by Vickie Fee
Gee, thanks, Dave, I thought as I unlocked the back door and stepped into the kitchen.
I sat down at the kitchen table and phoned Di.
“Hi, are you home already?” she said before I could say hello. Caller ID can be both convenient and scary.
I told her about my assignment from Dave.
“Do you know if he’s just looking for pictures from around the time of the fireworks show?” I asked.
“No, my understanding is he wants as much information as he can get about who connected with Bubba during the day, as well as who was where around the time of the shooting,” Di said. “Terry’s calling everybody who gave their name and number, but my guess is Dave wants you to help with at least a partial list of people who took photos but left before the fireworks.”
“I’ll give it some thought, but I’m guessing half the people there shot pictures, at least with their cell phone cameras. That’s going to take the sheriff’s office untold hours to wade through.”
“Yeah, Dave’s already scheduling overtime for Ted and Neal and Terry and sorting out schedules for reserve deputies to work their max hours this month,” Di said.
As sheriff of Delbert County, Dave serves a big area with a small staff. Hartville is the largest city in Delbert County and the only one with its own police department. The sheriff’s department covers all the unincorporated areas of the county, as well as providing contract coverage to the towns of Dixie and Atford. The sheriff’s office is located in Dixie, the county seat. There’s a substation in Atford, which could barely even be called a town at this point, but it’s still incorporated. Deputy Neal Ford generally operates out of the substation. Deputy Ted Horton and dispatcher Terry Deacon work out of the Dixie office. Dave also depends on a cadre of volunteer reserve deputies. Fortunately, Delbert County has a pretty low crime rate, but when something like a murder happens it’s all hands on deck.
“Sounds ambitious. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
After I got off the phone with Di I surveyed the contents of the refrigerator to figure out what Larry Joe and I could have for supper. I devised a perfect plan.
“Honey,” I said when Larry Joe answered his cell phone. “Could you pick up dinner on your way home?”
“Any requests?” he asked.
“Surprise me,” I said.
If he showed up with anything other than plates from Taco Belles or Town Square Diner, I’d actually be surprised. I spent most of the time until Larry Joe got home cleaning the wilted and moldy items out of the fridge, before making a fresh pitcher of sweet tea.
I pulled a notepad out of the junk drawer and had just started on my list of known photographers and videographers from the festival when I heard the garage door open and Larry Joe’s truck pulling in. Larry Joe came in with our take-out dinners. I could tell from the bag it was from Taco Belles. No real surprise there.
I poured sweet tea over ice and my husband set Styrofoam containers on the table for each of us— catfish tacos with chipotle tartar sauce for me and beef fajitas for him.
After we said grace I scribbled a couple more names on my list.
“I see you’re taking names.”
Larry Joe leaned over and took a look at my notepad.
“Is Roger Martin in trouble?” he asked, squinting his eyes and reading a name off my list.
“That’ll be up to the sheriff to decide. He wants me to make a list of everybody I remember shooting video or taking pictures the day of the festival. Along with interviewing witnesses he’s got his deputies poring over photos and footage trying to get some kind of timeline about where Bubba was and who he talked to throughout the day.”
“That’s a tall order,” Larry Joe said.
“Yeah. And there’s no way it’s going to be complete—no matter how many pictures and how much video he gathers.”
“No, but I think it’s still a clever idea,” Larry Joe said. “Most cameras have a time stamp feature and that’s a lot more reliable than witness estimates of time or memories about who all was where at any given time.”
“True. After dinner I’ll finish my list and let you look it over and see if you can think of anybody else to add before I send it to Dave.”
Larry Joe told me how his dad had been in an awfully good mood today.
“He’s never in a good mood, especially on a Monday. That old geezer’s up to something, I know it,” he said.
Daddy Wayne has always been on the crotchety side, but even more so since his heart attack. Larry Joe and his mama have been after my father-in-law to cut back his hours, per doctor’s orders. But he’s having none of it. Still, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Maybe he’s starting to relax a bit now that y’all have hired a new supervisor,” I offered.
“Naw. There’s more to it than that. I’m going to keep an eye on Dad this week.”
After supper Larry Joe wandered into the den to watch TV. I finished my list and had him look it over. After he added a couple of names, I typed the list into an e-mail and uploaded the few photos I shot on Saturday—I had been too busy to take many pictures—and hit SEND.
I was walking to the den to snuggle up next to Larry Joe and watch some mindless TV when my phone buzzed. It was Mama.
“Liv, I just got off the phone with your sister. I’m going to need you to call and try to talk sense to her. She was trying to think up every reason in the world I shouldn’t get married or why I should at least hold off on a wedding. Hold off? We haven’t even set a date yet.”
I’d been hoping Emma would be a grown-up and I wouldn’t have to give her a talking-to. Wishful thinking, apparently.
“I’ll call her in a day or two after she’s had some time to take it in,” I said.
“I’d be obliged. Call me after you talk to your sister. Oh, and I’d like us to get together for lunch one day this week if you can, so we can start tossing around some ideas for the wedding. I feel so lucky having a daughter who’s a professional planner. Bye.”
Lucky wasn’t the word that sprang to mind for me.
Chapter 4
It had taken me three nights’ sleep to feel rested after the festival on Saturday. The emotional drain of the murder and the ensuing interrogations, in addition to the fatigue of a long day on my feet tending to one mini crisis after another, had left me exhausted. But by Tuesday I was feeling almost normal and even made it to the office by eight o’clock.
I made some phone calls and notes, preparing preliminary plans for a retirement party for the CEO of a local company. I had a teleconference call with the CEO’s secretary and the human resources manager, who were in charge of the party, scheduled on Friday.
I heard footsteps on the stairs and assumed it was probably Winette. I looked up to see the sheriff standing in my doorway.
“Liv, could we talk?”
“Dave Davidson, I swear if you badger me with one more question . . . You’re going to have to arrest me. I’m done. I do have a job besides being your professional witness, you know.”
“It’s not about the case. It’s personal,” he said, hat in hand with his eyes downcast.
I didn’t apologize, but I did feel contrite.
“Okay,” I said and motioned for Dave to come inside. He skulked into the office and took a seat facing me across the desk. He declined my offer of a Coke or bottled water. He seemed reticent to speak.
“What is it, Dave?”
“Liv, you and I go way back. I mean when I’d spend summers in Dixie with my grandparents, I used to play baseball with Larry Joe and the other guys. And you girls would be sitting in the grass stringing daisies. Remember? And there was that time I smoked one of my granddaddy’s cigars and threw up on your book bag.”
“I remember,” I said. “Good times.”
“Anyway, I know I shouldn’t ask. It’s probably not fair, but . . .” Dave said.
“What? Spit it out.”
“Never mind. Forget it.”
Men infuriate me. I
knew, of course, he wanted to ask me something about Di. But I was afraid for a moment he was just going to drop it.
Finally, he said, “It’s about Di. Here’s the thing. I’m crazy about her. You know that. But just when it seems like things are good between us, she pushes me away. And she insists we practically sneak around to see each other, as if we have something to be ashamed of. Honestly, sometimes I think she’s embarrassed to be seen in public with me. I shouldn’t ask, but you are her best friend. Has she told you anything that would help me figure out what’s going on with her? I’m at a loss here.”
I struggled for a moment with my conscience. I didn’t want to betray Di’s confidence. But she was acting insane and Dave and I did go way back, what with him having barfed on my book bag when I was eleven.
“Honestly, Dave, she doesn’t share a lot of details with me about your relationship. But I do know this—Di has some crazy idea that if it gets out around town in a really public way that you two are a couple, it will hurt your reputation or reelection chances or some such.”
“Why the hell would she think that?”
“Apparently because her ex is in prison. She thinks that taints her somehow in other people’s eyes.”
“That’s just dumb,” Dave said.
“Yeah, well . . .”
“What should I do?”
“I don’t know that I’m qualified to give advice.”
“That never stopped Dear Abby. Besides, you’re happily married. And who else am I going to ask? If you have any suggestions I’d like to hear them,” Dave said with pleading eyes.
“Okay, here’s what I think. But if you tell Di I said so, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Understood.”
“I think you need to make some kind of grand romantic gesture. You know, like in An Officer and a Gentleman . . .”
“You mean that Richard Gere movie that makes women get all weepy?”
“That’s the one. When he walks into the factory in his uniform and sweeps Debra Winger off her feet and carries her out while all her friends are clapping and cheering—that’s a grand romantic gesture.”
He bit his lip, seeming to mull over what I’d said for a long moment.
“If I stopped Di on her mail route and picked her up and carried her to the cruiser, people would probably think she was under arrest.”
This clueless man is a detective, I thought to myself.
“I’m not saying you should do what Richard Gere did. You’ll have to come up with your own romantic gesture. And I don’t know specifically what that would be. But if I were to dream something up and tell you what to do, Di would never buy it anyway. It’ll have to come straight from your heart and fit the moment.
“Just give it some thought. And don’t you dare let on to Di that I told you about her crazy insecurities where her ex-husband is concerned.”
“No, no, of course not. Thanks, Liv. I think.”
Dave stood up with a puzzled look before leaving, and I could hear him slowly descending the stairs. I felt a growing knot in my stomach, hoping I’d done the right thing.
* * *
About noon I decided to amble down the block to the farmer’s market on the corner, thinking I should eat something healthy for lunch for a change. I ran into Rosemary Dell coming out of the market with a sackful of produce, baby lettuce leaves peeking out the top of the bag.
“Hi, Rosemary. I see you’re buying some veggies.”
“Yes, Suzanne has some beautiful vegetables right now, peak of season. Have you recovered from the festival yet? That must have been a long day for you as events coordinator.”
“It wore me out, but I’m okay now. How about you? There’s been quite a bit of grumbling about the pageant results. But, I’m sure you’ve gotten an earful about that.”
“Goodness yes. What a mess. But I had a long conversation with the judge I saw talking to Bubba Rowland and he flatly denies that his decision was influenced in anyway. And I went over all his judging sheets and everything looks right.”
“So you’re satisfied everything was on the up-and-up?”
“As satisfied as I can be. Of course, that doesn’t mean everyone else is satisfied, but I can’t help that. Cassie and her family haven’t filed a formal complaint about the results. And honestly, with Bubba’s untimely demise I think it would be better just to let things be. Nobody would feel good about taking Jennifer’s crown away from her under the circumstances. But Cassie will still meet the age eligibility requirements to enter again next year and, between you and me, I plan to ask an anonymous benefactor to pay her entry fee since her family doesn’t have a lot of money.”
“That sounds like a good plan all around,” I said.
Rosemary waved to someone down the block and said a hasty good-bye. I entered the market and looked over the many enticing choices on offer. I settled on a luscious-looking apple and a small wedge of goat cheese from a local farm.
“Hi, Liv. Looks like you’re planning to eat lunch at your desk today. Busy?” Suzanne Bagley asked as I placed the items on the counter next to the register.
“There’s always plenty to do when you have your own business, as you well know. But honestly, I’m just trying to eat something healthier for a change.”
“I hear you. By the way, I was so pleased to hear about your mama and Earl’s engagement.”
“Thanks, Suzanne. We’re very fond of Earl. He’s a brave man to take on my mama.”
Suzanne tossed her head back as she laughed.
“So what’s her engagement ring look like?”
“It’s a great big emerald surrounded by little diamonds—pretty impressive.”
“Good for her. Extend my congratulations to her and Earl, will you?”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Suzanne.”
I went back to my office and pulled a package of rye crackers out of the desk drawer to go with my cheese and apple. After lunch, I gave Mama a call and arranged to meet with her the next day to get the ball rolling on planning her wedding. I figured there was no point in putting off the inevitable.
Chapter 5
I arrived at Mama’s a day later and slipped in through the kitchen door, which is never locked. The creaking of the back door brought Mama stepping lively from the family room. She gave me a hug.
She fixed us bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches—with tomatoes fresh from her garden—homemade pimento cheese on celery stalks, some grapes, and fresh-baked brownies.
I’d initially planned to ask her to meet me at a restaurant, some neutral ground as opposed to her home turf. But Mama talks loudly and I didn’t really want other people to hear every outrageous idea she might propose.
“I’ve jotted down a few preliminary ideas,” she said as she pulled a folded stack of notebook paper as thick as a deck of cards from her apron pocket and placed it on the table beside her plate.
I tried not to look worried.
Mama put some coffee on to brew just before we sat down to lunch. She was pretty quiet as we ate, but after she’d wiped the brownie crumbs from her chin and poured us each a cup of coffee, she launched into a rather long list of “preliminary ideas.”
“Earl and I both have already had the big, traditional church wedding, so we want to do something different the second time around.”
Mama said she wanted to have the wedding on Earl’s property. He has a farmhouse with a large wraparound porch, a big barn where he stores tractors, and a large man-made pond with an island in the middle of it. It truly was a lovely spot for an outdoor wedding.
“The pond is really the best feature of the property, so I think we should play that up. I’m thinking we should have one of those gondolas ferry Earl and me and the minister out to the little island. It’s too small for a crowd, so the guests will have to watch the ceremony from the banks.
“I’d like the bottom of the boat to be wide enough that Earl and I can stand side by side as the gondolier rows us across. I think that would look e
legant. Plus, if we sit down, the back of our clothes will get wrinkly. And wrinkles aren’t attractive.
“Now I suppose we’ll need some kind of sound system on the island, so the guests can hear us exchange our vows,” she said, staring off into space and tapping the capped end of a ballpoint pen against her chin. “It doesn’t need to be anything big or elaborate, though.”
Mama talks loudly enough that people could probably hear her in the next county without a sound system, but Earl and the minister might need some amplification, so I jotted down “sound system” in my notebook.
“Oh, and I want some swans swimming in the lake. I’ve always thought swans were so classy. The shore kind of slopes down to the lake, so we’ll probably need some planks or a little platform on the bank to make a flat surface to put out some chairs for the guests. Just those folding slatted wooden chairs will be fine, nothing too fancy.
“And if the front of the gondola had some kind of carved figurehead on it, you know, kind of like a Viking boat, I think that would be a nice touch. Don’t you think so, Liv?”
I had refilled my coffee cup a few times while Mama had droned on for what seemed like hours. I’d sucked down so much coffee I could barely blink. Sugar. I needed sugar. I helped myself to another brownie, sat back down at the table, and forced the corners of my lips to curl up into a smile.
Mama moved on to the reception.
She envisioned refreshments on the expansive porch, with people circulating around the porch and through the house. After that, there would be a dance in the barn.
“We’d like the music to be a mix of lively two-stepping, some slow dances, and some line dancing—so no one feels left out if they come stag. Fun and casual, but classy,” she said emphatically. “I’m not talking about a hoedown in overalls and flour sack dresses. And there will be a live band, naturally.”
Naturally.
“Liv, you haven’t been saying much. You’re the pro, so jump in here with any ideas.”
I cleared my throat and searched for the right words.
“Like I told you on the phone, Mama, the first meeting is really just a chance for clients to tell me their vision. From this conversation I’ll try to create a plan that incorporates all the things that are most important to the client as best I can.
