“No. My gun.”
“You’re armed? Put the weapon down, ma’am.”
“Not on your life. If that sucker takes one step in my house, I’m aiming south of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
“Don’t do that, ma’am. The police have arrived. They’ve requested you put down the weapon.”
“I will when they identify themselves—not before.”
A knock sounded at the kitchen door. “It’s the police, ma’am.”
I hung up with the dispatcher, holstered Mini Pearl, turned off the security alarm, and threw a robe over my shorty pajamas. When I opened the door, two large policemen stood there, hands hitched on the butts of their firearms.
“All you all right, ma’am?” asked a tall African-American officer.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine now that you’re here.”
“We’ll search the area,” he said. “It’s probably the same Peeping Tom who’s been reported in the area. He’s long gone.”
The other officer, a slightly smaller version of the other, had smiling eyes that set me at ease, and I relaxed under his gaze. Apparently, knowing how to carry on a conversation with a scantily clad civilian in the early morning hours was one of the classes taught at the police academy. They seemed unaffected by my dishabille—unlike most men. “Keep your blinds closed,” he advised. “That will discourage him in the future.”
“It’s nice to know he’ll be back,” I said to the two. “Have you guys thought about nabbing the jerk?”
“We’ll keep that in mind and let you know if we find him. You can press charges then.”
“I’ve heard that a lot lately.”
The taller officer took out his notepad and wrote down my statement. His smile remained as he snapped the notepad shut. “We’ll do a sweep of the area before we leave. Call us if you have any further problems.”
“Thank you, I will.” I closed and locked the door. Since I was wide awake with no chance of sleeping, I started a pot of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, drained and achy, and in need of a caffeine infusion.
Tango ambled in, purring loudly and entwined himself about my legs. From his calm behavior, I knew the house was ghost-free, which suited me. Last night’s revelation about Daddy resurfaced, but at the moment I needed to focus my thoughts on the would-be intruder, or “Peeping Tom” as the police had labeled him.
Retrieving my notes, I returned to the kitchen. The coffee pot had finished gurgling, so I fixed a cup and sat down at the table. Two cups later, I suspected the bungled break-in was related to the flash drive locked in my top desk drawer and not a Peeping Tom as the police had indicated. Someone knew I had it in my possession. Tammy came to mind, but I immediately discarded that thought. She hadn’t known Scarlett. Or had she? What about Burns or even possibly Grant? Robert’s eagle eyes might’ve spotted the top of the thumb-drive sticking out of my purse—and who knew the motives of the creepy detective? Anthony? The mysterious man in the blue sedan shadowing me? The idea terrified me, but I couldn’t find another reasonable explanation to explain the strange events currently plaguing me. I had to find the answers quick or that ticking time bomb might claim me as its next victim.
****
An hour and a half had passed when the phone rang. I glanced up at the wall clock. 6:23. Caller ID indicated Mama’s number.
“It’s a good thing I’m up.”
“I knew you would be. That’s why I called. I have news about your daddy.”
I set the coffee cup down with the clunk. “Where is he?”
“He just got in from the West Coast. He wants to see you this morning.”
“Is it safe?” I asked, anxious for his safety. I had no intention of losing him a second time.
“He’s willing to take the risk,” she said. “Mr. Blackstone got his money, but he still might kill your father if he knows he’s alive. For now, we have to meet in secret.”
“Where and when?”
“Joggers Pond at eight. He’ll be dressed in jeans, a red shirt, and an Atlanta Braves ball cap. Oh, and he has a beard.”
“Deena and Billie Jo have to be told,” I reminded her.
“You’re right.” Her voice cracked over the line. “How am I going to break this to them?”
“Just like you did me,” I said, gently. “Billie Jo was so young when this took place. She doesn’t remember much about Daddy, but she’s strong and has Roddy to lean on. Deena’s the one I’m worried about. She’s gone through a lot since her divorce.”
“And you? How do you feel now that you know the truth?”
My eyes watered, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You know me. I’m fine now that I’m all cried out and have had all night to think about it. I’m just glad he’s alive.”
“You’re not a brick wall, Jolene. You’re a fine woman. I’m proud of how you’ve looked after your sisters all these years. I wish you wouldn’t keep yourself walled up. You’ve got a lot of love to give if you’d just let yourself.”
It took all of my willpower to hold back the raw emotions her words evoked, but if I started crying now, I’d never stop. Truthfully, I was a freaking mess inside. Daddy’s return had stirred up all the insecurities I’d managed to bury all these years. “The best way to handle this is just to face it,” I said. “Why don’t you invite Deena, Billie Jo, and Roddy to supper tonight? I’ll help break the news. They can tell their children later after they’ve come to grips with it.”
“Sounds like a good plan. I’ll see you tonight around six.”
I hung up and rose from the table, coffee cup in hand, with Mama’s disturbing words still ringing in my mind. If you’d just let yourself love. Impatiently, I pushed aside the knowledge of my inability to completely give myself to any man because of Daddy’s disappearance. My inability to trust had caused my divorce and a number of other issues that crept up from time to time. Oh well, I wasn’t in the mood to dwell on my growing list of faults this morning.
I fed Tango, and then puttered around the house, trying to dispel the anxious nervousness and anticipation of seeing my father after a twenty year absence. After a quick shower, I slipped into an eye-popping floral print dress and yellow heels, pinned up my tangle of curls, and went to meet Daddy.
Chapter Eighteen
Another Dead End
The tall man outlined against the golden backdrop of water was feeding a small family of ducks when I stopped my car just out of his sight ten minutes later. From this vantage point, I could study him at my leisure without him being conscious of my appraisal. Thinner than I remembered, and his shoulders drooped slightly, but he still commanded attention. My breath caught in my throat when he threw back his head, roaring with laughter as a family of ducks competed for the bread he tossed into the water. The ceaseless hum of traffic disappeared as the booming sound replayed in my memory.
Satisfied that the man in jeans and red shirt was indeed Daddy, I drove until I was several feet from where he stood and parked my car at the curb. He swung around at my approach, flashing me a welcoming smile. With shaking hands, I turned off the ignition, climbed out of the car, and then hesitated, my feelings for him becoming confused. My pulse jittered as butterflies assaulted my stomach, and my legs became weak all at once with the jolt of anxiety and self-doubt that struck me.
Daddy, too, froze as if any sudden movement would cause me to bolt. Time slowed to a crawl as we continued to gaze at one another. The widening of his smile broke the spell, and I flew into his outstretched arms. After a moment, he held me at arm’s length and quite openly studied my face.
“You’re as beautiful as the pictures Annie Mae sent me,” he said. “You favor her.”
The rich timbre of his voice brought past recollections rushing back. Like the time I’d borrowed Mama’s dressmaking shears and whacked off Deena’s long chestnut hair. Mama hadn’t appreciated my artistic flair and spanked me. Daddy had come home to a house of wailing females. He’d wiped away my tears, promised Deena her hair wo
uld grow long again, and kissed Mama so long she started moaning. Billie Jo thought he was hurting her and started crying. After supper, Daddy piled us in the car and took us to Dairy Queen for chocolate-dipped ice-cream cones. To this day, it was still one of my favorite memories.
“I have your brown eyes, Daddy,” I said softly, my fingers aching to touch his lined face, to feel the silkiness of his salt-and-pepper beard.
Lightly, he fingered a loose tendril of hair on my cheek. “Blonde and curly like Annie Mae’s when I married her.”
I laughed. “You mean frizzy, don’t you? Did she tell you about the time when I was in high school and she caught Deena trying to iron the kinks out of my hair? The iron was too hot and scorched my hair. She made me go to school with burnt, stinky hair. After that, I saved up my allowance and bought a flat iron.”
“I wish I could’ve been there.”
I reached for his hand, needing the connection. “Me, too, Daddy.”
“I guess you have questions.”
“I do. Mama did her best to explain things, but I don’t want to go into that now—not here—you could be in danger.”
“I checked the area out before you arrived,” he assured me. “It’s still early, and so far no one has recognized me, but we do need to be cautious—until I can come up with a new plan.”
“You could go to the police,” I suggested. “Deena’s dating a nice detective.”
His face tightened. “I need to be sure I can trust them before I open my mouth. No, for now, let’s keep things as they are.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
His agitation was apparent, so I shifted gears. “Agreed. Now, tell me about your life.”
The minutes passed as Daddy shared his long-distance travels across the country behind the wheel of a big rig—the ups and downs, the loneliness, and camaraderie between truck drivers. He told me of the small, cramped apartment he rented in Fitzgerald, and how each time he heard one of his neighbors address him as “Buddy” or “Mr. Nelson” he longed all the more for his life with us here in Whiskey Creek.
Finally, he fell silent as we stood at the edge of the water, our shoulders touching. I looked out across the small lake to the Methodist church towering above the shady trees on the far bank. Only a few early morning fishermen dotted the crooked dirt path winding around the pond. The soft breeze felt heavenly on my skin. The air smelled pungent with warm earth and spring flowers. Joggers Pond was a peaceful paradise that I loved sharing with my father.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.
“Of course, sweetheart.” He placed an arm about my shoulders. “You can talk with me about anythin’.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
Candid eyes stared back at me. “Yes, honey, I believe in restless spirits,” he said without hesitation. “My mother called it the third eye. She said it was a blessin’ and a curse in her life.”
Granny Tucker. I smiled. “I heard her voice when I was placing lilies on the graves at Easter. I thought I was crazy.”
“No, honey, you’re not crazy,” he replied. “I never said anythin’ before now, but your grandmother started seein’ spirits as a child. Her mother, my grandmother, told her to keep it a secret. Back then, the church came down pretty hard on what they termed as witchcraft. There was a lot of suspicion in them Alabama hills at that time. I found out about her ability quite by accident one day. She was talkin’ to an empty chair in the kitchen. Thought she was crazy until footsteps sounded across the wooden floor. The back screen door opened and slammed shut. Funny thing, no one was there. She caught me spyin’ and explained how God had given her a special gift to help his lost children find their way home. Did you know that at your birth she told me you had inherited the same gift? Remember your imaginary friends?”
“I remember Mama taking me to a psychologist. Soon afterward, I was able to block them out. Until recently, that is.”
“Those imaginary friends were spirits seekin’ help. I told Annie Mae you were fine and to leave you alone, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. I tried one time to tell her about my mother, but she cut me off before I could explain. After that, I kept my mouth shut. I’m sorry, honey. I should’ve explained things to you a long time ago.”
“I’m glad you told me now. Makes it easier to understand.”
“So tell me what’s goin’ on that you would ask me about seein’ ghosts?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened at the salon.”
“I’ve been on the road for weeks,” he replied. “Your mother didn’t mention the salon when I spoke with her this mornin’. She kept saying that the chickens had come home to roost.”
“It was in the newspapers and on the news—the death of a local TV personality? Scarlett Cantrell—she died in Dixieland’s facial room.”
“Vincent and Rowena Cantrell’s daughter?”
I stared at him, startled. “You knew them? Mama never mentioned any connection. They died in a plane crash several years back.”
“I didn’t know them personally,” he replied. “But I overheard Mr. Blackstone mention Cantrell’s name one day when he paid me an unexpected visit. His goons were about to work me over when he received a call. That’s when I heard the name. I never forgot it because back then Mr. Cantrell was a respected judge in the state. I believe he was heavily invested in many local businesses. He and Richard Payne—”
“The mayor’s father?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Those men ran this county. They were both very powerful with connections in high places. Richard had just been elected mayor.” He paused. “You say that Vincent’s daughter died in your beauty shop?”
“She’s the reason I brought up the subject of ghosts. You see, she was murdered in my salon, and now she’s haunting me—she wants me to find her killer.”
An expression of fear crossed his face. “No, Jolene. That sounds dangerous. I’m not convinced the politicians weren’t somehow tied up with Mr. Blackstone. I would strongly suggest you back away and leave this to the police. It’s their problem.”
“I’m already involved,” I said, leaving out the details of my adventures into investigating. It wouldn’t be fair to worry him so soon after he’d come back into my life. I’d watch my step, and hand over the flash drive to Bradford as soon as I could arrange a meeting with him. Hopefully, I’d have discovered its contents before then.
Glancing at my watch, I was relieved to be out of time and couldn’t debate his objections. “I’ve got to get to work.” I kissed his cheek. “Mama’s arranging a dinner so we can share the good news with Deena and Billie Jo. I’ll see you there.”
“How do you think they’ll take it?”
I tried to reassure him. “Well, I’m not sure. Like me, they’ll be shocked, but after they’ve had time for it to sink in, they’ll be as thrilled as I am.”
I left him standing at the water’s edge and drove to the salon, replaying our conversation in my mind. I would keep Daddy’s return a secret until tonight. Besides, I had more pressing issues on my mind. In light of Daddy’s revelation about Vincent Cantrell’s possible connection with Mr. Blackstone, I had burning questions that needed answering. And what about the mayor’s father? Was he a part of the maze of confusion? I’d promised Bradford I’d stay out of the investigation, but now I wasn’t so sure I could keep my promise.
****
My sisters were in Deena’s office when I stuck my head in the open doorway. “Are you ready for a crazy morning?”
“Not really,” Billie Jo said. “Everyone’s on edge. Mandy practically bit my head off a minute ago when I asked if the coffee was ready. I have a bad feeling about today.”
“Nerves,” Deena said. “I’ll just be glad when this whole murder business is over and the salon is back to normal. And I’m not looking forward to Scarlett’s funeral tomorrow. I wish we could skip it.”
My nine o’clock spied me standing in the office doorway an
d yoo-hooed to me from across the reception area. Holly intercepted her and escorted her to my station. Since it was a color correction service and would need my full attention, I left my sisters and hurried back to the kitchen to take an aspirin and call Mama about my meeting with Daddy before my hectic day kicked in. She wasn’t in, so I left a message.
The kitchen door swung open. Mandy rushed over to the coffee pot. Good, just the person I wanted to talk to. “Good morning, Mandy. Got a minute to spare?”
At the sound of my voice, the spoon in her hand clattered to the counter, and she swung around to face me. “I didn’t see you sitting there.”
Her eyes shifted from mine as I motioned to the chair opposite me. Picking up her cup, she sat down.
“I’m sorry I startled you. I guess you were deep in thought.”
“I’m a little on edge these days.” She forced a laugh. “So much has happened. I can’t seem to settle down.”
“Is everything okay with your family?” I looked closer at her. She did seem downright scared, but of what—or whom?
“Why do you ask about my family?” Her hands clutched the cup as if it’d shatter into a thousand pieces.
By the mounting tension in her voice, I deduced her family was strictly off-limits. Now that I thought about it, she never mentioned them, never recounted happy childhood memories like the rest of the staff so often did. Really, we didn’t have a clue about her background. What sordid details did she hide—and possibly pay blackmail money to keep secret?
“I asked about your family because it’s the usual thing to do when a person appears as upset as you. No offense intended.”
She expelled a long breath. “I’m sorry for snapping. I didn’t want to say anything, but the salon gives me the creeps. I’ve been freaked out since Miss Cantrell died. I keep looking over my shoulder every time I pass the facial room.”
I gave her no quarter but dived right into the question bugging me. “But aren’t you a tad relieved you don’t have to pay her blackmail money any longer?”
Dixieland Dead Page 17
