“I’m not going to arrest you. I just want to ask you a few more questions. This shouldn’t take long,” Sheriff Wheeler said. “We’re going back to the office, why don’t you ride with us.” Then, turning those baby blues towards me, he asked, “Why don’t you come by in an hour or so? We should be through by then.”
I offered him the sweetest smile. “Of course I will.” I addressed Dee Dee. “Just call me on my cell when you’re done, and I’ll come in a jiffy.” I avoided eye contact with the sheriff. I gave Dee Dee a quick hug and hoped she didn’t see the tears pooling in my eyes.
“All right,” he addressed the two men standing beside him. “Let’s get on our way.”
Agent Cornwall, Deputy Ray, Sherriff Wheeler, and a forlorn looking Dee Dee traipsed out of the dining room with tourists looking on. I couldn’t shake the notion that Dee Dee looked like a lamb being led to slaughter.
Chapter Seven
I returned to the stifling air of our tiny room. The walls seemed to close in on me. My mind tripped to the time I wandered away from my parents in Redford’s Five and Dime. I had never been so glad to see my Mama when she found me. Feeling like that same lost child, I pulled my cell phone from my purse and dialed her up.
“Mama, I’m so glad you’re at home.” Mama’s an angel on earth. She possessed the patience of Job, the strength of Samson, and the faith of Abraham. She had to, being the sole caregiver for Nana, her strong-willed, quirky aunt.
“Trixie, what is it? Are you okay?” Mama must have heard the strain in my voice.
“Yes and no. We’ve run into a little trouble.” I wondered how much I should tell her. “There was a murder yesterday at the Gold Museum.” At Mama’s sharp intake of breath, I continued. “We were watching a film on gold mining when Dee Dee went to the bathroom. She found the body.” My bottom lip quivered.
Mama gasped. “Oh my goodness, how horrible! How’s she doing?”
“She’s doing fine, Mama.” I didn’t want her to worry any more than necessary. “They took her to the sheriff’s department to ask her a few questions. I think it’s only a formality.” Please forgive me for stretching the truth. I prayed it was true as a sick thread of worry for Dee Dee wove through my stomach.
“Do you need me to do anything?” Mama asked.
In my mind’s eye, I could see the worry etched on her face.
“No Mama, but I’ll let you know if I do. How are things at home? Is Nana behaving?” I asked, knowing good and well she was probably giving Mama a hard time, her quirky behavior a cover up for getting away with her antics. I’d seen some of Nana’s mischief first hand when Mama had offered me a place to stay after the divorce. Wade had made so many bad investments we lost everything, including our house.
A hearty laugh came through the phone. “If you call Nana inviting Beau to come over for dinner behaving—then yes, she’s behaving.”
“What? She’s been trying to marry me off to him since the third grade.” I had to laugh, too, thinking of the countless times she’d tried to set us up. I’ve told her up and down I was done with men, but she never listened.
Mama and I had learned it was easier to laugh at Nana’s meddling. We’d discovered too many times the alternative was to cry.
“Thanks, Mama, I appreciate it. I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you back later.”
“Please keep me updated, and don’t worry. Nana and I will take care of Bouncer. She loves your dog.” Images of Nana in her nightgown, coming to my rescue, popped in my mind. A forewarning?
“By the way, Jill called, and she’s doing fine. She’s looking forward to winter break.” Jill, my daughter, was and a junior at the University of Georgia.
“Mama, if she calls again please don’t mention the murder. It’ll just upset her.”
We talked a few more minutes and said our good-byes. “Sweetheart, please be careful. We love you,” she said, her voice full of concern.
“Okay, Mama, I’ll be careful. I love you and Nana, too.” I disconnected the call.
I rummaged around and found a tablet and pen. I needed to make a list of questions to be answered in order to help Dee Dee. I needed a place to start.
1. Who had a reason to kill John Tatum?
2. Why would they want him dead?
3. How did they know where he was going to be?
After I made my list, I wandered to the bathroom to clean my face. The pasty reflection in the mirror shocked me. I’d arrived feeling like a forty-something diva, and now looked like a tired, red-eyed woman. I reapplied my make-up for damage control and left to pick up Dee Dee.
Chapter Eight
The morning sun illuminated the red, yellow, and orange leaves. I looked up through the colorful foliage to see a robin egg blue sky, and smiled at the high definition day for the merchants as well as the tourists.
I decided to drive to the sheriff’s department. I didn’t trust my knee to hold up for the long trek. When my car started on the first turn of the ignition, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. It had been hit or miss lately.
The town square was closed to traffic. Following the directions I’d been given, I drove the back roads. The red brick building was newer than its neighbors, but a talented architect had designed it to blend in with the older historic buildings.
I entered the front door into a sparsely furnished lobby. A uniformed young woman, who manned the front desk, was so intent on something she didn’t notice me until I cleared my throat. She looked up with wide eyes and slid a gossip magazine underneath a folder. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Trixie Montgomery, and I’m here to pick up my friend Dee Dee Lamont.” I looked around the lobby. No Dee Dee.
“Oh, yes, Ms. Montgomery. The sheriff told me when you came by to inform you that the interview is taking a little longer than expected. He asked if you could come back in an hour or so. They should be finished by then.” The blonde young woman, smacking a wad of gum, looked like she should be sitting behind a desk in high school.
What choice did I have? “Sure, I’ll be back to pick her up.” I turned and left her to finish reading about Justin Bieber.
Outside, tourists roamed the busy streets. An older couple, decked out in matching coral shirts, wore worn faces and kind smiles. A young mother held the hand of a rambunctious toddler as she maneuvered a baby stroller over the curbs and through the maze of excited people. Children of all ages lined up at the candy apple booth. They were carefree and oblivious to the trouble Dee Dee and I faced.
Why did the sheriff have his suspicions focused on Dee Dee? According to Joyce, more than one person had a stronger motive to kill Tatum. I knew I had made the right decision to help my friend. She would do no less for me.
My sore knee throbbed. I strolled to the car to retrieve my trusty cane. While there, I decided to face the inevitable and call Harv, my editor. A sweet voice answered the phone. “Good morning, Georgia By the Way. This is Belinda. May I help you?”
Lord, please don’t let him be in the office. I had no idea how Harv would react to our circumstances. I didn’t want to know.
“Hi Belinda. This is Trixie.” I fiddled with a string hanging from my shirtsleeve.
“Oh, hi, Trixie. You still in Dahlonega? Do you want to speak to Harv?”
Obviously, my prayer hadn’t reached its destination in time.
“Uh, what kind of mood is he in?” Harv had a heart of gold, but could be quick tempered.
“Well, he’s a little jumpy this morning. But I’m sure he’s feeling much better since he’s had his black coffee and jelly doughnuts. Do you want me to put you through?”
“Sure, thanks.” I watched the flow of tourists as I waited on Harv.
“I thought you’d never call,” Harv’s voice blasted across the line. “What’s going on? Are you making progress on the article?” I could imagine Harv sitting at his desk, phone in one hand and a Tootsie Pop in the other. He’d made the switch from cigars after the scare with his heart.
&nb
sp; “Uh, yes and no, Harv,” I said with trepidation in my belly.
“What kind of answer is that?” Harv barked. “Have you or haven’t you?”
“We’ve run into a little snag.” I gave a nervous pull on the hanging thread, and the hem of my sleeve raveled.
“Spit it out. I don’t have all day to yap on the phone. What kind of snag?” I could hear him crunch down. Probably cherry red, his favorite.
While he chewed, I brought Harv up to speed, from the lobby exchange, to the gold museum movie and Dee Dee’s bathroom wandering, finishing with her standing over the bloody corpse.
This was my last assignment before my six-month probation period was over. John Tatum’s murder case could result in the demise of my job. Harv could kick me out on my keister faster than a racehorse springing from a starting gate.
The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening.
Chapter Nine
A roaring boom broke the silence and I jerked the phone from my ear. “Montgomery! What have you gotten yourself into?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Instead of being angry, he actually sounded happy. And then, in his usual fashion, he turned disaster into, “a story that could net us the Georgia Magazine of the Year Award.”
I got out pencil and paper to take notes while Harv barked new orders. “Trixie, you need to research murders that occurred during the original gold rush days. And find out what you can about this Tatum character. We’ll run this as a feature. ‘Gold Rush Days Turn Deadly,’” he tried out a headline, a fresh tootsie paper crackling in the background. “Maybe we could devote the entire issue to Dahlonega if you can pull this off.”
This definitely meant more work. I had my hands full now with the articles and helping Dee Dee. My heart pounded at the assignment. “I’ll do what I can.” My voice squeaked. “I mean, I’ll get the facts, boss!”
The line went dead. He’d hung up on me, leaving me with the task of dredging up old murders.
I exited the car, shoved my cell phone into my pant’s pocket, and grasped my cane tight. It fit secure in my palm, like holding on to an old friend.
The streets boasted an assortment of people coming and going. The blending of colorful clothes reminded me of a patchwork quilt. The clippity-clop of horse’s hooves prompted me to turn in time to see a horse drawn carriage coming down the street. Smiles and squeals of excitement escaped from young children in the carriage.
I stopped a woman towing a child busy with an ice cream cone, and asked her where The Antique Boutique was located. I was more than embarrassed when she said, “Right behind you, sweetie.” She offered me a smile and bent down to wipe her toddler’s chocolate-covered face.
A bell jangled my arrival into the musty shop. Once inside, country charm surrounded me. Reconditioned antique furniture was jammed into every nook and cranny. Handmade wood furniture, from bedposts to birdhouses, filled the right corner of the shop. An attached sign revealed a local man had carved the unique pieces.
“Hi. May I help you?” I turned to see a beautiful woman smiling at me. Her skin reminded me of evaporated milk—creamy but not white. I’d be willing to wager the family farm she’d never been plagued by teenage acne! Dark blonde hair and a figure to kill for completed the look.
“Um, yes. I’m looking for Miranda Tatum,” I stammered.
“That’s me. Are you looking for something special?” She took a rag tucked in her belt and polished the top of a table.
“I love this homemade furniture,” I gushed, running a hand over the smoothed arm of a rocking chair.
“It’s become one of our best sellers. People are fascinated with anything homemade. They can’t get enough of it. This is a great weekend for sales.”
I thought I could see dollar signs in her big green eyes.
“I believe you’re right, but I didn’t come to buy anything. I want to know if I can interview you. Joyce Johnston at the Dahlonega Inn told me you’re president of the Historical Society.”
I looked at the table she’d been polishing and was surprised to see my reflection.
“Yes, I am,” she said. “But this isn’t a good time. As you can see, it’s already hectic.” She smiled politely, but turned to walk away.
“It won’t take long, I promise. I’m writing a story on Gold Rush Days and want to feature The Antique Boutique.” I hurriedly continued. “My name is Trixie Montgomery, and I write for Georgia By the Way.
Her face lit up with instant recognition and her attitude changed faster than a chameleon’s colors. “Follow me and we’ll go somewhere we can talk undisturbed. Let me tell Katy, my assistant, and I’ll be right with you.” She tucked the polishing cloth back into her belt and disappeared through a door marked “Employees Only.”
I plopped in a rocker to ease the pain in my leg. Relief washed a cool wave over my throbbing knee. Rocking back and forth it occurred to me she didn’t seem upset her ex-husband was dead.
“Let’s go back to my office.” Miranda interrupted my thoughts. She led the way, careening through a maze of furniture.
Her so-called office could easily pass for a closet. I felt sure it had been one at one time.
I started with questions concerning her business, and moved on to her position with the Historical Society. I took notes and recorded our conversation.
Time passed quickly. I needed to pick up Dee Dee shortly, and I hadn’t even addressed John Tatum, so I charged ahead like a bull in a daisy patch.
“Thanks so much for your time today, Miranda.” I smiled, closing my little book. “I’m sorry to hear of your husband’s death.”
Her angelic smile faded. “My ex-husband.” She stood up and bee-lined for the door. “I don’t see what this has to do with your article.”
Think fast Trixie. “Joyce mentioned it when she told me about your antique business. That the man who was murdered yesterday was your ex-husband.” I wouldn’t make the mistake of saying “husband” again.
She froze, her hand on the knob.
“I have an ex-husband, too. By the sound of it, I’d guess we have some things in common. My husband and I were married twenty years before he decided to trade me in for a newer model. As far as I’m concerned, he blew his chances of ever repairing our relationship—not that he ever tried.”
She jerked the door back; the little bell almost flew off, tinkling angrily.
Before I stepped out, I couldn’t help myself and climbed out on a limb. “Uh, is that what John Tatum did to you?”
I’ll swanny, I saw smoke come from her ears. Her pretty face scrunched up and she balled her fists. At that moment, I imagined that Miranda Tatum was capable of murder in the first degree.
Chapter Ten
You want a reaction?” Venom spewed when she spoke. “This is it. That no-good, son of a gun got what he deserved. I did everything to make that man happy. Was that enough? No, it wasn’t. He had to have an affair with his so-called secretary. I’d wager she couldn’t turn on an electric typewriter, much less a computer. You know the type, don’t you?”
I certainly did. My curls danced as I nodded my head in agreement, encouraging her to continue.
“Not only did he mess around with her, he got her pregnant. You’d think he was old enough to know where babies come from. When he found out, he dropped her like a hot potato. Claimed the baby wasn’t even his.” Her lower lip quivered.
There were no words to console her. I knitted my hands and waited her out.
“I heard she was mad enough to kill him when he denied he was the father. He told her he’d marry her when our divorce finalized. He didn’t marry her, and he abandoned her with a baby to bring up by herself. I don’t know who hates him more, me or his mistress. Is that enough reaction for you?” Her creamy cheeks had turned a mottled pink. Her murderous, green-eyed stare dared me to defy her anger.
A knock broke the tiny roomed tension. A woman poked her head around the corner.
Before I could react, in stepped a bountif
ully rotund woman dressed in a bright orange sweater, covered with glittering black sequined cats. “Is there anything in here for sale?” She screwed her lips at us and decided there wasn’t. “I guess not. Sorry.” She scooted out. Her garish holiday ensemble reminded me I needed to check on Dee Dee.
“I’m sorry if I triggered painful memories. I’m sure this hasn’t been easy for you.” I figured since Miranda was mad at me, why not go ahead and stick my foot all the way in. “By the way, I do have one more question for you. Where were you last night?”
One of Nana’s quotes rang in my ears at the change in Miranda’s amicable expression. “Never believe blondes, natural or bottled, are as dumb as the jokes suggest.”
“Thanks, Ms. Montgomery.” Miranda regained her composure, and the veil of our newfound camaraderie shred in two. “I think our interview is over.” She flung an arm into the doorway, indicating she meant what she said. “I trust you’ve got all you need for your article, and the rest is none of your business.”
“I appreciate the time you’ve given me, and I’ll be sure and notify you when it’s published.” I dug in my purse for a business card and handed it to her. “Please call me if you think of anything else you’d like to add.” Like, maybe you killed your ex-husband.
Information swirled in my mind like leaves in a whirlwind. I hurried down the street, and the more I thought about it, the more her hostile attitude disturbed me. There was little doubt in my mind that the angelic Miranda harbored enough hate within to kill her ex-husband. Not only did Miranda have a motive for killing John, but his girlfriend did, too.
I knew what it felt like to be an outraged ex first hand. But I never imagined actually carrying out my fantasies. Was either one of these women capable of murder?
I stepped inside the sheriff’s department and an office door opened. Dee Dee rushed out with Sheriff Wheeler close behind. Her expression brightened as soon as she saw me.
The sheriff followed her to where I stood. “Ms. Lamont, thank you for your time. We’ll let you know if we need anything more.” He turned towards me with a lingering gaze, “How are you doing Ms. Montgomery?”
Death in Dahlonega (A Trixie Montgomery Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 4