It was secure, thanks to Randall installing door locks and his random security check drive-bys. However much he knew about Miss Rowena’s death, he never mentioned it. He looked the other way while they continued to work at Bent Willow. And that meant a lot to her. He never questioned Traci about her escapade at Hazelton House that night. If anything, his willingness to overlook her trespassing offense had made her want to trust him more but it was just so hard. Besides that, she had one last big event scheduled for this weekend and that would be enough to set their relationship back even more if he only knew.
“Relationship?” she said and headed back to the office. “Girl, snap out of it.”
Traci finished her deliveries, submitted the report for the day and walked back to her locker to store away her gear. She went into the employee fitness center and dashed under the shower. She put on the light turquoise sundress she had folded in her backpack. Then stuffed her soiled clothes into a plastic bag and put it aside. The company offered discount laundry service for Flyers but she always washed her clothes in the tub at home. Included in the house rehab, she had imagined having a full laundry room and central air conditioning. Definitely air conditioning, she thought as she walked out into the late afternoon heat. No point in dwelling on what could have been. She put on her wide-brim floppy straw hat and clocked out. Spencer, the office director, stopped her.
“Hi Traci,” he said chasing after her. He was a tall man who wore beige slacks every day with a thin mustache along the edge of his lip that looked like someone had drawn it on his face with a Sharpie.
“One of our Flyers was in an accident on the way back to the office and won’t be able to make this delivery. You’re the last one here. Will you please handle this for us?”
Traci looked down at the packet color-coded “Urgent” and sighed.
“I’ll make sure you get the overtime bonus,” he said waving the packet in front of her. “Pretty please.”
“I’ve already put my stuff away,” she said, took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I can take it on my way home if it’s on the bus line.”
“It is,” Spencer said gleefully. “Let me get a bus token for you, too.”
He rushed back and gave her the packet with the token, “Thank you, Traci. I really appreciate you being part of our team.”
She nodded and took the items, calculating the overtime bonus in her head.
“You’re why our clients call us Dependable Flyers,” he shouted as she walked away.
Traci stood in the main bus alcove at City Centre, opened the app on her phone, tapped “Find Route” and looked at the address on the packet. She almost dropped the phone when she read it:
Rowena Garrett, Hazelton House ...
“You ridin’ or what?” the bus driver shouted through the open door.
Traci stood staring at him, then finally waved him on. She stood in the alcove while people pushed past her. She needed to talk to someone. Myra? Randall? Spencer? How could she tell him that the addressee was deceased? Shouldn’t he already know that? How could he not know that? Why couldn’t she just give this right back to him and be done with it? She staggered onto the next R-3 and took a seat, still staring at the packet.
A wave of emotions burst through her senses as she struggled to control her tears. What was it? She wanted Rowena Garrett to be alive. She should be alive right now. She wanted to walk right up those porch steps, into that kitchen and see her still making everyone feel... What?
Seen.
Traci walked through the clearing where Ray Winston’s bulldozers had completely razed the three lots surrounding Bent Willow. She took off her straw hat and stood still for a few moments while the breeze swept through the field. The heatwave was ending, and the cool soaking rains were on the way in time for the final harvest. Sarah had said, “God sends the rain to loosen the soil. That’s how we know it’s time to get busy and gather it in.” She sat silently waiting for the rain.
Chapter Seventeen
TRACI JOINED THE TEAM of growers in the fields before her coffee had taken full effect. It was a long weekend and time to finish what she had started. She had to trust her gut this time, and like Myra said, it never led her in the wrong direction. Everyone had shared their opinions about things at Bent Willow as news of Rowena Garrett’s passing filtered through Keeferton. But she knew that there was something more to it and was determined to find out. She needed this one thing to make sense, somehow, before she let go of everything and everyone.
“What don’t get carried away in bushel baskets and crates will get turned under by the tiller. We don’t waste anything,” Moe explained to her. “All the stakes, irrigation lines and mulch gotta be taken up and stored away.”
She could see the unspoken grief in everyone’s eyes as they busied themselves in concert. Miss Rowena’s presence could still be felt, reminding everyone that there was hard work to do and plenty of it. The sun had not risen fully, and they had already been in the field for two hours before she arrived. The sweet corn was stacked, and the stalks cut down. They shook the tomato cages loose from the vines and stored them inside the shed. They wrapped Georgia collards in thick elastic bands and set them in tubs of ice water. Sarah wrote on notecards with prices for the produce. Zucchini squash, slicing and pickling cucumbers, oxblood radishes, sweet potatoes, Blue Lake green beans, serrano peppers, purple carrots, curly kale, rainbow swiss chard, yellow onions, Savoy cabbage, and every variety of tomato that anyone could imagine. Traci sprayed bug repellent on her arms and legs, wrapped an apron around her waist, and started pulling up stakes.
“Don’t pick them herbs yet,” Moe shouted at a couple of children helping with the harvest. “They’ll be wilted and wasted before we’re ready to open up.”
Soon it would be time to set up the market stand and prepare for the crowds that would come to taste and buy. Reverend McMoultry had let several of the women use the church kitchen and basement for cooking and staging the wares. Moe was unpacking those boxes of baked goods and setting them under the shade trees. All hands were in motion, picking, packing, wrapping sheets over tables and tying down the corners. Traci had never seen such unity of purpose in action. She stopped to take it in and tried not to think about how important Bent Willow was to her and the people of it.
She found Milo in the greenhouse brushing off a layer of soil from each of the small red potatoes and tossing them in a box.
“Busy day,” she said joining in.
“Yes,” he said looking up and smiling. “All our work comes down to today. How much do you think we’ll make?”
“I don’t know,” she said trying to match his pace. “You should ask Moe. He’s keeping the books now.”
She touched his shoulder and looked into his eyes.
“Milo, I want you to ...” she cleared her throat.
“What?”
“I know it’s hard to figure things out sometimes,” she said, starting over.
“You mean like what happened to Miss Rowena?”
“Yes, like that. And how I’ve tried to be there for you lately,” she said stumbling over her words. “And ...”
“And what?”
“If for some reason you can’t find me,” she said looking into his eyes, “I’m just saying, trust your gut and stay out of trouble. Okay?”
She walked outside and took a deep breath, forcing down her emotions. I can do this, she thought, I have to. Someone handed her a bottle of cool water. She wiped her face and took a sip, then stepped into the crowd forming near the market stand.
Word had spread that no one was allowed to enter the perimeter that surrounded Hazelton House without first checking with Officer Randall Wells who sat alone in his squad car near the kitchen garden. Traci kept an eye on the driveway leading to it. Randall had not spoken to her since he followed her to Empire Row. Although she could not see his eyes under those mirror sunglasses, she could feel him watching her. When she asked him to be present for Market Day at Bent Willow, he
responded to her text with a simple “OK”. Oh, how she wanted him to understand the importance of this day. She wanted everything to work out right for everyone. And she needed to be right about Miss Rowena’s killer. This was her only chance to prove it.
Chapter Eighteen
TRACI STOOD NEXT TO the table filled with fruit pies and checked her watch. It had been forty-eight hours since she dropped off the note at Franklin Manor. She was sure Earl Garrett had time to see it. If he was still there, she thought. So much was riding on one single delivery. What if the doorman didn’t pass it along as promised? All she could do was wait. “Keep it together, Traci,” she told herself.
By 10:30 a.m. people were trickling in from the neighboring townships and the church vans brought loads of shoppers from their congregations. The Keeferton Recreation Center shuttle arrived right on schedule with the youth sports teams to help hang banners and set up the corn hole and horseshoes games. The new Raging Reds baseball team parked their bus along the entrance to the field and patiently signed photos, baseballs and took selfies. Traci stood amazed at how beautifully different Bent Willow looked for Market Day. But she couldn’t shake that uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She glanced over at Randall once again. He was still there, arms folded across his chest, leaning against his squad car near Hazelton House. She joined Moe at the sandwich sign, passing out free produce tokens and samples of fresh salsa on tortilla chips. Moe was in his element and she loved seeing it. Everyone was impressed at the amazing job he had done organizing the event. He kept everything humming along and stepped aside to handle contract orders from the local restauranteurs and executive chefs.
At 12:30 on the dot, Traci noticed a silver SUV pull up the driveway of Hazelton House. The driver got out, but the passenger remained inside the car. He left the car running, adjusted his belt buckle and walked toward the house. Traci looked for Randall and spotted him joking with two ball players next to the bus. She waved to him, but he didn’t notice her. She sprinted over to Moe and said, “I’ve got to step away for a bit.” He nodded and took the fanny pack that she used to make change and hand out tokens. She took out her phone and frantically scrolled through the apps while she rushed through the crowd and up the path.
“Hello Mr. Garrett,” Traci said, as she mounted the porch stairs. “Would you and your friend like to check out the market? A lot of fresh produce and some delicious homemade pies, today only.”
“Hello again, Miss Simmons,” he said tightening his jaw.
Traci looked around him to see who was in the car waiting, but the sun’s glare on the windows blocked it.
“No thank you,” he said looking around, “Let’s go inside.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, leading the way.
“This is a great old house,” she said after they entered the parlor, “It would be a shame to see it torn down.”
“I never cared much for it. Couldn’t wait to leave.”
Traci sat on the arm of the settee. “I can’t believe that you have no interest in it at all.”
“Not at all. Except for what I came for. Do you have it?” He looked out of the window to check on his passenger.
“Yes,” Traci said trying to stall for time. “I was just wondering ...”
“Let’s get this over with,” Earl Garrett said, looking around, “before someone comes in.”
Traci walked across the room and searched for Randall as she passed the window. She could see the ballplayers, but he was no longer with them. She thought she might have seen Milo through the kitchen door, but on second glance, there was no one there.
“It’s in the attic,” she said walking slowly to the kitchen.
She stashed her phone in her apron pocket and opened the closet door to reveal the hidden stairs. Then she walked up the narrow staircase with Earl Garrett following slowly behind her.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, Miss Simmons,” he said and grabbed the rough handrail, “but, I’m not here to play games with you.”
“All I want to do is give you the information,” she said feeling the temperature rising as they ascended to the attic. “Just trying to help you. As you can see, Miss Rowena was such a friend of this community. I didn’t know her personally really, but everyone seemed to love and appreciate her.”
“They weren’t married to her,” he muttered through heavy breathing.
“Well, helping you is the only way I know how to pay it forward,” Traci said and turned back to look at him. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I guess,” he said, sweat dripping from his forehead, “and I don’t care. Are we clear?”
“Sure.” She wondered if he was going to be alright.
“I used to stay up here all night and listen to these albums.” He wiped a handkerchief across his face, and slowly walked into the room. He brushed his fingers across the vintage phonograph and collection of dusty vinyl records, their thin paper sleeves faded and stained.
“Any of your music in there?” Traci said pointing to the stack. She noticed how his countenance soften at her question. “I understand that you were pretty good.”
“One of the best,” he said nodding. “My work could match any of the big names. Everybody knew it.” He rummaged through the milk crate overflowing with magazines. “Here,” he said pulling one up by the corner. “Look at this write-up they did of me in the Jukebox Jazz Journal.” He handed her the magazine with the page opened to the article. Then another one with his photo on the cover. He blew dust off the front of an album and rubbed it clean with his forearm. “Earl Garrett Trio - Greatest Hits.”
“I’d like to hear your music one day,” she said and meant it. “Why’d you give up?”
“You have heard it, just don’t know it,” Earl Garrett grumbled. He sat on the windowsill and looked at his hands, “And I didn’t give up. Life gave up on me.”
“What do you mean?”
“These hands,” he said making them into fists. “Rowena, she loved that farm. This house. More than anything.”
He looked around the room full of artifacts. “Sure, we toured all around Faucier and Pekote, but, how far can you go and still be tied to this place? Do you know what happens to a man’s hands after working in them fields, building and repairing everything yourself?”
The edge in his voice made her shudder. And she didn’t know what to say. It was so hot in the attic even with the windows open, there was no ventilation. This was a bad idea, she thought, I’m so stupid.
“Naw, you don’t. I’ll tell ya,” he said staring at her again, eyes red, searching her face. “After a while, everything you trying to hold onto, steals everything from you. All the things you really want. That you was born to do.” He looked out the window toward Bent Willow. “Rowena,” he continued, “she never got that. I could never get her to understand that.”
“I understand,” Traci said softly.
“Do you?” he said, his furrowed brow beading with sweat. “Really? What have you sacrificed? What do you know about looking back and got nothing to show for it? And then get shuffled off to a nursing home to waste away what’s left of your life. To sit there and lose your mind!”
“Well, maybe not that part. Of course not,” Traci said nervously, “but, Miss Rowena...”
“Rowena,” he shouted her name like it was a curse word and shook his fist, “You didn’t even know her and you still got sucked into this, this ...” He stopped and took a breath, “I got free, that’s all I’m saying... I finally got my freedom.”
“From what?”
“From living in the past. Don’t you get it?” he stood up. “Trying to hold onto something that should’ve been dead and buried decades ago. Something nobody else cares about.” He started toward her. “For what? I watched Rowena carry this place on her back like a ...”
“Is that why you killed her?”
Earl Garrett’s head snapped back as if she had punched him and his eyes narrowed.
“What are you saying
?” he said through gritted teeth.
“I said, is that why Miss Rowena had to die?”
“Earl,” a woman’s voice sliced through the room, “don’t be answering this foolish girl.”
The woman had long auburn hair streaked with blonde highlights that flowed into waves upon her shoulders. She was thin with an athletic build, her cheetah print coffin-shaped nails rested tightly upon her hips. She walked into the room carrying the thick scent of L’Eau de Marseille that Traci hated. The sun exposed her silhouette through the pastel yellow linen dress as she looked out of each window, then rejoined them in the center of the room. She was taller than any woman Traci had ever seen. So tall, she thought, and so young.
“Charlotte, I asked you to wait in the car,” he said almost pleading.
“I know you said to wait,” she said staring at Traci. “You’re always saying ‘wait’. I came up here because I knew you couldn’t handle this on your own either. You never finish anything.”
The woman walked closer and stood in front of Traci, “Where is it?”
“I don’t have it, actually,” Traci said defiantly.
“What?” Earl said.
“See,” Charlotte said nodding. “This is what I’m talking about.” She turned toward him, “You didn’t have sense enough to know better than trust this ...” She pointed in Traci’s direction. “What does she know about us?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“I know you’re the reason Miss Rowena is dead,” Traci said.
Charlotte drew in a deep breath and hissed, “What did you say?”
“She’s lying!” Earl stared at Traci in disbelief.
“I heard you,” Traci said, “I heard you say it. Right here.”
Final Harvest Page 10