War and Peach

by Susan Furlong

  “Yeah, well, guess we’ll know soon enough. Shouldn’t take long to get the print results back from the lab.” She lowered the brim of her Stetson and smirked. “Be seeing you soon, Nola Mae.”

  Chapter 9

  Southern Girl Secret #114: A Southern gal never lets life break her; she makes her own breaks.

  If stress burned calories, I’d be a supermodel by now. Unfortunately, stress just makes me hungry. So, I sat behind the wheel of my truck, scarfing down scones as my mind reeled with worries. Someone was definitely trying to frame my father for this murder. First Mama’s handkerchief and now the gas can, which I was pretty sure would turn out to have Daddy’s prints on it. Probably my prints and half our work crew’s prints, too. But who would want to frame my father for Clem’s murder? And why? Or perhaps even more important, how did someone get these items in the first place? The gas can could have been taken by any number of people—extra hands, delivery people . . . but something as personal as one of Mama’s handkerchiefs? Either a stranger broke in to our home and stole these things, or they were taken by someone close to the family. Neither was a good option.

  Then there was Margie. Was her secret past so horrible that she’d kill to protect it? And the mysterious John Whitaker? What was he looking for in Margie’s storage shed? I couldn’t discount Lucas Graham, either. As possibly Tessa’s future husband, he stood to profit from her inheritance, as did Tessa, for that matter. And now, Jack Snyder. Thanks to Clem’s timely demise, Jack had moved into the primo spot for mayor.

  A lot to consider—that’s for sure. But first things first. Ray needed to know about this latest development. I wasn’t sure how long it would take, but I knew as soon as Maudy came up with enough evidence, she’d come after Daddy with an arrest warrant. I dialed Ray’s number on my cell and finished off the last bite of scone while waiting for him to answer. Only he didn’t. So instead, I left a detailed message and asked him to give me a call back.

  Next, I was off to find my own answers. My first stop was the Cays Mill Library, where I met up with Joe Puckett. After spending some time talking to Joe, I found out he was pleased to get a free ride from town once in a while with John Whitaker, but that they never struck up any real conversations. He wasn’t sure what the man was doing in this area, but knew that he must have been from up North, judging by what Joe called “the funny way he talked.” That was hardly much help. Actually, the only real thing of interest Joe recalled was that Whitaker was reading a book titled Cays Mill: An Antebellum History. I located the book on the back shelves and flipped through it, finding a dog-eared corner on the section about the Underground Railroad. I remembered studying in high school about the secret network of routes that helped enslaved people escape to free states, but I’d forgotten that Sunny Side Up was one of the safe houses used along the way to freedom. Apparently the original owner of Sunny Side Up, a staunch Baptist and abolitionist, helped dozens of slaves by hiding them on his property until they could be transported to the next stop on the network. But while these neat facts about Sunny Side Up were interesting, they still gave me no clue as to why Whitaker had come to Cays Mill. Or why he was so interested in the history of the inn.

  After the library, I sat in my truck debating my next move. I wanted to pop in on Margie and talk to her about seeing Whitaker nosing inside her storage shed earlier that morning, but I’d told Hawk I’d let him talk to her first. And who knew if he’d had time yet, considering his plans to spend the morning test driving Harleys with Laney. Sure hoped Margie wasn’t paying Hawk by the hour. Or by the mile.

  My cell rang. I looked at the display, expecting it to be Ray calling back. Instead, it was Cade calling to see if I’d meet him for lunch at the diner. I smiled into my phone, readily agreeing to the suggestion. Cade had been busy at the construction site, so I hadn’t seen much of him the last couple days and, well . . . I missed him.

  “By the way,” he added, “I saw that Hawk’s back in town.”

  Just like that, my smile faded. Although I knew honesty was the key to a successful relationship, I sort of regretted telling Cade everything about my past with Dane Hawkins. It made for a lot of awkwardness whenever Hawk was in town. “Yes, he’s back. He’s working for Margie Price.”

  “Speaking of Margie. Did you hear Jack Snyder’s running against her now?”

  “Yeah, I heard. Convenient, huh?”

  “You bet,” Cade said. “Especially since he lost the last time he ran.”

  “The last time? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, didn’t you know? Well, no, I guess you wouldn’t. You weren’t here at the time. Jack ran against Wade Marshall some years ago. It was a close race. Jack only lost by a handful of votes. He insisted on a recount. Two recounts, actually.”

  “I didn’t know that.” How come nobody had thought to tell me this before? Was Jack so bitter over his prior loss that he connived to even out the playing field this time? I quickly dismissed the idea. Certainly someone wouldn’t commit murder just so they could become mayor of Cays Mill. Talk about a big fish in a small pond. And Cays Mill was a very small pond. Still, there was no overestimating how competitive people could become over such things. My thoughts flashed back to a recent scandal surrounding our local Peach Queen Pageant—sashes and sabotage, I’d dubbed it. I was shocked at some of the underhanded—dangerous, even—tactics employed by the contestants and their mothers, and all in the name of winning some silly crown.

  “And,” Cade added, “it’ll also be very convenient for the sheriff to have Snyder as her boss.”

  “For the sheriff? How’s that?”

  “Maudy and Snyder are pretty close, you know.”

  “They’re dating?” The idea of it made me want to gag. Snyder was my daddy’s age. And Maudy was, well, Maudy.

  “No!” I could hear Cade half gasp at the thought. “Not dating. They’re kin. Cousins on the mothers’ sides, I believe. Didn’t you know that?”

  I shrugged. “No, guess not.” But I could see how it might be a problem. With Snyder as mayor and in charge of the municipality, Maudy could get by with just about anything. Who knew what changes or additions she wanted to her department to further her little power trips. I let out a long sigh and shook my head. Kin, huh? It figured. Half the town was related somehow. That could also explain why some people thought Maudy might have been feeding Clem with disreputable information about Margie Price. To knock Margie out of the competition and make room for her own cousin. I took another deep breath and slowly exhaled. So much to consider.

  Refocusing, I updated Cade on a few other things that had happened since we last talked. I purposely left out the more sordid details, such as Clem’s assault on Mama all those years ago and her handkerchief being found in his bedsheets. It all seemed too complicated to discuss in a quick phone call. Instead I promised to fill him in on more details over lunch. After pinning down a time to meet at the diner, I hung up and started on my next quest—Snyder’s Farm.

  * * *

  The Snyders used to grow pecans, with over a hundred acres of their land consisting of mature groves. However, during the seventies “go-natural” craze, Jack Snyder decided to convert some of the old groves into organic vegetable plots. A great move on his part. But Daddy always did say that Jack Snyder was a man who didn’t let obstacles break him, but made his own breaks in life. Something my parents admired about the man and a virtue they’d always tried to instill in their own children. Anyway, Jack’s idea to go natural caught on quickly, and the Snyder family soon made a fortune supplying in-season organic veggies to boutique restaurants up North. More recently, they opened a roadside produce stand, which quickly became the seasonal destination stop for health-conscious folks from all corners of the county.

  I drove past the produce stand, located on the main road, and turned onto a small gravel drive leading back toward the farmhouse and outbuildings. As I neared the residence, I spotted
Deputy Travis’s cruiser parked outside one of the barns. Why was he here? Was he questioning Jack Snyder about Clem’s murder? Or, had something else horrible happened? Heaven forbid! I slowed to a stop, contemplating whether or not I should continue forward or turn around and come back at a later time. Then, Travis came around the side of the barn and lifted his hand in a friendly wave, so I continued down the drive and parked next to his cruiser. “Hey there, Nola,” he greeted me, politely removing his hat to reveal a light brown crop of hair closely trimmed in the front with longer strands curling around his back collar. “What brings you out this way?”

  “I came to talk over some business with Mr. Snyder,” I said. The business of murder, but I left that part unsaid. Better to let Travis just think I’d come out to talk about peaches. “Is everything okay with Mr. Snyder?” I asked, glancing toward the barn. “Is he okay?”

  “Yes. He’s fine.” Travis replaced his Stetson and nodded toward the barn. “He’s around back.”

  I maneuvered in front of him before he reached his car door. “I was wondering if I could ask you something about Clem’s murder?”

  He hesitated, shifting his stance. “I don’t know, Nola. Sheriff probably wouldn’t like me talking to you about it. Considering your daddy’s a suspect and all.”

  “I understand, but this is just a general question. I was just wondering who called in the barn fire?” The logistics of that call were still niggling at my mind.

  “Oh, well, there’s nothing secret about that. I did. I was out that way on a call to Candace’s place and saw the smoke. Dark smoke. I knew something was wrong, so I called it in right away.”

  My shoulders fell. “Oh. I see.” I’d been hoping he was going to say someone else, or even better yet, that John Whitaker had made the call. “Thanks, Travis.”

  With a final tip of his hat, he was off. I made my way around to the back of the barn, finding Jack Snyder standing with his hands on his hips, looking down at a pile of cast-off wood, concrete and other bits of farming debris with a puzzled look on his face. “Mr. Snyder?”

  He squinted my way. “Nola Mae Harper?”

  I held out my hand. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good to see you,” he said, the wiry muscles in his forearm popping into action as he gave my hand a firm shake. Everything about Jack Snyder was thin, including his white hair, which fell in stringy pieces around his chiseled face. “You know, I’ve been meaning to give your daddy a call.”

  “About the peach deal?” I asked.

  “Why, yes. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  No, but it’s as good an excuse as any. I nodded.

  He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “Horrible thing about Clem.”

  “Were you two friends?”

  He shrugged. “We did business together from time to time. I feel bad for that niece of his. Of course, she and Clem didn’t always see eye to eye. But that’s how it is with kids that age, I suppose.”

  “What do you mean? I was under the impression that they got along well.” Ginny had told me that Clem cherished his niece.

  “Oh, they did! I’m not saying they didn’t. Just the typical stuff.” He folded his arms and leaned in a little. “Clem was angry with that boyfriend of hers, what’s his name?”

  “Lucas?”

  “That’s right. Said he was upset about something the boy had done. Tried to pin him down on it, but he clammed up. But if you ask me, Clem just didn’t like the idea of his niece getting so serious about the kid.”

  Probably too late for that, I thought. Especially considering all the wedding magazines Tessa had been reading.

  “In fact,” Jack continued, “he asked if I could recommend any good farm managers.”

  “But that’s what Lucas does. Was he planning on firing him?”

  Jack shrugged. “Guess so. It’d be something Clem would do. Fire the boy, just to keep him away from that niece of his.”

  Or maybe because Clem had good reason to fire Lucas. I thought this new information over for a second before switching gears. “So you’re running for mayor, I hear.”

  Jack broke into a grin. “Yes, that’s right. Someone should step in to represent the farmers, right? Oh, but then you’re a business owner these days, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  He reached over and gave my shoulder a friendly pat. “Well, don’t you worry none. I plan to support both the peach growers and the downtown businesses. You’d do well to vote for me this Tuesday. And I’m sure your daddy plans to support me, right?”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I simply nodded again.

  My response seemed to satisfy Jack. He answered with a toothy grin. “Oh, good. In that case, you just go ahead and let your daddy know that I’m more than happy to reinstate our previous deal. Same terms and everything.”

  “I’ll do that,” I told him. “Is everything okay here? I saw the deputy leaving as I pulled up.”

  He scratched his head. “Oh, sure. Everything’s fine. Just seems that some things have gone missing around here.”

  “What type of things?”

  He waved his hand through the air. “Nothing important. Probably shouldn’t even have bothered the deputy with it.” He pointed down at the scrap pile, piled high with the farming castoffs. “Just some old pipes and stuff. Junk really. Not worth a darn thing.” He laughed. “Heck, I should probably thank whoever it was that took it off my hands.”

  I looked down at the pile and something clicked in my mind. Jack might be glad to be rid of some of his “junk,” as he called it, but he was wrong about one thing. It wasn’t worthless. In fact, someone knew exactly what its value was. And that someone had been awfully busy lately.

  * * *

  “So you think someone is stealing scrap metal?” Cade asked. After stopping in to check on Carla, who was handling the shop like a pro, I’d popped over for my lunch date with Cade. We were sitting across from each other in our usual booth, enjoying today’s special: deep-fried pork chops with gravy and a side of Hoppin’ John—a wonderful combination of rice and black-eyed peas.

  I dabbed my napkin along the corner of my mouth and nodded. “Think about it. The copper wiring from your construction site, the bleachers from the school, downspouts from the library and now pipes from Jack Snyder’s scrap pile. Little things, but after a while they add up.”

  “You’re right. There’s probably other things missing, too. Things that people haven’t bothered to report. Guess we’ll have to be more careful at the site. Usually, we keep things locked down at night, but there’s always the chance they’ll start ripping out our wiring. Guess I’m going to have to figure out some security measures.”

  “Wonder where they’d be taking all this stuff?” I ran a forkful of pork through my gravy and rice, popped it into my mouth and sighed. The salty crispness of the pork paired just right with the creamy gravy. And when mixed with the firm, spicy rice and black-eyed peas in the Hoppin’ John . . . well, it was perfection.

  Cade shrugged. “The nearest metal recycler I know of is over in Perry. But your theory makes sense. Especially with things being the way they are right now. Some people are really hurting for money.”

  I took a sip from my iced tea and nodded. Cade was right. The economy was on the upswing, but many people were still in dire straits.

  He continued, “Sounds like the sheriff has her hands full with crime right now. Any more news on Clem’s murder?”

  “Yeah. A lot, actually. I’ve been wanting to tell you about it, but it’s not really something I could talk about over the phone.” I gave a look around the diner. It was after one o’clock, and the main lunch crowd had left, with no one seated near us now. “It’s about Mama and Clem.” He set his fork down and gave me his full attention. I went on to explain about Mama and Clem’s past. “I can’t even imagine how angry my father must have
been when he found out what Clem had tried to do to Mama. And he and Clem were supposed to be friends.”

  Cade shook his head, his dark eyes blazing. “I don’t blame your father for going after Clem the way he did back then. If it’d been me, I probably would have killed the guy.”

  Something about the way he said that gave me tiny pricks of fear, mixed with tingles of thrill. I sort of liked the idea of Cade coming to my rescue. Not that I couldn’t take care of myself. I shook off my romantic notions and refocused on the topic at hand. “The problem is that there are people who still remember what happened all those years ago. And they’re talking. Making it seem like Daddy had an old score to settle.”

  “That’s stupid. After fifty years? If that were the case, why wait so long? He could have taken Clem out at any time.”

  I shrugged. “You’re right, of course. But unfortunately that’s not how the sheriff sees it. Plus, there’s more.” I filled him in on the most current twists: the handkerchief and now the gas can. “It looks like someone is really working hard to frame my father, but I can’t figure out why.”

  “Maybe because he’s made it easy.”

  “What do you mean ‘he’s made it easy’?”

  “Think about it. It’s probably not that someone purposely set out to frame your father. The killer set out to kill Clem that afternoon and probably saw your father there. Maybe even overheard them arguing. As soon as your father left, he killed Clem, started the fire and fled, knowing all along that the timing of the crime would cast suspicion on your father. The handkerchief and the gas can were just an afterthought. Maybe the killer didn’t even know about that old feud until the town’s gossip machine started churning out fat to fuel the blame. A couple more nails in the coffin, so to say.”

  I cringed. I never wanted to consider anything about coffins when it came to my daddy. Still, Cade made an excellent point. I’d been sidetracked by all this stuff between Mama and Clem. Trying to figure out who might have a personal reason to go after my family. But maybe it didn’t have anything to do with a personal vendetta. It could be happenstance, plain and simple. I needed to get back to thinking about the crime, the timing, and who had the opportunity to get ahold of that gas can and handkerchief. “I’m leaning toward John Whitaker,” I told Cade. “He was in the area, giving Joe Puckett a ride home, just before the time of the murder. And he’s up to something.” I filled him in on the incident that had occurred earlier that morning at Sunny Side Up. “Hawk says that there might be a good reason—”