“Nope, he’s over there by that planter. He looked so worn out, I sat down early so he could catch his breath.”
“Where have the two of you been?” I asked.
“Where haven’t we been?” she said. “I think we must have walked every foot of this mall, not to mention three rides on the merry-go-round.”
“He followed you onto the merry-go-round?”
“He wanted to, but he settled for finding a column he could duck behind every time I came around.” She shook her head. “I bet that now he thinks he should have followed you instead.” She checked her watch. “Are you about ready to head back to Byerly? I think we’ve tormented him enough.”
I finished up the bottle of water. “Just let me take a quick pit stop.” Darned if Mark didn’t follow me to the ladies’ room. In fact, he was so busy watching me instead of looking where he was going, that he almost came inside.
Junior and a semi-hidden Mark were waiting when I came out, and we all headed for the door. There was a bench right next to it, and I nonchalantly dropped the bag from the toy store on it and kept going.
“I thought that was my Christmas present,” Junior said.
“It is, in a way.” As I’d expected, Mark saw me leave the bag and couldn’t wait to grab it. I started snickering on the way back to the car.
“What’s so funny?” Junior wanted to know. “What’s in that bag?”
“An official junior detective kit,” I said. “I figured Mark could use all the help he can get.”
Junior burst out laughing, and then we drove by Mark’s car. He was in the front seat with the detective kit in his hand, and the expression on his face started us laughing all over again.
“Laurie Anne,” Junior said, “we have got to go shopping together more often.”
Chapter 22
Though we kept a sharp eye out on the drive back to Byerly, apparently Mark had quit following us, so we went to David and Florence’s house.
I wasn’t sure what David did, but whatever it was, it paid well. Or maybe Florence’s law practice brought in the money. They had a large, white shingle house in the nicest part of town, just two doors down from the Walters estate, which was the benchmark for society in Byerly.
There were a couple of cars already in the circular driveway, but Junior thought the BMW was David’s and the MG was Florence’s—meaning that we’d caught them at home and alone, which was what we wanted.
After we rang the door chime, I looked doubtfully at the grocery store fruit basket I was carrying. “Are you sure this is nice enough, Junior?”
“Social niceties are your department, remember?”
Florence opened the door then, and her smile of delight reassured me. Though I didn’t quite believe her when she said it was the prettiest fruit basket she’d ever seen, at least I could be sure that she hadn’t been insulted by our offering.
“Y’all come right on in,” she said, taking the basket from us. “David was just saying he could use a break, and I know he’s going to dig right into one of these lovely tangerines.”
“I hope we’re not interrupting anything,” I said.
“Not at all. We’ve just been checking e-mail and voice mail. I’m afraid we’ve been so distracted by all that’s been going on, that we’ve neglected our businesses terribly.”
“I’m sure everybody understands that.”
“Of course they do, but one does like to live up to one’s obligations.”
As we spoke, Florence led us down the entry hall with its sparkling chandelier and mirror-polished black and white tiles, through a living room that was far too big to be as cozy as it was, and into a kitchen that was as large as the Todger family’s but far more modern.
“You go ahead into the sun room and let me get y’all something to drink,” Florence said. “Iced tea? Maybe a Coca-cola? Or would coffee be better on a cold day like this?”
“A Coke would be great,” Junior said.
“I don’t suppose your iced tea is decaffeinated, is it?” I asked wistfully.
“I’ve got both kinds. Y’all go have a seat and tell David to shut down his computer for a minute or two.”
David must have heard his wife, because he was already rising to greet us when we came into what Florence had called the sun room. It was another spacious room, with two desks and accompanying office furniture in one half, and a wicker love seat and chairs in the other half. Both sides were lined with hanging baskets of plants and flowers, including poinsettias and a blooming Christmas cactus.
“Junior, Laurie Anne. How nice of you two to come by. Did I hear Florence say you’d brought us something?”
“Just a little fruit basket,” I said. “So you’d have something to snack on.”
“It was so kind of you to think of us. Please, come sit down and visit for a while.”
The two of them were so gracious, I almost felt guilty. But my rational side reminded me that if either of them had killed Seth, I had nothing to feel guilty about. And if not, surely they’d want his murderer found, so I still had nothing to feel guilty about.
When Junior took one of the chairs, I sat in the other to leave the love seat for David and Florence. Sure enough, after Florence brought us our drinks, she promptly cuddled up next to him.
“How are things back at rehearsal?” Florence asked.
“A little rocky,” I admitted, and explained how Vasti was trying to find somebody to play or sing as part of the play.
“Goodness,” Florence said, “your cousin is so energetic.”
“That’s Vasti, all right,” I said wryly. “She never gives up when she really wants something.”
“That must be a family trait,” Florence said, a twinkle in her eye. “I think we all know this isn’t just a condolence call.”
“No, it’s not,” I said. “I know y’all realize that Junior and I are looking into Seth’s death.”
“That’s what Florence told me,” David said, “but I have to admit that I’m not comfortable with the idea. I can understand your interest, Junior—it must be frustrating to be sidelined during an investigation. But Laurie Anne …” He shook his head, as if disappointed in me. “I can’t say how much the thought of making my father’s death into some sort of game pains me.”
I flushed, half in anger and half in shame that he might be right, but before I could say anything in my own defense, Junior spoke.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said. “Laurie Anne doesn’t think Seth’s death was anything other than what it was: murder. Now there are people in this world who could see a man drowning and not jump in to save him, or see an old lady fall and not stop to help her up. Not Laurie Anne. She knows that somebody killed your daddy, and that Mark might not be able to find out who it is. So she’s not going to sit by and let a murderer go free. Here she is five months pregnant, but instead of knitting booties, she’s spending every minute trying to get a murderer off the streets. Maybe you call that playing a game, but I don’t!”
I don’t know who was more astonished by Junior’s outburst, David or me. He stammered, “I had no idea that—I mean, I thought that—” Finally he gathered himself together. “I beg your pardon, Laurie Anne. Please forgive me.”
“That’s all right. I know my snooping around is kind of weird, but—”
“No, not at all. Now that I can appreciate what you’re trying to do, please tell me what I can do to help.”
“Me, too,” Florence chimed in.
They gave me their full attention, and it made me downright nervous. After Junior’s build-up, I was sure they expected a brilliant bunch of questions, and mine were bound to disappoint them. “My first question is the obvious one. Why would anybody have wanted to kill your father?”
“I just don’t know,” David said. “My father had no enemies. I can’t even think of anybody who didn’t like him.”
“That fits in with what I’ve heard elsewhere, with only one exception.” Actually, there were two, but I d
idn’t think Junior would want me to bring Clara Todger into the conversation. “Tim Topper didn’t care for him.”
“Really?” David sounded sincerely surprised. “I didn’t think Tim had ever met Dad before we started rehearsals, and they seemed to get along. They even went out together one night.”
“Maybe I misunderstood,” I said, though I didn’t think so. Tim was one of those folks who let their feelings show, and the feelings he’d shown about Seth hadn’t been friendly ones.
“In fact,” David said, “I’d be a more likely candidate than Tim. Not that I wanted Dad dead,” he quickly added, “but it’s no secret that we didn’t agree about everything.”
Florence chuckled. “You didn’t agree about anything.”
“I’m afraid not. Even though we were both in town, we didn’t see each other all that often. I regret it, but the best explanation I can give is that my father and I were very different men, and we wanted different things in life.”
“Do you mean in terms of Seth’s business?” I said carefully.
For the first time, David wouldn’t meet my eyes. “That was an old argument. Dad had always assumed that once I finished school, I’d go into business with him and Jake. Unfortunately, I had no interest in … in furniture.”
“Or in moonshine,” Florence said.
“Dear Lord!” David’s face turned white. “How did you …?” Then, “Not in front of—”
“Pish,” Florence said, waving her hand airily. “Junior already knows, and I’d be very much surprised if Laurie Anne didn’t, too. So why pussyfoot around?”
“But …” Words failed him.
“Poor darling, I didn’t mean to spring it on you this way, but I’ve known for ages that your father wasn’t supporting himself making lawn furniture. I’ve sat in his chairs. There’s no way he could have raised a dog on them, let alone two boys. But don’t worry. It’s still a closely guarded secret. My source is completely discreet, and I’m sure these ladies are, too.”
“You knew before the wedding?”
“Of course.”
“And you married me anyway?”
“David Murdstone, I’d have married you if your father were General Sherman come back from the grave to burn down Byerly.”
“Oh Florence … I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, but I was afraid. Not just because of your place in society—”
“Pish to that!” Florence said.
“But you’re an officer of the court. I didn’t want to compromise your position.”
“I thought as much, which is why I don’t blame you for keeping your secret.” She waggled her finger. “As long as you don’t keep any more secrets from me.”
“Never,” he said, catching her hand to bring it to his lips.
While still holding his wife’s gaze, David said, “I’m sorry, Laurie Anne, but I don’t think there’s anything else I can tell you.”
“I hear Big Bill Walters wanted to buy your father’s land,” I said.
“He did, but my father told him he wasn’t interested in selling for a few years, and Big Bill was willing to wait.”
“Didn’t your father have an argument with Sid Honeywell?”
“That was years ago. Dad bought gas at Sid’s station every week.”
“What about Mrs. Gamp?”
“What about her?”
“Never mind.” I looked at Junior, who shrugged. “I guess there’s nothing else we need to ask you. Unless either of y’all know of anything.”
“No,” they said in unison.
“We’ll let ourselves out,” Junior said, and neither Florence nor David argued the point. They were still looking deeply into one another’s eyes when we left the room, and we got out of the house as quickly as we could.
“I wonder if that love seat folds out into a bed,” Junior said once we were back in the car. “Not that that would stop them.”
“Junior Norton, you ought to be ashamed.”
“Ashamed! Hell, I’m jealous. You might be, too, if you didn’t have Richard.”
“I didn’t realize you were in the market for a husband.”
“Do you think I want to stay single my whole life? I’m not in a hurry, but it’d be nice to have somebody to come home to.”
“Kids, too?”
“Sure, why not?”
I couldn’t help but picture a pregnant Junior with a gun belt stretched across her maternity smock. Then I thought about her under the sway of hormones, which was scary. My own mood swings were terrifying enough, and unlike Junior, I didn’t carry a gun.
Junior must have misinterpreted my silence, because she said, “You’re not going to start fixing me up, are you? My sisters keep dragging single men over to meet me, and it’s worrying me to death.”
“Of course not. Though I do know a guy—”
“Laurie Anne, you’ve got the right to be silent, and I advise you to take advantage of it.”
I didn’t push it any further. After all, Junior was well equipped to track down a man for herself. Instead I said, “I appreciate what you said in there.”
“Daddy always told me to say whatever it takes to get a suspect talking.”
“Oh,” I said, disappointed. “Does that mean you don’t—”
“Of course,” Junior said, interrupting me, “this time all I had to say was God’s honest truth.”
“Thank you, Junior.”
“You’re welcome. But no hugs!”
Chapter 23
Junior was still worried that Vasti was going to try to get her to sing, so instead of heading straight for the recreation center, she talked me into having lunch with her at Birmingham Bill’s Burritos. Though Alabama isn’t known for authentic Mexican food, the burritos were excellent and, unfortunately for Junior’s anxiety, quite fast.
We needn’t have worried. By the time we got back, Vasti had arranged for the First Baptist Church children’s choir to sing at all three performances of the play. Not only were we going to have the live music, but this guaranteed that every one of those children’s parents, grandparents, and other relations would buy a ticket to the play just to see their little ones singing in their holiday finest.
The cast and crew were eating lunch when we arrived, so I dragged Richard away long enough to tell him what Junior and I had been up to. He was as surprised as we’d been to find out that Florence knew about the moonshining, and he nearly fell off his chair when I told him what we’d done to Mark.
Once he caught his breath, he said, “Are you sure it was wise to make an enemy of him that way? As Dickens said, ‘Never be mean in anything; never be false; never be cruel.’ David Copperfield, Chapter Fifteen.”
“Copperfield never had to deal with Mark Pope. Has he been around today?”
“I don’t think so—at least, he hasn’t interrupted anything.”
“How’s the rehearsal going?”
He looked pleased. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I think we’re actually going to pull it off. We’re still rough on a couple of scenes, and the blocking isn’t quite right at Fezziwig’s party, but we just might make it.”
“Hey, what are you worrying about? You’ve got two more days.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m the one stuck cracking the whip over these people. I doubt any of them will want to talk to me by the time this is done.”
“I bet they’re grateful you’re making them look good.” Oliver Jarndyce picked that moment to walk by, glaring at Richard. “Most of them, anyway. I’m sorry I haven’t been here to lend support.”
“That’s all right. I just wish I’d been able to help you out. Though it looks as if you and Junior make a good team.”
That last part sounded wistful. “It’s okay,” I said, “but not nearly as much fun as working with you. She doesn’t quote anybody except her daddy, and she won’t let me hug her, and—”
“Does this mean I get to play Doctor Watson next time?”
“Honey, you can play doctor with me anyti
me,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes.
Once rehearsal started up again, Junior decided to have another lurk, just in case our practical joker had struck again. I wasn’t convinced that the jokes had anything to do with Seth’s murder, but I was sure I was tired of them. I still couldn’t lurk, of course, so I wandered around.
With opening night coming closer, people had begun to overcome their reluctance to go down the hall where Seth had died, and the triplets were working in the dressing rooms. I saw Carlelle working furiously at her sewing machine in the women’s dressing room while Ideile added flounces to a bonnet, so I decided not to disturb them. When I passed by the men’s dressing room, Odelle saw me and said, “Hey, Laurie Anne, can you give me a hand?”
Odelle had Tim Topper in front of a makeup mirror and was applying a heavy coat of foundation. “What do you think of this color?” she asked me.
I took a look. “The color’s fine, but isn’t the makeup kind of thick?”
“It has to be,” she explained. “Stage lights are so bright that he’ll get washed out if I don’t put it on like that.”
“Right,” I said, remembering how long it took Richard to clean up after a performance. “In that case, he looks good.” I wasn’t sure if Tim had already given his opinion, or if he even got to voice one. “How’s it going, Tim?”
“Fine. Though after this, I’ve got a whole new appreciation for what you ladies go through with your makeup.”
I looked at the table in front of him, which was covered with a rainbow of greasepaint, brushes of all sizes, triangle sponges, false eyelashes, spirit gum, crepe hair, and a big cake of powder. “Tim,” I said, “I’ve never worn this much makeup in my entire life.”
He started to smile, but Odelle said, “Don’t move your face!”
“Sorry,” he said, through unmoving lips.
Odelle smudged pinky-brown greasepaint under Tim’s cheeks and then smoothed it into his skin. “How’s that? Do you think it gives his face more shape?”
“Absolutely. It looks great.”
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