Secrets, Lies, and Homemade Pies

by Emma Ames

  “This is not my fault, Tizzy! I told you I was afraid of skunks. I gave you fair warning. You should have known I’d go a little crazy if I saw one.” Rayann fumbled with her purse, then pulled out her cell. She punched in the number and ranted, “Hello, Dwayne? Tizzy and I have a situation. I need you to come and get us! We’re out at the Philpot place. Bring your gun and at least two bullets.”

  Chapter Ten

  When Ridge climbed into his car, he couldn’t help but notice the Mustang sitting in Tizzy’s drive. He wondered who would visit this early. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a visitor, but an overnight guest.

  His chest tightened. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, and his biceps hardened. Was he jealous? He shook his head. Couldn’t be. He hardly knew the woman. However, even though he had no claim to her, the thought of another man in her life bothered him.

  He pushed the ridiculous notion away, cranked the engine, and headed toward the station. When he arrived, two cruisers plus the sheriff’s car were parked in the lot. Inside, he found Dan, Earl Dean, Bubba and Rita all laughing. “What’s so funny?”

  Chief Ramsay straightened his face. “You haven’t heard? Our local Lucy and Ethel had a run-in with a polecat last night.”

  Ridge cocked his head. “Lucy and Ethel, as in the TV show?’”

  “Yep. The call came in around eight. Tizzy and Rayann were at the Philpot place. They’d gone to deliver muffins and got sprayed by a skunk,” Bubba said.

  The news brightened Ridge’s mood. “I guess that explains the strange car I saw parked at Tizzy’s this morning.”

  “I’m afraid she won’t be driving her van for a while—or ever. We hauled it to be fumigated,” Dan said. Again, they broke into laughter.

  Rita laid down her powdered donut and wiped her mouth. “Those poor girls. They get into more messes than anybody. Do y’all remember the time they went to deliver pies out to Mrs. Buckelew and got attacked by the rooster? He ran them up a tree, and they couldn’t get down until she came home and penned the Rhode Island Red.”

  “I think the skunk trumps the rooster. To add insult to injury, during the ordeal, Tizzy dropped her purse and lost her keys. The Philpot’s dog showed up and ate her handbag, so they were stranded.” Bubba rocked back on his heels. “But here’s the best part. We bought every can of tomato juice and sauce in the county because it’s supposed to remove the odor. They bathed in it, and now they’re kinda pink!”

  Ridge chuckled. “Are they working today?”

  “You betcha.”

  “After my interviews this morning, I’ll stop off at Sweet Thangs.”

  An hour later, eight members of the ladies committee met Ridge in the fellowship hall at the Methodist church. He interviewed each one separately, and their stories matched. The night of the murder, Marlene arrived at seven p.m., and with one order of business, they adjourned by seven forty-five. Each stated there was nothing unusual about her behavior. They confirmed she had few friends, but no one came to mind who wanted to kill her.

  Fayrene Samuels, a blue-haired lady, wearing a dress the same hue, and Bernice Watson, thin and frail, were the last to leave. “You asked us about Tizzy and Marlene’s relationship. Pretty sure Bernice will agree. Marlene treated Tizzy unfairly the day of Boone’s funeral. Poor little thing was in such shock, she couldn’t even speak. We felt sorry for her, but in all fairness, Marlene was thirteen when Boone came along. Her mother’s pregnancy embarrassed her. You know how thirteen-year-old girls can be.”

  Ridge tried to keep a straight face while Bernice nodded and grunted agreement to every statement.

  “Especially a spoiled rich thirteen-year-old. Marlene loved Boone. She was like a little mother to him, and when their parents died so tragically in the plane crash, she assumed the role for real.” Bernice clicked her tongue.

  Fayrene shot her a look, then continued. “Boone was more like a son than a brother. Dealing with his death along with the news of his surprise marriage, made Marlene more unpleasant than usual.

  “I can verify that,” Bernice said.

  Fayrene went on. “But Tizzy, even though she’s a little quirky, is the sweetest girl in the world. She has a kind heart. Helps out at the bank and volunteers at the clinic.”

  Bernice lowered her voice. “You know she talks to the residents in the cemetery.”

  “So I’m told.”

  “I believe she does. Sometimes I ask her to deliver messages to my husband.”

  Fayrene rested her hands on her hips. “No matter if she does or not. She’s still a nice girl. Couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  The elderly woman wrapped cookies in a napkin and handed them to Ridge. “Take these home with you for later.” She laid them on the table next to him.

  “Thank you. Earlier, when I asked about Marlene and Carl’s relationship, you both rolled your eyes. You said they were happy, but do you believe they were?”

  The women exchanged glances, then Fayrene answered. “They appeared to be. But with Marlene’s disposition, I doubt any man alive could have made her happy. Wouldn’t you say so, Bernice?”

  “I sure would.” She leaned in and cupped her mouth. “I don’t think she and Carl had relations anymore. If you know what I mean.”

  Fayrene jerked her head around. “Bernice! I cannot believe you are talking about s-e-x in the Lord’s house. What is wrong with you?”

  “Good grief, Fayrene. If the Good Lord didn’t want people doing it, He would’ve made it feel like a root canal.”

  Ridge struggled to keep his composure “What makes you think they weren’t intimate?”

  “My housekeeper is friends with theirs, and she told me.” Bernice checked her watch. “Wow! It’s later than I thought. I’ve got to go. I have company coming and promised them homemade spaghetti. I can’t find a can of tomato sauce in this town. I’ve got to go all the way to Tyler.”

  Finally, a piece of information about Marlene’s marriage with a possible bearing on the case. Then again, if every forty-year-old married person not having sex was murdered, the ground would be covered in bodies. But as a man, Ridge knew if Carl Weston wasn’t having sex with his wife, he was most likely having it with someone else.

  An hour later, still smiling about Bernice’s root canal remark, Ridge strolled into Sweet Thangs and slid onto the chair between Bubba and Dan. Rayann came to take their order. Her skin, a light shade of pink contrasted against her rosy hair.

  “Damn, Rayann! You look like you’ve got cotton candy on your head.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Hush up, Dan. I’m not in the mood for more pink jokes.”

  She gave Bubba the puppy-dog eyes. “Do you think my hair looks like cotton candy?”

  He reached for her hand and kissed it. “Baby, cotton candy is spun sugar. It melts on your tongue like magic. I love cotton candy.”

  “Thank you, Dwayne.”

  She took their orders then walked away.

  Dan smirked at Bubba. “You are so whipped—it’s pitiful.”

  “Take my word. I’m not whipped. That, my man, was foreplay. Later tonight, I guarantee, I’ll have cotton candy all over me.”

  Tizzy delivered a slice of pie to the next table. Ridge motioned to her. “Too bad about your little mishap.”

  She cut him off short. “Don’t start with me, Cooper. Rayann and I have listened to every possible pink reference in the world. Gracie called me Pinky Dinky Doo. We’ve heard in the pink, tickled pink, pretty in pink, pink makes the boys wink, so I doubt you can come up with a new one.”

  He fought a smile. “Now what makes you think I’m here to tease you? Now that I’ve seen you, pink is my new favorite color.” He locked his eyes on hers and released his smile. “Pinkalicious.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Pinkalicious. Anybody called you that?”

  She took her bottom lip between her teeth. “No.”

  “They should have.”

  She raised her brows. “That’s
a good one.” Then she wheeled away.

  Dan pursed his lips and tightened his gaze. “Was that foreplay too, Cooper?”

  Ridge’s smile stayed in place, and he ignored the question.

  ~~*~~

  Afternoon light flashed through the trees as Ridge drove down the long, winding, paved road leading to the Weston residence. He guessed the asphalt cost as much as most homes in Brownsboro. Not visible from the main street, the two-story sprawling contemporary, all stucco, glass, and metal, had a four-car garage. A workshop sat next to the structure. As he parked, he checked out the pool, guest cottage, and cabana in the backyard.

  Since he’d called ahead, Weston’s housekeeper was expecting him. Elsie, an African American woman in her sixties, was short, thin, and pleasant. Her hair was twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. Barrettes, shiny as new pennies, kept the strands above her ears in place.

  She spoke softly. “Come in, sir. Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Water? Coffee?”

  “No, ma’am. But thank you. I’ve been eating and drinking all morning. The ladies at the church filled me up.” He removed his hat. “I appreciate you talking to me. I only have a few questions.”

  She motioned for him to take a seat on the sofa and she sat on a chair facing him. “Yes, sir. I’ll be happy to help any way I can. I still can’t believe Miss Marlene’s gone.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand. How long have you worked for the Weston’s?”

  “Oh, mercy. Almost twenty years.”

  Ridge placed his hat next to him on the sofa, then removed his notebook from his shirt pocket. “What kind of relationship did Mr. and Mrs. Weston have? Did they get along?”

  “Yes, sir. They didn’t spend much time together. Before the kids were gone, Miss Marlene was busy with their lives and activities. Once they left home, Mr. Carl was either at the bank or in his shop, and she was at church or community meetings. At least two weekends a month she went to Dallas to be with the children.”

  Ridge looked around the room. Books, arranged by height and color, rested on glass shelves. Magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table. He recalled how the preacher described the dead woman at her memorial service as perfect in every way. Her house confirmed the description.

  He drew his attention back to Elsie. “Mr. Weston said he didn’t know his wife was missing until the next morning. Do you know if he sleeps that soundly? Don’t you think he might wake up during the night and realize she wasn’t in bed?”

  Elsie tightened her lips and shifted her shoulders. “He might have—if they slept together.”

  Ridge sensed her discomfort but confirming that bit of information perked him right up. “You’re saying they didn’t share a bed?”

  “Oh, no, sir. They didn’t share a bedroom.”

  This was even better than what the church ladies told him. It was one thing for a couple to lack intimacy, but not sharing a bed was even more serious. “How long had that been going on?”

  “They’ve never shared a bed since I’ve been with ’em. Miss Marlene said Mr. Carl snored too loud and she couldn’t sleep in the same room.”

  Marlene wasn’t as perfect as the reverend claimed, and if Carl admitted it or not, there had to have been trouble in paradise. Ridge smiled. Outside he was sure a rainbow had appeared, and birds were singing. If this kept up, there’d be unicorns grazing in the yard by the time he left.

  “Did you think that was strange? Back then, they were in their twenties. I don’t know of many married men or women that age who wouldn’t want to sleep together.”

  “I can only speak for myself. I’d want my man next to me, but they seemed to be all right with the arrangement. It wasn’t my place to ask questions. They’ve been good to me, especially Mr. Carl.”

  “What about Mrs. Weston? Was she difficult to work for?”

  “She was picky. But once I learned how she wanted things, we got along.”

  “You mentioned the children. They’re at college?”

  “Yes, sir. Avery and Carl Junior, we call him CJ. They go to SMU.”

  Ridge nodded. “How was their relationship with her? Were they rebellious? Did they have friends she didn’t approve of? Either one of them ever get into any trouble?”

  Elsie shook her head. “No trouble other than normal stuff. I think she liked their friends. She didn’t talk to me about anything like that. What I know, I heard from CJ and Avery. They’d complain sometimes about their mother when she grounded them.”

  “Can you think of anybody who might have a grudge against Mrs. Weston or her family? Anyone who’d want to harm her.”

  “She wasn’t very likable, but I can’t think of anyone who’d want to hurt her.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Ridge reached for the handle of the screen door and noticed the yellow note.

  Supper at 5:30. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, fried okra, and Peach Bliss. You’re welcome to join us. Tizzy.

  He shouldn’t go. She was involved in the case, and he knew to keep business and personal life separate. And— there was the attraction. Dangerous for sure. He’d never socialized with a suspect, and he shouldn’t. But he’d not had a home-cooked meal—he stopped and tried to remember the last time. It had been a while. Too long. His stomach growled. So much for rules.

  He checked the time on his phone. Five-fifteen. Racing to the bathroom, he undressed as he went. After a quick shower, he dried off and pulled on a pair of black walking shorts and a Pittsburg Steelers tee-shirt. It only took a minute to secure his sidearm in the lockbox under the kitchen cabinet. He carried his ankle gun with him, strode across the lawn and knocked.

  From the other side, Tizzy yelled, “Come in.”

  He stepped inside, and Gracie ran to him. Before he could say anything, Tizzy rushed around the end of the counter and snapped at the child. “Get back in that corner, little girl.”

  She ducked her head, went back to the spot, stuck her nose in it, and cried. “When can I get out?”

  “I set a timer. When you hear the bell.” Tizzy swung her attention back to Ridge. “I’m glad you wanted to join us.”

  “Are you kidding? You had me at fried chicken.” He placed his gun on top of the fridge and straddled a stool. “Peach Bliss sounds interesting.”

  Tizzy licked her lips. “It’s one of my favorites. You mix fresh peaches in light sugar syrup, pour them over baked meringue, add a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and a dollop of whipped cream. I should warn you, once you eat it, you’ll do anything I want.”

  A dozen things ran through his head involving her in compromising positions. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you have in mind?”

  “You know, mow my yard, clean out my garage— whatever.”

  “I was hoping for something a little more personal.” He shouldn’t have said it, but she was so beautiful, he couldn’t help but flirt.

  “Oh.” She swallowed the word. “You enjoy doing that, don’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Embarrassing me. Teasing me. Getting my goat.”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.” Then he laughed and decided he’d tortured her enough. He glanced over his shoulder toward Gracie. “Does she have to stay there?”

  Tizzy smirked. “Oh, brother. Mr. Macho Texas Ranger is a wuss.”

  “No, I’m not. She’s just a baby. Whatever she did can’t be too bad.”

  “Guess what, Cooper? Every person you’ve put in prison was once three years old. She misbehaved. She needs to be punished.”

  He checked the countdown. “Two more minutes, missy prissy.”

  Tizzy placed her hands on her hips. “Really, Cooper?”

  “I’m sorry, but it breaks my heart to see her cry. What’d she do anyway?”

  “She sassed me, and you need to stay out of this, or I’ll put you in the corner, too.”

  “I’d rather you spank me.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Being with her affected his judgment.

  Tizz
y blushed, and her mouth fell open. “You are so bad! I bet you spent a lot of your early years in the corner.”

  The timer dinged, and Gracie ran to him. Apparently, she’d elected him her savior. That’s what he got for defending her. He lifted her into the air and twirled her around. When he stopped, he sat her on the counter, leaned down and looked her eye to eye. “Don’t you think you should apologize to your momma?”

  She stuck out her bottom lip and gave her sad eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Tizzy leaned over and hugged her. “Thank you, baby. I love you. Now, why don’t you go color Trooper Cooper a picture to take home with him?”

  Ridge helped her down. “I’d love a picture.”

  “How ‘bout a kitty?”

  “That would be perfect. I’ll put it on my refrigerator.”

  Gracie ran to her table and got to work.

  Ridge grinned. “So—you think I’m macho?”

  “Hush up. Do you want a beer?”

  He pulled out the barstool and sat again. “So far, this has been as much fun as reading Town Talk. I’d love a beer.”

  “Oh, my gosh. You’ve read our newspaper?” She grabbed a longneck from the fridge, opened the bottle, and handed it to him.

  He took a long pull. “Are you kidding? Mrs. Easton’s articles are the best part of my day. How ’bout yours?”

  “You’re interested in my day?”

  “Sure.”

  She gave her lashes a slow flutter. “It’s getting better all the time.”

  He eyed her from head to toe. Her black shorts fit her just right. The white shirt, soft and billowy, floated as she moved. Her hair hung loose. She was barefoot, toenails painted pink, each one decorated with a daisy.

  “Cooper!”

  The sound of her voice snapped him back to reality. “What did you say?”

  “Rayann and Bubba are joining us.”

  “Oh. That’s great.”

  ~~*~~

  Tizzy’s emotions were getting a workout thanks to her new neighbor. First, with all the sexual innuendo, and then when he’d helped her reach a dish from the top shelf of her cabinet. Their bodies didn’t touch, but if she’d exhaled, they would have. Her ticker kicked up when he’d offered to set the table, and now, damn him, as he pretended to sip tea with Gracie. Sitting there looking so hot with a pink feather boa wrapped around his neck, holding a plastic teacup, little finger extended. The perfect picture of the tough lawman turned domestic.