War and Peach

by Susan Furlong

  “Anyway,” she continued. “The night we met, a bunch of my friends had talked me into going to the Peach Festival Dance. Somehow your father and I ended up dancing together, and . . .” She shrugged. “I just knew. Silly, huh? Being that I was so young and all.”

  “No. It’s not silly, Mama.” After all, I was just a kid when Cade McKenna first caught my eye. Unfortunately, life got in the way and it wasn’t until much more recently that we’d finally found each other again.

  “We dated for a couple years,” Mama was saying. “Then when it came time for him to graduate, he decided to join the army. Wanted a chance to see some things before coming back here and settling into his daddy’s peach farm. Sort of like you, I suppose.” Her eyes slid my way with a smile. “Anyway, your father was anxious to get out and prove himself in the world. As much as I hated to see him go, I knew it was something he had to do. So I promised to wait for him and we got engaged. Probably sounds crazy to you that I got engaged so young, but girls back then did.” She sighed. “He asked his best friend to watch over me while he was gone.”

  “Clem?”

  Mama nodded. “Only, soon after your daddy left, Clem started to change. Just little things at first—compliments, sly looks—”

  “He wanted you for himself.”

  “Yes. Only, I didn’t realize it at the time. Or maybe I didn’t care. I was lonely. Clem was handy to have around for dances and such. I was always just careful not to let things get out of hand. But looking back on it, I realize I led him on.”

  “So, what happened?” I was teetering between wanting to know everything and being afraid of knowing too much.

  Her shoulders sagged. “I’d gone to a dance with a group of friends and Clem was there. He started right in asking for dances. I obliged him, but was careful to dance with other young men, too.” She paused for a second, wringing her hands in her lap. “Lawd, but it was hot that evening. I still remember how hot it was. Clem kept bringing me punch to drink. I thought it was so very kind of him. But . . .”

  I reached over and placed my hand on hers. “But what, Mama?”

  She slid her hands away and stood, moving over to lean against the porch post. “It must have been spiked. Next thing I knew, he was helping me out to his car. Offering to drive me home, but that’s not where he took me.”

  “Oh, Mama.” I reached out to her. Prickles of fear and worry stung my neck as I held my breath over anticipation of what might have happened next.

  She stiffened with my touch. “He took me up to Hill Lake. There was a spot out there where kids used to go to make out. I tried to fight him off but he’s a big guy, too strong . . .” She shut her eyes tight at the memory.

  “Oh, Mama! Did he . . . ?”

  “No, no. He didn’t, not that he wouldn’t have.” Her eyes had popped open and she faced me with a sheepish look. “Between the heat and the spiked punch and struggling with him, well, my stomach couldn’t handle it all.” She shook her head. “I never thought getting sick would be a salvation for anyone, but it sure was that night. He took me home, opened the door and nearly pushed me out. Only that wasn’t the end of it.”

  “He tried again?”

  “No, thank goodness. But some kids saw us out there that night. By Monday morning, it was all over school. And Clem . . . well, he didn’t bother to set the record straight. Actually, he went around bragging that something did happen between us. There were a few nasty girls in my class that believed him and took great delight in my downfall. One of them even sent a letter off to your daddy.”

  My hand went to my mouth. “Oh no.”

  She nodded. “Yup. His tour of duty was almost over by that time. I was due to graduate the next weekend and we were going to be married right after the peach harvest that year.”

  “Had you talked to him? Told him what Clem did?”

  “It wasn’t like it is nowadays with the Internet and e-mail. And calling Europe was so expensive.” She pulled her sweater tighter around her chest. “Besides, how could I possibly write and explain something like that in a letter? Clem was your daddy’s best friend, after all. I figured it best to explain it in person, somehow, when he got home.”

  “So what happened when you explained after he returned?”

  “Well, I had no idea anyone else had written to him about it. So by the time he got home, there was no talking to your daddy. He was madder than anything. Went right out to Clem’s orchard, dragged him off a ladder and beat him to a pulp. They said one of the farmhands had to pull him off Clem. They were afraid your daddy was going to kill him.”

  I placed my hand on her shoulder. “And now those very same women are talking again. Bringing it all back up and spreading lies again.” I could see why she was upset. Something like this could make things look bad for Daddy.

  She shook her head. “Yes, and that’s bad enough. But I’m afraid that now something worse has happened. It’s the reason your daddy has locked himself up in his den.”

  “What? What’s happened?”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled in jagged little bursts. “Deputy Travis drove out here just before you got home. He asked for one of my monogrammed handkerchiefs, you know, the ones your great aunt made for me before she passed on a few years back. She embroidered a dozen of them. Gave them to me that year for Christmas. I just treasure them.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Why’d he want one of your handkerchiefs?”

  “To compare it to the one he already had. Seems they went back over Clem’s house from top to bottom this afternoon, searching for any sort of motive for his murder, and they found a hankie with my initials. Travis showed it to me. He had it in his pocket, zipped up in a plastic bag. It was mine all right.”

  “You’re kidding. Clem must’ve stolen it from you.”

  “A handkerchief? Why in the world would he do that?”

  “Well, what other possible reason would there be for one of your handkerchiefs to be in his house?”

  She wrapped her arms around her midsection, her shoulders sagging forward. “Especially tangled up in his bedsheets.”

  * * *

  My mouth was still gaping open a couple seconds later when Dane Hawkins roared up the driveway on his motorcycle. After my intimate talk with Mama about how her past problems had invaded her present life, Dane’s appearance felt more disconcerting than usual.

  The porch light cast just enough light for me to see him dismount his bike and take off his helmet. A few seconds later he came up the steps carrying a small duffel bag. He nodded my way and offered his usual velvety greeting. “Hey, darlin’.”

  How does he make those two words sound so sexy? I smiled politely. “Hey, Dane . . . I mean, Hawk.” Since turning to investigative work, Dane Hawkins had insisted on being called Hawk. Better for his image, he’d claimed. “We’re glad to have Roscoe visiting,” I said, trying to sound casual despite the sick feeling in my stomach. Eager to get him moving along, I reached out for his bag of supplies and lifted my chin toward his parked bike. “Thanks for bringing these by. We’ll be sure to take good care of Roscoe for you.”

  I hoped he’d take the hint and scurry off to do whatever he planned to do for the night. Of course Mama, always the polite one, invited him into the house. “Have you eaten yet? We’d be pleased to have you stay for supper. Just leftovers tonight, but there’s plenty,” she offered, leading him into the house and back toward the kitchen. Roscoe must have detected his master, because from behind the closed door of Daddy’s den, he let out a series of excited yips.

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I’ve already had supper. Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to your husband.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What exactly do you want to talk to him about?”

  He shifted, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Someone in town hired me to look into Clem Roger�
��s murder. I need to ask your daddy a few questions.”

  I gritted my teeth. “What type of questions? And why my daddy?”

  Hawk’s blue eyes darted between Mama and me, finally settling on Mama. He must have thought she was easier than me. “I’m sorry to have to do this, being that we’re friends and all, Mrs. Harper, but your husband and my client are both suspects in the murder. You can see how that puts me in an uncomfortable position.”

  “Margie Price is his client,” I explained to Mama.

  Mama smiled tightly. My brother, Ray, had hired Hawk a year ago to help out in a case involving my brother-in-law. Hawk had been an ally then; suddenly the tables were turned. Tension bit the air as Mama answered politely, “Well . . . he’s in his den, working on some paperwork. But I don’t know if he’s up to talkin’ or not. He’s not feelin’ very well this evening.”

  “If it’s okay, ma’am,” Dane said, starting down the hall, “I know where the den is. I’ll just go ask him if he has a few minutes to spare.”

  The audacity! I started after him, but he was at an advantage with his long-legged stride. “Mr. Harper,” he called out, rapping on the outside of the den door. “It’s Dane Hawkins.” At the sound of his master’s voice, Roscoe went crazy, barking and pawing at the door.

  “Come in,” Daddy hollered.

  Hawk opened the door a crack and turned to me. “I think your father and I should talk in private.”

  I ignored him, pushing in ahead of him and plopping down in one of the guest chairs in front of Daddy’s desk.

  Hawk mumbled something under his breath as he crossed the room to shake hands with my father. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Harper,” he said, before settling into the other guest chair, Roscoe snuggling at his feet.

  “Likewise, Hawk.” Daddy smiled. He pushed back in his chair and reached forward to open one of the desk drawers, pulling out a couple shot glasses and a bottle of Peach Jack. “Care for a drink?” His face looked drained and tired, but his eyes seemed relieved that his dark mood had been interrupted by what he no doubt considered to be a friendly visit.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  There was a bit of awkwardness as Daddy looked my way. “Pardon me, darlin’. Did you care for a glass?”

  Not really, but then again, I hate to be excluded. “Yes. I think I will.”

  Hawk quirked a smile, but the last laugh was going to be on him. I knew the stuff Daddy kept in his desk looked like a store-bought bottle of Peach Jack, but the bottle was really filled with Joe Puckett’s special brew. I’d had a little practice with the stuff. And while I wasn’t fond of it, I could put it away with a straight face.

  Daddy pulled out another glass and filled all three to the brim. I took mine, raised it in a mock salute, steeled myself and took a drink. I pressed my lips tightly together as the fluid burned its way down my throat. In turn, Daddy slammed his back, exhaled and smacked his lips together with satisfaction. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hawk raise his own glass and take a healthy sip. Immediately, he started sputtering and coughing. “What the . . . what is this stuff?” he asked, placing his glass on the edge of the desk. I shrugged and took another sip, reveling in the moment. Over the rim of my glass, I caught a quick wink coming from Daddy. Just a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He was proud to have me on his team.

  “Anyway,” Hawk continued, his voice dry and raspy, “Margie Price hired me to help clear her name in Clem Roger’s murder. So, I’m following up on a few leads.”

  Daddy’s face darkened, any look of relief from a friendly visit long gone. “And I’m one of your leads,” Daddy said, his voice flat.

  Hawk nodded. “Other than my Ms. Price, you’re the only suspect. To be honest, I think the sheriff’s leaning more toward you than my client.”

  “Is that so?” Daddy filled his glass again and tipped the bottle my way. I declined with a little shake of my head.

  Hawk cleared his throat. “I hear you had both means and motive.” He glanced quickly my way and shifted uncomfortably.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I already know about it all.”

  Daddy’s expression remained neutral. If he was surprised that I knew the story of Clem and Mama, he didn’t let on. “I didn’t kill the man,” he said, tipping back another glass of moonshine before capping the bottle and returning it to the drawer.

  “For what it’s worth, I believe you,” Hawk said. I did a double take, not sure of what to believe from this man; after all, he was hired to clear his Ms. Price, not Daddy. “But I also believe my client’s innocent. So you see, I’m in a bit of a tough position.”

  “That’s easy, boy. Just find the real killer. Then both your Ms. Price and I will be off the hook.”

  “I intend to do that, sir, but it would be easier if I knew where to start. The sheriff’s not offering any insight, and I didn’t know enough about the man to know who his enemies might be. And there seems to be a lot of talk going around town about Clem and . . .” He rolled his neck a few times and exhaled. “Clem and Mrs. Harper.”

  I looked over at Daddy. In the split second our gazes connected, I saw a flash of fear in his eyes. This latest twist with the handkerchief worried him more than he was letting on. But certainly, other folks didn’t know about it already? Did they? I mean, the sheriff had just found it this afternoon.

  “What exactly are they sayin’?” Daddy wanted to know.

  Hawk hesitated, glancing my way before continuing. “That Clem and Della had a thing going while you were away in the army. That you about killed him over it.”

  “That’s not completely true—” I started, but Daddy held up a hand, silencing me.

  “Is that all they’re sayin’?”

  My mouth hung open. Why wasn’t he correcting Hawk? Telling him the whole story? That Clem pretty much got Mama drunk and tried to take advantage of her. Then I snapped my mouth shut—realizing that saying that would make Daddy’s dislike of Clem even stronger, wouldn’t it? Give him even more motive?

  “That’s all I’ve heard,” Hawk said. “Why, is there something more?”

  Daddy seemed to breathe a little easier but didn’t answer Hawk. “It’s true that I did go after Clem. It was a long time ago and he deserved it. I don’t regret my actions. But I didn’t kill him. And I didn’t burn down his barn.”

  I swallowed back an impatient huff over this irritating man. All Hawk had accomplished so far was bumbling around town and stirring up more gossip when it was quite possible the real killer was right under his nose. “Maybe you ought to be looking into John Whitaker,” I said.

  That garnered a blank look.

  “The fellow staying at the inn with you?” I worked real hard not to roll my eyes.

  Hawk sat a little straighter. “Yeah. What about him?”

  “I found out today that he was in the vicinity of the crime at the time Clem was murdered. He was giving Joe Puckett a ride home just before the murder was supposed to have occurred.”

  Hawk paused for a second, taking in this latest news. “Did he know Clem?”

  I shrugged.

  “What’s he doing in town?”

  “No one really seems to know. Something maybe an investigator should be, you know, looking into?”

  “Okay. I’ll check into him.”

  Hawk turned his attention back to Daddy, but I’d have no part of that. “There’s someone else,” I said, jumping in again. “The niece’s boyfriend. His name is Lucas Graham. He’s been working for Clem on the farm.” I thought back to those wedding magazines I’d seen. “He had a lot to gain from Clem’s death, especially since it seems the two of them might be getting married soon.”

  “Good job, darlin’,” Daddy said, looking on with pride from behind his desk.

  “Yeah, good job,” Hawk echoed. “Anything else?” he asked. I shook my head and s
tood, my gaze fixed on him. He took the hint and stood himself, bending down to rub Roscoe between the ears. “Did y’all hear they’ve called an emergency town meeting Saturday evening?”

  “No, what for?” Daddy asked. He let out a little grimace as he stood, his hand moving to his upper stomach.

  “You okay, Daddy?”

  “Just a little indigestion, that’s all. Now what’s this about a town meetin’?”

  Hawk went on, “Ms. Price was telling me that they’re planning to go on with the election.”

  “How’s that?” Daddy asked. “She’s the only one runnin’ for the position.”

  “Not any more. Guess someone came forward. Another fellow by the name of Jack Snyder. Do y’all know him?”

  Daddy and I exchanged a look. “Yeah, we know him,” I answered. It sure seemed strange that all of a sudden he’d decided to run for mayor. Or was it something he had planned all along?

  Chapter 8

  Southern Girl Secret #070: There are certain secrets that should almost never slip through a Southern girl’s lips.

  Despite the fact that Roscoe’s incessant barking kept me awake through the wee hours of the morning, I dragged myself out of bed and was out on the walk in front of Sunny Side Up by seven o’clock. I was exhausted, but was determined to accidentally “run into” John Whitaker during his morning jog. My goal was to strike up a friendly conversation and find out a little more about the guy. The only thing anyone seemed to know about the man was that he had dark, wavy hair, was a good houseguest and was an avid jogger. There had to be more. Much, much more. Because no one comes to a small town like Cays Mill, in the middle of nowhere, Georgia, and just hangs out for couple weeks without a reason. I intended to figure out that reason.

  I situated myself so I was partially secluded by the neighbor’s hedge and then started raising my knees and shaking my arms as if I were warming up for a long morning jog. But after a couple minutes, I started to fatigue, and a twinge in my hip reminded me it’d been a while since I’d done any real exercise. Where was that man, anyway? Hadn’t Margie said that he leaves every morning at about this time? Then, a sudden movement from the house caught my attention, but instead of Whitaker, it was Margie exiting the side entrance under the carport with her purse slung over her shoulder and a handful of reusable fabric grocery bags. It looked like she was off to the Pack & Carry for an early-morning grocery run. I ducked farther behind the hedge as she maneuvered down the drive and turned onto the road. Peeking out from behind the hedge again, I took note of the absence of Hawk’s motorcycle. Either he was out for some early-morning detecting or he hadn’t actually spent the night at the inn. I mulled that over for a second or two before deciding that I really didn’t care.