One Fete in the Grave

by Vickie Fee

  We sat on a bench next to the vacant storefront, where we could talk in relative privacy.

  “Okay,” Di said. “What about Webster Flack? You said he almost came to blows with Bubba the morning of the festival. He was dead set against that new development and he was also trying to win Bubba’s seat on the town council. And he, or some of his group anyway, spray painted obscenities on the side of Bubba’s building.”

  “All that really proves is that they can’t spell. I’m not sure Webster gains anything by Bubba’s death. The development will almost certainly still go through.”

  “He’ll be running unopposed for Bubba’s spot on the council, won’t he?”

  “I’m not sure about that, either,” I said. “I should find out. There may still be time for someone else to file to run in the election.”

  “What about Bubba’s brother?” Di asked. “Were they close? They co-owned the business, so now I suppose it all goes to the brother.”

  “Yeah,” I said, mulling that over for a moment. “But if their arrangement is like that of most businesses, they both drew a salary. Bruce would have more control over the business now, I guess, but he won’t be in for a big financial windfall unless he sells the business, which would surprise me. And as far as I could tell they got along.”

  “Hmm,” Di said. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Me neither. I’ll call Dorothy, the mayor’s secretary, Monday morning and see if it’s too late for someone to file to run against Webster in the general election. And I’ll ask Earl if he knows about Bubba and Bruce’s business partnership or whose bank account might get fatter from the new development now that Bubba’s out of the way.”

  Chapter 9

  I usually go to the 10:15 service at Dixie Community Church. But I had set the alarm for 6:20 so I could make it to the 8:00 service, the one Mama and Earl usually attend. I wanted to be there to show my support, and Larry Joe, whose church attendance is sporadic at best, actually got up early to go with me.

  “Are you sure your mama and Earl are going to services today? Did you talk to her?” Larry Joe asked as he fixed himself a bowl of cereal.

  “I didn’t talk to her about it, but I’m certain she wouldn’t do anything that might give the slightest impression she thinks Earl is guilty. Besides, not everyone in town has seen her engagement ring yet.”

  I was wearing a sleeveless pink floral dress and Larry Joe was clad in khakis and a golf shirt when we strolled into church at five minutes to eight. The building is mostly free of adornment, with only the pews and the cross on the façade indicating that it’s a church.

  Mama and Earl were sitting in their usual spot. Mama’s friend Sylvia, who generally gets on my last nerve, reluctantly scooted to the end of the pew to let me sit next to Mama, with Larry Joe next to me. Earl was seated on Mama’s left and she had her arm draped over his, prominently displaying her bedazzled left hand.

  A lady with a wobbly warble had the solo in the choir special. I thought I was going to have to pinch Larry Joe to keep him from laughing. The tone became decidedly somber when the pastor launched into a sermon on being prepared to meet our maker.

  After the final amen, lots of people came over to offer their prayers and words of support to Earl. However, I couldn’t help but notice a few people attempting to skulk past us avoiding eye contact. It may not have been Christian of me, but I was taking names in my head.

  We begged off from going out to eat with Mama and Earl. I felt Larry Joe and I had performed our duty by putting in a rare appearance at the early service. I heated us up a breakfast of leftovers from the baby shower brunch. There were still remainders after Holly and I had left ample portions of what would keep in the fridge for Heather and Josh and boxed up and sent home as much as the guests were willing to take with them.

  I warmed up the ham on biscuits in the microwave, along with some cheesy grits, and spooned some Greek yogurt and fresh strawberries into small bowls.

  We ate mostly in silence as Larry Joe read the sports section and I flipped through the entertainment section of the Sunday paper.

  My phone buzzed and caller ID indicated it was Heather.

  “Hi, Heather. I’ve been thinking about you. How are you doing?”

  “Oh, we’re doing just fine.”

  I could hear some sweet coos and gurgles and envisioned that she was holding the baby close to her face.

  “I was in labor for kind of a long time and they ended up keeping us overnight. We got home a couple of hours ago. I just wanted to thank you and Holly for taking charge and keeping my mom and mother-in-law in line, and for staying and cleaning everything up. That was so sweet of you.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Glad to do it. So tell me about the new arrival. How much did she weigh? Who does she look like? And what’s her name?”

  “She weighs eight pounds six ounces and is twenty inches long. I’m not sure who she looks like, although Josh’s mom thinks she looks like her. And her name is Haley.”

  “Aww, she sounds just perfect. I can’t wait to hold her. You take care and try to sleep while she’s sleeping.”

  After I hung up with Heather I filled Larry Joe in on the baby’s stats.

  “More than eight pounds is a good size for a newborn, right?”

  “Yes, it is,” I said. “I’m sure she looks nicely filled out—and probably won’t be wearing those newborn-sized sleepers she got at the shower for very long.”

  Larry Joe said he was heading to the golf course to play nine holes. After he left, I loaded the dishwasher and was wiping off the table when the landline rang. It was my sister.

  “Hi, Emma. I have to ask, why are you suddenly calling me on the landline instead of on my cell?”

  “Because I want to know that you’re home and able to talk privately and not sitting in a restaurant or some public place. I need to talk to you about Mama—even if you don’t want to hear it.”

  I knew I’d been a little rough on her the other night. Then again she had hung up on me, and no apology seemed to be forthcoming.

  “Liv, I just got off the phone with my friend Nicole, who called to let me know—since apparently my own sister doesn’t feel the need to let me know what’s going on—that Mama was at church this morning with Earl. She said she was kind of surprised to see them there this morning after Earl’s arrest and everything. Imagine my surprise. Nobody bothered to tell me that Earl had been arrested—for murder, no less.”

  I never did like Nicole, who was one of Emma’s best friends in high school. I had thought she was catty and low class even back then. Her phone call to Emma did nothing to change my opinion of her.

  “Emma, Earl Daniels did not kill anyone. I know that in my heart of hearts, and so does Mama. She’s standing by his side through this difficult time. And Larry Joe and I intend to do the same.”

  “You are unbelievable. What kind of spell does this man have y’all under? Don’t you see that we have to protect our mama from this man, at the very least until he’s been cleared of a murder charge? Or have you completely lost your mind?”

  “You were dead set against Earl anyway. His arrest is just a convenient excuse for you to take aim at him.”

  “Convenient excuse? Is that what you call it? Liv, if you won’t talk some sense into Mama I’ll have no choice but to drive down to Dixie and do it myself. I was wondering if maybe we should talk to the doctor about her medication. But I’m beginning to wonder if I should talk to the doctor about you.”

  I hung up on her.

  I hoped the talk about her driving down to Dixie to pester Mama was just an idle threat. I was so stirred up after Emma’s phone call that I couldn’t sit still. I busied myself with cleaning the bathroom and mopping the kitchen.

  After finishing my frenzied round of chores, I flopped onto the sofa in the den and flipped mindlessly through cable television channels. After a few minutes of that nonsense I pulled myself together.

  You need to get busy clearing Earl’s name,
I thought.

  I grabbed a notepad and pen from the kitchen drawer and started a list of what I knew so far, which was “not much.”

  Larry Joe came in from his golf game and took a quick shower. I decided turning on the stove or cooktop in this heat was out of the question. So, I put some corn on the cob, still in the husks, in the microwave and set about slicing tomatoes and other vegetables fresh from Mama’s garden. I tossed a salad that inluded butter lettuce, raw zucchini, squash, and carrots, peeled off the husks and buttered the steaming hot corn; and called to Larry Joe that supper was ready.

  I made my salad a vegetarian affair, but added some chopped ham to Larry Joe’s, since we had some leftover ham and biscuits from brunch and he’s definitely happier when there’s a bit of meat on his plate.

  “This salad’s good, honey,” Larry Joe said. “And I think these tomatoes are perfectly ripe.”

  “Yeah, I think we’ve hit peak on this summer’s tomatoes. How was your golf game?”

  “My score’s nothing to brag about. But the men in the clubhouse all seem to believe in Earl’s innocence—or at least that’s the line they’re feeding me.”

  “Mmm, did you notice how some people at church this morning were making a point of slipping past us without speaking to Mama or Earl?”

  “I did. But try not to let it worry you. There’re always a few. So have you and Di zeroed in on any likely suspects yet?”

  “Not really, but that reminds me. Do you know if anybody involved in this new development might get a bigger slice of it now that Bubba’s out of the way?”

  “No, but it’s altogether possible Bubba was accepting bribes or kickbacks from the developer to push through approvals on the town council. If that’s the case, he’ll be able to keep more cash in his wallet now. That kind of thing would be hard to prove, though. I’m sure Dave is digging into the financials.”

  “Bubba was a major investor in the development, too, wasn’t he? Will his share go to Bruce now, or mean a bigger slice of the pie for the other investors?”

  “Nobody’s made any money yet. I don’t know how much cash Bubba had actually put in, but I doubt the developer would have any trouble lining up other investors. I’ll ask a couple of golf buddies who’d probably know something about it.”

  “Do you know anything about this developer? He’s not from Dixie. What’s his name, something Rankin?”

  “Aaron Rankin,” Larry Joe said. “I met him at the country club. I think he hit up a number of his investors out on the golf course. And he’s from Memphis, but somebody told me he has relatives in Hartville.”

  “See if you can find someone who knows him personally, maybe knows his family over in Hartville, will you?”

  “I’ll try. But what are you thinking? Is he a suspect?”

  “At this point everybody’s a suspect. But something Winette said has been bothering me. She seems to think this development plan doesn’t add up. She said they’re overbuilding the residential and the kind of retail in the plans doesn’t seem practical. Even more telling, though, she said Mr. Sweet, who never misses out on a good real estate investment opportunity, passed on this one. It makes me wonder if this Rankin guy is a bit shady.”

  “I’ll see what I can dig up. Even if he didn’t kill Bubba, if there’s a chance he’s playing fast and loose with some of our friends’ life savings, he needs to be found out.”

  I nodded sullenly and took a big swallow of iced tea, cupping the glass with both hands and enjoying the feeling of the cold condensation under my fingers.

  “I’m going to call Dorothy at the mayor’s office in the morning and ask if Webster Flack gets to run unopposed now that Bubba’s gone, or if there’s still time for someone else to get on the ballot,” I said.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “I figure it’s worth checking. But honestly, I think Webster and his band of protesters are just morons.”

  “Nothing to say morons can’t be dangerous,” Larry Joe said.

  * * *

  After supper Larry Joe said he needed to catch up on some paperwork, so I told him I’d probably run over to Di’s if she was around.

  I picked up my phone and suddenly had the brilliant idea that if I walked through the festival grounds it might prod my memory about something from the day of the murder. Di was amenable to meeting me at the park for a stroll.

  I arrived first and was standing beside the World War II veterans’ memorial when I saw Di pull up.

  “It’s not as hot as it was earlier, but still we’ll probably want to stay mostly in the shade,” she suggested.

  Fortunately, the paved walking track that snaked through the park was at least partly shaded by large white oaks for most of its one and a half miles, and by this time of day the shadows were beginning to lengthen.

  “I thought a walk couldn’t hurt,” I told Di. “But I’m also hoping returning to the scene of the crime might help me remember something that would help with the investigation. I mean, I was here all day. I’m bound to have seen or heard something that I’m just forgetting.”

  “Okay, sounds like a plan. So what was set up in this area?” Di asked.

  “The information booth was here,” I said, taking a wide side step onto the grass beside the beginning of the walking track and slicing both my hands downward in a vertical karate chop.

  This was the spot where I had stowed my clipboards and bag of tricks—miscellany I thought I might need, such as sunscreen; lip balm; a second pair of shoes, in case my feet started hurting; and a clean shirt, in case I spilled something on the front of mine.

  “This is where I started out and I came by here periodically throughout the day.”

  The key thing about this particular spot was that it was near the main entrance, where most people passed through on their way into the festival grounds, and of course, many also passed by on their way out.

  “I remember Bubba stopping by the information booth and chatting for a moment, thanking me for taking on the event and telling me how he’d appreciate my vote.”

  “About what time was that?” Di asked. “Was he just arriving for the day?”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to remember.

  “I’m pretty sure it was just after the 5K had concluded. Yeah, yeah, I remember several walkers/ runners walking by with their just collected race T-shirts while I was talking to Bubba.”

  “Did they hold the 5K on the walking track here?”

  “No. All the booths were set up here. They had a circle track set up on the small field near the bridge over Tiptoe Creek,” I said, gesturing to indicate the area.

  “Okay, so which way did Bubba go after that and was he with anybody after he wandered away from the booth?”

  “He talked to some of the 5K people. I’m pretty sure he wandered in that direction,” I said nodding northward to the area that terminated in the vicinity of the open area where most people were gathered for the fireworks and the porta potties beyond that. “That would make sense, though, since most of the booths, games, and judging tents were set up between here and there.”

  “Good. Let’s keep walking. What was set up in this area and what was going on after the 5K?” Di asked.

  We talked as we walked farther up the walking track.

  “The next big events were the judging of the jams, jellies, and preserves, followed by the judging of the cakes and pies, respectively.”

  “Any drama go on there?”

  “There’s always drama surrounding the kudzu jelly contest. One of the same two women has won it for the past twenty years or more. They kind of alternate and each one has her dedicated fans. It’s actually so contentious it’s hard to find people willing to serve as judges. They know whichever way it goes, some little group will be going home mad.”

  “I never knew the canning world could be so cutthroat,” Di said.

  “It’s rough enough that my mama actually gave up on the jelly competition years ago, and she’s not on
e to walk away from a fight.”

  “So was Bubba around for the canning or baking competition?”

  “He was,” I said, stopping in my tracks and turning to face Di. “I’d forgotten all about that. Bubba was a judge in the cakes contest. And he was a last-minute replacement, too. He filled in for another councilman, who had stepped in a gopher hole out on the golf course and twisted his ankle.”

  We sat down on a park bench and I stared at the empty space where the cake-judging tent had stood on the day of the festival trying to summon everything I could remember.

  “I stepped into the tent entrance just as the judges were tasting the last few entries in the chocolate cake category,” I said.

  “How many categories are there?”

  “Just two. Chocolate and nonchocolate.”

  “All food pretty much falls into those two categories.”

  I tried to envision the scene in the tent when I entered.

  “I had walked past earlier, but I made a point of coming back because Mama had entered her triple chocolate cake. As I stepped into the tent, Bubba, the mayor, and Miss Hicks, the librarian, were sampling the last couple of entries. After scribbling notes on their judging sheets, the three of them huddled into a little circle and whispered for a few minutes; then Mayor Haynes handed a list to Miss Hicks and she announced the winners and presented the ribbons. Our pastor’s wife, Cheryl Duncan, came in third. Mama came in second, and Bernice Halford took the blue ribbon.”

  “Well, I’d like a slice of the cake that could beat your mama’s. Her chocolate cake is probably the best I’ve ever tasted. Do you think the judging was rigged, like with the beauty pageant?”

  “No. Honestly, I think they just like to spread the love around and not give the blue ribbon to the same person every time,” I said.

  “So you don’t think your mother or the preacher’s wife would have taken Bubba out over losing the blue ribbon?” Di said with a wicked smile.

  “Actually I think Miss Hicks would bear the brunt of their displeasure if they were inclined to hold a grudge. I mean, what would the mayor or Bubba know about baking anyway? Besides, I think giving Cheryl Duncan a ribbon of any color was probably an act of charity. I’ve never tasted her chocolate cake, but I have had her banana pudding and it was no prize. I left right after the winners were announced. There didn’t seem to be any controversy or hard feelings.”