War and Peach

by Susan Furlong

  One of the best things, though, about having the sheriff’s office separate from the courthouse, was its secluded back entrance. The building backed up to an alley and had a small parking pad for the police vehicles with a direct path to the back door. Which worked great, because the back entrance was partially obscured by an overgrown evergreen hedge. An obscurity that many errant townsfolk appreciated if they were being hauled in by our oftentimes overzealous sheriff.

  Today, I decided to use the secluded back entrance myself. Why give the town gossips any extra fodder? So, I guided Mama down the street toward Sugar’s Bakery and then doubled back and slipped through the alley quietly and hopefully unseen.

  Inside the sheriff’s office, we found Daddy sitting across from Maudy at her desk. She was leaning forward, her bushy brows angrily furrowed as she pummeled him with questions. Even from across the room, I could detect the grayish pallor of Daddy’s skin and the sheen of sweat glazing his forehead.

  “Raymond!” Mama said, scurrying across the room to be at his side. “Why are you answering more questions? Bud said to wait until he could be here.” My brother was a man of many names. My parents always called him Bud—a nickname that had carried over from his younger years. Other folks called him Ray Jr., and his colleagues at the law firm called him Raymond Harper II. To me, he was just plain old Ray.

  “Calling in your son, the lawyer, huh?” Maudy’s eyes flashed between Mama and me before homing back in on my father. “Is there a reason you might be needin’ a lawyer, Mr. Harper?”

  Daddy shook his head and sighed. “No, I don’t need a lawyer. Like I told you, Clem was alive when I left him.”

  Maudy looked down at her notes. “Which was around four thirty, you said.”

  “Raymond, honey, let’s wait until Bud gets here,” Mama said, but Daddy held up his hand to stop her pleas.

  “It’s okay, darlin’. I don’t have anything to hide.” Then, turning back to the sheriff, he said, “No, I said it must have been just a little before five, because Clem’s place is only about ten minutes from our farm and Della had supper on the table when I got back to the house.” He reached over and patted Mama’s arm. “Della always serves supper at five o’clock. A person could set their clock to it.”

  Daddy’s time estimate made sense to me. I usually locked my shop door around four each day and, after counting out my register and locking up, would get home around five o’clock. Daddy was already there by that time.

  “What made you go out to Clem’s in the first place?” Maudy was asking.

  “I explained already that we had business to discuss.”

  Maudy narrowed her eyes. “What type of business?”

  “Peach business,” Daddy answered with an incredulous tone. After all, what other business was there?

  “I figured that,” Maudy said with a smirk. “I meant, what about the peach business were you discussing?”

  When he hesitated, I took it as an opportunity to try to jump in and do some explaining of my own. “They were just discussing peaches. Is that so hard to understand? After all, Daddy and Clem are both peach farm—” I stopped short, however, when my father shot me a look that about made my toes to curl.

  “I can speak for myself, Nola Mae,” he snapped. Mama handed him a hanky and he began wiping down his forehead. “Clem underbid me on a deal with Jack Snyder. I was angry and I went out to his farm to have a few words with him. But I didn’t kill him.”

  Maudy licked her fingertip and flipped open a manila file in front of her. “Says here in my report that the fire was called in at five minutes past five. By the time the trucks arrived on the scene, the barn was almost completely lost.”

  Daddy shrugged. “I’m tellin’ ya the truth, Maudy. When I left Clem’s place, he was alive. He was getting ready to head into town for the meeting.”

  Maudy narrowed her eyes. “Did you see anyone else while you were at his place? Any other vehicles?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pass anybody on the road back to your place?”

  Daddy shook his head. “No. Sure didn’t.”

  Maudy’s chair let out a loud squeak as she shifted her weight. “So, what you’re sayin’ is that you went out to Clem’s place, you two argued, you left and someone else snuck onto his property within the next fifteen minutes, killed him and set the barn on fire. Can you see how that might be kinda hard to believe?” She smirked. “Besides, I’ve been asking around ’bout you, Raymond. Some of the folks seem to think that you might have another reason for wantin’ Clem Rogers dead. An old score to settle, they’re tellin’ me.”

  Daddy leaned forward and shook his head. “You shouldn’t put stock into any rumors you’ve been hearing, Maudy. All that happened a long time ago. I was just a hotheaded kid back then.”

  “Lawdy,” Mama said, sinking into the empty chair next to Daddy. “Do we really need to bring all that up?” She reached into her pocketbook and took out a tissue, dabbing at her flushed face. “It was all just a misunderstanding. You know how people around here twist and turn things to fill their own depraved appetite for ugliness.”

  “Mama,” I said, moving next to her. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I think we’re about done here,” Daddy said, glaring at Maudy. It was one thing for him to be badgered with questions but another altogether to see his Della upset. “I’m going to take Della home now.”

  I stood by, speechless. What’s going on here? What does Maudy mean by “an old score to settle”? And why is Mama so upset?

  Daddy rose, taking Mama’s elbow. Mama inhaled deeply and stood from the chair. “I’m fine, Raymond.” She gave him a soft and appreciative nod. Then she turned a steely gaze on the sheriff. “Obviously, our sheriff doesn’t have anything better to do than listen to idle gossipers. And speaking of old scores to settle, Maudy”—she said “Maudy” in a tone so sweet it hurt your teeth—“everyone knows you have it out for the Harpers because my daughter Ida Jean whipped your butt behind the school bleachers way back when. So if you think you’re going to go and pin this murder on Raymond, just to settle your old score, well, you’ll have another think coming.” She turned for the door, then turned back again and added, “All these years, I’d been wondering what would have made Ida do something so uncouth. A catfight behind the bleachers of all things! But you know what?” She leaned in real close, her nose just inches from Maudy’s. “Now I understand what might have motivated her.”

  Just then, Ray burst through the front door, his tie undone and hair disheveled. “Sorry it took me so long to get here.” He walked over and plunked his briefcase on Maudy’s desk. “Until I have a chance to confer with my client, no one will be answering any questions.”

  Maudy let out a little chuckle. “Oh, you’re a little late for all that, lawyer boy. Your parents have been talkin’ plenty.” Her lips curled into a cruel little sneer. “Both of them.”

  Chapter 4

  Southern Girl Secret #061: Every family has a skeleton or two in their closet. Don’t be tellin’ anyone about ours, or you’ll find yourself in there with them.

  “Think I’ll make a couple of my peach cakes to take over to Tessa tomorrow,” Ginny was saying. “That poor girl! I feel so awful for her.” It was late afternoon and we were in the kitchen at Red’s Diner finishing a batch of peach preserves and starting on the newest addition to the Harper Peach Products line—peach hot sauce.

  “I do, too,” I agreed. Although, inwardly, I was finding it difficult to feel much of anything except anxiety over the latest turn of events, which I had promised Mama I wouldn’t mention to anyone. Let’s not stir up the past, she’d said. We don’t want to cause any more trouble for your father. I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened between Daddy and Clem Rogers all those years ago, but it must’ve been a doozy. I sighed. Just one more skeleton in the Harper family closet. If we kept this up, we’d soon have an e
ntire graveyard in there. “Mind if I go with you? Just to offer my condolences?”

  Ginny seemed pleased with the idea. “Sure. Maybe if we get enough cookin’ done this afternoon, we can head over to the Rogers farm after close tomorrow.” She looked up from the pot she was stirring and added in a low voice, “Clem was all she had, ya know. They don’t know who the father was and her mother ran off when she was just an itty-bitty thing. Clem’s raised her all these years. Couldn’t have been easy for a man living alone.”

  “No, I suppose not.” I dipped a clean spoon into my bubbling hot sauce, blew on it and took a taste test. Whew! I’d better hold off on adding any more peppers; this batch had a kick. I reached for a napkin and dabbed at the corners of my eyes. “Wonder if she’ll stay in this area now that he’s gone?” I asked.

  Ginny was placing sterilized jars on a tray, preparing to fill them with the hot peach preserve liquid. She paused and glanced over with a shrug. “Dunno. Guess I hadn’t given it much thought. I hope she stays around here. If you ask me, we don’t have enough young people sticking around these days. They all seem to leave us for the city. Like we’re not good enough for . . .” She let her words trail off, biting her lip and shooting me an apologetic smile. “I don’t mean you, Nola. You left for good reason. All those people you cared for in those countries around the world. Well, that was important work.”

  I just smiled and let her go on. Despite my important work, as she called it, I’d left town all those years ago for a less than honorable reason. Besides, I knew what was really bothering my friend, and it had nothing to do with Tessa Rogers and everything to do with the fact that her own daughter, Emily, was off to the “big city” of Atlanta for college and Ginny missed her something awful. Adding to the wound, her son, Jake, would soon be finishing his undergraduate degree at the University of Georgia and was talking about taking an internship at a company down in Jacksonville. “So Tessa doesn’t really have any family left in the area, does she?” I asked.

  Ginny sighed. “No, guess not. But she’s got a good job over at the Pack and Carry. She’s a manager. Actually, I believe that’s where she met Lucas.”

  “That’s her boyfriend?” My mind flashed back to the young man at the fire.

  “Yes. Lucas Graham. He is a good kid. He was in the same class as my Jake, you know. They used to hang out together, before Jake went to college.”

  “Lucas didn’t go to college?”

  Ginny stopped ladling and looked my way. “Now that you mention it, I can’t really recall. He was a pretty good basketball player in high school. Everyone thought he would go on a scholarship.” She scrunched her face as if trying to remember. “Must not have worked out for him. Anyway, he’s here in town and working a couple jobs: the one at the grocery store and part-time for Clem. Too bad. Wonder what he’ll do now that Clem’s gone.”

  “What was he doing for Clem?”

  “Helping at the farm. Guess the kid pretty much managed this year’s harvest. What with Clem so wrapped up in politics and all.”

  I’d set my hot sauce aside to let it cool before transferring it to the fridge. It was best if it rested for a couple days before being packed into jars and processed for the final time. That way, all the flavors would have a chance to mellow and blend together. The final result being a wonderful blend of peachy sweetness with just the right amount of peppery punch.

  I moved over to help her finish the preserves, following behind her ladle with a clean cloth to swipe away any excess liquid from the rims of the jars. They needed to be absolutely clean for the lids to seal properly. “Do you suppose Tessa inherits the farm?” I asked.

  “I’m sure she does. Why?” Her hand jerked to a stop, peachy liquid slopping over the edge of the ladle and hitting the hot stove burner, sending an acrid puff of burned peach into the air. She turned and narrowed her eyes at me. “I know what you’re thinking, Nola Mae, and you’re wrong. There’s no way that sweet little girl could stab her uncle with a pitchfork and set him afire.”

  The door swung open and Hattie breezed in, a stack of bridal magazines in her hands. “Hey, all.” She stopped and fanned in front of her nose. “Ick. What’s burning?”

  I cringed. “We were just discussing Clem’s death.”

  “Terrible, isn’t it? It’s all I heard about at the shop today.” She tossed the magazines down and leaned up against the counter, folding her arms across her chest. “Everyone’s speculating about who the killer might be. They’re throwing around all sorts of scenarios.”

  “Like what?” I asked, hoping one of those scenarios didn’t include my father. All of a sudden, my fingers stiffened, making it difficult to place the lids on the jars.

  “Here, let me do that.” Ginny snatched a lid from my trembling hands. “What’s wrong with you, Nola? You’re all shaky.” She gave me a concerned once-over. “Bet you didn’t get any lunch today, did ya?” She tipped her head toward one of the refrigerators. “There’s some pecan pie left over in there. Help yourself.”

  “No, thanks.” My stomach was so full of nerves there wasn’t room for anything else. “So, who do the townsfolk suspect?” I asked Hattie, who was heading to the fridge with a little extra bounce in her step.

  “Well, Margie Price of course,” Hattie replied, leaning over and peering into the fridge. “Where’d you say that pie was?”

  “Second shelf.” Ginny started putting the jars into the canner. “The same thing was going around the diner today. Everyone thinks Margie killed him over that secret he was about to expose.”

  “But you two don’t believe that, do you? Margie’s our friend.”

  “Of course not!” Ginny snapped back. “I feel bad for her. I know how it feels to be gossiped about. Remember all that debutante stuff last spring? Why, people were talking so much about me, I learned stuff about myself that I didn’t even know.”

  That was true. The past spring, Ginny had been the object of vicious gossipmongers. And while she stayed strong through the whole demeaning ordeal, I knew it still hurt her that so many of her longtime acquaintances had turned against her.

  “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Margie did it, either,” Hattie added. “But we’re about the only ones who don’t.” She took a quick bite of pie, licking the sticky sweetness off her lips before continuing. “Oh, except a few people who think it might be that new fellow in town. The one who’s staying over at Margie’s inn.”

  Ginny gasped. “Not Mr. Whitaker!”

  Hattie shot a wry smile my way. “‘Not Mr. Whitaker,’” she mimicked, thumping her free hand on her heart with a teasing laugh. “Nola, I do believe our dear redheaded friend has a crush on Mr. Whitaker.”

  “I do not!” Ginny protested, but the blush of her cheeks betrayed her true feelings. “Y’all know I’m madly in love with my husband. It’s just that I think Mr. Whitaker is so . . .”

  “Mysterious,” Hattie finished for her. “So does everyone else in town. Seems they can’t figure out why he’s stuck around here for so long. He doesn’t seem to have any business. Just hangs around. Only leaves his room a couple times a day, and that’s to go for a long walk or head over to the library.”

  “Resting. Reading. Long walks.” I rolled my eyes. “Sounds like a killer to me.” It never ceased to amaze me what our local gossip mill could churn out about a person. Poor guy. If he knew what was good for him, he’d pack up and get the heck out of town.

  Hattie pushed aside her pie and grabbed one of the magazines. “Well, something good did happen today. I finally found the perfect dress.”

  Ginny and I exchanged a look and took a few tentative steps forward. Lately, every time Hattie brought up her wedding dress—or anything about her upcoming nuptials, for that matter—she worked herself into a blubbering mess. Ginny and I were at a loss. Hattie was by far the most fashion-confident one out of the three of us. Dresses were her livelihood, aft
er all. One would think choosing a wedding dress would be easy for her.

  “It’s lovely,” Ginny said with a tentative smile.

  I peered at the elegant, off-the-shoulder gown with its pearled bodice and intricate stitching and put on a smile of my own. “Yes, just lovely,” I echoed, following up with some enthusiastic nodding. “I think that’s the one, don’t you, Ginny?”

  “Sure do, Nola. That’s the one. It’s perfect.”

  Hattie looked between the two of us and pursed her lips, something unrecognizable flashing in her blue gray eyes. I held my breath. Next to me, Ginny took a step backward. “You two are just yanking my chain, I know you are,” Hattie started. She slapped the magazine shut and pushed away from the counter. “You hate this dress. I can tell.” She huffed a couple times, but didn’t say anything else as she gathered the rest of her magazines and stormed out of the kitchen.

  “Goodness gracious,” Ginny said, after she left. “Something’s wrong with that girl these days.”

  “Wedding jitters?” I suggested.

  “I don’t think so. It’s still so far off. No, it’s something else. I’m just not sure what. Maybe I should make an extra peach cake for her. She seems to need a little consoling herself.”

  I smiled. Ginny firmly believed that most of life’s problems could be solved with food. And I sort of agreed with her. After all, I had started Harper Peach Products to help ease some of the family farm’s financial problems. And it was working fairly well. “That would be real nice of you,” I told her. Although, I had a good idea of what might be bothering our friend, and unfortunately, it was one problem that couldn’t be solved with cake.

  * * *

  Early Thursday morning, I swung by my shop and picked up a dozen jars of peach preserves to deliver to Sunny Side Up Bed & Breakfast. When I’d first started selling Harper Peach Products, Margie had shown her support by placing a standing monthly order for peach preserves, claiming they provided just the right amount of down-home taste for her customers. Technically, her monthly order wasn’t due until next week, but I was hoping to ask her a few discreet questions and maybe even get an up-close look at her mysterious guest, John Whitaker.