“No, about the rash of scrap metal thefts going on around here,” I explained.
Travis’s eyebrows came together. “Scrap metal thefts? Now what exactly do you know about that?”
I shrugged. “Just that a lot’s gone missing lately: the bleachers, downspouts at the library, some air-conditioning units from businesses downtown . . .” I thumbed toward Cade. “And some copper wiring from his construction site.”
Travis turned his attention to Cade. “Is that right? I don’t recall any reports on wiring missing from your site.”
Cade bobbed his head in agreement and mumbled something under his breath.
“Yup. That’s right,” I reiterated for him. “Just odd things here and there, but it all seems to add up to scrap metal theft. Did you know a person can get quite a bit for stuff like that? Especially copper. Recyclers pay good money for it.”
“So, what type of information do you have?” Travis wanted to know.
I glanced over to Cade, who turned over his palms and shrugged. Just a little too late, I realized that I’d jumped into this before thinking it through. After all, what evidence did I really have? The connector thing I’d found in the back of Lucas’s truck? That could have come from anywhere.
“Well, I didn’t actually mean substantial information,” I backtracked.
Travis raised his brows over the rims of his mirrored sunglasses, his hand inching back toward his pocket.
I straightened my legs and reached into the side pocket of my cargo pants. I handed him the metal piece I’d found. “We were at the Pack and Carry earlier this morning and I found this thing in the back of a truck.”
Travis turned it around in his fingers. “What is this?”
I looked to Cade for help. He sighed. “A quick connector.”
“Yes. A quick connector,” I echoed. “They’re used on air conditioners. And I heard a couple of those were stolen earlier this week.”
Travis nodded. “That’s right. A couple of units have gone missing. Whose truck are we talking about?”
I hesitated.
Travis leaned forward and looked at both Cade and I. “Did y’all recognize the truck, or not?”
“It belonged to Lucas Graham,” I admitted.
Travis straightened and took a swipe at his brow. “Damn, kid,” he mumbled, shifting his feet a couple times before leaning back into my truck. “Okay. Thanks, Nola. I’ll look into it.”
“Maybe it doesn’t really mean what I think it does,” I halfheartedly added. But despite all the good things Ginny had told me about Lucas, I had disliked him from the moment I met him. Actually, scrap metal theft was probably the least of his crimes. Judging from the time I’d been making—before being pulled over by Deputy Travis, that is—Lucas could have easily murdered Clem, started that barn fire and made it back to town in time for Tessa’s phone call. There was no doubt in my mind. “You won’t tell him it was me who pointed the finger, will you?” I asked Travis.
“Nope. I’ll just keep that little tidbit between us. In fact, maybe you’d best not mention anything to the sheriff, neither. I’ll take care of that. That way if it doesn’t pan out, you won’t be to blame for sending her on a wild-goose chase.” He raised one eyebrow, and we both understood.
Travis was right. If I went to Maudy with this information, she’d just assume I was trying to throw her off Daddy’s case. And heaven knew, I didn’t need to give Maudy one more reason to dislike our family. I let out a long sigh. “Good idea, Travis. I won’t say a thing to her.”
“Good to hear. Especially since you’ll probably run into her at the hospital. She happened to mention that she’d be poppin’ in to pay your daddy a visit today.”
* * *
Cade stayed behind in the waiting room while I went in to see Daddy. Both Ray and Ida were already there, along with Mama, who was perched next to Daddy on the bed. “Mama,” I said, “why don’t you head home and get some rest. I can stay here with Daddy for a while.”
Ida waved her hand through the air. “Don’t even bother. I told her the same thing. But she won’t leave his side.”
Daddy smiled up at Mama and patted her hand. Just a small gesture, but for some reason tears pricked my eyes. All these years they’d been together: raising children, raising peaches, seeing each other through the good and the bad. Like two pieces of a whole. I quickly looked away, unable to bear the thought of one without the other.
“Everything okay, darlin’?” Daddy asked.
I swallowed hard and turned back with a brave face. “Sure, everything’s fine. What did the doctors have to say?”
“Sorry to disappoint y’all, but they said I’m nothin’ but a stubborn old mule and that I’ll be around for more years than y’all can count.”
“Raymond!” Mama chided. “That’s not what they said and you know it.”
We all looked expectantly at Mama. I was holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Was it worse than we all thought?
“Your father needs to have a couple stents put in his arteries,” she said. We must have all looked horror-stricken, because she quickly added, “The doctor says it’s a common procedure. He’s recommending a specialist up in Atlanta. We’ll be heading up there soon.”
“And once that’s done, I’ll be as good as new,” Daddy added.
I breathed a little easier.
Mama pursed her lips and shook her head. “That’s not exactly all he said, Raymond.”
“What else did he say?” Ray wanted to know.
Ida was standing a few feet away; she clenched her arms around her middle as if trying to hold herself together. I went to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. I could feel her trembling.
We all waited and watched while Daddy fidgeted, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he struggled to find the right words. “Maybe we ought to wait,” he finally said to Mama.
“No, Raymond. We’ve waited long enough. I’m not going to take any more chances with your health. I’m just not.” She turned to us, a resolute look on her face. “The doctor told him he needs to give up the cigars and Peach Jack. For good, this time. And he’ll have to make some dietary changes, too. I’ll need to change the way I’ve been cookin’.” I could feel my shoulders relax. This isn’t so bad. I could stand to lay off all the fried food and gravy myself.
But then she dropped a bombshell. “And he’ll have to give up peach farmin’.”
Chapter 14
Southern Girl Secret #030: Always wear your pain with a smile, like a pair of high-heeled shoes—no matter how much it hurts, all they’ll see is how nice you look.
As I keyed into the side door of the inn later that evening, I felt not only exhausted, but my stomach rumbled with indigestion: a combination of bad hospital food and stress over the latest turn of events. As if finding out Daddy needed surgery wasn’t bad enough, Maudy Payne showed up with her usual air of pundit authority, demanding to know when Daddy would be released. She wasn’t happy to learn he was going to go straight from our local hospital to Atlanta for his operation. And her presence at the hospital only served to add to our family’s upset. Luckily, Ray was able to spout some legalese and expedite her departure.
Perhaps just as disconcerting as Daddy facing surgery was the realization that, as a family, we faced another tough problem—what to do with the farm. While no one came right out and said anything, I knew there were really only two choices: we sell the farm, or I take over the day-to-day operations. Since Ray was already working long hours at his legal firm over in Perry, and Ida had the twins and a new baby, the responsibility naturally fell to me. I could tell that Daddy hoped I would step forward and offer to take over things. I could see it in his eyes, although he insisted he didn’t want to talk about it right now. I appreciated not being backed into a corner with direct discussion about it. But something made me hold back f
rom jumping to answer the unspoken question. I’m not sure what. Maybe it was because I knew running the farm was such a huge undertaking. Then there was my shop, which had barely been in business for a year and was growing daily. I’d come to really love my little business and hated to give that up. But how could I possibly manage both the farm and the shop?
It was late and the interior of Sunny Side Up was as dark and broody as my mood as I bumbled through the screened porch, juggling both my bag and my laptop case, flipping on a few lights as I headed into the kitchen. Margie kept drinks and other snacks on hand for her guests. I was hoping a soda might settle my stomach. Bending over the fridge shelves, my hand had just connected with a can of ginger ale when I sensed a presence. I wheeled around to find John Whitaker hovering just inches away.
My free hand flew to my chest. “Mr. Whitaker, you scared me!”
He stood his ground, a lock of his slick black hair falling over his wide forehead as his intimidating eyes bore into me. “Were you in my bedroom this morning?”
“In your bedroom?” I tried really hard not to think about that pair of silky red briefs. “No. Of course not! Why would I be in your bedroom?” I quickly popped the top on the can and took a swig of ginger ale, only to have it go down the wrong tube and send me into a coughing fit. Whitaker still didn’t budge. I thumped on my chest and cleared my throat. “Excuse me. I swallowed wrong. Where is everyone, anyway?” I tried to slide around him, but he moved in even closer, blocking my escape.
“Someone’s been in my room,” he hissed, his face only inches from mine. “And I don’t think it’s just a coincidence that you show up here at the same time my room gets searched. What are you up to?”
“I’m not up to anything. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a busy day and I’m tired.” I started to push around him, but he snatched my arm. Could this be the same hand that killed Clem and then set his barn afire? I felt my pulse pounding against his tight grip.
“What’s your game, lady?” His hot breath assaulted my nostrils.
I stepped back and yanked my arm away. “I’m not playing any games. Now get out of my way!”
Surprisingly, he stepped aside. I quickly reached over and grabbed my bags off the counter and stormed past him, breaking into a jog as soon as I rounded the kitchen corner and checking over my shoulder a couple times as I scurried up the staircase.
Safely inside my room, I double-checked the door lock and flopped onto the bed, trying to catch my breath. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my heart beat doubletime. A couple seconds later, I heard the thud of another door shutting followed by the clicking of a lock. I shuddered, realizing that the ugly son of a gun was sleeping just a few feet away. Paranoid, I slid from the bed and crossed to the veranda door, double-checking that lock and pulling the drapes tight. Then I paced nervously back and forth for a few seconds before stopping to take a deep breath. Panic wasn’t going to solve anything. I needed to get a grip on myself.
After a quick teeth brushing—and, no, I didn’t dare look into the mirror—and pulling on my oversized Bulldogs T-shirt, I propped up in bed with my laptop. Determined to organize my thoughts, I opened a fresh page and listed everything I’d discovered over the last few days, including suspects and their motives and opportunities. When I finished, it looked like a jumbled mess.
Still, as I read over my notes, I realized Margie was the one wild card in all this. It certainly seemed too coincidental that Clem was killed the very same day he threatened to reveal something about her past. I switched over to an Internet search engine and began searching her name. Turns out the name “Margie Price” was popular. I found Dr. Margie Price, head of obstetrics at Tulane Medical Center, and a few social network pages for Margie Price, a boy crazy senior at Rosemont High School, but nothing for my Margie. Next, I tried Margaret Price. Still nothing promising. Remembering that she moved here from Detroit, and Clem had hired a firm up there to investigate her, I cross-referenced her name with Detroit and got a few listings for the family name “Price.” I was about to click on one of them when a soft knock on my door made me jump.
“Nola. Are you in there? It’s me, Hawk.”
I scrambled into my jeans and padded across the floor to let him inside, glancing down the hall toward Whitaker’s room before shutting the door. “Glad you’re here,” I said.
“Why? What’s up? You look . . . hey, what’s this?” His hand gently pulled at my arm. “Looks like you’ve got the start of a nasty bruise.” His brows furrowed as he studied the angry red marks on my biceps. My skin was bruised in a couple spots where Whitaker’s nails had dug into me. Hawk’s own arm muscles twitched as his blazing eyes met mine. “Who did this to you?”
I stepped back, reclaiming my arm. “Whitaker. About an hour ago down in the kitchen. He suspected that I’d gone through his things and was ticked off.”
Hawk whipped around and reached for the doorknob. I jumped in front of him, my back pressed against the door. “I can handle Whitaker. Besides, if you charge in there and threaten him, he’ll pack up and leave. I need to get more information first.”
The corner of Hawk’s mouth twitched. “Threaten him?” He shook his head. “Darlin’, I’m not gonna threaten him. I’m going to beat the crap out of him.”
“Please calm down, Hawk. I need to find out a little more first. It’s important to me. For my family. And I can’t do that if you go in there and kill him.”
My choice of words seemed to bring a little comic relief to the situation. Hawk backed up and blew out a long breath. “He needs to be dealt with.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, a swatch of dark hair falling over his brooding eyes. “Obviously I’ve misjudged the guy.”
“I understand if you’re concerned for Margie, but I’ll be okay. I can handle Whitaker. And he’s already leaving in a couple days. Which doesn’t give me much time to figure out what he’s up to. Like you said before, if he was going to harm one of us, he would have already done it. Think about it. Whitaker has no detectable motive. Besides, there’s nothing to tie him to this community. So if he had killed Clem, he would have just left by now. No, I really don’t think Whitaker is a killer.”
“If he’s not your killer, then why do you care if he stays or not?”
Touché. “Because he’s up to something, and I’d like to know what. It could still be related.” I didn’t dare tell him it was to see if, like Cade suggested, he was in cahoots with someone like Margie. After all, Margie was still Hawk’s client.
A low growl sounded from the back of Hawk’s throat, but he didn’t comment one way or the other. Instead, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket. “I’ve got some information. Whitaker’s car rental was paid for with a credit card belonging to a guy named Felix Ganassi. Could be Whitaker’s real name. I’m having a friend track it down for me. I’ll probably have more information soon. I also did some checking on Jack Snyder. You know those signs Snyder has plastered all over town?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I checked with the local print shop. He put in the order a few days before Clem was killed.”
“No way.”
“Yeah. I went out to his farm and asked him about it. He admitted to it. Said that he’d made the decision to run for office just a few days before Clem was killed.”
“That’s not what he’s been telling people. He said he thought the farmers needed a representative after Clem was killed.”
“Yeah. He claims he was getting ready to make the announcement, but then Clem was murdered, and he saw a good opportunity to play on people’s sentiments. You know, carry on Clem’s cause, and so on.”
“Or he killed Clem in order to create the opportunity for himself.” Either way, the guy had lost my vote.
“I asked him about the burn, too,” Hawk said. “He claims he’s been burning off pruned wood from his trees. He said he got a little close
to his burn pile.” While I mulled that over, Hawk moved on to a more personal subject. “How’s your father doing?” he asked.
I filled him in on the latest news, leaving out the part about Daddy quitting the peach farming business. I hadn’t been able to wrap my own mind around it, let alone explain it to Hawk. I also prattled on with my other revelations regarding the investigation, all to which he occasionally nodded in agreement, but had nothing more to add. Finally, after a little more rehashing of the case, and a few well-meaning warnings concerning Whitaker, Hawk left to go back to his room. As soon as I’d locked the door behind him, I went back to my computer and began searching the name Felix Ganassi.
After trying quite a few searches, I found a Felix Ganassi with a Whitepages listing for the Detroit metro area—where Margie was from. Was Whitaker really Felix Ganassi and were Margie and Ganassi somehow connected? I sighed and rubbed my eyes. The day’s events had left me so exhausted, nothing was making sense anymore.
I shut down my computer and stowed it under the bed. But as I lay awake in the dark, my thoughts kept returning to the case. It just seemed too coincidental that both Margie and Whitaker were from Detroit. Could they have been working together all along? I shook my head and mumbled to myself, “No, that can’t be right.” All that sneaking around her place when she was gone would have been unnecessary. And Margie would have to be some actress to have played such a part at the diner the other night when she talked to Cade and me about her worries over Whitaker. Besides, the map, the threatening way he approached me in the kitchen . . . Whitaker, or Ganassi—or whatever the creep’s real name is—was up to something sinister. And my gut told me that Margie just wasn’t the sinister type.
Of course, my instincts had been off before.
* * *
J. B. Cain & Sons funeral parlor was housed in a Federal-style home, located just down the street from Sunny Side Up. For as long as I could remember, old man Cain had been working hard to send our town folk off to their maker with a final flourish. The “& Sons” weren’t much to talk about, though. As Mama always said, J. B.’s sons were about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Rumors were that one of them had smoked himself stupid on cigarettes dipped in embalming fluid, while the other fancied himself a volunteer video game tester and spent all his time living in a virtual haze. I wasn’t much for rumors, but I did know that I hadn’t seen either boy since my return to Cays Mill. But, maybe they’d come out of hiding today. After all, something as big as the murder of one of the town’s most prominent citizens—a mayoral hopeful nonetheless!—was sure to draw a few snakes out from under the rocks.
War and Peach Page 16