Then it dawned on me. Turning to Hattie, I quickly excused myself and made a beeline for the exit. Because if I knew Maudy, there was only one thing that could tear her away from an opportunity to exude her authority over this rowdy gathering—the chance to nab a Harper.
Chapter 11
Southern Girl Secret #080: Truly strong women are the ones who fight the battles no one knows about.
I made it outside just in time to see Maudy roaring down the road in her sheriff’s cruiser. I jogged across the road and hopped in my own vehicle, catching up to her fifteen minutes later at our farm. She’d turned her car sideways in our drive, blocking Ray’s SUV from leaving. As I got closer, I saw that both she and Ray were standing outside their cars, animatedly discussing something.
I parked and ran over. “What’s going on?”
Ray looked angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “We’re trying to get to the hospital, but the sheriff won’t let us leave.”
“The hospital? Why?”
He thumbed toward his car. “It’s Daddy. He’s not feeling well. I’m taking him into the emergency room to get checked out.”
I ran to the SUV and flung open the door. My parents were sitting in the back, Mama holding Daddy’s hand while he sat slumped against the seat. His ashen face was covered with a sheen of sweat. “What is it, Daddy?”
He mustered a small smile. “Just a little indigestion, darlin’. Nothing for you to go worryin’ about.”
Mama shot me a look and I knew this was a lot more serious than indigestion. I drew in my breath and stomped back to Maudy and Ray. “He needs to get to the hospital now,” I said, my fists clenched.
“I don’t think he’s sick at all,” Maudy said, thrusting out her jaw. “I think Nola here saw me leave the town meetin’ and tipped y’all off. Now let me at him. I’ve got a warrant.”
I sidestepped, blocking her way. “This is crazy,” I spat, standing toe-to-toe with her. “He’s going to the hospital, Maudy, and if you try to stop us, I’ll—”
Ray pulled me back and stepped in with a little lawyerly diplomacy. “Let’s all be reasonable,” he started smoothly. “I’ll take personal responsibility for making sure my father stays within county limits. And as soon as the doctor clears him, I’ll bring him into your office myself. You have my word.” He paused, giving her time to consider his proposal.
“He doesn’t look good,” I jumped back in, this time, taking a cue from Ray and nixing my hostility. Instead, I tried to appeal to the sheriff’s softer side. Assuming she had one. “Despite what you think about the rest of us Harpers, my daddy’s always been fair to you, Maudy. You know that. And I’m sure you don’t want to see anything bad happen to him.” Her features seemed to relax a little. “And when have you ever known my father to run from something? He’s not a coward. And he’s not running now.”
“This could be something serious,” Ray added. “We really need to get him to the hospital. Now.”
Maudy removed her Stetson and swiped the back of her hand along her brow. “Okay, fine. But I’m going with y’all. Follow me.”
So we did. We followed behind Maudy’s cruiser to the county hospital, where Daddy was immediately taken back for tests. Mama went with him, while the rest of us stayed behind in the waiting room.
“I’m going to head down the hall to the vending machine and grab a quick cup of coffee,” Ray said. “Can I get you something, Sheriff?”
“No, thanks.” She adjusted her utility belt and flopped into one of the waiting room chairs, picking up a nearby magazine.
With a lift of his chin, Ray indicated for me to follow him. As soon as we were down the hall, he turned to me and whispered, “What exactly is going on around here? Maudy was saying she went out to the house this afternoon and got a set of prints from Daddy. And a DNA swab from Mama?”
“She did? I didn’t know that.”
“What were they thinking, agreeing to those tests? Why didn’t they call me first?”
I thought back to how I hadn’t been able to get ahold of Ray all day. “I don’t know, Ray. Maybe they tried. And maybe they didn’t understand that they could refuse.”
“This is bad, Nola. And now these problems with Daddy’s heart.” He folded his arms across his chest and lowered his head. I noticed the tendons in his neck stood out, visibly pulsing. Ray was scared. And that scared me.
I tried to remain calm and not let my emotions take over. How many times during my career as an aid worker had I faced the impossible? I’d always relied on ingenuity and my resourcefulness to find a solution. Maybe this issue seemed more difficult because it cut so close and personal, but no matter how I looked at this situation, I could only see one way out of our problems. I placed my hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Our only chance to relieve some of this stress is to find Clem’s murderer.” Then I went on to explain my plan had been to stay at the Sunny Side Up for a few days. “Only, I’m not sure I should leave Mama now that all this is going on with Daddy.”
“Stay at the inn?” Ray ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. What if Whitaker is the killer? You could be putting yourself in danger.”
“I’ll be careful. Besides, Hawk’s staying there, remember?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.”
I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but Mama was coming down the hall, a strained look on her face. “He’s resting,” she explained. “They don’t know what’s going on yet. It takes an hour or so for some enzyme test they took to get back, and then they have to rerun it later, too. But either way it turns out, the doctor wants to run more tests. They’re going to keep him overnight.” She looked over her shoulder toward the waiting area. “The sheriff’s left. Said she’d be back tomorrow.”
I felt a little relief, mixed with a lot of apprehension. Enzyme tests I’d heard could prove—or rule out—a heart attack. But what other tests after that?
“He’s awfully upset, though,” Mama continued. “All this stuff with the murder. And it just keeps getting worse. The sheriff came out earlier today, demanding all sorts of things. Then when she came back this evening with a warrant . . . well, your father became so upset. Then those pains started up. I’m so worried that maybe it was a small heart attack.”
Ray shifted uncomfortably and glanced my way. “It’s okay, Mama. He’ll be all right. And don’t worry about things at the farm. I’m going to stick around for a few days and help out.”
Mama’s face instantly brightened upon hearing that news. “Thank you, Bud. Your daddy will be so relieved to hear that. I think I’ll stay here tonight with your father. But you two should head on home. Get some rest. And, Bud, don’t forget to let Roscoe out tonight. And he does love a little bacon for breakfast.”
After much discussion back and forth, and a lot more doggy care advice, we finally agreed on a plan of action. Ray was going to head back to the house and pack up a few things that Mama needed for a couple days at hospital. She wanted us to keep things going at both the farm and the shop, so as not to worry Daddy any further. Since we operated on such a narrow margin, a few days’ lapse on either end would cut into our profits. And Daddy hated losing money. No matter the reason.
After all the details were worked out, Mama returned to my father’s bedside, and Ray and I made one additional plan. After hearing how the stress of this murder investigation was affecting Daddy, Ray decided that my staying a couple nights at the inn wasn’t such a bad idea after all. So, while Mama was going to be at the hospital taking care of Daddy, I’d be at the Sunny Side Up, taking care of him in my own way—chasing down a murderer.
Only as I left the hospital I found that I was the one being chased down. Frances Simms, our relentless newspaperwoman, practically accosted me in the parking lot. “What’s going on, Nola?” she asked, suddenly popping out from behind a parked car.
“Is someone sick?”
“They’re running some tests on my father,” I started to explain, then stopped myself. This was Frances Simms doing the asking. She wasn’t concerned about my daddy’s well-being. She was digging for information. “He’ll be fine, though. But thanks for your concern. Excuse me,” I said, pushing past her and starting toward my truck.
“The sheriff’s got something big on your daddy, doesn’t she?” she asked, keeping stride with me. “Don’t try to deny it, Nola. I got suspicious when I saw y’all leave the town meeting in such a hurry. I asked around and someone told me they overheard the deputy say something about a warrant. Is that an arrest warrant?”
“No.”
“It’s not an arrest warrant?”
“No, I mean no comment.” I shook my head and picked up my pace. “How’d you know where to find us? Did you follow us out here?”
She patted her pocket. “I carry a scanner. Sheriff called in to dispatch to let them all know she was heading out this way with the suspect.”
Suspect. The word made me bristle, and Frances must have caught it. She narrowed her eyes. “Heard they searched Clem’s house again. Sheriff must’ve found something that points directly to your daddy.”
Don’t talk! Don’t say a word! I bit my lip and started digging around in my bag for my keys. We’d reached the truck. I fumbled with the keys in the dim light, finally connecting to the keyhole. This was one of those times I’d do about anything for automatic locks and a key fob.
“You know what I think,” Frances was saying, “I think this all has something to do with the rumors going around town about your mama and Clem. About some hot affair they had way back when.”
Hot affair! “Those are nothing more than nasty rumors, Frances!” I snapped, my hand frozen on the door handle. Of all the—she’d write anything for her blasted headlines condemning my family. “There’s not a shred of printable facts. Besides, my daddy isn’t the only suspect the sheriff has.”
Her thin brows arched. “Yes, but he’s the only one she’s got a warrant for, right?”
“Well, that’s just because she doesn’t have all the facts yet.” I held my head up, glaring at the woman.
“So she does have a warrant for your daddy?”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant—” I started, then clamped my mouth shut and started opening my door, but Frances pushed against it.
“Are you saying you have information about another suspect? That your daddy didn’t kill Clem? Do you have proof that someone else killed him?”
“Yes! I mean, no, Daddy didn’t kill anyone and I—”
“And you do have proof? What type of proof? Who is it?” Even in the dimly lit parking lot, I could see the hunger in her eyes. “Margie Price?”
“No. That’s not what—”
“That new fellow in town? John Whitaker?”
I shook my head, trying to calm myself, not to tangle myself further in her snares. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”
“So you do have proof. Where is it?” She darted a glance at my truck, my purse. “Locked up somewhere safe? When are you going to reveal this evidence? In time for the Tuesday edition of the paper?”
Despite my suddenly weak knees, I managed to pull open the door to slide past her and climb into the truck. “You’re making too much of all this,” I said. “Twisting my words.” I turned the key and pumped the gas pedal. With a couple pops, the old truck engine roared to life.
“Wait!” She wedged herself in front of the door before I could shut it. “You haven’t taken this proof to the sheriff yet, or she wouldn’t still be going after your daddy. Why are you keeping it to yourself?”
“I’m not!”
“Then who else knows about it?”
“No one! I don’t . . . Oh, for crying out loud! Just forget I said anything, okay?” But one look at her gloating face told me a new headline was already churning in her mind. What had I done? All the way to Sunny Side Up, I cursed myself for yet again falling into one of her traps.
* * *
“I appreciate you being here,” Margie said. “Especially considering everything your family is going through right now.” She sighed. “I’m sure the stress of being so vehemently pursued by our local sheriff has contributed to your father’s illness. I know how stressful it is to be the accused.”
I’d just finished filling her in on my father’s sudden illness and Maudy’s intent to arrest him as soon as he recovered. It was almost midnight and we were standing in a beautifully appointed room on the second floor of Sunny Side Up. Hawk was still out doing heaven only knew what and John Whitaker was in his room for the night. Except for our hushed conversation and the ticking of a grandfather clock in the hall, the house was morguelike quiet.
“Yes,” I replied. “I do think all the stress of the investigation is attributing to his condition. But now that the sheriff is convinced she’s found her killer, you’re off the hook. I guess that’s good news for you.” While I unpacked a small duffel bag, Margie moved to a large antique armoire and opened a drawer for me. I placed my jeans and tees into the drawer, glancing up at her to respond, to say something, anything that might help me learn more about this woman who might be behind a murder. But Margie’s attention was elsewhere as her fingers ran over the carved corners of the armoire, admiring its craftsmanship.
“A gift from my ex,” she explained. “The only thing I’ve saved from our time together.”
“I didn’t realize you were married before.”
“Oh yes. I married young. Too young.” She waved it off as nothing, but I had to wonder if her previous marriage might have had something to do with the secret she’d been guarding so closely. “But, that’s all in the past,” she continued. She perched herself on the edge of a pretty floral wing chair by the fireplace and addressed me with a serious look. “I want you to know that I don’t believe for a second that your father had anything to do with Clem’s murder. When Deputy Travis hushed the shouting at the meeting, he explained that our intrepid sheriff had gone off to make an arrest, leaving him to hold the peace. It was obviously an arrest of someone not at the meeting, and I realized your poor father was next on her list. I’m just so sorry that you and your family are going through this.”
Her sincerity and words brought a little lump to my throat. How could I be here investigating her when she was being so sweet to me?
“And I must warn you, Frances Simms must have been thinking along the same lines as me. She immediately started poking around, asking people all sorts of questions about who the sheriff might be arresting.”
That lump in my throat slid all the way down to my stomach and settled in like a rock. And after that disastrous conversation in the parking lot she believes that I have proof that someone else is guilty. Heaven help me!
Before I could even wrap my mind around this current dilemma, Margie continued in a brighter tone, “Anyway, since I do seem to be off the hook, I’m wondering if I shouldn’t consider letting Mr. Hawkins go. It’s true that I do feel safer with him here, especially with the snoopy Mr. Whitaker around, but his investigative services are quite costly. I don’t really see the need to keep paying an investigator, now that I’m not under suspicion.”
Since Hawk and I had sort of agreed on sharing information, the news that he wouldn’t be working on the case was just one more strike against my getting help for Daddy. Another small part of me wondered if Margie wasn’t getting off the hook a little too easily. And in the back of my mind—the dark recesses where I hated to linger—there were still questions that needed to be answered about Margie. Her secret that Clem had threatened to expose, for one, which gave her more than plenty of motive. Then there was the fact that no one could account for her whereabouts during the time of the murder. But if I was going to make any progress at all during my stay, Margie needed to believe that I was simply
here as a friend. “What about Mr. Whitaker? I thought you felt more comfortable with Hawk around.” I pretended to shiver. “Especially at night, when the house is dark and it’s just you two.”
She started worrying her hands. A little part of me felt bad for laying it on so thick, but then again I really did need Hawk around to help with the investigation. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that, too. I know it’s not right to suspect Mr. Whitaker just because he’s not from here, but . . .” She took a deep breath. “It pains me to do so, but truthfully, I just don’t feel comfortable with him here, and I simply can’t expect you and Mr. Hawkins to stay on forever. So, I thought perhaps I’d ask him to go midweek. After the election.”
“Midweek?”
“Yes, and I would have asked him to leave instantly but I didn’t want to upset him, considering I couldn’t trust what his reaction might be. I simply made up some excuse about new guests coming in and told him he’d have to find different accommodations. But you can stay until then, can’t you, Nola?” she asked. “I hate to intrude on your time, but—”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “I can’t make any promises though, since my father is sick. Mama may need me at home.”
“Of course. And thank you.”
I forced a smile and said, “I’m happy that you’ll be able to move past all this and focus on the election. How did the rest of the debate go?”
Her expression changed to an emotion I didn’t quite recognize. Anger? Bitterness? And once again, I had to ask myself just how well I really knew Margie. “Well, Jack Snyder certainly is the hometown hero,” she said. “He’ll be hard to beat.”
“I suppose so,” I agreed. “Jack has roots here and people tend to trust someone they’ve known all their lives. Even if that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s the best person to run the town.”
“Yes, but my revenue-raising ideas didn’t go over very well with tonight’s crowd. Seems no one wants to sacrifice any more than they already have. Which I can understand, considering the town’s just barely starting to fight its way back from the economic downturn of the past few years. But Cays Mill needs to invest in its future now. Otherwise, it may not survive the next financial slump. In truth, this town’s only a couple bad harvest seasons away from real decline. And I think I’m the person for the job. Just look at all I’ve achieved here.”
War and Peach Page 13