by Lane Stone
I leaned in to whisper. “Of course, Janice Marshall dropped them and absconded to parts unknown.”
Victoria leaned in. “She couldn’t take a chance on seeing us.” The black silk pencil skirt and jacket, along with a white blouse, looked smashing on her.
“Good Lord, no,” Tara said. “She might be crazy, but she’s not stupid.” Tara’s new suit was deep sapphire. She wore grey heels.
“The difference between crazy and stupid is like the difference between beer goggles and drunk goggles. Or having a thick head and having thick hair.” As if on cue, just as I said that, Al Ford walked up.
How did he have the gall or foolhardiness to be in the same room as Tara? “Paige told me they found Mrs. Englund. You see now that I didn’t have a thing to do with it.” His voice was louder than I cared for.
Hoping he’d take the hint re: volume, I practically whispered. “We don’t know what happened that night.” The Tiara Investigations detectives had agreed earlier that if Al showed up for the funeral we would bide our time and discuss what he did to Tara’s car at a more appropriate occasion. We owed Paul that much.
“So Paige and Beatrice are in touch?” I caught Vic’s drift: how did Paige know the police had found Bea? The kidnapping hadn’t been in the news and we sure as hell hadn’t blabbed it. The question seemed to irritate Al and he walked off.
A gentleman I didn’t know seemed to be waiting to join the conversation. “Are you Leigh Reed?”
“Yes.”
He handed me an envelope and I opened it. It was a subpoena for the Bennett divorce trial on Thursday, the state senator running for Congress from my district. “Really? In a funeral home?” I folded the paper in half and stuffed it in my tobacco-brown clutch which matched my shoes.
“Are you Tara Brown?”
Tara held out her hand. “Are you a butt-hole?”
“Are you Victoria Blair?”
We huddled and he began to slither away. Tara wadded her subpoena into her handbag. “We knew one of us would have to go.”
“Ms. Brown, we’re ready to go in, but we’re missing the last pallbearer.” It was the funeral director addressing Tara.
“He’s right here.” As fast as you can say embalming fluid, I grabbed the subpoena server’s elbow and wheeled him around to face the chapel doors.
Tara got on his other side. “Congratulations you have just become a pallbearer.”
Victoria fell in behind him, like a drill sergeant behind a private. “Don’t get any bright ideas.” Yep, that’s how we roll.
Over Tara’s shoulder, I saw Asher Charles making a bee-line for us. She peeled off and waited for him.
“Hello, Tara.” His teeth were on high beam.
“Just who we wanted to see.” She smiled and lifted an eyebrow.
“Oh?” As self-absorbed as he was, he knew he was looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“There’s a young woman we need you to find and question about Thomas Chestnut’s death. Her name is Janice Marshall.”
Victoria and I gave the server a little shove towards the other pallbearers and went back to Asher.
His eyes never left Tara. “Can we have dinner some night this week?”
“Just look for her. We can talk later.” She walked toward Paul coming out of the office and we followed.
“Are you going to have dinner with him?” Victoria whispered.
“Yeah, I’ll do that as soon as I start using a nine digit zip code.”
The guests filled up about half the chapel. Paul and Tara walked down the aisle to the first row. They were followed by Al and Paige Ford. Beatrice and I were next and Victoria brought up the rear. The Tiara Investigations Detectives sat together since Vic and I had come stag, if that term is still in use.
The pallbearers were seated on the other side of the center aisle. The newest addition slipped out and came over to us. “You can’t make me be a pallbearer! I’m leaving.”
“I’ve got a gun.” I stared straight ahead as I spoke.
“I’m staying.”
The organ music was not too loud and not too low, so we took the opportunity to talk. I patted my handbag. “This might turn into something more complicated. Mr. Bennett is a Democrat. This says Judge Braxton will be presiding. He’s a big Republican. Is Bennett still planning on lying?”
Victoria leaned in closer. “The last time I talked to his wife, he was still denying he had an affair. She knows he’s just saying this as a way to keep her.”
Tara, our very own attorney, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Perjury is a way to go to jail.”
Granted, our business is dealing with the stupid, like the guy who took home one rose after being caught, thinking that would make it okay, but this was an especially sad case.
The service was tasteful and simple. Thomas Chestnut had not been a churchgoer. Tara and Paul are, however, and their Reverend Richardson conducted. My hat is off to a minister who can pull this off well without knowing the deceased. There was to be no graveside service. He would be cremated at a later date. Attendees were invited to dinner at Paul’s country club in Gainesville on Lake Lanier. Their eighteenth hole looks out over a spot known as cocktail cove. I could tell you more about that place but a funeral service is neither the time nor place. I’ll just say that if you know how to scuba dive you can pick up all the designer sunglasses you want there. I was young once, too. I’ll leave it at that.
“Are you going to shoot me in the back if I leave now?” The conscripted pallbearer looked around to be sure no one could hear him. It’d be bad for business if people saw him being bossed around.
“You can go.” I’m nothing if not fair. He scampered off and I met up with Vic and Tara in the lobby.
Bea was standing with them and looking around.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“A gentleman lent me a handkerchief last night. I wanted to thank him. I lost the one he gave me, but I can at least offer to replace it. I don’t see him. He wasn’t anyone I knew. I thought if I saw him I’d ask for his initials and get him a new handkerchief monogrammed.” She walked off to continue to look for her mystery man.
I pulled my heels up out of the carpet. We were waiting for Paul to settle up with the minister and the funeral home. “That’s class for you. Beatrice would never drive around in a car that looked like it was being held together with electrical tape.”
Tara stopped giving Al Ford the evil eye long enough to talk to us. “Why did Jack do that?”
“He wanted to be sure I noticed the doors were off. He didn’t have time to put them back on.”
“But you drive without the doors sometimes, right?”
“Of course.”
“Here’s Paul,” Tara said. The funeral director was handing him the guest book. Bea had given up looking for the man who’d given her the handkerchief.
“Did Bea drive by herself?” Without waiting for an answer, I walked to Paul.
“Can I take a look at this?” I reached for the book. “Go ahead. I’ll ride with Bea.”
***
Beatrice and I sat in her silver Volvo going over the names of the viewing guests. “Is there anyone here who you don’t know?” She was petite and her car seat was pulled so far forward, she was almost at the windshield.
“I recognize all these names.”
“So the anonymous gentleman didn’t sign in? Can’t say I’m surprised. What did he look like?” I kept an eye out for Paul, Tara and Victoria. We were to follow them to the country club.
“I don’t remember. I don’t even remember getting a good look at him. He was just behind me handing me the handkerchief.” She pulled out of the parking lot behind Paul’s Mercedes.
“Why did he offer you a handkerchief? Were you crying?” I asked.
“No. I had just told Paige that I saw some friends I needed to talk to, and his arm reached around my shoulder with it.” She squinted one eye as she tried to look back into her recent past.
I was happy she was remembering more. “Could it have been Al Ford, even though I wouldn’t think he’s accused of being a gentleman very often?”
“No, he was in front of me.”
“Did you notice any odor in the handkerchief?”
“Are you suggesting I was drugged? Because I prefer that to thinking I’m losing my mind.”
“Do you have a better explanation for the fainting and the amnesia?”
She shook her head. “Now we need to figure out who and why.”
“My guess is that the who is Thomas Chestnut’s killer. But why would someone kidnap you? Did Thomas ever tell you anything that someone might want kept secret?” I didn’t have enough info to figure that one out, but I did have a stroke of genius on another problem. “Do you mind if we take the long way? Turn onto Suwanee Dam Road.”
Just to have something else to talk about, I asked about the baby. She enjoyed talking about Anniyah and that seemed to sooth her.
“When this road ends, turn left onto Buford Dam Road.”
“Are you taking me back to where I was taken when I was kidnapped?”
“Yes, I want to show you something. Trust me, okay?”
She wasn’t happy about it and we didn’t speak until we got near the dam. I pointed to a sign for a parking lot that read, Powerhouse Road. “Pull in here and park.” We got out of the car and walked to a fence that separated us from the steep, rocky hillside leading down to the dam. We were standing on the far side of where we’d looked for her the night before.
“What in the.…?” Bea leaned out for a better view. “Are those what I think they are?”
“They’re the goats you saw. You weren’t imagining them. They were brought here in the early 80’s to chew the grass on this rise.” I tried to count them in the dark, but gave up. “In 2009 there were seven. A few were lost to coyotes and then they brought in a mule, an animal deadly to coyotes. These goats are all females; they bring in males for breeding.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t even give it a thought.”
Bea pulled up to the country club entrance and a valet was right there. “Do you mind if I go on home?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m a little tired. It’s been an emotional few days. I felt so guilty that I was about to break up with Thomas after I learned he’d been killed.” She stretched her arms out over the steering wheel and looked at her hands. That brought something to mind. “I’m glad we never got around to shopping for rings.”
“You know, Paul feels uncomfortable with everyone offering their condolences since he hadn’t even seen his stepfather for a few years.”
“I get that. My husband was the love of my life.” What I heard was my real husband. “We were married thirty-five years.”
“Can I at least get you a dessert to take home to Kelly?”
She hesitated, on the verge of saying no. “Get two. That’ll be nice with a cup of tea.”
I let the young man standing at my door open it and I ran inside. After handing my scarf and gloves off to the coat check attendant, I followed the noise to the dining room. The older I get, the more often I opt for those two items over a coat. Occasionally an Atlanta magazine or the newspaper will write about my sense of style. Here’s my secret: wear solid color everything or have a damn good reason not to.
The hostess led me to the private room Paul had reserved. I gave him a quick hug and told him what I needed. He relayed the instructions to the nearest server.
Tara hugged me and whispered, “Where’s Bea? Is everything alright?”
Victoria stood nearby and lowered her head to listen.
“She’s fine,” I told them.
In a few minutes we three detectives went out to Bea’s car. Vic and Tara wanted to tell her good-night before she left. One dessert was encased in aluminum foil molded in the shape of a duck and the other a swan. The country club life is a mighty good life.
Some people from the dinner were trickling out to wait for their cars. And when we got back to the dining room the crowd had, indeed, begun thinning out. Paul and Tara walked around thanking people for coming, and Vic and I took a load off at a table in the back of the luxurious room. I scanned the buffet tables. Maybe I looked hungry because a young woman carrying a tray walked over. “You want me to fix you a plate, hon?”
Before I looked up, I thought, please Lord, don’t let that be Janice Marshall. And it wasn’t. “I’m so tired I don’t know if I’m hungry or not.”
“I recommend the oysters,” Vic said. “See the ice sculpture over there?”
“That sounds good. Lots of horseradish, please.”
The oysters on the half shell arrived followed by Tara and Paul. She sat down and put her feet in Paul’s lap for a massage. “I see some good eating is about to take place.”
“I can bring you some too,” the waitress said.
“Thank you!” was Tara’s enthusiastic answer.
“Oysters for the table,” Paul said. (Mr. FBI, delighted is not a word you hear very often these days, but we should use it more. Dr. Paul Armistead was delighted that we were happy and enjoying ourselves. He was especially delighted to have Tara’s feet in his lap. In my mind, I dared a baby to try to be born and call him away.)
“Sweetheart, would you get me a glass of Chardonnay?”
“Make that two,” Victoria said.
“Make that three.” After I added my request, he was off.
“I had a bit of a meltdown two weekends ago when we went to Callaway Gardens to see the Butterfly Center.”
“You told Dr. Paul you wanted Chardonnay just so he’d leave and you could tell us this story? I mean, we are still getting the wine, right?” Victoria looked around the room to see for herself.
“Yes. Anyway, let me tell ya’ll what I did. We requested a wakeup call because Paul had to be back at the hospital pretty early. They asked if we wanted a second call and I said ‘yeah, why not.’ The next morning we got up with the first call and got in the shower.”
“Together?” Vic asked.
“Yes, together. We could hear the phone ringing again but it never occurred to us to get out of the shower and answer it. The phone rang again and again. When I finally answered it, guess who it was?”
“Who?” We three jumped. Paul was back with a server who placed a glass in front of each of us, then walked around pouring.
“I’m telling them about our wakeup calls at Callaway Gardens. I was just getting to my hissy fit. Anyway, this man said, ‘This is hotel security. When you didn’t answer the phone, we thought we’d check on you.’ Check on us? I felt like he was thinking that these old people probably had heart attacks during the night. I was so mad.”
“How would he have known the age of the occupants of that room?”
“Thank you, Leigh. That’s what I tried to tell her, but she gave that poor fellow down the country. I think it was just standard procedure.”
“Yeah, for old people….”
“Paul!” I shrieked. “You just used your first Southern expression! That’s great!”
“Let’s have some music and we’ll show ‘em who’s old,” Victoria said.
“Obviously, someone has finished her half glass of wine.” I tilted my head toward Vic.
Paul laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.” He left us to finish off the oysters and Chardonnay.
Victoria scooped a dab of horseradish on an oyster. “I had a similar experience last week, thinking someone was making a comment about my age. You know that new boutique at the mall that sells resort wear? Well, I went in there for a new bathing suit, but before I told the salesgirl what I was looking for she took me to the-“
I interrupted, “to the one piece suits?”
“No! She walked me over to the cover ups!”
“Ouch.” That was so funny I slapped both my thighs.
“No-o-o.” Tara was laughing so hard she was crying.
Soon George Strait was singing one of my fav
orite songs, ‘I Ain’t Here for a Long Time, I’m Here for a Good Time,’ and the detectives of Tiara Investigations got up to dance. Paul tried to join us, but when Tara pushed his shoulder down he decided he’d rather stay seated.
I leaned in for a conference, “Is that what the new car is all about? Wanting to feel young?”
“I guess.” Tara giggled.
Victoria put an arm around Tara’s neck. “You won’t do anything crazy, will you?”
“You mean, concerning Asher or Jerome?” Tara asked. Jerome, being Detective Kent.
Victoria nodded.
Tara glanced back at Paul with a smile. “I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid.”
Then Paul was running to us, his smart phone in his hand. “Your car!”
“Huh?” This was from all three of us.
“Have you had the Porsche added to your auto insurance policy?”
“Of course; I called my agent before I drove it off the lot.” Tara’s voice trailed off, because a question like that rarely heralds welcome news. Kind of like, ‘do you have your TV on?’
“There was an explosion at the Porsche dealership at the Mall of Georgia. Here, read this!” Paul thrust the phone screen at us. Then he took it back and told us what it said. “Losses estimated at one million dollars. No loss of life. Flames could be seen for as far away as….”
I couldn’t listen anymore and walked back to the table. We gathered up our handbags and phones to leave, operating under the principle of sober is as sober does. Paul made signs to the Country Club Manager like a baseball team manager makes to a pitcher, indicating he was leaving, tips to be added to his account for the wait staff, and that he was pleased.
I had three missed texts. The first was from Aunt Thelma. As Paul and I waited at the coat check window, I told him about my mom and aunts making up their own acronyms. “It says, AHN?G2B. I’ll call her later to get that one decoded. Usually I can decipher them, but this has me stumped.” Of course, I wouldn’t be able to share it with him when I did. I looked back down and saw that it was, anything happening now? going to bed.
