As soon as Santiago and Mika came in the door, he said, “Your dad said you needed some help with the food.”
I nodded. “Actually, he is just giving me a way to tell you that’s Melvin Smith.”
Santiago spun his head back toward the door he had just come through. “That man is not old enough to be Melvin Smith.”
“It’s his son, I expect,” Lucille said. “Melvin and Lee were friends as children.”
Santiago sighed. “So the afternoon just got a whole lot more complicated?”
Mika groaned.
“Seems so,” I said as I walked over and gave each of them a hug. “Now, if only Ace Watkins showed up, we’d have representatives from three of the families involved.”
“Funny you should say that,” Santiago said as he grabbed the plates and napkins and headed toward the front door. “Your dad just invited him over.”
I groaned. “Lucille, any brilliant ways to stretch food for four to food for nine?”
“Oh, we can figure something out. Next trip, take these beers, will you?” she said to Santiago.
“Got it.” He walked out the door and returned for the beer. “This will hold them a bit. Be right back.” He picked up the two cold six-packs Lucille had pulled from the fridge.
“Now, let’s see what we can add to this meal,” Lucille said as she opened the fridge again.
Mika and Santiago made trips in and out with various trays and utensils, and within a few minutes, Lucille had made a relish tray with pickles, olives, and a pile of capers that I had bought on a day I was feeling adventurous about pasta. Then, we piled hamburger buns on a plate for those who wanted sandwiches instead of plain barbecue. A bowl of baby carrots finished off the meal, and I felt like at least people would have enough to fill their bellies before they left.
We carried the rest of the food out and set it on the folding table Santiago had set up by the side of the porch. Ace Watkins had arrived, and he was sitting on the swing beside Homer. It was kind of a quaint sight, those two older men swinging away like school kids.
As soon as we declared the meal ready, the men insisted we go first, those Southern manners at work again, and Lucille and Mika and I helped ourselves to full plates before perching on the side of the porch, where Santiago soon joined us. We all ate quietly for a while, and the food was delicious. The brisket was smoky and tender, and the hushpuppies were the perfect blend of crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.
Apparently, the scent was so enticing that even my cat, Beauregard, decided he needed to check it out, and for a bunch of “animals are animals” types, these old men sure loved watching a cat eat barbecue from a fork.
Soon, though, the food was gone – all but the capers, which I could completely understand since I hadn’t even been able to bring myself to cook with them – and everyone had complimented Mr. Smith on his restaurant’s food.
All pleasantries done, Santiago decided to take the lead. Since we’d invited Homer and then Ace here and weren’t clear on what Melvin wanted, Santiago started with him. “Mr. Smith, you probably heard about the body of Leo Farrow that was found out on the old octagonal barn site earlier this week.” His tone was brisk, professional, and I found myself smiling as I watched him do his thing.
“I believe I did hear something about that, yes.” Melvin said with what was clearly a false casualness. “Didn’t you find it, Ms. Sutton?”
“Actually, I did,” Mika piped up. “That, and the bloody knife.” Saul scooted his camp chair a bit closer to his niece.
“That’s right,” I said. “Santiago and I were there when she found it. Does that matter?”
Melvin shrugged. “I doubt it, unless it means you’re looking for stories about things that don’t need stirring up.” He spoke with a smile, but there was weight to his words.
“You mean, like a murder?” Santiago said, his voice sharp.
“What in the world are you talking about, Sheriff? Who said anything about a murder?” Smith said.
“I did,” Ace said from his seat on the swing.
“And I did, too,” Dad added.
“They know, Melvin,” Homer added. “We’re here to come clean. If you don’t want that, then I suggest you go.”
“Actually, Mr. Smith, at this point, I’m going to need to ask you to stay. Why exactly are you here?” Santiago said as he stood up and waited for Melvin Smith’s answer.
The smile was gone from Smith’s face. “I just heard Ms. Sutton here was getting into the muck, as she often does, bringing up things that belong in the past. Wanted to be sure she understood my family wanted no part of it.”
“That a message from your daddy, Melvin?” Saul asked with a sneer. “Or just your cowardly usual?”
Melvin glared at Saul. “Should have known you’d be messed up in this revisionist nonsense, too, Saul. Always were too eager to make trouble.”
I watched as Saul clenched his fists and then slowly stretched his fingers.
“This is a murder investigation, Mr. Smith,” Santiago said as he took a step closer to the man. “I will ask any questions and do any muck-stirring that needs to be done to solve this case.” He shot a quick look at Ace Watkins, and I wondered what the plan was here.
“Well, you just leave my family out of it. We are good, upstanding members of this community, and we don’t need our names dragged through the mud. My daddy has worked for this county for most of his life, and I won’t let you ruin his reputation.” Melvin stood up so quickly that the rocker bounced back against the house.
“I’ll be needing to talk to him, Melvin,” Santiago said. “Please let him know that he can either come by the station tomorrow or I’ll be out to see him. In my police cruiser.”
Melvin spat on the porch floor as he stalked toward the stairs. “We’ll see what our lawyer has to say about that.” He stomped down the steps toward his car.
“Thanks for the barbecue,” Lucille yelled cheerfully.
A quiet chuckle passed through the rest of the gathering, and I stood up and said, “Who wants chocolate pudding cake?”
“Is that even a question that needs an answer?” Saul said as he stood and walked me to the door. “Let me help.”
Saul was a very generous man, a giving man, but a traditional man. I had never once seen him do more than carry dirty dishes into the kitchen. Cooking, much less baking, was not something I imagined him doing. But I took the help and headed in.
Hot fudge pudding cake is one of those desserts that I always kept the ingredients for, just in case Lucille didn’t bring along one of her amazing baked confections. Flour, sugar, cocoa, salt, and milk . . . all mixed and then put into the pan to bake. The cake parts rise to the top, the fudge parts sink to the bottom, and you have a gooey, hot mess in a matter of minutes.
This time, Saul helped by sitting at the kitchen table and talking with me about my dad and this situation. I actually appreciated this form of help since tonight my nerves were so frazzled that I really needed to be able to move freely in my space without worrying about running into anyone. Plus, company was nice, as was what Saul was trying to do.
“He’s always been sorry about that day, Paisley. You need to know that,” Saul said as I measured flour into a bowl. “He told me about it. He was scared, wasn’t sure what to do. It’s one of my earliest memories, too.”
I sighed. “So why didn’t he tell someone, an adult?”
Saul shook his head as I poured the sugar into the bowl. “Homer didn’t want his dad to get into trouble.” He sighed. “Looking back, it seems obvious what we should have done, but we were just a bunch of scared kids. Your dad had more reasons to be afraid than most.”
I turned toward him. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know?” When I shook my head, Saul said, “Your granddaddy and Jimmy Salis were best friends.”
I dropped my head back. “So Dad was worried he’d get beaten if he got Jimmy Salis in trouble.”
Saul rubbed a hand across his chin. “That’s what I always figured.” He stood up and came over to put an arm around my shoulder. “I saw the bruises your daddy would have on his legs. I can’t blame him for not wanting to get it worse.”
The sorrow over my dad’s hard childhood was swelling in me as I slid the bake into the oven. “Thanks, Saul.”
He gave me a quick hug, but then the front door swung open.
“There’s been an accident just up the road, Pais. You have a first aid kit, right?” Santi asked.
I ran into the laundry room and grabbed the large bag I kept full of gauze, creams, and even a stitch kit for Sawyer’s inevitable injuries. “Here. I’m coming, too. You might need more hands.”
Lucille and Dad were already in their car, and after I jumped into the front seat of Santiago’s cruiser, we sped out the drive and toward the east. “Is it bad?”
Santiago shot me a look. “The person who called it in said she thought the man was seriously hurt.”
I nodded and then looked at my boyfriend. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“She said he was driving a silver Tesla.” He sped up as we crested the hill I called Sawyer’s tummy tosser, and we saw the cars on the side of the road. Melvin Smith’s Tesla was rammed into the bank at the side of the road.
Santiago slid to a stop behind the car and turned on his lights. “Check with the witness,” he shouted as he grabbed my first aid bag and sprinted toward the car.
I jogged up to the woman who was cradling the head of a young girl against her hip. “Are you guys okay?” I said.
“We’re fine. We just saw it happen and wanted to be sure someone was here before we left.” She looked like she was close to tears, but I knew she would do all she could to maintain her composure as long as that little girl was nearby.
Just then, Lucille and Dad pulled up and parked up the road. Dad put on a yellow safety vest he kept in the glove compartment in case Lucille got a flat tire and had to wait by the side of the road for AAA. Then, he began to direct traffic from the middle of the road.
Lucille came over to us and said to the child, “Honey, my name is Lucille. Do you want to go sit in your car with me while your mom talks with my friend Paisley?” Lucille was always good at reading a situation. “If it’s okay with your mom, I have some crackers and ginger ale in my purse.”
The little girl looked up at her mom. “That sounds like a good idea, honey. I’ll be right there.” With another nod from her mom, the girl took Lucille’s hand, and the two of them walked up the median to where the gray sedan was waiting.
“Can you tell me what you saw happen?” I asked the woman.
“I don’t really know. I saw him coming down the hill back there” – she pointed at the small rise behind us in the series of tiny hills on this strip of the road. “I didn’t see anything unusual, but then he crested this hill and careened right into the bank. I don’t think he even tried to stop himself.” The tears were now pooled in her eyes, so I put my hand on her arm.
“Thank you for stopping. The sheriff has it in hand, and look, there comes the ambulance. Do you mind giving me your number in case the sheriff needs any more information?”
The woman shook her head and then reached into her purse for a pen and a receipt onto which she scribbled her name and number. “I’m happy to help any way I can.”
“You already have,” I said and gave her a quick hug before walking her back to her car.
After making sure that mother and daughter had made it out onto the road safely, thanks to Dad’s surprisingly good abilities to direct traffic, I went to see what the situation was at Smith’s Tesla. Given that I didn’t see him out of the car, I guessed things were not good, and when the EMTs loaded their stretcher back into the ambulance and pulled away a few minutes later, I knew they weren’t good at all.
“He’s dead,” I said when Santiago stepped back from the car and came to the shoulder.
“He is,” Santiago said as he leaned against his cruiser’s trunk. “I don’t see any brake marks, so it doesn’t look like he even tried to slow down.”
I told Santiago what the witness had said that confirmed his suspicions.
“Which means he was either dead already or at least unconscious when he hit the bank.” Santiago studied the car. “The coroner will have to determine that.”
I nodded. “Either way, though, it seems odd that he wasn’t conscious on the road. He didn’t seem tired to you, did he?”
“No, he didn’t, which has me worried.”
“You think someone dosed him with something,” I said. “At my house.” I thought about how slowly he had walked toward his car. At the time, I’d thought it was maybe the weight of the situation slowing him down, but now, I was reconsidering.
Santiago studied my face. “Maybe. But we don’t know anything yet.” He pulled me to him for a few moments before saying, “Here comes Savannah. She can take over directing traffic. I suspect you have a few folks with questions back at your place. Why don’t you let your dad and Lucille drive you back?”
“You’ll come when you’re done?” I asked.
“Of course. See you soon.” He kissed my cheek and then turned to direct his deputy and the coroner, who had also just arrived.
I joined Lucille at their car, and as soon as Savannah donned her own vest and stepped into the road, Dad joined us. “Ready to get back home?” he said.
I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” I sat in the back seat and rested my head against it. While I was glad Sawyer wasn’t coming home until tomorrow, I really wished he was here. I could use a good snuggle and a belly laugh about now, and my kid was good for both.
Tonight, though, I had to settle for a bunch of old men who were, despite their good intentions, not really great at snuggles or belly laughs, at least not presently. Somehow, Saul had convinced all the men to remain at my house, probably by offering the last of my beer, and when we pulled up, Homer, Ace, and Saul were all sipping their cold cans on the porch, while Mika had a glass of white wine.
I was thrilled to see, though, that they had picked everything up while we were gone, and when I had my own wine, I asked Mika if she’d been left to do it all. “Actually, no, although I was prepared for that,” she said. “Ace is actually really good at washing dishes, and Homer made a batch of fresh whipped cream for the cake. And apparently, even Uncle Saul had paid enough attention to know when to take the cake out of the oven. It was a team effort.”
“Ye of little faith,” Homer said as he took a swig from his beer. “We can be helpful, you know.”
“We just don’t choose to be when women will pick up the slack,” Saul said with a grin as he raised his forearm to block my playful blow.
Once the joking settled down, the quiet came in heavy, and Ace asked, “So was the person okay?”
I shook my head. “No, he wasn’t.” I took a deep breath. “It was Melvin Smith.”
Mika gasped, and the three men stared hard enough at me to make me feel like I was being weighed down by their gazes. “He may have been unconscious when he had his accident,” I added before I explained what Santiago and the witness had said about Smith’s driving.
I tried to act nonchalant and said, “Santiago thinks it could have been a heart attack or aneurism or something. He’ll be back soon to give us more of an update.” I didn’t sound convincing to my own ears, but both Ace and Homer seemed to relax a little.
Mika shot me a look, and I knew she didn’t believe one thing I was saying. But we’d been friends long enough for her to know I only lied when I thought it was absolutely necessary. “You guys waiting here?” she said to the two older guys on the swing.
The men looked at each other, shrugged, and said, “Nothing better to do.”
Mika stood. “I’ll run up to the market and get some more beer, then. Any requests?”
“I wouldn’t turn down a Snickers if they have one,” Saul said.
“Saul, we have hot fudge pudding cake to eat!” Mika said as she smacked his shoulder.
“Trust me, I can handle both,” he said.
“Be back in a minute,” she said as she rolled her eyes. She put on a good show, but I knew that candy bar would be in her hands when she got back.
As soon as the men started talking about their plans for hunting season, Lucille and I excused ourselves to go plate the cake. It was best hot, and so that meant we needed to serve it soon. Besides, neither of us cared one iota about where the best tree stands were and who had what permit. Dad and Saul didn’t care much, either, but since they’d grown up here, they could both talk the talk right well, especially if it meant our two suspects would stick around long enough for Santiago to get back.
Fortunately, he wasn’t long in coming, and when we came back out to the porch with cake and whipped cream for each of the men, he was already sitting on the porch. I served the older guys first and then plated some for him and Mika, who had just come back with two twelve-packs of the grossest beer I could imagine. Given the men’s positive reaction, though, they seemed pleased.
Each of them cracked open a fresh can and settled back to enjoy their cake from the plates on their laps. Sometimes I wished I lived a more cosmopolitan life with white tablecloths and two forks at fancy restaurant tables, but most of the time, I was happy to be surrounded by people who didn’t bat an eye when you served them on a porch swing and gave them cheap beer.
Still, I wasn’t completely at ease because, despite my lie about a natural cause for Melvin’s death, the worry lines in Santiago’s forehead made me think that wasn’t exactly what we were talking about here. I waited for his lead, though, before I said anything else about the accident.
When the clatter of forks scraping against plates to get the last swirls of chocolate subsided, Mika and Lucille gathered up the plates, passed out more beer, and headed inside to do the washing up. I’d have to thank them later, but for now, I was just grateful to be a part of the conversation that now seemed inevitable.
“Gentlemen, we have to wait for the autopsy to be sure, but it looks like Melvin Smith was poisoned.” Santiago turned to each man. “This afternoon.”