A Dead Pig in the Sunshine

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  She fired up the engine and backed out of the parking space. “You got it wrong, Jolene. Sam’s not the type.”

  “That’s what I thought too, but they had information that only he and I knew, and I sure as hell didn’t share.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Are you sure he’s the one?”

  “What do you mean, am I sure? Of course, I’m sure. It was a private conversation.” I thought back to our heated confrontation outside Vanessa’s study on Halloween night and our audience of costumed partygoers. I smacked my forehead with the palm of my hand. “The big yellow bird and his sidekick heard every word.”

  “Seems to me you’ve been doing a whole lot of speculating without the facts.” Diamond shot me a look as she pulled into traffic. “I know for a fact that the GBI has been parading guests from your momma’s Halloween book launch party in for interviews for the past two days. They messed with your mind, girl.”

  “That would explain it.”

  “And you so hot to jump on the blame Sam wagon.”

  “I’m bad.” I flushed at her tone.

  “Not bad—stupid.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  She turned onto Love Avenue, and around to the rear parking lot behind Dixieland Salon and killed the engine. I reached for the door handle. “Thanks fo—”

  “Shut up and listen because I’m doing you a favor.” She gently pushed me back against the seat. “I like you, Jolene. Have from the start. But you’re dumb as shit when it comes to men. Especially Sam. He’s one of the good ones, and you’re doin’ him wrong.”

  “But—” She held up her hand when I started to interrupt. I slumped back against the seat, shamefaced and mildly angry with her interference into my private affairs. She was, after all, a new addition to my short friend list, which didn’t include unwanted advice.

  “Let me finish.” Her brown eyes softened. “Being a police officer ain’t easy, especially for a black female. Sam’s had my back from the get-go. He helped me get through my granny’s death, and encouraged me to widen my ambitions. Because of him, I have a shot at becoming the first female detective with the force. Now, he’s leaving Whiskey Creek for a better job in Wyoming, and I know he wants you along.”

  I lifted my hand in appeal. “My life is here. My family and business.”

  “Sam told me about the doctor you’ve taken up with.”

  “He never shares.”

  “Yes, he does.” Her eyes challenged me. “You don’t listen.” She continued in my silence. “Sam’s afraid he’s going to lose you, Jolene.”

  “Sam broke up with me, Diamond. Not the other way around. And Sam’s afraid of nothing.”

  “He’s a cop. We live in fear.”

  “What are you saying, Diamond?”

  “You’ve got to choose. The cop or the doctor. Wyoming or Whiskey Creek.”

  “It’s not that easy. I’m prone to relationship failure.”

  “Failure is just a stepping stone to success.”

  I reached for the door handle. She didn’t stop me. “Thanks for the ride, Diamond.”

  “Make a choice, Jolene. And soon.”

  I shut the door, stepped back, and watched her patrol car disappear around the corner. For a moment I stood in the empty parking lot, her chastisement pricking my conscience. Shaking off the depressive mood, I withdrew the back door key and let myself into the semi-dark salon. Silence, but for the gentle hum of the refrigerator, wrapped around me and I made my way to Deena’s office to retrieve my gun.

  In the office, I switched on the overhead light and made my way over to the desk and settled down in Deena’s plush chair. On the desktop, a white sheet of paper caught my eye. A note from Deena. She’d left me a pre-paid temporary cell phone in the top drawer. I opened the drawer and pulled out the phone, and slipped it into my shoulder bag. From the third drawer, I pulled out the heavy, silver box, and retrieved the Pink Panther.

  With my gun tucked away in my purse along with my new phone, I locked the salon and drove home. There I quickly changed into my sleuthing ensemble, fed the cat and myself, reset the alarm and scooted out the door into the growing twilight.

  ****

  The streetlights lining Dartmouth Drive cast its golden light upon the pavement, making my candy-apple red Mustang stick out like a sore thumb. An empty house down the street with a FOR SALE sign in the front yard made for the perfect hiding place, so I parked in its driveway and made my way back down to Vanessa’s house. As I got near, I spotted a familiar car parked close to the house and out of the light.

  Mama’s Ford Fusion—great balls of fire what’s she doing here? I dashed for the hedges and squatted down out of sight. Although I was dressed entirely in black, the night hadn’t settled in, and I was still visible. Faced with this new situation, I threw out my previous plan. Somehow, I had to get Mama out of the house without raising Betty’s suspicion.

  With a new plan taking shape in my mind, I backtracked to the Mustang, and drove directly into Betty’s driveway behind Mama’s car. Then I took out the cell phone and dialed Mama’s number. Static crackled over the line. Mama picked up on the fifth ring. “Hello.”

  “Mama, don’t say a word,” I said over static. “And don’t let on it’s me.”

  “Harland, darling? I can hardly hear you. What? Yes, I know I’m running late, but I’m having tea with Betty.”

  Crackle. “Good. Get out of there, Mama.” Loud static. “Now.”

  “I can’t hear you, but I’ll be home soon.” The line disconnected. Did she get my message?

  Five minutes passed and still no Mama. Five more to say her goodbyes and then I was going in. I watched the digital dashboard clock count down. Four. Three. Two. One. Okay, plan B. Easing out of the car, I skirted the house, cautiously peering into each window until I located Mama in the living room sipping tea from a delicate china cup. From my position I could see her lips moving rapidly. Betty, with a matching teacup, sat opposite her on a blue wing-back chair. I scanned the room and spotted Sophia standing close to the teacart. No Snellgrove or Michael Halsey.

  This required some thought. Ducking down under the windowsill, I weighed my options. I could call her back and hope Betty’s suspicions weren’t raised. Or I could take the direct approach and knock on the front door. I bit down on my lower lip. Think ole girl. Okay, decision made. Again, I skirted around the house and eased into the Mustang’s driver’s seat. Taking the cell phone out of my back pocket, I redialed Mama’s number. The static had worsened. She picked up on the second ring.

  “I said I’d be home, Harland.”

  I could barely hear her tense voice over the popping line. “You’re in danger. Get out.”

  Fizzle. Pop. “Oh, Deena, it’s you. I’m trying to honey, but Betty insisted we have tea and ruby red cupcakes.” A loud buzz. “How could I refuse such a dear friend in her hour of need?”

  Before I could respond, the line disconnected. Ruby red cupcakes. Code for ruby ring? And had I imagined it, or had she slurred her words at the end? A jolt of adrenaline shot through me, and I punched in Diamond’s number. The snow-clogged line crackled and popped. Hold on, please, just a bit longer.

  “Hello.” Sputter.

  “I’m at the van Allen house,” I shouted over the hissing line. “They drugged her, Diamond. I’m going in.”

  “What?” she screamed. “I can’t hear you.” Hiss. “Who is this?”

  The line died. I snapped shut the phone and threw it onto the passenger seat—not sure if Diamond had heard and understood my plea for help. That meant I was on my own. I was going in. Hyped up on adrenaline, I hid the Pink Panther in my shoulder bag, exited the car, and walked up the front steps as if it were the most natural thing in the world. At the front door, I took a deep calming breath and rang the doorbell.

  A couple of minutes passed before the door swung open spilling light onto the front porch. Outlined in the doorway stood Sophia, a neutral expression on her lined face.

  “M
y father sent me here to fetch my mother.” I tried to sound casual in spite of the blood roaring in my ears, and gripped the leather strap over my shoulder tighter.

  “Your mother is finishing tea with Miss Betty.” The maid opened the door wider. “This way.”

  I followed Sophia toward the murmur of voices. As we drew close to the living room, I recognized Betty’s voice and then Mama’s reply. They were talking about funeral homes in a straight, reasonable fashion. Mama’s voice sounded perfectly steady, no slurring as I had imagined. Clearly, I had miscalculated the situation. Damn phone. However, now that I had gained entrance to the house, I needed to get Mama and myself safely out of here ASAP.

  When we stepped into the living room, Mama glanced up from her teacup with questioning eyes. “Jolene, honey, what brings you all the way out here?” She set the cup down on the coffee table. Betty followed suit.

  “Daddy sent me to fetch you, Mama.” I tried to keep my voice light. “He’s worried about you driving after dark with your failing eyesight. Gather your purse and let’s go.” When I went over to stand beside Mama, she raised her eyes in silent question. I gave her an almost imperceptible shake of my head.

  She seemed to understand and climbed to her feet. “Betty, thank you so much for your gracious hospitality in the midst of your tragic loss. If there is anything I can do, please call me.” She picked up her purse from the couch and clutched it to her side. “Again, I’m sorry about Vanessa. She made my cookbook dreams come true.”

  Betty stood. “Annie Mae, Vanessa loved working with you. She told me many times how lucky I was to have a friend in you.” She walked over and hugged Mama. Arm and arm, they made for the front door. I trailed behind them, and Sophia behind me.

  We had reached the butler’s pantry when a loud crash echoed from another part of the house. My heart pounded hard. I pretended not to notice but the others drew to a halt.

  Betty gave a snort. “The cat,” she explained. “Sophia, I believe the cat needs to go outside.”

  Nothing seemed right about this explanation. Vanessa hated cats. Everyone knew that. She’d posted it all over the Internet. No, someone else was in the house, and I didn’t care to find out who. I tapped Mama on the arm. “We really do need to get on the road. Daddy’s expecting us.” My hand tightened on Mama’s arm as Sophia’s eyes darted to me, then back at Betty. A door slammed.

  Mama jumped closer to me. “Betty, we won’t keep you any longer. Jolene?” She grabbed my hand.

  Sophia stepped in front of us, blocking the exit. Betty behind us. “We can’t allow you to leave.” The maid’s eyes hardened. “Do as we say, and no one will get hurt.”

  “I called the police.” My hand eased toward my shoulder bag and my gun. Mama squeezed my hand tight, her fear transferring through her sweating palm.

  “Don’t be foolish,” a voice behind me admonished. “You and your mother won’t be hurt if you hand over your purse to Sophia and join me in the living room.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Today is Not a Good Day to Die

  Sheriff Snellgrove’s demands were reasonable if you wanted to hand over your only chance of survival. Since I’d been in this position a couple of times I knew mine and Mama’s life depended on the Pink Panther snuggled at the bottom of my shoulder bag. Handing it over was just plain stupid. And then again, my .38 special handgun was no match for the sheriff’s sawed-off shotgun most likely pointed at my back.

  Mama’s hand slid out of mine. “Best to listen to him, Jolene. We have to trust he means what he says.”

  Trust a criminally insane sheriff to keep his word? One look at Mama’s flushed and sweating face and I knew I had to do something fast. She tottered and I instantly reacted. Stepping away from her teetering form, I went for my gun only to have Sophia’s arm snake out and pull Mama’s collapsing form to hers in a stranglehold.

  “Hand the gun over, Miz Claiborne,” she demanded, “or I’ll squeeze the life out of your precious momma.” Her arm squeezed hard. Mama coughed as she fought for air.

  My hand closed around the grip. Still, I hesitated. My eyes darted to Betty. No help there. The Ice Queen’s smile gave me frostbite.

  “You’re trying my patience, Miz Claiborne.” The sheriff’s voice hardened. “Sophia will kill your mother, trust me.”

  I believed him, and yet I still hesitated. One thing for certain, Mama and I both were going to die if I handed over my gun. All moisture evaporated in my mouth as I stood there in defiance—my brain cells smoking as I explored every avenue of escape. There had to be a way out of here. From my peripheral vision, I scoped out my surroundings. Nothing. Boxed in by walls and killers. My gaze settled on Mama’s slumping form. Even if I were able to get my gun out of my purse without Sophia strangling Mama, Snellgrove would plant buckshot in my back, and today wasn’t a good day to die.

  As one last act of desperation, I sent up a hasty prayer for deliverance, or at least another chance to get away. That done, I withdrew my gun and placed it in Betty’s outstretched hand.

  “Good girl.” Sophia released her stranglehold. Mama staggered against me, her heavier weight causing me to stumble. A strong hand from behind steadied me and helped me to gain control of Mama’s flailing form.

  “That was uncalled for, Sophia.”

  Although I’d only heard him speak at the Baconton Writers’ Retreat, the baritone voice struck a chord, and I turned to see Michael Halsey’s boyishly handsome face smiling down on me.

  “I told you to stay out of sight,” Snellgrove snarled. “I had everything under control.”

  Michael tugged down his bunched shirtsleeves. “Yes, I can see that, Sheriff. You’ve bungled this from the start.” He tucked Mama’s arm in the crook of his arm. “Mrs. Tucker, allow me to escort you to the living room where you’ll be more comfortable.”

  I stood in speechless amazement and confusion as he steered my bewildered mother away from the others. Sophia poked me with her long, skinny finger. “Hand over the purse.”

  With my mind in a whirl, I did as instructed and hustled after Mama anxious to keep her in my protective sights. Michael Halsey may be presenting himself as a white knight in shining armor, but rattlesnakes only shed their skin, not their poisonous fangs. In the living room, Michael was pouring Mama a cup of steaming liquid from the silver tea service. She lifted her frightened eyes to me in silent appeal from the sofa.

  “Tea, Miz Claiborne?” His smooth cultured voice was conciliatory, mesmeric. He handed the cup to Mama and turned to pour another. Betty and the others came back into the room. Sophia resumed her position by the teacart. Betty plopped down next to Mama on the sofa, and Snellgrove stood like a towering pine over by the fireplace, his face a mask of rage.

  Surrounded on all sides, I had no choice but to accept the invitation. Mama and I exchanged several comforting glances before Michael handed me a cup and saucer. That’s when I noticed the ruby ring on his pinky finger.

  By now I was so shell-shocked I didn’t even flinch at this latest surprise. The hot tea rose like bile in my parched throat, but I continued to sip the bitter brew, stalling for time, anything that would buy me another chance to even the score.

  “Snellgrove, ready the car,” Michael barked. “Sophia, get the bags, and Betty, you get the duct tape. Can’t have our songbirds chirping, can we?”

  Mama, who’d been quiet till now, spoke up. “Tell me why, Betty. We’ve been friends since high school.”

  Those softly spoken words stopped Betty cold. Her face held a trace of pity. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in this, Annie Mae. I always liked you.” Offering no more, she spun on her heels and left the room to do Michael’s bidding.

  Now that the others were off in the far reaches of the house, I offered him an easy smile. “You know, I had you pegged as a victim.”

  “Yes, that was my intention all along.” He got up from the sofa and poured himself another cup of tea from the service. “More tea, ladies?”

  “I
need to use the bathroom,” Mama said instead.

  “As soon as one of the women return,” he answered, then turned his attention back to me. “Tea, Miz Claiborne?”

  “No thanks. But I would like to know why you killed two women.”

  The smirk slid off his face. “Mistaken identity killed Careen. Vanessa?” He shrugged his shoulders. “She thought she could outsmart me, but I came out on top.” He resumed his seat on the sofa beside Mama. “I killed her before she could kill me which she tried numerous times.”

  “You removed the ring just before you torched the place.”

  “The ring would tie the body back to Betty.”

  “Not so. It was stolen years ago,” I reasoned.

  “And bought in a pawn shop by my mother.” He admired the glowing ring in the lamplight. “She gave the ring to Careen upon her high school graduation. It rightfully belongs to me.”

  “Vanessa said—”

  His cup clattered on the saucer. “Said nothing to you, Miz Claiborne. She was with me up until her last breath.”

  “The dead speak, Mr. Halsey.”

  Mama shot off the sofa. “I have to go now.” She wrung her hands. “Now, please. I can’t hold it.” Her gaze darted around the room before settling on me. She winked. I got her message loud and clear.

  Bolting out of my chair, I launched my cup and saucer at him. It clattered harmlessly on the carpeted floor but it gave me enough time to grab the silver teapot from the cart. Surprised by the attack, Michael dropped his hot teacup in his lap. His screech died as I whacked him upside the head with the teapot, splattering the hot liquid on the pristine decor. Mama scrambled over to my side, her purse clutched to her side. “Quick, the others must’ve heard the commotion.”

  The thud of heavy footsteps drew close. Had to be Snellgrove in those ugly alligator cowboy boots. “Hide behind the sofa, Mama.” I plastered myself against the wall and raised the teapot. When his massive form burst into the room, I aimed for his head, but only grazed his shoulder. He staggered, then straightened, knocking the pot from my hand. We stood face to face. With all of my strength, I jerked my knee upward. He dropped to the floor in a fetal position, his hands cupping his smashed balls. His screams raised the roof, bringing Sophia and Betty on the run.