The Confession

by Tom Lowe

  As she set the phone back on the cradle, she could hear the reporter still asking more questions. Elizabeth lifted her cell phone from her purse, found a number in the contacts, and pressed the button. It took seven rings, but the voice of an elderly woman said, “Hello?”

  “Nellie, it’s Elizabeth.”

  “Baby girl, how you doin’ t’day?”

  “I’m okay. Just behind in grading papers. I wanted to let you know I’ll be running about a half hour late tonight for our Wednesday dinner. I’m stopping by the Front Porch Café to pick up some food. Meatloaf is their special tonight. Would you like that or fried chicken?”

  Nellie, an elderly black woman, sat in a rocking chair on the screened-in porch of a 1940’s clapboard home and spoke into her phone. “Meatloaf is good. Don’t you fret none for me, child. Whatever you bring to me is gonna be okay. If they got ‘em sweet tators and collards, that’d be good, too.”

  “I’ll call in the order. See you around seven. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, ‘Lizbeth. You drive safe now, you hear me?”

  “I hear you, Nellie. Bye.”

  In her contacts, Elizabeth found the number to the restaurant and made the call. “Front Porch, this is Wanda.”

  “Hi, Wanda. This is Elizabeth Monroe. I want to call in an order for two carry-out meals.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Lemme get my pen. Okay, what’d you like?”

  “The first order is your meatloaf special, sweet potatoes, and collard greens. The second is for a chicken pot pie, green beans, and baked apples.”

  “You want buttermilk biscuits or cornbread?”

  “An order of each, thanks.”

  “It’ll be ready to go in twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  “Doctor Monroe?”

  “Yes, Wanda?”

  She stood near the cash register and looked at dozens of customer’s faces in the restaurant. “I feel like somebody’s watchin’ me. Like he’s in the restaurant and following me with his eyes. But, every time I try to see who it is, I can’t see anyone openly staring—but I feel it. I need to talk with you for just a minute when you get here.”

  SIXTEEN

  Elizabeth wanted to observe a predator. When she entered the Front Porch Café, she stood in a corner near the entrance. She watched the three servers, all women, the buttery smell of baked buttermilk biscuits and the lingering scent of green tomatoes dipped and fried in cornbread met Elizabeth.

  Wanda Donnelly was carrying two plates of food to a table, a man and woman sitting near the center of the restaurant. Elizabeth looked at faces and eyes. Looked at the back of heads to see the angles and arcs to determine who, if anyone, might be watching Wanda.

  She couldn’t see any overt observation from diners. Everyone seemed to be chatting and enjoying one another’s company and the southern comfort food. Elizabeth was soon spotted. Martha Black walked around tables filled with customers, smiling, and chatting, slowly making her way to Elizabeth. Wanda looked her way and flashed a nervous smile.

  “Liz,” Martha said, “How long you been standin’ here? Rebecca is supposed to be seating folks.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “It’s all right. She might have stepped away to the restroom.”

  “Could be. She’s six months pregnant. You know how babies can squat on your bladder like they own the darn thing.”

  “It’s been a long time, but I do remember.”

  Martha could see the distant look in Elizabeth’s eye. She recalled the murder of Elizabeth’s only child, Molly. She said, “Are you eatin’ alone or is that Hollywood handsome detective gonna be joinin’ you tonight?”

  “I ordered a take-out. Two take-outs, actually.”

  Martha smiled. “Sounds romantic. Your place or his? Oh, sweetheart, that’s none of my darn business.” Martha’s blue eyes had an affectionate and coy sparkle.

  “Neither. I’m having dinner with a dear family friend, Nellie Culpepper.”

  “I remember her. She almost raised you and your brother.”

  “She did raise us. At least she was always there for us.”

  Martha nodded. “It’s great you’re still close after all these years. Too often people drift apart. Is there any news on the investigation?”

  “Nothing new that I’ve heard.”

  “It’s all that people have been talkin’ about in here. Folks are speculatin’ who might be the murderer. I just pray to God he gets caught, and I hope to God I haven’t fed him. Lemma check on your order. Be right back.”

  When Martha left, Wanda approached Elizabeth, glanced over her shoulder, mouth tight. She said, “Doctor Monroe, I know you are really good at psychology, profiling criminals and whatnot … I was wonderin’ if you can give me some tips.”

  “What kind of tips?”

  “You know, stuff to be on the lookout for when I’m speakin’ with customers. Things they say … the way they look at me. I’m not talkin’ about the way a man looks at a woman with hungry eyes. I’ve seen enough of that in my life to spot it across a room. I’m talkin’ about … evil. Can you tell when a person’s just wicked through and through? I’ve felt the presence of evil, and it doesn’t always happen when I first meet someone. They don’t even have to talk. It’s just something … about their eyes. I could be wrong, but in my heart or my being, I’ve sometimes felt it, which tells me there’s somethin’ not right about that person. And then, in my head, I hear a little voice that says leave. Just go.” She tried to smile. “Please don’t think I go around hearin’ voices. I don’t. It’s more like a warnin’, like your mama pullin’ at your blouse to get you out from the midst of a bad situation. Do you know what I’m tryin’ to say?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s a woman’s intuition. But it’s not unique to women. It crosses gender groups. However, I’ve found that some people are much more inclined to be receptive to it. And it’s, more often, introverted people who actually listen, not only to what’s being said outside, but what’s being said in their hearts. I can tell something has rocked you, and not in a good way. What happened, Wanda?”

  “The other night, when I was putting the kids to bed and reading them a story, I heard a noise outside. Saw car headlights. After I tucked them in, I went to check and spotted a car parked about fifty yards from our farmhouse. It was just sittin’ on the shoulder of Old River Road. When lightning flashed, I could see a man inside, and I could tell he was watchin’ my house.”

  “Did he see you looking at him?”

  “I don’t know. When I turned on all the floodlights, he left. But he didn’t turn on his car lights until he got down the road some.”

  “Was your husband home?”

  “No. I called him immediately. Brandon was in Peoria. He told me to call the law, and he sent his brother to check on us.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No. I just didn’t want some deputy knockin’ on my door after the kids went to sleep.”

  “Next time it happens, call the sheriff’s office. You should document anything that threatens you and your family, okay?”

  “Okay.” Wanda’s eyes watered. “I’m sorry. I don’t cry easy. It’s just …”

  “I know. You have a lot of responsibilities.”

  “Oh, I forgot your order.”

  “Martha’s getting it. You just take a deep breath and release it slowly.”

  Wanda nodded. “Okay.”

  Martha approached with three Styrofoam packages stacked in her hands. She said, “Here you go, Liz. I had the kitchen put the biscuits and cornbread in this third container.”

  “Thank you, Martha.”

  A customer entered—a man in a denim jacket, jeans and hunting boots. “Lemme seat this fella. Wanda, can you ring Liz up at the register? And put everything in a plastic bag for her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She took the Styrofoam containers and said, “We’ll get you goin’ so your food will be nice and hot when you eat.”

  Elizabeth fol
lowed Wanda to the register, glancing at the faces of the diners. Some people recognizing her and nodding. Others chatting and eating. At the register, on the far end of the long counter, Wanda entered the check in the system and said, “That’ll be fourteen dollars and twenty-two cents.”

  Elizabeth handed Wanda twenty-five dollars and said, “Keep the change.”

  “Thank you so much, Doctor Monroe.”

  Elizabeth reached in her purse, lifted out a business card, and wrote her cell phone number on it. She gave it to Wanda. “Call me anytime you want to talk. Call me anytime you feel afraid. Okay?”

  Wanda looked at the number on the card, her hand slightly trembling. Elizabeth could see the rose tattoo on Wanda’s wrist. A wide smile moved across her lips. “Okay. Thank you so much, Doctor Monroe.”

  Elizabeth glanced at a silver pendant on a necklace hanging from Wanda’s neck. “That’s a lovely necklace. It resembles a sand dollar.”

  Wanda smiled. “It is a sand dollar. I collect them. I must have fifty perfect ones at my house. I love lookin’ for them on the beach after a storm. See the design on top, looks like a flower?”

  “I see it.”

  “It has five petals. Sort of like God used a starfish for inspiration. Or, maybe the flower of a geranium, or both. No real dollar on earth is nearly as wonderful. My mom had a jeweler make the setting, and she gave it to me for my birthday.”

  “It’s beautiful. I’ll see you soon. Keep my card in your purse.” Elizabeth smiled and turned to leave, walking around a table with a couple and two children, one child under two in a high chair, her mother spoon feeding her macaroni and cheese. Elizabeth thought of the times she’d done the same thing with Molly. She thought of the rose she’d recently placed on Molly’s grave, thought of the tattoo on Wanda’s hand.

  And then something caught her eye. It was the man in the denim jacket. He was sitting in a booth near the windows. His back was propped against the pecky cypress wall, body turned slightly in the direction of the counter and the nine stools along it. But he wasn’t looking at any of the diners.

  He was looking at Wanda.

  SEVENTEEN

  Elizabeth watched him for a moment, the plastic bag of food in her right hand, her purse over her shoulder. She took mental notes—the man’s general appearance, facial features, physical mannerisms, clothes and work boots, the way he watched Wanda.

  When the man began looking at a menu, Elizabeth left the restaurant and set the food on the front seat of her car. She called Detective Mike Bradford and told him what Wanda had shared with her about the car and the stalker. And then she added, “Mike, I just left the Front Porch Café. There’s a man seated in a booth to the far left of the main entrance. He’s the only person dining alone, and he’s been watching Wanda.”

  Bradford was driving. He stopped at a red traffic light. “Elizabeth, obviously I can’t arrest a man for looking at an attractive woman. If so, I’d arrest half the county. But I can go there and observe him. I’ll see what vehicle he’s driving. Get a tag number and run an ID. If you are going to be there, maybe we can have dinner while I surveil this guy.”

  “I’d enjoy that, but I have a dinner date.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  She smiled. “It’s with my surrogate mother, Nellie Culpepper. She’s getting up in age. Wednesday night is our gal pal, girl’s night out. But we never go out, unless dining on Nellie’s front porch is out.” Elizabeth started her car and looked in the rearview mirror. She saw the man in the denim jacket exit the restaurant. “Mike, he’s leaving. The guy who was watching Wanda—he’s walking across the parking lot.”

  “Try to see what he’s driving. Maybe jot down a tag number.”

  Elizabeth watched him cross the crowded lot, very few parking spots available. A car circled the lot and came close to Elizabeth’s car. She looked in her mirror and saw the driver motion that he wanted her parking space. She watched the man in the denim jacket walk fast to the other side of the lot. As Elizabeth backed up and tried to turn around in the gravel lot, the man in the jacket got in a car.

  “Mike, he’s leaving, and I’m boxed in because the lot is full and there’s only one way in and one exit. Somebody wants my parking spot, and I can’t maneuver my car quick enough to get around to where the guy just got in his car.”

  “Can you make out the model?”

  “No. It looks black, and I can’t get a good look at his tag because of all the parked cars.” Elizabeth watched as the man drove away. She opened the palm of her hand and pounded it once against the steering wheel. “He’s gone! Can you still come to the restaurant? A few minutes ago, I saw that guy sitting at a booth, ready to order. I hope you can ask Wanda why he left so soon.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Maybe it’s the guy who was stalking Wanda’s house.”

  “You said she told you he never got out of his car. A car parked on the side of the road isn’t a crime, and we don’t know if he was stalking her.”

  Elizabeth blew out a breath. “Brian Woods and Olivia Curtis probably didn’t know for sure their killer was stalking them until it was too late.”

  “Are you suggesting the guy in the restaurant and the killer might be the same?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Wanda might be able to tell you more.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth parked her car near a large sycamore tree in the small front yard of a white clapboard home that was built seventy-five years ago. It was the home of Nellie Culpepper, a woman who’d lived there most of her adult life. Elizabeth walked up to the screened-in porch, the sound of cicadas in the dark pines, moonlight making gardenias resemble white holiday ornaments hanging from branches, the earthy odor of potting soil coming from hanging baskets of petunias.

  She held the plastic bag with the dinners in one hand and opened the screen door, the hinges moaning in the night. Elizabeth walked up three steps to the wooden front porch and knocked on the door, the white paint chipped near the glass window panes in the door. “I’m a comin’ fast as I can,” came the response from inside.

  Nellie Culpepper opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. She was just under five feet tall with a round, chocolate-brown face and dark hair streaked with silver. She smiled, and it was felt through her compassionate eyes. “Liz’beth, lemme take a good look at you, child.” Nellie flipped on a light, the low-wattage bulb in the ceiling cast yellow light over the porch. “You look pretty as a puppy t’night.”

  “So do you, Nellie. You want to eat on the porch or inside?”

  “Don’t matter, sugar. What you wanna do?”

  “Let’s eat out here. I’ll set the food on the table. It’s a mild night.”

  “It is a fine night. Lemme fetch some sweet tea.” She went back inside her home as Elizabeth set the Styrofoam food containers on the table. She placed napkins and plastic forks, knives, and spoons on the red table cloth. As she waited for Nellie, Elizabeth glanced at her watch, wondering if Detective Bradford had spoken with Wanda Donnelly.

  Nellie came back out carrying two canning jars filled with sweet tea. She handed one to Elizabeth. They took seats around the small table with four chairs. Three fresh-cut, red roses in a coke bottle vase sat in the center of the table. Nellie said, “This suh ‘nough smells real good.”

  “I have buttermilk biscuits and cornbread. Which do you prefer, Nellie?”

  “I love ‘em both. T’night I have a hankerin’ for some cornbread.”

  Elizabeth smiled and set two pieces of cornbread on a small paper plate next to Nellie’s food. Nellie nodded and said, “Thank you. Let’s thank the good Lord for our food.” Nellie reached for Elizabeth’s hands and said, “Lord, we thank you for all our blessins’ on this lovely night—and that include our food. We send up this prayer to say when our time be done here on earth, we hope to meet by the River Jordan, tuck our souls in the folds of your fine robe so we be goin’ with you back to Heaven. Amen.”
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  “Amen,” Elizabeth said. She squeezed Nellie’s small, arthritic hands, which felt hard and bony from decades of arduous work. “Let’s eat.”

  Nellie began with the yams, taking a small bite and chewing slowly. She tasted the meatloaf and said, “Umm … this is good.”

  “Martha Black asked about you. She was working at the restaurant tonight.”

  “How Martha be doin’?”

  “Fine. The Front Porch is usually filled with customers. She has a lot of excellent help. Her staff is like family. Some have worked there for years.”

  “That’s good.” The old woman watched Elizabeth take a sip of sweet tea, moonlight breaking through the tall sycamore and coming in the screen, the bark of a dog in the distance, the sweet perfume of gardenias in the night air. “Liz’beth, what’s heavy on your heart, child? I can tell, somethin’s on your mind ‘cause it’s on your heart.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “I didn’t know it was that obvious.”

  “Tis’ to me, baby girl, ‘cause I’ve know’d you since you were in diapers. You might fool some folks, but I’ve been there since you were born. What’s layin’ a heavy hand on your heart? Somethin’ goin’ on at the school?”

  “No, the university’s fine. I love my job. The students make it easy.”

  “Somethin’s latched on to you tight as a tick on a hound dog. It’s best to get it off your chest. Least that’s what my mama always said, and I been on God’s earth long ‘nough to know she was right.”

  Elizabeth leaned back a little in her high-back wooden chair. “Two young people were murdered recently. Police have asked me to try and come up with a profile of the killer. They want to know his basic personality traits, maybe some of his background … anything they can find to help prevent another killing and to arrest him as soon as possible.”

  Nellie nodded, sipped some sweet tea, using two hands to hold the glass. “I heard ‘bout it on the TV news.”