by Vickie Fee
“I don’t know. I guess that depends on just how good of friends Bernice Halford and Nonie Jones are. Mrs. Jones would clearly be the one with the motive—her granddaughter getting cheated out of the Miss Dixie crown. But not many people would help even their closest friend commit murder,” Di said.
Chapter 13
Holly came to the office midmorning so we could finish working on the materials for the business expo. I wanted to get everything printed far enough ahead of time that we could have them reprinted if there were any problems.
At previous business fairs we had used posters on easels or vinyl banners hung on a backdrop. This time I was making an investment in a more premium display without busting the budget. We were beginning to book more business events, so I wanted to step up our game. Holly and I had been poring over trade show catalogs and online photos. We’d settled on a portable stand. The banner pulled up from the base and attached to a support bar. The banner retracted into the base for convenient transporting and storage.
“I think this looks like our best bet,” Holly said, pointing to one of several retractable banners we’d been comparing. “One of the galleries shows this model with the logo for a local company. Would you like me to call their sales department and ask if they’re happy with the way this product has performed for them?”
I said I thought that was a great idea. The product was well reviewed, but there’s nothing like talking to a customer who’s actually used it. The various retractable and pop-up banner stands ran from a few hundred to a few thousand dollars. We were definitely sticking in the few hundred range. But it was still a significant investment for my small business and I didn’t want to sacrifice quality.
Holly and I had brought bagged lunches from home so we could work through lunch. I told Holly I’d run across the street and get us two large iced teas while she made the phone call.
I crossed the street and met Dave walking toward me, apparently on his way to the courthouse.
“Liv,” he said, looking around to see if anyone was within earshot. “I’ve been giving some thought to what you said about a romantic gesture.” His voice dropped to a whisper when he said “romantic.”
“Yeah. What are you thinking?”
“What if I hired one of those places that do singing telegrams to send someone out to deliver a love song?”
I tried to give him credit for trying, even if he was off by a mile.
“That’s sweet, Dave. But I think what you really need is something a little more personal. Something you do yourself. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll come to you.”
He nodded with a confused look on his face before turning and jogging up the courthouse steps.
I thought about asking him about the case, but figured if he was actually having romantic ideas I owed it to Di not to interrupt his train of thought.
I ran into the diner and picked up two sweet teas to go. When I made it back to the office, Holly was off the phone and looking at the computer screen. I handed one of the cups to her and sat down across from her.
“Did you find out anything?”
“Yes, I talked to a nice young salesman. He said they’ve been very pleased with the retractable banners. He did suggest that, for transport purposes, we might be better off getting two four-feet-wide stands instead of one eight feet wide. But I was scrolling through the pictures and I think we might want to get one three feet wide and one five feet wide instead of having two side by side that are exactly the same size. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
We discussed other ideas over our brown-bag lunch. We had originally planned on having several images on the banner to represent different-sized events, suitable for a variety of budgets. But we decided to save that for the brochures and use only one large image on the bigger banner and feature just one smaller image, along with our business logo, on the smaller banner. The goal was to display images that would be attention grabbers and draw people to our booth.
After much deliberation, we made our selections. For the smaller panel, we decided to place a photo of a giggling child holding a balloon sculpture of a giraffe under the Liv 4 Fun logo. For the large panel, we chose a gorgeous shot from an elegant riverboat gambler–themed engagement party Holly and I had staged. The photo showed a handsome couple dancing and looking very much in love. The backdrop for the couple was the expansive entry of a stately home in Dixie and featured an impressive riverboat-shaped cake, as well as poster-sized king and queen of hearts cards hanging on the stair railing above them. Guests watching from double doorways on each side of the entry looked on admiringly, some applauding. The child’s photo represented pure joy. And the dancing photo exuded fun, romance, and fantasy.
We uploaded the image files and placed our order. We’d have to decide on photos and complete the design for the brochures, but we’d save that for another day since it wouldn’t take as long to have those printed.
“I think we’ve had a productive day, Holly. I’m excited about our displays.”
“I know. I can’t wait to see them full size.”
Holly started gathering her belongings, which included a file folder of ideas and images she had researched before coming to the office.
“Holly, you need to turn time sheets in to me, so I can get you a check.”
“I already turned my time sheet in. It’s on your desk there,” she said, nodding.
“I saw that, but it’s not complete. I know you have more hours than that, just with the time you’ve spent on Mama’s wedding.”
“Darlin’, I’m not turning in hours for your mama’s wedding. You’re not charging her.”
“No, no, Holly. My giving Mama the family discount doesn’t mean you don’t get a paycheck. If anything, you should be getting hazard pay for the extra dose of crazy.”
“I’m very fond of your mama. And while I agree with your decision to give up weddings as a major part of your business, it’s fun to do a wedding now and again. And your mama’s certainly going to keep things interesting. I won’t accept a dime. My mind’s made up.”
Holly grabbed her purse and files and waved to me over her shoulder as she walked out.
* * *
Meals had been mostly haphazard affairs around our house lately, so I decided to put in the effort to make a nice supper. And it doesn’t have to be from scratch to count as “nice” on my menu, as long as it’s not simply heat and serve or takeout. I stopped by the grocery store and picked up some eggs, cheeses, a couple of varieties of mushrooms, and refrigerated pie crust dough. I had some tomatoes and zucchini from Mama’s garden to make a quiche, which Larry Joe actually likes. I’d serve it with sausages on the side, which he likes even better. And I grabbed some Chubby Hubby ice cream for good measure.
I took my groceries to the checkout stands. Only one person was ahead of me when I got in line, and she had only a handful of items in her cart. Then I noticed Cassie Latham was the cashier in the next lane. I rolled my cart over and got into the longer line.
After the cashier in my former lane finished bagging the groceries for the lady who had been in front of me, she started waving and saying, “Lane open; no waiting on register three.” I put my head down and tried to avoid eye contact, thinking surely there must be other people in this store ready to check out.
The woman in line ahead of me in Cassie’s lane touched my sleeve and said, “Excuse me, if you aren’t moving to the open register, could you back up and let me out?”
I did and it was an awkward moment as the neighboring cashier wondered, I’m sure, what I had against her. I was hoping Cassie was too busy ringing up items to notice the shuffle.
The line seemed to slowly creep forward. As soon as there was some room on the conveyor belt I began hurriedly dumping my foodstuffs onto it. When the customer in front of me stepped away I wanted to be standing in front of Cassie, giving me as much time as possible to chat. Then I had the idea to “accidentally” leave a couple of items in the bottom
of the basket, so I could spot them as she finished ringing up items to give me a little extra time with her. If I had noticed Cassie was a checker when I entered the store I would have piled more groceries into my cart. Poor planning.
“Hi, Mrs. McKay. Do you have any coupons today?” She started ringing up items without waiting for a response, so I didn’t feel obliged to give one.
“Cassie, congratulations on being named first runner-up in the Miss Dixie pageant.”
“Thank you. It was a lot of fun and I’m honored to have done so well,” she said what I’m sure had become a well-rehearsed line since the competition.
“You have every right to be proud. Still, it had to be a bit disappointing, especially when so many people—including me, I might add—thought you should have won hands down. Jennifer’s a sweet girl, but she just wasn’t your match in the talent portion of the competition.”
“That’s very kind of you to say,” she said, keeping her head down and focused on sliding items across the built-in scanner.
“Of course, it was probably harder for your mom to accept the loss than for you. Parents can’t help but feel it deeply when their child suffers an injustice like that. I’m sure that’s why she felt she just had to confront Bubba Rowland with the rumors about him bribing one of the judges.”
Cassie finally made eye contact with me, and it wasn’t a friendly glance.
“My mama tends to get emotional. I’m afraid she embarrassed herself—and me—by causing a scene. She calmed down after Grandma Nonie talked some sense into her.”
“Of course, of course. I don’t fault a mother for taking up for her kid. Nobody does, Cassie. Still, it was a shame she was too upset to stick around for the fireworks show. She was seen leaving before it started.”
Cassie, visibly piqued by that last remark, simply told me my total, hoping to dispatch me quickly.
“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry. I got distracted and missed a couple of items in my cart,” I said, picking them up and putting them on the belt.
This solicited that look of disdain that teenagers do so well.
“For the record, Mom didn’t leave the festival after the winners were announced, despite the fact that someone says she did,” she said, obviously referring to Earl. “She just left the stage area and went to the winners’ tent to help my grandma with the cleaning. I went over and joined them myself a few minutes later to finish up.”
I knew that was a bald-faced lie. I walked past the tent several times during the evening and they had finished with cleanup well before the day’s winners were announced onstage. Since many more people attend the fireworks show than the various individual contests during the festival, introducing all the winners of the day just before the pyrotechnics begin has become a tradition.
I smiled at Cassie, who was once again avoiding eye contact, and I had to wonder why she felt the need to lie for her mother.
* * *
I had sliced and thrown together the ingredients for my quiche and was just popping it in the oven when Larry Joe came in from the garage.
He gave me a quick kiss and said, “Did you hear about the break-in out at the new development offices last night?”
“No, I carried my lunch today and didn’t really talk to anyone except Holly. What happened?”
“The contractor’s and sales office at the construction site for the new development was trashed and graffiti was spray painted all over the walls. The other trailer, which had housed offices for Bubba Rowland and another investment partner, was set on fire. A smoldering metal shell was all that was left by the time the volunteer fire department made it to the site.”
“Was anyone hurt? Do they know who did it?”
“No one was hurt, thank God,” Larry Joe said. “Dave hasn’t arrested anybody. But the graffiti makes me wonder if it was some of Webster Flack’s group.”
“Vandalism is one thing—not that I’m condoning it. But arson is a whole other thing. Do you really think Webster or his crew could be involved?”
“I don’t know, but you said you saw him and Bubba almost come to blows the day of the festival. And it’s all but certain he or one of his group spray painted hateful things on the Rowland’s building. Sometimes these things can escalate.”
After we’d eaten and cleared the dishes, Larry Joe went into the den. I joined him in there, carrying a bowl of Chubby Hubby ice cream for each of us. He turned down the volume on the TV as I walked in.
“You know how I told you I thought Dad was up to something?” he said. “I’m sure of it now.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know exactly. But he’s been taking phone calls on his cell phone and walking outside to talk. You know how he hates cell phones. He usually won’t even leave it turned on, carries one mostly for emergencies.”
“That is a little odd,” I said.
“Then the other day, he walked out of the office. In a bit when he hadn’t come back, I walked out the front to check on him and his truck was gone. He just drove off without saying a word to our secretary, Charlene, or me. And he was gone almost two hours. He never does that.”
“Honey, that really concerns me. I know your dad would never run around on your mom, which would be one explanation for his recent behavior. I don’t want to worry you, but I have to wonder if he has some health issue he’s hiding from you and your mother.”
Larry Joe went quiet for a moment, then put his arm around me. I laid my head on his shoulder.
“I may have to have a talk with the geezer,” he said.
“If you do, go easy on him.”
“Yeah, I will.”
The TV had been playing a hushed laugh track along with a not very funny sitcom as we talked. Larry Joe turned up the volume just as the nine o’clock news came on and there was a reporter standing in front of a burned-out trailer.
“I’m here in Dixie where a suspected act of arson destroyed this trailer behind me. It housed offices for the large planned new development here that has stirred a lot of controversy with conservation activists,” he said.
Crime scene tape separated the reporter from Dave and Ted, who were talking with the fire chief from Hartville, standing amid the ashes and scorched earth in front of the fire-ravaged trailer hull.
“Hartville Fire Chief Paul Ruby and his team have been sifting through rubble and examining the scene today. Here’s what Chief Ruby had to say.”
The screen cut to the fire official making a brief statement.
“Evidence of accelerants makes it likely this fire was an act of arson. We’ll be taking evidence back to the lab for examination,” Chief Ruby said.
“Sheriff Dave Davidson said he had no comment at this time,” the reporter said.
Larry Joe shut off the TV with a click of the remote control.
“Wow. I can’t believe the way that trailer was destroyed. If Webster is behind this, he has gone completely off the rails,” I said.
“Yep. Whoever did it, I hope Dave catches him and puts him away,” he said. “Speaking of putting away, I’m headed for bed. You coming up?”
“Yeah, in just a minute.”
“Tell Di I said hello,” he said, patting me on the knee before rising from the sofa.
He knows me so well, I thought.
He walked toward the staircase and I went into the kitchen and grabbed my cell phone off the counter and called Di.
“Hi. Did you see the news?”
“Yeah.”
“Larry Joe said the graffiti seems to point to Webster Flack or some of his group. Do you think he’s behind it?”
“I don’t know, but that’s a pretty ugly scene for a tree hugger who claims he just wants to preserve the natural beauty and wildlife habitat of the area,” Di said.
“I know. Whoever is guilty I hope Dave catches them soon. Vandalism, murder, and arson—people in Dixie are going to have to start locking their doors.
“By the way, have you said anything to Dave about Bernice Halford
being the most likely suspect to have slipped the laxatives to Bubba?”
“No. We haven’t discussed Bubba’s digestive issues recently,” she said with her deadpan charm.
“I think I’m going to talk to Dave about it tomorrow. I’d like to think he’s paying attention to someone besides Earl for a change.”
Chapter 14
I had walked over to Town Square Diner to order a chef’s salad to go when I spotted Nonie Jones and Bernice Halford sitting together in a corner booth. Just before I placed my order I noticed that Bernice was saying her good-byes, leaving Nonie on her own. I told Mabel to give me a moment and I went over and slid into the booth across from Nonie.
“Miss Nonie, how are you doing?”
“Other than my arthritis flare-ups I don’t have much to complain about, especially for my age.”
She had a friendly tone, but seemed wary of me. I decided I’d better sweeten the pot before I dropped her into hot water.
“I’m sure many people have already told you this, but I just wanted to say I thought Cassie should have been crowned Miss Dixie. The judging results were truly unfortunate. She is obviously such a talented young lady and it must have been very disappointing.”
“Well, thank you. I think she’s gifted, but then I’m more than a mite partial,” she said.
I decided to press things a bit.
“Cassie handled the disappointment with such poise, especially for someone her age. She was a real trooper when they announced the winners and runners-up onstage. Lynn had a harder time concealing her feelings, naturally—as any mother would under the circumstances,” I said.
“My daughter unfortunately deals with her emotions by drinking. I’m sorry folks saw her make a scene with Bubba Rowland. I know that was embarrassing for my granddaughter. We’ll never know for sure if Bubba influenced the judges or not. And I do sincerely feel bad for Jennifer; her uncle getting killed was tragic and cast a pall over her big night.”
“Oh, of course,” I said. “It’s so, so sad.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to harvest some things in my garden before they wilt on the vine. It’s been so dry.”
