A Tough Nut to Kill (Nut House Mystery Series) (16 page)

I fell dead asleep when I got home and would have slept
on into late Monday morning except that somebody shook me gently. I groaned and slapped my pillow over my head. The pillow was peeled away and a careful hand shook me again until I opened my eyes and stared up into Meemaw’s concerned face.

“Thought you were going to sleep all day,” she said as I checked the clock. Eight. I didn’t have to get up at eight. Or nine. Or ever—if I didn’t want to.

I kicked off the sheet I’d pulled across me and sat up at the side of the bed, head in my hands. I was feeling beaten down. I was feeling like a traitor to Hunter—lying as much as I could to get the information we needed. There was no way we’d give him anything we learned if it would hurt Justin.

And I felt like a failure that here it was Monday, three days after the murder, and we still didn’t know where Amos had been for the last two years.

“Got to get up, Lindy. Miranda just called. The twins found what they were looking for and are gonna meet us at the Nut House in an hour. Where were you last night? Heard you come in pretty late.”

I told her about meeting Hunter, and telling him about the Virginia letter. “I said I’d give it to him today.”

She frowned hard.

“And he told me what they’ve got that looks so bad for Justin. His belt buckle. The one Daddy gave him. Found it on Amos. I told him Justin hadn’t been wearing it for a month or so. Said the belt broke and he left it in the big barn ’til he could get it fixed.”

“How’d it get out of the barn?” she asked. “How’d Amos get it, do you think?”

I wasn’t thinking. All I wanted to do right then was forget the whole thing. I think I groaned. Anyway, Miss Amelia went to my bureau and pulled out a clean white blouse from among clothes I’d left behind when I moved out. Not as much room in my apartment.

She chose jeans from a row of them hanging in my closet and was going back for underwear when I told her I’d be ready in fifteen minutes and shooed her out of my room.

I didn’t want to take time for breakfast but Miss Amelia insisted. “Could be a tough day ahead of us. First the Chauncey sisters, then I want to get over to the hospital and see Martin and Juanita. Talk to her. She stayed there at the hospital last night, her and Jessie both. They’re about to break in pieces, those two. Feel so bad for ’em. Doctor told Jessie they’re keeping Martin in a coma until his brain stops swelling. Could be weeks. They need our support, Lindy.” She gave me a pointed look, the way she always did when getting a message across.

I grabbed a piece of toast and spread pecan butter over it then poured a cup of coffee for me and one for Miss Amelia.

There wasn’t really time to sit down but Miss Amelia insisted, sliding a look toward where Mama and Bethany sat at the table, Bethany with her head leaning on one fist, pushing an egg around her plate. Mama, glasses down to the edge of her nose, flipping pages in a ledger, going over them again and again.

“How’s the wedding coming along?” Miss Amelia asked Bethany as she settled in her chair, toast and marmalade in front of her.

Bethany glanced up. She looked close to tears. I wished Miss Amelia hadn’t asked.

“We’re having a conference call this afternoon. Me and Chet Easton and his fiancée, Christina. I’m so afraid they want to cancel on me. I’ve already spent money and promised money to the band—even if I cancel, I’ll owe them a cancellation fee. This whole thing’s going to cost us and I won’t be making anything on it.” She stopped to sniff. “Oh, Meemaw, I don’t know what to do . . .”

“You’re not turning it over to Chastity, are you?” Miss Amelia asked quickly.

“I can’t do that,” Bethany said and wiped away her tears. “I just can’t do that. I know she’s a friend and all, but I can’t come out and say, ‘Oh, that’s all right. Just take your wedding next door.’ And then I’d have to maybe turn all my people and plans over to her because it’s getting late for her to make new arrangements. If word spreads about what a great wedding it was, she’ll get the credit. And after all my hard work, I don’t want anybody but me taking credit.”

She looked hard down at her congealing egg. “Maybe that means I’m not a good person but I’ve worked so hard . . .”

“I’d wait ’til after the call to begin changing my plans, Beth,” Mama said and reached over to pat her child’s hand. “Everything might be fine . . .”

“Well, maybe it would’ve been until they found Martin like that. You know the newspapers all over Texas ran the story this morning.” Bethany sniffed again. “That’s why Chet Easton called. Said he wants his fiancée to make the decision.”

“You keep yer chin up, young lady. A lost wedding’s nothing to having your brother in that jail,” Mama chided her. “And think of Lindy here. All that work just gone.”

Bethany looked stricken, as if she’d forgotten why Justin wasn’t at the breakfast table. Maybe even forgotten I was the one propagating new trees, building hope for a stronger business in the future, and most of my trees were gone.

“Oh, Mama.” She clamped her hands hard in her lap and lowered her head. “You’re right. Nothing compares to what Justin’s going through. And you, Lindy. I’m so sorry. I just wish . . . I don’t know. I just wish all these bad things would . . . oh, I don’t know . . . go away.”

Emma looked up at Miss Amelia and me. She didn’t say anything for a while, just sat thinking until Miss Amelia asked, “What’s going on, Emma? No more bad news, I hope.”

Mama shook her head and pushed her glasses up onto her head.

“Mike Longway came by last night. We talked for more than an hour. He doesn’t understand it any better than I do. Where those books got to. Chastity says she never saw them. Just started out with what they gave her after Jake died. All she got were older books, before Jake took over. And a bankbook. Bills. Nobody knows where that fifty thousand dollars got to. Mike was thinking maybe Jake mixed it in with our personal funds, knowing he’d take care of it, maybe use it when the campaign got going.” She took a breath. “I told him I don’t have an extra fifty thousand laying around. When Jake died, I had almost more bills than money. Things are better now, but I don’t have fifty thousand dollars to hand over to the co-op, like a donation, or something. As if my husband did something wrong.” She fought back tears. “Then I was going back through Jake’s bills and I found this.”

She waved a paper at us. “It’s a bill from a private detective in Columbus. Name of Fritch. Donny Fritch. The bill says fifteen hundred dollars. Now what in heaven’s name would Jake hire a private detective for? And pay him fifteen hundred dollars? I asked Mike if it could be co-op business and he said he didn’t think so, but he’d ask around.”

She looked at the paper, reading it again. “I went through the check ledger. I found a payment to Donny Fritch for a thousand dollars. There should have been another check, for the five hundred still owing. Nothing there. No more payments to the man. And no bill either. I took care of everything back after Jake died. I would’ve remembered paying a private detective five hundred dollars.”

“Maybe the man heard about Jake’s death and didn’t bother with the bill,” Miss Amelia said.

“That’s not how people run businesses,” Mama said.

“Well, me and Lindy have got to get going.” Miss Amelia stood, taking her dishes to the sink, where she rinsed and set them in the dish drainer.

“Lindy.” She tipped her head toward the door.

And we were out of there, Miss Amelia clutching a pie from our freezer. “For the Chaunceys,” she told me. “The girls don’t have to go without their weekly pie just because I’m mad at everybody else.”

We took separate vehicles into town. We had separate things to do after we saw the girls. Miss Amelia wanted to get over to the hospital. I wanted to go talk to Justin. It was bothering me that Justin had been the one to send Martin out into the barns. I needed to know why and I was willing to bet—if he’d heard what happened to Martin—he’d be worrying his head off about now: over Martin, over the ranch, over all of us.

“Amelia, Lindy, we been waiting for you,” Miranda greeted
us when we hurried into the Nut House. I knew the twins could be testy when crossed, especially if they were stuck with city folks and longing to get back out to their ranch. “Don’t like standin’ here tryin’ to scratch my ear with my elbow.”

“Now, Miranda,” Melody said. “These two poor souls are caught between a rock and a hard place. Guess we got all the time it takes for the Blanchards.”

Agreement didn’t come easily to Miranda Chauncey. “Suppose so.”

“How’s Mama an’ them?” Melody smiled, wrinkling up all of those sun wrinkles.

“Everybody’s fine, just fine,” I assured her. “Considering the circumstances.”

Both woman clucked and shook their head.

“Came to bring you that letter we spoke about. And we came to get us a pie. Maybe one of your gift boxes. Want to send something over there to the hospital for Jessie Sanchez’s pa. She’s always helping us out at the library. Taught Miranda here how to use one of those computers so we can look up something we don’t agree about.” Melody glanced toward Miss Amelia and lifted her voice up a notch. “Just don’t seem to be any pies around this morning, Miss Amelia. Guess you didn’t have the time. That right? With Amos dying and all. Your grandson in jail. Suppose we can’t fault you.”

“Humph. Amos dying don’t seem like an occasion for Blanchard misery, you ask me,” Miranda groused and picked a candy out of a sampler dish. “Never cried over a flat rattler myself.”

“Don’t go blaspheming the dead, sister.”

“Humph,” Miranda repeated. “Not like we’re talking about some kind of saint here.”

“Amos had nothing to do with it, the reason why I can’t make pies at the moment,” Miss Amelia said.

“Guess, with you and Lindy chasing down the murderer, the way people are saying, don’t leave a lotta time.”

“Who’s saying that?” I demanded, not liking the sound of people talking about what me and Miss Amelia were doing.

Melody and Miranda looked hard at each other, their almost identical faces screwing up like prunes.

“You remember?” Miranda demanded of Melody.

“Think it was Charley, over to the drugstore. Or was it Cecil at the diner this morning?”

“Couldn’t say for sure,” Miranda said, turning back to Lindy. “All over town. People swearing to help you, Lindy. No worry about that. That’s why me and Melody came in. Not going anywhere near Sheriff Higsby. Putting Justin in jail, the way he did. The man knows better than that. Oh, and we thought maybe we’d drop over and see Emma. Get her thoughts on this darned drought. We been thinking about asking Morning Flower, over at the Indian store, to do a rain dance, but Melody here says that’s not a polite thing to do. Guess not many of the Indians doing dances like that anymore . . .”

Miss Amelia smiled at the twins. “Bet they do. They’re more up on their culture than the rest of us folks. Just don’t know how much good it’ll do.”

“Miss Emma in town?” Melody looked slyly over at Lindy.

Lindy shook her head.

“Thought she’d come in to visit Justin. We’re going over to the hospital to see Martin. Want to let Juanita and Jessie know we’re behind them. Whatever they need.”

Word sure was spreading fast through the countryside. Which was maybe a good thing. The more people talking and questioning things they’d seen or heard, the better.

“So now you sure you ain’t got even one pecan pie back in that kitchen, Miss Amelia? Me and Melody was looking forward . . .” Miranda turned to Miss Amelia, who’d been quiet, in deep thought.

Miss Amelia snapped to and smiled. She nodded and reached under the counter to pull out the pie she’d brought in with her. There were cackles of glee all around.

“I hope you came in for a bigger reason than pie,” I said after Miranda passed the pie to Melody to check out and Melody passed it back to Miranda and they both smiled ear to ear.

“Well, of course,” Melody said. “And here we are rattlin’ on about nothing. Give her the letter, Miranda.”

Miranda’s thick eyebrows gathered over her nose. “You got it. I told you I didn’t have a pocket . . .”

Melody shook her head. “Gave it to you. Just as we was walking out the door, remember? I had to go back and check the gas stove ’cause you made coffee this morning . . .”

“Nope, that’s not the way it went, Melody. I was out front, chasing the dog away from the chicken coop, and you said you’d bring the letter. I remember clear as day.”

“Well, let me see here,” Melody checked her pants pockets, one by one, pulling out the linings to show they were empty.

“What about that satchel over your shoulder?” Miss Amelia asked. “Think maybe you stuck it in there?”

Melody’s face clouded over. “Now that you mention it . . .”

She pulled the old, well-scarred leather sack from her shoulder and searched around inside, coming up with a folded envelope she waved in the air. “What’d you know? Right here all the time.”

“Told you so,” Miranda said, but with a smile.

“Here’s what we told you about. Not much, I suppose. From some clinic in Houston, is all.” Melody handed the letter to me. I took it and glanced down at the return address. Spenser Rehabilitation Clinic, Bonest Street, Houston, Texas. I slit the sealed envelope and pulled out the single sheet inside. I expected the letter to be an advertisement, maybe a form letter—an answer to something Amos had sent for in a weak moment.

It was addressed to Amos Blanchard, and went on to confirm that he had an appointment there. The letter was dated June 12, 2011.

Something, at last.

I passed the letter to Miss Amelia, who looked at the return address, read it, then folded the letter and stuck it down into the pocket of her jeans.

“Sure do appreciate you girls coming all the way to town with this.” She seemed to forget the letter immediately as she smiled broadly at the two women, who were mollified now that they had a pie to look forward to.

“Gotta pay you for this.” Miranda held up the pie box and the gift box she said she was taking to Martin. Or to Juanita, whoever could eat it. “We don’t take nothing from nobody for free.”

“Why, sure thing, Miranda,” Miss Amelia agreed and led them back to the cash register, where she took the five dollars Melody handed over, never saying a word about pecan pies going for twelve and big gift boxes for twenty.