“Her.” Scarlett jerked the handcuffs. “Well, now that you have the answers you need, I’ll be shoving off with my prize.”
“Not yet, Scarlett.” Bradford swung his flashlight beam deep into the graveyard. “I need you to accompany us to the crime scene.”
Not. “If you’re including me in that us, then no way.” Cross my heart and hope to die.
Bradford dropped a hand on my shoulder. “There’s something you need to see, Jolene.”
“Take a picture with your cell phone.”
“It’s the murder weapon, Jolene.” His voice hardened. “I’ve seen it many times before. Hard to miss a pink revolver with pearl grips.”
I felt like a lightning bolt hit me. The Source of that inner Knowingness kicked in, and a dreadful uneasiness settled in the pit of my stomach. I knew. Just as sure as the sun would rise in the morning, I knew without seeing the murder weapon that Mini Pearl had taken a life. And my fingerprints were all over it.
Chapter Fourteen
It’s Mini Pearl
Staring down at the mangled, half-eaten body lying face up behind an old headstone gave me the sense of an outer body experience. The Snow White costume had been ripped and torn away by the scavenging forest creatures. The cracked headstone with splatters of blood, the bloated corpse with part of the mouth ripped away, and the white teeth exposed in a taunting smile with Mini Pearl clasped in the victim’s hand. The wind whistled through the tall grass and trees spreading the stench of death. God, how I hated that smell.
Twice I swept the flashlight beam across the grisly scene, imprinting the ugliness into my memory to be recounted I’m sure hundreds of times in the days ahead. Bradford’s hand was strong, firm, protective, but still I shivered.
“Can you identify the gun?”
“It’s mine.” My breathless voice faltered as my gaze roamed over the pink gun with pearl grips. “Not another like it in the States. Custom made. I had Mini Pearl engraved on the barrel. I thought I’d never see it again.”
My mind flashed back to the day I’d discovered my .32 caliber snub-nosed revolver stolen from my car. I’d arrived out at Pineridge Plantation to conduct tours of the antebellum mansion for the annual fall Whiskey Creek Pecan Festival. Increased activity from the re-enactors arriving could be heard, so I followed the sounds around past the back terrace and into the rose garden. During my absence, my wallet had been emptied and Mini Pearl taken.
And used in the commission of a crime. Just as I’d feared.
“I hate to break up a tearful scene, but I have to get back to work.” Scarlett jangled the handcuffs for emphasis. “As soon as I deliver Miss van Allen, I’ll be headed to England to bag a knight.”
Bradford addressed his question to a tearful Snow White. “Can you tell me who did this to you?”
“I did this to myself,” she whispered.
“Suicide? I doubt it.”
“The gun is in my hand. I must’ve done it.” A mournful sigh echoed on the night wind.
“Things aren’t always what they appear to be,” Bradford assured her. “I suspect the other woman is responsible.”
“That makes the most sense,” I agreed. “Now if we can link them together. I still believe the other woman is Snow White’s twin sister.”
“Please stop calling me Snow White, my name is Vanessa van Allen.”
“That is yet to be proven,” I replied to the tearful spirit.
Bradford pulled his phone from his front pocket. “Time to call the authorities.”
“Are you nuts?” I snatched the phone from his hands. “We need to get our asses out of here. We can’t call the cops!”
“I am the cops, Jolene. Now give me the phone.” Bradford held out his hand.
“Snellgrove will bury us under the jail.” I pitched his phone into the undergrowth as far as I could. “Let’s go before someone catches us here.”
Bradford directed his flashlight beam into my face, blinding me. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jolene. Now hand over your phone.”
“It’s in the truck.”
“Then I’ll make the call from there.”
“What if Snellgrove is in cahoots with the other woman? Snow White did say she saw them together here in the cemetery. What if he killed Snow White to keep some secret?”
A voice broke in. “If you’re finished with speculation, then let me add that you’re way off course. Sheriff Snellgrove is above mere murder.”
I snickered at Scarlett. “And you would know this how?”
“I’ve spent time with him.”
“You mean his gun, don’t you, Scarlett?” I bunched my fists. Overloaded on adrenaline, I was ready for a fight.
“Knock it off,” Bradford ordered. “Let’s get back to the truck. I need to call this in.”
I took one last look at the distorted body. “I see I can’t talk you out of this, but if you’re determined to bury us then, at least, let me dispose of Mini Pearl. No one has to know it was here in the first place.” I bent down to retrieve my stolen gun.
“Don’t touch anything,” Bradford barked. “Your gun was reported stolen. It’s a matter of record. It may lead us to the perp.”
Every fiber of my being screamed for me to grab the gun and hightail it out of there. From past experience, I knew the authorities would connect me to the murder weapon and arrest me just because they could. Once that happened it was all over but the crying. Damn. Damn. Damn the luck.
Reluctantly, I followed Bradford, and the divas, as I’d started calling them, back to his truck and handed over my cell.
Bradford called his chief and explained the situation. From the one-sided conversation I deducted his boss was none too happy to be hearing from his lead detective. By the time Bradford ended the call I had a pounding headache and butterflies had taken up residence in my stomach.
“Well, it’s done.” His voice was resigned. “The chief will head this way once he makes the call to Snellgrove. He ordered me to stay put.”
“We’d be on our way back home if you’d listen to me,” I reasoned. “An anonymous call would’ve done just as well.”
“You don’t get me, Jolene. I’m a cop.”
The chill in his tone warned me to back off. To alleviate the building tension, I climbed out of the truck and paced back and forth until the shrill of a siren pierced the silky black night.
****
The night dragged on forever. My dire prediction of imminent arrest never panned out. Luckily for us, Sheriff Snellgrove did things by the book. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have Chief Nichols of the Whiskey Creek Police Department looking over his shoulder. I came clean about the gun, and one of the sheriff deputies verified the stolen gun report. Although the crime scene was in Snellgrove’s jurisdiction, he listened openly to Bradford’s superior and, after taking our statements, allowed us to leave. Bradford protested, wanting to help in the investigation, but both men threatened to lock him up if he didn’t remove his physical presence from the cemetery.
However, we were still prime suspects in the case.
I for one, couldn’t wait to leave the forest behind for the comfort of my bed. Drained from the intense headache and tension of the discovery, I rode home in a zombie-like state, emerging only to say goodnight when Bradford dropped me off at home.
I slept like the dead and awakened late. Hurriedly, I dressed for work, ate a quick breakfast, grabbed my brown bag lunch from the fridge, and dashed off for the salon. My luck held as the news of our discovery hadn’t broken yet, and my morning passed without the gossip grapevine tangled around my neck.
At noon, I stopped for a bite and a chat with Deena, who just happened to be warming soup when I stepped into the kitchen.
“What’s the news on Billie Jo?” I pulled a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from a brown paper bag. “She had a doctor’s appointment yesterday. How come we haven’t heard from her?”
Deena took the steaming soup from the microwave. “I just got off th
e phone with her. She’s on her way over from a follow-up with her doctor. She has some news to tell us in person.”
I put down my sandwich without taking a bite. “How did she sound?”
Deena paused to give me an anxious glance. “Not happy.”
Holly pushed through the door interrupting our conversation and strode over to the refrigerator and pulled out a soft drink. “For Mrs. Wheeler.” She exited as fast as she entered. Several times we were interrupted by employees grabbing soft drinks and snacks then returning to work. I used the time to eat my sandwich and Deena her soup. We settled back down at the table with sweet iced tea to wait for Billie Jo.
Five minutes passed when our youngest sister finally pushed through the door and sank down into one of the chairs, her face white beneath the tan. Concern nipped at my spirit as I eyeballed her real good. She’d lost weight since Halloween, which wasn’t a good thing as Billie Jo was petite and lightweight to begin with. Her usually brilliant green eyes lacked their former luster, and her short blond hair had lost its shine.
I got up and poured another glass of sweet tea. “Drink this, Billie Jo. It’ll perk you up a mite. You look wilted.”
Billie Jo took a sip. “Thanks, sis, I’m okay, just shocked at the news.”
Deena leaned in closer to Billie Jo. “What did the doctor find? It’s the stomach bug that’s making the rounds, right?”
“That’s part of it.” Billie Jo took another sip of tea. “They found something else while doing tests.”
I sat down opposite her. “Is it bad?”
“Well, it’s how you look at it, I suppose.” She fretted with her glass. “I’m still in shock. And God, what will Lynette think? She’s graduating from high school next year.”
“Does Roddy know?” Deena asked.
“He knows,” Billie Jo answered in a neutral voice.
“Enough of the doom and gloom,” I said. “Just tell us what’s wrong with you. The rest can wait.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Deena leaped to her feet and wrapped her arms around Billie Jo. “Congratulations, sis. What wonderful news.”
Billie Jo patted Deena’s arm without much enthusiasm. “Good for who? I’m knocking on forty and have one kid graduating high school. I’m not sure I want this.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“How does Roddy feel about it?” I kept my voice neutral to assure her of no judgment for her feelings as I’m a staunch believer in a woman’s right to choose.
Billie Jo withdrew a tissue from her purse. “He’s thrilled.” She dabbed her eyes. “But I’m the one who has to give up my job to have this kid.”
“Why would you have to quit working?” I probed gently. “A lot of women continue to work until their due dates.”
“Doctor’s orders,” Billie Jo said. “She feels the long hours on my feet would be too hard on a woman of my age, and could possibly increase the chances of a miscarriage. Not complete bed rest but no working either. How will you and Deena manage without me?”
I raised my eyes to Deena. With her relocating to Atlanta, and Billie Jo out on maternity leave, the salon would become my sole responsibility. My thoughts flashed to Bradford and Wyoming. If I left with him, what would happen to the salon? It would close, that’s what.
Close Dixieland Salon? Never.
Tears welled in my eyes.
Deena read my mind. Her face crumpled. I shook my head to warn her to keep quiet and smiled wide for Billie Jo’s benefit.
“We would manage fine.” I flashed a huge smile. “This is wonderful news, Billie Jo. Really, it is. Roddy has always wanted a son. And Mama and Daddy will be pleased with the news. A new addition to the family. What better outcome to the stomach flu.”
We all had a good laugh and then a good cry like we used to do growing up on the farm. Bonding with my two sisters over the years had made us an inseparable trio, but times were changing. Fast. Life gets in the way of the best-laid plans. That’s what Daddy says, and he’s never wrong about matters of the heart. Daddy. He and Mama were possibly moving on, too. My daughter, Rebecca, her husband, Jacob, and Hannah, my three-year-old granddaughter, were visiting his family in Israel. What if they decided to stay?
The family tree was branching out.
“What are you thinking about, Jolene?” Deena’s voice broke my thoughts.
I brushed tears from my cheeks. “Trees, my dear. I’m thinking about trees.”
Chapter Fifteen
Snow White’s Escape
Several days passed with no word from Bradford. Daily I checked the news for any mention of Snow White’s discovery, but the case seemed to have dissolved. No word from Sheriff Snellgrove and his investigation. No word from Scarlett or the victim. No word on the missing woman posing as Vanessa van Allen. I suppose I should’ve been more grateful for the peace and tranquility that comes with ordinary life, but I needed closure—and answers.
Mama and Daddy had returned from Florida, and were happy to learn they’d be grandparents again. Although they didn’t say, I could tell they were anxious to be off again. Apparently, the farm had lost its appeal, and they were getting on in years. I could see the handwriting on the wall. Sooner, than later, they would head south to warmer weather and greener golf courses.
Business at the salon continued to be steady, and I decided to hire a barber to take Billie Jo’s place. Since my talk with Deena, I began taking over more duties as salon manager. My workload increased, but it filled the hours of the day. Preston had called several times since returning from his conference to say he couldn’t break away to see me. Which was fine with me as I was too tired at the end of the day for romance. Or sex.
A subtle shift in the atmosphere greeted me on the fourth day. As soon as I awoke from a fitful night of sleep, my psychic radar went on full alert. Tango sprang from the bed with a hiss and shot out of my bedroom to disappear down the hall. Although the physical world remained unchanged to the untrained eye, the vibrational field of the angels buzzed like an angry swarm of killer bees.
Animals can detect the disturbance, especially cats. They have a special link to the netherworld. Tango, a hyperlink. He never failed me. I scanned the bedroom for any disincarnate entities. Streams of yellow sunlight filtered through the frilly blue curtains. The air stirred, and I tensed as my plane of consciousness expanded. The room warmed as fibers of flowing energy rode the sunbeams through the windows. Spirals of light danced on the waves of energy building throughout the room. Carefully, so as not to disturb the fluid reality, I slipped out of bed and assumed the lotus position on the floor as Madame Mia had taught me. Breathe in. Breathe out. Open your mind to the possibilities. Again and again I practiced the ancient art of meditation until I connected with my higher level of awareness.
I opened my eyes to my celestial visitor and gave a heavy sigh. “Christ, it’s you. How’d you escape?”
Snow White raised a hand from which hung the golden handcuffs. “Truth will set you free. I’m here because I know who I am, and I’m not leaving until I tell you my story.”
I struggled to my feet and strode for the bathroom. “Give me a minute, nature calls.”
When I emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and blouse, Snow White lay across my bed.
“Okay, I need my morning fix.” I left the bedroom, went into the kitchen, and started a pot of coffee. Snow White followed. She floated over one of the chairs when I turned around with the cream and sugar.
“You don’t seem especially interested in my story,” she accused with a pout.
“Oh, I’m interested, just getting comfortable for the tale, Vanessa.”
“I’m not Vanessa.”
That didn’t surprise me. “Heaven got it wrong, again. I can see how they screwed it up though, you’re a dead ringer for her.” I set the cream and sugar on the table.
“That’s how I got mixed up in this plot.”
“So, you’re her twin sister?” I fished in the cabinet for a mug.
“Not even close. We bear a remarkable resemblance, but share no DNA.”
I poured coffee into the mug and sat down at the table. “What a fluke. Why don’t you start at the beginning, miss? What is your name?”
“Halsey. Careen Halsey from Hawkinsville, Georgia.”
“Ah, C.H. Now I understand. Start at the beginning, Careen.”
She sighed. “It’s a sad story. My parents divorced on my second birthday. I’m the youngest of three. After my father split, my mom had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.” Her voice quivered.
“Your father didn’t pay child support?”
“He died in a car accident seven months after the divorce. My older brother Michael became a surrogate father of sorts.”
“Michael Halsey?” I’d heard that name before. Recently. Where? Think, Claiborne. Careen’s voice recaptured my attention.
“Michael always tried to protect me from the harshness of our circumstance. Mother married and divorced five times. Each marriage brought its own special brand of baggage. To escape I made up stories. Elaborate ones. I wrote my first book at ten. At nineteen I wrote the Dark Enchantment vampire fantasy trilogy.”
I thumped the table with my fist. “You wrote that? How’d Vanessa get her slimy hands on it?”
“I ran into Vanessa at the annual Romance Writers’ convention in Atlanta. Late one night in the lounge. We’d both had a bad day. My pitch never made it off the ground, and Vanessa was having agent problems. We became acquainted over Jell-O shots. That’s when I shared my ideas for a vampire fantasy romance. She loved the idea and encouraged me to tell her all about it. She then offered to read the first manuscript. Of course, I was thrilled, so I consented.”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Vanessa was a published author at that time? I thought the vampire trilogy put her on the bestseller list.”
“It did, but at the time of our meeting, she’d published several romance novels with Firebrand Publications. She was an up and coming writer. To have her interested in my work renewed my hopes of becoming a novelist.”
A Dead Pig in the Sunshine Page 11
