“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Scott’s face shifted. Had it struck him he was apologizing, yet she was the one who was where she shouldn’t be?
“No problem.” She walked past him to the coffee machine.
From the corner of her eye she saw him look into J.D.’s office, then at her. “Do you need something? Something I could help with or…?”
“No. Thanks. I heard a sound.” She lifted a shoulder. Thankfully she hadn’t started going through drawers. “Didn’t see anything. Probably a mouse.”
He laughed. “I don’t think even a mouse would dare go in J.D.’s office uninvited. Now, Dallas’ office could host a whole convention of mice.”
“Great. Thanks for that image,” she muttered. She squinted at the unfamiliar coffee machine. If it weren’t dark in this hallway she’d be able to figure out the damned thing.
“Mama used to say the crumbs on Cousin Dallas’ shirtfront could feed an entire family.”
She pressed a button. Nothing happened.
“Here, let me get that for you.”
She stepped back.
“Mama had a way with words. She could talk anyone into anything.”
Except her husband into staying, Maggie thought, considering what Dallas had said.
“Certainly could talk me into anything.” Scott’s cheeks and throat tinted mottled red, his eyes misting. “Such a shock when she passed. Cous — Dallas helped me so much. Drew my interest to the courtroom. Such a fascinating theater. One where I’m privileged to play my small part on the stage of justice.”
Maggie imagined how Nancy would respond to that description.
“But the pain lingers. It does linger. That’s why I know how it must be for you now.”
What was he talking about? Her mother was remarkably healthy and blessedly three thousand miles away — not that Maggie would tell him that. She didn’t want to encourage discussion of her family.
And there’s the fact you’re all from complicated families … Google’s a wonderful thing.
At this point she didn’t even want coffee. But since he blocked any graceful exit, she would stay until the coffee machine finished.
“It’s got to be hard, keeping your mind on this investigation.”
“Not hard at all,” she said grimly.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d never shirk your duty, but when the heart’s involved, it’s difficult to keep your head from following.”
Her heart had nothing to do with it.
“Maybe you and Roy will get back together after this is over.”
Roy? Oh.
“Scott, do you have the transcript from v. Carson?” It was an abrupt change of subject, but if he thought she was sensitive about Roy, maybe he’d accept that and she could get on to something useful. “If it’s going to take much longer — because of your other duties — I can—”
“Oh, I’ll have it ready real soon. I’d’ve had it by now but I didn’t expect to take this many calls for Dallas and Jack Dan.”
“Jack Dan?”
His brows rose. “Carson. Didn’t you know?”
“His legal name is J.D.” She’d checked and double-checked he hadn’t been charged under an improper name, leaving a loophole for him to climb through.
“Well, all I can tell you is everybody in the county knows J.D. stands for Jack Daniels. Rick Wade found out when we were kids and told everybody, like he told everybody the birth certificate says ‘unknown’ under ‘Father.’ ”
“Rick said Nola Carson named her baby J.D. because all she remembered about the man passing through who most likely fathered him was he drank Jack Daniels.”
Whatever she thought of the adult J.D., Maggie had a sudden image of the child, hearing that and more.
God, what people did to kids.
Tomlinson might have sensed her reaction, because he hurried into speech. “Everybody called him Jack Dan growing up.” Something passed across his eyes before he added, “Except Pan.”
Maybe he was a bit of a gossip, but that was sorrow in his face.
Scott cleared his throat, “It wasn’t until he came back on leave that some folks shifted to J.D. Following Pan’s lead, most like. And, once he was charged with murder and the papers had J.D., people got used to it. But growing up it was Jack Dan.”
He seemed lost in a memory, then added, “His mama called him J.D.”
“You remember Nola Carson?”
“Sure. She wasn’t mean like most of the Carsons. An uncle and a brother of hers died in prison. Her cousin Marie’s still in for knifing some guy. Nola’s father was killed in a bar fight, and another brother smashed up driving drunk. Nola wasn’t like that. Oh, she drank. Drank hard, and it kept costing her jobs. Used to hear men joking they’d never know which bar they’d walk into next and see Nola working there. Same way she was about men, moving from one to another.”
“Social services never took him away.” She’d checked. She’d needed to be prepared for a sympathy play by the defense.
“Never heard Nola hurt him. But I suppose if anyone raised him it was the Wood Witch.”
“The who?”
He chuckled. “Sorry, that’s what we called her as kids. She was Bedhurst’s bogeyman. When I heard the Hansel and Gretel story, I knew it was about the Wood Witch, and she’d eat kids for sure. Since J.D. spent a lot of time with her, nobody messed with him. Nobody knew where she came from or when. Thought she was a squatter. Could have knocked folks over with a feather when it came out Anya owned the land.”
“Anya Nouga, the woman Carson inherited the cabin from?” Carson had testified the inheritance was why he’d requested leave to return to Bedhurst.
Scott nodded. “Shack more like. Plants all over. Had a club she shook at us that rattled like a snake. She was forever cooking stuff in huge pots outside. Potions, maybe poisons.”
She remembered the tiny cabin — one room and cramped loft — she’d visited as part of the frenzied trial preparation. It had been rundown, yet tidy. Yes, there’d been fire pits in the yard, but all in all, Maggie could see why a boy preferred it to the shell of a trailer that had once been home to Nola Carson.
“You’d go out there, by Anya Nouga’s cabin?”
“Sure. We all did. Even Charlotte.” He grinned. “Daring the devil, you know. Irresistible to kids. Would creep through the woods to spy on her stirring those pots and talking gibberish over them, for the thrill, trying not to get caught by her or Jack Dan — J.D.”
“What happened if you were caught?”
“Kid stuff. Run off, shouted at. Here’s your coffee.” He handed her a cup, finally stepping back and opening the way.
“Thanks.” The coffee was good. Sipping as she went, she returned to Dallas’ office, retrieved her bag, took a final swig before leaving the cup, then headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Scott asked from the dimness of the hallway. “Dallas should be here any minute.”
“Tell him I’ll be back soon.”
“But—”
She was out the door before she heard more. She nearly collided with a figure on the sidewalk before it sidestepped to avoid the contact.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to — Oh. Carson.”
“Good morning.” His tone was even. “No more alarms during the night?”
“No.”
She stepped past. He pivoted and fell into step with her. She stopped. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you.”
“You have no idea where I’m going.”
“True.”
“I won’t be long. Tell Dallas I’ll be right back.”
“Scott will tell him.”
She frowned, then resumed walking.
Might be better to know where he was. Plus, it would delay his hearing from Scott that she’d been in his office.
Two blocks past the square, she turned left, went a block and a half to a faded blue frame house, with bright daffodils unfurling in front.
A dent showed beside the scar near his mouth as Carson murmured, “Good work, Maggie Frye.”
She didn’t respond, studying the house.
“Round back,” he said.
She walked down the driveway and saw a small sign on the converted garage: Doranna’s Do’s.
In answer to her knock, a voice invited her to “Come on in, hon.”
She was aware of a reaction from Carson, but he smothered it too quickly for her to catch. It left a small dent by the scar near his mouth.
“Never thought to live to see the day you’re early, but it’s — Oh.” A short, wiry woman with unnatural dark red curls froze between the two chairs, with a brush in each hand.
“Doranna Ruskin? I’m Maggie Frye, Assistant Commonwealth’s Atto—”
“Oh, I remember you, hon. Just never thought to see you in my shop, not if I lived forever. Hey, J.D.”
“I have questions that might help in investigating the murders of two young women in this county.”
“Well, I never thought you’d come for a shampoo and cut. But I can’t tell you a thing more about poor Pan getting murdered than I did in that courtroom. And nothing about Laurel.”
“I understand both murdered women were your custom—”
“My word.” She clapped one hand — still holding a brush — in the vicinity of where her heart would be beating under the brightly flowered smock. “I never thought of it that way. Could give a woman a turn, except near everyone in the county’s been a customer now and again.”
“Can you—?”
“Sit. Here, take this chair, hon, and I’ll…” She moved to a side chair in front of a wicker chest with magazines neatly fanned on top.
“No, thank you. If you could—”
“Well, I’m sitting. I’ll be on my feet the rest of the live-long day. Thank you, hon,” she added to J.D., who’d slid the chair forward.
“Ms. Ruskin—”
“Doranna.”
Maggie gritted her teeth. Was she ever going to finish a sentence?
“Now you go right ahead and ask me your questions,” Doranna invited kindly. “Though I can’t begin to imagine — but never mind, you go right ahead.”
“Do you remember either woman talking about her personal life?”
“Of course. Everybody does. But nothing that’d say who murdered those girls. If there had been, I’d’ve been to the sheriff first thing. Especially with that nonsense about J.D.—” She didn’t finish, clearly remembering Maggie’s role in the nonsense.
“Was there anyone either woman expressed concern about — Let’s take this one at a time. Pan?” Doranna shook her head. “Laurel?” Another shake.
“Threats?” Two more shakes.
“Anything unusual in the weeks leading up to their murders?”
“Laurel hasn’t been here for years, but even back before Pan was murdered, there was nothing. As for Pan, like I said at the trial, she was happy with J.D. home on leave — said how nice it was to have such a loyal friend.”
She smiled at him. Maggie wondered if there’d been a shade of emphasis on friend.
“How about Laurel, who were her special friends?”
The woman’s eyes gleamed. “You’re meaning lovers? I’d say talk to Barry at Shenny’s. Supposedly he hears all the dirt and claims he doesn’t spread it. I did hear tell some things from a girl who works in a fancy salon Laurel’s patronizing in Lynchburg. Nothing to swear to, you understand?” Maggie nodded. “Seems Laurel was pretty free and easy right along that she hadn’t stuck to the forsaking all others portion of her wedding vows. Word was she was going on and on a while back about somebody on another plane — whatever that means. But when she was in last time, and her girl asked about somebody on another plane, she waved it off, saying it was over — or would be soon — and she’d had her fill. It’s gossip, pure and simple, but seems to me that’s what you’re asking for.”
“Thank you. What about Pan Wade?”
Doranna leaned forward, demanding eye contact. “Pan Addington never broke a promise in her life. And it’s sure as all she didn’t break a single one of her wedding vows — didn’t so much as wrinkle them. Anybody who hints otherwise is a worthless, self-centered child in man’s clothes.”
Clearly not Rick Wade’s fan.
“What about before Pan married? Anyone show special interest in her?”
“Near everybody her age.”
“Names would be helpful.”
She flapped her hands. “Pull out the yearbooks. Okay — okay. Let’s see. My Trent for one. Was couple years behind her, but he had it bad. Rick, of course, though he never treated her the way he should. My nephew, Ralph, bless his soul — died in a car accident not a year out of high school. That Hank Berkin who went to college on a football scholarship with Rick, but was real smart, and became a professor. J.D. here, of course, and Scott. And then the Everly boy in your class, J.D. — or was he the one turned out to be gay?”
“Ben,” he supplied. “He was crazy about Pan and he is gay.”
“Like I said, three-quarters of this town was nuts for Pan — all the guys and half the girls. Be easier to say who wasn’t.”
“Who wasn’t?” she asked immediately.
“Like I said — half the girls.”
“Specific names would—”
She laughed. “Any girl who wanted any one of those boys. Okay, okay.” She narrowed her eyes, abruptly serious. “Only one comes to mind was Laurel. Now that girl looked to be seriously put out by attention that went to Pan. That won’t help you much, since she got murdered herself.”
“Were they ever friends?”
“No. Not enemies or snarling, but distant-like. Pan more friendly than Laurel, but that was her way. Both their ways, come to that.”
Maggie used a tactic she sometimes employed, abruptly changing the direction of her questions. Even well-intentioned witnesses stuck in a mental track, and this could shake things loose.
“Did Pan and Laurel have appointments with you around the same time?”
“So they’d overlap, you mean?” Doranna tapped the back of the brush on her thigh. “Might have happened a time or two, but nothing regular. I sure don’t recall talk between the two of them to be thinking of it now.”
“Can you think of any similarities between Pan and Laurel? Anything that would link them?”
“Pan and Laurel similar? Not hardly. No, no link at all.”
“I will need the name of the woman you mentioned in Lynchburg.”
Doranna pursed her mouth. “She’ll be telling everyone she’s the star witness. SherriAnn Pendergast.” She added an address and phone number.
Maggie thanked her and started out. She had the doorknob in hand when she realized J.D. hadn’t followed.
“Doranna, will you think some more?” he asked. “Small town, a lot of people in common, there must be links.”
The woman peered up at him. “Well, sure. But no more links than any other two souls. You know how it is, J.D. — went to school together, their mommas were distant cousins or some such. Anyway, they went to all the same weddings and funerals and all.”
“That’s a link,” Carson said. “Pretty strong link. Folks in the same circles see a lot of each other in the county.”
She tipped her head, considering. “S’pose so. As I said, they were kin of some kind. Not that kin necessarily makes for friends. If that were so, Laurel and Charlotte wouldn’t have been at daggers-drawn most their lives. But I do s’pose you’re right. Even though Laurel was younger than Pan and you-all, there was mixing at parties and such, wasn’t there?”
He nodded. “There was.”
“But like I said, not much more than most any two souls in this county.”