Over Troubled Water: A Hunter Jones Mystery

by Charlotte Moore

  She left her own number at the end of the message.

  Remembering the frail and sad woman she had met at City Hall, Hunter dialed the number immediately.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you called back,” Janice Jordan said. “You know, right after I left that message, I remembered how pregnant you were when I saw you. Has the baby been born yet?”

  “No,” Hunter said, “but it should be any time now.”

  “Oh my goodness, I remember how that was. You just can’t plan a thing, can you? I shouldn’t be asking you any kind of favor.”

  “Go right ahead,” Hunter said cheerfully, “Maybe it’s something that will help me get my mind off waiting.”

  “Uh Oh! Jack’s back already,” Janice said, suddenly sounding a little uneasy. “I, uh, could you give me your e-mail address, please?”

  “Sure,” Hunter said.

  “I’ll be in touch tomorrow then,” Janice said in a business-like voice as soon as she had the address. “Thank you so much.”

  Sunshine Chapman used the key Miss Angelica had handed her, and opened the front door to the old house. She had hoped to have a real talk with Andy, and to assure him that she hadn’t had anything to do with Garth’s breaking-in, but she was relieved to hear that he was on his way to see an apartment.

  And finally she could take a good look at the house, and make a list of things that needed doing.

  It obviously needed a good cleaning, she thought, and the dining room wallpaper was peeling, but people who were interested in old houses would be able to see past the air-conditioning units in the windows, and the 1960s kitchen appliances.

  Upstairs, she found that Andy had locked the old nursery again, but she would worry about that later, she thought.

  She wound up in the attic – in the little cozy little bedroom she fixed up and claimed as her own when she was a teenager. The leaves of the old magnolia tree were brushing against the window.

  For half a minute, she thought about moving back into the house, but only for half a minute. It was just too big, too much to keep up, and too long a commute.

  She liked her life in Macon and, she decided, she would like it much better without Garth Thurlow in it.

  An hour after Sunshine had locked up and left, Sam Bailey drove around Clearview Circle with Hunter, Bethie, and Nikki. Nikki and Bethie insisted on getting out to take photos while Hunter sat in the car with her shoes kicked off.

  The antiques show had been a huge success for Robin and Colin, and Hunter had found it fun for a little while, She had enjoyed the tea and scones on the shady grounds of the old conservatory across the street from Hilliard House, but now she had slowed down to a stop

  “You’re right,” she said to Sam. “It’s a beautiful house.”

  “It’s even better on the inside,” he said.

  CHAPTER 19

  Monday morning arrived and Hunter was still in bed when Sam was leaving for work. He brought her a cup of tea and made her promise to stay home, and to call him if she felt so much as a twinge.

  “I’ll be home for lunch,” he said. “I’ll bring takeout from R&J’s.”

  “Not hungry,” Hunter mumbled into her pillow.

  “You will be,” he said. “Remember, you’re eating for two.”

  A while after he left, Hunter got out of bed, showered and shampooed. If she wound up going to the hospital, she meant to arrive with squeaky clean hair.

  She pulled on the pair of maternity slacks that she hated least, and then the tee shirt with “Great Expectations” printed on the front.

  She looked in the mirror and sighed.

  “Baby Bailey,” she said. “I am so ready for a new look. You need to get your show on the road.”

  Then she made herself some tea and considered a day of doing nothing. Between Nikki, Mallory and Mary Bailey, the house was in perfect order. The nursery was ready. There wasn’t even an excuse to go to the grocery store because the refrigerator and freezer were both stocked.

  Hunter was beginning to wish she had just kept on working. In the newsroom, there was always something to do.

  At the Magnolia County Medical Center, Ricky Richards was insisting on going home.

  “There’s nothing they’re doing for me here that I can’t do for myself at home,” he told Sasha. “And the bill is getting higher every minute I’m here. I’ve called the drugstore, and they can get us a rental wheelchair today. Dad’s going to bring over the walker Mom used when she had the knee surgery.”

  “Honey, I don’t know if this is the best thing to do,” Sasha said. “You’ve been making such good progress in physical therapy. I know you’re worried about the money, but…”

  “I told you I’m working something out with Burt Hilliard and his dad,” Ricky said.”We’re going to be back in business with a better location. It will all work out, but I can’t hold business meetings in a hospital room.”

  “I’m worried about losing the house,” Sasha said.

  “I know you are,” Ricky said. “But the thing is we’re going to lose everything if I keep running up this huge medical bill, and we delay getting GetFit going again. Now, you go pick the wheelchair, and put it on my credit card. I’ll tell the people here that I’m checking myself out. They’ll probably be relieved since they know we don’t have insurance. Now go ahead. I want to get out of here before they charge me for another meal.”

  Just after Sasha left, the telephone by Ricky’s bed rang and he picked it up.

  The booming baritone was familiar.

  “This is Will Roy Johnston from the radio station. How are you doing, Ricky?”

  “Are we on the air?” Ricky asked.

  “No, but that’s what I was calling about,” Will Roy said. “I was wondering if we could do a telephone interview for my 10 a.m. news. That’s about 15 minutes from now. I don’t hear of much happening with the investigation, and I was thinking maybe you could bring us up to date on how you’re doing, and your thoughts on the whole thing.”

  “That would be good,” Ricky said. “Sasha’s got to go get me a wheelchair, and I’ll just be waiting here. You don’t mind if I do a little promotion, do you. Jaybird and Burt Hilliard came over yesterday and told me I could set up my new gym in their shopping plaza. Burt wants to invest in it, be a co-owner. It will still be GetFit.”

  “Fine,” Will Roy said, “Folks’ll be glad to hear that.”

  T.J. Jackson, in the meantime, was in Taylor County. It hadn’t taken him long to decide that Sasha Richards had given up plenty of financial security to marry Ricky Richards. Cam Coley’s peach orchards stretched out for acres on both sides of the highway and his white-columned house looked like old money.

  They sat on a flagstone patio looking out over a swimming pool.

  “Just for the record, I didn’t shoot him,” Coley said with a good-natured grin. “The truth is that there was a time when I felt like it, but I realized a good while back that he did me a favor. I’m getting married again next month, and I’ll tell you the truth. If I had met Lorna while I was still married to Sasha, I probably would have cheated on Sasha.”

  T.J. felt sure that the interview was a pleasant waste of time, but he ran through the questions anyway, and Coley answered them all with the same slightly-amused candor. He had been in Atlanta on the morning of the shootings.

  “And I didn’t set their gym on fire, either,” he said.

  When T.J. was done, Coley had a question of his own.

  “Are y’all real sure Sasha didn’t do it?” he asked. “I never did see why she thought Ricky Richards was going to stay faithful, and that woman used to be just about the best hunter in this county.”

  Hunter got worn out with doing nothing and called Tyler Bankston.

  “I’ve had enough of being a recovering workaholic,” she said. “Tell me you’ve got something you can e-mail me that I can do at home,” she said. “You must need some press releases edited.”

  Tyler laughed.

  “As a matte
r of fact, I’ve got some obituaries and a press release about the Friendship Baptist Church revival and some other stuff I’ve been putting off dealing with,” he said. “Just don’t tell Sam I gave you work to do.”

  “Send it on,” she said.

  A few minutes later, the e-mail from Tyler showed up with eight attachments, and Hunter went to work.

  She edited the revival story first since she knew it would be the top story on the church page. Then she went to work on the obituaries, which were – she was glad to see – all natural deaths of people who had lived out their full span of years. She smiled over the lady who had died at ninety-seven, leaving twenty-four grandchildren, forty great-grandchildren, two great-greats, and a number of nephews and nieces.

  Another e-mail came through from Tyler. It was a message from Carson Cleaners . On the subject line was “Thank You Note.” These were something the newspaper ran free, when local bereaved families wanted to express their gratitude in a public way. She knew to let them express themselves in their own words and to keep the editing down to spelling and punctuation.

  She clicked it open

  Please print attached letter in this week’s paper.

  Thank you.

  She clicked to open the attachment and read it.

  To the people of Magnolia County: I am deeply & sincerely grateful for you’re heartfelt prayers, visits, gifts of delicious food, flowers, cards & notes on the occasion of my grief & pane over the untimely death of my dearly beloved wife, China Rose Carson I will truly forever remember you’re many kindnesses.

  Russell Carson

  Hunter felt a chill. She read the letter over three times and then called Mallory at work.

  “I’m forwarding something to you,” she said. “It’s from Carson Cleaners. I’m going to stay on the phone while you read it because I want your reaction.”

  “Got it,” Mallory said thirty seconds later. “You mean the attachment?”

  “Yes. Read it and tell me what you think.”

  Mallory was silent and then there was an audible gasp.

  “It’s just like Abomination,” she said. “All those ampersands and apostrophes.”

  “And adverbs,” Hunter said. “Show it to Tyler. He’s seen the first letter. I’ll hold on.”

  A few minutes later, Tyler Bankston came on the phone.

  “Has Sam seen this?” he asked.

  “No,” Hunter said. “But I’m going to call him. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.”

  Sam was at the jail, interviewing Garth Thurlow who had been denied bail as a possible flight risk and person of interest in the Foxtail Creek shootings.

  Public Defender Molly Westfield was representing Thurlow, who apparently couldn’t afford an attorney on his own and was getting no help at all from Sunshine Chapman.

  “Last Tuesday morning?” Garth asked. “You mean the morning Sunshine’s mother was shot? I got off the night shift at the plant at 7 a.m. and went over to Sunshine’s, I mean our apartment and went to sleep. I may have picked up some breakfast. Sometimes I do. Anyway, I wasn’t down here.”

  “You punch a time card?” Sam asked.

  “Yes,” Garth said. “I forgot one day last week though. I don’t remember which it was.”

  “Do you have any guns other than the one we took from you?” Sam asked.

  Garth paused, and Molly advised him that he didn’t have to answer.

  “I’ve got a rifle,” he said. “It’s in the trunk of my car.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “In the parking lot at the apartment complex,” he said. “It needs work. I mostly ride the Harley.”

  “So why do you keep the rifle in the trunk of a car you’re not driving?”

  “Because Sunshine doesn’t like guns in her place,” Garth said.

  “What kind of rifle is it?”

  “AK47.”

  “We’re going to be getting a warrant to open your trunk and get it for ballistics testing,” Sam said. “It will be easier on your car if we can just use your key.”

  “Go right ahead,” Garth said, “Somebody already took my keys away. I haven’t fired that gun in months.”

  “So tell me,” Sam said in an abrupt change of subject. “How long do you think Sunshine has known about her mother’s will?”

  His cell phone rang, and he saw that it was Hunter.

  “Excuse me,” he said, nearly knocking his chair over and he jumped up and left the room.

  “No, Sam,” Hunter said, “I’m not in labor, but this is important. I have something here that you need to see. It’s a thank you letter that Russell Carson sent to the paper, and it’s written just the way the Abomination letters are written.”

  “You didn’t go to work, did you?” Sam asked.

  “No. I’m at home. I just got Tyler to e-mail me some things to edit, and this letter was part of what he sent me. It’s exactly the same writing style, with all those ampersands and apostrophes and adverbs.”

  Sam’s adrenalin was subsiding now that he knew Hunter wasn’t in labor.

  He glanced at his watch.

  “I’m at the jail in the middle of an interview,” he said. “I’ll be home at lunch and I’ll look at it then.”

  “I could e-mail a copy over there,” Hunter said.

  “No, just hang on,” Sam said. “I’ll look at it when I get there, and you can explain what you mean about the style. How about calling R&J’s and putting in the take-out orders for us? That will speed things up.”

  Hunter was exasperated with Sam, but she agreed to call about the take-out food, and let him go back to his interview.

  After she called in an order for fried chicken, mashed potatoes and collard greens, she found her copy of the first Abomination letter and put it on the kitchen table side-by-side with the Thank You letter. The font was different but she was certain it was the same writer. She considered bringing in reinforcements. Maybe she should go pick up Miss Rose Tyndale. She had been Sam’s English teacher, after all.

  No, she thought, Sam would take her seriously. He had just been distracted by being called from an interview and maybe thinking the call meant that she was in labor.

  She calmed down and went back to her computer to finish the editing she had promised Tyler, and that’s when she saw the e-mail from Janice Jordan.

  Dear Hunter,” it began, in the style of a letter.

  I hope you have time for this, and perhaps I should be hoping that your blessed event has already happened.

  “Going through Jimmy’s things that we moved out of his apartment, I found the cutest Valentine, and in it there was a photograph of a very pretty young lady. I don’t know who she is, but I would like very much to meet her if it is possible. I am worried that we had the funeral service so quickly that some special friend of his might not have been able to attend or known she would be welcome.

  “I thought I would get a copy made of the picture and mail it to you if you would send me your mailing address, and maybe you would know this young lady or somebody would recognize the picture. Would you be willing to do that?”

  I wish you the very best with your little one.

  Janice Jordan.

  Hunter clicked “reply.”

  Dear Janice,

  I would be happy to help, but you don’t need to mail the picture. You can get it scanned and e-mail it to me. That would be much faster.

  Hunter

  An answer came back almost immediately.

  I’m sorry, but I am just a moron about computers, and we don’t have a scanner. Mailing is no trouble.

  Hunter had an idea, and wrote back.

  I am working on a solution. Will be back with you in a little while.

  She called Shellie and explained the situation.

  “Since it was Jim Jordan,” she said, “We could consider it part of the investigation, couldn’t we? I think it means a lot to his mother.”

  “Of course we could,” Shellie said. “I’
m going to call the Sheriff’s secretary up there. You said it was Terrytown? That’s in Ocoochee County. I’ll call you right back.”

  Ten minutes later, Hunter sent Janice Jordan another e-mail.

  “All set,” she said. “Take the picture to Lenore Hill at the Sheriff’s Office in your courthouse, and she’ll scan it and send it to my husband’s office here in Merchantsville, and they’ll send a copy to me.”

  The answer came back quickly.

  “That’s wonderful. I know Lenore from church. I’ll go right down there. Thank you so much.”

  Hunter smiled to herself. If that girl was from Magnolia County, she thought, Shellie would probably know who it was.

  Aaron Twitchell was waiting when Sam got back to his office.

  “I’ve got something you need to know,” he said.

  Sam started to put Aaron off until later, but they were old friends, and he could see that he’d better take the time and listen.

  “Let’s go into my office,” he said. “I’ve got fifteen minutes before Hunter’s expecting me at home with our lunch. Do I need to call and tell her I’m going to be late?”

  Aaron grinned.

  “Depends on how well you listen, I guess. I can wait until you’re not in so much of a hurry.”

  His comment reminded Sam that he had already been hurried when Hunter called, and maybe he needed to slow down a little.

  Aaron told Sam about Russell Carson’s rumored fertility problem first, making it clear that he had it fourth-hand.

  Sam said, “That’s interesting, and we’ll just ask Russell about it straight out.”

  “That’s what I thought you’d do,” Aaron said. “Now the other part is more complicated. You know where old Mr. Jeremiah Jones lives out on Old Dairy Road, where it goes down by the creek?”

  Sam listened and nodded as Aaron explained who was most likely to know his way around the banks of Foxtail Creek.