The Curious Case of the Missing Figurehead: A Novel (A Professor and Mrs. Littlefield Mystery)

by Diane Noble

They knew exactly how to deliver the knockout punch. For a moment, I was afraid to breathe. I struggled to keep my expression bland, my emotions in check.

  “Not only that, but you owe us a wad of money,” Bubba said. “Take a look at the contract we signed. You owe us big money whether or not you get reimbursed for the gig that made everyone sick.”

  “And killed one person,” Junior added. “Whoo-ee, the lawsuits that are a-comin’ round the bend.” He laughed. “They’re comin’ at you so fast they’re already smokin’ up the road. At least, that’s the talk around town. I can’t wait.”

  “And does that ever open the door for new talent.” Bubba looked triumphant. “You wanna know why we got involved, Mizz Littlefield? It was for that reason alone. To bring you down.”

  “Besides, it was fun,” Junior said.

  “See ya in court,” Bubba said as they moved toward the door. “You think trespassing is a crime? Wait till you see where you land when those lawsuits hit.”

  They took off at a run. “Who’s fired now?” Junior yelled back at me. Minutes later, the rumble of their engine and the bass of their stereo carried toward me in the humid air.

  I went back to looking for evidence that Hyacinth’s kidnapping had happened here. I found nothing around her car. I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but all I wanted to do was curl up in a fetal position and cover my head with a blanket. For the rest of my life. Tears were close, but I refused to let them flow. I’d cried enough for a lifetime in the past two days.

  Finding my friend was more important than saving the reputation of my company. The Butler was my lifeblood. I’d built it from scratch after Herb, God rest his sweet soul, passed on thirteen years ago.

  How could I go on if it ceased to exist? What would I do when people laughed as I drove by in the catering van? What if the boys were right about the lawsuits? What if the sheriff went through with his plans to arrest me, arrest Katie?

  Precious Chloe Grace would have to live with her father.

  That thought almost pulled me out of my pity party. But this party wasn’t one I’d made up; it was real. The circumstances were acutely, irrevocably real. Of course, I’d already thought about lawsuits. Also talk around town. But to have them validated knocked me for a loop.

  I dropped to my knees at the side of the driveway near a flower bed. I needed to have a little talk with God, and it wasn’t to make Him laugh.

  “Okay, God,” I said. “It’s me again and I’ve had about enough.” Tears formed and I brushed them away. “I’m not talking about me, really, but everyone around me. Hyacinth, my precious friend; Katie and the decisions she is making; Chloe Grace—oh, God, how will we keep her safe? And Max … Oh, dear God, I just need You to know how important each one is to me, how much I love them … and how afraid I am for them.

  “People who know more about these sorts of things than I do say that prayer doesn’t make You change Your mind, but it changes the heart of the one who’s praying.” I sniffled. “I don’t know if my heart needs changing—well, it probably does, but You know what I mean. It’s not all about me. I just ask You to give comfort to those I care about. That’s all. Just wrap Your great big wonderful arms around the people I love and let them know You’re with them.” I paused, thinking of His love. Our church nursery has a pastel print of Jesus holding a tiny child. When it came to mind, I smiled. Was this what Max meant when he said he listens to God? I waited for a while, listening to the silence of the morning, the birdsong, the waking cicadas. “Well, that’s about it for now,” I said. “I’ll check in later.”

  I was still kneeling when I spotted a piece of plastic and bent lower to inspect it.

  It was part of a scattering of tiny electronic parts. Like those that might be found in a cell phone. I stood and parted some branches in a nearby hedge. More pieces. Not enough to make a whole phone, but someone had smashed it to smithereens. It had to be Hyacinth’s. That meant she was accosted here, in her driveway. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  I ran to my car and grabbed my handbag and drew out my stash of baggies, my tweezers, and my cell phone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Mrs. Littlefield

  It took me only a few minutes to pick up the pieces of Hyacinth’s cell phone, but I was emotionally wrung out by the time I turned onto my street.

  Most Sundays by this time, I would be at choir practice, warming up with some of my favorite gospel songs. And Hyacinth, who was scheduled to sing a solo in this morning’s worship service, would be practicing upstairs in the main sanctuary with the organist. She had chosen “He Giveth More Grace,” an old hymn that she loved. No matter what she sang, she delivered it with such emotion that Pastor Newborn, known to cry over just about anything having to do with God’s love and grace, would weep so hard that he could barely get the words out when he preached. The church secretary finally suggested the order of the service be changed so the solo came after the sermon.

  Pastor Billy and I had talked by phone twice since Hyacinth disappeared. I knew he would offer special prayer for her this morning. The prayer phone tree had been in action since Friday night. It was a comfort to know others were praying too.

  But here I was, bone tired after my jaunt to Hyacinth’s house in the middle of the night, just now turning into my driveway. Max was waiting for me in an old but well cared for Land Rover Defender. It suited him. Besides, I had this thing for old cars.

  “Good morning,” I said, feeling my spirits rise for the first time in hours. He opened the door for me, and I wearily got out of the Ghia.

  He smiled and gave me a quick hug, which brought on a new flood of tears.

  “My dear,” he said, standing back and looking stricken. “What has happened?”

  I gave him a brief rundown of what I’d been up to. When I got to the part about the Sutherland brothers and their hurtful accusations, his hands fisted at his sides and his face turned red.

  “Excuse me a moment,” he said quietly. And then he heaved out a couple of deep breaths, took a few steps away from me, and looked up at the morning sky. After a few minutes, his hands uncurled, his shoulders relaxed, and he seemed to be letting go of something. When he returned, the serenity I’d noticed in his eyes the day before had returned.

  It was catching. I breathed in his peace. I needed to concentrate on Hyacinth. That was all.

  “You need sustenance,” he said. “I came by to see if you wanted to go with me to Grace Church this morning. But you need some TLC of a different kind right now. Do you have any eggs?”

  I nodded.

  “Bread?”

  “Yes.” I gave him a small smile.

  “I know you have milk, so I won’t ask about that. How about vegetables? Scallions, tomatoes—I know, I know, it’s a fruit—cilantro, spinach?”

  I was grinning now. “Yes to all of the above. Plus avocados, cheese, and whatever else you might need for an omelet.”

  “Not just any omelet,” he said. “The best you’ve ever had in all your picked-up-and-put-together.”

  I laughed. “All my what?”

  “Old saying of my grandma’s.” He led me to my front porch, and I unlocked the door.

  When we stepped inside, he guided me to the sofa and I settled onto it. He brought over my hassock and I put my feet up.

  “Soul rest,” he said, his eyes full of compassion. “That’s what you need most right now. When you’re rested, I’ll have a meal for you that will feed both body and soul.”

  I closed my eyes, listening to the whisk of eggs in a bowl, the chop of a chef’s knife on my wooden cutting board, and after a few minutes, a hum that turned into a psalm sung as if with a lyre in ancient days. “I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber …” />
  I must have drifted off, because when I woke, the fragrant mix of fresh-ground coffee and fried potatoes and onions greeted me. I rose and went into the kitchen, drawn there as if by a magnet. The table had been beautifully set. How he’d found placemats and flatware, I couldn’t fathom, but he had.

  A smile spread across his face as he waited for my reaction. I was too moved to speak. Surely, my eyes weren’t going to tear again. I rushed from the room and ran up the stairs, tears spilling. This had to stop.

  I went into my bathroom, scrubbed my face and teeth, combed my hair, and took a deep breath.

  When I came through to the kitchen again, he was sitting at the table. He didn’t look up when I approached. “Let me explain,” I said.

  But before I could speak, my cell phone rang. I ran to the living room where I’d left it in my purse. I grabbed for it and said hello, but the connection was dead. The caller ID said Marshall Washington and listed a phone number in an area code I didn’t recognize.

  I tried to call back, but the call didn’t go through. Frowning, I returned to the kitchen and sat at the table across from Max. An edible piece of art awaited me. The omelet, perfection itself; the hash browns, gloriously golden and perfectly spiced; the grits, as creamy as pudding. I dove in with relish.

  “This is heavenly.” I reached for his hand. “Thank you, my friend. You don’t know how much I needed this right now, what it means to me …”

  My phone rang again. This time I picked it up on the first ring.

  “El—” The connection was weak. The voice cut in and out, mostly out, making it almost impossible to hear. For a split second, it was clear. “El, I need help—” And then it went dead.

  I stared at the phone in disbelief. “It was Hyacinth,” I whispered. “I recognized her voice. She needs help.” I quickly hit callback, but the call went to voice mail. And the mailbox was full. I dropped my head into my hands. “Just hearing her voice …”

  Max came around and put his hand on my shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Is there anything on the phone readout? A number? Caller ID? Anything?”

  I lifted the phone to show him. “The caller ID says Marshall Washington.”

  “That’s good. We’ve got something to go on.” He grabbed a notepad from my desk and wrote down the information, frowning as he did so.

  “But she said she needs help … also something about a possum right before she cut out.”

  He sat down next to me. “This is more than we had to go on before.”

  I nodded as he handed me a tissue. I dabbed my eyes and then reached for the phone.

  Max got up and cleared the table, rinsed the dishes, and put them in the dishwasher, while I kept trying to return the call to Hyacinth. Each time I got the same result: a full mailbox.

  I dialed the sheriff’s office and asked for Sheriff Doyle.

  “What is it?” He was still all business.

  “Two things. I just received a call from Hyacinth. The signal was too weak for me pick up all she said. But I did hear her cry for help. That should settle the matter of whether she went willingly or unwillingly with the thieves.”

  He didn’t comment one way or the other. “Number on the phone? Caller ID?”

  I gave him both and then added, “The connection was terrible, but I thought I heard her say the word possum.”

  “That area code covers a large area. Mostly unpopulated. I’ll send a couple of deputies up to have a look.” He fell quiet for a moment and then said, “You said there were two things.”

  “I found the remains of Hyacinth’s cell phone to one side of her driveway. It looks like it was purposely destroyed. I think that gives us evidence that she was abducted at her home. She wasn’t a willing partner in the robbery.”

  “You pick it up?”

  “It’s in a Ziploc. I’ll bring it by.”

  Max came over to the table, dish towel in hand.

  “I’ve got to find her,” I said. “There’s got to be a way. We have to go wherever that area code is.”

  “There is a possibility that the owner of that phone no longer lives in the area,” Max said. “Lots of people have cell phones unrelated to where they live.”

  “I know it’s a thin hope,” I said, “but I have to start somewhere.” I narrowed my eyes in thought. “Possum. What if that has to do with where she might be? Is there a town or landmark with that name?”

  “I haven’t heard of it,” Max said, folding the dish towel.

  I opened my laptop and did a search for “Possum, North Carolina.” Several possibilities appeared. I felt like cheering. “There it is. Possum Grove. And if I’m right, it corresponds to that area code.” I pulled up an area-code map and enlarged it.

  Now for Marshall Washington and the name of the town. I typed it in. I sat back, grinning. “Well, glory, glory be.” I turned the laptop so that Max could see.

  He smiled. “Possum Grove Holy Ghost Revival Church. Marshall Washington is the pastor.”

  “Let’s go there,” I said, standing. “This is our first real lead.” I was almost dancing.

  “I’d like to,” Max said. “But I can’t today. I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t?” I swallowed my disappointment, wanting to tell him how much he’d come to mean to me in just a few days. How much I would miss him. But I didn’t know where to begin.

  He placed the towel on a rack at the end of the counter. “I need to go.” He hadn’t met my eyes since the phone call when he rested his hand on my shoulder. And it seemed he was keeping his gaze anywhere but on me now.

  “I’ll walk out with you.”

  We reached his Defender and he stopped and finally looked at me. His eyes were just as warm as before, but there seemed to be an awkwardness, a distance, between us. “I’m really glad I came by. It’s been nice.”

  Nice? How could things have changed so quickly? Nice? I thought it was wonderful. I blinked and opened my mouth to tell him so, then thought better of it.

  He attempted a sideways hug, something I’ve never liked—a hug is a hug in my book—so I gracefully twirled out of his reach, and instead, stuck my hand out to shake his.

  He started the Defender and rolled down the driveway. The sun was high, the afternoon sunny, but something cold wrapped itself around my heart. What had come over him? Had I said or done something to upset him? One minute he places his hand on my shoulder, his eyes warm and sympathetic, and the next minute he’s doing the dishes and acting as if he can’t wait to be out of my presence.

  But truth be told, I didn’t have time for this kind of rumination. I had to get to Hyacinth. The sound of her voice calling for help haunted me.

  I raced back into the house and sprinted up the stairs. My jeans were filthy from crawling on the ground while searching for Hyacinth’s phone parts, so I grabbed another pair, kicked off my shoes, and slid into them.

  Downstairs again, I grabbed my electronic tablet and a gadget that I hoped would boost the signal. I kicked myself for not having upgraded my phone to a model that had GPS. As a backup, I picked up a paper map of North Carolina.

  I packed a couple of sandwiches, a thermos of coffee, and some frozen chocolate chippers.

  I was just getting into the Ghia when my phone rang again. I held my breath, hoping it was Hyacinth.

  “Mom, can you watch C.G. tonight? Sandy and I need to talk privately about what happened last night.” She hesitated. “I think you need to talk to C.G. about it too. After hearing what you said, she’s terrified of Sandy.”

  My heart fell. I’d spoken the truth to my daughter’s ex and put my foot in my mouth at the same time. How could I explain what I’d said, and why, to a child who didn’t know the man was her father? That I was speaking harshly because of my love for her and her mom? That I’d been upset with him because he’d betrayed them both when she was an in
fant? I couldn’t.

  “I do plan to have a talk with her. But I can’t tonight. I’m on my way out of town.”

  “Hyacinth?”

  “I’m in the car, just now leaving the house. Every minute counts. She called for help and I’ve got a general idea where to find her.”

  “Nearby?”

  “Possum Grove up by the state line.” I hesitated. “Can you get a sitter?”

  “Maybe we’ll just postpone,” she said.

  A great idea. How about for a lifetime?

  “By the way,” she said, “Sandy said you were entirely justified for firing away at him the way you did. He said he deserves every bit of it.”

  “Well, that’s a side of Sandy we’ve not seen before.” I was immediately sorry for my snarky attitude. One thing to feel like a mama bear protecting her cubs; quite another to voice those feelings.

  “Mom …”

  I started the car and backed out of the driveway as we talked, the phone cradled with one shoulder. “I’m sorry, honey, this is difficult for me. You’ll have to give me some time. I’m trying to get used to the idea that he might be trustworthy. I’ve disliked him for so long, it’s hard to flip that switch off.”

  “He’s working hard to regain trust,” Katie said.

  “How long has he been back in your life now?”

  “A month.”

  “That’s not nearly long enough to test a relationship, especially one that was so terribly broken. And not by you.” I softened my voice. “Do you really think you can trust him again, honey? What about the back child support he owes you?”

  “He says he’s going to pay every penny.”

  I’ll believe it when the check clears. “That’s thousands of dollars …”

  “I know, believe me.”

  “Just be careful with your heart, honey. Take it slowly.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “Tell C.G. I’m sorry I can’t have her come over tonight. We’ll do it another time.”

  “She’s right here. Why don’t you tell her?”