Down Home and Deadly

by Christine Lynxwiler

  “Riiight.” He drew out the word and shook his head. “And you think she’d just confess to you if she did it?” He looked at his watch. “I guess Bob has convinced you that she’s being framed?”

  “I believe she is being framed. If she’d used her gun, she’d have taken it back home with her and gotten rid of it. And why would she put a bloody towel under her seat?”

  He flinched.

  “Everybody knows about that. I heard it at the diner.”

  He nodded. “Small towns.”

  “And like I said, she didn’t know about Debbie and J.D., so you don’t have motive.”

  He tapped his watch as if maybe it had stopped. “Look, I feel sorry for her parents just like you do, but I can’t let a murderer go free because I feel sorry for her family.”

  “You’re making a mistake if you charge her with murder.”

  “And you’re making a mistake if you continue to try to tell me how to do my job.” His voice rose. “But, for your information, I haven’t officially charged her. Yet.” Another glance at his watch. “Your time is up.”

  Bob and Wilma were still sitting exactly as they had been when I first walked in. The only difference was the unopened bottle of water each held.

  I sank into the empty chair beside Wilma and put my arm around her but could find no comforting words. The two of them were silent as the grave. I cleared my throat. “Did Lisa give them her alibi?” I hated to pry, but both John and Seth had mentioned that it wouldn’t hold up.

  “Yes.” Bob closed his mouth on that one word. Okay, this was weird. He had been so forthcoming before. Now suddenly he clammed up?

  “And the police didn’t believe her?” I was fishing for information.

  “They believed her. They just said she had time to drive by and shoot J.D. first.” He looked down at the floor. “Thanks so much for coming by, Jenna. Lisa’s lawyer is here now, and I guess there’s nothing you can do.” He looked at Wilma. “Except take Wilma home for me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m staying with you.”

  “No, honey, go on home. You’ll need to get some rest so you can help us tomorrow.” He gently took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Please go home. I don’t want to have to worry about both my girls.”

  Still clutching her water, Wilma kissed him on the cheek. “Okay. But call me if you know anything. No matter what time it is.”

  *****

  After I walked Wilma in and was pulling out of her driveway, my phone rang. I flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Jen?” Carly’s voice trembled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She laughed. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You sound like you’ve been crying.”

  “Happy tears this time.”

  “Oh?” I slapped the steering wheel with one hand. “Spill it, Sister.”

  “Elliott asked me to marry him. And I said yes!”

  “Carly, that’s fantastic.” I forced myself not to ask any questions about the Travis situation. If they’d worked it out, that’s what mattered.

  “Jenna, he took me out to eat, and after dessert he got down on one knee.” She laughed again. “You should see the ring. It’s perfect!”

  Tears pricked at my eyes. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Then he told me that if I chose not to tell the kids about Travis, he would respect that, because he wasn’t going to throw away our happiness by being stubborn.”

  “I knew my future brother-in-law was a great guy.”

  “He’s a wise man, too,” she said softly. “I’ve been praying hard about it, and I’ve decided to tell them. And Mama and Daddy.”

  “Oh, Carly. . .” Relief coursed through me. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, but I want more than your admiration. I want your support.”

  I turned my signal on and negotiated the turn into my driveway. “Name the time and place. I don’t have to go into the gym until three tomorrow. And if I need to, I can get someone to cover for me.”

  “Tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

  I killed the motor. “At the diner?” Strange place for a family meeting.

  She laughed. “Since Alice and Harvey only have a couple more days, I’m letting them handle the Saturday morning crowd alone. I’m cooking at my place.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to pick up some bacon biscuits?”

  “Cooking will help me stay calm. Just come hungry.”

  *****

  The next morning when I got to Carly’s cabin, she met me at the kitchen door.

  “Calm yet?” I murmured as I wiped flour from her face.

  She wrinkled her nose at me. “I’m glad you’re here. I can’t decide whether to tell them about the engagement after I tell them the other or not.”

  “Why don’t you just play it by ear? Is Elliott coming?”

  She shook her head. “He thought the kids—especially Zac—would be able to show their true feelings better if he wasn’t here.”

  “He’s probably right.” Zac had been ten when his dad left, and even though he seemed to be crazy about Elliott, he’d need time to grieve.

  “The twins will be—”

  A knock on the door sounded in the middle of Carly’s sentence.

  “—fine,” she said as she went to let Mama and Daddy in.

  Mama held out a glass bottle of orange juice. “Fresh squeezed,” she said and hugged Carly.

  “She squeezed it herself,” Daddy assured us.

  I stared from Mama to Carly. “Why didn’t I get any of those genes?”

  “No one wants a carbon copy of themselves, dear,” Mama said. “You’re unique.” She started pulling glasses from the cabinet for the orange juice. “Speaking of which, are y’all going to Tiffany’s shower this afternoon?”

  “Yes,” I said. “We both are.” Carly had protested, but I’d insisted.

  “Want me to pick you up?” Carly asked her.

  “Sure.”

  “Jenna?”

  “I need to go on to the club to work after the shower, so I’ll take my own car.”

  The twins came bounding in. “Is breakfast ready?”

  Carly nodded. “Go get your brother and go to the table.”

  Forty-five minutes later, we’d all finished our bacon, sausage, eggs, and homemade biscuits. Zac pushed back from the table. “I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m supposed to meet the guys at the basketball court.”

  Carly held up her hand and laid her napkin down. “Not yet. Let’s all go in the living room.” She stood.

  Zac frowned. “Why?”

  “Just because,” she said softly.

  “Don’t you want us to clean off the table first?” Rachel asked.

  “No,” Carly said. “We’ll do it later.”

  “Uh-oh,” I heard Hayley whisper as we made our way into the other room. “It must be something bad.”

  In the living room, the twins sank to the floor with their backs against the paneled wall. Zac slumped spinelessly in an overstuffed chair. I sat beside Mama and Daddy on the sofa.

  Carly stood in front of the blank TV and faced us. She gave a nervous half laugh. “I know now why people start off by saying, ‘There’s no easy way to say this.’ Because there’s really not.”

  Daddy put his arm around Mama and gave Carly a gentle smile. “Honey, bad news usually goes better quickly. If it’s good, then you can drag it out.”

  She stared at him as if absorbing his words. “Okay then.” She looked at the kids. “It’s about your dad, Travis.”

  The twins looked mildly curious, but Zac snapped to attention. I heard an indrawn breath from Mama. Daddy tightened his arm around her shoulders.

  “What about him?” Zac’s voice was as brittle as ice, his face expressionless.

  Carly looked one more time at Daddy as if weighing his advice, then looked back at Zac. “He’s dead, honey.”

  Zac’s stern demeanor melted. His eyes widened, and he looked like he was going
to be sick. “When did he die?”

  “Four years ago.”

  Zac recoiled, and I could see him doing the math, calculating where he was and how old he’d been when his dad died. “How?”

  Carly hesitated, and I could tell by the rapid blinking that she was fighting tears.

  “We have a right to know,” Zac said harshly.

  I glanced at the twins. They were quiet, but their expressions were more curious than upset.

  Carly’s brows drew together. “You don’t have to demand information, Zac. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “That’ll be a switch,” he muttered.

  “Zac. I just found this out.”

  “They didn’t notify you when he died?” he said in a disbelieving tone.

  Carly shook her head. “I hired a private investigator a few weeks ago to try to find him. And this is what he found out.” Her voice quivered.

  Zac pulled a pillow off the floor and clutched it to his chest. “So how did he die?”

  “He was shot in a little border town in Mexico,” Carly said.

  I could see Zac’s brain working. He really is an intelligent young man. A variety of emotions flitted across his face.

  “Shot? Was he into drugs? Or something else illegal?” His voice was thin.

  “Honey, we don’t know what happened. Just that he was found in a seedy part of town and had been seen with a known dealer. I’m sorry.”

  Zac shrugged. “Does Elliott know?”

  Carly shot me a look of panic.

  “Why?” I asked.

  Zac’s mouth was a straight, tight line. Finally, he spoke. “I just figured if he found out that was the kind of dad we had, he might not want anything to do with us.”

  Carly put her hand to her mouth. The tears she’d been fighting filled her eyes. “Zac, Elliott loves you.”

  “And us,” Rachel said firmly.

  “And you girls, too,” Carly agreed. “And he knows that no one is all good or all bad.”

  “Remember that story I used to tell y’all?” Daddy spoke up. “How there are two wolves inside of you all the time fighting to win?”

  The twins nodded quickly. Zac hesitated, but he nodded, too.

  “A good wolf and a bad wolf,” Hayley said.

  “And which one is going to win?” Daddy asked softly.

  “The one you feed,” Zac muttered.

  “Your daddy fed the wrong one, honey,” Mama said. “But that has nothing to do with who you are.”

  Carly gave me a questioning look, and I nodded. We could all use some good news.

  “I have one more thing to tell you all,” Carly said.

  “More about Da—him?” Zac asked.

  She shook her head. “This is about us. All of us.” She smiled at her kids. “Elliott and I are getting married.”

  “Married?” Rachel said, her voice high. “Whoo-hoo!” She jumped up and tackled her mama. Her sister was right behind her. They danced around Carly. Mama and Daddy stood and each reached over the top of the twins to hug her. When they stepped back, Carly looked at Zac. “It’s a lot to take in all at once,” she said. I knew she was giving him a chance to retreat quietly.

  He stood and nodded. “It is. But it’ll be cool not to be the only guy around this house.” A hint of a smile touched his solemn expression. “Maybe I won’t be so outnumbered anymore.”

  And just like that, he was gone to play basketball, the twins hot on his heels. Carly smiled at Mama and me. “Who wants to see my ring?”

  “Now I’m the one who’s outnumbered,” Daddy said, but he did stay to admire his daughter’s engagement ring.

  *****

  The only comfort I had was that Mama looked as disconcerted as I felt. She gave me a weak smile and placed the paper plate on her head. I did the same.

  Carly giggled. “I wish I had a camera.”

  “Hush and put your own plate on,” I growled.

  “Now use these markers, and without taking the plate off your head, draw your idea of Tiffany’s dream house. When we’re done, she’ll choose her favorite drawing, and the winner will get a prize.” The tanned blond beamed at us as if she were giving us all a wonderful opportunity.

  “The prize had better be a house in Florida,” I muttered to Carly.

  “Right on the beach,” she agreed.

  Tiffany, sitting next to me, snickered. “Y’all do look ridiculous.”

  “I think the bride should have to play, too,” Denise said loudly from the other side of Tiffany. “And I don’t think John would want me reaching up. Didn’t they used to say that wasn’t good for the baby?”

  “That’s an old wives’ tale,” one of the Anderson sisters said from across the circle, clutching her paper plate on her head.

  “Look it up on the Internet,” said the other sister, who was eighty if she was a day. “You’ll see.” She turned to the hostess. “Are you going to tell us when to draw?”

  “Be patient. Everyone has to have her plate on her head before I can start,” the blond said with a pointed look at Amelia.

  The mother of the bride lifted her tanned arm and placed the paper plate on her head.

  While Tiffany was selecting the winner, I wandered over to the table to refill my empty punch cup. I picked out some almonds and cashews and put them on my small crystal plate. One of the Anderson sisters—I could never tell them apart—strolled up beside me. “Don’t you work over at that health club for Bob Pryor?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I added a few mints to my plate.

  “That poor man. I heard that he may lose everything, even his house.” She ladled some punch into her own cup and gave me a sideways look. “Is that true?”

  “I haven’t heard that.” I set my cup down on the table and nibbled on an almond. “Why would he?”

  “That hoity-toity daughter of his.” She sipped her red punch. “She’s in all kinds of trouble.”

  “Oh.” Now I knew what she meant. “You mean because the police think she might have had something to do with murdering J.D. Finley?”

  “That good for nothing Finley boy? His grandma spent her life’s savings bailing him out of one thing after another.” She wiped her lips daintily with her napkin. “But that’s not what I meant,” she said impatiently. “I was talking about the gambling.”

  “Gambling?” I parroted. “I don’t know what you mean.” I glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening to our conversation. Everyone was enthralled with the dream house pictures. “Bob hasn’t mentioned anything about gambling.”

  “That girl of his. She’s lost a lot of money over there at that gambling place in Mississippi.” She tipped up her punch cup and downed the remains. “Tunica. That’s where she said she was when that boy was shot.” She wiped her lips. “And from what I hear, she goes there all the time. Musta cost her daddy a pretty penny.”

  “Come on everyone, sit back down,” the blond hostess called. “We’re going to play another game.”

  “Tiffany, you leave the room,” she said. “Just go out in the hall and wait awhile.” She made shooing motions with her hands. “We’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

  Miss Anderson and I walked back to find seats. Amelia scooted over to sit beside me.

  As soon as Tiffany left, we were given a piece of paper and a pencil with instructions to write as many facts as we could about her. What she was wearing, her birth date, her fiancé’s name, her wedding date—the list was long. I held my blank paper in my hand and tried to remember exactly what color Tiffany was wearing.

  “Psst.” Amelia jogged my arm. “Just forget it.”

  “Forget what she was wearing? I thought we were trying to remember.” I tapped my pencil against my teeth then threw a guilty look at Mama. She always hated when I did that.

  “Forget about finding out about Ricky,” she whispered as she wrote a couple of things on her paper. I’ve decided we don’t need to know.” I sneaked a peek over her shoulder. Oh yeah. Yellow sweater
. I remembered now. Blue skirt. Surprising that Amelia had paid so much attention.

  “She’s going to marry him anyway,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “So I’m butting out.” She wrote several more items down. I resisted the urge to copy them onto my sheet.

  “Okay. If you’re sure.” I’d exhausted all my resources anyway. Seth and John.

  I quickly wrote Ricky Richards down on my paper. At least I had one answer.

  After Tiffany was called back into the room and we went over the answers, I realized that all the guests, even Carly, had listed more information than I had. And Amelia, who got every answer correct, was the lucky winner of the bow-covered paper plate hat.

  As I helped carry things to the car with Marge, Tiffany, and Amelia, Marge congratulated Amelia on having the most correct answers. “Well, she is my daughter,” Amelia said dryly. “I probably know her better than most people.” She glanced at Tiffany as she put a pile of gifts in the trunk of the Prius. “I’m aware of those little tricks she thinks she is pulling on me.”

  Tiffany turned to stare at her. “What tricks?”

  Amelia continued to address Marge and me. “Dressing frumpy and wearing no makeup. But I’ve seen pictures of her dressed to the nines and beautiful.”

  Tiffany reddened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother.”

  “Of course you do, darling.” Amelia drawled. “I even understand why you do it.”

  “Really?” Tiffany widened her eyes. “Why don’t you explain it then?”

  “You resent the fact that I sent you away to boarding school.” Amelia glanced at Marge. “And that I nag you all the time about your clothes, your weight, everything.” She smiled. “That about sum it up?”

  I could see the emotions flit across Tiffany’s face. Surprise, anger, sadness, and finally resignation. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

  “Someday after you have children, I’ll explain it all to you. Although by that time you may understand.” She looked at Tiffany. “No, you’re stronger than I ever was. You won’t ever get it.”

  Marge looked at her sister and niece then at my face, which I could tell was red. “It’s nice to see you two finally clearing the air, but maybe we should continue this at home?”