by Gayle Leeson
I dropped off the food at the café. Homer was there, helping Roger’s crew with something in the kitchen. I gave him his sausage biscuit, and he thanked me.
“Who’s your hero today?”
“Jacques Cousteau, Mademoiselle.”
I smiled. “Fantastique!”
I found Roger, told him I was delivering a sandwich tray to Pete and Chris Anne, and said I’d be back to help afterward.
“You don’t have to do that. We’ve got everything under control. Enjoy today.”
“But Homer is here. I can’t not be here when Homer is here working. This is my café. I should be here.”
“And, like Homer, you’ll be underfoot and kinda in the way,” Roger whispered. “And we’ll have to give you something to do so you don’t realize that you’re underfoot and in the way.”
“Fine, but I’ll still come back by here after I go to Pete’s house to make sure you don’t need my help with anything.”
“All right. Take your time,” he said.
“Gee, you know how to make a girl feel appreciated.”
“You want to feel appreciated? Be here when we dive into those boxes of food.”
I laughed. “See you later.”
I flipped the hood up on my jacket as I sprinted back out to the car. The rain was still coming down hard. I slid behind the wheel, put on my headlights, and drove to Pete’s house.
I pulled into the driveway and was glad to see only Pete’s brown pickup truck there. It might be easier to talk with him without Chris Anne around. I went to the door and rang the bell.
Pete answered the door and invited me inside.
“Where’s Chris Anne?” I asked, carrying the sandwiches through to the kitchen. “I brought you two some lunch.”
“That’s thoughtful of you, and I’ll try to save her some, but she’s out garage-saling. I told her I doubted there’d be many people having sales today since it’s raining so hard, but she hopes to find some bargains for the baby.”
“Maybe she’ll have good luck,” I said. “I’ve heard you can find some great baby items at garage and thrift sales.”
“That’s what she’s counting on.”
“So, Pete, what are you hoping for? A boy or a girl?”
He shrugged his bony shoulders. “I don’t reckon it matters. We’re just praying the baby’ll be healthy.”
“How about your trucking business? Any luck finding a tractor and trailer yet?”
“I believe I’ve found the semi I want. Right now I’m dickering with the salesman to get him to come down a little on the price.”
“Well, I’m glad you can haggle. I sure don’t like to.”
He chuckled. “Live with Momma for forty years. I don’t know how not to haggle!”
I laughed but saw the opening I’d been waiting for. “What about your dad, Pete? Is he still in your life?”
His smile completely disappeared, and his lips curled in revulsion. “My daddy was never part of my life. He took off on Momma when she was pregnant.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just one of them things.” He jerked his head toward the tray I’d sat on the table. “I appreciate the lunch. I’ll save it until Chris Anne gets home. Does it need to go in the fridge?”
“It does,” I said. “Just one other thing, Pete. I know you’re considering Stan Wheeler for your partner. How well do you know him?”
“Pretty good, I guess. We’ve been friends since he moved here”—he squinted up at the ceiling—“a little over a year ago now.”
“I don’t know that I’d trust him enough to go into business with him,” I said. “You’ve got this fresh new start. I don’t want anything to jeopardize that for you.”
He laughed. “Listen at you sounding like a baby sister! I kinda like it. I always wanted a brother or a sister.”
If he only knew. I wanted to tell him about Stan, but I was afraid to. For one thing, I wasn’t sure what game Stan had been playing, coming here to Winter Garden under an assumed name . . . or, at least, not his full name. And for another, Pete had been through so much with his mother’s death already. I didn’t want to be the one to add to his stress.
“I’d better be getting back to the café. If y’all need anything, let me know.”
“Thank you, Amy. We appreciate the kindness.”
I got back into the car, shivering slightly from the onslaught of the cold rain, and backed out of Pete’s driveway.
I couldn’t imagine Pete would entertain friendly thoughts toward Stan Wheeler if he knew Stan was his half brother. He certainly had no warm, fuzzy feelings toward his father. Did he even know his father’s name? I wondered what story Pete had been told . . . and who might know.
I went back to the café. The workers were taking their lunch break. Homer was sitting at the counter, sort of off to himself. I sat down beside him.
“Homer, may I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything. I might not know the answer, but maybe I’ll be able to help you find it.”
I told him about my visit to Pete and my mentioning his father. “It’s apparent that Pete can’t stand his dad. I didn’t know the Holmans personally until I came to work here last year. When Nana was living—before she got sick, I mean, and while I was growing up here in Winter Garden—we didn’t eat out much. Nana was an absolutely wonderful cook.” I realized I was getting off track. “Anyway, I’d never heard anything about Pete’s father or Lou Lou’s situation. It had never really crossed my mind until now.”
“Word around town at the time of Mr. Harding’s departure was that he’d either been in an auto accident and had been placed in a rehab facility close to where his parents lived or that he’d returned to his first love,” said Homer. “But, of course, Lou Lou went back to using her maiden name and gave the name to her child as well. That made us all believe that he’d just thrown Lou Lou over, and we correctly assumed that the Holman family didn’t want mention made of Mr. Harding anymore.”
“Pete told me his father ran out on his mother when she was pregnant. Why didn’t anyone tell him the story about the auto accident?”
“Listen, chérie, Lou Holman was as hard as nails, and he laid down the law where his family was concerned. I have no doubt that he got rid of Sherman Harding—paid him to stay away or threatened him or something—and then told Lou Lou what she was to tell her son.”
I glanced around to make sure Stan Wheeler wasn’t within earshot, and lowered my voice. “Did you know that Stan is Pete’s half brother?”
“I did not. I’m guessing no one else here does either. These people aren’t Lou Lou’s contemporaries; they’re Pete’s. Pete’s father left Winter Garden before he was born. None of these younger people remember him.”
“No, of course, they wouldn’t.” I told Homer about my findings the night before. “But Lou Lou had to have guessed who Stan Wheeler was . . . or, at least suspected. He looks a lot like his father, judging from the photograph that was in the newspaper.”
“I imagine she would have.”
“Then why didn’t she turn Stan away?” I asked. “Ask him to leave Winter Garden?”
“Perhaps Stan held the truth over her . . . threatened to tell Pete what he knew if she didn’t do as he asked. Or maybe Lou Lou never recovered from her lost love, and she wanted news of Sherman. She might’ve even entertained thoughts of the two of them reuniting.” He spread his hands. “The only person who could tell us her reasons has been silenced . . . that is, unless Stan knows.”
“Yeah.” I wondered if Sherman Harding might be able to give me some insight into Lou Lou’s behavior. “I have to run. I’ll check with Roger before I go to see if he needs anything.”
“À bientôt!”
The French thing was odd. It was okay for a day, but I think it
would wear thin after a while. Luckily, Homer would have a new hero tomorrow.
* * *
At home, I discussed the feasibility of calling Sherman Harding with Rory. I tried to include Princess Eloise in the discussion; but she merely gave me a disdainful look, turned her back, and glared out the window at the rain. I didn’t know whether to interpret her silence as disapproval or not, so I continued to hash out my reasoning with Rory.
“What harm could it do?” I asked the furry little terrier. “I could tell Mr. Harding that I was going through some archives for a relative of Grady Holman—which was true—and that I came across a wedding announcement for Lou Lou Holman and Sherman Harding. Then I could ask if he is that Sherman Harding and then tell him I thought he might be interested to know that Ms. Holman passed away. And maybe he’ll open up and give me a clue as to what his son is doing here in Winter Garden. What do you think?”
Rory barked.
“Okay.” I got the phone. “Let’s do this.”
He wagged his tail and looked up at me expectantly.
“Let’s see how this goes, and then I’ll get you a treat. I might need one myself.”
I used the phone to look up listings for Sherman Harding in Pulaski, Virginia. There was only one number. I called it.
After what seemed like forty rings but was probably more like five, a gruff, wheezy male voice answered. “Hello.”
“Hi. Is this Sherman Harding?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“My name is Amy Flowers. I live in Winter Garden.”
My announcement was met with silence, so I plunged on.
“I was going through some of the Winter Garden News archives for a relative of Grady Holman, and I came across a wedding announcement for Sherman Harding and Lou Lou Holman,” I said. “Were you ever married to Lou Lou Holman?”
“For a very short while. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I thought you might want be interested to know that she passed away about a week ago.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
He didn’t seem surprised. He didn’t sound particularly sorry either.
“Also, there’s a man named Stan here in town, and I wondered if you were any relation.”
“Yes, but I don’t see how my relatives are any of your business,” said Mr. Harding. “Anything else you need to know?”
“Well, actually, I wondered if Ms. Holman had been in touch with you before she died.”
“Nope. Hadn’t talked with any of the Holmans in years.”
“Were you aware that Ms. Holman had a son named Pete?” I asked.
“Yep. Seems like that was her business.”
“You’re not Pete’s father?”
“Didn’t say that,” he said. “I want to know how you figure any of this is your business, miss?”
“It isn’t—”
“Right,” Mr. Harding interrupted. “So stay out of it.”
“But wait! Please!” I listened to make sure he hadn’t ended the call.
“What?”
“Ms. Holman was murdered. I found her, and I’m trying to find out if anyone had a motive to kill her.”
“And what? You think I did it?” He began to laugh, but it turned into a coughing fit.
“No, sir,” I said once he’d recovered. “I don’t suspect you at all. It’s just that you have a history with the Holmans, so I thought you might be able to provide me with some insights.”
“That girl should’ve never allowed her daddy to keep her under his thumb the way she did. But she made her choice. That’s why I’m here and she and her boy are not. I imagine Lou Holman made a lot of enemies in his day, and given Lou Lou’s penchant for being the spitting image of him, she probably did too. I’d appreciate it if you don’t call here again.”
“All right. Thank you for your time.”
He wheezed. “I’m sorry for your troubles, miss. But I can’t help you.”
“I know. Again, I appreciate your talking with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
After talking with Sherman Harding, I felt deflated. I went into the kitchen and got Rory a treat, and I got myself a cookie. Then I went back to the living room and flopped onto the sofa.
I felt that what Mr. Harding hadn’t said was as important as what he had said. He’d given me the impression that had Mr. Holman allowed it, he’d have stayed married to Lou Lou. But he’d been shut out—and possibly paid off—by Lou Holman. And Lou Lou had apparently let it happen.
So why had Lou Lou rented a home to Stan when he’d arrived in Winter Garden? Had she made the connection between Stan and her former husband? Or had she known that Stan was Sherman’s son and had she rented the mobile home to him so she could find out why he’d come to town? Did Stan know about his father’s brief marriage to Lou Lou and the fact that Pete was his half brother?
And had someone killed to make sure one or all of these secrets stayed buried?
Chapter 21
I called Ryan to get his thoughts on the situation. When I explained that I’d both met with Grady Holman’s daughter and talked with Sherman Harding, he told me he was in the area and would stop by my house.
I put some chocolate chip cookies on a plate and made a fresh pitcher of iced tea. I also brushed my hair and freshened my makeup. I realized it was a police investigation and not a date, but that didn’t mean I had to look my worst.
When Ryan arrived, we decided to speak on the front porch. I put the cookies, pitcher of tea, and plastic tumblers on a tray and placed it on the table between the two white rocking chairs.
“Thank you,” he said with a grin. “Southern hospitality at its finest.”
“I try. I hope that’s what people will say about the Down South Café once it’s up and running. Well, that and that the food is delicious.”
“If these cookies are any indication, your food is outstanding.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“So, you’ve been investigating, huh?”
“In a way . . . I guess I have.”
“You do know that’s the sheriff’s department’s job and that it’s also our job to protect the citizens of Winter Garden—including you—right?”
I nodded.
“And unless I’ve missed some background on you somewhere, you aren’t trained to investigate crimes.”
“No, sir.”
“All right,” he said. “Tell me what you’ve got.”
I told him about calling Grady Holman’s daughter and later meeting her for coffee. “She told two different stories about the bank robbery, but in both versions, she said Grady gave the money back.”
“It could be nothing,” Ryan said. “Maybe Grady really did give the money back and the money found when the office wall was torn down belonged to either Bo or Lou. We’re trying to track the money and see where it came from. But it’s taking some time since it’s so old and the original bank that was robbed back in the thirties is no longer there.”
“When I was searching for photographs of the Holmans for Grady’s daughter, I ran across Lou Lou’s engagement and wedding announcements. That’s when I realized she’d been married to Stan Wheeler’s father.” I took a drink of my tea. “I didn’t know at first that he was Stan’s father, but now I do, and I can’t help but think that somehow Lou Lou’s secrets about her past played some part in her murder.”
“We need to figure out where Lou Lou stood with regard to Sherman and Stan. Did she want to reconnect with her ex-husband?” He bit into a cookie while he studied the situation. “Who would Lou Lou have confided in? Who were those closest to her?”
“In the year that I worked with her, I don’t know of anyone who struck me as being Lou Lou’s friend. She had employees, suppliers, customers, and Pete. That was about the extent of her social circle.”
“I’ll see what Ivy confiscated from Lou Lou’s office. Maybe there’s a date book or something that might provide some answers for us.”
I gazed at his profile. “Could I maybe help?”
“If there is a date book or planner among the items Ivy took from Lou Lou’s office, it would be potential evidence, Amy. You aren’t supposed to be around while I’m examining evidence.”
“Please, Ryan. This is my life on the line here. I want to help.”
He glanced over at me.
“Please.”
His expression softened. “Of course, if you were to be at the library in half an hour and I happened to be there looking at the documents, I couldn’t very well ask you to leave.” He held up a hand. “I’m not going to let you look at anything, but you might be able to give me some insight into the names I’m not familiar with.”
I smiled. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
The Winter Garden Library was housed in a small brick building with floor-to-ceiling windows trimmed in white. The door was also white and heavy, and there were window panels on each side.
I walked inside, my sandaled feet clicking on the tile foyer until I reached the gray industrial carpet covering the floor inside the main part of the library. The building smelled fresh and clean. It had been remodeled since I’d been here as a little girl. Back then, the entire floor was tile and the library had smelled of leather book spines and old musty pages. I was sure there must still be some ancient leather-bound books around here somewhere, but most of the books sitting on the carts to be reshelved were brand-new, current bestsellers.
I looked around the room. Ryan hadn’t said where he’d be. I supposed I could ask for him at the circulation desk, but he might not appreciate that. He might prefer I pretend our meeting was accidental. Either way, the clerk sitting behind the long wooden desk was chatting on the phone and didn’t appear to be inclined to do anything else.
I spotted Ryan at a rectangular wooden table at the back of the room. He sat on the chair facing the door, and there was an empty chair in front of him.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked, pulling out the chair.
