by Kate Bell
“It is. I can’t think of much that’s sadder,” she said.
“You know, she said Tom never went to see Jane when she was at the nursing home. Do you know if that’s true?”
“What? No! That isn’t true. I wonder why she would say something like that? Tom went nearly every day, first thing in the morning. He loved Jane,” she said, her face clouding over.
I shrugged. “There’s a lot of hard feelings there. If Leslie was on drugs bad enough to have her son taken away, then she may not remember things accurately. I just think there’s a lot of pain there.”
“I agree. Some families seem to have more than their share of hurt.”
It took some doing, but I finally got the dough mixed and the cookies cut out and baked. Mama mixed up the buttercream frosting and covered the kitchen table with waxed paper. I lined up the cooled cookies on the wax paper and Mama filled pastry bags with frosting. It was a real team effort, and I was glad I had her to help.
“All right, y’all, we’re decorating gingerbread men and making a gingerbread house. Get in here, pronto!” I called.
It took a few minutes, but they sauntered into the kitchen, and stood, looking at the table.
“Well, don’t just stand there looking,” Mama admonished. “Have a seat and get to work!”
“Gee, Grandma, it’s kind of late,” Thad said, glancing at the clock on the wall.
“Nonsense!” Mama said, taking a seat at the head of the table. “I know you college kids stay up until all hours of the night, doing heaven knows what. It’s only 9:30. We have plenty of time to decorate.”
“That’s right,” I chimed in. “This holiday only comes once a year and you haven’t been here for the last two. So, sit down and have fun like the rest of us.”
“Wow, I’ve never made gingerbread men before,” Sarah said, wide-eyed. She sat next to Mama, looking over everything.
“What? Child, what kind of deprived upbringing have you had?” Mama asked.
“Apparently a bad one,” Sarah said. “How do we start?”
Alec sat beside me as Mama began teaching Sarah how to decorate. Mama wasn’t much of a baker, but she had a steady hand and a good eye for decorating.
“So, gingerbread men?” Alec said.
“And women and a house,” I said. “Oh wait, don’t tell me you’ve never decorated gingerbread men before?”
He smiled. “I have indeed had the privilege of doing so. It’s just been about forty years since I’ve done it.”
“Well, it’s like riding a bicycle. You never forget,” I said. “Here.” I handed him a pastry bag and a gingerbread man.
Jennifer was already intently piping icing onto one of hers. She had been quiet all day, and I worried about her. She was a sensitive girl and finding Tom like she did was hard on her.
I picked up one of the walls of the gingerbread house and began piping a thin curlicue line of white icing along the top that would join at the roof. I looked around the table and knew this was going to be a night that I remembered for the rest of my life.
--7--
“So tell me about Deputy McGinty,” Alec said as we drove over to the sheriff’s station. I had a gift box lined with waxed paper and filled with gingerbread men in my lap. The smell of molasses filled the car.
“John? He’s a nice guy. I went to school with him. He was always kind of quiet and shy. A nerd, really. He was a real math whiz as I recall. I thought for sure he would go to college and do something with that talent,” I shrugged. “Then I heard he was a sheriff’s deputy. Here in Goose Bay, we aren’t fancy like we are in Sandy Harbor. We don’t have any detectives.”
He gave me a smirk. “Well, Sandy Harbor is about to be one less detective, come January.”
“I bet you’re looking forward to that,” I said. I was looking forward to it, too. I had already said my goodbyes to my blog audience and had gotten lots of responses of disappointment, but understanding. There had also been lots of private messages, with email addresses and requests to stay in touch. I was going to miss it, but I knew it was good for me to move on.
I had written a blog on grief for eight years after my late husband had been killed by a drunk driver. I had grieved for my children and myself, and then, as time went on and I worked through it, I helped others though the process. Making the decision to end the blog had been a hard one. I had lain awake nights, thinking about it, and crying over it. These people were my friends. But going over and over the past can keep you tied to it. At some point, you need to figure out how to let go. And ending the blog seemed a reasonable choice.
Now, with Alec retiring from the Sandy Harbor police force, we would have more time to be together, as well as figure out what we wanted to be when we grew up. I was forty-five, and he was fifty-one, with thirty years of police service under his belt. It was time.
“Do you think you’ll really become a private eye after you retire?” I asked.
“Well, it seems I have the experience for the job. There is another alternative, of course.”
“Oh? What might that be? A blog?” I asked.
“That’s certainly interesting, but I was thinking more along the line of sleeping in until noon and then spending the afternoon is front of the television, eating peanut butter Cap n’ Crunch.”
“I think that’s going to get in the way of your marathon running career,” I said.
“That’s a possibility,” he said, pulling into the sheriff’s station parking lot.
I had a sudden flashback to my High School years as we walked into the station. My best friend, Cara Snelling, and I had never really been in trouble before, but we were brand new high schoolers and we were feeling our oats. We had skipped school, hiding in an old abandoned house, eating a box of Twinkies we had bought on our way to school that morning. I had also bought a two-liter bottle of Pepsi and in a moment of brash decision, we decided we were cool enough to skip school.
One of the neighbors must have seen us through an open window of the abandoned house and called the sheriff. We were hauled off and threatened with trespassing and truancy. Our tears must have convinced the sheriff not to throw the book at us and our parents were called instead. Trying to explain to my father why I had suddenly decided I was old enough to make decisions regarding my life was impossible, and I was grounded for a month and given hard labor digging a new septic trench in the backyard.
“Hi, John,” I said when he opened the door to his office.
“Good morning, Allie. Alec. Come on in,” John, said with a nod.
John’s office looked a lot like Alec’s back home. A tiny desk that made anyone sitting in chairs on either side of it nearly touch the walls, and an old computer from the early 2000’s.
“Wow, they don’t believe in flat screens, do they?” I asked, looking his monitor over.
John chuckled. “No, not until old Bertha here kicks the bucket,” he said, patting the monitor. “I’m afraid she’s the last of her kind and she’s not going down without a fight.”
“She’s a beaut,” Alec agreed.
“I brought you some gingerbread men,” I said, handing him the box. “Joe Froggers.”
“My wife Cara loves those,” he said. “Thank you.”
“What? Cara Snelling?” I asked in surprise.
“Yeah. You didn’t know? Cara and I married six months ago. Second marriages for both of us.”
“We lost track of each other after college. The last I heard from her, she had moved to Idaho with that wanna be hippie. He didn’t believe in phones or much of anything modern, and I haven’t heard from her since,” I said in amazement.
He chuckled. “After a fifteen years of using an outhouse and raising kids without plumbing or electricity, she left him. She finally realized that all he really wanted was to avoid having to work a job for the rest of his life. She moved back to town about a year and a half ago.”
“Wow. You tell her I want to see her before I leave,” I said.
“
I’ll do that,” he said.
“Have you heard anything new regarding Tom’s murder?” Alec asked.
“Not a lot. Autopsy’s back. We called in a favor and it didn’t take long. He was stabbed in the chest with a sharp object, but not a knife. The blade had a narrow point that widened back at the shaft. Sort of triangular shaped. Nothing back on any fingerprints yet.”
“Any suspects?” Alec asked.
“Not really. We’re talking to the other neighbors, but no one seems to know anything,” he answered.
“Big surprise there,” Alec said.
“I’d appreciate any assistance you can provide, Alec. It’s nothing in a formal capacity, you understand. We’ve had a lot of budget cuts.”
Alec nodded. “I understand and I don’t mind at all.”
“What about his, um, lady friends?” I asked. “Mama and Anne Beale seem to be under the impression that Tom had some. Of course, that may be their imaginations at work.”
Tom didn’t seem the ladies man type. But I could be mistaken.
“We have a list of names given to us by Anne Beale. Women that he was supposedly seeing,” he said. “But, I’ve got to say, I’m not completely sure it means anything.”
“Why?” Alec asked.
“Well, he was seventy-five,” he said slowly. “And there were more than a couple of names on the list.”
“Like how many more than a couple?” I asked.
He smiled a little. “Like almost thirty.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “Are you serious?”
He nodded. “That I am.”
Alec chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Some people surprise you.”
“Can I see the list?” I asked sweetly. I wasn’t sure he’d do it, but I figured I would know everyone, or nearly everyone on it.
He looked from me to Alec and back to me.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said.
“She’s trustworthy,” Alec said. “And as much as I hate to admit it, she does tend to have good information on people.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
I smiled smugly. “Yes, I do. I’m a people person and I know people. Most of the time.”
“Okay, but you have to keep this confidential, and you have to take into consideration that Anne Beale was shocked and grieving when she made the list. She also made notations next to each name. And grieving people tend to dramatize things. That’s why I’m not sure this is helpful at all.”
I sat up straight. “I understand.”
He opened up the flat drawer on the front of his desk and pulled out a lined sheet of legal paper and laid it on the desk in front of me. The page was covered in small, neat handwriting. I picked the paper up and began reading.
Nellie Jones. Sneaky and likes to drive around neighborhoods at night. Hmm, I didn’t know that about Nellie.
Camilla Patterson. Back stabber.
“Uh, wait. Didn’t Camilla Patterson pass away last August? Seems like my mother called and told me that,” I said. Or was I confusing her with someone else?
John smiled and nodded. “Yes, she did. Apparently Anne Beale might still be holding a grudge over whatever back stabbing Camilla did while still alive.”
“Well, hopefully Tom and Camilla are enjoying their privacy in the afterlife together,” Alec said.
I went through the list, nodding at some that I agreed with the comments on and others I was surprised at. Then I saw it.
Myrna Hamilton. Nosey neighbor and backbiter.
“What? Nosey neighbor? Backbiter? My mother is not nosey or a backbiter! How can she say that?” I said, feeling anger rise up inside of me.
“Now, Allie, she put a dead woman on the list. How accurate do you think her notes are?” John said.
Alec was trying to suppress a smile. “Honey, this woman is clearly nuts. She put every woman she saw as a threat to her on the list and wrote whatever she could think of that made her angry in the past. This is the woman that said she never actually dated Tom. Sounds like she was angry about that.”
I took a deep breath. He was right. They both were. “Well, if Anne ever darken’s my mother’s doorstep again, she better hope I’m not there to deal with her.”
“Don’t threaten someone in the presence of an officer,” Alec chided, and then chuckled.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” I said. I turned to John. “Can we get a copy of this list? I know there probably isn’t anything legitimate here, but you never know.”
“Sure,” he said and took the paper to make a copy.
“You think you’re so funny,” I said.
John was back before he could answer me and handed me a copy. “Remember, this is confidential.”
“Of course, I understand,” I said, folding up the paper.
“We’ll let you get back to work, John,” Alec said. “And like I said before, if you need any help, I’m available.”
“I appreciate that,” John said. “I may take you up on that offer.”
I read over the list again as we headed for the minivan. One of these little old ladies was a murderer. I was sure of it.
--8--
I wasn’t happy about Anne Beale saying my Mama was a backbiter. How could she have ever said such a thing? I could remember running into her at the grocery store when I was with Mama and Anne would run up and give her a hug and act like she was Mama’s best friend. Some friend. I didn’t have the heart to tell Mama, and she was better off not knowing.
“So did you find out anything new about Tom’s murder?” Mama asked as soon as we entered the house. She stood, twisting her hands together with worry creasing her brow and it nearly broke my heart.
“Only that he was stabbed,” Alec said. “They’re still waiting for fingerprint results from the broken plate they picked up off his porch.”
“Oh dear,” Mama said. “That means a killer is still at large.”
I smiled at her police speak. “The sheriff’s office is working real hard on it Mama. I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon.”
“I hope so. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing. Can you?” she asked, following me into the kitchen.
“No, I can’t,” I said.
But I have a list of nearly thirty little old ladies that might have.
I opened the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of sweet tea. It may have been December, but this was still the South and sweet tea was always at hand.
“Well, it doesn’t make any sense to me,” she said, still wringing her hands. “He was such a nice man. He would never hurt a soul. What do you think they’ll do to whoever did do it? Once they find them, I mean?”
“Try them in a court of law,” I said absently, and poured a glass of tea. “Alec, would you like some sweet tea?” I called into the living room.
“No thank you,” he answered. Northerners weren’t much on sweet tea.
“But, what if it’s one of his lady friends?” she asked, whispering the words ‘lady friends’ as if it they were dirty words.
I looked at her. “Do you think it was one of his lady friends?” I whispered the last part like she had.
“I don’t know. I don’t know that he saw many other people in town besides his lady friends,” she said.
“He was quite the Lothario, wasn’t he?” I asked, turning around and leaning against the edge of the table.
Her eyes misted up. “Oh, yes he was,” she said. “He was just very attentive, you know? He always seemed to know the right things to say.”
I nodded. A man that had learned the art of listening could be the sexiest person on the face of the planet, even if he looked like a Poindexter. And Tom Turner was no Poindexter to the older lady set.
“Better than Daddy?” I asked, watching her.
She gave me a small smile. “There has never been anyone better than your father. On any count.”
I smiled. Daddy would always be Mama’s one true love. I picked up my sweet tea and took a sip. “If you
were to say who might have done it, besides Ida Crawford. Who would it be?”
“Well, there’s always Alice Woods. She was sitting with him on a regular basis all summer long. Do you remember Alice woods?”
“The lady that use to give me lollipops when we went to the bank?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s her. Well, she has a temper. I heard her shouting at Tom late at night on many occasions,” she said, nodding slowly.
“What was she shouting about?”
She shrugged and looked away. “I try to mind my own business.”
“Mama, if you know something, you need to tell. It might help Alec and John figure out who the killer is,” I said gently.
“Well,” she said turning back toward me. “She wanted him to marry her, and he apparently didn’t want to. She felt like she had been led on. I don’t know how she could think he owed her anything though. She had only been seeing him for two months. A Southern gentleman isn’t going to be attracted to someone so forward.” She said the last part in a confidential tone. Mama would forever be old fashioned.
“Did you hear anything else?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, not really. Oh, I need to get over there and water his Elephant’s Ears. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten it these past few days. He would be so disappointed if he knew.” She looked sorrowful in her misdeed.
“Elephant’s Ears?” I asked.
She nodded. “That plant was special to him. His daughter gave it to him when they were still talking.”
“Is it outside?” I asked. I had seen some plants on his front porch and wondered if one of those was it.
“Oh, no, it’s in his kitchen. He took good care of it and didn’t want to leave it outside where the sun might burn it.”
“Wait. You have a key to Tom’s house?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. I always looked after his house when he went on trips. We were good neighbors to each other.”