War and Peach

by Susan Furlong

  Speaking of which, Frances Simms was the first person I saw as I slipped into the nearly filled parlor designated for Clem’s service this Monday morning. She eyed me with one of her pompous know-it-all looks. I sighed. Obviously, she’d finally gathered enough dirt on my daddy to craft a sell-out headline for tomorrow’s issue of the Cays Mill Reporter. I could hardly wait.

  Feeling self-conscious, I slunk into an empty seat in the back of the room. After a somewhat sleepless night, I’d awakened late, then spent most of my morning routine catching up with Mama on the latest news about Daddy. Then I made a last-minute decision to attend the funeral, not that I knew Clem all that well—and what I did know of him, I didn’t particularly like—but after a little consideration, I decided it would be a nice gesture toward Tessa—and, in a roundabout way, Carla—if I came and offered my formal condolences. But my split-second decision meant I had to wear what I had on hand: my usual cargo pants and Peachy Keen T-shirt. Although, I’d buttoned a navy blue sweater over my work T-shirt, in an effort to look a little more respectful and to cover the nasty bruises Whitaker had put on my arm. I thought back with a tiny thrill to Hawk’s reaction when he discovered the bruises. I was surprised he even cared enough to be concerned, let alone so protective. Then again, Hawk’s reactions always surprised me. Which made me think maybe I’d made a mistake all those years ago by not telling him about the baby. Maybe he’d have stood beside me, maybe even after the miscarriage, and then I’d have never left town and . . . I sighed. That was all in the past. And like Mama always said, “It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Looking past the crowd, my eyes settled on the room’s focal point: a dark urn set on a small marble pedestal and surrounded by floral arrangements. For some reason, the sight of the urn surprised me. Did they simply scoop up his ashes from the murder site, or did they cremate his remains further? I shook my head, wishing away the morbid thoughts and focusing instead on the crowd, my eyes bouncing from one suspect to another. First, Lucas and Tessa, who sat together in the front row, his arm resting on the back of the pew behind her, ready to offer quick comfort when needed.

  Next, Jack Snyder, who also sat near the front of the room, straight-backed and alert, wearing the same suit he had worn for the town meeting. Jack intrigued me. Running for any office was hard work and expensive, a tough go even once. But twice? And this idea that he’d decided to run just a couple days before Clem’s murder didn’t add up—at that point he knew he’d be running against two strong candidates. Why set himself up for failure again? But Clem’s death narrowed the field to only one other candidate, one who just happened to be under suspicion of murder, no less. Making Jack’s win a given. Could Snyder really be that power crazed to murder Clem just to be called “Mr. Mayor”? Could having cousins in the offices of mayor and sheriff benefit the mayor in some way? I could see a mayor maybe granting more perks to the sheriff’s department. I couldn’t see it going the other way around, but I wasn’t all that up on politics. Or . . . were there other benefits to being mayor that I hadn’t considered yet? Could it help his business somehow, like making some tax exemptions or something? Could being mayor in Cays Mill give him any clout for expanding his fruit stands into other counties? Not that I could figure out. But even if I could, was it enough to kill for? None of it made sense. And that made him very suspicious to me.

  A couple rows behind him, Margie was shifting uncomfortably in her own seat, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. Which brought my mind around to my mother’s handkerchief and the fact that it was found tangled up in Clem’s sheets. Just how did it end up there? I glanced back at Margie. Mama did say that she’d gone to Sunny Side Up for a campaign tea the day before the murder. Was it possible that she’d left one of her handkerchiefs there? Of course, she could have left one of her hankies anywhere. And then how and when could Margie—or anyone, for that matter—get it into Clem’s bedroom? Still . . . I narrowed my eyes and focused Margie’s way. I’d intentionally avoided her at breakfast time this morning, just coming down to grab a cup of coffee and plate of muffins to take to my room. I was closer to figuring out her secret and was afraid I’d tip my hand before I had all the pieces in place. Hopefully Hawk would have some more information soon, but I did place a call to Ida on my way to the funeral parlor, asking her to check with Hollis about Margie’s financial history. After all, Hollis was president of the only bank in town, and he did owe me one. Or two. And in my experience, most secrets worth dying for, or murdering for, had to do with love or money. So, to cover that base, it would be prudent to follow the money trail. I only hoped Margie had left behind a few crumbs for me to follow.

  As for Mr. Whitaker/Ganassi, he wasn’t in attendance. Not that I expected him to be here. He was probably taking this opportunity to search through a few more spots at Sunny Side Up. What he was looking for, heaven only knew. But I couldn’t help but feel as if I were on the brink . . .

  A tap on my shoulder interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see Candace from the bank had slid into the seat next to me. “These straight chairs are so hard on my back,” she started with a dramatic sigh. “Why, I can already feel my sciatica starting to act up. Doc Harris always tells me not to—” She stopped herself midcomplaint and furrowed her brow. “That was your truck that sped past my house yesterday, wasn’t it? You about ran me off the road, you know. What in the world got into you, Nola Mae?”

  “I’m sorry, Candace. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just doing a little experiment, that’s all.”

  She waggled her shoulders. “An experiment? On what? How to kill people?”

  A few heads swiveled around; I shrank back in my chair. Then I thought of something. Maybe Candace saw someone drive by the afternoon Clem was killed. It would have been about the time she was arriving home from working at the bank. It was such a quiet road, any traffic would certainly draw attention. I leaned forward and quietly asked, “Candace, do you remember seeing anyone drive past your house last Tuesday? It would have been late afternoon.”

  “Last Tuesday? Why, no. Don’t you remember me tellin’ you about my bursitis?”

  “Your bursitis?” I did sort of remember her saying something about bursitis the other day at the bakery. Of course, every time I saw her she had one complaint or another and, admittedly, it all blurred together for me after a while. Besides, what did that have to do with anything?

  “Yes, my bursitis. I swear I told you about this. But anyway, my bursitis has been actin’ up somethin’ awful. And well, bless his heart, but Doc Harris didn’t know what to do for me. So he sent me to that specialist over in Columbus . . .” She paused for a breath.

  “That was on Tuesday? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I remember because I drove past Clem’s place on my way home and saw all the emergency vehicles.” She shook her head and raised her eyes to the urn up front. “Poor Clem. Such an awful way to go.”

  Tuesday? Something about that didn’t seem right. The low tone of an organ suddenly cut through the room’s chatter, drawing our attention up front where Mrs. Betty Lou Nix, who was held in high esteem by the local Baptists for her musical talents, had begun the opening hymn. But I barely listened to the slow, melancholy tune, because my own thoughts were unfolding at a frantic tempo, jumping from one conclusion to another. And by the time Mrs. Nix finished the stirring melody, I’d discovered yet another discrepancy in Clem’s murder case.

  Chapter 15

  Southern Girl Secret #089: The reason we Southern gals like diamonds is because they’re a lot like us: beautiful, shiny and unbreakable.

  Either the rest of the service was super short or I blanked out. Probably the latter. I was so preoccupied with my own thoughts—of hidden treasure and murder—that I didn’t tune back in until I heard Reverend Jones announcing that the Baptist Ladies’ Altar Society would be providing refreshments in the church basement directly following the service. Everyone was invited to
head over and offer support for the bereaved. Unfortunately, I needed to get to work, but I did track down Carla and let her know that there was no hurry for her to get to the shop. I could handle things there and it was important for her to stay with Tessa awhile longer.

  Since I’d walked to the funeral home that morning—it was just down the street from Sunny Side Up—I still needed to swing by my room for my laptop and keys before heading to Peachy Keen. I started off at a brisk walking pace, enjoying the crisp breeze in the air and several bright displays of potted chrysanthemums lining the front porches of the stately homes I passed by, when all of a sudden I spied a red nylon running suit jogging my way. Whitaker! My mind flashed back to the underwear I’d discovered in his dresser drawer. This guy must have a penchant for silky red things. Ick.

  I froze in my tracks, watching as he drew closer, a cruel smile creeping over his face. Then to my horror, he clenched his fists and picked up his pace, moving to the center of the walk. What’s he doing? He was running straight toward me! At the last minute, I jumped aside. My foot landed on the uneven edge of the walk, causing my ankle to bend and sending me spiraling downward. I hit the ground hard, grass and pebbles digging into my palms. I stayed that way for a second, momentarily dazed, before I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Nola, are you okay?”

  It was Hattie. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “I was just coming from the funeral home and I saw some man knock you off the walk.” She shielded her eyes from the sun and squinted. “Wasn’t that the guy Ginny thinks is so mysteriously handsome? What’s his name?”

  I slowly stood, testing my ankle. It was a little sore, but nothing serious. I brushed my hands together. “John Whitaker.”

  “Yeah. What’s his problem?”

  “He’s a jerk, that’s what.” I could have told her more, but it would take a lot of time to catch her up on everything that’d happened over the course of the week.

  “Sure you’re okay?” She was looking down at my foot.

  “Yeah. I’m okay.” In order to prove my point, I took a few steps back and forth. “See. It’s fine.” It was probably a good thing I was wearing my usual lace-up field boots. The extra ankle support had come in handy.

  We both turned at the sound of a car horn tooting. Hattie had stopped in the middle of the lane and a couple of cars had come up behind her, waiting for her to move. “I’m blocking traffic. Here, hop in. I’ll give you a lift.”

  I crossed over to her car and got into the passenger side, drawing my sweater tighter, trying to smother a sudden chill. If Whitaker was trying to intimidate me, he was doing a good job. “I’ve been staying at the Sunny Side Up if you could drop me there,” I told her, not sure if she knew or not. I hadn’t seen her since the town hall meeting, and I’d rushed out before telling her much of anything.

  She reached over and flipped on the car’s heater, the diamond in her engagement ring sparkling with the movement. “I heard all about it from Cade. You’re looking into Clem’s murder. I also heard you’d found some sort of proof—”

  “That’s not true,” I blurted. “Just some crazy rumor floating around town.”

  “I didn’t think it was.” She tilted her head and cocked a brow. “I mean, if you had proof, you’d take it straight to the sheriff, right?”

  “Of course,” I assured her. “I only wish I did have something. Maudy Payne’s up to her usual tactics—hassling my family.”

  “I wish you would have told me what was going on. Maybe I could be of some help.” She let out a long sigh. “And now I hear that your daddy’s in the hospital.”

  I nodded and started filling her in on Daddy’s condition and his pending surgery as we drove down the street and parked outside the inn. “But he’s going to be fine,” I finished. “The doctors say it’s a routine procedure. He’ll just have to make some lifestyle changes afterward, that’s all.” Some really big lifestyle changes, considering his health was forcing him to give up his livelihood. I swallowed hard, wondering once again about the fate of the farm. But all that was too overwhelming to think of at this point. Hattie was my best friend, maybe the only one who could fully grasp all the ramifications that such a change in my life might mean, but I just couldn’t deal with it right now. I vowed to plan a time when we could talk about it.

  “And how’s your mama holding up?” she asked.

  “She’s doing okay. She’s strong.”

  “You’re a lot like her in that way.” She smiled faintly and touched my arm. “I’m so sorry, Nola. I haven’t been much of a friend to you this week. Guess I’ve been so wrapped up in my own thing.”

  “Your own thing? Hattie, you’re trying to plan your wedding. That’s a huge deal. I don’t expect you to keep up with what I’ve got going on. Besides, I feel I’ve let you down, too, all wrapped up, as you say, in my own thing. I should be here for you, since your wedding should be one of the happiest times in your life.” I watched as her face fell and shoulders slumped. “But it’s not, is it?” I whispered.

  “No. I’m trying, but . . .” Her lower lip began to quiver.

  “But you’re missing your mother. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

  She let out a jagged breath and began twisting the ring on her finger as she talked. “Yes. All these things I want to share with her: my dress, picking out flowers—she loved flowers, you know? Especially daisies. Oh, how she loved daisies! And then there’s Daddy. He’s so ill and his memory isn’t . . .” She swallowed and continued, “It’s like he’s gone, too. And I feel so lost. And . . . and Pete never knew my mama. I wish more than anything that he’d had a chance to meet her. It’s like every time I look at him, I see someone who can’t share something so important to me, someone who can never share it.”

  “And if he could share it,” I said, “he could understand just how much you miss her. Especially now.”

  She took a deep cleansing breath, shook her head and attempted a smile. “I’m such a mess. I’m so sorry for unloading like this. Especially since you have so much—”

  “Stop it, Hattie. I’m your best friend. And besides, you’ve kept this bottled up for far too long. Everyone knows you’re miserable. Half the town thinks it’s because you don’t really want to get married.”

  She turned square to me, her eyes wide. “They do?”

  “Yes. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but you’ve been almost unbearable the past month or so.”

  “I have not!”

  “Let me ask you something. When you start talking about wedding stuff, what do people do? What does Pete do?”

  She looked out the window for a second, then back at me. “He gets all nervous and tries to change the subject. But he’s a guy. You know how guys are?”

  I lowered my chin and raised my brows.

  “Well, I guess a few of my friends have been doing the same thing.” She smiled halfheartedly. “I have been pretty witchy lately, huh?”

  “Ya think?” I patted her hand. “You and Pete will be happy together. You know that, right?”

  She heaved a sigh. “Yes. I know that. I can’t wait to be his wife.”

  “Then focus on the marriage, not the wedding. The wedding is just the opening act. Your marriage is the main event. And you and Pete . . . well, you two have a lifetime of happiness ahead of you.”

  She cleared her throat. “You’re right, I guess.” She drew back and looked out the window.

  It seemed my advice wasn’t making her feel much better. I reached up and tugged her arm, drawing her focus back to me. “Listen, Hattie. I wish more than anything that your mama could be here now. But she’s gone. And I’m so sorry that she can’t be here to share your special day, but in so many ways, she’s still with you. She still lives in your heart and in your mind. And all those things she taught you over the years have made you who you are—the woman Pete’s going to marry. So, in a way, Pet
e has met her. He’s met her through you. And in the years to come, you can share all the special memories about her—the ones that make you laugh and the ones that make you cry. And through your stories, he’ll grow to love her as much as you do.” We were both crying now. “And you know what?”

  She sniffed. “What?”

  “Your father, Cade and me; we’ll all be there at your wedding. And Ginny and Sam. All the people who love you. We’ll all be there to watch you and Pete start your new life together. It’ll be such a happy day, Hattie. A beautiful beginning.”

  Her blue gray eyes glistened as she choked back a couple sobs and asked, “Do you . . . do you think Mama will be there, too? Do you believe in that sort of thing? Like maybe she could be lookin’ down, watchin’ over me.” She swiped away a tear. “Listen to me. I must sound crazy.”

  I shook my head. “No, Hattie. It doesn’t sound crazy. Not a bit. I have no doubt your mama will be there. And she’ll be so proud of you. I know she will.”

  Chapter 16

  Southern Girl Secret #068: A good woman knows her place. A strong woman knows enough not to stay there.