I remembered Wilma saying, “She married a most unsuitable man and died not long after. She was only eighteen.”
“More likely for marrying a Yankee,” I said wryly. “We had Jews in Georgia, but we didn’t have many Yankees back then. But Wilma said she died right after she was married.”
“No, she lived another eight years. When Mother was dying, she wanted to know who her mother’s people were. Mother’s half brother lives out in Seattle, and he has only one son, so Mother hoped maybe her cousin John might still be alive, with children my brother and I could get to know.”
“So how did you find out about the Kenans and Hopemore?”
“I started digging around and turned up the marriage license for Granddaddy and Grandmother, issued in Hope County. Then I checked the phone book and found two W. Kenans living here now. I called and got Wilma, but when I told her I was Willena Kenan’s granddaughter, she accused me of playing a filthy joke and hung up.” Rachel smiled. “I didn’t know about the other Willena, or that she wasn’t married. Mother died soon after that, so I sort of forgot about it. But after Gary got killed, when there was nobody left”—her voice was small in the night, with a catch in her throat—“I decided to come down and check things out. I stayed with Grover and scouted out Hopemore. That’s when I saw the ad for the job, so I decided to interview for it.”
“Did Grover know then about your connection with the Kenans?”
“He still doesn’t. He knows I was looking for ancestors here, but I didn’t tell him the name. They could have turned out to be horse thieves or something, so I didn’t want to tell him until I knew. And then I found him all involved with Willena . . .” She gave an unfunny laugh. “They were almost as bad as horse thieves, weren’t they, Mac?”
“Not all Kenans,” I assured her. “John was a dear, and his daddy and granddaddy. I never cared much for Wilma’s side of the family. They suffered from what I call older-son complex, thinking they are better than others simply because they got born first. But if John had lived, Willena might have turned out differently. Her mother spoiled her once her daddy died.”
“I wanted to get to know her, but I didn’t like to tell her who I was. I didn’t want her to think I was after her money or anything.” Rachel turned back to look at the house, and her face was wistful. “But sometimes I wanted to say, ‘My grandmother grew up in this house.’ ”
I stared at her in astonishment. “That’s what you meant when you said you had a motive?”
She nodded. “I’ve been worried to death somebody would find out and think I’d killed her for her money. It was such a relief to find out she’d left it to Wilma.”
“But she didn’t.” The enormity of the whole thing almost buckled my unsteady knees. “You are going to inherit the whole shebang.” I didn’t give her a chance to protest. “Willena never wrote a will, so as her first cousin, you are her closest living relative.” I chuckled at her dazed expression. “I told Jed he ought to be looking for you. I even told Slade to go looking for you.” I had a sudden thought. “You’re sure he doesn’t know?”
That changed the expression on her face to another kind of dazed. She gurgled. “Positive. He said, ‘Dammit, I never wanted to fall in love with a poor woman. It’s all your fault.’ ”
We looked at each other, started laughing, and could not stop. “I almost wish you didn’t have to tell him,” I said, gasping for breath.
“I won’t,” she cried. “I won’t say a word until after . . . you know, if we decide . . . and then — wham!” She hit a palm with her fist. “Will you keep the secret?”
“Durn tooting,” I agreed, “but tell Jed right away. And don’t put off too long deciding. I just hope you’ll let me be there when you tell Slade. I want to see his face.”
The BMW came around the corner. Slade was peering anxiously through the windshield, but he relaxed when he saw she was laughing. As she climbed in beside him, I saw him take her hand and heard him ask in a tone I’d never heard him use before, “Are you feeling better?”
“Absolutely wonderful,” she agreed.
I will not tell you what happened between Joe Riddley and me when I got home. Early in our marriage we decided we would never fight in front of the children.
I will tell you that since that night, I have felt a special sympathy for prisoners I see cuffed and in leg shackles. Joe Riddley says I’m lucky he doesn’t take a leaf from Wilma’s book and keep me locked in our attic.
Fortunately, we don’t have an attic.
THANKS
Although this book is a work of fiction, I owe a debt of thanks to an unknown toxicologist at a long-ago Sleuthfest for notes I took on mistletoe poisoning by injection, and to Jim and Joyce Lavene, who write delightful herbal mysteries, for pointing me in the right direction to check my facts. I also thank Ros and Mark Breitenbach, the proud owners of an electron blue Corvette, for initiating me into the world of Corvette cruises. And I assure the members of my own Jonquil City Investment Club that it in no way resembles the one in Hopemore, and I did not transplant any of our members to Middle Georgia. Please keep that in mind as I end my own term as senior partner. No corkscrews, please!
“Patricia Sprinkle is the master of the classic cozy mystery.”
—Nancy Pickard
Look for the next Thoroughly Southern Mystery
Featuring Georgia magistrate MacLaren Yarbrough
By bestselling author Patricia Sprinkle
Coming in February 2008 from Signet.
1 Did You Declare the Corpse?
2 Who Killed the Queen of Clubs?
3 Who Invited the Dead Man?
Guess Who's Coming to Die? Page 27
