Chapter 50
Vera had been stopping by to see Bea every morning after she dropped Elizabeth off at preschool. Beatrice liked sitting with her grown, happy daughter, sharing coffee and muffins or something. Anything. It seemed as if they had reached a new level in their relationship. Vera was more mature and happier than Bea had ever seen her.
Vera had brought some of her homemade chocolate to sample. When Bea took a bite and let the chocolate wallow around on her tongue a bit, she was transported. Lawd, I’m in heaven.
Vera frowned. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
“That’s the best chocolate I’ve ever had in my life,” Bea said in a hushed tone.
Vera waved her off, then tilted her head. “Well, the ingredients I used are some of the finest. It’s single original dark chocolate from Ecuador. And the spices are all fresh and organic.”
“It’s extraordinary,” Bea said. “I think you should take DeeAnn up on her offer. Have a side business selling chocolate.”
Vera sat up straighter in her chair. “But I’m a dancer, Mama. I’m not a chocolatier.”
“There’s no reason you can’t be both,” Bea said. So much of her daughter’s identity was wrapped up in dancing. Had Bea ever felt that way about the quantum physics that was her careeer? Oh yes, she had. How about that? She shared something in common with Vera. Bea’s obsession with physics was the same as Vera’s preoccupation with dancing—and maybe chocolate, as well.
“I suppose you’re right. And maybe I could make a little more money with the chocolate. The studio is still struggling,” Vera said.
“Why are you worried ’bout money? You’re living with a man who has plenty.”
“That’s him, Mama. That’s his money. To tell you the truth, it makes me feel odd sometimes, living in that gorgeous house, surrounded by luxury when I’m not sure if I can pay the rent on my studio.”
Beatrice mulled that over. “I guess that would be strange.”
“Well,” Vera said, standing up. “I better get going. I’ve got some little dancers coming in this morning. What are you going to do today?”
“I’m not sure,” Beatrice said.
Vera would not like the idea of her mother going to visit Sheriff Bixby on her own. She tended to be a little overprotective, as well as overly concerned with what other people thought. Beatrice, on the other hand, didn’t give a rat’s ass.
As soon as Vera left, Bea drove over to see Sheriff Bixby. She sifted through what she thought he could offer her as to why he threatened Emma. None of it would hold water as far as she was concerned. Who did he think he was?
The sheriff’s building was well-kept, clean, and official looking. When Bea walked in, she noticed a lovely bouquet of flowers on the receptionist’s desk. The woman behind the desk looked up and greeted her. It was all very nice and very different from the Cumberland Creek police station.
“Please have a seat, Ms. Matthews,” the receptionist said pleasantly.
Beatrice sat down and halfheartedly browsed through a magazine until the receptionist said, “Ms. Matthews, the sheriff will see you now.”
“Thank you,” Bea said and followed the young, well-dressed woman through the door and down a hallway.
Sheriff Bixby was seated behind his desk when they entered the room. He stood and offered his hand to Beatrice. She shook it and they smiled at one another very pleasantly.
“Please have a seat,” he told her. “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”
“No thank you,” Beatrice said. “I won’t be here long.”
“Well, what can I help you with?”
“I saw you coming out of Mountain View the other day.”
He nodded.
“You were there to see my good friend, Emma Drummond,” she continued.
“Yes, she’s my wife’s aunt. They were very close.”
“Were?”
“Yes, you know how these things go. Family issues.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but Emma seems to think you threatened her.”
Sheriff Bixby’s eyebrows went up and the pleasant look on his face disappeared. “I don’t know if you noticed,” he said slowly, “but Emma is ill.”
“I know about the agoraphobia. But the rest of her is as sharp as she used to be. I’ve known her my whole life.”
He cackled. “Ms. Matthews, she ain’t never been right. You gotta know that.”
Beatrice tilted her head and leaned in. “What I know is, her husband used to beat her to a pulp. I saw it.”
Sheriff Bixby bit his lip, looked out his window, and then back at Beatrice.
“And,” Beatrice went on, “that does tend to mess with a woman’s mind. But are you saying she made it up? That you didn’t threaten her?”
“Look, I’m not sure this is any of your business, but I will tell you she may have taken what I said as a threat. I don’t need to threaten poor old Emma Drummond. Why would I do that?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
“Take my word.” He smiled.
Lawd the man is full of smiles and charm. If he’d been wearing a bow tie, she’d have left a long time ago. Bea’s daddy used to say never trust a man wearing a bow tie, especially a charming and smiling one.
“I’m eighty-five years old,” Beatrice said. “Your good looks, fancy mustache, and charm mean nothing to me. I’ve seen a million good old boys like you.”
“Now, Ms. Math—”
She stood. “What do you want with Emma Drummond?”
Sheriff Bixby remained seated and just stared back at her, silently. He wasn’t going to tell her a thing.