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The Wiles of Watermelon (Scents of Murder Book 2)

Page 20

by Lynette Sowell


  “Thank you for giving this to me.” My voice caught in my throat. “I’ll make sure my momma gets the locket. She’ll treasure it.” But Vivian had known it was Aunt Jewel’s that first day when I commented on the locket at Shapers. And she hadn’t said anything. She’d lied when I’d asked her about it, too. That hurt. And now I’d received that cryptic note from Bobby. Not a coincidence. I didn’t understand why she felt she needed to lie and say that Bobby had given her the locket. Bobby might have killed Aunt Jewel, but my heart told me he’d been truthful with me.

  “So you see why I have to go.” She touched a bag of rinds, then pulled her hand back as if she’d touched a hot stove. “Too much sadness has happened in this town. Poor Honey, someone choking her with that watermelon rind. Then Curtis. . .what he did to your aunt. I wished he’d have told me himself. Might have been easier for everyone all around.”

  I wanted to remind her of all the beautiful and joyful things in Greenburg; about fishing on the river, or tubing. Our annual fireworks display and the Christmas light decorating contest. And although sometimes we got things wrong, some of us still strived to make things right. But I couldn’t this time.

  The counter shifted in front of me, and it wasn’t because of an earthquake or a sinkhole under the house.

  Poor Honey, someone choking her with that water- melon rind. . .

  The Dispatch and the television news had never been that specific. Rumor and speculation had circulated about strangulation. But no one had ever mentioned the watermelon rinds.

  Only Jerry knew, plus Ben and me.

  And Honey’s killer.

  While Vivian wept quietly and drank her tea, I tried to figure out what to do. My cell phone was inches away on the counter. What if I called someone? And what if I was wrong and was making an assumption? I’d been wrong about Roland paying Honey blackmail money. Being wrong this time would cause needless pain and embarrassment to a grieving woman.

  “How did you know that?” I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. I should have made an excuse to leave the room and call Jerry or Ben or someone. I could have been discreet. But I had to open my mouth. My hand gripped the knife. If she thought about jumping me, maybe she’d think again if she saw I held a knife. And maybe I was crazy. The knife split the last bit of rind on the cutting board.

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice shook.

  “Vivian.” I turned and faced her, relaxing my grip on the knife. “Did you go out to the restaurant that night, trying to talk some sense into her? Was she the one you thought Bobby was running off to see?”

  “I’m leaving town. Too much has happened. Curtis knew I’d do anything for him.” Vivian stood. “Anything to make her leave us alone, quit bleeding our account every month. Those meetings at night. At this stupid field of all places. He said Honey told him it was far enough from town and served as a good reminder of what they’d both had to live with.”

  My lungs felt like I was trying to breathe through a straw. “We can talk to Jerry, get this sorted out. Before you leave town, of course.” As if he’d let her leave. But I had to get her calm. She looked like a caged animal, starting to pace. The phone lay on the counter, inches from where I worked.

  Vivian came at me like a leopard. My head struck the edge of the sink. White-hot pain. Hands around my throat.

  Not like Honey. I reached for her eyes, the world blackening around me. Jesus. Help me. I scratched. Heard her scream.

  It was enough for her to loosen her grip. Now the room spun. I staggered to my feet. Viselike hands grabbed one of my legs from below, but not before I snatched my phone from the counter.

  I kicked in her direction then slipped on a piece of rind on the floor.

  Vivian was on me again, pulling on my neck. Again I scratched, tried to land another kick. Please work, phone.

  I had Ben on speed dial. Pushed the number with the thumb of my free hand. Pushed the phone away from us. It slid across the floor as it dialed.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” Vivian released her hold on me and sprang for the phone.

  It was my turn to give chase. “Ben! Help me!” I leapt for Vivian and tackled her. Stevie and his junior league football team would be proud.

  A tile floor hurts when you land on it. Hard. The air left Vivian’s lungs—and mine—at the same time. I tried to scream but could only cough while Vivian struggled to reach the phone. She reminded me of the time I’d chased a greased pig when I was a kid.

  Finally, I managed to scream.

  “Shut up!” Vivian kicked at me, but I rolled and she missed.

  “No. You give up, Vivian. Ben’s going to call the police, and they’ll be here in five minutes. Talk to Jerry. You can get a good lawyer.”

  “You should have kept quiet.” Vivian stood, panting. Her cheek had a few scratches from my fingernails. She moved toward me again.

  “I know. But I wanted to be wrong about you, Vivian.” I backpedaled and bumped into the counter. Felt Momma’s old ceramic bowl behind me.

  I grabbed it, watermelon rind flying, and pegged Vivian on the side of her head.

  She crashed to the floor.

  Ben’s arms around me never felt so good as I leaned against him. In spite of a tiny headache and being a tad dizzy, I felt wonderful.

  “When I heard you shouting, I hung up and called Jerry right away.” His breath tickled my ear. “To think you could have ended up like Honey.”

  “I didn’t think Vivian would go berserk.” We watched as an EMT checked Vivian, who’d been handcuffed and put on a stretcher. She probably had her own headache, judging by the goose egg on her noggin.

  “This is all Honey’s fault,” Vivian muttered. “She could have left Curtis alone. But no. It was always about the money. Gabe Davis was a perfect suspect. Even Ben with those pictures. Or that Roland Thacker. Or Gretchen. Or Joe. Now I’ve lost everything. And I just don’t care anymore.”

  Jerry turned after they wheeled her out the door to the ambulance outside. He turned to face me. “I’ll get your statement. But first you need to go to the ER.”

  “I will.”

  Ben’s arms tightened. What a wonderful man, and he was all mine. “I’ll make sure she goes, Jer.”

  “Good. And we’ve got some news for you. Muscle Shoals PD called, and they picked up Curtis Delane trying to buy a bus ticket to LA. They’re extraditing him back here for questioning. We should have enough to hold him for your aunt’s death.”

  “Caught. Wow.” How quickly circumstances changed. We weren’t sure what would happen to the restaurant with Honey’s sister challenging the will. Evidently visions of dollar signs danced in her head. But running a restaurant wasn’t as easy as Gretchen probably thought it was. We decided to leave that part of our future in God’s hands as we watched for new open doors.

  “Thanks for letting us know.” Ben kissed the top of my head.

  The police left after taking some photos of the kitchen, and of me. Evidently my neck had started to bruise. When the house was quiet again, I heaved a sigh.

  “I need to get that locket to momma. Vivian brought it and gave it to me today.” I moved from Ben’s arms and shivered as I approached the table. The golden heart felt warm to my hand. Its chain slid through my fingers.

  Ben shook his head. “First things first. We’ve got to get your head checked. We need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

  “Okay.” The room tilted a bit. “That’s a good idea.”

  “And then when the doctor says you’re fine,” he said as he took me in his arms again, “we need to see about starting that family.”

  My heart sang. “Ben, my love, that’s a very good idea.”

  Up next – The Perils of Peaches

  Check out A Suspicion of Strawberries – book one in Lynette Sowell’s Scents of Murder series.

  Did you enjoy this book? Lynette would be thankful if you left a review! You can also find her on Facebook. You can find more of Lynette's books on her Amazon aut
hor page.

  About the Author

  Lynette Sowell loves to spin adventures for the characters who emerge from story ideas in her head. She desires to take readers on an entertaining journey and hopes they catch a glimpse of God’s truth along the way. Lynette is a Massachusetts transplant who lives in central Texas. She loves to read, travel, spend time with her family, and also tries not to kill her houseplants, although her tropical hibiscus contemplated pressing charges one winter.

 

 

 


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