The Wiles of Watermelon (Scents of Murder Book 2)

by Lynette Sowell

  He shook his head. “I have five points, and you have three.”

  “If I see Curtis and Vivian first, we’ll be tied. I’m surprised they haven’t come, as much as Vivian felt honored at joining the Chamber. And Curtis was supposed to sing a few songs at the bandstand. Evidently someone’s playing up the fact that Curtis does a great Brent Balducci impersonation.” If we didn’t find them, Ben would make me go on the Tilt-A-Whirl. I got queasy just looking at that one. When I was seven, I made the mistake of going on the ride right after eating a big bowl of cheesy chili. I’ll say no more.

  Then I caught sight of Junker Joe, riding a bicycle along the midway and towing a small wheeled cart. He would stop at each trash can, study its contents, then move along. The time crawled toward nine. I didn’t think Joe had known about the ads that Honey had purchased. He sure could have used the money. But Honey and he would probably just have had a screaming match over it, like the argument I’d seen the night before Honey died.

  Roland had stayed home. Maybe he actually was sick, and I was just looking for someone to blame. Maybe tonight wasn’t supposed to be about me hunting anyone, but having a night off and enjoying time with my husband.

  “You’re pretty quiet tonight.” Ben slipped his arm around me. “You okay?”

  “Just tired. And thinking.” After we’d seen Cynthia, Ben had lived up to his promise and I now hugged a three-foot bear the color of oatmeal and wearing a baby blue bow. Still no sign of Curtis or Vivian Delane, though. Someone hollered near the bandstand about why wasn’t Curtis there to sing tonight. Brent Balducci impersonation, indeed. I’d have to look the guy up on imdb.com sometime and see what the big deal was about the late middle-aged actor/singer.

  A familiar-looking redhead wandered with two other women among the festival-goers. “Gretchen Wilkes. Straight ahead and coming this way.” Ben glanced at me. “We can duck behind a booth so you don’t blow your cover.”

  “No, that’s all right.” I smiled at him. “Gretchen seemed genuinely upset about Honey the other day, and she had no idea who I was. Sure, she was probably looking at the restaurant to see if it was worth fighting for. But I think sitting in that restaurant and seeing Honey’s touches everywhere reminded her that she loved her sister, regardless of their past feuding. I was hoping to get the chance to talk to her sometime, to see if she might know who wanted Honey dead.”

  Gretchen drew closer and I caught her eye. She glanced from me to Ben, then back to me again. “I thought you looked familiar. Liked my sister’s pies, did you?”

  “I did. Andi Hartley.” I stuck my hand out to shake hands with her, but she just stared at it like I’d tried to hand her a red-hot pan. “Everything I told you the other day was the truth. I liked your sister. She came on a little, um. . .”

  “Strong?” Gretchen shifted from one foot to the other. “I grew up with her. Hard to get a word in edgewise most of the time, and when you did, you were wrong.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about Honey’s death.”

  “The police already talked to me. They know she and I barely spoke the last ten years. Doesn’t mean I’d kill her. We were kin, even though she didn’t like to remember that.”

  “But can you think of anyone who’d want to kill her?”

  “Don’t you read the news?” She looked at me like I was a simpleton. “They arrested someone. A former employee.” Here, she glared at Ben.

  “I know. We don’t believe they arrested the right person.”

  “It looks pretty cut-and-dried to me. She fired him and smeared his name, and so he wanted revenge. Sometimes people just. . .snap.” At that, Gretchen snapped her manicured fingers.

  “I don’t think Gabe did it,” I said. “He has a wife and a little girl. My husband’s worked with him. He knows Gabe’s a hard worker. He had two jobs. That’s not a thief, or a murderer. Besides, Ben said Honey was giving him an advance on his paycheck, and he didn’t steal anything.”

  Gretchen shook her head. “Y’all should be giving thanks it wasn’t you, Mr. Benjamin Hartley, that was the one getting arrested. Seems to me you really liked Honey’s pies, too, didn’t you? They can get a bit messy, can’t they?”

  Ben and I looked at each other. Nobody called him Benjamin. And the crack about the pies could only mean. . .I had a flash memory of the photo of Honey, wiping pie off Ben’s cheek.

  “What are you talking about?” I clutched my giant bear a little more tightly.

  “You had just as much a motive as that Gabe fellow.” Gretchen pointed a finger at Ben. “Butter her up, charm her, get her to change her will. . .and then get rid of her.”

  “That’s not true. I worked for Honey, and that was it.”

  “Pictures don’t lie, do they, Mrs. Hartley?” With one more pointed look at both of us, Gretchen rejoined her friends and they headed off down the midway.

  “We know now where those pictures came from.” Ben watched them stop at a craft booth. “I’ll have to tell Jerry. Not sure what’s going to happen with that. She didn’t ask for money or try to terrorize us. Maybe she wanted to throw doubt into your mind, and suspicion on me.”

  “I guess she figured since the police arrested Gabe, they’re not looking at you anymore. Or her.”

  “What a tough cookie. She sure sympathized with you.” Ben took the bear from my arms. “I think she hates men.”

  “Could be.” I put my arm around him. “But I sure love this man a lot.”

  “And I love you.” His stomach growled. “I wouldn’t mind getting somethin’ to eat. The River Grille has steak wraps at their booth.”

  Two steak wraps later, we realized we needed to sit down in order to eat the giant tortillas stuffed with grilled steak strips, lettuce, tomato, and sour cream. Ben looked like a big kid with ribeye juice on his chin. “Let’s go to my booth. We can sit and eat there. Then I can see how Sadie’s doing. Maybe she was swamped today.”

  We headed in the direction of the display tent decorated with my vinyl Tennessee River Soaps banner. Sadie was wrapping someone’s purchase. Her boyfriend sat in the corner of the tent and strummed his guitar.

  “Mrs. Hartley, you made it back. I didn’t think you were going to come back until closing.” Her glance flicked to her boyfriend. Ah, young love.

  “Ben and I decided to come and just have fun. Thought I’d stop by to see how you are.” I moved around the display table and took an empty seat. Ben tucked the bear next to my feet.

  “Tired. We’ve been busy, so I’m not complaining.” Sadie flashed a smile at me. Then another for her boyfriend, who looked at her as if her words were music. They’d have a sad parting when Sadie left to go back to college in a couple of weeks.

  “Y’all go ahead. The rides are still open and so are some of the games. Ben and I can handle things here for a while.”

  “Really? I was wantin’ to go on the Ferris wheel. It’s so romantic. But we’ll come back and help you close up.” With that, Sadie grabbed her purse. Her boyfriend took her hand, and they vanished into the milling crowd.

  Ben settled onto the seat that Sadie’s boyfriend had occupied. “They’re good kids.”

  I took a bite of my steak wrap, chewed, and swallowed. “That they are. But it’s bittersweet for me, watchin’ them run around so in love. Aunt Jewel was Sadie’s age when she died. So many hopes. So many years.”

  “Which is why maybe we’ll get a few answers tonight.”

  “I hope so. No matter how people say to just let it go, let the authorities do their work, I can’t.” A woman from church, the new doctor, strolled past. Her olive complexion, ink black hair, and dark eyes made her stand out from the crowd. I could imagine her walking straight out of a sketch from Aladdin. But even if she were a close friend, I’d have a hard time telling her she looked like a beautiful cartoon character.

  The doctor paused at our table. “Hello there. What kinds of soap do you have. . .besides watermelon?” Her voice sounded proper yet had a musical tone with the faintest
touch of drawl.

  “Hi, Dr. . . .”

  “Mukherjee.” She extended her hand, and we shook. Strong, confident grip with a small hand. “We go to the same church, don’t we?”

  I nodded. “I’m Andromeda Hartley, and this is my husband, Ben.”

  Her smile lit her face. “Okay. You’re related to the police chief then.”

  “Guilty as charged.” Ben wiped his hand on his jeans and shook hands with her. “So what do you practice? I’d heard Dr. Bradley added another partner to his clinic.”

  “I’m an OB-GYN.” Dr. Mukherjee picked up a wrapped bar of Gardenia Frenzy and sniffed. “I love caring for future mothers. And I can barely keep back the tears every time I help bring a new life into the world. We’re all miracles from God, ready to live out His purpose for us on this earth.” She paused. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

  “It’s all right.” Her words ignited something in my heart. A child, a miracle from God. All I knew was now I wanted one. Scary, but I did. Sure, a little miracle might give her parents fits—I could see that with Di and her boys—but like a nurturing tigress, she wanted to guide them to be what God destined them to be. Maybe it was something that had built up in me over time and now poured out at Dr. Mukherjee’s words. Maybe it was remembering that pregnancy test and how I wasn’t sure what to feel when I saw the result.

  “I love what I do, and I’m happy to be here.” A shadow crossed her face. “Greenburg is so different from Atlanta.”

  “Well, here’s a belated welcome to Greenburg. And to Greenburg Bible Church. I’ve seen you there, too, but we’ve been busy lately, so we haven’t attended the midweek service this summer.”

  “Thank you for the welcome. And I understand about being busy.” Dr. Mukherjee selected several bars of different scented soap. “I’ll take these.”

  She paid for her soaps and went on her way. I sat down on my chair again. “That woman is a living doll. In another century she might have been a princess. Look how she carries herself. So elegant a book wouldn’t budge on her head while she walked. You’re right. Jerry has a crush on her.”

  Ben looked amused. “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”

  “He’s so dedicated to his job, I don’t think he’s thought about making the time to get to know someone. And you’re right. He did race out the door when her car was getting towed the other day—he could have sent someone else. And Jerry had a salad for lunch the last time I saw him at the office. I meant to tell you that.” My brother-in-law wasn’t what you’d call fat, but he was a little, um, squishy. “Maybe he’s trying to lose weight. I think they’d be cute together.”

  “My darlin’ Ands, I think we just need to step back and stay out of the way. Stick to being a detective, not a matchmaker.” Ben stood and took out his wallet. “I’m parched. You want a Coke, too?”

  “Sure.”

  He moved toward the line of food booths across the way.

  Jerry and the doctor. Talk about opposites. But she knew who he was. Maybe I ought to mention that to him. Except maybe she just had a memory for names and faces. A good doctor often did. So maybe I’d listen to Ben and not say anything to Jerry.

  The rest of the night was a trickle of customers as the festival wound down for the evening. Although Ben ended up winning our game, we never got to ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl. Sadie and her boyfriend returned to help us pack up. I’d decided not to keep my booth open on Sunday. After all, I closed on Sundays at the store. We loaded the rest of the soaps, tables and chairs, and display items onto Ben’s truck and headed home.

  I glanced at my watch with the aid of a street light. Eleven fifteen. “I wonder what the camera will show.” We left the downtown neighborhoods behind us and crossed the bridge, moonlight flickering on the river below. Had the recorder done its job?

  “We’ll find out soon.” Ben turned onto our road. “I’m just as curious as you are. Even wondered once or twice if our man was at the festival tonight.”

  “Me, too. I’d see a guy in his fifties and wonder if that was Bobby Johnson. He probably doesn’t even live here anymore. I wondered who in the crowd might have secrets that Honey would blackmail for.” We entered the driveway, and the watermelon field looked undisturbed, its large fruit giant lumps in the moonlight.

  “Time to pick some more watermelon,” Ben observed. “I wonder if we could set up a farm stand.”

  “I’m going to try Momma’s recipe for pickled watermelon rind. Thought I’d can some.”

  “Is that so? Sounds mighty delicious to me.”

  Ben stopped the truck next to our awning, and we lost no time getting to the makeshift junk pile and our camera. He pushed some buttons and the display lit up. “Okay, it looks like something triggered the camera at nine forty-five.”

  My heart pounded. “What?” I looked closer at the LCD screen.

  A deer strolled into view, hopping across the driveway and into the field. It froze as if it had heard a noise, then bounded away into the woods at the edge of the watermelon patch. Ben clicked on the fast- forward. Headlights skimmed across the screen. No one entered the driveway, but all vehicles passed by on the main road. Another deer. I couldn’t tell if it was the same one from earlier. Eventually the memory card filled up.

  “Nothing else.” Ben turned the camera off.

  “But at least the idea worked.” I sighed. “We’ll just have to try it again next Saturday night. Except this time I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to sit in the shed and watch until someone shows up.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Monday I headed to Momma’s to learn all about pickled watermelon rind. Now that the festival was over, all I had to do was run a business and find a murderer, so I figured my schedule had cleared. Sort of. I was fresh out of ideas in the sleuthing department, but maybe Momma would give me some helpful information.

  She took a giant stockpot out of the refrigerator. “This pot is full of rinds and salt water. They’ve been soaking overnight.”

  “Are they chopped?” I looked inside the pot.

  “Yes, but I only use the white part of the rind. I cube ’em, about one inch in size. Get me the other large pot and put water in it to boil.” She drained the salted rind while I followed her directions.

  Momma handed me her recipe card once the pot of water was on the stove. “Here’s all the spices we need.”

  “I’ll get ’em down from the cabinet.” The simple act of cooking comforted me, more than a chunk of chocolate cake with fudge frosting. I could tell it meant something to Momma, too, spending time with her daughter in the kitchen. Vague memories flickered inside my head, of making cookies with her and trying to knead bread when I could barely see over the top of the counter.

  Momma’s shoulders slumped. “Jewel missed out on all o’ this. She never got to have babies, see them grow up, and have their own. Never learned the treasure of family. Sorry. I didn’t mean to add any sadness today. But I should tell you, I decided to have a memorial service for her a week from Thursday.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re not making me sad.” I gave Momma a hug. “Aunt Jewel’s been on my mind, too. She and Bobby Johnson.”

  Momma’s mouth sealed into a thin line. Then she spoke again. “Here’s the cheesecloth. Did you find the cinnamon sticks?”

  “Yes. And the mustard seed and cloves.”

  She measured out the spices and wrapped them in a cheesecloth bundle. “Now we put this in another pot with vinegar and sugar.”

  “That’s a lot of pots. Maybe when I make some pickled rind, I can get Ben to do the dishes.” Momma had sure clammed up when I mentioned Bobby. “So, what was Bobby like?”

  Her look could have pickled me. “Shaggy hair. That, I remember. Daddy always said he looked like a mangy dog, but Jewel thought his hair was ‘groovy.’ Not a big guy or a small fella. Medium, average. He’d sort of blend in most of the time.”

  “What do you think Aunt Jewel saw in him?”

  “Wa
tch the sugar and spices. Don’t let ’em burn.” Momma checked on the rinds and sighed. “What does any young woman see in a man? You know there’s a verse in Proverbs about that, about four things too amazing to understand: ‘the way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a snake on a rock, the way of a ship the seas, and the way of a man with a maiden.’ Wish I understood. We’d have cured her of Bobby back then. Watch the stove. I want to show you somethin’.”

  Momma went into the living room and when she returned, she held a scrapbook, one I’d never seen before. Its pages held a set of newspaper clippings from the Greenburg Dispatch. “See. Here’s what I’ve held onto all this time.”

  I nodded as I scanned the articles on the front page. Someone had spray-painted graffiti on the fountain in front of City Hall. Someone else complained at the county hearing about rising property taxes. A property developer wanted to add more stores at the edge of town. The main headline was a bank robbery over in Selmer the Saturday before. And someone else clamored for money to build a new gymnasium.

  “It’s a newspaper from the seventies.”

  “This is the first paper that came out after Jewel disappeared. Not a word about her. Nothing. Don’t know why I kept the paper, but I did.” Momma took the paper back from me. “And when Jerry told me that Daddy took out a missing persons report all those years ago, I didn’t understand why it wasn’t in the news back then. People are important. Lots of this stuff is just extras.” She frowned at the paper.

  “See, Momma, that’s why I’ve been tryin’ to find Bobby. Because he probably knows how Honey, and eventually Joe, got that suitcase. And that money inside wasn’t Aunt Jewel’s. It couldn’t have been. Mostly, I think he knows how she ended up in that field.”

  “You’re right about that. Jewel didn’t have a job. And I didn’t know much about Bobby’s family.”

  “Roland Thacker said something about them having an egg farm.”

  “Oh. . .the egg farm people.” Momma picked up the stockpot of boiled rind and poured the rind into a strainer. The boiled water curled down the drain. “See, pour out and drain your rind. Then we’ll stir the rind chunks into the sugar mixture after it sits for a few minutes.”