy had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday. I don’t want anything else.” Momma slipped from the kitchen and returned with a photo album. She ran her hands over the cover. “We took some pictures her last day with us. Didn’t realize then it would be the last time we’d see her. But here’s pictures of the locket.”

  Di and I hovered over the album and looked at the pictures. Jewel grinned as she held a velvet box open toward the camera. Inside was an elegant heart with a filigree swirl on the front.

  “See the next picture? The locket opens into four sections. My momma had put pictures in there. For when Jewel went away to college one day.” Momma looked lost in memories, so we let her talk. “No wedding for her to that good-fer-nothin’, at least where our daddy was concerned. She was supposed to go to college and ‘make something of herself.’ ”

  “I meant to tell you, when I visited Papaw the other day and Jerry questioned him, Papaw said something about a locket. He. . .thought I was Jewel and demanded to know why I’d lost it. ” Underneath the blouse, I found a pair of striped polyester pants with thirty-year-old creases. “Do you recall if there are any hidden pockets in the suitcase? Somewhere she might have hidden something valuable.”

  “I don’t know. It’s been years.” Momma came closer as Di snapped a picture of the pants.

  “Unless she was wearing the locket when. . .” I wiped my forehead with my sleeve. “But then Jerry didn’t say if they found a locket in the field.”

  “I sure hope it’s in here.” Momma looked hopeful. “Maybe Jerry would let me keep it if it’s not vital to the investigation.”

  “Hang on, I think I’ve found something. Part of the lining is cut. There’s something stuck inside.” Even through the glove, I could feel paper. A flat bundle of—

  “Twenty-dollar bills.” I let the banded packet of bills fall onto the folded blouse.

  Di’s voice came out in a squeak. “That’s got to be a thousand dollars. We band them like that at the bank.”
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br />   “I think we’re finished here.” I looked at Momma and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “We need to call Jerry right now.”

  Jerry’s face flamed. Other than that, he looked like he normally did. Although, when I looked closer, I saw that he’d styled his hair to tame his unruly curls. Had the man discovered hair gel? “Andromeda Hartley, you should have brought this to me right away.” He reminded me of a giant teddy bear scolding and trying to look stern. “You could have jeopardized this entire case.”

  “I was careful. I used gloves. And everything’s here. You know it’s all going to sit in an evidence room somewhere until someone gets around to looking at it. Priorities and case loads and all that. You know that you are all overworked, underpaid, and the trail of Honey’s killer is a lot fresher. I figured it wouldn’t hurt if I tried checking things out myself, especially since y’all are busy with Honey’s case.” I glanced at the desk. Jerry had a chef salad instead of his usual double- decker brute burger. Strange.

  “Jewel’s case is an ongoing investigation. The DA doesn’t care if it’s thirty years old or not.” Jerry paced his office, walked to the window overlooking the police station’s back parking lot, and then turned to face me.

  “I know that.” I rubbed my forehead, and tears burned my eyes. “But just think of where that suitcase has been for thirty years. In a junk store, getting plenty contaminated. I didn’t think too hard about what we were doing. Not at first.” I sank onto an empty chair across from Jerry’s desk. Trouble. I’d found it. I should have gone with my head instead of my heart, bypassed Momma’s, and come straight here. “But please understand. I did it for Momma. That suitcase is the only link she has to her sister, and I wanted her to see it before it. . .before it disappeared or something.”

  “What am I supposed to do with you, Andi Hartley?” Another set of stalking steps brought Jerry back to his desk. His chair complained when he sat down. “Do you have so little confidence in us that we can’t do our jobs?”