“Well you didn’t do a good job of that,” Miss Vivee said raising her eyebrows. “What if we hadn’t already known?”
Which we didn’t.
“But Nash told me,” Miss Vivee said, “because he wanted me to help find out what happened to Kimmie. You know I’m the one who figured out who killed Gemma Burke.”
“That was you?” Seppie asked her and smiled. “I just figured Sheriff-”
“Well of course it was his case,” Miss Vivee said. “But he counts on me to help.” Now she was starting with her tall tales. “And I’m trying to help now.”
“When did Kimmie get back?” my mother asked.
Good. Finally questions that could help find out what happened.
“Back?”
“Yes. Hadn’t she taken a trip?”
“Oh yeah,” she said and laughed. “She was always going somewhere. She had just gotten back a couple of days ago. Wait. Yesterday.” She nodded. “Yeah, it was just yesterday. She came, you know, to see about her father. She said she would’ve stayed longer but . . .” September seemed to have remembered something. She fixed her eyes on the floor and let her words drift.
“I’ve promised Nash I’d help the Sheriff,” Miss Vivee said. She must’ve noticed that Seppie’s thoughts had wafted. “You want to help, too, don’t you?” she asked. “Seems like you keep trying to keep secrets. That won’t help you know.”
Seppie took in a deep breath. “I got this postcard from her.” Seppie lifted her eyes from the floor and looked at Miss Vivee. “From Kimmie. I didn’t know if she was telling me the truth or not. She liked to play practical jokes.” She shook her head. “She learned it from Mrs. Hunt, you know?”
“Frankie?” Miss Vivee said.
“Oh. Yeah. Frankie. Well I call her Mrs. Hunt. Anyway when we were young, Kimmie and I, Mrs. Hunt used to always play practical jokes on us. It was really kind of annoying.” Seppie doe-like eyes looking past us, as if remembering. “Then when we got older, Kimmie started to do them too. You know, pull pranks. Even though she never liked it.”
“A postcard?” I said. That seemed anachronistic to me. Kimmie was young, surrounded by technology. I just didn’t see someone in our generation using snail mail. Why wouldn’t she just send her an email?
September must have read my thoughts. “Kimmie said she thought someone might hack her computer,” she said and chuckled. “And, that might have been part of her prank. I don’t know. You know, to make it seem more ominous. More like a mystery.”
“What was the prank?” I asked.
“That she’d found something. Something valuable. In India,” she said looking at me.
“What did she find?” Miss Vivee asked.
September hunched her shoulders. “Some guy thousands of years ago wrote about some Christian relics he’d found in India. It’s in the bible.” She looked up at us. “Or at least that’s what Kimmie wrote in her postcard.”
“And she has it?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” September closed her eyes and sighed. “I don’t know.” She opened her eyes back up and looked at me. “That’s what I thought, once I read it. That she had it. But that would be something really important, right? How would she have it?”
“Bar-Daisan,” my mother said.
“What is that, Mommy?”
“It’s a who. A man. Lived around 154-223 BC. He wrote that Christian tribes had been found in North India supposedly converted by Thomas.” My mother shook her head like it was unbelievable. “Well that’s the short version of it. I dug there once. Well. I helped a colleague. It was so hot.” She seemed to now be talking more to herself than to us. Thinking through what she knew. “There are believed to be books and relics to prove the existence of Christians in India. If that is what she has that would be an important find.”
“How do you know that’s what Kimmie meant, Ma?” I said. The archaeologist in me not wanting to jump to any conclusions. “That’s not a lot of information to go on to make such a conclusion.”
“It’s not a lot of Christians in India, especially thousands of years ago,” she said speaking from her years working as a Biblical archaeologist. “And there are no – zero – Indians in the Bible. She would have had to have been talking about the Acts of Thomas, a non-canonized book. Bardaisan is believed to have written one hundred-fifty psalms, imitating David’s, that are in Thomas’ epistle. And he supposedly wrote about Christians in India as well, but all that work is lost. There might be proof of it somewhere, but nothing has ever been found. Unless,” she looked at me, “Kimmie found it.”
“Do you believe there were really a tribe of Christians in India?” Miss Vivee asked.
“Never found anything to prove it true. Never found anything to prove it not true. On that dig anyway,” my mother said. “But. Yes. I’ve read parts of Thomas attributed to Bardaisan. Beautiful lyrics. So he existed. He wrote about Christianity. He went to India.” My mother hunched her shoulders. “So him knowing something about Christians in India is not a far-fetched notion.”
“But Kimberly Hunt having such a relic is far-fetched,” Miss Vivee said.
“I guess,” my mother didn’t want to close the possibility by agreeing with that. Knowing her she’d need more facts before forming any type of conclusion.
“Well, if she did have it,” Miss Vivee said. “Or something she claimed to be it, she would’ve gotten it illegally and that would have potentially been a dangerous thing for her.”
“A very dangerous thing,” my mother said knowingly. She’d been in enough hot water for having ancient relics that other people wanted.
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
“Well isn’t that September Love a little hot momma,” Miss Vivee said when we all got into the car after our visit with Seppie.
Hot momma? I saw my mother in the rearview mirror mouth the words.
“What does that mean, Miss Vivee?” I asked reaching over and buckling her seat belt.
“That was Kimmie Hunt’s boyfriend standing in that doorway half naked.”
“He wasn’t half naked,” I said. “And how do you know? You spent the last twenty years inside your house, I’m sure you’ve never seen him.”
“If you didn’t notice how much that Francesca Hunt talks, you’ll never make a good detective,” Miss Vivee said.
My eyes shot to the mirror to see what my mother’s reaction to those words were. Detective. I was sure she wouldn’t be okay with me being called that.
“So is that how you knew about Keith, Miss Vivee?” my mother asked not reacting to her comment. “Mrs. Hunt told you?”
“She told everybody,” Miss Vivee said and waved her hand. “The woman can’t keep her mouth shut. So now what is he doing there with September Love?”
I turned and looked at my mother and then at Miss Vivee and shrugged. “I don’t know,” I said. And it seemed my mother didn’t have an answer either.
“Well, I know what he’s doing,” Miss Vivee said. “It’s called collusion.” She gave a resolved nod of her head. “I’d say that this turn of events is worthy of telling the Sheriff. And Bay.”
Oh no. Not Bay, I thought.
“I’m sure the Sheriff has questioned her, Miss Vivee,” my mother said. She hadn’t gotten to know Miss Vivee too well. Yet.
“Miss Vivee thinks that she is the one who is supposed to tell the Sheriff, and Bay, what to look for, and what to do.”
“I’m sure that’s not what she thinks,” my mother said.
“Ask her,” I said.
“Do you?” my mother asked.
“Do I what?” Miss Vivee said coyly.
My mother chuckled.
Miss Vivee looked at me. “You call them.”
“And tell them what?” I said looking at my mother in the mirror.
“That he needs to check out those two.” She jerked her thumb back toward the house we were still sitting in front of.
“See, Ma,” I said. “I told you.”
&n
bsp; “Well what are you waiting on?” Miss Vivee said.
“Okay. I’m calling,” I said with a grin, and pulled out my phone.
“And tell them everything that Seppie told us.”
“Okay.”
“Call the Sheriff first,” Miss Vivee directed.
“Okay,” I said.
“And stop saying ‘okay.’”
I looked at her and smiled.
I called the Sheriff and relayed our conversation with Seppie, including, after Miss Vivee practically poked a hole in my side with her finger, Keith Collier being there and all about the postcard. After I finished, he had me put the phone on speaker so Miss Vivee could hear.
“Miss Vivee, you’re not trying to solve my case, are you?”
“Yes I am,” she said.
“Well don’t. It’s my job. I can do it without your help.”
“I’m only doing it because Mac is a suspect.”
“Mac Whitson?”
“Do you know any other Mac?” Miss Vivee asked.
“Mac is not on my suspect list, Miss Vivee,” the Sheriff said.
“Well, he’s on mine,” Miss Vivee said.
“Put Logan back on the phone,” he said. “And take me off of speaker.”
I gave my mother a look through the rearview mirror that said, “I told you so.”
When I got off the phone, after listening to the Sheriff telling me repeatedly not to let Miss Vivee get involved, and how he was going to have a talk with Bay, I turned to Miss Vivee and opened my mouth to relay the conversation to her.
“I don’t care what he says,” Miss Vivee said, holding up her hand. “He can’t tell me what to do.”
And how well did I know that!
It was impossible to get Miss Vivee to conform to any directive she was given. She did just what she wanted to do. And for some reason, even after knowing all of that, I still seemed to just follow blindly behind her.
“So where to now, Miss Vivee?” my mother asked.
And now, it seems, so does my mother.
I think we need to go to Jellybean’s,” Miss Vivee said. “But first I want you to stop at Hadley’s,” she looked at me, “and get me a notebook and-”
“Two No. 2 pencils.” I finished her sentence. “I already know.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Oh what a delightful little place,” my mother said. Smiling she looked at Miss Vivee. “Do you two come here often?”
“Only when there’s a crime to be solved,” Miss Vivee said. “It’s usually the three of us – me, Mac, and Logan.”
The diner really was where we came to discuss the murder of the day, even the owner, Viola Rose had caught on to that. Only this time it was me, my mom, Micah and Miss Vivee.
Micah wasn’t really included in our little gumshoe operation we’d formed, but when Miss Vivee suggested we go to the Café, I knew I couldn’t go to a place that served food and not pick up my brother. Because I figured, as he always said, he was “starving.”
We had walked into Munchkinland, otherwise known as Jellybean’s Café, and waited to be seated. It was a bright and colorful place – white floors, walls, and table tops, with a punch of color – orange, purple, yellow and red cushions – for the stools and benches. Dazzling neon signs in all the windows, an aroma of good food that brought patrons in by the droves. I’d stopped at Hadley’s as instructed, and Miss Vivee was holding onto her plastic bag filled with her sleuthing paraphernalia. I knew she couldn’t wait to get started.
“And where is this mystery man of yours, Miss Vivee?” my mother said as we waited to be seated. “I’d have thought I would have met him by now. Logan has told me so much about him.”
“I don’t know,” Miss Vivee said. “He’s done gone and disappeared on me. A tendency murder suspects have.”
“Miss Vivee,” I said.
“But don’t worry, he’ll be at the wedding, even if he’s in handcuffs. You can bank on that.”
“Well, I hope so,” my mother said and chuckled. “Wouldn’t be a celebration without him.”
I was worried about Mac. Miss Vivee didn’t seem to be, though. She even had him as a suspect. Mac had been absent, and unlike Miss Vivee, I was concerned that maybe he wouldn’t show up for the ceremony. I remembered he told me when I found him at the florist shop that he hadn’t wanted to see Miss Vivee. I’d never known him to say anything like that. He usually couldn’t get enough of her.
What a time to disappear . . .
“Well if it ain’t the blushing bride-to-be.” Viola Rose came up to greet us, menus in hand. “That wedding day’ll be here before you know it.”
“Viola Rose, you don’t see one person standing here blushing,” Miss Vivee said. “We just came for a meal.”
“And who ya’ll got wit’cha?” she said ignoring Miss Vivee. “Can’t say I’ve seen hind nor hair of the two of you before.” Viola Rose looked at my family.
“This is my mother, Justin, and my brother, Micah,” I said.
“That’s Doctor Justin Dickerson,” Miss Vivee said. “She’s a famous archaeologist. And her brother, Micah is a lawyer. So you better watch your step now that he’s gonna be family. I got him on retainer.” She puched a finger toward Micah, who just chuckled.
She’d never pointed out that I had “Doctor” in front of my name, I thought. She just seems overjoyed with my mother.
“And Justin,” Miss Vivee continued, “this is Viola Rose, Proprietor, along with her husband, Gus,” she nodded toward the grill.
“You forgot to say home of the best egg salad this side of the Mississippi,” Viola Rose said and poked me with her elbow.
“I didn’t forget to say it,” Miss Vivee said. “I just don’t like to lie.”
Viola Rose sucked her tongue. “Well, anyhoo. Welcome to Jellybean’s or rather the Bat Cave for the two of them.” She pointed at me and Miss Vivee. “They come here to do their crime solving.”
“We do no such thing,” Miss Vivee said.
My mother looked at Miss Vivee then at me. She seemed surprised that Miss Vivee said she didn’t lie, when she’d been telling them since we’d gone to Seppie Love’s house, and now giving conflicting stories on what we do at Jellybean’s. I, on the other hand, didn’t bat an eye, I was used to Miss Vivee’s untruths.
“Okay. Now ya’ll follow me,” Viola Rose said. “I got Miss Vivee’s favorite bench waitin’ and ready. I knew it wouldn’t be long before ya’ll got here.”
Once we were seated, menus passed out, Miss Vivee put her bag on the table and leaned over to my mother, who she insisted sit next to her. She whispered, “I don’t have a favorite bench.”
“I heard that,” Viola Rose said and shook her head. “How ya’ll put up with the likes of this one is a wonder to me.”
“Watch your mouth there, Viola. I am still very much your elder.”
“Don’t I know it,” Viola Rose said and winked at me. “I’ll give ya’ll a minute to look over the menus, meanwhile I’ll get ya’ll a little something to wet your whistle.”
“Justin and I will have sweet tea,” Miss Vivee said.
I looked at my mother, waiting for her to object. She wasn’t big on anything sweet, and Pepsi was her drug of choice.
She didn’t say a word.
“I’m not sure what Logan wants to drink,” Miss Vivee said. “She’s so fickle.”
I let out a snort. “I’ll have a Pepsi, Viola Rose,” I said. “Just like I always do.”
“And what about you young man?”
“I’ll have water for right now,” Micah said.
“Not much of an eater?” Viola Rose asked and touched Micah’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “This one will be sure to eat. He’ll eat anything and everything in his path.”
“Well then watch out!” Viola Rose said. “‘Cuz we got a lot of food here.”
“So how do we go about finding the murderer?” my mother asked Miss Vivee after Viola Rose left. She seemed
genuinely interested, wanting to jump right in.
“Cause of death first,” Miss Vivee said.
“We have that,” my mother said. “She was stung by an Asian Hornet.”
“How did you know that, Ma?” Micah said looking up from studying his menu. “All you did was look at her.”
“It’s a talent that not many possess,” Miss Vivee said matter-of-factly. “But some of us know just by looking.”
I’m guessing she figures Micah and I don’t have that gift.
“It was the holes in her arm,” my mother said. “I’ve seen that before.” She was quiet for a moment. “The question is,” she turned toward Miss Vivee. “How did an Asian hornet get to Yasamee, Georgia?”
“That is the question, Justin.” Miss Vivee nodded. “And my answer is the killer brought it here.”
Viola Rose came back with our drinks. She pulled a pen from behind her ear, and reached in a deep pocket of her black apron for an order pad.
“Ya’ll ready to order,” she asked, pen hovering over pad.
“Justin and I will have egg salad sandwiches,” Miss Vivee said. “Now mind you, Justin,” she turned and looked at my mother, “I’ve had better, but it is worth trying.” Miss Vivee handed her menu to Viola Rose, who just shook her head.
My mother didn’t say a word about Miss Vivee ordering for her. She turned in her menu as well.
Micah didn’t wait for Viola Rose to ask his order. “I’ll have a double cheeseburger with bacon and the works,” Micah spoke up. “French fries and a chocolate shake. And for an appetizer, I think I’ll have this Chicken-in-a-Basket. Those are wings, right?”
“Sure are,” Viola Rose said. “Anything else?” she asked eyebrow raised.
“Just a Pepsi, but you can bring that with my meal,” he said. “Oh, and a salad with ranch dressing. Extra ranch.”
“I see you were right about your brother, Logan.” Viola Rose chuckled.
“Told you,” I said.
“She knows me well,” Micah said and bumped my shoulder with his.
“And what about you, Logan? Wha’cha having?”
Garden Gazebo Gallivant Page 7
