Diana Anderson - Entering Southern Country 01 - Famous in a Small Town

by Diana Anderson

  He was a handsome man, Raven noted, although not to her own tastes. However, the evidence was there—her mother hadn’t changed—not one iota.

  Raven recalled the numerous occasions when she had returned home from school to a locked house, while her mother entertained her latest lover in her bedroom. The weather hadn’t mattered. Raven had sat on the doorstep until they were through. More times than she could count, she’d done all of her homework on her front porch. Callie had scheduled her affairs when Virgil hunted, or fished, or hung out with his buddies down at the local bar. Either he had never caught on, or he hadn’t cared.

  “Is there anything that I can do?” Callie asked Salvador.

  Raven knew that her mother wasn’t concerned about his sister. She looked back at Ted. If he’d caught on to her mother’s proposition, he never let on.

  After Salvador left, her mother seemed disappointed but returned to her meal. She glanced at Raven who watched her with interest.

  “What?” Callie blotted her mouth with her napkin. The lights from the chandelier over the table reflected off the multitude of diamonds on her ring finger. “I don’t have food on my face, do I?”

  Raven shook her head and forked a bite of her salad. The doorbell chimed.

  “You expecting someone?” Ted asked as he eyed his wife.

  Callie looked a tad puzzled as she thought and then spoke, “No, are you?”

  A moment later, Maggie stepped into the doorway. “The sheriff is here to see you?”

  Callie stood up. “Oh my, I forgot.” She walked toward the door.

  “What does he want?” Ted asked confused.

  “Not you, Mrs. Wallace,” Maggie said.

  Callie stopped and eyed her housekeeper.

  Maggie looked past her. “He wants to speak with your daughter.”

  Callie looked back at Raven. Raven laid her napkin down and stood up. She was confused herself. Why would the sheriff want to speak with her, unless it pertained to Virgil’s murder, and she didn’t know anything, other than what her mother had revealed—which wasn’t much. Maybe he had some information about the murder. Maybe they had apprehended the murderer. Questions prodded her mind as she made her way around Callie and the housekeeper and through the doorway that led into the den.

  The sheriff stood in front of the fireplace with his back toward her as she entered. He was looking up at a portrait of her mother that hung over the mantle. He was in uniform and had a Stetson in his hand and wore black western boots.

  In the portrait, her mother was sitting in an arm chair and posing for the artist. A pose that Raven had seen her mother take on many times when she tried to grab the attention of a man. The portrait, Raven noticed, had been painted in this room. The same chair and the large window in the portrait were across the room from the main sitting area. All the furniture was European style with blue and gold, floral design upholstery and rich wood carving.

  “Sheriff?” she said as she clasped her hands together in front of her.

  He turned. She unclasped her hands, dropped them to her sides, and then clenched them into fists.

  His hazel eyes scanned her and then looked into her eyes. He smiled. “Agnes, it’s been a long time.”

  Her emotions were all over the place, each one competed with the other. Of all the people she’d wanted to avoid, he had been at the top of the list. “Cal? What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He glanced around the room before his eyes landed on her again. “I came to see you.”

  “Me? What gave you the idea I’d want to see you?”

  “Actually, I’m here on official business.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. Embarrassed that she had assumed it to be a cordial visit, she took a deep breath to try to relax the tension in her shoulders. Of course the sheriff would be the one to make the next of kin call.

  But of all people, why did Cal have to be the sheriff?

  “You could have spoken with my mother,” she said. “She would have relayed it to me.”

  He shook his head. “Did she relay to you that I had called and was coming by this afternoon?”

  She’d been away from her mother too long not to have seen that coming. She’d been out of practice with her mother’s habits. Seeing the truth in what he’d said, she conceded. “Very well, I’m listening.” She could be polite and offer him a seat, a drink, coffee, tea, or whatever, but she declined her inner politeness. She wanted him to tell her what he’d come to say and then leave.

  “The crime scene, Virgil’s and Wanda’s trailer, is all clear for you to enter. I suggest you get someone in there to clean it up before you go inside. It’s not a pleasant sight.”

  “Wanda? Who’s Wanda?”

  “Your dad’s wife.” He eyed her puzzled.

  She looked away for a moment. “Does she have family?”

  He shook his head. “Just you.”

  She looked down at the floor and realized that it was up to her to handle not only Virgil’s funeral arrangements but his wife’s too—everything. She didn’t want to go into their house. She didn’t want to deal with that part of her past that was sure to rear its ugly head the moment she stepped foot into it. She surmised Virgil had bills that would need to be taken care of along with his property and their belongings. She sighed, and the weight on her shoulders grew heavier and heavier.

  “Also,” he waited for her to look at him once more.

  She looked up. He looked an inch or two taller than she remembered. His sandy blonde, wavy hair was shorter than it had been in high school. His facial features were no longer youthful but mature and his body more muscular. Something in his eyes looked different, but she didn’t know what that might be, and she didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

  “Virgil has a dog chained up behind his house. Do you want him, or shall I call the animal control to come pick him up?”

  A dog? What am I going to do with a dog? “What will the animal shelter do with him?”

  “They try to find homes for all the strays and unwanted animals.”

  “Oh, well then—”

  “But not all find homes and those that don’t, after a short period of time, get euthanized. They don’t have the funds to keep all of the animals fed for an extended stay. So the ones that have been there the longest are the first ones to go.”

  She looked away a moment, her conscience ate away at her. Her eyes went back to his the moment he spoke.

  “I’ve got to warn you. I highly doubt that dog will find a home.”

  Knowing Virgil—he had taken care of the animal as he’d taken care of all the animals he’d ever had. He hadn’t. When she had lived there, she took care of them. Fed and watered them and trained them to not bark to avoid Virgil’s wrath. She’d picked ticks off of them, bathed them, and had given them the love and attention she’d never received. She pictured the animal emaciated, mange eaten, and crippled from one of Virgil’s lead footed kicks. But if she took him, she could get him to a vet and revive him to good health, and maybe someone would want him. However, that would take time. Time she didn’t want to spend in this place.

  “What … what’s wrong with him?” she asked.

  Cal shrugged and looked away in thought as if he pictured the animal. “He’s eaten up with ticks and fleas. I doubt he’s ever had a bath or seen a vet, so he probably needs vaccinations. He doesn’t look too worse for the wear. Looks like he’s been kept fed.”

  She almost smiled at that but caught herself as she remembered who stood in front of her. “I’ll take care of it. Has anyone fed him since … ?”

  “I went by there this evening and checked on him. Gave him some food and fresh water.”

  She nodded a thank you. “Is that all, Sheriff?”

  He studied her a moment. “That’s it.” He turned to go.

  “Do you have any clues who murdered Vir … my father?”

  He turned back and shook his head. “I’m sorry.” As an afterthought, he reached
into his pocket and then held out his hand toward her.

  She hesitated.

  “The key to the trailer. It’s been padlocked to help keep scavengers out.”

  She held out her hand, palm up, and left him no other alternative but to drop it there. He walked toward the foyer.

  “Cal?” Callie called out.

  He turned.

  Her mother rushed across the room to the foyer and took Cal’s right arm.

  “Please stay for coffee and dessert. I haven’t seen you in ages, and we’ve got so much to catch up on.”

  He eased his arm from her grip and glanced at Raven. Her eyes were on them. “No, thank you, Mrs. Wallace. I’ve still got some work to do.”

  “Mrs. Wallace?” Callie said. “Since when do you call me Mrs. Wallace? When you and Agnes were in high school you always called me Callie.”

  He glanced at Raven once more and said, “I’m not in high school anymore, Mrs. Wallace. Y’all have a pleasant evening.” He put his hat on, turned, opened the front door, and left.

  “Ugh! That’s ridiculous!” Callie said and then turned toward Raven. “Did you say something to him to cause him to behave that way toward me?”

  Raven rolled her eyes as she closed them.

  “Ah, I get it,” Callie continued. “You’re still upset with him over the affair.”

  Raven opened her eyes. “I couldn’t care less about your affairs, then and now, although I’m sure you haven’t changed even with your new husband.”

  Callie squinted at her as she crossed the distance between her and Raven. She stood in front of her and said through clenched teeth, “Keep your voice down. Ted doesn’t need to know how I was back then, and it’s no wonder that I was seeing other men behind Virgil’s back. You know full well he was cruel and without affection.”

  “I honestly doubt that you’ve changed, Mother.”

  “Is something wrong?” Ted asked as he walked into the den.

  Callie replaced her scowl with a well perfected smile. “No, dear, we were just chatting about old times.” She looked at Raven, her eyes dared her to contradict her. “Weren’t we, Agnes?”

  Raven wanted to burn her birth certificate. Callie continued to stare her down until Raven broke it. She turned toward Ted and asked, “Would it be all right if I kept Virgil’s dog here until I found a suitable home for him?”

  “A dog!” Callie said with disgust.

  Ted glanced at Callie and then looked back at Raven and smiled. “That will be fine.”

  16

  High school? I was in college. Raven was in high school.

  Cal slid into the driver’s seat of his squad car. He started the engine, drove down the driveway, and headed on down the road. He tried to get his mind off of Agnes and back on the Neals’ case where it should be. Seeing her again was a shot in the heart but obvious to him that she didn’t feel the same way. He’d read contempt in her face and disgust in her voice. He’d hoped she hadn’t read him, because when he saw her again, those old feelings he’d had for her rushed back just like the first time he’d kissed her.

  She’d seemed angry. She had stood in the Wallaces’ den with her hands at her sides clenched into fists. Her blue eyes had darkened and her jaw muscles worked. He’d never seen her angry before, but he’d seen her hurt, and it had been a pain that he couldn’t take away. When she’d left town, nobody knew where she’d gone. Her mother had said she’d left with some guy she’d met at the diner. Cal never believed it though. That was the summer after she’d graduated high school. A few months later, rumor had it that she lived in Oxford and went to college there.

  When he saw her at the Wallaces’, he noticed that she wasn’t the young teenage girl who he’d fallen in love with years ago. Of course, he knew that she wouldn’t be, but he’d been surprised to see the changes that had occurred over time. She was no longer thin, but had matured in all the right places. Her bright blue eyes were no longer hidden behind a pair of cheap glasses. He had been taken aback by her long hair. She had always worn it cropped short back then. But the most important thing that he had noticed—she didn’t have a ring on her left hand.

  A smile crossed his face as he remembered the first time he’d taken an interest in her. He had been a sophomore in college at Mississippi State in Starkville, and she was a senior at Cypress high school. She and her friend worked at Janie’s Diner and waited tables after school and on weekends. Agnes didn’t have a car, so her friend picked her up and brought her to work with her. It was a weekend, and he had been home from college. He and a few of his friends had met at the diner. She had waited on his table. He playfully teased her, and it appeared that was something she wasn’t used to, but he also noticed she seemed to enjoy it. She had blushed and smiled. He had told her a lame joke, and she had been polite enough to laugh at it. There had been many things on their first encounter that had infatuated him, but what had captured him the most was her bashfulness, her beautiful smile, and her blue eyes. Inside of her was a heart of an angel.

  He’d dated other women over the years but had never experienced those feelings again. He’d even come close to marriage once but had broken it off before the arrangements had been made. It’d always come back to Agnes. Her sweet smile, those blue eyes, and the way she’d blushed the first time he’d kissed her. The look on her face when he’d told her that he was in love with her—like she’d never heard those words before.

  How could anyone not love her? Then thought after thought crossed his mind. Maybe someone does. Maybe she’s spoken for. Maybe she loves someone, and they’re waiting for her to come back. Not everyone wears a ring on their left hand.

  He shook his thoughts away. “Stay focused, Cal. Virgil and Wanda. Virgil and Wanda.”

  17

  Raven had left a few minutes after Cal did and drove to Virgil’s house. He had lived off of a dirt road five miles off of the main highway. Callie had purchased fifty acres right before Raven was born. Where she’d gotten the money was anybody’s guess. Callie had said she had inherited the money from an uncle who’d passed away. Virgil had cleared off two of those acres for the trailer house, a few out buildings, and a garden plot neither one of them had ever tended. The rest of the property was wooded and a place where Virgil had hunted and fished most of his time—what time he wasn’t out drunk with his buddies.

  She drove the car into the driveway, put the gearshift into Park, and turned off the ignition. She sat motionless as she looked at the trailer. It had been bought brand new right after the purchase of the property and had replaced a rundown shack that had been bulldozed. Far from brand new now, the metal siding was separated in several seams along the front. The underpinning was warped and rusted. The wooden front porch looked on the verge of collapse. A broom and a mop were propped up against the porch rail. With the spring storms that blew through the area and the condition of the trailer, that it still stood was nothing short of a miracle.

  She opened the car door and stepped out. Other than the Cicadas that sang from up high in the trees and a warm breeze that rustled the leaves, the place was quiet. She scanned the area and took note of the changes. There weren’t any. Virgil had never owned a lawn mower. He had his neighbor, Carl Gentry, bush-hog it twice a year. Patches of grass and weeds had grown high in the rich soil that surrounded the trailer. The well-house beside the trailer was not quite visible through the tall weeds. The dirt driveway had several ruts left by vehicles when it had rained. A few hickory and sweetgum trees shaded the house. Rusty and brown patches of sap from the sweetgum tree were on Virgil’s beat-up white truck and Wanda’s light blue compact car. At least Raven assumed it was Wanda’s.

  Yellow crime scene tape had been placed in an X across the front door. Should she go inside? She walked to the porch steps and then stood in front of them. She shook her head and told herself, “No.” The dog, that’s why she was there. The other would have to wait. She wasn’t ready to face her demons yet, if ever. No, she wouldn’t. They could bulldoze
the place down for all she cared.

  She walked on and headed around the trailer toward the front end and stopped. Something had burned half the field and a few trees where the garden plot used to be. She glanced around and her eyes landed on the front end of the trailer. Cardboard covered the window and the sides looked charred. She looked back at the garden plot and saw debris scattered. She walked across the weedy yard and stopped a short distance from the ravaged area. Plumbing pipes stuck out of the ground like a house had been there and had burnt to the ground. She walked a short distance further to investigate. A dog woofed and then whimpered. She glanced toward the back of the house and saw a big brown head peek around the air conditioner unit.

  She made her way over and stood a safe distance from the animal. He stood to greet her, wagged his short stub of a tail, and when she didn’t respond quick enough to suit him, his ears drooped, he lay back down, and rested his big head on his front paws.

  “Oh, no! You’re a pit bull.” She loved animals but had never been around pit bulls. However, she’d heard plenty of horror stories about them.

  He whimpered. Not that she considered herself an expert, but she knew that sound was not typical of a vicious dog.

  With slow movements, she made the distance between her and the animal but stopped a few feet away. He was chained, but she couldn’t tell how long the chain might be. If he lunged at her, she was good as supper to him.

  His big blue eyes looked up at her. He looked unhappy, and she could imagine how much. He didn’t look like he’d missed a meal and that could only be attributed to Wanda. She didn’t remember a Wanda from her past, but it sure wasn’t Virgil who had fed him.