Murder for a Rainy Day (Pecan Bayou Book 6)

by Teresa Trent

  "Right. At least they found it. It was my way of expressing my love to Birdie. Junk art gets laughed at, but it is the purest and most ecologically friendly form of art. I can't believe it was ripped right off Birdie’s roof. I guess in a way it’s a form of flattery. Of course, if the thief stole my chicken first, now that would be flattery. Driving through town, you see a giant chicken on the roof of the diner and all of a sudden you find your mouth watering for chicken, am I right? The Cattleman’s Call guy actually called Birdie to tell her I had copied him with my chicken on the roof. Did he have a cow on his roof? I don’t think so. His cow was out in front. I had no idea the food business in this town was so cutthroat. I tell you it’s absolutely cutthroat."

  I thought it was pretty interesting he would use the phrase "cutthroat." I wasn’t sure if the cause of Connor Holman’s death had been released anywhere yet.

  "Did you know Connor Holman, the thief?" I said.

  "Yes. I’ve met the guy. There aren’t that many other artists in this town. We had a few conversations. He acted like making something out of old cans was pedestrian. You know, a can is a can, but when you throw in raw talent, it turns into a giant chicken. He must have changed his mind about what he considered artistic if he liked it enough to steal it. Shoot, I would have made him one if he had just asked me. I tried calling him this afternoon, but he didn’t even answer his phone."

  Over in the corner of the grocery I spied Mayor Obermeyer and his wife wheeling a cart full of bottled water. Maybe they could spare one. Before I could get there, my phone rang. I held up a finger to signal one minute to them and swiped the screen. It was my dad.

  "Well, Betsy are you having a baby? Because you and Maggie don’t seem to be at her house."

  "No. We had to stop by the store to get bottled water. But there’s nothing left on the shelves here."

  "Should've known that. Just wanted to let you know I tried to talk to Baxter Digby. According to his secretary, he’s out of the office right now. Maybe I should check the ever-popular Super Stay Motel. Secretary says at the time of Connor Holman’s murder, Digby was addressing the League of Women Voters along with Mayor Obermeyer. They were having a "Meet the Candidate" afternoon. Both Baxter and Drummond Struthers were there. There isn’t anything more solid than when the mayor provides an alibi. He's a pretty good character witness."

  I glanced across the store. Mayor Obermeyer and his wife were standing in line at the register.

  "We’d better get going. I’ll let you know if I have any baby news." I hung up the phone and headed over to the mayor’s line.

  "Betsy, there’s a shorter line over there," Aunt Maggie said.

  "Wait just a minute. Maybe the mayor will share some of the water he has." I pushed past someone and ran into a magazine rack, hurting my side. I held it and gasped.

  "Oh my, Betsy, are you having your baby?" Mayor Obermeyer, who had been holding what looked like an old piece of wood, handed it to his wife and took hold of my elbow. I dropped my hand before they could get me to the floor and start telling me to breathe.

  "No. I'm not, but thanks for your help. I was wondering if we could have a case of your water?"

  "Oh, sure. We’ll be glad to share. We’re all in this together, after all," he said, looking around making sure his constituents heard him.

  "Why are you carrying an old log around?" I asked, looking at the gnarled log now resting in his wife’s arms like a baby.

  "That, my dear, is the most precious artifact of Pecan Bayou. It was one of the first pecan trees planted here by my ancestor Tobias Obermeyer. It is the very reason this town prospered. Well, that and the railroad. As long as we’re in storm mode, it is my sovereign duty to protect this precious piece of history." It looked like a wormy piece of wood to me, but I nodded in mock appreciation.

  "I also wanted to ask you a question about the meeting you had with the League of Women Voters."

  "Yes. It was quite a full afternoon. We had both of the candidates who are running for city council. I really feel like the ladies got a good feel for the men and their platforms. Are you thinking about joining the League of Women Voters? We always need our soldiers in the trenches."

  "True, and what a wonderful job the ladies do, but I was just wanting to ask you about Baxter Digby. How long was his speech to the women?"

  "Each of the candidates spoke for ten to fifteen minutes. Why do you ask?"

  "After he finished speaking, did he stay to hear the other speech? Did the candidates debate?"

  "That would've been really wonderful, but no, Mr. Digby had to go. He had a showing on the other side of town. There were some new folks visiting us. We have to do everything we can, to encourage people to move to our area. Still though, he gave the ladies a humdinger of a speech."

  "Yes," I said. "He certainly has a way with the ladies."

  Obermeyer smiled and nodded, and then stopped abruptly, catching my meaning.

  Then his grin widened, as he homed in on another tool of persuasion Digby possessed. Politicians. Always figuring the angle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The rain was starting to pick up as we made our way home. The skies had turned a shadowy gray, and I felt myself drifting with the sound of Aunt Maggie’s windshield wipers methodically going back and forth.

  As we pulled into her driveway, Rocky emerged from his pickup parked on the street.

  "What are you doing here?" I said as I grabbed a bag out of the back of the car. Danny lifted the case of water, and we all ran for the door as the rain came down in earnest. Rocky took my bag as Aunt Maggie opened the door.

  "I think I'm the one with the questions," he said as he followed Aunt Maggie to the kitchen, putting the bag on her counter.

  "For me? You saw everything I saw in Connor Holman’s backyard."

  "Here I have one of my reporters witness a crime scene, and you can't even pick up the phone?"

  "It only just happened, Rocky, and I’m a columnist, not a reporter. Besides, just because I saw it doesn't mean I want you to print it in the newspaper."

  "Like I always say Betsy, news is news." He pulled out a mini voice recorder and pointed it at me. "Now, can you describe the scene, using as many adverbs and adjectives as you possibly can."

  Another Braxton Hicks tightened over my abdomen. I put my hand on my belly as if to still it.

  Rocky’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh boy. Maybe you should sit down. I keep forgetting you’re in a delicate condition."

  "No. I'm fine," I said, raising a hand to push him away.

  "Great! Describe the crime scene."

  "No," I said simply.

  "What do you mean no? You can't say no. You work for me and you were a witness, so you need to tell me what you saw."

  "Okay, Pecan Bayou’s only horse thief is dead. There was a lot of blood. It is now under investigation by the Pecan Bayou Police Department."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it."

  "You’re killing me, kid."

  "Sorry. I also should tell you I warned Sasha Holman you were planning to publish a story about the affair. She’s not too happy with me."

  "Not happy with you? Shouldn't she be unhappy with me? I'm not going to put any names in the paper. I’m going to word it like ‘What city council candidate was recently spotted at the Super Stay Motel with a local waitress?’ That's not too bad."

  "That's awful Rocky. What if Drummond Struther’s family thinks it's him? He’s a nice guy, for goodness sakes. He didn't do anything. You can’t write that. In one sentence you’ve not only destroyed one man's life, but two. You can’t run it. Not everything is news, and this stuff is destructive. I thought you were a pacifist. Besides, I’m starting to hear Digby has a temper. You may be throwing a rock at a hornet’s nest with this story."

  Rocky blew out a sigh. "Maybe. Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. I won't run the sleaze about Baxter Digby if you will describe the crime scene to me."

  "I'll tell you what. I'll make
you a deal," I repeated after him, nodding my head to the side. "You don't run the Baxter Digby story, and I won’t tell you about the crime scene. You could spend your time reporting stories appropriate for this paper like the Pinewood Derby or the church bazaar. That’s the kind of stuff a small-town newspaper normally runs. They do not print stories about what people do at the Super Stay Motel."

  "Yeah, well if I did, I bet circulation would skyrocket. If I have a story to tell, baby, I'm going to tell it." Rocky turned and started heading for the door. "If you do decide you want to describe the crime scene to me, you know where to find me."

  Maggie came into the room holding a suitcase and set it by the door.

  "Rocky are you going to the shelter?" she asked.

  "Not until they tell me I have to go. Nicholas and I are going to be getting as much footage as we can. I send him pictures from my cell and within ten minutes they’re in the online version of the Gazette. Betsy, if you weren’t out of commission, I’d have you out there with your cell phone taking pictures. I'm working in coordination with Stan at NUTV and we're going to cover the storm like never before. This is such an exciting time."

  I couldn't get over how much he sounded like Leo.

  "Well then, you be careful, you here?" Aunt Maggie said.

  "Yes ma'am. I hear." Rocky tipped his hat and stepped back out into the rain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As we prepared supper I was very happy when Leo's mother knocked at the door. The boys came in and ran to me for a hug. It felt so good to have them back again.

  "Where should we put our stuff?" Tyler asked.

  "I think it’s already in the perfect place there by the door. We may be relocated to the shelter in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours," Maggie said.

  Zach looked like he had grown a full inch, and his sunburned face was different somehow. More like a young man and less like the little boy I had always known.

  "Wow, Mom," he said his eyes scanning my form. "You look really big."

  Leave it to the ones you love to tell you how fat you look.

  "Yeah. Just how much bigger will you get?" Tyler said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

  "I think I'm pretty well maxed out."

  "That's good, because if you keep gaining weight like this, you’ll be ginormous," Tyler said. Ginormous? Was I that big?

  "Thanks for making her feel so good about it," Gwyn said. "She’s gained weight, but that’s because there’s another whole person in there. In the last month or so the baby has grown five to eight inches and has probably put on at least four pounds. So it’s not your mom who is gaining the weight, it’s the baby."

  Having a science teacher in the family was proving useful. At least somebody was on my side.

  "Sorry," Tyler said.

  "Yeah," Zach added. "More of you to love, right?" He looked around the room and then under the table. "Where’s Butch?"

  "He’s at Dr. Springer’s office. She’s boarding all the dogs and cats until the storm passes."

  "Can we get him as soon as it’s over?"

  "Sure."

  That evening as the storm was neared the island of Galveston, my family was in "hunker down" mode in Pecan Bayou. Leo and my dad came in a little bit after the boys, and we sat around the table discussing our options.

  "What if you have the baby when the hurricane comes, Mom?" Zac said, after wolfing down his dinner. Were they feeding him at that camp?

  "I'm just hoping the baby will wait until the storm has passed."

  "Well one thing predictable about babies," Aunt Maggie said, "is they're not predictable."

  "We're all hoping that the baby waits until after the storm. That way we’ll all have more time to be there," Leo added.

  "Especially you, Dad. You need to be here," Tyler said.

  "Besides boys," Judd said as he buttered a hot roll, "your mother has been too busy finding bodies again to have a baby."

  I shot him a glance. "I don't think that that's a good topic for dinner time."

  "You're right," Leo said. "We'll save it for dessert." The boys laughed.

  "We already know about it. Grandma Gwyn told us on the way here." Tyler said.

  "Seriously, Mom, this guy stole a chicken made out of cans?" Zach asked.

  "Dang. I wished I’d seen that," Tyler said.

  "I loved that chicken," Danny said.

  "Not to worry. It'll be back up and crowing on the roof in no time." My father said.

  "How did you figure it out?" Tyler asked.

  Leo answered before I could utter a word. "Pregnant nose. Ever since your mother has been pregnant, any smell can set her off. She smelled paint, and let’s face it, The Happy Hinter hasn’t solved a crime in months. When I married her, I thought she just spent her time telling people how to caulk around the tub."

  "You must mean the happy homicide hunter," My father said as his phone rang in his pocket.

  "Excuse me for a minute." He rose from the table and went into the next room. The boys began telling us details of the day-to-day life at summer camp.

  When my father returned, he had his keys in his hands. "That was Mrs. Thatcher. They're getting all kinds of calls at the station. A tornado touched down outside of Andersonville. The chief wants me down at the shelter early. We’re relocating all the emergency services to that location."

  Leo’s phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out and swiped the screen to read a text.

  "Okay. Nate is texting he’s going to be chasing this one and wonders if I would like to come along."

  "Oh, Leo. Now?" said Gwyn.

  "How are you feeling Betsy?" he asked.

  "I’m feeling okay, I guess."

  "Then if it is okay with you, I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just a couple of hours, I’m sure. I’ll have my cell phone" He held it up in front of his face. "Uh…I’ll charge my cell in Nate’s car, but I’ll be there if you need me. Nate assured me that babies take precedence over funnel clouds."

  I let out a long exhale. I couldn’t say no. I wasn’t in labor, and the chances of me having the baby in the next few hours were small. Technically, I wasn’t due for at least a week. I had to let him go.

  "Okay…"

  He jumped up and kissed me. I pushed him away, "But promise me you will be careful? Please? "

  "Yes. Of course."

  "What about the weather bureau? Don’t they need you? " Leo’s mother asked.

  "I’m actually working for the bureau on the road. I’ll be sending back videos and measurements."

  Leo pulled his keys out of his pocket, ready to rush out the door.

  "Wait! Before everybody takes off, we need to have some sort of a plan," I said, feeling slightly abandoned.

  "You're right," Leo’s mother said.

  "I'm going to be keeping my eye on the storm as it goes inland. If it looks like it’s heading towards Pecan Bayou, then I would suggest all of you go to the shelter. It has better walls to sustain hurricane force winds and tornadoes. Everybody needs to stay together."

  "That’s true," Gwyn said. "Even though I've gotten out of Galveston, I know I can still get hit by the weather, and folks, we’re not only on storm watch but baby watch." She smiled knowingly in my direction.

  "Well then I guess it's settled," Judd said. Everybody get your bag packed and be ready to relocate to the shelter."

  After Judd and Leo left, we cleaned up the dishes and everyone settled down in front of the TV. We might as well be comfortable until the call to cram the entire town into a school gym.

  All the local channels were now covering the hurricane nonstop. It always amazed me that the networks would put some weather guy right in front of the storm surge in Galveston. I would never understand the motivation to put someone in danger like that. Then again, it thrilled my own husband to be in league with the storm chasers. There was a time people avoided a storm, not break their necks to document it. Everyone wanted to stare at those cell phone videos and to take pictur
es that could go on Instagram. We were all addicted to instant news gratification.

  "Betsy," Leo's mother asked. "Do you have your bag packed? I mean your baby bag packed in case you go into labor?"

  "Yes. I just wish I could pack whatever the hospital uses to lessen the pain of childbirth. That would be nice. My doctor went to Houston, and her receptionist was hoping she’d find someone who could deliver a baby."

  "What about the local EMTs?"

  I thought about Orley Ortiz, the EMT who always kidded me about finding bodies. Most of the emergency personnel would be answering 911 calls that would inevitably come in with the storm. If it was a quiet night, he would be around, but if it wasn’t I was on my own. When I thought of all the crime scenes where we had crossed paths, I never imagined he might deliver my baby.

  "Think of it. You might go into the shelter with two children and come out with three," Gwyn said.

  That thought was pretty overwhelming. I was starting to suffer from baby overload. I longed for the days when conversation would be about someone else in the room.

  Gwyn sighed. "I wish we knew if it was a boy or a girl."

  "Mom knows," Zach said.

  "Yeah Betsy," Tyler said. "Why don't you tell us if the baby is a boy or girl?"

  "I can't. I want it to be a surprise. To tell the truth I’m not totally sure myself. I did see the sonogram, but…"

  "Does it feel like a boy?" Danny asked.

  "I don't know. I've only ever been pregnant with a boy, but it feels kind of like Zach did." The boys started jumping around.

  "It's a boy! We're going to have a brother."

  "We’ll be the Fitzpatrick boys." They shouted and jumped around the living room.

  After celebrating their new brother, the boys grabbed pillows off the couch and settled down in front of the TV.

  "Can we all sleep out here tonight in the living room?" Zach asked.

  "I don't see why not. If we have to grab our stuff and go to the shelter, it might be a pretty good idea," I said.

  "Can we watch a scary movie?" Tyler asked.

  "No," Danny said flatly.