One Fete in the Grave

by Vickie Fee

  “Actually, what I wanted to ask you was, when did your mama tell you about the ex-lax Bernice put in Bubba’s dessert?”

  “I already told the sheriff that, too. She didn’t tell me anything,” Lynn said.

  “Bernice says she put the laxative in the cake just to make Bubba suffer a little. And she told your mama so she could enjoy seeing him suffer. I can’t believe Nonie didn’t want to share that same joy with you.”

  “I don’t much care what you believe. I don’t wish anything bad on Earl, and I hope he and your mama will be very happy together. But regardless of my feelings about Bubba, I didn’t have nothing to do with killing him.”

  Mrs. Anderson came in through the front door, jangling the bells hanging from it as she did. Lynn put her head down and quickly slid back into her seat at the worktable and tried to look busy.

  I didn’t want to cause her any trouble with her boss, so I spoke to Mrs. Anderson, called out “good-bye” to Lynn, and left the shop.

  * * *

  It was time to put reality aside for a while and work on Mama’s fantasy wedding. Honestly, trying to pull together the outrageous bits of Mama’s vision into something cohesive had become a welcome respite from the ugliness and seeming futility of investigating Bubba’s murder.

  I had an appointment to meet with Kenny Mitchell. He was going to show me some sketches he had drawn up for the Viking ship figurehead for Mama’s gondola, based on a couple of carved faces I had shown him online. Kenny is a go-to member of my Liv 4 Fun team, along with Harold. Both work for me on a part-time, as-needed basis. I had confidence in Kenny’s talent, and I also appreciated the fact that he didn’t laugh when I explained to him what we were going for, as ridiculous as it must have sounded.

  Kenny was meeting me at Harold’s house, or, more specifically, in the workshop behind Harold’s house. Kenny, a young man, lives in a small apartment, and Harold, a retired electrician, lets Kenny use his well-equipped woodworking shop for projects.

  I had found a couple of carved wooden faces, and Kenny was trying to figure out a way to make it blend and look like it belonged on the front of the flat-bottomed boat we were considering as a stand-in for a gondola.

  Honestly, most of the drawings of Viking ships I’d seen featured a figurehead of a dragon or fearsome sea creature. But we weren’t going for authenticity here and I knew Mama had something more glamorous in mind. Many of the figureheads I looked at were mermaids, but since we would be using a much smaller boat, I thought just a head or a bust would work better proportionally. When I gave the dimensions of the boat and the carved figures to Kenny, he had agreed. He had also picked out a Victorian woman’s head from among the images I had sent him, saying he thought it would work best.

  As Kenny flipped through his sketchpad showing me his ideas, I was grateful for the window air-conditioning unit pouring cold air into the small concrete-block building. After a couple of minutes, Harold came in wearing a stained T-shirt straining to cover his beer belly, with a Budweiser bottle in his hand to make sure it stayed full.

  “Kenny’s done a fine job on them sketches,” Harold said, strolling over and taking a look at the drawings over my shoulders. “He’s got a good head for carpentry, as well as having good hands for the work.”

  “You’re embarrassing me in front of the boss, man,” Kenny said, his dreadlocks flopping as he shook his head.

  I took some pride in the fact I had brought these two together through the work they did for my clients and me. It had been nearly a year since I met Kenny through Winette—he goes to her church—and brought him on board as a freelance employee with Liv 4 Fun. Harold obviously had a fatherly fondness for Kenny, and the admiration was mutual.

  “I’ll place the order for the lady head today. Buy whatever supplies you need at Earl Daniels’s store and have the salesclerk put it on my account,” I said. “Kenny, can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  Kenny didn’t have a car, or a driver’s license, for that matter, because of some trouble he’d gotten into over drugs. But he’d gotten active in church and sorted himself out. In another year he hoped to be able to get a driver’s license again. Having wheels would definitely make his work as a carpenter easier.

  Kenny thanked me for the offer of a ride but said he was helping Harold on another project.

  “He’s apprenticing as my plumber’s assistant and I’m apprenticing as his carpenter’s helper,” Harold said. “I’ll take him home later.”

  * * *

  After I left Harold’s house I ran by the grocery store and picked up some peel-and-eat shrimp, a squeeze bottle of tartar sauce, hoagie rolls, and deli cole slaw for dinner—no cooking required.

  I didn’t see Cassie working any of the registers. But after our uncomfortable chat the other day, I thought it would be best if I avoided contact for a bit anyway.

  Back at the house, I peeled and roughly chopped the shrimp and some celery and mixed it with mayo, Old Bay Seasoning, and a bit of lemon juice. I split and lightly toasted the hoagie rolls, and dinner was ready to plate up as soon as Larry Joe made it home.

  We took our plates and glasses of iced tea into the den and ate our sandwich supper while we stared at some mindless TV program.

  After we finished eating, Larry Joe clicked off the television with the remote.

  “Liv, are you on to anything new about the murder investigation? You haven’t said much about it in a few days. It worries me when you and Di are quietly scheming.”

  “I don’t know that there’s anything new. I dropped by All Sewn Up today with some clothes in need of mending and had a chat with Lynn Latham. She insists Earl is wrong about seeing her leave the festival before the fireworks, even though Earl seems certain it was her. And when I chatted with Cassie earlier this week while she was ringing up my groceries she lied and said she and her mom were helping clean up in the winners’ dinner tent during the fireworks, when I know it was already cleaned up and cleared out well before the fireworks show. It worries me that Cassie thinks her mom needs an alibi. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re asking the right questions and you’re bound to come up with some answers eventually. I also think Earl is lucky to have you in his corner,” he said.

  Larry Joe patted my knee as he got up from the sofa.

  “Hon, I’m going to run over to the folks’ house. I promised my mama I’d help Daddy rehang a couple of doors that he’s repaired, sanded, and refinished. She doesn’t want him to hurt himself. And it is unwieldy to hang a door by yourself.”

  “Okay.”

  Larry Joe leaned down and gave me a quick kiss before leaving.

  I refilled my glass with iced tea and sat down at the kitchen table before giving Di a call.

  “So did you find out anything from Bruce today at the store?” I asked.

  “Not really. But I did learn something from Ted when I ran into him and Daisy at the ice cream parlor this afternoon. We should have fixed him up with Daisy sooner. He sticks his chest out like a puffed-up pigeon and gets all chatty about his work as an officer of the law when she’s around.”

  “We didn’t exactly fix them up, but tell me what Ted said that’s so interesting.”

  “You know we were wondering who knew about Bubba’s stomach distress.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, in addition to Bernice, who slipped him the laxative, and Nonie, Bruce knew for sure. Apparently, Bubba told his brother that his tummy was kind of letting loose and that he thought he might need to go home. Bruce told him to hang on and he’d see if Carrie had something in her purse that might settle his stomach. Bruce said he gave Bubba an Imodium pill, but it must not have taken effect before he got killed.”

  “That just tells us that Bruce and Carrie and whoever was within earshot knew Bubba had stomach troubles,” I said.

  “According to Ted, it may tell us more than that. Bruce said that he gave Bubba the Imodium and that he and another man at the whiskey cart saw Bubba swallow it
. But the lab results didn’t show any Imodium or whatever its chemical name is in Bubba’s system. There was some antihistamine in his system, though. They can’t know for sure when Bubba took the allergy pill—he could have taken it earlier in the day. But it could be Bruce had asked Carrie for an allergy pill and just told Bubba it was a stomach pill.”

  “I’m not sure I understand why Bruce would do that.”

  “If Bubba was talking about going home—and both Bruce and that guy at the whiskey cart, I think his name was Henry, heard him say so—but Bruce didn’t want Bubba to go home just yet, he could have given him a pill Bubba believed was for his stomach upset. Bubba probably would’ve hung around a bit after taking the pill to see if it helped. However, since it wasn’t a stomach pill, Bubba still would have ended up running to the porta potty, placing him precisely where the killer wanted him to be during the fireworks,” Di said.

  “I get it. And that would make Bruce the prime suspect.”

  “So, what did you find out from Lynn?” Di asked.

  I filled her in on my meager conversation with Lynn.

  “So where does she fall on your list as a suspect now?”

  “She has a motive, and when I chatted with Cassie in the checkout lane at the grocery store the other day, she was obviously lying about where her mom was when the fireworks began, which tells me she at least believes her mom could be involved in Bubba’s murder.”

  “Holly was on the festival grounds most of the day helping out, wasn’t she?” Di asked.

  “Yeah, she was. Holly manned the booth off and on. A couple of volunteers took turns minding the booth most of the rest of the time,” I said.

  “Have you run through the day with her, like we did at the park? I’m sure Dave’s interviewed her, but maybe it would help jog your memory if you went through things with Holly to see what she remembers, especially from the vantage point of the information booth,” Di said. “She may have even seen Lynn or Cassie or Nonie around the time the fireworks began.”

  “I’ll ask Holly about it when I see her on Monday. But honestly, Lynn was so upset and so drunk, at least when I saw her, I doubt she had a clear enough head or a steady enough hand to actually have shot Bubba.”

  Chapter 16

  Larry Joe and his dad had a 10 AM tee time and they had invited Earl to join them.

  I thought it was thoughtful of them to include Earl. I hoped it would take his mind off his troubles for a bit.

  Since my husband and father-in-law were performing good works, I decided I should run an errand of mercy myself and check on Mama, especially since it had been a few days since I’d really talked to her. And since it was Sunday I thought it might make up for the fact I’d blown off going to church.

  I knew Mama and Earl would have eaten breakfast before attending eight o’clock church services. I also knew the men would grab lunch at the country club after their game. So I called Mama and offered to pick up some muffins at Dixie Donuts and More and come keep her company for a while.

  I had asked Mama if she had any special requests before I stopped by the doughnut shop. She asked for chocolate chip and blueberry. I figured it was too late in the morning to get muffins hot out of the oven, but I knew we could always heat them in the microwave and they would taste almost as good as just baked.

  I was in luck, though. Renee had just taken blueberry muffins out of the oven when I walked in the bakery.

  “Hi, Renee,” I said, standing in the small, empty dining area furnished with bistro tables. “I’m surprised you’re baking more muffins this late in the morning.”

  “I’m just getting ready for my little afternoon rush. There’s one group of older church ladies who always come by here for muffins or doughnuts after they eat lunch at the diner. They usually roll in here just after noon. And I get other churchgoers stopping by to pick up something on their way home. And if Mabel runs out of pie at the diner, I sometimes get a pretty big crowd.”

  “I never realized the dynamics of Sunday pastry sales was so complex,” I said.

  “So what can I get for you, Liv?”

  “Just let me have two blueberry muffins and two chocolate chip muffins, please.”

  “Are you picking up for you and Larry Joe?”

  “Actually, I’m picking up for me and Mama and then heading over to her house. Our men are out on the golf course this morning. Mama will want two muffins, one of each, and I’ll leave one for Earl.”

  “How are your mama and Earl holding up? It seems so unfair him having these legal difficulties just after the two of them got engaged. I think they make a cute couple, by the way. And for the record, neither Fred nor me believe for a minute that Earl Daniels could kill anybody.”

  “Thanks, Renee. I appreciate your support. I’m sure Dave will find the real killer. He has a good record on that front.”

  “With a little help from you from time to time,” she said with a knowing smile as she boxed up the muffins.

  “Well, I don’t know about that. But, in the meantime, Larry Joe and his dad are distracting Earl with a game of golf. And I’m trying to keep Mama occupied with wedding plans.”

  “That sounds like a winning plan to me. You give my best to your mama.”

  “I will,” I said as I paid Renee for my order.

  * * *

  As I entered through Mama’s back door, I noticed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and a pile of magazine clippings scattered on the kitchen table.

  At first I felt piqued that she was ambushing me with wedding plans. But then I reasoned that looking at photographs of normal people’s weddings might help guide Mama in a different direction.

  I sat the box of muffins on the counter and called out to let Mama know I was there. I heard the clack of her sandals against the parquet floor as she made her way to the kitchen. She gave me a quick hug before helping herself to a muffin.

  “Mmm, these are still warm,” she said with a mouthful of blueberry muffin.

  She had changed from her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes into a sleeveless top and crop pants—frankly not a flattering look for her and one I doubted she’d leave the house in.

  I retrieved mugs from the cabinet and poured us some coffee and Mama sat down at the table.

  “I’m glad Larry Joe and Wayne asked Earl to go golfing with them. He won’t say much, but I see him staring off in the distance and I know he’s worrying. Maybe swinging clubs and hitting balls will take his mind off things.”

  “I hope so. That was the idea,” I said.

  I sat down and started commenting on magazine photos before Mama had time to start asking me questions about the investigation. Fortunately, she took the bait. She laid some photos of bouquets side by side. Not surprisingly, she didn’t actually like any of them, but they sparked some ideas.

  “I kind of like the shape of this one and the colors in this one,” she said. “This one’s pretty, but I think it’d be too small for me to carry. It’s fine for the little wisp of a girl in the picture, but I probably need something that will match my size and stature better. Don’t you think?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, but it didn’t matter because she didn’t pause long enough for me to respond.

  “What I’m really thinking is we should use some of the wildflowers growing on Earl’s property, along with some flowers from my garden, you know, to make it personal. And I’d like to include a cotton boll or two in the bouquet, since Earl’s daddy was a cotton farmer when he was growing up and they still raise cotton in a couple of fields Earl rents out in the back forty.”

  I couldn’t remember seeing any wildflowers growing on Earl’s property other than dandelions and jimsonweed, but I figured we could probably find some Queen Anne’s lace or phlox or beggar-ticks if we looked hard enough. I wasn’t sure how to incorporate cotton bolls, but maybe we could pin some kind of embellishments to the white fluff. I’d talk to Holly and see what we could come up with.

  Mama started commenting on some shots of w
edding showers. My first thought was, I wonder what kind of stuff Mama and Earl will register for since they don’t really need the typical newlywed stuff. My second thought was, Good grief, I hope one of her friends throws a wedding shower for her and it’s not left up to my mother-in-law and me. I knew there was no way my sister was going to cohost one with me.

  “Speaking of showers, that must have added some excitement when Heather went into labor during her baby shower. Her mother-in-law was complimenting how nice the shower was and how she was glad you and Holly were there to take charge since they were all in a tizzy with the baby coming.”

  I wasn’t sure Heather’s mom or mother-in-law appreciated us taking over at the time, but it was nice to know they did in retrospect, or at least they said they did.

  “So, Liv, have you been by to see Heather and the baby?”

  “No, I haven’t. Heather e-mailed me a baby photo, though,” I said, pulling up the image on my cell phone and showing Mama.

  “What a doll. I think she favors her daddy in this one,” she said.

  “Speaking of babies and their daddies,” I said, “I overheard a couple of women at Heather’s shower gossiping. I probably shouldn’t have listened, but I did. Anyway, they were saying that the Weems girl doesn’t know who her baby’s daddy is and there are several possibilities. I don’t know if there’s any truth to that, of course. But since there are a couple of different Weems families in the area, I wondered if you know who they might have been talking about.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s Esme Weems’s daughter, Taylor. She’s in her early twenties and expecting any day now, I think. She’s always been kind of a wild child. Anyway, Sylvia told me Esme was wanting Taylor to ask the daddy to help out some with expenses, which is only right, and Esme doesn’t make a lot of money working at the drugstore. At first Taylor was acting like she just didn’t want to say who the daddy was, but she later admitted that she doesn’t know. So unless the baby is the spitting image of his or her father they may never know, unless they go on that Maury what’s-his-name show on TV.”