Chapter Fourteen

Kiss My Grits

Lunch turned out to be a sober affair. The fearful atmosphere in Deena’s office rivaled the oppressive heat of Georgia summers, stripping us of our usual healthy appetites. Daddy nudged his untouched plate away and stood.

“What I don’t understand is how peanut flour and oil got into those containers,” he said in a troubled voice. “My God, they suspect we had a hand in Theo’s death. I don’t like it.” He smacked a fist into an open palm like the crack of a small pistol.

“Stop pacing. Sit down and eat your lunch, Harland.” Mama’s voice was full of entreaty, but Daddy didn’t listen.

“I’m not hungry, Annie Mae. You know I can’t eat when trouble comes knocking on the door.”

Shoving away my half-eaten sandwich, I pushed up from the cushy office chair and joined him at the window. “Mama’s right. Come eat your lunch and stop worrying. We’ve got to trust that the police will get to the bottom of this mix-up.”

I purposely left out my intention of digging into the mystery on my own, not wanting to add to my parents worry. As soon as we were alone, I fully intended to draft Deena and Billie Jo into my investigative team. Whether they liked it or not.

This not being my first murder mystery, I hoped my limited experience would see me through until I could get the hang of it again. And perhaps I could even convince Scarlett into lending me a hand. Would she take me on as a client? Hmmm. That thought deserved further consideration, but Daddy patted me on the arm effectively drawing back my attention to the pursuing conversation.

“Sam’s a good man,” he said. “But sometimes fate has a different plan.”

“But we’re innocent. We don’t have anything to worry about,” Billie Jo declared.

“Don’t be so sure. Innocent men are sent to prison every day,” Daddy said.

“Y’all are jumping to conclusions,” Deena said from behind her desk. “Sam’s on the case and that nice detective said they were questioning everybody in connection with the contest. We weren’t the only ones brought down to the station.”

Daddy’s brows drew down in thought. “Deena honey, I’m sure your confidence is well placed in Sam Bradford, but I’m bothered by the fact that circumstantial evidence can and has convicted innocent men.”

“That’s enough, Harland,” Mama blustered. “We’ve been through hard times before, and we’ll come through this.”

Daddy and I returned to our seats and resumed picking at our food. I peeked at the clock on Deena’s desk. 12:45. Fifteen minutes before my next client. I needed to hatch out a few things with my sisters, but not until my parents were out of the way. I classified them as a need-to-know basis and this they didn’t need to know.

“Theo’s funeral is tomorrow morning. I expect the staff to be there,” Mama said.

“Maybe we should allow them to skip it. A few of them haven’t gotten over the last one we forced them to attend.” Billie Jo shivered. “God, sometimes I still see Scarlett’s body tumbling out of that overturned casket, her mangled face in full view.”

The day from hell. Forever burned in my memory. Scarlett, unhappy with her funeral had shoved her former employer, Robert Burns and his wife Cherry into her casket—sending it crashing to the floor, top open and her body hanging halfway out. The place erupted in chaos and funeral-goers scattered like roaches on a Raid commercial.

I picked up my plate and threw it into the trash can. “Well, it’s time to get back to work. Mama, don’t you have dress rehearsal over at the theater this afternoon? And Daddy, I’m positive you need to spend a few practice hours on the green before the golf tournament in the morning.”

“Let’s go, woman.” Daddy leapt to his feet and tugged on Mama’s arm. “A few hours on the green will calm my rattled nerves.”

Mama snatched her arm out of his grip. “Hold your horses, Harland. You’re acting like a crazy man.”

“You make me crazy, woman, with all that yapping, now come on. Daylight’s a fadin’.”

“And your brain’s smoking with all that helium gas knocking against your skull.”

Daddy’s answering grin showed his unconcern for her punishing remark. “My truck is pulling out of the parking lot in one minute.” He ambled over to the door, pulled it open with a flourish, and disappeared through the doorway.

Billie Jo gathered up plates off the desk and threw them into the trash can. “I swear to God, Mama, y’all need a referee.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to order Billie Jo to shut up and let Mama follow in Daddy’s wake, but thankfully I was spared the confrontation. Mama picked up her shoulder bag and smiled warmly at each of us.

“I’d better be moving on, girls. Your father is gunning the motor again. That old car of his is single-handedly responsible for enough greenhouse gases to melt the polar ice-caps.”

In the background, I could indeed hear the racing engine outside the office window and it was with much relief I watched Mama hurry out the door.

“Well, now that they’re gone, I need to confess that I’m concerned about this police investigation,” Billie Jo said. “We don’t have the best track record with the victim and somehow the incriminating evidence ended up in our lap.”

“As am I,” Deena added. “Sam didn’t say so, but I could hear the concern when I spoke with him at the station. Jolene, did he give you any indication of his thoughts on this?”

“I’m glad you brought this up,” I said. “I didn’t want to discuss this in front Mama and Daddy for fear of upsetting them, but someone planted the peanut flour and oil in our containers. The question is who and why? I’ve already started looking for answers, but I’ll need help.”

“I believe you’re meaning us.” Deena frowned.

“Who else?” Billie Jo said. “It’ll be a cinch. Like last time.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Deena proclaimed. “Definitely not a cinch, and if I remember correctly she swore off investigating after that. What changed your mind, Jolene?”

“The incriminating evidence showing up in our pies changed my mind,” I retorted.

“And you’ve got to admit last time ended well,” Billie Jo boasted. “Jolene bagged the killer and Bradford in one night with our help. I’m casting my lot with her. I thought you were looking for some action?”

“I don’t think that’s the action she was hoping for,” I volunteered.

Deena hunched her shoulders. “Okay, I give up. What do you want us to do?”

“Same as last time,” I cautioned. “Keep your mouths shut and your ears open for any information and then pass it along to me. I’ll take it from there.”

“And where am I supposed to glean this information?”

“Deena, we work in a beauty shop,” Billie Jo squawked. “What better place to gather juicy information than Gossip Central?

****

As fate decreed, I was on my own for the last tour of the day out at Pineridge Plantation. Mama had called at the last minute needing Deena’s assistance at the Riverside Theater, and Billie Jo had driven out to Westgate Country Club to meet Daddy for a short round of golf.

Luck continued to smile down on me as I ushered the last tourist out the front door and into the deepening twilight as Victor approached me from the back hallway.

“I have a meeting with the mayor in thirty minutes and mustn’t be late. I hate to impose on you, but Mr. and Mrs. Turnipseed are out of the mansion and won’t return until later tonight. Would it be possible for you to secure the house before you leave?”

I fingered Josiah’s key in the pocket of my gown, delighting in my good fortune, and allowed a huge smile to light my face. As much as I could figure, I would have an hour or two of undisturbed snooping.

“It’s no imposition at all,” I replied in a light tone. “I’ll be here for a while. I’m beginning my sweep of the house for any mishaps the tourists might’ve left behind. You go on ahead. I’ll lock up when I leave.”

He tipped his head. “Thank you and good night. Oh, and please turn off all the lights, but for the lights in the front foyer and the mud room.”

I locked the door behind him and made a beeline for the downstairs formal dining room hoping the built-in china hutch might hold the treasure I sought. The pullout drawers yielded heavy antique silverware etched with the family crest, but no locked boxes. Among the drawers in the sideboard I found an Empire-style cake basket, a tray, and candlesnuffer, a hot-milk pitcher, and silver goblets.

The dining room was a bust, so I made for the front parlor with its marble-topped ladies desk and bookcase used by Savannah Redding. A sweep of the room brought me no closer to the prize and after several minutes of searching, I switched off the table lamps and left empty-handed.

The shadowy hallway, filled with the flickering golden glow of electric candlelight, gave me the heebie-jeebies as the mansion came to life. For a long moment, I listened to the house whisper to itself in creaks and groans and noises I couldn’t place. The walls closed in with evil fiery eyes. Faint footfalls stirred just beyond my vision, and the hair on my arms stood on end as my heart beat in an ever increasing rhythm like the voodoo drums on a Caribbean island.

Just as the thought popped into my head, Scarlett appeared in a flash of bright light nearly accelerating my entrance into the mysterious hereafter. Fortunately for me, I’d emptied my bladder earlier so I didn’t pee my pants like I did the last time she’d pulled this stunt.

“Damn your black soul,” I screamed as she swooped down beside me. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I announced my arrival as requested,” she said, frowning. “I know you heard my footsteps—I was watching.”

“You were watching me? That’s creepy, Scarlett.”

She gave me an exasperated look. “Get over it, Claiborne. We’re always watching. Now, enough about you. Josiah is anxious for a report, and I promised him I would speak with you before heading out for Purgatory.”

“Speaking of Theo Herrington, I might need your services,” I said with a still shaky voice. “The police found incriminating evidence in our pies, and we’re now persons of interest.”

“Are we talking murder here?”

I sighed. “Yes, I believe so. The killer used the contest as the perfect opportunity to frame us. I need your help. You owe me.”

“What about that gorgeous detective you’re sleeping with? Don’t trust him to handle it?”

The question came out of nowhere and I hesitated. Trust had been an issue I’d struggled with since my twelfth birthday and Daddy disappeared out of my life. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t fully trust a man to handle my problems. Daddy’s return brought hope that in time I would conquer this flaw and learn to let go. “Leave Bradford out of this. Please answer the question. Can I count on your help?”

“My plate is full at the time, but I’ll see what I can find out for you. We do work well together. What’s the rundown on Josiah’s case?”

“There’s not much to report. I’m reading the ledger and his journal.” I held up the key. “That’s what I’m doing, now, searching the mansion while everyone’s out.”

“I’ll let you get back to it,” she said, then vanished from sight.

Cautiously, I proceeded with my search of the downstairs. Room by room, I peered into every promising nook and cranny only to come up empty-handed. The ballroom at the back of the house turned up nothing, as did the upstairs chambers.

Up until now I’d been confident that with sufficient time I could solve the mystery of the antique key. Now, doubts settled in. My fingers ached from poking and prodding into tight places, and I was ready to give up—at least for tonight.

Wearily I trudged back downstairs and changed out of my period costume into my street clothes. Moonlight and indigo shadows greeted me when I stepped outside with the garment bag slung over one arm. I locked the back door and moved over to my car serenaded by the welcoming night sounds of crickets chirping, frogs singing, and a lone owl hooting from its perch in the trees. As I struggled to unlock the back passenger side door I noticed a small circle of light flash behind one of the storage sheds and then the distinct sound of digging.

That odd light and sudden scrape of metal against rock set alarm bells ringing as the newspapers regularly reported trespassers searching the plantation for its infamous buried gold. Last month a man had been arrested for digging up Victor’s prize azaleas looking for the legendary treasure. Someone was at it again.

A quick survey of the area showed Victor’s vacant parking space so I knew he’d left for his meeting with the mayor long ago. Moving quietly, I stashed the garment bag in my car, reached inside my purse for Mini Pearl, and snapped off the safety.

With my gun cradled securely in my hands, I approached the side of the house closest to the large wooden storage shed and peered into the shifting shadows. In the stillness of the November evening—a night where sound travels a long distance, I could tell the trespasser labored somewhere in the vicinity of the rose garden.

I pushed my way through the hedge of boxwoods lining the back terrace and silently picked my way through the trees.

Careful not to alert the offender of my presence, I covered the remaining distance to the garden at a snail’s pace. Lucky for me the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, and I spotted the outline of a man standing in a waist-high hole. He took another shovel-full of dirt and threw it onto the growing pile, exposing his face to the muted light.

Kiss my grits. Victor Redding. Hmm. Interesting.

His presence out here in the night sparked a number of questions. If the Confederate gold had been recovered as he’d said, then what was he doing under the cover of darkness digging a hole—an enormous hole, I might add. Where’s his car? Why hadn’t he parked in his usual space? And why hadn’t he alerted me of his return?

Crouched down low behind a leafy bush, I continued to watch his quirky behavior. Victor’s heavy breathing spoke of his determination to complete his task. Every few seconds a smattering of swear words colored the twilight.

My curiosity grew with each mound of dirt—fairly certain he wasn’t adding another rose bush to his garden. The other alternative? A grave. The hole appeared large enough to be a grave of some sort. I pictured the stray cats hanging around the plantation. I shook my head, awful big hole for a dead cat. What about a dog? Although I hadn’t seen or heard one around the property, they could be here somewhere. And dogs die at some point. A plausible explanation.

For a while, I lingered in the lengthening darkness, watching and waiting, scarcely daring to breathe in fear of alerting him of my nearby presence. Reluctant to be caught spying, and dead on my feet, I backtracked to my car and drove home—unsettled by the odd nighttime activity I’d stumbled upon.

****

After a long, hot shower, I changed into my pajamas and padded into the kitchen, Tango meowing under my feet. Starving, but not in the mood to prepare a meal, I popped a frozen dinner in the microwave, put on the kettle for hot herbal tea, and fed the cat all in that order. While the kettle heated, I flipped on the television for background noise and settled down at the kitchen table with my notes, determined to find the real culprit and clear our name. Even with limited experience tracking down clues, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Murderers hated the light of truth, and wouldn’t like being exposed. As a matter of fact, they could get downright nasty when confronted.

I know this because I’ve been in that uncomfortable position before when Scarlett’s murderer decided to take me out of the picture. I wasn’t anxious to repeat it since I’ve a real affection for breathing.

The microwave dinged signaling my supper had been nuked to perfection. Getting to my feet, I set the table for one, fixed my hot tea, and sat down. The buzz of the television filled the kitchen with the muffled sound of human voices, but as I picked up my fork, loneliness swept over me.

A knot rose in my throat as I thought about my dysfunctional relationship with Bradford. Mama’s words came back to haunt me. “Jolene,” she’d said, “you’ve got a lot of love to give if you’d open yourself to its beauty.”

Disgusted with my train of thoughts, I wiped my eyes dry on my napkin, choked down my supper, and got up to load a sink full of dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

Afterward, I mulled over my notes. I then decided to call Billie Jo, hoping she’d heard some useful gossip at the salon. Roddy answered on the first ring.

“Hello,” he sang into the receiver.

I smiled at his cheerful tone. In all the years he and my sister had been married I’d only heard him mad once. And that was the other night at the pageant when Lynette lost her crown to Kandy Herrington. Billie Jo had enough temper for the both of them.

“Hey, Roddy, is Billie Jo there?”

“My better half is looking at guns online. I’ll get her.”

Billie Jo came on the line. “What’s up, sis?”

“Anything to report?”

“Hold on,” she said in a low voice. “Let me change phones. I don’t want Roddy to know what we’re doing. He’s not terribly fond of me putting myself in danger.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say listening to gossip is putting you in danger. Your exposure to danger is minimal.”

“Well, in case someone gets the big idea to cause us trouble, my new .357 Magnum should put a damper on their criminal pursuits. When it gets here, let’s you and me go out to the shooting range and try it out.”

Her upbeat attitude had me smiling and glad I’d called. “I’d like that, Billie Jo. Now, tell me about your afternoon. Overhear anything helpful?”

“Not a thing. I spent most of my afternoon fending off questions about our involvement. Several of my male clients even had the gall to thank me for having a hand in his demise.”

“Did these clients volunteer a reason for their complaint with Theo?”

“No one’s volunteering anything. Hey, listen, I gotta go. Roddy’s hot on my trail. Talk to you in the morning.”

I disconnected the line and dialed Deena’s number. Perhaps she’d had better luck than Billie Jo. Helping out at the reception desk most of the day put her in the perfect position to overhear several conversations at once. She didn’t answer so I left a message on her voice mail and put a load of wash into the dryer while waiting for her to return my call.

When the phone rang, I rushed out of the laundry room to answer it.

“I’m sorry I missed your call earlier, but I was talking to Bill,” Deena said. “He hates to be put on hold for me to take another call. Is there a problem?”

I wanted to say yes, but my resistance to the match would only add fuel to the fire so I opted instead to address the main reason for my earlier call.

“Other than the one we discussed earlier, no. Billie Jo had no luck. Did you hear anything interesting at the salon this afternoon? About Herrington?”

“I heard plenty,” she said. “Mostly speculation. Oh, and Rachel Wesley stopped by. She said she didn’t get a chance to speak with us the other night out at the fairgrounds with all the commotion.”

“I didn’t see her there. I’m sorry I missed her.”

“Her father insisted they attend. He said that with everything going on at his bank, he needed to be seen supporting community events. His professional image has taken a beating, she said. Talking with her reminded me of the pictures I took of the event.”

That made me grin. “Maybe you captured something on film that’ll help.”

“You think so? With so many people milling about, I’ll be surprised if I managed to capture the scum in action. And we weren’t even close to the kitchen when the ingredients were planted in our containers. It could be anyone.”

“Where’s the camera now?” I wanted to know.

“In my desk at the salon where I normally keep it.”

“Have you looked at the pictures?”

“No, I actually forgot about them, but I will first chance I have in the morning.”

“We’ve got Theo’s funeral in the morning,” I reminded her.

“I could get dressed and drive over there now if you think it’s important. Or I could send Daddy. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

I glanced over at the wall clock. “No, it’s late and I’m closer so I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t. The desk is locked and I’m the only one with a key.”

“Shoot, I’d forgotten about the break-in last spring. Okay, it’ll have to wait. Keep your eyes and ears open at the funeral. There’s going to be a lot of emotional folks and that means loosened tongues. I don’t want to miss a thing, understand?”

I hung up the phone and made a notation in my notes of Roger Wesley’s presence at the bake-off. Not really suspicious of him, but unwilling to leave out any viable suspect, I added his name to my list of suspects. Under motive I listed ‘possible hostile bank takeover by victim’.

Finally, at ten, I put away my notes, turned out the kitchen lights, and headed for my bedroom, Tango leading the way. Still too wired for sleep, I grabbed Josiah’s ledger out of the bedside table and read several entries before I laid it aside and reached instead for his journal. It was the chronicle of his life that drew me. I opened the cracked and faded cover and began reading.