One Fete in the Grave

by Vickie Fee

  “You haven’t mentioned how many people you plan to invite. Since you’re talking about using the house and porch for the reception, I assume you’ll want to keep the guest list somewhat intimate.”

  “Hmm, I suppose we can comfortably handle about sixty people,” she said.

  I was relieved. This was a much lower number than I had expected. “That sounds doable.”

  I gathered up my notes and told her I thought we had made a good start.

  “We can talk more specifically about food, and decorations and invitations and such, later on. You should start working on a guest list, and be sure to get a list from Earl.”

  Mama and I said our good-byes and I drove back to the office. After getting settled at my desk and returning a couple of phone calls. I typed up my notes on Mama’s wedding wish list and e-mailed it to Holly. I thought about discussing it with her over the phone, but wasn’t sure if I was ready to actually say some of the items on the list out loud just yet.

  I had asked Holly to feel free to get back to me with any initial thoughts or comments she had. In a few minutes an e-mail notification from Holly popped up on my phone screen.

  Just remember, Liv, pretty much anything is possible with enough time to source and plan.

  I think she was trying to make me feel better.

  In a minute, another e-mail from Holly came through.

  Have your mama and Earl settled on a date?

  The answer was “no.” A date, even a tentative one, was something Mama had refused to commit to when we met. This caused me some concern.

  I tried with limited success to put Mama and Earl’s colorful wedding plans out of my mind and concentrate on other projects. I called the bakery to confirm the specialty items for the baby shower this weekend. I phoned Heather to make sure everything was going smoothly on her part—and to see how her doctor’s appointment went and if he thought the baby would hold off on her grand entrance until after Saturday.

  I was ready to pack it in for the day when my cell phone buzzed. It was Larry Joe.

  “Liv, I’m afraid I won’t be home for dinner. Dad and I are taking a prospective client out to Red’s Steakhouse. I’m hoping some red wine and a juicy porterhouse are going to pay off with some new business.”

  “Okay, honey,” I said. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

  I had no intention of cooking dinner for one. Chinese food suddenly sounded like a winner. I phoned Di and invited her to join me, if she didn’t have plans for supper.

  “That sounds great, if you don’t mind waiting until after my yoga class.”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “You got wine, or should I bring some?” she asked.

  “Actually, we have a couple of bottles of Riesling in the fridge. I’ll see you in a while.”

  I killed some time wrapping up a bit of paperwork and then phoned the restaurant and placed my order. They said it would be ready for pickup in about fifteen minutes.

  I ran in and paid for my takeout order and drove home. The aroma of garlic and ginger was intoxicating. I was starved by the time I made it back to the house. Di pulled into the driveway just behind me.

  “Hey,” she said, catching up to me in the garage. “What’s Larry Joe up to for dinner?”

  “He and his dad are wining and dining a potential client. Are you seeing Dave tonight?” I asked as I opened the door and stepped into the kitchen with Di right behind me.

  “I doubt it,” she said. “He has that whole murder investigation thing going on. I talked to him briefly and he said he thought they were making progress. So I guess that’s good news.”

  After pouring each of us a glass of chilled wine, I joined Di at the kitchen table and we dug into the takeout containers.

  “Oh,” I said, holding up my hand as I swallowed a bite of garlic ginger chicken. “Guess who I saw walking hand in hand into the Chinese place?”

  “Who?”

  “Ted and Daisy.”

  “So they’re still an item, huh?”

  “I guess so,” I said. “Doesn’t Dave ever mention them?”

  “Hah. Can you imagine Dave talking about Ted’s love life?”

  Di and I both laughed at the suggestion. The two of us had played at least a small role in getting the deputy and an odd little wallflower named Daisy together last fall.

  After dinner we moved the conversation, along with the second wine bottle and glasses, into the den. Di plopped down in the recliner and I kicked off my shoes and stretched out on the sofa.

  “Planning any interesting parties these days?” Di asked.

  “I’m not sure interesting is the word for it, but I met with Mama today and listened for an hour and a half while she described the dream wedding she envisions for herself and Earl.”

  “Do tell.”

  I gave Di a rundown of the major points on Mama’s wish list.

  “A ferryman with a Viking gondola, an elegant hoedown,” Di said between snorts and unladylike guffaws. “And your mother and Earl exchanging vows on their own little fantasy island.” She broke down laughing again.

  “Don’t forget I have to somehow set up a sound system on that fantasy island in the middle of a pond—stocked with swans.”

  “Oh, stop it,” she said, doubled over. “My ribs are hurting.”

  I sat up and poured some more wine into my glass.

  “Feel free to drink straight from the bottle,” she said.

  I shot her a withering glare.

  “Listen,” she said, after regaining her composure. “At some point you’ll have to guide your mom toward some sensible wedding plans.”

  “You’ve met my mother, right?”

  “Maybe you can enlist Earl’s help. He’s a sensible man.”

  “I’d always thought so. But he did ask my mama to marry him.”

  Di refilled her glass and chinked it against mine. “Here’s to the happy couple,” she said.

  The wine kept flowing as we tried to think of even more ridiculous ideas for the wedding—which wasn’t easy.

  After a while I heard Larry Joe come in from the garage. He followed the laughter into the den.

  “Evening, ladies. Sounds like y’all are having a good time.”

  “Yeah, it’s been fun,” Di said, rising from the recliner. “But I think I’m going to call it a night.” She walked through the doorway into the kitchen.

  Spying the two empty wine bottles on the end table, Larry Joe said, “You need a ride home?”

  “No, I’m fine. Your wife drank her share and most of mine.”

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, casting a look of concern my way.

  “Your mother-in-law gave Liv her wish list for the wedding,” Di said before bursting into laughter again.

  “I can hear you, you know,” I said.

  “Good night, you two,” Di said as she made her exit, still giggling.

  Larry Joe lifted my legs up a bit, sat on the sofa, and plopped my calves onto his lap.

  “I’m cutting off your alcohol, lady. Looks like you’ve had enough,” he said, giving me a little slap on the thigh. “You think you can make it up the stairs?”

  “Sure. Nothing to it,” I said, placing my thumb against my finger and making a failed attempt at snapping.

  I was only slightly unsteady. With his hands on my shoulders, Larry Joe walked behind me, guiding me up the steps.

  After escorting me to the bed, he disappeared into the bathroom. The phone on the nightstand rang. We rarely get calls on the landline, so I picked it up without thinking.

  It was my sister.

  “Hi, Emma,” I said wearily.

  “How come you didn’t call to warn me about Mama’s engagement? Engagement, hah—the very idea is ludicrous.”

  “I don’t see that there’s anything ludicrous, or surprising, about Mama and Earl getting engaged. Mama’s been widowed for more than four years and she and Earl have been spending time together steady for the past two years. What’s surp
rising is that you’ve chosen to remain oblivious to reality.”

  I don’t usually speak so harshly to my little sister, so maybe it was the wine talking.

  I guess she was taken aback since she was quiet for a long moment.

  “What’s realistic about Mama getting married at her age? She had a long, happy marriage—more than forty years. That should be enough for her.”

  “Emma, Mama may not be a spring chicken, but she doesn’t exactly have one foot in the grave, either. And you don’t get to decide what’s enough for her. You’re being just plain selfish.”

  “Am I? I’m just trying to preserve my daddy’s memory for my children. I don’t want them growing up calling some other man ‘Granddaddy.’”

  “Emma, you’re not preserving Daddy’s memory for the kids. They have no memories of him. He died before they were born. That’s just the sad truth. You’re trying in some misguided way to preserve Daddy’s memory for yourself. So you expect Mama to keep vigil over his memory and live in a big house by herself, while you live in a home filled with the love of your husband and two young children. And I call that selfish.”

  She hung up.

  The last time I remember Emma hanging up on me was when she and Hobie were engaged and I told her I thought he was a horse’s patoot. I’d had to eat those words, but I had no intention of taking back what I’d said about Mama and Earl.

  Larry Joe walked in and sat down on the side of the bed.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing some of that,” he said, reaching across and taking hold of my hand.

  “You think I was a little tough on Emma?”

  “Maybe. But I think someone needs to be a little tough with Emma, and your Mama shouldn’t have to deal with that. She’ll come around.”

  I hoped he was right, but I had my doubts.

  Chapter 6

  Thursday I woke up to a throbbing headache. After two aspirin and a Diet Coke I took a cool shower—the weather forecast was calling for temps in the upper 90s. I ate a piece of toast and grabbed another Diet Coke for the road. I drove slowly to the office with the air conditioner on full blast. Usually, I stop in the real estate office to say hello, but I wasn’t feeling all that sociable.

  I finished up the itemized invoice for my work on the Dixie Fourth of July festival to turn in to the mayor’s office. The board would meet Tuesday night and I wanted to be sure my bill was on the list for approval. I felt that I’d more than earned that check.

  After placing the bill in an envelope, I was just about to run it over to city hall when my cell phone buzzed. Caller ID showed it was my mother. Against my better judgment I answered anyway.

  Mama was rattling on a mile a minute, but she was boohooing so loudly I couldn’t make out what she was saying. All I could decipher was something about Earl and “I can’t believe it.”

  She was so upset I could only speculate that Earl had had a lucid moment and broken off their engagement. I told her I’d come right over. My mama can be a drama queen at times, but a broken engagement truly would be a big deal and I couldn’t stand the thought of anybody breaking her heart.

  I drove the few blocks to her house, located on the opposite side of the town square from where Larry Joe and I live. I hurried into the house and didn’t have any trouble finding Mama since I could hear her sobs as soon as I opened the door. I walked through to the den and found her lying facedown on the sofa, soaking a blue chenille pillow with her tears.

  I sat down on the end of the sofa by her feet and patted her gently on the back. She sat up and blew her nose, honking into a wad of Kleenex. I gave her a moment to compose herself.

  “Mama, you were so upset I couldn’t understand much of what your were saying on the phone. What happened?”

  “Sheriff Davidson has lost his mind—that’s what happened. He marched Earl out of here in handcuffs after saying he was arresting him for murder. Murder—can you imagine! I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve pushed his sassy butt onto the sofa and sat on him until he came to his senses.”

  I brought up that image in my mind’s eye for a moment.

  “But I was in shock and Earl was talking all calmly, telling me everything was going to be okay. I just can’t believe it. The law waltzed in here and hauled off my fee-AHN-say like he was a common criminal.”

  She started tearing up again.

  “Mama, tell me exactly what Dave said. Did he say he was taking Earl in for questioning, or arresting him on suspicion of murder?”

  “When I opened the front door, the sheriff said he had a warrant for Earl’s arrest. He waved some paper in my face and pushed past me. He said something to Earl and then told the deputy to read him his rights. I ran over and hugged Earl’s neck and he was telling me to be calm, that it would be all right. Then the sheriff and the deputy ripped him from my arms and took him away,” she said before splaying herself across the sofa and placing the back of her hand to her forehead.

  She started to cry, going limp for a moment. Then she suddenly sat up straight as if she had a steel rod in her spine.

  “Liv, you and I know dang well Earl Daniels never killed anybody, not even somebody like Bubba Rowland, who probably needed killing. You’ve been able to steer the sheriff in the right direction a couple of times in the past when he had his sights set on an innocent person. I need you to do that for me now.”

  “Mama, I’ll do what I can, of course, but . . .”

  Before I could finish, she took me by the hands, looked earnestly into my eyes and said, “I hate to ask you to get involved in this, but your mama’s future happiness depends on it.”

  No pressure there.

  “And I’m sure you’ve been worried that I might be getting a little carried away with the wedding plans. But I swear to you on a stack of Bibles, if you clear Earl’s name we’ll have just a small, simple wedding. It won’t be any trouble at all for you.”

  I knew Mama’s idea of a simple wedding might mean settling for one swan instead of a flock. But the fact that she made the offer let me know how desperate she must be feeling.

  I gave her a big hug. “You just leave it to me, Mama.” I pulled back and gave her a stern look. “And I mean that. You leave it to me and behave yourself. The first thing we have to do is get a lawyer and see if we can get Earl released on bail. I’ll have Larry Joe call Bill Scott, the attorney for McKay Trucking. He doesn’t practice criminal defense, but he’ll know who we should talk to.

  “I’d better get going and see what I can find out,” I said, rising from the sofa. I gave Mama one last admonition to lay low for now, knowing it would be a temporary reprieve, at best.

  I called Larry Joe from the car and filled him in on Earl’s arrest. Within fifteen minutes he called back saying that Bill Scott had a friend in Memphis who was a top-notch defense attorney and that he would phone him personally. A little over an hour later the attorney was on his way from Memphis to meet with Earl.

  I had gone back to my office, thinking work would keep my mind occupied. Not to mention, I had a lot of items to check off my list for the baby shower this weekend.

  After I had talked to Larry Joe the first time, I had called my mother-in-law to let her know what was going on. She had offered to go over and be with Mama, for which I was thankful. Miss Betty is a kind and sensible person, who seems to exert a certain calming influence on my mother.

  In a bit, I called Holly, who exerts a certain calming influence on me. I told her about Earl’s arrest and that I might need to lean heavily on her for the baby shower, depending on what happened with Earl.

  “Awlright, darlin’,” she said. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  * * *

  The district attorney didn’t seem to think Earl was a danger to the general public, so he didn’t object when bail was set at $250,000. Fortunately, it wasn’t a problem for Earl to post bail out of his retirement savings.

  I had called Mama to let her know that Earl would be released on bail shortly and that La
rry Joe and I would pick him up at the jail. But before we returned Earl to Mama, we detoured by our house. I wanted to get as much information from Earl as I could without Mama interrupting constantly.

  We settled Earl into the recliner in our den and Larry Joe poured some Jack Daniels over ice and handed it to him. I wondered if Earl’s line of Daniels was any relation to Jack’s, but decided not to ask. After letting Earl sip on his whiskey for a minute and offering to fix him something to eat, an offer which he declined, I started with the obvious questions.

  “Earl, I know there was a long-running feud of sorts between you and Bubba. But I know Dave well enough to know he wouldn’t arrest you for murder based solely on that. What kind of evidence does he think he has against you?”

  “He never told me. But he kept asking me a lot of questions about my rifle, so I’m thinking that must be the key thing.”

  “Did he get a search warrant and confiscate your gun?” Larry Joe asked.

  “Didn’t have to. He asked me on Tuesday if he could take in my rifle from the gun rack in my truck to compare ballistics on the bullet that killed Bubba—and I gave him my permission.”

  Larry Joe threw his hands in the air and paced back and forth a few times.

  “Why in the world would you do that?”

  “That’s just what that attorney asked me. I guess the answer is, I didn’t kill Bubba so I didn’t feel the need to hide anything.”

  “Earl, why did you have the rifle in your rack?” Larry Joe asked. “It’s not hunting season.”

  “My brother-in-law has been having some coyote trouble. They’ve gotten some of his chickens more than once lately.”

  “Okay, so the rifle was in the gun rack in your truck in the grassy lot where you were helping with parking. Were you ever away from the parking lot during the day for any significant length of time?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I left for lunch,” he said.

  “Okay, so who was watching the lot while you were gone? Maybe they broke into your truck and took the rifle.”