“Who can explain?” he asked. “Annie rode a bicycle and practically lived on tofu and lentils. Andy yells at people and behaves like a lout, and Sunshine will put up with almost anything to keep the peace, including having a fiance’ who was late to her mother’s funeral and has the manners of a porcupine.”
“And no,” he added after a brief pause, “I don’t think Andy Chapman killed his mother, but the only reason I don’t is that it would have made him late to work.”
“You are not explaining,” Hunter said. “You are describing.”
He poured boiling water into the teapot, put the lid on, and sat down.
“So we start back with Willis Chapman,” he said. “Willis was Annie’s husband. He was President of the old Merchantsville Bank, and pleasant enough to his business friends, but we always heard he believed a man’s home was his castle. In other words, he was the king, and everything was done to keep him from being displeased.”
“You know this how?” Hunter asked.
“Their cook and our cook were sisters,” Robin said. “Is that good enough?”
“Quite,” Hunter said. “I think the tea is ready.”
Robin poured.
“So, when he was home, everybody tiptoed around, and the meals had to be things he liked, but not the same thing twice in a week, there couldn’t be any disorder, and the children were barely seen and not heard. Just your typical paterfamilias. I’m sure he never raised a hand to any of them, but they all lived by his rules, and then when he died – really quite suddenly, and I think in his early 40s, Annie became the person she really was all the time.”
“I can see that,” Hunter said. “What about the children?”
“Andy grew bigger but did not grow up. Sunshine grew up and ran away to Macon, but apparently the freedom was too much for her, so she found a loutish control freak and let him move in with her.”
“Do you think Andy would have paid somebody to kill his mother?” Hunter asked.
“It wouldn’t make any sense for him to do that,” Robin said. “He had a good arrangement. As far as Sunshine could tell, he had no idea about his mother’s will, but even if she had been leaving it all to him, he would have had the maintenance and taxes to pay and the utility bills. Of course, maybe they had some kind of terrible fight that Sunshine didn’t know about.”
“What about her fiance’?” Hunter said.”
“He wasn’t here but about a half hour,” Robin said, “And Colin and I didn’t much mind that he barely spoke to us . We just wanted him out of here so he wouldn’t scare our other guests. It did bother me that he was ill-tempered and impatient with Sunshine right after her mother’s funeral and with her having dealt with all that craziness from Andy. Maybe I’m missing something, but I have never understood people choosing to live with unpleasant people.”
He thought about it a while, as Hunter sipped her tea.
“Maybe it makes her feel like a saint,” he said. “Is this any help at all? Are you trying to solve this shooting on your own now that you’re not working?”
“Yes, it’s a help,” Hunter said. “And I guess maybe I’m trying to sort it out in my own head. Oh, and I meant to ask you something else. Do you know if Jim Jordan was gay?”
“Taneesha asked me the same thing,” Robin said. “No. I don’t think so. Colin and I both spent a lot of time with him while we were trying to meet all the requirements for getting this lot rezoned for commercial use. I thought he was probably good at his job even if he drove us crazy with the details, but as for his personal life, I think he was just shy. You know, the kind of person who’s good at academics and at work, but shy when it’s just social. No small talk. No sense of humor that I ever noticed.”
“I never saw him at R&J’s,” Hunter said.
“So there you go,” Robin said. “He probably took his lunch to work in a brown paper bag.”
“I met his parents,” she said. “His father was angry with everybody that day, which I can kind of understand. His mother was really sweet. I felt so bad for them.”
“It was awful,” Robin said. “I just hope Sam and his gang catch whoever it was so it stops being a cloud over everything.”
“That’s how I feel, “Hunter said, “Like it’s a cloud over our baby’s arrival.”
“Well, give Sam an ultimatum,” Robin said. “Tell him you refuse to have the baby until he catches the shooter.”
“I will,” she said, laughing, “Now tell me about this antiques show you two are planning.”
They were still chatting a half hour later. Robin had explained that the antiques show would include refreshments on the grounds of the Conservatory across the street. After that he asked her if Sam was really as interested in the Chapman house as Sunshine seemed to believe.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “He loves that house. Remember how he loved the Roland house?”
“Both Queen Anne,” Robin said. “I know everybody calls is Victorian, but it’s Queen Anne. I think the Chapman house might have been built about the same time as the Roland House. I like that Clearview Circle location, but it doesn’t have the space around it that the Roland house does.”
“Or the bad memories, either,” Hunter said.
Her phone buzzed.
“Hi,” Hunter said, seeing that it was Sam. “Where are you?”
“I came home and brought lunch,” Sam said, “Where are you? I want to show you something.”
“At Hilliard House. I’ll be right home,” she said.
Over take-out lunch from R&J’s, Sam showed her a copy of the second letter from Abomination.
“Do you think he set the gym on fire?” she asked.
“Maybe he’s just trying to take credit for it,” Sam said, “Do you want those sweet potatoes?”
“You take them,” Hunter said, still studying the letter, “I wonder if you could give a spelling test to everybody you’re questioning.”
“If we could arrest people on the basis of bad spelling, we wouldn’t have enough jails,” Sam said.
“I’m serious,” Hunter countered. “If I asked you to write down that somebody was born during the reign of Queen Victoria, would you spell reign r-a-i-n? He did that in both letters.”
“I see what you mean,” he said, reaching for a second piece of fried chicken, “but a jury wouldn’t buy it. Do you know what I wish you would try to do?
“You want me to stay at home and rest,” Hunter said. “I know, but I’m not good at that, and women don’t have to rest when they’re pregnant. Think of all the women who have three and four children, or used to have seven or eight.”
“Later on,” he said, “you’re going to wish for some lazy days like this, all alone at home with nothing to do, and your husband bringing you lunch.”
“You’re probably right,” she said. “But I hate just sitting around doing nothing.”
As soon as he left, she went back to her computer and wrote down everything she could remember from her conversation with Robin.
Sam settled down in a plastic covered chair in Ricky Richards room in the Physical Therapy Unit of the Magnolia County Medical Center.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Ricky said. “This is costing a small fortune, and I could do all this stuff myself at home.”
His right leg was in a complicated metal brace.
“You’ve got those bars to hold onto while you walk?” Sam asked.
“No, but we could rig up something,” Ricky said impatiently. “Tell me what you’ve found out about the gym.”
“The Fire Marshall’s sure it was arson,” Sam said. “The fire started right in the middle, probably with every towel you had there, and a can of gasoline. He said it could have been started as early as one or two a.m. By the time it was called in there wasn’t much they could do except contain it.”
“I saw the pictures from the paper,” Ricky said. “All I can say is I’m glad at least we had it insured. Jaybird Hilliard came by yesterday and said that he could rent me one of the
spaces in that plaza thing of his, but it looks like we’re going to have to sell the house and move in with my folks for a while. I’ve gotten over wailing, and I’m trying to keep my chin up and think things through practically, but Sasha is just crushed.”
“It’s been pretty awful for her,” Sam said.
“I know,” Ricky said. “But it’s like I told her. Whoever killed the others meant to kill me too, but he didn’t, and I’m not going to lie down and die on my own. I’m used to working hard and trying to get somewhere, and I’m going to get us back where we were.”
“Good attitude,” Sam said. “Now I need to find out why somebody might want to kill you. Have you got any ideas?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Ricky asked.
“I sure am,” Sam said, “and this is just me and you talking. Somebody tried to kill you, and then somebody burned your gym down. I know from Jack Bremmer that you’re going to get a pretty good insurance payout on the gym, but not enough to replace the whole thing, so I know you didn’t have it done yourself. I’m figuring the arsonist was somebody who wanted to do you harm, and we’ve got reason to think that the same person started the fire who did the shooting.”
He brought out copies of the two Abomination letters and gave them to Ricky to read after explaining their timing.
“This is crazy stuff,” Ricky said after reading both letters. “It sounds like some lunatic who just wanted to kill people and brag about it afterward.”
“And that’s one possibility, and we’re working on that,” Sam said. “The other possibility is that it was somebody who had a specific target in mind at Foxtail Creek and just did the rest to make it look like a lunatic—or maybe set your gym on fire because he didn’t succeed in killing you on the bridge.”
“So you think it’s somebody who hates me,” Ricky said.
“That’s one way I’ve got to look at it,” Sam said.
The door opened and a bright-eyed young woman in an aqua jumpsuit bounced in.
“Mr. Richards, it’s time to get to work again,” she said.
“Sorry,” Sam said, “I’m the Sheriff of Magnolia County and I’m investigating a multiple homicide. He’s not going to be available for a while.”
She looked startled and backed out.
“I really need to get out of here,” Ricky said, “I feel like it’s costing me money if anybody even walks through that door.”
“I’m not here to talk about that,” Sam said. “So, don’t change the subject. I need to know who might really have it in for you, Ricky. I’ve got three unsolved homicides, and the ones that did get killed can’t tell me anything. I need to know anything that will help get this guy behind bars.”
Ricky Richards stared out the window for a little while before he started talking.
“There are a few guys who might think that I might have fooled around with their wives or girlfriends,” he said, “But that was before I married Sasha, which is like three years now. There’s one who doesn’t speak to me, and I mean he turns around and walks off it I come into a room. There’s one I’m pretty sure kept me from being asked to join the Rotary Club, and there’s one who lives in Atlanta now, but his wife still lives here. They got divorced, but wasn’t really about me, and she’s remarried. There’s another who thinks he’s got something to be mad at me about, but he doesn’t, because nothing happened. I settled down when I met Sasha, but there’s her ex-husband. He lives over in Taylor County.”
“This is a good start,” Sam said. “Now, how about names?”
CHAPTER 16
A storm hit Magnolia County on Thursday night. It did no real damage, but left the creeks running a little higher and the ground soggier.
Aaron Twitchell drove over Foxtail Creek Bridge at about eight a.m. on Friday morning wishing somebody would come and clear away the flowers and wreaths. The ones people had brought from their gardens had long since wilted, and the plastic ones were now scattered across the bridge.
He knew he could clean it up himself and toss everything in the back of the truck, but the memories made his head hurt. He had driven into town the long way several times just to avoid the bridge. Now he swerved to avoid a tangled wreath and drove uphill until he came to the dirt road on the left that had no sign. It was known locally as Old Dairy Road.
There was a downward slope on one side, where the creek had been cutting a gentle valley for countless years. On the other there was farmland.
Aaron came to a curve after about a half mile and saw what he was looking for – a small herd of goats on one side of the road and a battered trailer on the other. It had a neatly swept dirt yard shaded by a big umbrella-shaped chinaberry tree. The brick chimney of a house that had burned down years before was still standing. There was a handpainted sign on it that offered “Fresh Goat Milk.”
Aaron knew that in other seasons it would also offer “Fresh U-Pick Scupnons” but that very few people were willing to do the picking since the scuppernong arbor was half collapsed and full of weeds and vines. To most local people who knew the area near the creek, the sign might as well say “Fresh U-Pick Snakes.”
He pulled up in the yard and honked. Jeremiah Jones came out of his house, carrying a long stick.
“Hey, Mr. Jeremiah,” Aaron called out as the goats came running across the road and surrounded his truck. “It’s me, Aaron Twitchell. You got time to talk a while?”
“Nothin’ but time,” the old man replied, taping the porch floor with his stick and making his way to an old metal lawn chair.
He was thin as a rail and the darkest-skinned man of Aaron’s experience. His hair and beard were white and his eyes were pale blue, but not because they had started out that way. Aaron doubted Jeremiah Jones could see much at all. An old black and tan coonhound pushed his way through the goats and laid his muzzle on the old man’s knees.
“You got everything you need?” Aaron asked, pushing a black and white goat aside and taking the matching chair. “Got enough food in there?”
“More than I can eat,” Jeremiah said. “My daughter comes over three or four times a week with greens and cornbread, sometimes some soup. Best thing she brings is strawberry jam and peanut butter and light bread. You ever had one of them sandwiches?”
He scratched the dog behind the ears.
“Yessir,” Aaron said. “That’s a good sandwich.”
“I make one for ol’ BuddyRo here, too,” he said. “Every time my daughter comes back, she fusses cause she’s got to throw out half of what she brought before and I need more light bread. She wants me to come live with them, but she won’t have BuddyRo, and I’m not leavin’ him, nor the goats neither.”
He pushed another goat aside with his stick and said, “Tell me who you are again.”
“Aaron Twitchell,” Aaron said. “My daddy was Lewis Twitchell. I live on Sumter Road.”
The old man beamed.
“You come from good people,” he said, “Now if them goats are pesterin’ you too much, you can use my stick.”
“They’re not bothering me,” Aaron said, “You got many customers for the goat milk?”
“Just that one lady,” Jeremiah said. “Miz Chapman—the one that got shot on the bridge. When my daughter told me that it ’bout made me cry. That was a good lady. She even got the scupnons, when they was in season. Rode out here on a bicycle like she was a little girl, and she’d sit and talk, too. Last Christmas she brought me a Claxton fruitcake. She said she could make a better one herself, but she knew I liked the store-bought kind. What’s the world comin’ too that somebody like that gets shot?”
“It was a terrible thing,” Aaron said. “I saw it right after it happened. Can’t get it outta my mind.”
“If that’s what you came to talk about, I already spoke to the sheriff’s men who came around that mornin’,” Jeremiah said. “I wasn’t much help ’cept I heard the shots. I thought it was firecrackers – all that poppin’ – and BuddyRo was barkin’ his head off, but I did
n’t see anything.”
“Well, what I wanted to ask you about was something else,” Aaron said. “I’m working for Sheriff Bailey, and I’m trying to figure out who knows how to get around this place out here. Who would know how to get down to the creek?”
Jeremiah was silent for a long time.
“Well, Tucker Parsons knows all that other side,” he finally said, “He doesn’t mind my goats ’cause he grows cotton, and they don’t bother cotton. Mostly they keep the weeds down around his barn. You know that used to be a cow barn. That’s how I wound up with the goats to start with. Old Mr. Haycock had a couple of customers who wanted goat milk. Later on, they sold all the cows but left the goats.”
“Yessir, I remember hearin’ that,” Aaron said. “Who do you think could find their way around on this side?”
“Most of the ones who knowed it are passed – like Timbo Weatherspoon used to do some trappin’ and old Wild Bill Carson had some land down the road – well he’s been gone for fifty years or more – and his boy Will, well he’s passed too, hasn’t he?”
“About six or seven years ago, I think,” Aaron said, pushing a goat aside and leaning closer. “Did the Carsons live out this way?”
“No, Sir,” the old man said and laughed. “It ain’t fit to live in when you get a little bit down the road from here. Too steep. Used to be bears and bobcats, too. The Carsons had a little land nobody wanted, or maybe they didn’t own it, and just used it. There was more cars on this road at night way back then than ever has been since. Wild Bill made good corn whiskey down there. Everybody knew it and nobody stopped him. Young Will worked with him, mostly ran up to the turnaround when somebody honked their horn, but then the old man died. Will just didn’t have the gift, I had some of his whiskey once, and it was like drinkin’ kerosene.”
“So that’s why he wound up in the cleaning business,” Aaron said, grinning. “Cause he couldn’t make good moonshine.”
“But he was still comin’ an’ goin’. I used to see that big truck of his almost every day,” Jeremiah said, frowning a bit. “I heard some govment people got him for pourin’ out his cleanin’ stuff in the creek. It killed a bunch of fish in the river. That’s what I heard anyway. All I know for sure is I stopped seein’ that truck.”
Over Troubled Water: A Hunter Jones Mystery Page 14
