Using both hands to steady the glass, the old man took a sip of his lemonade and carefully set it back on the tray. “Nearly killed her brother, too. Richard Howell. Rachel was the one called him. He blamed himself something awful that she was living in that firetrap. Kept saying he should have forgotten about medical school. Should have dropped out and got a job that would’ve helped Jannie and the girls live in a safe house. Thought he’d been selfish.”
“Why?” asked Tub. “He didn’t have anything to do with her husband leaving her, did he?”
“No, but people aren’t always logical.”
“What about the man who hit a woman?” asked Ray.
“Excuse me?”
“She said that some deacons put the fear of God in a man for hitting his wife.”
Blank-faced, Snaveley said, “I didn’t hear her say that, but then there were so many people in the room, I must have missed a lot. Did she give more details?”
“That was all. Did anything like that happen when you were her preacher? Did the deacons ever take someone to task for beating up on his wife?”
“You must remember that I left Bethany years ago. Have you spoken to her current minister? He was there, I believe.”
“Not yet,” said Ray.
The old man carefully lifted the glass pitcher with trembling hands and turned to Tub. “More lemonade, young man?”
As he poured, Ray put the first paper back in his pocket and took out the form Mayleen had devised.
“Sir, if you would, just put a check mark next to all the people you’re sure were there when you were.”
Snaveley set the pitcher back on the tray and wiped his damp hands on a napkin before taking the form. Minutes later, he handed it back with only four non-family names checked off.
“Like I said, I really didn’t know many of them. Her minister, Richard Howell, and the Byrds, of course. Sam and Kitty. Hadn’t seen them in a while so I mostly talked to them.” His eyes went to the picture of a white-haired woman on his desk. “Kitty Byrd became a very dear friend of my late wife. Like us, they never had children either.”
“No kids?” Tub was surprised. “But how—?” He broke off in confusion.
Snaveley looked at him over the top of his glasses. “How what, young man?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t mean to be nosy, but this looks like an expensive place to live and if you were a preacher and you don’t have kids—”
He looked to Ray for help, but the older deputy kept a bland face and waited to see how Tub was going to get out of it.
Fortunately, Furman Snaveley chose to be amused. “You’re wondering how I could possibly afford Cameron Longview?”
Embarrassed, Tub nodded.
“Simple, Deputy Greene. I can’t. It’s by the generosity of Dr. Howell.”
He leaned back in his chair, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they seemed to pinch him. “Richard credits me with keeping him sane in those dark days after the fire. I did nothing more than my pastoral duties, really, but I made him stay with my wife and me that Christmas. We took long walks together and I let him talk all the poison out of his system. Richard had always been a rather self-centered young man up until then. He wanted what he wanted and didn’t seem to care who got hurt in the process. He felt entitled and I’m afraid his grandmother spoiled him after his parents died. Doted on him, in fact. Not that she didn’t love Jannie, too, but he was the male. He was bright and he was ambitious and in her eyes he could do no wrong, an opinion he fully shared, and he didn’t hide his light under a bushel either. If he made all A’s in his high-school classes, he’d be sure you heard about it. Same with his scholarships and academic honors. He did the work, so he wanted the glory, and his grandmother certainly gave it to him. After the fire, he blamed himself for that, too. Thought that was why Jannie married so young, that she got tired of the comparisons.”
He held his glasses up to the light, polished away a smudge, and put them back on. “His grief was so deep, he was ready to chuck it all and go dig ditches in Africa or something, but I was able to help him see how much good he could do in the world if he applied his talents to serving others, and you see how he’s done that—the burn unit at the hospital, the pediatric wing, the scholarships he’s funded, all in their memory. ‘I’m like King Midas,’ he told me once. ‘I used to worship money. Now everything I touch turns to gold, but when it might have saved Jannie and her babies, I had nothing.’
“After I retired, my wife needed a couple of expensive operations and they wiped out our savings.” He shook his head sadly. “Wouldn’t it be the Christian thing to make medical care affordable for everyone?” He sighed. “She died anyhow and I was living on Social Security in a little apartment over in Boylan Heights, back of the prison. Richard came to see me. He’d heard about her death. When he saw that apartment…well, two weeks later, he brought me here. Wouldn’t let me say no. Jannie’s death was a tragedy, but at least some good came of it. It changed a selfish, self-centered boy into a generous philanthropist.”
He smiled. “Not that he’s a complete saint, mind you. He still likes recognition and praise, but he’s certainly earned it, don’t you think?”
And yet—? Furman Snaveley pushed aside the small troubling aspect that had suddenly occurred to him and said, “I’m sorry there aren’t more cookies, but what about another glass of lemonade?”
“Thanks for coming in, Miss Collins,” Mayleen said.
She had seen Amanda Collins when assembling the DVD from videos and snapshots taken last Wednesday, but the eighteen-year-old freshman was even prettier in person. Only five two, but her petite blonde beauty filled the room. Major Bryant and the others kept referring to cowbird eggs and she got the analogy, but Mayleen was country born and bred and she knew that cowbirds are plain and nondescript. This girl, with her long blonde hair, was like a small neat canary.
“No problem,” Amanda said as she took the chair next to Mayleen’s desk. “I was coming home today anyhow. My last exam was at ten o’clock this morning, so I’m finished until summer school starts next week.”
She touched the screen of her phone and read the message that popped up. “Oops! My roommate says I left a pair of sandals in our room. Let me just tell her to keep them or toss them. Oh, and I need to let my dad know I’m running a little late.”
She tapped the screen a few more times, then put the phone on mute and slid it into her purse, an expensive little green leather case with a long narrow strap. It matched the simple green-striped knit top she wore over plain white cotton slacks. They were equally expensive and equally understated.
“Sorry,” she said, “but you know how dads worry.”
“Sure,” said Mayleen, whose own dad hadn’t cared enough to come to her wedding and who would probably make comments about half-breeds when he heard about the baby.
Again, she explained about the need for cross-checking alibis and gave Amanda the form she had devised.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said again, “but I really didn’t know any of these people, just Miss Rachel. See, what happened was, my car was burning oil, so I drove it down to the dealership in Fayetteville and Dad was going to drive me back to school.”
“Meredith College, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I sort of wanted to go to Appalachian, but Dad talked me into staying closer to home for my first year and he was right. I would’ve been so homesick way off there in the mountains.”
Her smile was rueful. “I guess I really am a daddy’s girl. And with Mom and Talmadge both gone, he would’ve been homesick for me as well, so this lets us do it gradually.”
“Talmadge?”
“My brother. He’s a musician. Lives in Glasgow so we don’t get to see much of him except when Dad has business there.”
“You must miss him,” Mayleen said sympathetically.
“Dad does.” A shadow passed over that pretty face. “He’s sixteen years older and we were never very close
. Actually, he thinks I’m a spoiled brat and I think he’s a jerk.”
She looked down at the paper in her hand. “I’m really no help here. Dad and I were about to leave when somebody spilled a drink on poor Miss Rachel and we all cleared out. He stopped to talk to somebody out in the vestibule for a few minutes—a Dr. Howell?—and then he wanted to go downstairs to ask somebody’s opinion about who the governor’s going to back to replace our state representative.” Her tone turned indulgent. “Dad’s a political junkie, and since I didn’t know any of those people I told him I’d meet him back at the car. He swore he’d only be a few minutes, but it was more like half an hour. We didn’t hear about Miss Rachel till the next day.”
“How did y’all know her?”
“My school was near Dad’s work and he drove me back and forth, so we passed by her vegetable stand on our way home. He grew up on a farm and he loved to sit and talk to her. He liked for me to hear her, too. Dad’s always been big on family and heritage and since all my own grandparents were gone, I guess he thought Miss Rachel could give me an idea of what his mother had been like.” She twisted a strand of bright gold hair into a tight coil and her blue eyes were sad. “She was so sweet to me. Fed me strawberries in the spring, then sent me blueberries and watermelons in the summer. It was a real shock when Dad told me what had happened.”
“You say you saw Dr. Howell out in the vestibule. Did he go downstairs with your dad?”
She shook her head and that coil of bright hair slowly unwound itself. “No, ma’am. A nurse came to ask him something and he went down the other hall with her.”
The ma’ams were starting to make Mayleen feel ancient. “Did you see anyone from the hospice room when you were leaving?”
“I saw a woman in the restroom across the hall, but like I said, I didn’t know any of them. Just Miss Rachel. Well, I had met her son and daughter back when I was a kid, but I think they went downstairs when the others did. I just sat in the car and waited for Dad. My friends and I were texting back and forth.”
“What about this man?” Mayleen showed her a picture of Furman Snaveley.
Amanda Collins shook her head. “Sorry. I’m afraid I was looking at my screen the whole time. You know how it is.”
Dwight returned from Cotton Grove as Amanda Collins was leaving. Ray McLamb and Tub Greene rolled in a few minutes later so that the four of them were able to bring each other up to date on what they’d learned from their interviews.
Most interesting to the three deputies was to hear that Billy Thornton had probably cut the rope swing and caused Jacob Knott to fall to his death.
“I’ll talk to the DA tomorrow,” Dwight said, “but I’m pretty sure he’ll agree that it would be pointless to arrest a man who can’t remember what he had for breakfast.”
“So Rachel Morton’s death had nothing to do with her brother’s?” asked Tub, trying to get it straight in his head.
“Doesn’t look like it. Did you two get an alibi for that preacher?”
Ray shook his head. “He confirms that the Byrds left immediately after the drink was spilled, but he did go back inside to use the facilities. He gave us the name of a man who was at the next urinal and we’ll go talk to him tomorrow if you like, but that guy went upstairs to meet his first great-grandson and Snaveley says he went out to his car without seeing anyone he recognized.
“We asked him about those other things on the list. He couldn’t tell us about a debt or a wife-beater. He’s known some cases where fathers were raising kids that weren’t theirs, but he wouldn’t name names.”
“Tell him about Dr. Howell,” Tub said.
“He’s the one paying for Snaveley’s cushy retirement place,” said Ray, and repeated everything that the old man had told them about Richard Howell’s crushing guilt after his sister’s death.
“You ever gonna tell us why Snaveley’s in the running?” asked Mayleen.
“I’m not trying to shut y’all out,” Dwight said, “but it’s something embarrassing that happened forty or fifty years ago and no point in repeating it till it’s relevant. If you can’t definitely alibi him and nobody else looks good for it, then we’ll zero in on him. In the meantime, do we have alibis for Howell and Collins?”
“Judge Knott and her cousin Sally Crenshaw alibi Collins,” said Mayleen, “and she saw his daughter leave.” She gave them the details. “As for Howell, both Mrs. Crenshaw and the Collins girl say he never went down to the family room because a nurse snagged him at the top of the stairs and they went over to the other side of the hospital.”
“Write it all up,” Dwight told them, “and let’s keep checking all the alibis.”
“What about family?” asked Ray. “I don’t mean to be out of line, but—” He gave a hands-out shrug.
“No, you’re right, Ray. Everyone’s a suspect. Except that they all were down in the family room, according to my wife. Some of the kids left early, but none of them drove away alone.”
He turned to leave, then remembered the other cases they were working. “That flash drive you got from one of the break-in victims. Any luck with that picture?”
“Not yet, Boss. I gave copies to the uniforms and they’re canvassing the Black Creek area.”
CHAPTER
25
Premeditated wrongs are often the result of apprehension, the aggressor fearing that he will be the victim if he does not strike the first blow.
— Cicero
Rain was still falling when I left court on Wednesday afternoon. As soon as I got home, Dwight and I drove over to the homeplace. Dwight had given me the bare bones of his interview with Billy Thornton and the response he’d gotten with the music I’d downloaded (who knew Bing Crosby ever sang country?), but over at the homeplace, he fleshed out the story of Jacob’s death for Daddy, who listened grimly.
“Billy cut the rope so he could have Letha to himself?”
“I’m afraid so, Mr. Kezzie.”
“Now he’s senile and Letha’s dead.”
“Yessir.”
“And you’re sure none of their people had anything to do with killing Rachel?”
“The only one with a link to either of them that we can find was that orderly I told you about. Letha’s grandson. He says he didn’t know she had any connection to Miss Rachel and I believe him. Besides, at least four different witnesses saw him delivering dinner trays in a hall at the other end of the hospital during the relevant time.”
“Well, I’m real sorry nobody’s gonna go to prison for what they done to Jacob, but I sure hope it ain’t gonna be another sixty years before we know what happened to Rachel.”
“It won’t,” Dwight said firmly. “Back then, you thought Jacob’s death was an accident. We know for a fact that this is murder.”
Daddy stood up and reached for the straw Panama he wears from April to October. “I appreciate y’all coming and telling me, Dwight, Deb’rah. Now I reckon I better go let Sister know.”
“Want me to come with you?” I asked.
“Naw. I expect her and me’ll want to do some long remembering about Jacob and Jedidiah.”
“It’s supposed to keep raining till morning,” I argued.
“I been driving in rain for seventy years,” he said harshly. “And at night.”
“Daddy—”
He cut off my apology with a softened tone. “Don’t worry, daughter. If it’s dark and raining real hard, I’ll just stay the night with her.”
I stood on tiptoes to kiss his leathery cheek, then Dwight and I walked out with him and we hurried through the rain to our trucks. Dwight turned his toward a lane that would lead back to our house, while Daddy headed for the road toward Fuquay.
“It’s okay,” Dwight said as the windshield wipers slapped back and forth. “He’s got the eyesight of a hawk.”
“Hawks don’t fly at night,” I said bleakly. “Or in the rain.”
“He’ll be fine, honey. Seth’ll let us know when it’s time to start hiding his
keys.”
“You think?”
“I know. Somebody follows him home at night about twice a month.”
That surprised me. “They do?”
He reached over and squeezed my hand. “You’re not the only one living out here that worries about him.”
Thursday and Friday passed uneventfully. Uneventfully for Dwight, anyhow. His deputies were out canvassing every name on the master list. Mayleen had drawn up a large chart to cross-reference who was where after Lois Boone left Aunt Rachel. Black lines had been drawn through the names that had at least two separate confirmations but it was slow work.
And no luck, so far, on that photo that one of the break-in victims had given Ray McLamb.
As for me, the rains finally stopped on Thursday, the sun came out, and on Friday, Portland sent a message up to my courtroom urgently asking me to come to her office during my lunch break. “Salads on the deck,” she’d written.
When I got there, she and a clerk were in the process of sorting through fifteen years’ worth of client files, deciding which she and Avery would take with them and which would go into storage.
Like Lee & Stephenson, Brewer & Brewer occupied a remodeled house. Theirs was plain vanilla brick, though, vintage 1960, and more than a block away from the courthouse.
“Found a buyer yet?” I asked as Portland took two clear plastic containers from the refrigerator in the kitchen and we went out to the shady back deck, which was furnished with white patio furniture. The air was still humid and it frizzled her short dark hair into tight little curls all over her head.
Designated Daughters Page 18
