War and Peach

by Susan Furlong

  “Hawk?”

  “Yes. We were talking earlier. Sort of trying to work through a few points of the case.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, what did Hawk say?” He shifted away from the table, folding his arms across his chest.

  I took note of his sudden shift in demeanor, took a deep breath and treaded carefully. “He said that there might have been a good reason for Whitaker to be snooping in the shed. Like maybe he has something stored out there. But I saw the guy. It definitely looked like he was snooping. And there are other things. Like the fact that he’s been looking up stuff about Cays Mill’s history at the library.”

  “That’s not so weird. He could simply be interested in the area.” He motioned for Ginny before adding, “Could be he’s a writer or something and is setting a book here.”

  A writer? That hadn’t even crossed my mind. Maybe . . . “But who’d want to set a book here? I mean, nothing happens in Cays Mill.”

  Cade chuckled. “I know what you mean. Three murders in eighteen months is so boring. Oh, and arson.” He rolled his eyes mockingly and sighed. “But you’re right . . . nothing ever happens here.”

  I laughed along with his joke, but my mind was already jumping ahead to other possibilities. “Jack Snyder just told me that Clem was getting ready to fire Lucas.”

  “Oh yeah? Why?”

  “He wasn’t exactly sure. But that could be motive for murder. And Lucas could have easily planted Mama’s handkerchief in those bedsheets. But I’m not sure how he would have got ahold of it in the first place.”

  “Maybe the killer isn’t one person but two,” Cade suggested, as he glanced about. “Where’d Ginny go?”

  Two people? That’s a really good point.

  “Hey, what can I do ya for?” Ginny asked, sidling up to our booth.

  “Hey, Ginny,” Cade said. “Can I get a slice of lemon meringue and a coffee to go?”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” She tapped her knuckle on the top of our table. “You want the same, Nola?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. But I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Is it okay if we skip our cooking session tonight?” We’d planned earlier to meet that night to make a couple more batches of peach hot sauce. “With everything going on, I’m behind. I don’t even have my grocery list together. And tomorrow’s that big meeting, and—”

  “Fine by me. My feet are killin’ me anyway. Haven’t had a second to sit down yet. Let’s just plan on Monday evening. Will that work? Oh, by the way, Hattie was in a while ago. She’s planning to close down early for tomorrow’s meeting. And Sam and I will be there. We’ll try to save you a seat.” With that, she scurried off to fill a few more cups and grab Cade’s coffee and pie.

  I’d just turned back to Cade when my cell phone rang. It was Ray. He said that he’d received my message and was wrapping up a few things at the firm so he could come home for the weekend. On one hand, I felt relieved that Ray was coming home. On the flip side, it worried me. Ray, a bit of a workaholic, rarely took time from his work. I wondered if he anticipated a downturn in events for Daddy. A sense of dread settled in my stomach.

  But I didn’t have much time to think about it, because I’d just disconnected with Ray when Margie Price showed up at our booth. Cade politely raised up out of his seat. “Ms. Price.”

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, answering Cade’s polite gesture with a slight nod before turning to me. “I went by your shop looking for you, Nola, and your assistant said I could find you here.”

  “Please join us.” I scooted over and patted the vinyl cushion.

  She settled in, folding her hands together on top of the table. I couldn’t help but notice how elegant they were. Long fingers and pretty nails. Margie was one of those women who always looked polished and put together. Which fascinated me, since most of the time it was all I could do to run a comb through my hair. Still, under all that put-togetherness, Margie seemed to be falling apart emotionally. “What’s going on?” I asked, even though I figured she was probably upset about her sneaky houseguest.

  “Hawk told me what you saw this morning.”

  I blew out a stream of air. “I take it Mr. Whitaker didn’t have your permission to be inside the shed?”

  “No, he did not,” she bit out. “I don’t even know how he got my keys.” She started wringing her hands. “And now I’m just sure that he’s probably been sneaking around other places, too.”

  “What makes you say that?” Cade asked.

  “Just little things, you know. Like the other day I was vacuuming the hall runners on the second floor and I noticed the attic door was slightly ajar. I hardly ever go up there. I just assumed a draft had caused it to open, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Did Hawk confront Mr. Whitaker about it?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No. That’s the problem. He suggested that we keep it to ourselves and watch to see what he’s up to. He doesn’t think the man’s a threat to me.”

  “I agree,” Cade said. “If Whitaker meant to harm you, he would have done so by now. Any idea why he would have been looking in your shed?”

  “No idea. There’s nothing but gardening equipment out there.”

  “Did you go through it? It could be that we’re looking at this the wrong way. Maybe he wasn’t searching for something. Maybe he was hiding something in there.” Something small enough to fit into his pocket, I thought. Because I hadn’t seen him carrying anything.

  Margie’s eyes grew wide. “Like what? Drugs or a weapon?” She let out a little gasp. “Do you think he’s somehow involved in Clem’s murder?” She raised both hands to her face. “Oh, thank goodness I’m having company tonight. I won’t feel so . . . so vulnerable. Then first thing tomorrow I’ll have Mr. Hawkins ask him to leave.” She shook her head. “No, I’ll do it. I’ll just politely tell him that I have other guests coming. We never did discuss the length of his stay. He’s been paying on a weekly basis.”

  I felt a stab of panic. If Whitaker left, I may not have a chance to discover the truth and clear my father. I glanced at Cade, unsure of how to proceed.

  Maybe he sensed how I was feeling, because he held up his hand and said, “I think we’re blowing all this out of proportion. We don’t know the guy’s a murderer. He’s never acted violent. And there’s no indication that he even knew Clem. I think we’re jumping to conclusions just because he’s . . .” He glanced sheepishly toward Margie. “Because he’s an outsider.”

  Two pink spots appeared on Margie’s cheeks. “You’re absolutely right. I should know better! I’ve been fighting that type of prejudice my whole campaign. People distrust my motives because I haven’t been born and raised here. And here I’m doing the same thing to Mr. Whitaker.”

  Cade smiled reassuringly. “It’s understandable that you feel the way you do, Margie. He’s staying in your house, after all. But, I really don’t think you have too much to worry about with Hawk there.”

  “And you said you had a friend coming to stay, too?” I asked.

  Margie nodded. “Well, yes. Just for tonight. She’s helping me with some campaign strategies. We figured we’d be working late into the evening, so I invited her to stay the night.”

  One glance at Margie’s fidgety hands told me that she still felt nervous about the prospect of Whitaker staying at the inn. Who could blame her? Finding out about Whitaker’s suspicious activities would make anyone feel a little threatened. Especially those times when she knew they’d be the only two people in the house. And considering that Hawk’s honey was close by, that might be often.

  Ginny came by and placed Cade’s to-go order and the check on the table. While she said hello to Margie and took her order for salad and iced tea, I started formulating a plan. Perhaps if I played my cards right, there was a way for me to get a closer look at both Whitaker and Margie. After all, Margie, as much as I hated t
o admit it, still had the strongest motive for murder—her secret—and she had no alibi for the time Clem was murdered.

  As Ginny hustled off to take care of another table full of waiting customers, I reached over and placed my hand on Margie’s arm. “Would you feel better if I came to stay with you after your friend leaves? Because it would be no problem for me to come over for a few days.”

  “What?” Cade sat straighter. “Do you think that’s necessary? I mean, Hawk’s there. And he’s a private investigator.”

  “Actually,” Margie started. “Hawk isn’t always around at . . . well, he has a girlfriend in town and—”

  “That settles it,” I said. “I’ll just plan to stay for a few nights. I’ll come over right after tomorrow night’s meeting. Safety in numbers, right?”

  Margie seemed relieved. Not Cade, though. “Don’t you think it’ll seem weird to Whitaker that you’ve suddenly showed up to stay? Especially since you live in town?”

  “Not really. I’ll just make up some excuse. Let’s see . . . I could say that my parents are doing some remodeling and the dust is bothering me, or . . .” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll come up with something.” I was trying to keep it light, but the look Cade was giving me was anything but light.

  Margie seemed relieved, though. “Thank you, Nola. You don’t know how much better I feel knowing you’ll be around. And I won’t say a thing to Mr. Whitaker about that shed incident.” She turned her attention to Cade. “Like you said, all he’s probably guilty of is being nosy. And I’ve certainly had my share of nosy guests.”

  Cade’s chin jutted out. A sure sign that he was sulking over the fact that Hawk and I would be spending the next few nights in such close proximity. Actually, the idea didn’t thrill me, either. But I was willing to do about anything to make sure my father wasn’t implicated in a crime he didn’t commit. I pulled out my cell and glanced at the time. “It’s getting late. I’d better get back to my shop. Poor Carla’s been on her own all morning. She could probably use a break.”

  Cade stood and grabbed his to-go order. “Me, too. I’ve got to get back out to the site. I’ll walk you out, Nola. Good seeing you again, Margie.”

  I took a couple minutes to confirm plans with Margie while Cade paid the check. Before saying good-bye, she thanked me again for offering to stay with her. I could tell my suggestion must have relieved a lot of her stress, because as soon as we finished our conversation, she started for a nearby tableful of ladies and launched into her campaign pitch.

  Outside the diner, Cade turned to me. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to stay over at Sunny Side Up? What if Whitaker really is the killer? It could be dangerous.” Hmm. Didn’t he just tell Margie that he thought it was perfectly safe to be in the house with Whitaker?

  “I understand.” And I really did. “But I’m doing this to help a friend . . .” I stopped and corrected myself. “Actually, that’s not true. I’m doing this to help my father.” I quickly explained why I wanted to check into both Margie and John Whitaker. “What better way to figure out what they might be up to than to observe them up close? And if my presence helps Margie feel more comfortable, then all the better. Besides, you heard Margie. Hawk’s out most nights.” I sighed. “I’m just saying that I can’t fully trust my daddy’s well-being to him. Not when his focus is so divided. Can’t you understand?”

  For a second, Cade simply stood there, staring down at me with concerned eyes. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, wondering if his concern was about me being in the same house with John Whitaker, a possible killer, or with Dane Hawkins, a past lover. Then, just like that, his expression changed again, this time to an emotion I couldn’t quite read. To his credit, he didn’t try to talk me out of my decision. Instead, he reached over and rested his hands along the sides of my arms and said, “I do understand that you need to help your family. In fact, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. I just want you to be careful, that’s all.” He pulled me close, leaning in for a kiss and mumbling, “I couldn’t stand it if anything ever happened to you, Nola.”

  Chapter 10

  Southern Girl Secret #104: Don’t be one of those women who follows her heart and forgets to take her brains along with her.

  After Cade’s kiss, I practically floated back to my shop. But my feet hit the ground again when I opened the door and found Tessa Rogers leaning against the counter, deep in conversation with Carla. They both startled as I entered, Tessa quickly swiping her cheek with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Oh hello, Ms. Harper. I was just leaving.”

  “There’s no need to rush off,” I told her. “How are you doing?” As I crossed the room to stand next to her, I noticed that her eyes were red and puffy.

  “It’s been difficult,” she said. “But I’m getting by okay. Things will be better once I get through the funeral. That’s what I was just talking to Carla about. I was hoping she could be there. I’ll feel better with my friends around.”

  “Of course.” I glanced between the two of them. Carla was nervously fidgeting with a leather braided bracelet on her arm. I wondered if she’d ever attended a funeral before. I turned back to Tessa. “When is the service planned?”

  “Monday morning at nine. I know it’s a workday, but that’s the only time I could get scheduled with the funeral home.”

  “I’m supposed to work at ten,” Carla threw out. “But I was wondering if I could come in a little late that morning?”

  “Of course. That’s not a problem.”

  “The service probably won’t be that long,” Tessa added. “Since there’s not a body to . . . well, we’re not having a separate visitation or anything. Just a simple service at the funeral parlor.”

  I reached out and touched her arm. “I understand. Do you need help with anything? Is there something I can do?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. Lucas has been just wonderful. He helped me pick out the music for the service and everything.” I dropped my hand from her arm, lowering my gaze. Here Lucas was the one person who had been so supportive of her and I itched to ask if he might have killed her uncle! She pulled into herself, shivering a bit. “Ever since I got that awful call about the fire, Lucas has been right by my side. I just don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t showed up when he did.”

  My head snapped up. “What do you mean? I thought he was at the courthouse with you, setting up for the debate?” I thought back to the fire, remembering that Lucas showed up in the same car with Tessa. I’d just assumed he was with her at the courthouse. If not, then where was he? At the farm, killing Clem?

  “Oh no. He was working at the Pack and Carry that day until five. He’d planned to meet me at the courthouse right after his shift. He’d just arrived when I got the phone call about the fire.” With another little shiver, she pulled her sweatshirt closed and zipped it up to her chin. “Anyway, as soon as I heard about the fire, I just knew something had happened to Uncle Clem. That debate was all he’d talked about that whole week. He wouldn’t have been late for setting it up.”

  I steeled myself to scratch that itch to ask about Lucas’s riff with her uncle. It was my daddy’s neck on the line, after all. But I didn’t want to upset Tessa or close her off from talking to me, either. “Your uncle’s death must be difficult for Lucas, too,” I said. “He’d been working for him for a while, hadn’t he?”

  “Yes, that’s right. For a few seasons now. This summer he stepped up as crew manager, handling things for Uncle Clem since he was so busy with the election. Uncle Clem thought the world of Lucas. That’s why he trusted him to run the farm. Lucas practically brought in last season’s harvest by himself.”

  My thoughts whirled as I watched Tessa pull out a tissue from her pocket, give her nose a blow and seem to steady herself at the thought of her capable and trustworthy boyfriend running her uncle’s—and soon to be her—farm. Had I misread something in Lucas? Or
was I missing some alternative? If things were going so well, and Lucas was proving so capable . . . then it dawned on me: maybe Snyder had misinterpreted Clem’s question. “So everything was going okay between your uncle and Lucas?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. Why?”

  I lowered my voice and spoke softly. “Because I was talking to Jack Snyder today. Jack said that your uncle asked him to recommend a new farm manager. Could Lucas be thinking of getting another job?”

  “No! He loves it at the farm. And now, well, I don’t know what I’d do if . . .” she said, her voice becoming thin.

  “Of course,” I said, nodding. “I’m glad he’s there for you. I just thought, you know, capable as he is and with what Jack said, well, maybe there had been some reason Lucas might have been thinking to leave. Like maybe there were harsh words between them? Misunderstandings happen, and mistakes, too. Especially on a farm.” I knew this for a fact because I’d made my share of mistakes. I remember the first time I drove the tractor. Begged and begged my daddy to let me drive the thing. And what did I do? Plowed it right into a row of peach trees. Buggered up the whole front end of the tractor, not to mention the damage I caused to the trees. Oh man! Daddy was furious. If I wasn’t his daughter, he would have fired me on the spot.