by Gayle Leeson
“I want to know,” Jackie said at last.
I glanced outside to make sure no one was coming in, and then I gave Dilly a slight nod.
“Now I didn’t catch all of what they were saying, but that girl who said Stu Landon was her daddy? Her name is Madelyn, and she said Stu’s name was Stuart Landon Carver before he changed it.” She raised her cup. “I told y’all the other day that Stu Landon was a mysterious man. This proves it.” She sipped her coffee.
“So why’d he change his name?” Jackie asked.
“I’m getting to that, Miss Impatient. He blew the whistle on the company he used to work for, and that’s why he was hiding out here.”
“Who’d he work for?” I asked, wondering if it was Callicorp, the company Mr. Jackson had mentioned.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t hear that part,” she said. “I also didn’t hear why the family didn’t come here to live with Stu, if the sheriff even asked her that. But she did say that a man came to their house in Cookeville, Tennessee day before yesterday looking for her daddy. She came here to warn Stu.”
“Why didn’t she just call him?” Jackie asked.
Dilly shrugged.
“Do you think the man looking for Mr. Landon in Cookeville could’ve been the same man who was in here looking for him yesterday morning?” I got the coffeepot and topped off Dilly’s cup.
“I don’t know. That’s when Sheriff Billings said he thought they should continue their conversation at the police station, where he was certain they wouldn’t be overheard.” She sighed. “I think he was on to me.”
“No way,” Jackie said. “You’re too good of a spy for that. I think he was just being extra careful.”
I thought Jackie was laying it on just a little too thick, but I merely smiled and nodded.
• • •
Dilly had just left and the lunch rush was starting when Ryan came inside the café.
“How’s it going out there?” I asked.
“It’s coming along all right—slowly but surely. We’re getting awfully hungry, though, especially given the tantalizing smells coming from your kitchen.”
“Can’t you take a break for lunch?”
“We can if only a couple of us eat at one time,” he said. “I was hoping you could maybe set us up some sort of small buffet. The department will cover all your expenses, of course.”
“I can handle that. Will burgers, hot dogs, chicken salad croissants—they’re today’s lunch special—cole slaw, potato salad, and an assortment of cookies do the trick?”
“That’ll more than do the trick. It’ll make my coworkers love you. Most of them have bologna or PB and J for lunch every day.” He gave me a quick kiss.
“I’ll have Jackie come and get you when the buffet is ready. But before you go back outside, I have something I need to tell you. Dilly overheard Ms. Carver tell Sheriff Billings that a man came to her home day before yesterday looking for Mr. Landon.” A patron came in, and I greeted him as Jackie went to get him settled and to take his order.
“There was an older gentleman here asking about Mr. Landon yesterday morning,” I continued, lowering my voice and leaning closer to Ryan. “This man’s name was Walter Jackson, and he said he thought he’d worked with Mr. Landon at a place called Callicorp in Oklahoma. I have no idea whether or not it was the same man or if our visitor ever found Mr. Landon, but I think it bears looking into.”
“Sure, it does. I’ll give Sheriff Billings a call and let him know.” He grinned. “I realize now why the sheriff and Ms. Carver had to go to the station. It was either leave or invite Dilly to pull up a chair.”
“Pretty much.”
As Ryan went back outside, Shelly came in, and I asked her to give me a hand in the kitchen. Even though the lunch rush was beginning, I felt sure Jackie could handle the orders and delivery while Shelly and I got the buffet set up for the officers.
Chapter 4
At just before three o’clock that afternoon, I was cleaning the grill. There were no diners in the café, and it was almost closing time.
Jackie came into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame. “All the tables have been cleaned, and Shelly is sweeping the floors. She said she’ll mop while she’s at it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Will you help me wipe down the windows after I’m finished with the grill?”
“Sure. I’ll go ahead and get started.” She paused. “Do you think that sweet old guy who was in here the other day could be the one who killed Stuart Landon?”
“Anything is possible.” I stood back to survey my work. The grill was gleaming. “After we finish up here, do you want to go to my house and see what we can dig up on Walter Jackson and Callicorp?”
“Yeah, let’s do.” She shivered. “It gives me the creeps to think that someone who came in here looking for Mr. Landon could be responsible for . . . for what happened to him.”
I knew she and I both were seeing Mr. Landon’s body in our minds. To try to get us both thinking about something else, I opened the canister of window cleaning wipes and handed her one. “I guess we’d better get at it.”
• • •
The officers were still working as Jackie and I left the café, and I invited Ryan to come over for dinner. He accepted, saying he’d go home and shower and change when he was through at the café and that he should be there around six o’clock.
After we’d arrived at my house, I asked Jackie if she and Roger would like to join Ryan and me for dinner.
“No, thanks. You two could use some time to yourselves after the day you’ve had. And I think Roger and I could too.”
“All right. Would you care for something to drink?”
She shook her head. “Not right now. Let’s get down to business. After Mr. Jackson came looking for Mr. Landon yesterday and then given what Dilly overheard about Stu being a whistle-blower, I want to find out what Callicorp is all about.”
I went into the fancy room and got my laptop. The fancy room is pretty much a den or sitting room. Before she moved out, it was Mom’s room. Roger had helped me renovate it—he added floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and helped me find a rolltop desk—and I exchanged the bed for a white fainting couch and a peacock blue chair with matching ottoman. It was girlie and wonderful, and I loved it.
When I got back to the living room, Rory was happily perched on Jackie’s lap. I sat down beside them on the sofa, turned on the computer, and searched for Callicorp.
Callicorp had been one of the largest pest control product manufacturers in the south central United States, but the company had closed its doors in early 1996. The article we’d pulled up stated that the corporation had not been able to weather the fallout from the scandal of 1994.
Jackie and I exchanged glances, and I typed Callicorp Scandal of 1994 into the search engine. The first article in the list was from an Oklahoma newspaper. I opened the article and read that Stuart Carver, an entomologist for Callicorp, came forward and announced that Callicorp was using a chemical deemed harmful to humans—in particular, unborn children—and devastating to honeybee populations. The chemical had replaced one that had been in use by the company for the past fifty years. The original chemical had been nearly as effective as its replacement but caused no known damage to humans or pollinators. The replacement chemical was said to have been chosen for its lower price and increased effectiveness, and the company argued that there was no solid proof that the chemical was harmful to humans.
Upon further investigation, it was discovered that Callicorp vice president Walter Jackson had received research indicating that the chemical could, in fact, be detrimental to unborn babies but that he had buried the research because he was receiving kickbacks from the chemical’s parent company. It was too advantageous monetarily to both Jackson and the chemical company to have Callicorp use their product, so both parties turned a blind
eye to potential hazards.
When the two-year investigation was concluded, Callicorp was shut down and Walter Jackson was sentenced to eighteen years in a federal penitentiary.
I looked at Jackie. “An eighteen-year prison sentence? That might be enough to make a man come looking for revenge.”
“Yeah, especially when Mr. Jackson lost not only his freedom, but his livelihood, company, and who knows what else?”
“But he seemed so nice,” I said. “Maybe this isn’t the same Walter Jackson. He didn’t look like a hardened criminal to me. Besides, I doubt they’d have made him serve his entire sentence.”
“Look him up, and see what else we can find out about him.”
I searched for Walter Jackson, Callicorp, Oklahoma. What I found wasn’t pretty. The Walter Jackson in the newspaper photographs could certainly be the man who’d strolled into the Down South Café the day before yesterday. The eyes were the same, the facial features were similar, just younger . . . and not as weathered.
From all accounts, Mr. Jackson wasn’t sorry he’d endangered the people—and bees—of the south central United States. He was just sorry he’d gotten caught. It had been his contention that the chemical “wasn’t all that bad” and “how many pregnant women would be inhaling the stuff anyway?”
“This certainly doesn’t sound like the Walter Jackson we met,” Jackie said as she read the article.
“No, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not him.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s him.”
“But the man we met seemed so warm and friendly,” I said.
“He was probably warm and friendly to his coworkers too.” Jackie blew out a breath. “Well, except for Stuart Landon . . . or Carver. And no one announces himself to be a psychopathic killer out for revenge. Right?”
“I don’t know enough psychopathic killers bent on revenge to poll them. Do you really think Mr. Jackson would hold a grudge for almost twenty years, come all the way here to Winter Garden, Virginia, and kill Stuart Landon Carver?”
She shrugged. “I guess stranger things have happened.”
“And what about Stu’s daughter? Wonder why she was living in Cookeville, Tennessee—nearly four hours away from her dad?”
“Maybe she was attending school there,” Jackie said. “Are there any colleges in Cookeville?”
“You’re missing my point. Madelyn was living four hours away from her father. It would appear that no one in Winter Garden even knew Stuart Landon Carver had a daughter.” I keyed Madelyn Carver into the search engine, but there were too many results to sort through. “Do you think Madelyn moved here from Oklahoma to be closer to her dad?”
“I have no idea, but I’m sure you’re bound and determined to find out.” She waggled her fingers. “Like a good stew, the plot thickens.”
• • •
I was grilling boneless, skinless chicken breasts when Mom came to the back door. I let her in, and she enveloped me in a hug.
“Jackie told Aunt Bess and me what happened. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t really, but I didn’t want Mom to worry.
“Why didn’t you call me? Why did you stay there and work? You should’ve closed the café and come home. The place would have been all right for one day. Everyone would’ve understood.”
I tried to backtrack and answer her questions. “I didn’t call you because I didn’t really think about it. I believe I must’ve been in shock at first, and then people were coming in and we were working. It was a hectic day. As for why we kept the café open, we thought someone might’ve seen something and that they’d stop in and talk with us about it. But that wasn’t the case. Besides, the officers needed food and drinks. They were there all day.”
“I know,” she said. “I just worry about you.” She hugged me again. “What a terrible thing to have seen.”
I gently extricated myself from her arms. “I need to turn the chicken.”
“Jackie said you were making dinner for Ryan. What’re you having?”
“Chicken Alfredo.”
“That sounds good.”
I didn’t really want to—but I felt obligated—to invite her and Aunt Bess. “We’ll have plenty.”
“Oh, no. That’s fine. I was already planning on heating up a lasagna. But thank you.”
After I turned the chicken breasts, I took out a pot and filled it with water.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mom asked.
“I guess so.” I sighed. “Did Jackie tell you about Madelyn Carver?”
“Stu’s daughter? Yes, she told us.” She barked out a laugh. “Of course, Aunt Bess swore up and down that she knew all along that Stu Landon had a secret family.”
“I feel terrible for that girl. I really need to talk with her. I mean, I suppose she’s Mr. Landon’s—or Carver’s—heir, and I should give her the remaining honey and the proceeds from the honey I sold.”
“Hmph. That sounds like you’re looking for an excuse to be nosy.”
I put the pot on the stove, turned on the burner, and looked at Mom. “It’s a legitimate concern! I don’t want to have Mr. Landon Carver’s money and honey at the café when it should go to his estate.”
“Of course, dear. I understand.”
“Now you’re patronizing me.”
“I’m not,” she said with a smile. “I’d like to talk with her too. Just . . . be sensitive.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“I’d better get back before Aunt Bess tries to bake the lasagna herself.”
“Wait,” I said. “You don’t think I’m sensitive?”
“You are under normal circumstances. But I think that you sometimes lose sight of the gravity of a situation.”
“Mom, the girl’s dad was murdered. I get that.”
“I realize that, but I also know that you have a million questions about Stu Landon, where he came from, where she’s been all these years, why they didn’t live together, what happened to her mother . . .”
“All right, all right. I probably won’t even talk with her. I’ll probably get her dad’s property to her through the police or something.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Please don’t be miffed at me. I mean well.”
“I know. I’m just tired. It’s been a rough day.”
• • •
I was still feeling sorry for Madelyn Carver but less sorry for myself when Ryan arrived. I’d showered and changed into a linen skirt and a knit short-sleeved shirt. My hair was still damp, but I’d pulled it back in a barrette at the nape of my neck.
Ryan’s hair was still damp from the shower too. He looked—and smelled—yummy. He held me for a long moment after he walked through the door, and I clung to him. He felt so strong, so safe, so comforting.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered.
“Me too.” He pulled back and cupped my face in his hands. “I know that seeing Mr. Landon—Carver—like that this morning was probably the worst sight you’ve ever seen.”
“It was. I’m sorry Luis had to see him that way, but it was nice to have him there to help me.”
“I’m sure. Have you talked with him? How’s he holding up?”
“Like the rest of us, he handled the situation better when he was working. I haven’t called him since I’ve been home, but I will if you think I should.”
“Does he have family? A roommate?”
“Yes, he still lives at home with his parents and his sister.”
Ryan nodded. “He should be all right then. I just wanted to make sure he had a support system in place.”
I gave him a peck on the lips. “You’re awfully sweet, you know that?”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Famished. I didn’t think I woul
d be after the lunch I ate—thank you for that, by the way. Everybody appreciated it.”
“We were glad to do it.” I took his hand and led him into the kitchen.
“Smells great. What are we having?”
“Chicken Alfredo. I hope you like it.”
“Love it,” he said.
I walked to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of iced tea. “Is this okay, or would you prefer something else?”
“Suits me fine, thanks.”
After I’d filled our glasses and our plates and we’d sat down to eat, I broached the subject of Madelyn Carver.
“I owe Mr.—well, Stu—some money, and I’ll need to return the honey he left at the Down South Café,” I said, deciding it was easier to call the beekeeper Stu rather than Mr. Landon, or Mr. Carver, or Mr. Landon Carver. “Could you see that his daughter gets that?”
“Of course, if you want me to.”
“Has she gone back to Cookeville already?”
He shook his head. “No, she’s spending at least tonight in Abingdon, and she’ll probably stay for another day or two. She said she was going to call her brother and have him come up to join her.”
“Her brother? How old is he?”
“She didn’t say.”
“And does he live in Cookeville too, or is he out in Oklahoma?” I asked.
He raised a brow. “You’ve been doing homework.”
“Kind of. Jackie and I were really curious about Walter Jackson—the man who came into the café looking for Stu—and his company, Callicorp, so we looked them up on the Internet. We learned that Stu was a whistle-blower in that company and that the resulting investigation led to the downfall of the company and to the arrest of Mr. Jackson.”
“And you call that kind of doing homework? What would you call actual homework?”
“Hunting down Walter Jackson, of course.” At Ryan’s appalled expression, I laughed. “I’m just kidding. That’s your job.” My smile faded. “I just find it so hard to believe that this seemingly sweet old man came here and murdered Stu Landon Carver.”
“Well, we don’t know that he did. At this point, he’s simply a person of interest.”
