by Vikki Walton
Even though Christie had seen many deaths in her time, something troubled her spirit about Hector’s death. She turned to Trish. “I have to find out if Hector had health issues. What was he doing out here by himself? Sure, heat stroke happens but something doesn’t feel right.”
“I could see if Shana May could let you into his house.”
“What do you mean?” Christie turned off the truck after parking it next to her Jeep.
“She does housecleaning, and I’m fairly sure she does Hector’s house. I can ask.”
Christie pushed her hair back off her face. “I don’t know. I’m not sure that would be right.”
“Look, he’s dead.”
“Trish!” Her lack of empathy stunned Christie.
“Okay, sorry. But we could get into his house if we make her something—like a pie. Then, we could just say we knew she’d be there.” She grinned.
“You are a piece of work, you know?”
Trish laughed. “You have no idea. But you still like me.”
“Yes, I do.” She lowered her head and grinned. “Even if you are crazy.”
They heard a vehicle coming up the road.
Trish shielded her eyes with her hand. “Oh, geez. Here comes trouble.”
“Look again. Double trouble.” Christie crossed her arms and waited.
The truck screeched to a halt, and Emma Webster exited the truck. The other door opened, and Kimberly slid out of her side, steadying herself on her heels.
“Is it true? I just got a call. What happened?” Emma spat at them.
“Whoa, there. Settle down.” Christie held up her hands to fight off the vitriol.
“Don’t tell her to settle down. Hector comes here, and your dad takes a shot at him. Now he’s found dead on your property.”
“Now wait a minute,” Trish blustered until Christie spoke.
“First, my father did not take a shot at Hector—”
“Darn tooting.” A gravelly voice spoke up from behind them on the porch.
Oh, great. The last thing I need is for Pop to get involved.
“Pop, I was explaining—”
“There’s no need to explain anything to those two trollops.”
Kimberly gasped.
“Wow, this reminds me of old times.” Trish laughed. “You gonna run and tell your daddy, Kimberly?”
“You little…” Kimberly moved forward.
A male voice commanded, “Stop right there, Ms. Whitaker.”
They turned to see Sheriff Clauson. He must have parked down by the old oak and walked the last bit up to the house.
Kimberly turned and pointed at Pop. “I want you to arrest him!”
“What?” Everyone echoed.
“He threatened Hector, and when Hector narrowly avoided him in the parking lot, well…”
“He didn’t ‘narrowly avoid’ him. He almost killed my father.”
“So, there you go, you both have motive.” Emma Webster spoke up.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” Christie bristled and took a step toward Emma. “Now you’re saying I killed Hector? And what, pray tell, would be my reason?”
“Revenge,” Emma Webster replied.
Christie laughed. “Revenge? For what?”
“For almost hitting your dad. Then you wouldn’t have to take care of him,” Kimberly joined in.
Trish stepped forward. “What is this? Are you all on drugs? Christie’s a nurse. No way would she hurt anyone. Or Mr. Taylor, for that matter. I’m fixin’ to knock out some of those fake pearly whites if you don’t apologize right now.”
“See!” Kimberly pointed at Trish. “She threatened me! I want her arrested, too.”
The sheriff walked closer to the group, and Christie watched as her father moved off the porch.
“Now, Hug, I’ve known ya since you were knee high to a grasshopper. No way would I or my Chrissy cause harm to anyone. You and everyone else here—even this girly—knows that’s the truth of it. Hector came over and I’d been cleaning my shotgun. It wasn’t even loaded. I keep telling this woman that I ain’t selling this place, but she keeps sending those vultures over here. It’s trespassing, plain and simple. As for poor Hector, no telling why he was on my property.”
Emma answered. “Well, that’s easy. He called me saying to meet him here. That he thought you all were planning on accepting our ‘gift’ or possibly wanted to talk about selling the property.”
The Sheriff said, “We have his phone, and we’ll see if the phone records agree with that.”
“I never called Hector,” Pop told Christie.
The Sheriff spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Deputy Roland, bring me Hector’s phone.”
He stuffed his thumbs into his gear belt as everyone glared at each other, but they all remained silent.
Roland arrived shortly and brought the phone over to the Sheriff. Clauson pulled on latex gloves and took the phone from the bag. “Unfortunately, it has a password on it. But—”
Kimberly said, “I think it’s something like a G.”
“You would know, since you’ve been having an affair with him.” Trish thrust her chin out.
“How dare you!” Kimberly responded.
“What! Is this true?” Emma turned to Kimberly.
The Sheriff silenced them. “One call is to you, Emma. There’s another call to Cole. And one text to an unknown number.”
Emma spoke. “It could be from one of our clients. Read me the number, and I can let you know.”
The Sheriff didn’t have to finish all the numbers for Christie to know it was her phone number.
“Ring any bells?” the Sheriff asked.
“It’s mine.” Christie sighed.
“So, you texted Hector?”
“No.”
“The evidence,” he held the screen up for her to see, “ says you did.”
“I didn’t. I’m telling you. What does it say?”
“Meet me at the old spot by the creek.”
Christie gulped, but said nothing.
Sheriff Clauson asked, “Where’s your phone now?”
“Um, in my Jeep, I think.”
“Deputy, please go with Ms. Taylor and retrieve her phone.”
Ms. Taylor now. Him not calling her by her first name didn’t bode well. Christie and the deputy walked over to the Jeep. She started to open the console when the deputy stopped her. He put on gloves and opened it.
The deputy did a search in the console before yelling out, “No phone, Sheriff.”
“But it has to be there. I hadn’t taken it out because I was bringing some things in from the store.” She went to open the other door, but the deputy stopped her. She grunted in frustration. “Fine. Look under the seat. Maybe it fell under there.”
The deputy searched inside, but the phone was not in the car.
“When was the last time you saw your phone, Christie?”
“As I said, I went into town for some supplies, then came back out here. I sometimes leave it in the car.”
The sheriff handed the plastic bag with Hector’s phone back to the deputy.
“And no one has had access to it during that time?”
“No…” She hesitated.
“Is there something you want to say?” Sheriff Clauson motioned for her to continue.
Christie’s thoughts raced. Cole had been waiting for them, and they had taken Pop’s truck to go to the doctor and get feed for the horses. Her mind raced. But why would Cole text Hector from her phone? What would he have to gain?
Oh, no. If Hector and Kimberly were having an affair, did Cole kill him?
She looked up. “Sheriff, I’m not feeling well. I’m still getting used to this Texas heat and humidity again. Can we go inside where it’s cooler?”
“I think we have what we need for now. Just stay in town where I can reach you.” He shook Christie’s father’s hand. “R.C.”
“That’s it? You’re not going to arrest them or something?” Kimberly moaned.
“On what charge?”
Kimberly thought for a moment. “Well, um…”
Pop said, “I agree. Arrest them two.” He pointed at the two women.
“What for?” Emma spoke.
“For trespassing on my property.” He took the check out of his pocket, tore it into little pieces, and threw it up in the air. “And you can take this, too. Now git before I sic my dogs on ya.”
“Sheriff!” Emma cried out. “You can’t arrest me. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“This is his property. Unless you have permission to be here, I suggest you leave. Now.”
The women headed back to the truck.
“This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me,” Emma spat at them.
“Oh, goody.” Christie waved.
After the Sheriff left, she looked at her father and Trish.
He pointed to the house. “Come inside, girl. I know you got something you want to share with us.”
Chapter Six
When the group had settled in front of the air conditioning, Pop spoke. “Get it off your chest, Christie. I can see the wheels turning in your mind.”
“Remember when we went out to eat? I didn’t have my phone with me, so I went out to get it. I heard Hector arguing with someone. Now I think it was Kimberly.”
“Could be.” Trish pulled off her boots, propped her feet up on the sofa close to Christie, and took a sip of her iced tea.
Christie reached over and unconsciously began massaging Trish’s foot. “Oh, my gosh. That’s amazing. Do this one, too!”
“I’m so used to doing this for patients, I guess it’s just a subconscious habit to start rubbing feet.”
“I hope I’m not dying anytime soon.” Trish rapped her knuckles on the worn oak table, “but I’ll take it a foot massage any day.” Christie continued the massage as Trish let out a sigh of relief.
“Anyway, then he peeled out of there, and that’s when you got hurt, Pop.”
He rubbed his arm. “Yes, don’t remind me. Dang kids and their fast cars.”
Christie and Trish glanced at each other and grinned.
“Pop, Hector was our age. He was in his forties.”
“Your point?”
“Um. Nothing.”
A horn honked outside. “That’ll be Jess. As much as I hate to leave while you’re massaging my tootsies, I gotta go.”
“Oh, geez. I didn’t even notice your vehicle and horse trailer gone. I should have helped you with them.”
Trish came around and hugged Christie. “You were a bit busy trying to save a man’s life.”
“I only wish I would have helped him.” She shook her head and sighed. “I could tell he was close to death when we found him.”
“Poor Hector. Not sure what happened there,” Trish replied.
The horn honked again.
“That kid.” She yelled out the door, “Hold yer horses. I’ll be there in a minute.” She turned to face Pop and Christie. “Ugh, teenagers. Gotta love’em, but you can’t kill ‘em.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“You still up for…you know, Christie? Tomorrow morning sometime?”
Pop sat back in his chair. “What are you two young-uns up to?”
“Nothing,” they said in unison.
“Yep. That always means something.”
“Pop, I told Trish I would make you a pecan pie tonight when the weather cools off, and she wanted me to make one for her, too.”
“Now, don’t go fibbing. I know when you two are planning something you don’t want me to know.”
“You’re too smart for us, Pop.” Trish kissed him on the cheek.
“And don’t you forget it.” He smiled.
Christie walked Trish to her truck, where Jess had moved over to the passenger side.
Trish walked toward the truck. The window was rolled down. “Say hello, Jess.”
“Hello, Ms. Taylor.” He slumped in his seat.
Trish turned back to Christie. “What time tomorrow?”
“Hmmm, let me call you. Oh, wait…” Christie thought for a moment.
My phone. Where is it? And who has it?
Even though Christie loved Trish like a sister, the idea of sharing the thought that Cole may have taken her phone was unthinkable. “I guess I’ll be buying a new one tomorrow. Maybe one from this era. Until then, just call Pop’s landline.”
“Okay. Will do.” Trish grinned and swung herself up into the driver’s seat.
Christie waved as the pair drove off. Then, she grabbed her hat and sunglasses and walked down to the overlook. A tow truck was attaching Hector’s vehicle. She rubbed her arms. What had happened to Hector?
She kicked at a clod of dirt. Why take her phone and why text Hector to meet her?
“Oh no.” If Hector died on their property right after he’d caused injury to Pop, that meant someone was trying to point the finger at her if his death wasn’t natural.
So much for coming back to a simpler life. Death hadn’t stayed behind but had followed her home.
~~~
As the sun set, Christie pulled ingredients to start work on the pecan pie. Normally, she made the pie crust from scratch, but she’d cheated and bought one from the store. When she’d brought it home, she’d gotten “the look” from her father and stashed it back in the freezer. Maybe she’d use it to make a quiche. Christie set to work making the piecrust. There was one key ingredient to her father’s piecrust, and that was vegetable shortening. Her mother had wanted a large pantry space for all her canned goods and items that wouldn’t do well in the Texas heat, so her father had built a cellar for her. Christie opened the door that led down wooden stairs to the storage space, clicked on the light and made her way down into the cool room. She found the big blue tub and stuck it under her arm to carry upstairs.
Christie’s mind went back to her childhood when the three of them would eat dinner in the small room during the hottest summer nights. Surrounded by canned goods from the harvest, the bounty offered comfort and security at the same time. Often, her folks would trade with others, in case a crop didn’t produce enough for the year. Neighbors always helped neighbors. Times had sure changed in the years since the world had become so encapsulated behind computer screens and locked doors.
She worked her way down the rows to a batch of canned peaches. Eating a peach out of a jar was like taking a bite of summer. Pickled beets, onions, okra, and eggs were often in abundance. Onions hung from the ceiling in old stockings, and cases filled with sand would hold carrots and other root vegetables when they were ready for harvest. Large containers of beans, rice, flour, sugar, and cornmeal, among other staples, took up one wall. The bounty within the room meant that, no matter the state of the economy, they always ate—and ate well.
Christie remembered harvest time and all the work involved in preserving the food. She’d hated spending days peeling peaches or snapping peas. Now, she missed that time of laughter and conversations with the end result being a collection of jars full of nature’s bounty.
The kitchen in the main house had been so small, Pop had built a larger kitchen that could expand in the summer onto a covered patio area where tables sat for preparation and cooling off of the jars. The sound of jar lids popping as they cooled had always brought smiles to faces.
Christie would prep the pie ingredients there, then assemble and cook them in the convection ovens in the outdoor kitchen. That way, it wouldn’t heat the house, which was already struggling to remain cool with the living room window unit.
One year, her father sold off a prized bull to pay for the commercial oven as a Christmas gift for her mother. She had loved it and used it for canning, along with baking pies and cakes for new moms, invalids, and others in need. Then, the cancer had struck. In a few short months, her mother went from a vibrant woman to a shadow of her former self.
Christie struggled to hold back tears that formed from remembering that difficult time. Losing a mother before blossoming into a young woma
n had forced her to grow up fast. Maybe it had even changed her and made her the independent woman she’d become. She still struggled with leaning on others for support. Her mother’s death had devastated them all, but her father had suffered in silence. Always by his wife’s side, he refused to leave until a hospice nurse had told him that she would ensure he was there if needed. As Christie saw the care the nurse gave to her patient, she’d decided the medical field was what she wanted as her career path. Everyone had always said she should become a therapist due to her listening skills. In some ways, that had come true as patients and family members trusted her with their long-held hopes, dreams, secrets and regrets.
So many years later and the memory felt like it had happened yesterday. Christie gathered other ingredients in a big aluminum bucket and headed out back.
~~~
Pop Taylor’s Texas Pecan Pie Recipe
First Step: Collect Your Ingredients
1 piecrust
1 cup sugar
½ cup dark corn syrup
½ cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 tablespoons butter (plus extra for brushing crust if desired)
1/8 teaspoon (pinch) salt
3 farm-fresh cage-free eggs (slightly beaten)
1 heaping cup chopped pecans (cut full pecans crosswise)
Optional: Dark chocolate, melted (70+ percent) 2-3 squares
Second Step: Prepare Your Oven
Heat oven to 350 degrees (176.6 C)
Third Step: Gather Your Tools
Baking pie pan (if not using store bought piecrust that included a pan)
Measuring cups
Measuring spoons
Mixing bowls
Spatula
Knife
Pastry brush (optional)
Piecrust protector shield (optional)
Fourth Step: Assemble Your Ingredients
Mix sugar, syrup, salt, vanilla and butter.
Slightly beat eggs to break yolks and incorporate.
