In High Cotton

by Kelsey Browning

  Maggie looked down at the paper in her hand. And although she leaned close to the man and lowered her voice, Lil still heard her say, “I know I told you I’d have the money, but would you be open to a payment plan?”

  He rubbed his bristly face. “Sure was hoping for the whole amount today.”

  “I’m good for it. I promise. It would really help me if we could spread it out.”

  He nodded once, and Maggie continued to thank him profusely.

  Lil got out of the car and tried to be patient and polite as the man closed his deal with Maggie.

  They watched him hop into the Dodge and pull a tight circle to leave Summer Haven, Lil turned and tried to keep her cool. “What exactly is going on here?”

  “It was an accident, Lil. The tree in front of the garage got struck by lightning and one of the limbs fell.”

  “Right through the roof of the garage?” Lil walked over to the side of the house eyeing the garage, but the roof looked just as rough as it had last summer. Probably should have been replaced long ago.

  “No. We’d pulled the car out of the garage. It’s a long story and most of it doesn’t matter. The bottom line is the car was outside just long enough to end up with a bonk on the nose.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Why didn’t you call Daddy’s mechanic? I left you all the details.”

  “He croaked. I had to go on a wild search to find someone else.”

  “That couldn’t have been easy. I’m surprised you found someone so close, and young. Daddy said he had the only guy on the whole coast who could work on that car. I guess I should be grateful you took the time to find the right person to fix Daddy’s car.”

  “Don’t thank me, Lil. It just makes me feel worse for letting it happen in the first place. You trusted me. I didn’t mean to let you down. I know how much that car means to you, and I have to tell you—”

  “Look, Daddy loved that car to the point of treating it like a family member, but if there’s one thing I learned the hard way in my little home away from home, it’s that things aren’t what are important.” How could she ever tell Maggie she was about to hand the car over to Angelina?

  Maggie’s mouth went slack.

  “I know.” Lil raised a hand. “Surprised the heck out of me too, to hear myself say that out loud. I hope you’ll understand when I tell you I’m selling the car.”

  “What?”

  Lil wasn’t sure if it was just an awkward surprise or if Maggie was mad, but she’d never seen her look like this. Her lips twitched like an out-of-sync left blinker and she sputtered, “Y-y-you’re selling the Torpedo? I’ve worried myself skinny trying to be sure I didn’t let you down and you’re selling the thing?” Her voice rose in volume with each word. “We’ve scraped and scrambled. When we all thought that car was worth the better part of a million dollars, you were dead set against ever selling it.”

  “What—”

  “Don’t you think you’ve been a bit unfair?” Maggie pushed at her hair, and her hand shook. “Now that it’s worth next to nothing, you’ll sell. Geez, Lil, forgive me, but this is a bit hard to swallow.”

  Next to nothing? That couldn’t be right. “Perhaps I heard you wrong. Did you say the Tucker is worthless?”

  “It’s not a Tucker.”

  Lil laughed. Her homecoming had been one big loop of ups and downs. Obviously, Maggie was pulling her leg to get back at her for being so moody and snappish lately. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know you’re just trying to get a rise from me.”

  “Dennis, the guy who just left, is not a Tucker mechanic.”

  “And yet you let him work on Daddy’s car?”

  “When the accident first happened, I called a Tucker Torpedo expert out here. Smart guy and he had some very interesting things to say about this car.”

  Maggie’s matter-of-fact tone had worry curling tight in Lil’s insides. “Like what?”

  Maggie took a deep breath. “That car is not a Tucker Torpedo. I’m not kidding, Lil.”

  “How can you say that? Look at that big wonky Cyclops eye headlight in the middle. Have you ever seen another car like that?”

  “Oh, it’s an amazing replica, but it’s not a limited edition anything, and most definitely not a Tucker Torpedo.”

  The tight wad of worry inside Lil inflated into a beach ball of anger. “Of course it is. Says so right on the emblem.”

  “No, Lil. I don’t know what the circumstances were, but that car was one heck of an impressive project. The Tucker Torpedo expert thought it was real at first glance too, but it’s just a replica. Isn’t even all metal. Half of the thing is car filler. But here’s the real kicker. The Tucker Torpedo was a rear engine car.”

  “Like a VW bug?”

  “Yep.”

  No, Daddy’d treated the Tucker as though it was as precious as Lil and her mother because it was special. Not because it was a replica.

  Then again, he’d never claimed it was terribly valuable. Abby Ruth had been the one to say it was worth tons of money.

  But he’d taken so much pride in driving that car around the county. What if honest William Summer wasn’t nearly as upstanding as she’d always believed? Maybe the reason he’d asked her not to sell it was because he didn’t want to be exposed as a liar even after his death.

  He didn’t want people to know the car was a big fat fake.

  And how could she sell a fake Tucker to Angelina? It was bad enough she knew Lil had committed fraud, but now she’d think the whole Summer family tree was nothing more than a bunch of lawbreakers.

  Chapter 22

  Maggie, Abby Ruth and Sera finally got back to the business that would help clear Jenny and keep Colton from firing her. They were all exhausted after the brouhaha with Lil and the Tucker not-a-Torpedo. Still, relief at having ’fessed up further loosened Maggie’s muscles.

  Over the past ten months, too many secrets and lies had swirled around Maggie and Summer Haven. It felt good to finally have one less weighing her down.

  “Let’s take a closer look at the picture Colton sent me,” Sera said.

  They’d gathered under the awning of Serendipity’s van rather than take a chance on bumping into Lil or having her overhear.

  Maggie had made a thermos of her tea and poured them each a medicinal—if a quart jar could be considered medical—portion of her special brew. Then they settled in.

  The photo the sculpture owners had emailed to Colton was slightly blurry, making it even harder to see the individual pieces of, as Abby Ruth would say, crapola. But Jenny had emailed a clear picture of the original, so side by side they could see the subtle—and some not so subtle—differences. Hopefully, there’d be a clue in all this squinting and find-the-difference game they were playing.

  Still, the larger-than-life-sized winged monkey itself made Maggie giggle.

  She nudged Abby Ruth with her shoulder. “You must’ve inspired Colton when you dressed up as the Wicked Witch of the West for Halloween. He made you some friends.”

  Abby Ruth gave her the stink eye, but then she grinned. “He wouldn’t be the first artist I’ve inspired. When I was in college, I modeled for an all-male art class.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Maggie said.

  “Let’s just say I never wanted for dates after those boys got a peek at my…assets.”

  Sera clicked on a little magnifying glass icon encircling a plus sign. The photo zoomed in and in. Then she manipulated the mouse until they could inspect one small area of the sculpture at a time.

  “Gotta give the guy credit,” Abby Ruth said. “Not many people would think to make those wings out of license plates. And the letters on those plates are lined up to actually spell words. Even I have to admit it’s pretty genius. The faker didn’t go to nearly that much trouble.”

  Sera continued to shift the picture from area to area.

  “Wait a minute.” Maggie poin
ted at the computer screen. “Scroll back.” Something familiar dangled from the monkey’s arms—paws, claws? What were monkey hands called, anyway? “Can you make that any clearer?”

  “Best I can do,” Sera said.

  Maggie’s eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, but she was pretty darned sure of what she was seeing. “Take a look at his paw-claws. That stir up a memory with either of you?”

  Sera’s face brightened as though she’d been offered free tofu for life. “Stir being the operative word there, Mags. I knew there was something to Hollis’ case.”

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Abby Ruth said quietly.

  “Looks like we may have swept his concerns under the rug a little too soon,” Maggie agreed.

  “Our two cases are connected!” Sera slapped her thigh. “How lucky could we be?”

  “Why didn’t we notice until now? I mean junk is junk, right? Y’all load up,” Abby Ruth said. “It’s time for another field trip to the dump.”

  “We should call Teague,” Maggie said.

  “Won’t do any good. He headed down to Palm Beach,” Abby Ruth said.

  Maggie shrugged. “Well then, I guess we’ve got a job to do.”

  Sure enough, when they arrived at the county landfill, Hollis Dooley and his dog were in the security booth, snoozing away in the early April sunshine streaming through the open door.

  “Hollis, wake up,” Maggie said in a low volume.

  Nothing. His jaw was slack and his dentures hung loose, making him look long in the tooth.

  “Hollis,” Sera sang.

  Still nothing.

  “Hollis Dooley,” Abby Ruth yelled, “wake your ass up or I’m gonna make off with your walker and your dog.”

  The old guy sat up, his sparse hair and eyes wild. His arms flailed around. “I gotta gun. You take my Ritter and I’ll pump you full of lead quicker than you can say Jiminy Cricket.”

  Maggie patted him on the shoulder. “It’s just us. No one’s stealing Ritter.”

  Hollis’ eyes cleared, and he raised his forearm to his mouth to wipe away a spot of drool. “Maggie, Sera, you’re both a sight for sore eyes.” Then he narrowed his gaze at Abby Ruth. “You, on the other hand, just make me sore.”

  Abby Ruth laughed and patted him on the shoulder. More of a whack, but friendly nonetheless.

  “We have a few questions for you about the missing trash.” Maggie took out a small spiral notebook where she’d jotted down some questions on the way over. “By chance, has Mr. Blackwood been out here lately?”

  “The shop teacher? What’s he got to do with missing trash?”

  Maggie didn’t want to unduly accuse a man of criminal behavior before they were sure he was the baddie. “We thought he might’ve struck a deal with you to drum up some supplies for his classes’ auction projects. They were inspired by the winning Art Fest work Colton Ellerbee did, and they’re making their own sculptures out of old stuff.”

  Hollis drew himself up on his stool, which still only brought his head to around Abby Ruth’s shoulder. “What kinda man do you think I am? You think I’m out here takin’ bribes? Just because I work for the county don’t mean I’m—”

  Sera cut in, “Of course we don’t think that. There’s no one more upstanding in Summer Shoals. We know how diligent you are about keeping an eye on things around here.”

  Abby Ruth snorted. If she didn’t stop that, she’d have sinus troubles soon.

  “We wondered if you’ve noticed anything else missing lately,” Maggie said.

  “Well, once you gals told me there was nothing to worry about, I didn’t much pay attention. After all, I paid y’all a pretty penny to figure it out.”

  He called five hundred bucks a pretty penny? After paying for Sera’s impromptu muffler repair, there wasn’t enough left to even put a dent in the Tucker-that-wasn’t-really-a-Tucker’s repairs.

  “What kind of things do you think might be missing?” he asked.

  Maggie pulled out the printed picture of the forged sculpture and held it out.

  “What in hell is that mess?”

  “I knew I liked you, Hollis,” Abby Ruth said.

  “It’s a winged monkey,” Sera offered.

  Hollis shuddered. “When I was a kid, those things used to scare the bejesus outta me.”

  “We were hoping you could tell us if you noticed any of these items missing from the dumpsters.”

  Hollis glared at the photo, squinting and moving it close to his face. Then he hefted himself up with the help of his walker and toed his dog. “C’mon, Ritter. We got work to do.”

  The old hound rose to his feet so slowly, Maggie wondered if they should get him a walker too. But he shook himself and lumbered out of the small building.

  She, Sera and Abby Ruth followed Hollis as he slowly stumped his way around the landfill. He stopped at one container and stretched his neck. “Could one of you gals climb on up there and see if there’s a big old blue lobster pot full of stuff still in the bin?”

  Abby Ruth rocked back on one boot, but Sera just hitched up her skirt, threaded it through her legs, and tucked it into her shirt. Then she climbed up the metal structure. “Was it on top?”

  “Doubt it,” he said. “Quite a few people have been in since then. Probably under Mr. Barton’s old mattress.”

  Sera dived in.

  “Oh, and you might not wanna touch that mattress. Mr. Barton said it came from one of his rentals. Had bedbugs.”

  A little squeak came from inside the bin. When Sera surfaced a few minutes later, she was brushing at her arms. “No lobster pot.”

  Maggie consulted the picture. “What about pipes like those? Looks like some kind of water lines or something.”

  Hollis waved them over to another location. “Last time I saw something like that, it was in here.”

  “How long ago?”

  He scratched his chin, then scratched his dog’s ears. Then his chin again. “Few weeks ago, I think?”

  Maggie cast a hopeful look at Abby Ruth, but she was shaking her head. “Paid near on five-hundred big ones for these boots.”

  Pretty much what Maggie figured. “You really should buy some rubber boots.”

  “Those ugly things?”

  If Maggie had to scrounge pennies from the parlor sofa, she was buying Abby Ruth some muck-around boots. But for now, she allowed her friends to boost her up. Without Sera’s grace, Maggie hung like a dead fish on the bin’s lip, the metal pushing into her midsection, almost cutting off her breath. She teetered forward and backward, finally building enough momentum on the front side. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as lucky as Sera going through the shop classroom window. She went head and hands down into the trash, and by the squishy-lumpy feel of it, her right hand had landed in a heap of banana pudding.

  Maggie’s stomach revolted. Dang it, and she’d loved banana pudding up till now. She tried to shake it off, but that only sent her further into the pile. This is for a good cause, Maggie. Money and Jenny’s reputation. Hold your breath and keep going.

  She finally made her way upright, balancing one foot on a sturdy liquor box and the other on a cracked Frisbee. The odor around her was a miasma of days-past-manager’s-special meat and greens gone bad. Would she be able to rid herself of it before Bruce picked her up for the auction tomorrow evening?

  She scanned the gunk around her and called out, “What were we looking for?”

  “Did you hit your head in there?” Abby Ruth yelled.

  “You climb in here and tell me if your brain keeps working.”

  That shut her up right quick.

  Sera said, “White corrugated pipe. Plastic-like stuff.”

  That’s right.

  Maggie gingerly picked up a moldy-headed doll, then a plastic trash bag that made a noise like a nest of rattlesnakes. She slowly worked her way through the shoulder-high stacks. But no sight of the white, bendy pipe. “Nothing here either,” she called.

  It took four attempts to scram
ble up the bin’s interior wall before Maggie could throw a leg over the side and she clung there, one arm and leg in and one set out, heaving in a semi-relieved breath and trying not to smell herself.

  When she dropped to the ground, her legs wobbled and she sank into a crouch.

  Abby Ruth waved a hand in front of her nose. “Odiferous.”

  But Sera reached out and gave Maggie a helping hand to her feet. “Do you think two missing things is enough to prove this is where the forger is getting his supplies?”

  “It occurred to me while I was in that stinky mess that when we came out to the landfill the first time, we found a pile of things on the back fence line. Do you remember seeing a one-armed mixer?”

  “I do. One beater was missing, and the other was a beater just like the one in Colton’s real sculpture. Do you think we thwarted their attempt at a better forgery so they had to resort to the spatulas?” Sera asked.

  “It’s a possibility,” Maggie said.

  Sera turned to Hollis. “Are you sure about seeing the pipe and the spatulas?”

  “I may be old, but I ain’t feeble. If I said I saw ’em, I saw ’em.”

  “I’m convinced,” Abby Ruth said.

  “What in the tarnation is going on here?” Hollis demanded.

  “Long story, but someone is forging Colton Ellerbee’s artwork.”

  “Them junk things?”

  “Finally,” Abby Ruth said, “someone who appreciates art the way I do.”

  “If you could keep this quiet for the time being, we’d appreciate it.” Maggie reached out to touch Hollis’ arm, but for a man using a walker, he sure did scoot out of the way in a flash. “We think we know who the forger is, but the last thing we want to do is spook him.”

  “So Mr. Blackwood is ripping off trash to make more trash. I always knew that boy wasn’t right in the head.”

  Maybe Maggie and the others needed lessons on questioning witnesses because stealthy they weren’t. “Let’s keep that between the four of us for now,” she told Hollis.

  “Guess I’ll know when it’s okay to say something when the gossip starts humming down at the Atlanta Highway Diner,” Hollis said.