Burying Daisy Doe

by Ramona Richards

  Whatever murmurs had been buzzing through the room silenced. I looked down at his hand on my arm, and he tossed it away as if I had mange. I straightened and faced the crowd. “That’s why you’re all here, isn’t it? You want to know about yesterday.”

  A few heads nodded. Miss Doris looked down at her hands in her lap.

  I went to the counter and perched on one of the stools. I cleared my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vic Beason set his phone next to his plate and press one of the buttons.

  “My name is Star Cavanaugh. O’Connell was my married name, but I gave it up about ten years ago. And as much as I like working for Doc and serving y’all, I’m actually a private investigator. I’ve wanted to chat with Roscoe for a long time, but he’s the one who sought me out at the cemetery. I did not ask him to meet me there. It would not have been my choice as a meeting place. I know that by now most of you have seen the photo that’s been making the rounds. If you’ll look closely at it, you’ll see part of Roscoe’s car in the picture. That’s the angle from which he was shot. I believe that picture was made by someone who either knows—or is—the person who killed Roscoe.”

  I looked at the guy who grabbed me. “To answer your question, the reason I’m not in jail is because there’s not enough evidence to suggest I shot Roscoe. And I had no motive. In fact, I had all the motive in the world to keep him alive. Roscoe was the one remaining witness to the cases I’m investigating.”

  Miss Doris’s head shot up, her eyes wide. Obviously she got it. She’d put the grave, Roscoe, and me together and suddenly understood. A few people looked around at her, then back at me.

  “So the last thing I wanted was Roscoe dead.” My voice softened. “More than that, I really liked him. We’d chatted enough in here that I’d wanted to know him better. I am cooperating with the police department, and they are investigating me, just as they would anyone else who finds a body. They checked me for gunshot residue. I have agreed to do nothing that would interfere with their work. If they find reason to arrest me, they will.”

  “Even though you and Mike are dating?”

  I couldn’t make out who said that, so I answered to the crowd. “We’ve had one date. We like each other. But what relationship we might have had is on hold until this is done. We won’t be seeing each other socially, even in here, until it’s resolved.”

  “You’re not going to keep working in here, are you?”

  I shrugged. “That’s up to Doc. And y’all. Tell you the truth, I like working here. I liked getting to know everyone.”

  “But you’re just investigating us.”

  “Not really. I admit it helped me to get to know Pineville, your history, what makes the town tick. Most of the people I’ve met and spent time with, however, have nothing to do with the cases I’m looking into. I just liked spending time with you.”

  “What are the cases?”

  And there it was. The question of the day. I looked at Miss Doris. Her eyes had turned red, and tears glistened on her cheeks. But she gave me one nod. I glanced at Doc, who did the same.

  “The murder of Daisy Doe. And the murders of the men who came here in 1984 to try to find out who killed her.”

  A buzz shot through the crowd, and one of the older farmers stiffened in his chair. “That was almost seventy years ago!”

  “I’m a cold case detective.”

  “So who are you working for? Who’s got you poking around in our business?” That was the guy from Ed’s again. Another moment of truth.

  “I’m working for myself this time.” I straightened my shoulders. “Daisy Doe was my grandmother. And one of the men who arrived in 1984 was her son. My father.”

  The silence felt like a late-summer humidity. Heavy, cloying. Unending.

  I pressed on. “So this is personal. And I need your help.”

  A few of the murmurs picked up again. One of the men I’d seen at church spoke up. “Most of us weren’t even alive then.”

  “I know. That’s the reason most of my work will be in the archives or the library. Cold cases are far more about research and conversations than anything you’d see on television.” I slid off the stool. “Look, I don’t blame you if you hate me right now. Hate that I lied about my name or if you feel I deceived you about being here. Truth is, before yesterday, I’d only told one person why I’m here—Michael Luinetti. I haven’t discussed it with anyone else, one way or another. Last night I told Doc everything. Roscoe figured it out because he recognized me.”

  My eyes stung, and I swallowed hard. “He said that I looked like her. Like Daisy Doe. He wanted to help me. That’s why he was in the cemetery yesterday—to talk to me. He told me some things but needed to go back to the car for the air conditioning. I was going to join him, to talk more. Obviously, someone didn’t want that to happen.”

  The guy from Ed’s stood up. “Are you saying it could be dangerous to help you? Why? That woman’s been dead since 1954!”

  I focused on his face. “Yes. And why is the exact question. I don’t know. Not yet.” I scanned the crowd again. “Most of you can’t help me. Others won’t. But if you have any information at all, I hope you will.”

  I let the room go silent. After a few tense moments, Rafe coughed. “Order up, Star.”

  I picked up the plate and a fresh pot of coffee and faced the room again.

  Some people had left. Some even edged out without paying their tab. Others focused on their plates, and gradually … gingerly … conversation resumed. They eventually finished eating, and the room emptied.

  Except for Doris Rankin. As Rafe cleaned the grill and I bused the last of the cluttered tables, she watched me. The tears had dried, and I expected her to be angry. But her expression had softened even more, her eyes wide and curious. I washed the final plate, hung up the apron, and dried my hands. I pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.

  “You remember, don’t you?”

  Her eyes narrowed with intensity. “Of course I remember. I was eighteen. Had just graduated high school and was about to head off to nursing school in Birmingham. I was going to be the next Florence Nightingale. Maybe even go on to be a doctor. I loved helping people.” She paused and fluttered her hand in front of her, as if pointing to a far destination. “The future was bright … glittery … hopeful.” Her hand dropped back into her lap. “Then she came. They killed her. And all my dreams.”

  I leaned toward her. “Why?”

  She focused on my face. “Because they killed her! It shocked the whole town. Nothing like that ever happened here. People were afraid for their girls, their children. So no woman under thirty was allowed to leave the house alone for weeks. No one knew if it was some random stranger or if we had a killer living in town. We were terrified, all summer long, way into the fall and winter.”

  My heart ached for her. “You couldn’t go to school.”

  “Daddy drove into his office in Gadsden every day. An accountant.” A small smile flitted across her mouth and vanished. “He used to say, ‘I’m an actuary actually.’ He thought that was funny. But with him driving in and me bored out of my skull, I started going in with him. Found a job in an investment firm next door. Typist, then secretary. By the time the next term at the nursing school rolled around, the president of the firm wanted me as his girl Friday instead. The money was great. I could afford as much lipstick and home perms as I could handle. So I stayed.”

  She glanced out the front window of the drugstore a moment, then faced me squarely. “I like you, Star. But I knew you had to be up to something. You had too much going on to be here because you wanted to sling biscuits and gravy every day. Although I didn’t expect all this!”

  “I sometimes catch people off guard.”

  “Well, I’d think that would be a good thing in your profession.”

  I smiled. “Most of the time.”

  Miss Doris let out a long, slow sigh. “Honey, I will be eighty-five in a month or so. These cracker fools terrified me once. Th
ey ain’t doing it again. I will help you any way I can. That doll’s death has hung over this town for far too long.”

  I reached out and took her hand. “Thank you. So I have a question.”

  “Fire away.”

  “What can you tell me about Dean Sowers?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “My son-in-law? That Dean Sowers?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Miss Doris frowned, confusion clouding her expression as she thought about why I’d be asking. Then recognition hit suddenly, and her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “How much time do you have?”

  I walked Miss Doris home. We both knew dozens of eyes watched as we crossed the square and headed down Maple. More than a few ears as well. Instead of talking about anything related to the case, she regaled me with her adventures as a girl Friday, which I pointed out would now be called a personal assistant.

  She chuckled. “And how boring is that. People took note when they heard who I worked for. And I went all over the world those first few years. Then he decided I needed a degree.”

  I matched my pace to hers, which was much faster than I expected. “You didn’t go back to become a nurse?”

  She looked incredulous. “Are you joking? After learning how to conduct my job in Paris and Tokyo? No ma’am. That World War I ditty was right. Can’t keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree. He paid for half the degree. Mother and Daddy paid the other half.” She tapped my arm. “They still felt guilty about me missing my nursing dreams, but we’d all just accepted that God had a different plan. And sure enough, when I was a senior, that’s when I met my George. He was a freshman, but he was hot!”

  I laughed, and Miss Doris blushed. “Pshaw! You just see a half-blind seventy-seven-year-old man. I still see the freshman who could flip me over his back without thinking twice about it. He was lean and wiry, and I couldn’t wait to marry the man. The age difference was looked down on, of course, me being the older woman. But we knew. Almost from the moment we met. It happens that way sometimes.”

  “Is that the way it happened with Dean and Charlotte?”

  We had left the square and moved under the thickest of the shade trees arching over the street. They cooled the air and muffled our voices, but Miss Doris still spoke more quietly. “Hardly. They got a little too up close and personal after some rock concert. Charlotte had to drop out of school, and George threatened to bury Dean in the back yard if he didn’t step up.”

  “I thought shotgun weddings went out in the thirties.”

  Miss Doris looked up at me as if I were a child. “Oh, my dear, where do you think you are?”

  I had to laugh, and she joined me. We’d reached her house by that time, and we headed up the drive to the kitchen door. She pushed it open and ushered me in. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Would love some.”

  She pointed to a rack of coffee pods near the stove. “Pick your pleasure. Looks like the maker has enough water.” Miss Doris pulled two mugs from a cabinet and handed me one. “Have you ever asked Doc about getting some better brands at the drugstore? That stuff is barely above swill.”

  “The farmers seem to like it.”

  “Humph. Their favorite blends fall somewhere between burnt and tar. They just like it strong.”

  “Truth. And they tip well if I keep their cups full. Or they did.”

  Miss Doris pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table as I popped a pod into the coffeemaker and put my cup under the spout. She watched me, her lips in a tight bow. “They like you, Star. You’re the first outsider in a long time who’s won their affection. That’s why they’re so mad at you.”

  I leaned against the counter. “Do you think they’ll get past it?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Probably, if you stir up their curiosity in the right way.”

  “How so?”

  “Most of them weren’t around for any of the murders. The ones that were have avoided talking about it for more than thirty years. Don’t make them feel bad about that. You don’t remember what it was like under JoeLee Wilkes. Corruption in law and business was status quo. Most people turned a blind eye in order to stay out of trouble. And alive. Your daddy was murdered out in the open. Most people who took a stand against JoeLee simply disappeared.”

  “And now?”

  Another shrug. “I suspect there’s still pockets. The sheriff after JoeLee tried to ferret some of it out, but he’d been one of JoeLee’s deputies.”

  “Like Dean was.”

  Miss Doris paused. “Dean suddenly found himself with a wife and new baby and a need to support them all. The deputy’s job was supposed to be short term, while they earned enough money for him to go back to school.”

  “But that never happened.”

  She shook her head. My coffee gurgled to a halt, and I pulled the mug out, then slid Miss Doris’s mug under the spout. She pointed to a pod she’d set near the maker, and I pushed it into place.

  “Spoons are in that drawer.” She pointed. “Sugar’s next to the Frigidaire. Half-and-half is in the door.”

  I gathered the items and set them on the table, then retrieved her cup. We dipped, poured, and stirred in silence. After a few sips, Miss Doris peered into her cup as if she were reading tea leaves in the bottom. “Y’know, Dean was never the same after what happened to your daddy. I can’t explain it, exactly, but I know that he and Charlotte came close to a breakup after that. She said Dean was just … different. Quieter, and in some ways, meaner.”

  I sat up straighter, my cop instincts firing. The thought of what the Hall sisters had said about Dean and Miss Snopes flashed through my mind. “Mean? He hit her?”

  Miss Doris shook her head furiously. “No. Not that way. I’m sure he wanted to sometimes. Charlotte’s my own and I love her, but she can be tetchy sometimes. Even as a kid she could try the patience of a saint, and I am sure not one.” She paused and sipped the coffee. “No, he just became more impatient. Would yell about the slightest things. He would go off by himself—still does—for two or three days at a time. Charlotte thought he was cheating on her, until George had him followed.”

  “So. Not another woman?”

  “No. He just goes off to a place in the woods next to a creek. Sometimes just sleeps in his truck. It’s down an old field road, so George didn’t get too close. Once we knew he wasn’t cheating on Charlotte, we let it be.”

  “He sleeps in his truck? For two or three days?”

  She sniffed, then wiped one eye. “Yep. As far as I can tell, he’s been doing it for the past thirty years.”

  “Same place every time?”

  “As far as I know. Three or four times a year. I guess when Charlotte just gets to be too much on his nerves.”

  “Isn’t he getting close to retirement?”

  “Charlotte said he could retire in two or three years. But he wants to work as long as he can.”

  “And he’s never talked about the murders?”

  “Not to me. I doubt to Charlotte. I think their marriage has been running on inertia for years.”

  “What about to George?”

  That produced a sly grin. “Oh, my George and Dean Sowers operate on two completely different levels of life. George is opera, champagne, and world travel. Dean is Southern rock, beer, and fishing.” She took a sip of coffee. “Not that there’s anything wrong or right with either one. It’s just that they don’t exactly have a lot of heart-to-hearts.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Although he might have talked some to Kevin.”

  I had forgotten. “Kevin?”

  “Ellen’s husband. The ones who are having trouble, so I’m getting stuck with Carly for a while?”

  Yep, I needed to make a flow chart of Miss Doris’s family. “Oh, right.”

  “With Kevin and Ellen squabbling, the two men might have some common ground.”

  I had my doubts. “About a murder more than thirty years old?”

  Her mouth twisted. “Well, there
is that.”

  “Miss Doris, I have a photo of the crime scene. JoeLee and all his deputies standing around the bodies. Dean was there. Can you think of anyone else who might still be around from the sheriff’s department?”

  She got up, poured the remainder of her coffee in the sink, then leaned against it, crossing her arms. “Maybe. Could I see it?”

  “It’s pretty gruesome.”

  “Right.” She looked up at the ceiling, her lips a thin line. “No one from the sheriff’s department. But there’s Doc and Maude. Oh, and Jake Beason.”

  I thought about the pink beastie. “Yeah, Jake’s not real happy with me right now.”

  Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Well, don’t let that bother you. Jake’s not been real happy with anyone since Jimmy Carter was president. He’s a curmudgeon by trade.”

  “Anything else you can tell me about Dean?”

  She sat back down. “Maybe. Ever notice that he limps?”

  “I … uh … no. Why does he limp?”

  “Right about the time of your father’s murder, Dean got tangled up in a car wreck with some bootleggers. Not sure what happened, but the bootleggers were killed, and his leg got pretty mangled. If you can get him to talk to you about that time, you might want to ask him.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, and Ellis Patton.”

  I stared at her. “The mayor? That Ellis Patton?”

  She nodded vigorously. “He would have been just a boy when your grandmother was killed, but Ellis would have been about thirty-five or so when your daddy came to town.”

  “And you think he’d know something because …”

  She leaned back in her chair. “Rumors. Just rumors. And his daddy was mayor back then. The Pattons? They pretty much run this town. Have for more than seventy years.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Gadsden, Alabama, 1983

  “NASHVILLE’S NOT THAT far away, Roscoe.”

  Roscoe rolled his shoulders and shifted in the booth. They’d chosen the Waffle House off the interstate as being more anonymous. Few locals, more passers-through on the way from Chattanooga to Birmingham. But the server had been eying Bobby’s handsome face. She’d remember him, for sure, if someone asked later.