“Perfect,” I agreed, grateful that she could spare the time. As the meeting wore on with topics such as volunteer coordination and shuttle buses for visitors, I considered more personal tasks, like labels for my jars and a sign for my booth. By the time the last speaker wrapped up, I’d assembled my own mental to-do list.
“I’m so glad I came tonight,” I told my group as we made our way over to the counter where Ginny and Sam had placed a large urn of coffee and several plates of cookies.
“Are you Nola Harper?” a voice came from behind. I turned to find a pleasant-looking woman wearing a flowered blouse, straight gray skirt and a classy strand of pearls. Her blond hair was cut into a crisp bob angled toward her large dark eyes and high cheekbones. She held out her hand. “I’m Margie Price. I own Sunny Side Up.”
I abandoned my quest for coffee and took her hand. “A pleasure. I was hoping to run into you this evening.”
She nodded. “Hattie mentioned you planned on starting a home-based business.”
“Yes, that’s right. My family owns one of the local peach farms. I’m expanding our business by selling jams and preserves, and a few other things. I’m hoping to put a few jars on a table outside Hattie’s Boutique next weekend. Just to see how they sell.”
“Wonderful idea! We’ll have food vendors from all around, but something local like that is sure to be a hit.”
I smiled. “I hope so.”
“And as soon as you get your business up and running, give me a jingle. I’ll be one of your first customers. I’d love to offer my out-of-town guests a taste of local fare.”
“Really? Thank you!” I gushed. I could hardly believe my ears. A customer already and I hadn’t even started.
My enthusiasm, however, was quickly squelched by Maudy’s sudden appearance. “I need to talk to you,” she insisted, rudely interrupting our discussion. She motioned for me to step aside, so I turned to Margie with an apologetic look and excused myself. Maudy and I navigated our way around several conversational groups before settling on a quiet corner of the diner where we faced off, each of us assuming a defensive posture.
“So, this Hawk guy paid me a courtesy visit yesterday,” she started.
Uh-oh.
She stood with her arms crossed over her chest. “Ray thought he needed to bring in an investigator, huh?”
“Well . . .” I hesitated, trying to find my tact. “He’s just hoping to locate the real killer, that’s all.”
She pressed her lips tight and scrunched her brow. “I’ve already found the real killer. There’s no doubt about it. Your brother-in-law had motive, means and opportunity, and I’ve got the evidence to prove it. Any jury would convict him.”
“You’re right, Maudy. The facts are stacked against Hollis, but we still think he’s innocent.”
“You’re biased.”
I crossed my own arms, sucked in my cheeks and lowered my gaze. “Do you know who Millicent Wakefield is?” I threw out, not giving her time to respond before spouting off some more. “She’s Ben Wakefield’s widow—that’s who. And it’s possible that his death saved her from a nasty divorce battle and earned her control of Wakefield Lumber. Have you looked into her? Or any other suspects, for that matter?”
She rocked onto her toes and stared down her nose at me. “As a matter of fact, I have. Which brings up something else I wanted to tell you.” She slid her eyes across the room and nodded at Frances Simms, who was ogling us from behind her heavy black-rimmed glasses. “I don’t appreciate you spouting facts about my case all over town.”
I felt my shoulders crumple. “What do you mean?” But I knew darn well what she meant. She’d found out that I blabbed about the scarf. I took a step backward, my back pressing against the wall.
Maudy stepped forward and shook her finger my way. “If I find you’re going around causing trouble for my investigation, I’ll throw you in a cell and leave you there.”
“Sheriff Payne!” It was Ginny, carrying a white foam takeout box and sidestepping in front of me, cutting off Maudy’s direct attack. “Thank you for coming to the meeting tonight. Bless your heart. I know how busy you are trying to keep our streets safe, so we wouldn’t want to keep you any longer. But here.” She handed Maudy the box. “A little something for you to munch on back at your office.”
Well, give the dog a bone. Ginny’s ploy worked! Maudy’s hard gaze left me with a glance at the box already being placed in her hand. Then her eyes instantly softened and I saw her tongue give a quick swipe of her lower lip. She gratefully accepted the box and excused herself, obviously eager to partake in Ginny’s notoriously good food.
“You okay?” Ginny asked, after Maudy left. “I swear, I wish someone else would come along and run for her position.” She giggled. “Last election, someone went around with a marker and added the words ‘in the ass’ on all her campaign signs. It was hilarious.” She swiped her hand through the air as if spelling it out for me. “Vote Maudy Payne in the ass for Sheriff!”
We both laughed. Leave it to Ginny to know just the right thing to do and say. I reached out and gave her a quick hug. “Thank you.”
She waved it off. “Heck, that’s what friends are for!”
• • •
Her words stuck with me as I left the diner. Friends. Since returning, I’d realized I had more friends in town than I thought. Sure, Cays Mill had its share of naysayers and gossipmongers, but I’d also been surprised by a few true acts of friendship since I’d arrived: Hattie, so willing to take back up with our best-friend status despite the fact that I’d neglected our friendship all these years; Cade, coming to my rescue with Joe Puckett’s roof; and Ginny, willing to take time from her family and business responsibilities to help me with Mama’s recipes. Come to think of it, the locals here weren’t all that different from the people of the small villages I’d traveled to, with their petty squabbles and vicious rumors . . . and yet still with hearts that forgave and hands willing to help in times of trouble. It made me wonder whether things might have been different if I’d stayed all those years ago instead of running from my secret. A twinge of regret that I’d abandoned my family, all for nothing, pricked at my conscience. I shook it off; I’d done my best with the hand fate had dealt me.
I left my Jeep parked on the square, deciding to walk to the Sunny Side Up. I was determined to find Hawk and report my latest findings. As far as I was concerned, he was wasting his time hanging out with Laney Burns. Millicent Wakefield was the new prime suspect.
Walking along Branch Street, I passed the Cays Mill Reporter building before turning the corner and heading down to Majestic Boulevard. Majestic boasted some of our town’s most beautiful homes, from large Colonials with black shutters and red doors to impressive Italianates with deep-set arched windows and scrolled accents. The Sunny Side Up Bed & Breakfast, however, was the only home in the neighborhood loyal to its heritage. Built in true Southern Antebellum style, the impressive three-story with a deep pillared porch stood proud among its immigrant-styled neighbors.
I’d been dying to see the inside of the bed-and-breakfast, but as I neared the place, I started to lose my nerve. Did I really want to just show up at the place Hawk was staying? Was that even appropriate behavior? Then it occurred to me: What if someone from town saw me? What was I thinking? This was just the type of behavior that could ignite a whole explosion of rumors.
Just as I was about to turn on my heel, Hawk’s motorcycle roared to the curb. He dismounted and came right over, a perplexed look on his face, and, I noticed, a few lipstick stains, too. “Looking for me?”
“Yes.” I squinted at the smudges on his jawline. Crimson red, a perfect match to the bloodred claws I’d noticed on Laney Burns earlier that week. I suddenly thought of my own chipped pink nails and instinctively curled my fingertips into my palms.
“You look mad.” He was looking at my clenched fists.
<
br /> I shook my head and relaxed my hands a little. “No. Uh . . .”
“You want to go for a drink or something?” He indicated toward his bike.
“No! No, thank you.” I pointed toward the porch. “I just have a couple things I wanted to tell you about.”
We chose a pair of rattan chairs, covered with pretty flower-patterned cushions, and sat back like two friends getting ready to catch up on old times. Only I knew the old times Dane Hawkins and I shared were better off left not discussed.
No one spoke at first; the only sound between us was the whirring of the large fans above our heads as they circulated the air, bringing little relief to the heat and humidity that lingered even as the sun sat low in the sky. From somewhere down the street, I could hear happy sounds of children trying to cram a little more playtime into the last minutes of daylight.
“So, what’s up?” he finally asked.
I brushed away a lock of hair stuck to my forehead. “I found out something today that might be important to the case.”
He leaned back, crossing a booted foot over his knee. “I’m all ears.”
I glanced out toward the yard, wondering how much time I had before the owner, Margie Price, finished at the meeting and returned. Running into her so soon again might prove awkward. “I think Millicent Wakefield has inherited control of Wakefield Lumber.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. She had a meeting at the mill this morning. Probably meeting with employees and assessing the situation.”
He nodded. “Interesting. I’ll check into the status of the company.”
“Good. What have you been able to find out?”
He drew in his breath. “Well, I’ve been working a different angle than you.”
Judging from the lipstick smudges on your face, probably the horizontal angle.
“But what I’ve learned also points to Millicent.”
I leaned forward. “Really? Like what?”
He picked at the sole of his boot, dislodging tiny pebbles from the tread. “After a little finessing, Laney confided in me about her affair with Ben Wakefield. She knew about his wife all along, but Wakefield led her to believe he was getting a divorce. Seems she had her heart set on marrying the guy. But, earlier in the day, she’d seen him driving around town with another woman. She said they looked cozy.”
“Another woman?”
Hawk waggled his brows. “A well-dressed blonde, as she put it, with lots of bling.”
“Oh my goodness! Millicent! But that would mean she was down here at the time of the murder.”
“Exactly. But hear me out.”
I sat back and took a deep breath.
“When Laney found out it was Wakefield’s wife, she became furious.”
“And killed him!”
“No; sorry. Laney’s not the murdering type. She’s more of the . . .”
His face took on a faraway look as he searched for the right way to describe Laney. Obviously, Hawk had lost his objectivity when it came to her. He looked like a smitten schoolboy.
“So . . .” I prompted, quickly losing my patience. “She decided to make him jealous by flirting with Hollis at the party,” I finished for him.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
I turned these new facts over in my mind, trying to imagine the complete scenario. Something nagged at me. “You know what? I didn’t get any of this when I spoke to Laney the other day. In fact, the more I learn about Laney, the more I realize she never really tells the real story. Have you noticed that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it’s possible she’s playing you.”
“Playing me? How’s that?”
“She knows you’re here to investigate Wakefield’s murder, right?”
He nodded.
“And she knew Millicent was here at the time of the murder. Isn’t it possible she killed Wakefield in a fit of scorned jealousy and is trying to frame Millicent? I mean, don’t you think it’s weird she’s giving you this information out of the blue? When she talked to me, she was happy to give a story about Hollis being so very drunk at the time, something I’ve now heard may not be that true. Maybe she made that up to further imply Hollis’s guilt, and since Hollis was already arrested, she thought that was enough. But now, knowing there is an investigator here to help Hollis, maybe she’s just making up other stories to throw suspicion onto Millicent. Any story that throws suspicion on anyone other than herself might be her defense mechanism.”
“Yeah, okay. It crossed my mind. Still, at least evidence is building toward other suspects. If anything, there’s enough here to create reasonable doubt about Hollis’s guilt.” He stood and motioned toward the porch steps. “Well, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. Can I give you a lift back to your car?”
“No, thanks.” I stood and headed for the steps, turning back at the last minute, unable to resist a little jab. “A little finessing, huh? You might want to scrub all those kissy marks off your face,” I said, leaving him wide-eyed and rubbing at his jawline. Not a thing had changed about Dane Hawkins.
• • •
By the time Cade’s truck pulled into my drive first thing Saturday morning, I was up and dressed, and had already packed a hearty lunch. I grabbed the cooler and the box of parts Joe needed and ran outside to meet Cade. I was surprised to see two other trucks pull in behind his.
“What’s all this?” I asked, setting my stuff on the ground.
“Just some friends,” he explained, hopping out of the truck. “They decided they could spare a few hours to help a neighbor. I’ll introduce you to them once we’re at Joe’s.” He loaded my things into the bed of the truck alongside some boards and several boxes of shingles. “We’re expecting rain later this afternoon,” he said. “So we need to get a move on. Hop in.”
“Hold on a minute,” I said, running back to the house. I grabbed lunch meats, a jar of mayo, pickles and a loaf of bread, then threw it all in a bag. I found Roscoe in his usual spot on the sofa. “Come on, boy. You’re going for a ride.”
“A dog?” Cade asked when I reappeared with Roscoe in my arms.
“Just a puppy, actually. You don’t mind if he rides along, do you? I’m watching him for . . . for a friend.”
Cade shrugged. “Sure.” He glanced back at the house. “Is Ray coming?”
“He’s not due back until later today,” I explained, moving aside several stacks of paperwork as I climbed into the passenger side. It looked as if Cade’s truck doubled as an office. Roscoe let out a little whimper so I placed him on my lap and stroked his fur, trying to calm his nerves. I was surprised he was so jittery, especially considering he usually rode on the back of a Harley.
“Just like old times, huh? Minus Hattie,” I commented, once we were on the move. I was referring back to our high school days when we spent many a Saturday afternoon tooling off to town in their daddy’s Chevy.
“She wanted to come help, but Saturday’s her busiest day at the shop.” He reached over and turned down the radio. “Speaking of the old days, remember that time we all went mudding down by the Hole? I about tore the axle off Daddy’s truck trying to get pulled out of that mess. Man, was he ticked.”
I started to laugh just as we hit a bump in the road. Roscoe reacted by digging his claws into my bare legs. “Ouch! Calm down, Roscoe!” I brushed him off my lap and scooted closer to the middle, giving him his own space by the window. I looked back at Cade. “Hope these paths aren’t too much for everyone’s vehicles.” Since there weren’t any roads leading directly to Joe’s cabin, we were navigating the orchard’s access roads, hoping to get near enough to his cabin that we didn’t have to carry supplies too far.
Cade tapped the dash. “Are you kidding? No problem.”
I turned and glanced out the back window, hoping the other guys felt the sa
me. “Sure nice of your friends to help out.”
“They’re good guys. Besides, they all owe me. The thing about being a contractor is your friends are always asking for favors—help with this and that, borrowing tools; you know how it is.”
I nodded. “Still, thanks for cashing in your favors on me. And it looks like you’ve got plenty of supplies.”
He glanced my way. “Yup, but a lot of the stuff was left over from other jobs. The shingles won’t match, but I doubt Joe will care. Anyway, I was able to keep your supply cost down. I’ll just send a bill your way, once I get it all tallied up.”
I smiled. “Perfect.” After everything that had gone wrong this week, it was good to finally have something go right for a change.
After a rough-and-tumble ten-minute ride, we finally pulled up to the edge of the woods by Joe’s cabin. He was waiting for us, standing with his hands in his pockets and his hat pulled low over his head. As soon as I opened my door, Roscoe shot to the ground and started sniffing. I pulled out a plastic bowl and water bottle I’d brought to give him a drink but he was too busy sniffing to take a break.
“Who’s this?” Joe asked, reaching down and swiping his weathered hand over the dog’s back. “Got yourself a coon dog, do ya?”
“Not exactly,” I started, but Joe had already moved on, walking around the bed of the truck, eyeing the supplies. “Looks like your word’s as good as your daddy’s. And extra help, too,” he added with a nod toward the guys who had gathered around.
Quick introductions were made before everyone jumped in and began carrying supplies along the trail leading to Joe’s cabin. That was when I realized how impossible this job would be without the extra help. Even though we’d pulled up to the edge of the woods, it was still another thirty yards over a rocky, rooty trail to reach Joe’s cabin. Then reality really set in, when I realized the actual physical strength it took to tear off and replace the rotted roof decking and roll out and attach the large bundles of black felting paper. I left the heavy work to the guys, acting as their gofer by fetching nails, small tools and anything else they needed. Joe did his part keeping the guys going with an endless supply of liquid refreshment. Halfway through the job, I decided we’d better break for some solid food, before all the hooch went to the guys’ heads. I retrieved the cooler and my extra bag of food and slapped a few more sandwiches together.
Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) Page 15
