by Gayle Trent
“Hi, hon. It’s me, Bettie. Bettie Easton. I’m calling to let you know that one of the band boosters called me a little while ago and was telling me that at the early part of the school year, Mr. Shaw lodged a complaint with the principal about Mr. Cole. He said Mr. Cole was not doing his fair share with regard to chaperoning, helping with the PTA, and stuff like that. If you want to talk about it, just give me a call. Again, this is Bettie Easton.”
I blew out a breath. I wasn’t up to giving Bettie a call at the moment. God love her, she could get on your nerves with that repeating her name stuff. I knew why she did it, though. With her family owning that used car business, she was accustomed to leaving her name at the beginning and end of messages to remind people who might be car shopping which dealership was calling. But was it really that hard of a habit to break when you called your friends?
Instead of getting a repeat of what Bettie had told me in her message, I called Jeffrey Cole.
“Hi, Mr. Cole. It’s Myrtle Crumb,” I said when he answered.
“Hello, Ms. Crumb. Thank you again for the wonderful dinner last night. I really enjoyed it.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you had a good time. I’m calling about Mike Shaw.”
“Yes? What about him?”
“One of the band boosters said he filed a complaint against you with the principal earlier in the year about not doing your fair share of chaperoning and PTA stuff. Is that true?”
“Uh, yeah, he did,” Mr. Cole admitted.
“Did you get into any trouble over it?”
“Not really. Everybody knew—well, apparently everyone except Mr. Shaw knew—that my mother had been sick, and I was taking some time away from extra curricula in order to care for her.”
“Did Shaw ever say anything else about it—to you or to the principal?” I asked.
“He didn’t say anything to me. I don’t know if he complained to anyone else or not, but I never heard any more about it.”
“Do you think Mr. Shaw could be the one who framed you, Mr. Cole?”
“No. I don’t think so. Do you think he could be?”
“I think any number of people at that school could’ve done this to you. We just need to figure out which one did.”
Chapter Fourteen
Last night, it came to me that I needed to figure out whether or not the rumor about Jacob Jackson selling marijuana was true. And that’s how I ended up parked outside the trade school this afternoon. I was going to follow the high school bus back to the school and then see which bus Jacob transferred to. How I was going to do all this without being seen or arrested for stalking was beyond me.
Well, I spotted the bus pulling out from the trade school, and I fell in behind it. I stayed far enough back so that none of the little monkeys riding the bus would moon me or anything. The good Lord knows I didn’t need to see a dirty butt today. Or a clean one, for that matter.
Once the bus got to the school, all the trade-school students went inside to be accounted for. Then not long after, the whole school full of young‘uns came out and either got on buses or got into cars. Thank goodness, I happened to spot Jacob Jackson getting into a car with some older boys.
I followed that car to a neighborhood that consisted of small houses built nearly on top of each other on either side of the street. Nobody had a yard to speak of. The car pulled over in front of a white house, and Jacob got out. He hollered that he’d see the boys later. I drove on, circled the block, and then came back and parked near the Jackson home.
Almost immediately, I had to pee. But what was I going to do? Knock on the door and ask Jacob Jackson if I could use his bathroom? I learned in a hurry that stake-outs were uncomfortable, hot, and dull.
A school bus came up the street. It let Colby off at his house, went a tad farther and let off another young‘un, and then went on up the road. I saw the brake lights come on and the little stop sign come out, but I didn’t pay attention to who was getting off at that stop. I was concentrating on what Colby was doing. He looked around, and I was afraid he’d spot me. I tried to slink down in the seat a little bit, and I wondered who or what he was looking for and why.
He went on into the house. I was watching the door when I nearly didn’t have to pee anymore. Somebody banged on the side of the car, and I jumped like I was shot.
“What do you want?” I leaned away from the open window and the dark-haired man wearing sunglasses and a red t-shirt.
“What’re you doing here?”
“None of your business. What’re you doing here?”
“None of your business,” he said. “But if you don’t move along, I’m calling the police.”
I lifted my chin. “I’ll have you know I’m here on behalf of the police.”
“I don’t think so, lady.”
“Then call the police and find out.”
He bent down and lowered his voice. “I know you’re not with my department. Let me see your identification.”
“Okay, I’m not officially with a department. But I…I am a friend of Sheriff Norville’s. He’ll vouch for me. My name is Myrtle Crumb.”
The man took out his phone and called Coop. Dang it! I shouldn’t have caved that easily.
He turned away from the car while he was talking, but I heard enough of the conversation to figure out that Coop wanted me to go home and let this man do his job. So great minds do think alike. Like me, Coop had figured out he needed to know who around here sold marijuana and was also connected with the middle school and Mr. Cole.
My new stake-out buddy put his phone back on his belt and turned back around toward me. “Ms. Crumb—”
“Wait! That’s Beth Wilson! Be quiet and let’s see what she’s doing.”
Ms. Wilson pulled her car over to the curb in front of the Jackson house. Jacob came outside, went over to the driver’s side window, and they made an exchange.
“Freeze!” The officer took a gun out of somewhere—I found out later that he had a concealed gun holstered inside his waistband—and held up his shield. He announced himself as a police officer.
Poor Jacob stood there like a deer in headlights while holding his money. Beth Wilson drove away. Jacob had to jump out of the way to keep from getting his foot crushed by her back wheels.
The officer called in her tag number.
“I can go after her if you want me to,” I said.
“Please don’t. Just. Please. Don’t.” He went over, cuffed Jacob, and read him his rights.
Colby rushed out of the house. “Hey! What’s going on? What’re you doing to my brother?”
“I have to take him into police custody,” said the officer.
“No, wait! Whatever he did, he didn’t mean to.”
Colby suddenly looked very much the child he still was, rather than the sullen boy he’d appeared to be in the hallway the other day. I went over and tried to put my arm around him, but he shook me off.
“Who are you? Get away from me!” His voice broke, and he turned to hide his tears.
“It’s all right, Colby,” Jacob said. “They’ll call Mom, and everything will be okay.”
Colby shook his head. “It’s not all right. Where are they taking you?”
“I’m taking him to the juvenile intake officer so a petition can be filed against him on charges of selling marijuana.” The officer started to lead Jacob to his car.
“May Colby and I follow you?” I asked. “Colby can call his momma on the way, and she can meet you there.”
The officer rolled his eyes. “I guess it’ll be okay.”
“Thank you.” I turned to Colby. “Will that work?”
He nodded and mumbled, “Thanks.”
* * *
A teary Ms. Jackson met us at the police station. After the intake officer filed the petition and Jacob was given a court date, he was released into the custody of his mother.
“Jacob, what were you thinking?” she asked.
“I was trying to help us make extra mon
ey.” He looked down at the floor.
“You don’t need to do that.” Ms. Jackson raised her eyes to the intake officer, a portly man with a kind face. “What happens now?”
“Jacob will have to appear before a judge, and he’ll likely be put on probation.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I need to be at home with my children more, but I can’t afford to quit either of my jobs.”
The intake officer produced some information for her. I guessed it was something about receiving financial assistance. But I knew she needed even more help than that.
Chapter Fifteen
As soon as I got home, I called Bettie Easton and proposed that the M.E.L.O.N.S. do something to help at-risk kids. Of course, I explained to her what had happened with Jacob.
“And that old Beth Wilson just drove off, leaving him to fend for himself?” Bettie asked. “She’s not much of a guidance counselor, if you ask me.”
“Me either. I think this should pretty much prove that she’s the one who set up Mr. Cole.”
“If she bought the marijuana to frame Mr. Cole, then why was she buying more?”
“I imagine planting plastic bags of it where it doesn’t belong isn’t the only use Ms. Davis has for the stuff,” I said.
“Oh.” She tsked. “You just never know, do you? Well, let me think on this at-risk kids situation and see what I can come up with.”
“Thanks, Bettie.”
I went into the living room and stretched out on the couch. It’d had been a long day. Matlock came and plopped down on the floor beside the couch, and I rubbed his head.
“You’re a good boy, Matlock. Everybody should have a dog as sweet as you.”
I yawned. As a matter of fact, I was contemplating taking a nap when the phone rang. I answered it, and it was Coop.
“I thought you’d want to know that a couple of our deputies caught Beth Wilson. She broke down and confessed to everything. I’m guessing Mr. Cole will be reinstated within a day or two.”
“That’s great,” I said. “And I hope y’all throw Beth Wilson under the jail. I can’t believe she ran off and left poor Jacob Jackson the way she did.”
He chuckled. “Well, we don’t have any cells beneath the jail, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Aw, I guess she’s in enough trouble without my throwing kerosene on the fire. I just hate that she did that young‘un the way she did. He was scared half to death.”
“That’s a good thing, Myrtle. Maybe it’ll keep him from repeating his mistakes.”
“I hope so.”
After talking with Coop, I went ahead and took that nap.
Bettie woke me up about an hour later when she called.
“I’ve been busy since talking to you,” she said. “We’re having a meeting of the M.E.L.O.N.S. in the morning at nine at the Easton’s Used Autos empty warehouse on Sixth Street. Be sure and eat breakfast before you come, and wear old clothes.”
* * *
Once all the M.E.L.O.N.S. had gathered at the warehouse the next morning, Bettie excitedly informed us we were looking at the new, and soon to be opened, M.E.L.O.N.S. Teen Center. I was impressed with Bettie.
“Naturally, we’ll need to do some fundraising. But I figure we can divide the warehouse up into units,” she said. “Like a study hall, a place for them to play video games and watch PG and PG-13 movies, a space for them to play board games.”
“And we could put a basketball hoop outside,” Melvia said.
“The young‘uns need snacks,” said Delphine. “We can make stuff and also have staples on hand like bread, peanut butter, fruit, crackers and cookies.”
“I’d be happy to provide some furniture,” Tansie said.
We could always count on Tansie to show off how much money she had. But, in this case, I didn’t mind it. It was going to a good cause. Still, I wasn’t about to let Tansie Miller outdo me.
“I think the most important thing we need is volunteers,” I said. “We and other kids, as well as trustworthy adults, could come here and tutor the kids, maybe teach some things—like cooking or knitting, and just help steer them in the right direction.”
“You’re right.” Bettie smiled. “I’ve already got Brandon working on a flyer for the center. We can get copies made and hand them out at the middle school graduation.”
* * *
On the morning of graduation, I drove up to Brea Ridge to Daphne Martin’s house to pick up Sunny’s cake. Daphne was an attractive woman with dark brown hair and eyes. She gave me a friendly smile and invited me into her house.
She brought out a cake box emblazoned with Daphne’s Delectable Cakes, said, “I hope you like it,” and removed the cake.
I gasped. It was the most beautiful cake I’d ever seen. It was a tall, square cake with a graduation cap and scroll on the top along with, “Congratulations, Crimson!” written between the two iconic toppers.
“The scroll is made of fondant, so it’s edible,” said Daphne. “And you can eat the cap too. It’s made of rice cereal treats and covered in fondant.”
“It’s incredible.”
Along the sides were a computer, bottles of nail polish, the face of a chocolate Lab that looked a lot like Matlock, books, and a sun.
Daphne smiled. “I added that because your nickname for her is Sunny.”
“She’ll love it. It’s too pretty to eat.”
“Just take pictures first, and then dive in. I hope it tastes too good not to eat!”
* * *
We took Daphne’s advice and took lots of pictures of Sunny’s cake before cutting it. Everybody—Sunny especially—bragged on how gorgeous it was. And, boy, was it good! The cake was chocolate with vanilla ganache covered in vanilla buttercream and white chocolate fondant. So everybody went on about how tasty it was too. I was pretty proud of myself for discovering Daphne. I made a mental note to call her later and let her know how well it went over.
The graduation ceremony had been awfully nice. I did get a little teary, and Coop had to give me his handkerchief. All the M.E.L.O.N.S. as well as several members of the church handed out flyers for the teen center before the actual commencement. I was glad to see that Colby’s grandparents did make it up from Nashville for the graduation. And I’m hoping to see both Colby and Jacob at the teen center once it’s up and running.
By the way, Mr. Cole sat with us, and Faye invited him to Sunny’s party. He came too. There’s a spark between those two. I hope it works out. Faye has been alone too long, and I think Mr. Cole is a nice man.
Coop slipped an arm around me, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “You did a wonderful job with this party.”
Speaking of nice men, I’ve got mine.
- THE END -
About The Author
Gayle Trent (and pseudonym Amanda Lee) writes the Daphne Martin Cake Decorating series and the Embroidery Mystery series.
The cake decorating series features a heroine who is starting her life over in Southwest Virginia after a nasty divorce. The heroine, Daphne, has returned to her hometown of Brea Ridge to open a cake baking and decorating business and is wrestling with the question of whether or not one can go home again. She, of course, is the Daphne who makes an appearance in this novella.
