He grinned and held out his hand. “Let me have that. I’ll see what I can find.”
I knew Hawk had worked as a cop. Maybe he still had connections and could find out that sort of information. I handed it over, but almost snatched it back at the last second. Maybe I should copy down the information, just in case. But in the best interest of our newly formed alliance, I instead handed it over, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “If you find something, you’ll let me know, right?”
He shoved it into his pocket. “Yes. You’ll be the first to know. Now tell me who else is on your list, and I’ll tell you what I’ve been able to find.”
For the next twenty minutes or so, we exchanged information. I relayed not only my suspicions about Whitaker, but about Lucas Graham and Jack Snyder, too. I left Margie off the list. Although, any smart investigator would realize that she belonged there as much as any other suspect. She had motive and lacked an alibi. But until he heard otherwise, Hawk was still officially working for her.
Hawk also added a couple pieces to the puzzle, telling me that he’d been looking into Lucas Graham and found that he’d been in trouble with the law. Not just once, but several times. Minor things, like vandalism and a couple possession charges. Those were in the past, though. And as far as everyone knew, he’d been on the straight and narrow since working for Clem. He’d also been able to find, through his former cop connections, that Clem had paid a substantial amount of money, a few months back, to an investigative firm up in Detroit. Presumably to look into Margie’s past. Apparently, Clem got his money’s worth. Or, he’d paid dearly for his own death, depending how a person looked at it.
All that was interesting, for sure. But the next thing Hawk told me was a game changer. Apparently, Laney, his nail tech girlfriend, was putting a set of acrylic tips on Candace yesterday, and Candace mentioned that she had been in to see Doc Harris that very morning. Which wasn’t surprising, since Candace spent more time at the doctor’s office than anywhere else. Anyway, while she was at the doctor’s, she happened to run into Jack Snyder. He was there seeking treatment for an infection on his arm. A nasty infection, which had festered from an untreated wound—a burn wound.
* * *
After Hawk and I finished rehashing the case, I snuck back to my room to retrieve my bag and truck keys. There were still a couple of hours to spare before I needed to head over to the hospital. I planned to use them wisely.
Cade had other plans, however. I found him sitting on the front porch, waiting for me. He popped out of his chair the second he saw me. “Nola.”
“Cade! What a nice surprise.”
His jaw tightened. Uh-oh. He was ticked about something. I didn’t want to linger on the porch and possibly run into Whitaker, so I motioned for Cade to follow me to the side of the house. “Is something wrong?” I asked, once we’d reached my truck.
“I just thought I’d come by and see how you were doing. See if maybe I could give you a lift to the hospital. How’s your daddy?”
“He’s okay. And it’s so sweet of you to come by.” I leaned in with a hug, expecting our usual warm embrace, but Cade stiffened. I backed up and searched his face. “What’s the matter?”
He pointed across the street to a smaller white clapboard home. An older woman was sitting on the front porch, enjoying the morning sun while she worked on some sewing. She tossed us a friendly wave. Suddenly I recognized the face. “Oh, I know who that is. That’s Mrs. Busby. She does alterations at Hattie’s shop.”
“Yes. I know who she is. And she definitely remembers you.”
“I bet she does,” I said, enthusiastically returning her wave. Mrs. Busby and I had met under horrific circumstances last spring. And as I’d quickly learned during my time as an aid worker, such traumas had a peculiar way of bonding people together.
“In fact,” Cade continued, “she called me just a little while ago to tell me just how well she remembered you. Something about your short hair making you recognizable even from a distance.”
I fingered a piece of my closely cropped brown hair. I’d been trying to grow it, but just last week, grew impatient and took to it with Mama’s fabric scissors. Again.
“It looks fine, Nola,” Cade bit out. “But what Mrs. Busby couldn’t understand, and what I definitely don’t understand, is why you were holding some guy’s hand up on the veranda? And let me guess. Dane Hawkins.”
Uh-oh.
Chapter 13
Southern Girl Secret #040: A Southern gal doesn’t wish for it to happen; she makes it happen.
“It’s not what it looked like,” I started to explain. But judging by his folded arms and steely glare, Cade wasn’t going to buy the short explanation. I squinted Mrs. Busby’s way and wondered just how long it was going to take this current bit of scuttlebutt to travel the Cays Mill rumor lines. And what if John Whitaker caught wind of it? Would he put two and two together and figure out that we were snooping in his room?
“Nola?”
I turned back to Cade, who was impatiently staring at me. “I’ve got a couple things I need to do,” I said. “Come with me, so I can explain everything to you.” His lips pressed into a thin line as he stood firm in his stance. “Oh come on, Cade. You know me better than that. Get in and I’ll tell you all about it. Please.”
He finally relented and climbed into the passenger side. I drove straight for my shop, where I planned to pick up the shopping list Carla had made after taking inventory. Mama had asked me to pick up a few items, so I might as well get a little of my shopping out of the way, too. Kill two birds with one stone, so to say. Actually, three birds. Because, even though it was a long shot, I was hoping Lucas Graham would be working at the Pack & Carry this morning. I had a few questions for him.
Along the way, I filled Cade in on my sleuthing adventure. “So, you see. I wasn’t holding Hawk’s hand. Nor would I ever want to hold his hand,” I quickly added. “I just grabbed ahold of him to get him out of the room before Whitaker caught us.”
Cade seemed to relax a bit.
I went on, “But wait until you hear what I found.” I filled him in on the map and what I thought it meant. I also told him about the new information I’d garnered about Lucas’s past brushes with the law and Clem hiring the investigative firm in Detroit to dig up dirt on Margie. Finally, I told him about Jack Snyder’s wound. “Candace said it was a burn. It could be just a coincidence, but—”
“But it could be from starting a barn fire,” he finished.
“Exactly. There’s so much to consider. Maybe you were right when you suggested that Clem was killed by two people.”
“Could be. If that’s the case, you just have to figure out which two of your suspects are connected.”
He was right, of course. And the first pair that jumped to mind was Tessa and Lucas. Had Tessa wanted the farm all along and put Lucas up to killing her uncle? Of course, maybe Margie and Whitaker were really connected somehow. Pretending to be a guest at the inn would be the perfect cover. They could act like strangers and yet still easily plot a murder together. Or maybe Jack and Lucas . . . or Margie and Jack . . . or was there someone else out there who I’d completely missed? I mulled over the possibilities for the remainder of the ride, and by the time we arrived at the Pack & Carry, the only thing I’d concluded was that I really didn’t have any conclusions.
There were only a few cars parked in the Pack & Carry lot—most of the good citizens in town were probably at Sunday services, not doing their grocery shopping—so, I easily spied what I thought was Clem’s old pickup truck and parked next to it, getting out to take a closer look. “This was Clem’s truck,” I told Cade, recognizing its custom chrome accents and vanity plates that read “GA FRMR.” “Lucas must be driving it now.”
“Lucky kid. This is a nice truck.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.” Just one more way Lucas benefitted from Clem’s death—fancy ne
w wheels to drive.
As I moved past, something in the back of the truck caught my eye. “Hey, Cade. Come here.” I reached into the bed and pulled out a small metal tube. “What’s this, I wonder?”
He took it, holding it up and squinting. “I don’t . . . oh, I do know what this is.” He looked at me, his brows coming together. “It’s called a quick connector.”
“A quick connector,” I repeated. “What’s that used for?”
“It’s a type of fitting used on air-conditioning units.”
My eyes grew wide. “Oh really?” I cast another quick glance at the truck of the bed. “A person sure could haul a lot of scrap metal in this truck.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Cade said. “What do you say we head inside. Maybe have a little talk with Lucas.”
“Actually,” I said, looking over Cade’s shoulder and quickly pocketing the air-conditioning part. “Here he comes now.”
Lucas lumbered toward us, the tail of his work shirt hanging out of his pants. “Hey! What are you people doing—oh, Ms. Harper. Hello.”
“Hey, Lucas. How’s it going?” I asked.
“Okay, I guess. Just came out for a smoke break.” He used a key fob to open the door of the truck, reached in and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“We were just heading in to get some shopping done,” I started. “My friend Cade saw this truck and wanted to check it out.”
Cade offered his hand. “Hey, buddy. Cade McKenna. Nice truck.”
Lucas shook his hand and then lit up and blew out a stream of smoke. He was an awkward smoker. Made me wonder if it wasn’t a new thing for him. “Thanks. It really belongs to my girlfriend.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “This used to be Clem’s truck, didn’t it?”
Lucas nodded and took another drag from his cig, using his free hand to move a long flop of hair out of his face. “Yeah. He just got it last year. Let me drive it for farm work and stuff. I’m just borrowing it now since Clem . . . well, you know. My truck’s in the shop. It needs an alignment job.”
Cade ran his hand along the tailgate. “V6?” he wanted to know.
Lucas’s face lit up. “Yeah—285 horsepower, turbo diesel. This baby can tow three tons.”
“Cool.” Cade worked his way around the truck, eyeing me pointedly. I realized he was waiting for me to take the lead in questioning Lucas. I briefly considered my options. I could show him what we’d found, point an accusing finger and demand some answers. But the only thing I had was a little connector thingy, not exactly solid proof. And even if it was, it only indicated that Lucas was somehow involved in the recent rash of scrap metal thefts, not murder. I wanted to stay focused on the murder.
I finally decided to take an indirect approach. “How’s Tessa doing?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess. We had a big party for her last night out at the farm. Seemed to cheer her up a little.”
“I’m sure she misses her uncle. Can’t be easy for her. How about you? Were you close to Clem? I mean, I noticed that you and Tessa seem serious.”
“Yup. We’re talking about get married.”
“Hey, that’s great,” Cade threw out. “I bet Clem was pleased when you told him.”
Lucas’s expression turned dark. “Well, I hadn’t yet. I was going to, but . . .” He shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette, throwing it down and crushing it under the toe of his cowboy boot.
“Clem could be difficult,” I offered. “A lot of folks didn’t get along with him.”
“True,” he agreed. “But, he’d always been good to me. Gave me a job out at the farm. Made me crew manager the second year.”
“Sounds like he was happy with your work,” I said.
He shrugged, but didn’t answer. His eyes darted toward the store. I sensed he was getting ready to bolt. “Well, Tessa sure is lucky to have you during this difficult time,” I quickly added. “She was in my shop yesterday, singing your praises.” Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Cade smiling encouragingly. Lucas seemed to relax a little.
I continued, “Will you be able to go to the funeral?” I tipped my head toward the store. “I mean, were you able to get time off work? Tessa was telling me it’s in the morning, and I know how much it would mean to her.”
“Yeah. I worked it out with my boss. I’ve been on the six to two shift all month, but I’ll stay a little later tomorrow. Make sure all the stocking is done to make up for the time off.” He opened the truck door and tossed his cigs and lighter inside. “Well, I gotta get back to work. Good meeting you, Cade.”
As I watched him walk across the lot, something niggled at my mind. Something Lucas had said. What was it?
“Should we head in and get the shopping done?” Cade asked.
What was it Lucas said? What was . . . ? Then it hit me. I looked up at Cade and smiled. “Think I’ll hold off on grocery shopping for now. There’s something else I need to do. It’s a bit of an adventure, though. Care to join me?”
Cade’s dark eyes gleamed mischievously. “Ms. Harper, I’d join you on any adventure.”
* * *
“Well, I certainly didn’t expect this,” he said a little while later. We were parked on the road outside Clem’s farm. “Hope you know what you’re doing. The shortcut you’re planning could tear the heck out of your truck.” After talking to Lucas, something clicked in my mind. He’d claimed that he worked until two o’clock every day, but I remembered Tessa saying that he showed up at the courthouse at about the same time she received the phone call about the fire. So, I called Carla and asked her to get ahold of Tessa to find out exactly what time she got that phone call. Tessa checked her cell log and said it was at 5:12. That left a narrow time window. Was it possible that Lucas had been at the farm, seen my daddy argue with Clem, killed Clem, and then got back to town in time for Tessa to get that call? I knew it took me almost twenty minutes to get to town, but that was on the usual roads, without rushing. By everyone’s estimates, the fire was started sometime between four thirty and five o’clock. But I knew that Daddy left Clem, still alive, at about a quarter to five. It would have taken the killer at least another ten minutes to kill Clem and get the fire started. Give or take a few minutes. What I needed to find out was if Lucas could get from the farm to the courthouse in less than twenty minutes. If so, he not only had motive, but means.
“I’ll try to be careful,” I said. Although I did recall Lucas saying something about his own truck being in bad shape. Perhaps he tore it up racing back to town after killing Clem? I drew in my breath. Guess I was about to find out. “Ready?” I asked, glancing across the seat to where Cade’s thumb hovered over the start button of his cell phone’s stopwatch.
“Ready.”
I gunned it and tore off down the gravel road, leaning slightly forward over the wheel. I squinted through the gravel dust, on the lookout for my turn.
“Up there,” Cade said, indicating a small break in the trees.
Slowing only slightly, I took the turn at breakneck speed. “Time?”
“Just under two minutes.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, trying to keep the truck steady. We were racing down an old logging trail that ran between two main roads and, by my estimate, would shave at least five minutes off the trek into town. I’d taken the road before when I was in a hurry, but never at this speed. Trees zoomed by, their branches whipping the sides of the truck, each new scrape making me cringe. A loud pop sounded as the front tire hit a pothole.
“Whoa! Easy!”
“Time?”
“Not quite three minutes,” he responded, his free hand reaching for the dash. “You’re making good time.”
We were just about to the main road and nearing Candace’s place. I spotted her out by her mailbox, and honked twice as we approached. She leaped back, eyes round
with shock. I dared a quick glance in the rearview mirror as we zoomed past. She had hands on her hips and was glaring my way.
The back end of the truck slid as I cranked the wheel and turned onto the main road. I punched it again, hoping to make even better time now that we were on pavement.
“Cop!” Cade suddenly shouted. I slammed on my breaks, but it was too late. I whizzed past the sheriff’s cruiser going about twenty miles an hour over the speed limit. A siren sounded behind us.
“Crap!” I said, pulling over to the side of the road. I put the gear in park and buried my face in my hands. “Please don’t let it be Maudy, please . . .”
I could hear Cade turning in his seat. “You’re in luck. It looks like Travis.”
Breathing a little easier, I cranked down the window and offered my best smile. “Hey, Travis.”
“Nola? Thought this was your truck.” He removed his Stetson and leaned into the window. “Hey there, Cade.” Cade nodded and Travis looked back at me. “What’s the all-fire hurry? You could get hurt drivin’ like that.”
“I’m sorry, Travis. We were . . . uh.” Telling him that we were investigating Clem’s murder probably wouldn’t go over too well.
“We were in a hurry to get out to the hospital,” Cade interjected.
Travis’s eyes registered concern. “Oh, that’s right,” he said to me. “Your daddy’s up there with heart problems, isn’t he? Sheriff’s been keepin’ me informed of his progress.”
I bet she has. I smiled tightly. “Please tell the sheriff that I said thank you for her concern. And I promise I’ll drive more carefully from here on out.”
He shook his head and stood upright, his hand slowly moving toward his shirt vest pocket where I knew he kept a ticket pad. My mind quickly calculated what exactly twenty miles over the speed limit might net me: a fifty-dollar fine? Seventy-five? “I have some information for you,” I blurted.
Cade flinched. “Nola,” he hissed. “Do you really want to . . . ?”
“Information?” Travis dropped his hand and leaned forward again. “About Clem’s murder?”
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