The Wiles of Watermelon (Scents of Murder Book 2)

by Lynette Sowell

“Travis Bush.”

  “He must be Fleta’s kin. Her daughter married one of the Bush boys from Savannah.” Jerry scratched his chin then tugged at his belt loop. “I’ll talk to her. We put a little pressure on him, he won’t overstep.”

  We all made our way to our separate vehicles. The guys walked ahead of Di and me, while the two of us walked arm in arm along the narrow drive.

  “I can’t believe y’all are leaving in two weeks.” I tried not to sound droopy.

  “Stop. I don’t want to cry.” Di squeezed my arm. “The bank agreed to my job transfer, did I tell you?”

  “No.” I struggled to find the right words. “Life is all about change. You said parenting is about letting go. I realized by hangin’ onto that quest for Bobby Johnson, part of me was trying to hang onto Aunt Jewel. But she’s not here anymore. I’d like to think she’s with Jesus.”

  “Me, too. We’ll find out one day, won’t we?”

  “I know we will.” Maybe with Aunt Jewel reconsidering about leaving Greenburg, she’d made her peace with God and knew running off with Bobby would have been a mistake.

  We reached our vehicles that made a winding line along the driveway. I froze when I reached the door of our truck.

  The other vehicle remained downhill from us, the driver still leaning against the door. If the visitor’s interest lay closer to his car, he wouldn’t be staring up the gentle hill at us. Not for so long. If he were any other resident of Greenburg, he’d have joined the group, even if he had come out of curiosity and not because of our family. Bobby?

  I gave a small wave. The driver raised his hand almost like a salute, and then climbed into his vehicle and drove away. Blue car. Not much that stood out about it. I figured I should start carrying Ben’s binoculars with me. Whoever it was had worn a ball cap—I couldn’t tell if it was black or dark blue—a simple T-shirt, and blue jeans. He could have been any of a number of men in the area.

  Bobby Johnson, I just don’t know if I can leave you alone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “The bank just called,” Ben’s voice came across the phone, and the tone of his voice made me sit down at my work desk Friday morning. “Those bags we found? Well, their numbers matched the ones counted missing after the bank robbery in Selmer. Thirty years ago.”

  “We need to talk to Jerry, if the bank hasn’t called him already.”

  “I don’t know that this would be in the Greenburg PD’s hands, especially the amount of money stolen. But he’d sure be able to tell us what happens next.”

  “How much was stolen in the robbery?”

  “Over two hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Honey and Bobby. It’s got to be them. But the whole town knows and believes the story about Honey winning at the casinos in Bossier City years ago, and opening the restaurant. If Bobby helped her, that explains how that money ended up in Aunt Jewel’s suitcase.”

  “We can talk to Jerry about all of that.”

  Jerry met us at the restaurant, and the three of us had lunch in Ben’s office. Ben said we didn’t want to draw attention to our conversation by eating in the main dining room, although the Greenburg Dispatch would probably hunt down the story. And the nice cub reporter who sold me the classified ads would find himself possessing a wonderful opportunity to snag a front-page scoop. I don’t know if that would help the investigation of Honey’s killer or hinder it.

  We told Jerry about finding the bank bags and turning them over to the bank, plus reminded him about the cash in Aunt Jewel’s suitcase.

  “I heard from the bank about the bags,” Jerry said around a mouthful of his grilled chicken sandwich. Not fried. The guy definitely was eating healthier than I’d ever seen him eat. I’d have to point that out to Ben, who probably didn’t notice at all.

  I took a sip of iced tea. “I wanted to have some evidence for you. The trail of Aunt Jewel’s killer was pretty stale. And Honey’s fresher case had priority. But we’re pretty sure that Bobby’s somewhere in the local area. Maybe he’s got an alias or he lives off the grid. You know. Pays cash. No accounts in his name.”

  “Could be.” Jerry scratched his chin. “I’m not involved in the bank matter now. The Selmer bank is in McNairy County, and we’re in Hardin County.”

  “Jerry, I think you arrested the wrong guy. Gabe’s no murderer.”

  “Oh, so you know Gabe? Well enough to know about his flimsy alibi?” Jerry’s neck hairs bristled. Or that’s what it looked like, anyway. “We have evidence that he was there that night.”

  “No, I don’t know him,” I said. “But a young married man with a little girl isn’t going to throw his life away by killing someone. Gabe’s a survivor. He was workin’ two jobs when Honey fired him. That much I do know. Right, Ben?” I glanced at my husband. He’d already cleared through his burger and was working on the fries.

  “You’re right.”

  “Could you please say that again?”

  “You’re right.” Ben winked at me.

  I sighed and looked at Jerry. “I love it when that happens. But seriously, what’s happened to Gabe? Where is he now?”

  “He’s at the county lockup. He’s waiting for arraignment and then probably a trial date if the DA gets his way.”

  “Where’s his family?” I thought of Maryann and Zoë.

  Jerry ate the last bite of his sandwich. “They’re with her relatives. I’m sorry her husband wasn’t just a hardworking guy whose employer did him wrong. You know as well as I do that revenge can cause the nicest people to do the unthinkable.”

  He had a point there, and I couldn’t argue with him. I well remembered the morning in the restaurant when Gabe had literally stormed in and we’d been afraid he had a gun. Still, I didn’t like the idea of Gabe being a murderer. I preferred to think of him as a desperate young man trying to take care of his family.

  “Do you have enough to arrest Bobby Johnson, should you find him?” Ben asked.

  “From what you’ve told us, we have enough to question him about Honey, especially given their history. Blackmail would be hard to prove, but if she was draggin’ out the past, that would incriminate her, too.” A loud clatter echoed from the kitchen outside, and Jerry jerked his head toward the door. “Especially if Honey knew he killed Jewel and helped him bury the body in the field. If he’s as remorseful as you said he sounded, he might confess.”

  “What are you doing?” A stern voice sounded from the kitchen area. “Only employees can come back here.”

  Ben stood. “That’s Jonas. I’d better check it out.”

  Honey’s Place has always been a home-style restaurant, but that didn’t mean people could just make themselves at home.

  “So, Jerry, about Gabe—”

  “Look who Jonas found listening outside the door.” Ben herded a familiar-looking lanky young man into the office.

  “You work for the Dispatch.” I pointed at him. “Why didn’t you just knock on the office door and ask to talk to us? Or call for an interview?” The reporter shrank from my glare. Maybe the “momma look” came naturally. My momma would be proud something maternal rubbed off on me.

  “Because he knows I’m not going to give out details of an investigation with him right here.” Jerry got to his feet, and the room seemed a lot smaller with the two men staring at the reporter. The kid fumbled with his pen and notepad, licked his lips, and I imagine he wondered how fast the other two men could run.

  A thought smacked me in the forehead. “I know why you’re sniffing around. You knew I took those ads out, Honey’s old ads. And you knew she’d been murdered. So you thought you’d trail along to see what else you could learn.” I should have known that the eager glint in his eyes when I’d seen him at the newspaper office meant he craved a story. I’d figured he’d given up on the idea. But now, to find him lurking around and skulking in corners? He could do better than that.

  The young man bobbed his head. He must have had his hair trimmed, because it didn’t flop into his eyes like
it did when I was at the newspaper. “There’s a big story here somewhere. It could put Greenburg on the map. A thirty-year-old murder. A new victim, the owner of Greenburg’s best restaurant. A tortured lost love who’s out there, somewhere, living with his guilt.”

  “And it could boost your career, too.” Jerry had a pretty decent glare of his own.

  “I’m tired of getting kicked over to the classifieds desk when the paper needs help. I went to the state college, got a journalism degree, and I’ve got student loans to repay. So far I haven’t heard from any of the larger papers about a job.” The young man shrugged. “Can you blame me for trying to get noticed?”

  “What was your name again?” Jerry asked.

  “Travis Bush.”

  “Oh, you’re Fleta’s grandson. Let me think about this. You’ve found the human interest angle to this case, and I can’t say it ain’t interestin’.” Jerry took his seat again.

  “You can interview my momma.” I couldn’t believe I’d just opened my mouth and heard those words come out. “And, um. . .maybe the man we’re looking for will read it, and. . .”

  “Have a change of heart? Come clean?” Jerry shrugged. “It might work. But I’m not sharing any details of the case. Check your own news archives, Travis. The facts of the case haven’t changed. So don’t think you can drag any new details out of the police. And I’m not sayin’ there’s a connection between Jewel Kincaid’s murder and Harriet Haggerty.”

  “Bobby seemed really sorry that night he showed up at the watermelon field and talked to me.” At that, Travis’s head perked up like a hound catching a scent, and he looked at me.

  “Sorry he got caught was probably more like it,” said Ben.

  “Believe it or not, I do want to help. And not just to get a good story.” Travis smiled. He brushed some imaginary wayward hair out of his eyes. “But because it’s the right thing to do. I liked Honey Haggerty. I liked her pies, too.”

  I wanted to believe him despite his overeager manner. “You sound convincing. But part of this is my family’s story. I could give you my momma’s phone number.”

  Jerry cleared his throat. “I’d like to see that story before you run it.”

  “I’m not going to blow your investigation or any- thing. All I ask is one thing.” What a charmer. I bet the girls nearly fell into his blue eyes. Too bad they wouldn’t work on Jerry.

  “What’s that?” Jerry remained as impassive as a rock.

  “Release Gabe Davis.” Travis flashed a grin.

  At that, Jerry let loose with a chuckle. “You might be Fleta’s grandson, but you’ve got a lot to learn about the law. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t release him. It’s out of my hands. I can present everything we’ve talked about to the DA, but I can’t go up to County Jail and turn the key.”

  “When I write this story, Mrs. Hartley, I promise you I’ll do right by your family.”

  “I’ll let you tell that to my momma.” I started to write her number down then stopped. “Let me call her first and explain. She wanted me to drop my search for Bobby.”

  “Okay. You know where to find me.” At that, Travis left the way he’d come. We all looked at each other.

  “I have to check on the kitchen.” Ben glanced through the doorway Travis had just crossed through.

  “And I need to get back to the store. Plus call Momma.”

  Ben gave me a quick kiss then nodded at Jerry. “Come on by the house sometime. Don’t be a stranger.”

  “Aw, I’d only be in the way.”

  “Really, Jerry, we should make plans to have you come for dinner. I promise I won’t burn anything. This time,” I said. “Before you know it, Thanksgiving will be here.” And Di would have already moved away. . .

  “Let me know if or when Travis interviews your momma.”

  “I will. Do you think it’ll do any good?” I tried not to hope.

  “It might. Sort of like Crime Stoppers. But not exactly. We can’t afford to give a reward or anything. And for the moment, we have someone in jail for one of the crimes.” Jerry picked up his lunch wrapper and tossed it in a trash can.

  We entered the bustle of the kitchen and tried to keep out of the way. Ben orchestrated the kitchen symphony. Jonas was back at his spot as prep cook. Esther seated customers. She nodded at me as I left. Now I had to break the news to Momma that Aunt Jewel’s story wasn’t through being told. Maybe it would make up for the news of her disappearance being shuffled away so long ago.

  One thing bothered me about the search for Honey’s killer: If Gabe Davis didn’t kill her, and Bobby Johnson didn’t kill her, then who did?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “It’s a beautiful article.” I tried not to get any tears on the newspaper. Travis Bush had done better than I’d expected. Momma agreed to talk to him about Jewel, and I think it did her some good that someone besides family wanted to know about her. Not that she was in any hurry to find Bobby. The idea that Jewel’s story was told at last brought Momma some comfort, I think.

  Ben handed me a tissue. A beautiful Saturday morn- ing, and a rare occasion with Ben not working. We slept in like newlyweds, ate breakfast in bed. Labor Day was coming, and before that, Di and Steve’s move to Jackson.

  In a few hours I’d head to her place to help her with her yard sale. But this time was just for Ben and me.

  “I wonder if Momma bought enough copies to give to the family.” I scanned one of the paragraphs. “Thirty years ago, a bank robbery. And the bank bags finally turned up, confirming what the Kincaids had suspected all along: Jewel Kincaid did not leave Greenburg without a word to her beloved family. Instead, she lay buried in a field for those three decades, and some of the stolen money remained tucked inside her suitcase, hidden in a junk shop. Then, several weeks ago, Honey Haggerty was murdered in her restaurant. Her alleged killer waits in County Jail for his arraignment. Here’s where you come in. The Greenburg Police Department is seeking a mutual friend of Honey’s and Jewel’s, a Mr. Robert Johnson, known as Bobby. They believe he has information vital to both cases. And then it ends with a plea if anyone knows of Bobby’s whereabouts, to contact the Greenburg PD.”

  “I wonder if they’ve gotten any calls yet.” Ben yawned and stretched. “So this is what sleeping in feels like.”

  “Makes me feel lazy, too. Why did I ever get into retail? Don’t get me wrong. I love making soap. The scents, getting the temperatures right. Did you know, lavender really is soothing?” A mew sounded by my feet. Spot, offended that Ben’s stretching had disrupted her morning nap. “But the hours. So many things come up and I have to close. I’m grateful for the Internet orders.”

  “You can always close on weekends. Or stay open half a day on Saturdays. Or hire someone else part-time with Sadie heading back to Nashville. Or better yet, expand your Web store and change to strictly online shopping.”

  “I could do that.” Scaling back the store wasn’t like quitting. Or was it? I reached for another drink of my coffee.

  “Plus, once we start a family, you’ll want to be able to get away more easily.”

  “True.”

  Suddenly I had the fidgets. I wasn’t due at Di’s house for two more hours. Shapers. That’s where I’d go. I needed to work out and think.

  Ben was attempting to read the paper but kept nodding and blinking away sleep. “What? Where are you going?”

  I found some clean shorts and a T-shirt. “Shapers. I need to get in a workout before I go to Di’s and sit around for the afternoon. Get in better shape.”

  “Your shape looks fine to me.”

  “Very cute.” I tossed my nightshirt in the laundry basket. “Gravity has more of an effect once a woman hits thirty-five.”

  “Go ahead and have your workout. Just gravitate to me before you leave, darlin’.”

  The Saturday streets of Greenburg seemed less crowded than usual. Everyone else was probably sleeping in, too. When I entered Shapers, Vivian Delane waited behind the reception desk, leaning on t
he counter and drawing on a note pad. The customary peppy music wasn’t playing through the speakers. A fluorescent light buzzed somewhere.

  Vivian’s normally flawless complexion didn’t have its usual texture today. Another crisis must have presented itself. I immediately scolded myself for the thought. She needed a listening ear and didn’t deserve my disdain. How many times had I gone out without makeup because of being preoccupied with something else? Especially after the kitchen tile war, as Ben and I called it when we haggled back and forth on which shade of ceramic to install.

  “Good morning.” I shifted my exercise bag from my shoulder. “Thought I’d stop by for a quick round on the machines. Maybe try some of that kickboxing, too.”

  Her whisper of a smile didn’t reach her sad eyes. “You’re the first one who’s come in today. I probably shouldn’t have opened, but I know routines help us when we’re going through tough times.” She glanced away from me.

  “What’s wrong? Is it Curtis again?” I touched her arm.

  Vivian nodded. A tear streaked down her cheek. “We. . .we had a big fight. It’s over. He left me.”

  As she straightened to her full height, something shiny near her throat caught the reflected sunlight outside and made me blink—a golden heart locket with a filigree engraving on its front.

  “What a beautiful necklace.” I tried not to gulp for air. “Is that vintage?” Part of me knew there were probably hundreds, if not thousands, of heart lockets with filigree swirls on the front, just like Aunt Jewel’s. Part of me wondered at another possibility. Yeah, right. Like I’d call Jerry every time I saw a golden locket. It’s like when you get a new car, and you start noticing everyone else who drives the same model and the same color.

  Vivian nodded and ran a finger over the golden heart. “I usually don’t wear jewelry this dainty to the gym. I’m always afraid I’ll break it.”

  “Where. . .where did you get it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Curtis bought it from an antiques shop. I’d seen it at a shop over in Adamsville. So he went back, got it for me, and surprised me.”