Who Killed Kasey Hill

by Charlotte Moore

  “I’d advise you to take this question by question,” Sharpley said, “There may be some you shouldn’t answer at this point. You don’t have to answer anything.”

  “Never mind that,” Jackson said. “I know what happened and I’m not going to lie or dodge around. In the first place, I do remember meeting Kasey Hill once at a party in McFall. It was kind of wild, and I suppose it’s possible that we had sex. I honestly don’t remember. I wouldn’t have even remembered her name if she hadn’t called me.”

  “What day was that?” B.J. asked.

  “I think it was Wednesday night before the day of the tornado,” he said.

  “And you were here on the day of the tornado?” B.J. asked.

  “I think you know that already,” he said. “Could I just tell you what happened?”

  After a silence around the room, he went on.

  “She called and told me that she had seen my Grandma Pinky,” he said. “And Grandma Pinky had said how much her baby looked like I did when I was little. She even showed her a baby picture of me. She remembered that party, which was like, nearly three years ago, and said she thought the baby must be mine, and I’ll be honest. I hung up on her the first time.

  Then she sent me a picture of the kid on my cell phone, and it really did look a little like one Grandma Flo has framed in their dining room, and she left a message about how nice my engagement picture in the paper was, and I got the idea that she was about to mess things up for me real bad, and I’d better get together with her and work things out somehow.”

  “How’d she get your number?” B.J. asked.

  “I just figured Grandma Pinky gave it to her,” he said. “Anyway, I called Granddaddy and told him what was going on, cause he’s always been sort of like a father to me. It wasn’t something I wanted Mom to know. So we decided the best thing was just to deal with it, try to handle it the right way, and not get her anymore stirred up. Maybe give her some money if it really looked like the kid was mine. So I called her back on Friday night and told her I wanted to see the kid. We set it up for Saturday afternoon at her place, and I drove down to see my Mom first.”

  “Why’d you use your mother’s car?”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, because I just like to drive the Jaguar when I’m down here, but then the weather was getting bad, and heard there might be hail, so I put the Jag in their garage, and we went in Granddaddy’s truck.”

  “Your grandfather went, too?”

  “Well, yeah. He never lets anybody drive his truck, and besides he knew where the place was.”

  “I’d like it on the record again that I’m advising my client not to say anymore,” Wayne Sharpley said.

  “Noted,” the Assistant District Attorney said.

  “And it went all wrong,” Jackson said. “It just went all wrong. See, he pulled up in the back yard, and was going to wait, and it was starting to rain then, and she invited me in and I saw the little boy and I honestly didn’t think he looked a bit like me. She seemed to think I was there for a real visit, but I told her I’d give her some money to drop the whole thing, and she wouldn’t take the money. I had five hundred and she took it, but she said that she wanted a check every month, that the kid was entitled to it and she was going to get a lawyer. I asked her please to wait until I could arrange something and I just left.

  “And then when I got out to the truck, I told Granddaddy what happened, and he said I should have settled it and that I’d just thrown that $500 away, and went and knocked on the door, and she let him in, and he was there for a little while and came back and said he got it settled with her, so we left.”

  He sat back, arms folded across his chest.

  “That’s it?” Darby asked.

  “Well, that’s it as far as I knew,” Jackson said. “I didn’t know a thing about her being strangled until two or three days later when Grandma Flo called me. She was just about hysterical. See, she knew we were going over there, and she was thinking somebody might think I killed that girl, but I told her I didn’t.”

  He bowed his head again, and then looked up and spoke earnestly.

  “I’m afraid that’s why Granddaddy shot at Grandma Pinky, because she was the one who told Kasey that the baby looked like me. Other than that, there wasn’t any connection anybody would make, but Grandma Flo is always saying how much Grandma Pinky just talks to everybody.”

  “Are you suggesting that your grandfather strangled Kasey Hill?” B.J. asked.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said. “I don’t know that. I just told you what I know. It could have been somebody who came by after we left, but I’m saying Grandma Flo might have made it look like it was connected to us by telling Grandma Pinky she shouldn’t have given out my phone number and not to be telling family business to everybody—especially YOU, Chief Bandry.”

  Everyone in the room was quiet. Sharpley finally said, “I am already representing Mr. Hegley, and Mr. Brayburn will have to retain another attorney.”

  He got up and walked out.

  “Fine with me,“ Jackson said. “Are we done here? Can I go?”

  Chapter 35

  Pinky Brayburn was feeling much better. Quincy had brought her make up kit and her best pink pajamas from home and Chloe Patterson had come by and worked wonders with her hair.

  Pinky had clutched the crystal when Evergreen told her that Jackson had been arrested, and said, “Well, good! Maybe that will scare some sense into him.”

  Finally she closed her eyes to rest again.

  Evergreen slipped the crystal out of Pinky’s hand, placed it in the velvet bag and tucked it away in her purse. Quincy noticed and stepped out into the hall with her.

  “I think she really likes that. She’s been holding onto it all day,” she said.

  “I know,” Evergreen said, “And she really has had a lot to say, but now she need to settle down and get back to being her sweet self.”

  “I’m so glad Chloe came,” Quincy said. “She’s looking like herself again.”

  Evergreen went home deeply curious about what was going on at the police station, but resisting the temptation to call B.J. or Darby.

  They are doing their part, she thought, and she would do hers.

  It was Benton who let her know what was going on.

  He came by on his own, and sat in the kitchen to talk they way he had when he was growing up.

  “It’s hard to believe I’d be refusing to represent Randall Brayburn’s son,” he said, “But after Wayne Sharpley explained the situation, I just wasn’t getting into it.”

  “What’s the situation?” Evergreen asked.

  “He’s been charged with murdering Kasey Hill,” Benton said, “And they have pretty solid evidence, but his defense is that his grandfather did it. Or he’s not exactly saying that, but implying it very strongly.”

  “Edgar Hegley shot Pinky Brayburn,” Evergreen said after Benton explained Jackson’s claim. “He might have killed Kasey.”

  “Yes,” Benton said. “And that makes it easy for Jackson to put the blame on him. The kid’s smart. I watched video, and he covered all the bases—any evidence that might come up —hearing from Kasey, planning to meet her and offer her money, riding in his grandfather’s truck while he left the Jaguar in their garage. It could be he told it all just the way it happened, but he just switched it around at the end and had his grandfather go into the house and strangle her.”

  “What does Edgar say?” Evergreen asked.

  “He hasn’t been interviewed yet?” Benton said. “They’ll have to do it in the hospital with his doctor there. His heart’s bad. I hope this doesn’t break it.”

  “I saw the picture Chief Darby had gotten from Pinky’s wallet,” he added. “There’s no doubt in my mind. That kid’s a Brayburn.”

  “I never thought that much of Edgar,” Evergreen said after a whi
le. “Now I just happen to have some apple pie. And I have some very nice news if you’d like to be cheered up.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Marcilla Trice called me a little while ago and she wants to sell her house on Willow Street,” Evergreen said. “She’s all settled down at Azalea Terrace, and she’s going to sell the house so that she can just keep on living there. Elaine is probably going to have a fit. Not that she wants the house, but that it’s her inheritance, you know.”

  Benton looked amused and said, “There has to be more, because that doesn’t really make any difference to me at all.’

  “Of course there’s more,” Evergreen said, “Now B.J. and Darby can buy the house, which they just love, and Pinky will have law enforcement officers right next door, so Quincy can stop fretting about her mother living by herself.”

  “And you arranged this?” he asked with a smile.

  “I might have had a hand in it,” she said.

  Jackson Brayburn had a hard time sleeping that night—not because he was worried, but because the bed in his jail cell was uncomfortable and there was too much noise.

  He was frustrated with his stepfather, who seemed not to have pulled any strings yet, and at Sharpley for just walking off before he had another lawyer. Then the Tinsley guy hadn’t wanted the case for some reason.

  But his real anger was at the women who had ruined his day.

  Women! he thought. First there was that Stanley woman telling him he couldn’t take the stupid dogs, and then the nurse not letting him get in to see Grandma Pinky, and that police chief zapping him with whatever crazy thing she was carrying, and denying it. And then to top it off his mother could have at least seen that he had something decent to eat, but she and Grandma Flo were probably in Grandpa’s hospital room carrying on over him.

  He decided, as he had before, that once he was married and had access to Elizabeth’s fortune, he would never set foot in Laurel County again.

  Chapter 36

  Edgar Hegley looked gray. It wasn’t just his hair and his shaggy eyebrows and mustache. His skin looked gray against the crispy white sheets on the hospital bed. It was a decidedly unhealthy look.

  His cardiologist had already filled them in.

  “Mr. Hegley needs a heart valve replacement,” he had said. “He’s needed it for six months at least. He’s been advised about this and has refused to have the surgery. I doubt he’s even taking his medications regularly.”

  B.J. had asked about his mental status.

  “He’s sharp as a tack,” the doctor said. “Stubborn and not all that sociable but there’s nothing wrong with his mind as far as I can tell.”

  Darby had explained Jackson’s claim that his grandfather had strangled Kasey Hill, and the doctor raised an eyebrow.

  “I heard he shot that old lady,” he said. “I can’t see him being strong enough to strangle a healthy young woman, and she would have really fought, you know. I’m not getting into that, though. I just want a nurse in the room the whole time.”

  Sharpley did the talking once they were in the room, with the nurse glaring at them.

  “Mr. Hegley,” he said. “You may know that your grandson is in jail in Laurel Grove, and he’s suspected of killing Kasey Hill.”

  “That’s crazy,” Hegley muttered. “Jackson wouldn’t do something like that. He didn’t even know that girl as far as I know.”

  “Well, he says he didn’t do it,” B.J. said. “And we brought along a tape of what he said, so you can hear how he explained things.

  Sharpley spoke up and said, “You may hear my voice on this tape, but I want you to know that I’m not representing Jackson. I told him yesterday that I was your lawyer first.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Sharpley said, “Let’s just get that boy out of jail. He’s got a wedding coming up.”

  B.J. started the recording at the point that Jackson was explaining about putting the Jaguar in the garage and taking the truck.

  Edgar looked worried as he realized that Jackson was talking about being in Laurel Grove at their house. He nodded a little when Jackson said, “He won’t let anybody else drive his truck” but he was frowning more as he listened.

  Then he seemed close to tears. The nurse glowered.

  “Mr. Hegley, you want me to make them leave?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, “I want to hear what the boy’s saying, so shut up.”

  B.J. ran the tape back a little and replayed the part the old man had missed.

  He was almost expressionless toward the end, listening intently.

  B.J. turned the recording off after Jackson finished his statement.”

  “Play that last part again,” Hegley said.

  She played it again, waiting for him to deny the whole thing.

  “Well,” Hegley finally said. “That’s just about the way it was.”

  Sharpley’s mouth dropped open.

  “Edgar,” he said. “You do understand that he’s implying that you strangled that young woman, don’t you?”

  “Yep,” Hegley said. “He told the truth, so I might as well. I could tell she was gonna be nothin’ but trouble, and him with a wedding coming up and headed for really being somebody, so I did it. Floramae doesn’t know that, but he’ll understand.”

  B.J. exchanged glances with Darby, and then said, “I have a few questions.”

  “He’s not answering any questions,” Sharpley said.

  “It was just like Jackson told it,” Edgar said. “He went in and she wasn’t willing just to take the money and shut up, so he told me, and I went in and she got smart with me and I lost my temper and next thing I know I was strangling her. I didn’t go in there to do it. I just snapped.”

  “Where was Logan?” B.J. asked.

  “Who?”

  “Logan. Her little boy,” B.J. said.

  “The little boy wasn’t there,” he said. “I didn’t see him anyway.”

  “What was she wearing?” B.J. asked.

  “I don’t remember,” he said.

  “Was she dressed up?” B.J. persisted. “Was she wearing a dress or jeans or shorts or what?”

  He hesitated.

  “I don’t remember,” he said. “Just women’s clothes. You ask my wife how much I notice clothes on women.”

  “What color was her hair?” B.J. asked.

  “Brown!” he shot back. “Brown hair.”

  “No, Sir,” B.J. said in a kinder voice. “Her hair was brown in the picture you saw in the paper. It was blond when she was killed. Really blond, almost white, and curly and all the way down past her shoulders.”

  Edgar Hegley slumped in the bed and said. “I don’t feel so good. I’ve told you what I did. Now y’all just tell Jackson I said I did it.”

  The nurse said, “He’s had enough now,” and they left.

  In the elevator on the way down, Wayne Sharpley said, “Thanks.”

  “No problem,” B.J. said. “The hair was a lucky break. What I really didn’t believe was that he’d kill her with her little boy there in that trailer. He loves his own grandson too much to do something like that. All of this was about protecting Jackson.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Sharpley said. “I don’t want to be around when Floramae and Annette figure out that their darling boy is going to be on trial for murder.”

  “Yeah,” Darby agreed. “This sure puts a damper on the wedding plans.”

  “Not to mention the luncheon,” B.J. said.

  Chapter 37

  “Have you found the coffee pot yet?” B.J. called to Darby.

  “Yes,” he called back, “But I can’t find the coffee.”

  It was the second day of December and their first morning in the slate blue house at the end of Willow Street. Boxes still had to be unpacked, but it already felt like home.

&
nbsp; They had finally gotten to see the inside of Marcilla Trice’s house just two weeks earlier and things had gone quickly after that. There was no question in their minds once Darby saw the study with built-in bookshelves, and B.J. saw the hardwood floors, the crown molding and the window seat in the master bedroom.

  The wallpaper in the kitchen would have to go, B.J. insisted, but that could wait. For now, they were home.

  Next door, Pinky Brayburn was dressed in her jogging suit and ready to take her first morning walk since the shooting in the park. Fifi and Pierre were barking and jumping as LaBelle Hopkins snapped on their leashes.

  Quincy had gone back to her family in Decatur, and LaNelle, who had moved in to stay and help until Pinky was fully recovered, was happy to be helping someone and making a little money again. She had Evergreen Tinsley to thank for suggesting that arrangement to Quincy.

  “Maybe we should start off easy,” she said to Pinky, “Just to end of the block and back.”

  “No,” Pinky said. “I want to take my puppies to the park. I’m not a bit worried that Edgar Hegley is going to shoot me again if that’s what you’re thinking about. He’s over in the nursing home now, poor old thing.”

  LaNelle hadn’t really been thinking about that. She had never bothered with exercise and she had been wondering if she could make it to the park herself without getting winded. Still, she smiled and nodded.

  When it came to Edgar Hegly, LaNelle thought that Pinky was a lot more forgiving than she would be. She had seen that wound and shuddered, thinking how close Pinky had come to being murdered.

  The one Pinky seemed angriest at was her grandson. She wouldn’t mention his name. It was as if she had decided he didn’t exist.

  He did exist, of course. Jackson Brayburn’s trial for the murder of Kasey Hill was still months in the future, and he was thinking of the book he might write and the movie he might star in once he was exonerated. Not that he didn’t kill that girl—an act of rage that was fading from his highly selective memory, but he was certainly pleading not guilty and expecting to charm the jury.