“So Sanders and Philip might have gotten into an argument, and Philip ended up dead,” I said. “Then who killed Sanders?”
“The trick is finding out who benefits most from Sanders’ death.”
I remembered what Mrs. White had told me and said, “I’ve heard he has an heir.”
“That’s interesting. I haven’t been able to find any record of one. No will was filed in the Marshall County probate court. As far as is known, he died intestate.”
“That’s not in Bitty’s favor. I mean, she doesn’t benefit from Sanders being killed at all, so doesn’t that mean she has no motive to see him dead? She’d convinced him to put his house on the tour, after all, and anyway, just who kills someone for a house that won’t be theirs?”
Jackson Lee nodded. “I think we’ve got a pretty strong defense on Sanders. It’s Philip Hollandale that worries me. And don’t share that last with Bitty. By the time this comes to court, we’ll have all the DNA results back and a lot more evidence than we do now. The labs might be backed up and slow, but they’re thorough.”
I sighed. “They get it done so quickly on CSI. Instant DNA results.”
“Just on TV. Not available in reality yet, but I’m betting it will be. After all, used to, it took a lot more blood evidence to get DNA, and now all they need is a speck.”
Because talking about blood made me a little queasy, I thanked Jackson Lee for allowing me to access the crime scene photos, and he walked me out to my car. I turned to look up at him.
“Jackson Lee, do the police already know about the statues being different?”
He nodded. “As well as the prosecutor. I just haven’t said anything since I hoped Bitty wouldn’t remember it yet. If this case does get to court, Bitty can be a lot more convincing when she’s telling the truth than when she’s trying to make folks believe she is. She’s hard to shake when she thinks she’s right.”
“And any shade of doubt that she did it—”
”Can put reasonable doubt in play. The police have blood evidence, motive, opportunity, and Bitty saying she’d like to see the senator dead. Not to mention him turning up in her cellar after you ladies hauled him around town a while first. That can be pretty damning. Believable doubt might help with a jury.”
“That’s depressing. Too many people already know about us trying to hide Philip in the cemetery anyway.” When Jackson Lee looked at me, I added, “Melody Doyle says Cindy Nelson told her about it, so I imagine most of Marshall County knows about it by now. Or will soon.”
“Unless I can get that thrown out, it’s going to look bad for her in court.” Jackson Lee blew out a heavy sigh and rocked back on his heels. “What the hell made you ladies do that in the first place?”
“I don’t know. Some kind of hysteria, I think. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “Next time anything like this happens, call me before you do anything.”
“My God. I can’t imagine anything like this ever happening again. Not to us. Even Bitty hasn’t ever found one of her husbands dead and in her coat closet before.”
“Let’s hope it’s not a new phase she’s going through.”
I thought about that when I pulled up in front of Bitty’s house. Despite her exemption of loud parties and visitors, the house was once more a parking lot and way-station for college kids. Thank heavens, the music was much more subdued, however, so I went inside to find Bitty in the thick of things, as usual.
A crowd was gathered in the basement “playroom” that looks like it was decorated by Tony Soprano. Some sat at the card tables engrossed in poker, but the liveliest of the group were throwing sharp objects. Naturally, Bitty was among them. The electric dart board lit up, while I looked around for a suit of armor.
“Trip twenty!” Bitty shouted, giving one of the hops from her former cheerleading days at Ole Miss. True to form, none of the coffee in her cup sloshed out but stayed firmly in place as if held with a clear seal or magnets.
Since I wasn’t sure what a trip twenty was but thought it must be good, I said, “Excellent, Bitty” in hopes that she’d quit before hitting someone with a dart. Like me.
Turning, she came to me with a pleased smile and an offer of a drink. “We have whatever you might want, sugar. Bailey’s and coffee?”
“Thanks, but I’m considering a twelve-step program. I’m sure it’ll last as long as my diet plan, so don’t throw away any booze just yet. Any Coke?”
We ended up in the kitchen where it was quiet, or quieter than the basement. Instead of Coke, I had sweet tea, and my ice clinked against the glass as I sucked down three inches of it.
“So why were you at Jackson Lee’s office?” Bitty asked as she shoved a plate of cream cheese and pineapple mix spread atop crackers at me.
Since Jackson Lee and I had decided that Bitty would benefit most by not mentioning the statue switch, I stuffed one of the Ritz crackers into my mouth and swallowed before replying. “I just had some silly idea I’d missed something, that’s all.”
“And did you miss something?”
“Just my breakfast. And lunch. These are delicious. I’ve always loved this stuff.”
“So have I. You’re keeping something from me, Trinket. I can always tell. What is it?”
“You always say that, but I’ve kept plenty of things from you and you’ve never even suspected.”
Bitty sat up straighter. “Like what?”
“Like the time I didn’t tell you that Stewart Carmichael and Cady Lee Forsythe were stirring up more than dust in his hayloft. You didn’t know for a month after I did. And even then you didn’t hear it from me.”
“I mean secrets about me. You haven’t ever been able to keep secrets about me without me knowing.”
“Yes, I have. Remember your surprise birthday party? You didn’t know about that.”
“We were sixteen, and I knew about it a month before. You’re really awful at that kind of thing. You kept smiling like the Cheshire cat.”
“I did not. Wait—something’s missing from your chest. Where’s Chitling?”
“Chen Ling is having her day at the spa. Bath, nails trimmed, even a massage.”
“When I die, I hope I come back as your dog. Does Luann Carey know she’s not ever getting Chitling back?”
“Luann and I have come to an agreement. She realizes that Chen Ling is much better off here with me than with all those other dogs she has running around. I can give her more attention and see to her needs. In return, Luann’s rescue group gets a nice donation. So why were you at Jackson Lee’s office?”
Occasionally Bitty isn’t so easily distracted.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Bitty,” I said, “don’t you think if it’s something you truly need to know, I’ll tell you?”
She thought about that for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yes, I know you would. And it’s not like I haven’t kept some things from you lately.”
When she got up as if to leave the kitchen, I said, “Wait. What have you kept from me?”
“Oh no, Trinket. Trust is a two-way street. If you won’t confide in me, then I should spare you details that I think may upset you. It’s probably best, anyway.”
Sometimes I just want to smack Bitty. Not hard, of course, just one of those “you drive me crazy” smacks to get her attention. But then, I have no doubt she feels the same way about me at times, too.
So I looked at her standing there in pretty pink cotton slacks and blouse, hair all done and make-up on, while I wore my favorite Lee jeans and a pull-over jersey, no make-up, my hair only slightly less scary than my bank balance, and I knew we’d have to come to some sort of a compromise. I wouldn’t get a moment’s peace until I knew what she was keeping from me. And it better not be gossip about someone’s face lift or cheating husband, either.
I patted the other side of the kitchen table in invitation. “You come and upset me, and I’ll upset you, honey. It’s the least we can do for each other.”
&nbs
p; To her credit, Bitty voiced no triumphant murmurings, but came and sat down across from me. “I’ll tell you first,” she said, “I’ve just been dying to anyway. Cindy Nelson called me, really upset with Melody Doyle. It seems that Melody has let slip quite a few things Cindy told her in strictest confidence, and Cindy doesn’t know what to do. She wants to confront her, but then, she doesn’t want to get anything started with the Divas, either. You know, it could really get uncomfortable if one won’t come if the other one’s going to be there, and if one holds it at their house, then the other won’t come—although Melody Doyle has never held it at her house, not that I can blame her, it being kind of rundown and all. Still, we all understand, and it’s not like all of us have enough money for that kind of thing. That’s not what the Divas are about. We just like to get together for some fun.
“Anyway, Cindy said that she and Melody had this little disagreement because Melody’s cousin Serena had everyone out looking for Sherman Sanders on Highway 4 when we now know he was deader than bacon that whole time. Then Melody confessed Serena had only made it up so the police wouldn’t stop looking for him. But most of all, Cindy’s mad because Melody said she’d told her about us taking Philip to the cemetery when she didnuote t even know it herself.”
My head swam a little. I came up for air before Bitty could catch her breath and asked, “How did Cindy find out Melody told us?” I asked. “Gaynelle said she wouldn’t tell Cindy that Melody had told us.”
I began to feel like I was in the middle of that skit about Who’s on First. Bitty seems to handle this kind of thing better.
“She didn’t. After Melody mentioned it to us, she told Cady Lee Forsythe, too. I mean Kincade.”
I drew in a deep breath. “She didn’t. Everyone knows Cady Lee couldn’t keep her mouth shut in a sandstorm. She’s sweet, but she tells everything. Bless her heart.”
“Just goes to show you. Beauty and brains don’t always sit side by side.”
We nodded at the wisdom of that old saw. I wondered why Melody seemed to be going out of her way to incriminate Bitty. Naturally, the first thought that sprang to mind was Jefferson Johnston.
“Well, I told you Melody is sweet on Dr. Johnston,” I said, and Bitty shrugged.
“That’s no reason to go telling things you’ve no right to tell. I’m of a mind myself to just go tell Melody exactly what I think. After all, I’m the one who invited her to join the Divas, even though Marcy is the one who brought her. I let my better nature get the best of me, thinking about Maybelle and how poor Melody had to live with her grandmother all those years after her mama died and her daddy took off. You know how spiteful Mrs. Overton was to everyone. She only got worse after Maybelle died. Poor Melody got the brunt of it, I guess. And look how she repays me for inviting her to join us, by telling wicked lies about me.”
“It’s not a lie, Bitty,” I pointed out. “We did cart Philip’s body down to the cemetery.”
“But I didn’t kill him, and she shouldn’t have said things to make it seem like I did.”
“Which brings me to wonder—just why would she do that?”
Silence fell. We looked at each other.
“It’s not really because of Jefferson Johnston,” I said after a moment. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think Melody worried about that for even a minute. At the St. Patrick’s Day party, she encouraged both of you to get better acquainted. So how did the dinner in Oxford turn out? And has he been attentive in other ways?”
“Dinner was fine, but I told you that already. By attentive, if you’re asking if he tried to get in my drawers, no. We just talked antiques and old houses. Though come to think of it, I talked antiques and old houses. He just asked a few questions.” Bitty frowned. “I suppose I do tend to monopolize conversations at times, especially when it’s something that interests me.”
It hurt, but I managed to swallow the words that kept burning the tip of my tongue. I might have heartburn for a week, but Bitty’s feelings were spared.
“There’s something funny going on with those two,” I said, and Bitty agreed. “And after all, you don’t really know much about Melody since she came back from Atlanta, do you? What do you know about Jefferson Johnston?”
Bitty thought for a moment. “Not much. But I know someone who probably does. Do you remember Ted Alston?”
“The banker?”
“That’s the one. Bankers know more about a person than their mothers do. That’s who I need to talk to about Jefferson.”
“But Bitty, he’s a banker. He won’t tell you anything about a client.”
She smiled. “Not unless I ask him just right. Then he won’t even know he’s answered my questions. It’s lunchtime, so I’ll let him take me to Budgie’s.”
It seemed like a plan.
Chapter Eighteen
There are times when I think I have too much trust in human nature. Despite my cynicism and low expectations, occasionally I’m still surprised by the things people do. It takes a lot, but it’s possible. That’s not usually a good thing.
Oddly enough, I still have that hope buried deep inside me that there’ll be a Happily Ever After down the road, not just for me, but everyone I care about. It’d be nice if the world would cooperate so everyone could have a Happily Ever After, but it doesn’t seem to be going in that direction. I’m not surprised, of course.
You can see how these two opposite ends of the pole can be conflicting: My hope for the happy ending against my certainty it won’t happen. I’m sure I’d be a therapist’s nightmare.
So I carted my contradictory viewpoints right over to Rayna Blue at the Inn. She may not be a therapist, but she seems wise beyond her years. Besides, I’ve known her since we were both in grade school. She taught me how to finger paint. Yes, there’s an art to it.
“How well do you know Melody Doyle?” I asked when we were sitting out in her garden with her three dogs, five cats, and baskets full of flowering crocus, tulips, and daffodils. It was a nice day again, so I expected one of our seasonal storms to rip through anytime. Just to remind us Mother Nature has the upper hand.
“Well, she’s so much younger,” Rayna said, frowning a little. “I was more friends with her mother, Maybelle. Melody had a hard time growing up with her grandmother. Mrs. Overton was always filled with bitterness anyway, and after Maybelle died, she didn’t get better.”
“Why was Mrs. Overton so bitter? A man?”
“Surprisingly, no.” Rayna laughed. “I think she and her husband got along well enough. He died when Maybelle was fairly young, but I never heard of any trouble between them. My mama always told me that the Richmonds never got over losing everything after The War.”
Of course, I didn’t have to ask which war she meant. Most Southerners only refer to one war as The War.
“Richmond? Mrs. Overton was a Richmond?” I asked. Rayna nodded, and I said, “I don’t recall ever hearing that before. But of course, Mama never used to gossip. Until lately.”
We both turned when we heard a voice at the garden gate, and Rayna waved to Georgie Marshall, then got up to go unlock the gate for her and invite her to sit with us.
Rather shyly, Georgie said, “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Lord no,” Rayna said, “we’re talking ancient history. You know, about the Richmonds, the Sanders, and the war.”
“Oh yes,” Georgie said, “I just read about that recently. The Richmonds and Sanders, I mean. I found some old records. I’ve always wondered what started that feud.”
“Once, the Richmonds owned a sawmill, lumberyard, that sort of thing, but they lost it all when Grant came through,” Rayna said. “Yankees burned everything except their house.”
It suddenly hit me about the time Rayna said, “You know, The Cedars,” that I’d found my connection. My heart beat a little faster.
“Melody Doyle’s family once owned The Cedars? Why don’t I remember hearing that?” I asked.
“Well, it is ancient hi
story, but a matter of record if you look in the ledgers. No one still talks about it too much, since there’s so much bitterness about it. The Richmonds never forgave the Sanders for stealing their home out from under them like they did. Besides, Melody is the last Richmond left, and I don’t imagine she cares about that old feud. Young people today don’t get as upset over things like that, so it’ll die out on its own, I suppose. Especially now that Sanders is dead.”
Georgie said, “Not all young people feel that way. I certainly don’t.”
“Well honey, you’re an exception, and I’m glad of it,” Rayna said. “A lot more historic houses would be saved if there were more people like you.”
Thinking of what Sharita had told me, I said, “I’ve heard the Richmonds were rumored to have the money to pay the taxes, but the Sanders somehow got the tax man to foreclose anyway so they could buy it.”
Rayna nodded. “That could be true.”
“But how could the Richmonds have the money if they’d lost everything? Their business was destroyed three years before the war ended, wasn’t it?”
“Like a lot of people, they had a Plan B. The Govans buried their family silver under the front sidewalk of the Walter Place, and rumor has it that the Richmonds buried their valuables at The Cedars somewhere.”
“Confederate money would be worthless after the war ended,” Georgie said.
“But gold wouldn’t be. Elijah Richmond was supposed to have buried a fortune in gold somewhere out there, but if he did, no one’s ever found it. That’s probably just rumor, too. If he had buried it, it’d have either been found by now, or the Richmonds wouldn’t have been as poor as sharecroppers the past hundred and forty years.”
My brain started spinning and spewing out random thoughts like some gumball machine gone mad. Maybe the Richmonds had been poor for a hundred and forty years, but the Sanders seemed to have done well enough. Sherman Sanders had no visible means of support, yet he managed to keep up the house, buy food, and get along quite well. But how would he get rid of the gold? It’s not like he could just tote a gold bar or coin into town to pay for a loaf of bread. If he did, everyone would know it. And wasn’t there some kind of law prohibiting average citizens from owning gold bars? If he started trading in bullion, the Feds would be down on him like a ton of bricks.
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