Murder on Pea Pike

by Jean Harrington

  As we crawled along, I stared at Joe’s frayed work pants, his faded plaid shirt, the lank hair riding his collar, and my heart softened. A little. I was staring at a man with nothing except his fists and a once-handsome face now marked with bitterness.

  With stops and starts along the way, we trailed Joe for three blocks.

  “Okay, close enough.” Matt slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to a halt by the side of the road. “Stay in the cab.” Then he leaped out and yelled, “Joe Swope.”

  Joe froze for a second before turning around. “Yeah?”

  I rolled down the window so as not to miss a thing.

  “Wait up,” Matt said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Matt strolled over to him, a casual, at ease kind of move. He kept on until Joe backed away, one step at a time, his eyes darting left and right.

  “Recognize me now?” Matt’s voice came across reasonable, even-toned.

  “Yeah, so what?” Joe half turned to go.

  “Hold it there, buddy,” Matt said.

  “Bug off.”

  “You’re violating the restraining order. You’re under arrest.”

  “Says you.”

  “That’s correct.” Matt stood his ground, feet apart, arms at his side.

  Joe sneered. “I’m an innocent man. Haven’t done a damn thing wrong. And you’re going to arrest me? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “This street’s off limits for you, Joe. Why are you here?”

  Matt never got an answer, for with the speed of a ferret, or of some other weaselly creature, Joe darted into the middle of the road and began running in the direction he had come from, back toward Matt’s truck. Almost without thinking, I unlocked the cab’s passenger side door and grabbed the handle. As Joe was about to run past, I flung the door wide open, smacking him in the face, knocking him off his pins.

  Matt was all over him in an instant, forcing his arms behind his back, yanking him upright beside the truck. “Call 911,” he said to me. “Tell them we’ve made an arrest. The prisoner’s injured. Send medical help.”

  Blood was pouring out of Joe’s nice straight nose. It was the prettiest thing about him, and I might have wrecked it.

  He swiveled his bloody face over a shoulder to glare at me, spewing the cab with droplets. “Look what you did, bitch.”

  I shrugged, every ounce of sympathy for him gone for good. The B word will do that every time.

  “All I did was follow the sheriff’s orders. Like he told me to, I stayed in the cab.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Later, we polished off the Szechuan and shared the rest of the wine.

  “Something’s come up, Matt. Something you should know.”

  Ready to drop the empty cartons in the trash can, he tensed, the way a body will when bad news is about to strike. Somehow, though, I had trouble getting the words out, making them official. He dropped in the cartons and snapped the trash can shut. Then, arms folded, he waited.

  “I’m leaving,” I told him.

  He nodded. Even so, he looked like he hadn’t understood a thing I said.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “What do you mean ‘leaving’? Exactly.”

  “I quit my job today.”

  The crease on his forehead disappeared. “Glad to hear it. You needed to get out of there. All that frustration wasn’t good for you.”

  Heat rushed into my face. “And you know what is good for me? Who are you, my shrink? You don’t know anything.”

  His voice was icy cold. “I know more than you realize, but enlighten me anyway. You’ve quit your job, and now what? You’re leaving town?”

  “That’s my plan.”

  “Why?”

  “You have to ask? I can’t stay here now.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because ….” All my words dried up.

  “Well?”

  “I’m leaving because—”

  “You’re a coward.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Then stay. Face your demons. Face the fact that Sam Ridley’s not yours.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Pea Pike’s being turned into a gambling casino.”

  He shrugged. “So?”

  “So? That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Do you understand what a casino will do to Eureka Falls?”

  “I have a dim idea.” He strode toward me. “Right now, that’s not what’s bothering me. You are. You have been since I first set eyes on you. Remember that day? You were straddling your boyfriend’s bike when we stopped him.”

  “You were there when Billy Tubbs got arrested?”

  “I was the rookie cop.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “I do. And I remember when you hooked up with Saxby Winthrop.”

  I glanced at my fingernails. By some miracle, my manicure was still looking fine. How could that be, when everything else was such a mess?

  “I waited Saxby out. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy at all, but I knew that bloated cat couldn’t hold you.” He stood over me, looking down. “When you left him, I thought maybe I had a chance at last, but then you went to work for Sam. At the shine in your eyes every time you looked his way, I almost gave up. But not quite. Not quite.”

  Matt reached out and pulled me to my feet. “Do you know what ‘not quite’ means?”

  I stared at him, not sure of how to answer, or whether to at all.

  “It means I’ll never give up on you, Honey Ingersoll. Never.”

  I found my voice. “I’m not worth it, Matt. Forget about me.”

  “Never. I’ll never forget you. That would be impossible. You’re everything anyone could ever want. You’re sassy and witty and smart. You’re loyal to a fault.”

  I shook my head. “I’m trailer trash.”

  “Men turn to look at you when you walk down the street.” He touched his forehead to mine. “And I’m one of them. Don’t leave, Honey. You have a life waiting for you here.”

  My throat too dry to speak, I listened. I had done nothing to earn Matt’s feelings for me, nothing at all. But as I stood there in the circle of his arms, what he was offering wasn’t anything that could be earned. It was a gift.

  “Please.” His voice was soft in my ear, his lips close to mine.

  I didn’t know if he was asking me to stay or asking to kiss me. I nodded anyway. His arms tightened, and his mouth came down on mine. About then I stopped thinking and gave in to the moment, ignoring all my vows and all my promises to myself. In my neediness, I wanted to be kissed. I wanted him to make love to me.

  His hands slid under my T-shirt. His voice was hoarse. “Take this off.”

  Mesmerized, awakened, I was about to do as he asked when a question popped up out of the blue. “Hey,” I moved back a little in his embrace, “I thought you don’t like one-night stands.”

  “I don’t.” He raised the top over my shoulders and flung it aside.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Starbuck’s French Roast perfumed the morning-after air as I settled across the kitchen table from Matt.

  Freshly showered, his black hair shining wet, his jaw stubbly, he smiled and reached for my hand. “Thank you.” His glance was as warm as his voice.

  “No need to thank me, Matt. We gifted each other last night.” I slid my hand out from under his. “So why don’t we use the good sense the Lord gave us and let it go at that?”

  His smiled dimmed. Though I was sorry to see that, what happened between us hadn’t changed my mind or sent me down a brand-new path. No question, the sex had been first-rate. But not a game changer. I had no future here in Eureka Falls, and the sooner I did something about it the better.

  “I’ve been thinking of what you told me, you know, about planning to leave and all.” He put down his coffee mug.

  Uh-oh. “Yes?”

  “Want to hear an alternate
solution?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Stay and go into business for yourself. Open your own realty office.”

  “But how? I have no money, no nothing.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Listen for a minute. You know the real estate business inside out. The prime areas, what the local market will bear. You’re licensed, and you have a following. Why not? What’s to stop you?”

  Taken aback by his suggestion, I stared at him, tongue-tied. From time to time, I’d gnawed on the same idea, but I hadn’t wanted to leave Sam. Still didn’t, not really, not way down deep where I lived, but that wasn’t something I’d ever say out loud.

  “Money would be a problem,” I finally said.

  “How much would it take? Office rent, a couple of computers, a printer, telephone, electric.”

  I threw up my hands. “Stop right there, Matt. I don’t want to go into business in Eureka Falls. I want to get out of here.”

  His blackberry eyes lost their shine. “Nothing has happened to change your mind?”

  Shaking my head, I put down the corn muffin I was about to bite into, and stood.

  “No need to hurry off,” he said. “You’ve made your point. Sit back down and finish your breakfast.”

  “That isn’t it. I have to get dressed. I’m going out.”

  “My cue to leave? Not a problem.” He checked his watch. “Ten thirty. I need to hit the road anyway. I’m meeting Detective Bradshaw later.”

  “About the case?”

  “You could say that.” He took a gulp of his coffee.

  I’d hurt him, and that felt terrible. He and Amelia were the two best friends I’d ever had, and after last night, Matt was also my lover, whether I wanted to admit it or not. I owed him one. The truth, then.

  “I really do need to get ready. I’m going to Tallulah Bixby’s funeral.”

  He glanced up fast. “Me too. I’m meeting Bradshaw there. Why are you going? You didn’t know the victim.”

  “Neither did you.”

  “No, but it’s part of my job. And I’m not recovering from a concussion.” He studied me for a long moment.

  “Do I pass muster?”

  “Fayetteville’s quite a drive from here. I’m not sure you’re up to it.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  He put his coffee mug in the sink and stood there with his back to me, shoulders slumped, hands spread wide on the countertop. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a very independent-minded woman?”

  I laughed. “Yes, just yesterday, in fact.”

  “Well, whoever it was knew what he was talking about.” He spun around. “I’m going home to shave and get dressed. I’ll be back in time to pick you up.”

  “No, that’s not—”

  “Be here. Don’t force me to put out an APB on you.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Wanna bet?” He strode toward the front door. “One hour.” He slammed the door shut.

  An hour later, I waited outside my building, wearing the same outfit I’d worn the night Cletus invited me to dinner at the Inn, my black silk dress, fake pearls, and heels. Sixty minutes to the second, up came the Ram and out jumped Matt. Too bad he was going to a funeral. In a navy-blue suit, white shirt, and striped tie, he looked like a man on his way to be married.

  I buried that idea fast and dangled my car keys. “The Lincoln?”

  “Under the circumstances, it would be more fitting. We need to stop for gas?”

  “I always keep the tank topped off.”

  He laughed and took the keys. “Why do I believe you?”

  Basking in the scent of his aftershave and the sight of his big, capable hands on the wheel, I relaxed on the drive to Fayetteville. The countryside, soft with summer, almost fooled me into believing this was an afternoon’s outing, not a police mission.

  Matt didn’t talk much on the ride. Eyes straight ahead, he focused on the road.

  No music, no NPR, we drove quiet as dust most of the way until, finally, I cracked. “What all do you expect to find today?”

  He gave me one of those non-answers. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  Another probe. “You looking for anybody in particular?”

  Without glancing away from the road. “Nope. You?”

  Sam. Would he be there? I didn’t think so. If for some reason he showed up, what would I say to him? Or do? Torn between hoping to see him and hoping not to, I felt my relaxed mood drain away like water running down a gulley.

  No time to wallow in self-pity, though, for the sexy-voiced GPS lady cooed that we were closing in on the First Baptist Church of Fayetteville. A few hundred feet ahead sat a squared-off yellow brick building with pointed windows shining in the sunlight and a bell tower reaching for heaven. No funeral bell tolled, though, for which I was mighty grateful. That would have made an already sad afternoon even sadder. Besides, the hearse and two black limousines parked in front were reminders enough of why we were there.

  In the parking lot, Matt pulled into one of the last empty spaces. We mounted a short flight of stairs and entered the crowded church through a side door.

  From the back of the church, where the usher seated us, I could see a casket blanketed with lilies resting in the center aisle. I couldn’t tell who was sitting up front in the first few pews, though. More than likely Tallulah’s nearest and dearest. Was Trey Gregson among them? Or not? And what of Senator Lott? He had been a frequent visitor to Trey’s home, so surely he’d known Tallulah well. For that matter, Lila might have known her too.

  Frustrated, I glanced over at Matt. His feathers unruffled, he sat calmly beside me, nodding once to Detective Bradshaw across the aisle. The organ swelled into “The Old Rugged Cross,” and when the hymn ended and the pastor stepped up to the pulpit, a hush fell over the congregation. The next hour passed in a blur of music and sorrow. As the service continued, the temperature rose in the packed church and the aroma of flowers and perfumes became downright dizzying. I caught Matt glancing at me more than once and squeezed his hand.

  “I’m fine,” I whispered, wanting it to be true, determined to make it so.

  We had come here to learn something about Tallulah’s death, and beyond all reason, I believed we would. What that something might be, I didn’t know, but as a wise ol’ mountain woman would surely do, I clung to my certainty.

  When the organ burst into the recessional, the congregation surged to its feet. Slowly, like they were steering a barge down a narrow river, the pallbearers moved the casket down the aisle. Walking behind it, two men gripped the arms of a middle-aged woman nearly doubled over in grief. Without their aid, she couldn’t have taken a single step. That had to be Tallulah’s momma, poor thing. Following her, tissues in hand, eyes red from weeping, were two young women so like Tallulah I guessed they were her sisters. Then the rest of the mourners filed past in an orderly fashion, but no Trey, no senator, no Lila, no Sam. Hmm.

  After a wrenching graveside farewell—Tallulah’s momma tried to fling herself onto the lowered casket—a solemn-faced funeral director invited everyone back to the Bixby home for a fellowship repast.

  Matt looked at me and cocked an eyebrow. “You up for that?”

  “ ’Could I am.” If we were going to learn anything helpful today, the Bixby house was where it would be.

  The sapphire-blue Caddy, as bright and glittery as when Tallulah drove it into Eureka Falls, sat in the driveway of a modest frame house on a leafy street thronged with cars.

  Clearly we weren’t the only ones wanting to pay our last respects. Matt parked halfway down the block, and we walked back to the house. Chatting guests spilled out onto the front porch, and from there, onto the lawn, their occasional spurts of laughter turning a sad event into something like a party.

  Matt peered through the crowd and nodded at Detective Bradshaw but made no attempt to approach him. So they would act the role of two mourners then, not two cops looking for clues to a killer.

  The party atmosphere outsid
e turned somber inside, where Tallulah’s momma and her daughters sat in the parlor, taking turns wiping their eyes and greeting their guests.

  I stood in the corner of the room for a while, listening to the steady thread of condolences. “So sorry … such a beautiful girl … what a shame. I’m suffering for your loss, Mamie. She’s with the Lord now.”

  When the line thinned out, I paid my respects too, laying my stranger’s comfort, for what it was worth, at Mrs. Bixby’s feet. Though she didn’t know me from Adam, she thanked me as sweetly as a body possibly could, and in turn, my heart went out to her. Something had to come out of this today. It had to.

  I glanced around the small, crowded room, but didn’t see Matt. In the dining room, the church ladies had provided an awesome array of food. Ham and casseroles, salads and finger sandwiches, tall tiered cakes, cookies, and fudge brownies. After chatting with a few folks and praising the pastor’s sermon, I helped myself to some lemonade from a cut-glass punch bowl.

  In the warm, overcrowded room, a pulse throbbed at my temples. The concussion acting up? Oh Lord, I hoped not. Needing a breath of fresh air and a cool breeze, I hurried through the kitchen without stopping to chat and stepped outside into a quiet back garden.

  Unless Matt was having more luck than I was, so far the day had yielded nothing of value, nothing that would help solve the crimes. So my ol’ mountain-woman hunch had been wrong. The trip had been a kindly gesture to a heartbroken family, nothing more.

  Cool drink in hand, I strolled across the tidy lawn. Toward the back of the garden, nestled in a shady arbor draped with wisteria, I spotted a wooden bench. Perfect.

  In the leafy shade, half hidden by the vines, I sank onto the bench, sipping lemonade, watching bees buzz in and out of the flowers. From the house came a drift of voices. Glad to be alone for a spell, I’d rest a while and then go find Matt. See if maybe he’d heard something.

  I was about ready to doze off when the odor of cigarette smoke came wafting across the lawn, snapping me awake. Cigarette smoke and voices. Angry voices.

  “I told you he wouldn’t show up. He never cared about Tallulah. All he did was use her. The old windbag.”