Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (8 page)

While I waited for it to heat, I called Ida to see if she wanted to bring the girls over and join me for dinner. I held the phone against my shoulder while mixing one of my mama’s zipped baggies of corn bread makings she’d left for me.

“Ida?” I asked. Her voice was so low I wasn’t sure if it was her or one of the girls that answered.

“Yes, it’s me,” she said a little louder. “Sorry, but the phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

“People calling to see if you’re okay?” I was hopeful that some of the townspeople had finally decided to show Ida some neighborly love.

“No. That pesky Frances Simms. She’s called me three times already.”

Uh-oh.
“Frances? What did she want?” I innocently asked. It probably wasn’t a good time to tell Ida about my conversation with Laney. Although I’d found a bit of news that might shine a little light in Hollis’s favor, it was tainted with bad news. Namely, that Hollis and Laney were flirting around with each other after the party.

Ida went on, “Somehow she found out Wakefield was strangled with my scarf. Or at least she’s heard a rumor to that effect. She’s trying to get me to confirm her suspicions. Now, how do you suppose she found out? The paper didn’t say anything about the scarf.”

Hmm . . . Yet another reason not to mention my conversation with Laney. “Oh, you know how this town is. Nothing’s a secret for long.” I readjusted the phone between my ear and shoulder and started beating the heck out of the corn
bread mix, taking out my frustration on a couple eggs rather than the blabbermouths that occupied this town.

“What’s that noise?” Ida asked.

“I’m making corn bread,” I replied, jumping at the chance to change the topic. “Candace dropped off a casserole—”

“What! She didn’t bring
me
a casserole.”

Oh, no. Here we go with that casserole-snubbing bit again.
“I’m sure she just assumed you were staying here at the house.”

“Well, if the whole town is so into my business that they can figure out it was my scarf wrapped around that poor man’s neck, certainly they can figure out that I’m still in my own home.”

She had a point.

I could hear Ida huffing over the line, working herself into a real frenzy. She started up again. “Why, that—”

“Say what you want about Candace,” I interrupted, trying to redirect her agitation. “But she makes a mean tuna noodle casserole. Why don’t you and the girls come over and have dinner with me. Ray’s supposed to be home tonight.”

“No, thanks. Frances Simms has been driving by all day. The second I set foot out this door, she’ll accost me with her pen and notepad. I’m just not up for all that right now.”

I told her I understood and promised to come by for a visit tomorrow. After hanging up, I poured the batter into a cast-iron skillet and slid it into the oven next to the heating casserole. I’d just shut the oven door when I heard the sound of tires on gravel outside. I glanced through the kitchen window to see Ray’s SUV pulling down the drive.

“Just in time,” I greeted from the porch. “I’ve got a casserole and a skillet of corn bread heating in the oven.”

He pulled out his briefcase and a small bag and started for the house. “Perfect. I’m starved.”

“You didn’t bring a very big bag,” I commented, noticing his duffel was only half-f at most.

“That’s because I’m only staying tonight. I’ve got to get back to Perry tomorrow afternoon to see about another client.”

I held the door for him. “Really? I was hoping you’d be here for a while.”

He dumped his bags by the door and headed straight for the kitchen and started washing his hands at the sink. “Don’t worry. I’ve got the situation covered. Let me get something in my stomach and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Pink?” Ray commented a few minutes later as I pulled the corn bread from the oven. “That’s surprising.”

I squinted down at my freshly painted nails. “Surprising?”

“Not really your color, that’s all. You seem more the camo green type. You know, something you’d wear while warding off vicious lions in the African bush.”

“I’ve never chased lions!” I laughed.
Poachers, maybe, but never any sort of vicious animal.
In fact, I remembered my first night in a tent positioned outside a remote Somalian health center, where we assisted refugees who’d escaped the genocide. The night sounds had terrified me. Especially the skittish cries of innocent zebras as they were snatched from their herds by hungry lions, while yipping jackals stood by to lick up the leftovers. Suddenly, an ugly scene flashed through my mind of Hollis being snatched from his family by the vicious lioness Maudy Payne, while the townspeople stood by jeering and heckling.

I forced the awful image from my mind and glanced back at Ray, who was making quick work of the casserole, and told him about my visit with Laney Burns. “But I’m afraid I might have messed things up.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he asked between bites.

“I asked her if she saw the scarf at the party. In a roundabout way,” I quickly added. “But she put it all together and broadcasted to the whole salon that Hollis strangled Wakefield with Ida’s scarf.”

Ray’s grip tightened around his fork. “What! Why would you even ask her about such a thing in the first place?”

“It was stupid of me. I’m sorry.” I swallowed down a lump in my throat. “It’s just that I went by Ida’s and she mentioned
that Laney was flirting with Hollis at the party . . . and, well, I hated to think it, but I wondered if maybe Hollis and Laney might have gotten together after the party. You know how he is. Especially when he drinks. I just wanted to find out if she’d seen the scarf.”

He put down his fork and started rubbing his temples. “Oh no. Of all places to go asking questions like that. The Clip and Curl is gossip central around here.” He drew in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and slowly let it out. “Listen, I know you’re just trying to help Ida, but you need to let me handle this. Plus, if Maudy gets wind of it, she’ll be furious. That’s not going to help Hollis.”

I closed my eyes and pinched my nose. “Sorry,” I whispered.

“What’s done is done.”

I sighed and raised my eyes. “Don’t you want to hear what she said?”

“Might as well, I guess.” He abandoned his fork and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“She admitted to fooling around with Hollis out in the orchard right after Ida left the party. Apparently, Hollis was too drunk to be much fun, so Laney left him there.”

“And the scarf?”

“It was tangled up in a tree branch. Not in Hollis’s hands.”

Ray shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything. Hollis could have got it later and still used it to strangle Wakefield.”

I held up my finger. “Yes, but so could someone else. The thing is, we now know that’s a possibility. If you had to, you could put Laney on the stand, right? And if she testified about the scarf, it could create reasonable doubt, couldn’t it?”

He unfolded his arms and pressed his fingertips together, contemplating my words for a second before shaking his head. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come down to a trial.”

“You don’t feel confident?”

“I’d just prefer to find the real killer and get Hollis off the hook. But I can’t count on the local law enforcement to look much further than Hollis. I’ll pass this latest on to
Sheriff Payne, but don’t expect much. She already thinks she’s got her man.”

“And she’s only more than happy to stick it to Ida,” I added.

“That’s why I’ve decided to bring in a private investigator. As soon as he’s finished some other work in Macon, he’ll come down here. I’m hoping it’ll be in the next day or two.”

I felt so much relief knowing help was on its way, even though I secretly wondered how Ray was going to pay for the expense of a private investigator. We ate in silence for a while before I finally asked, “When will you be back?”

“Friday, for the arraignment. Until then, don’t discuss Hollis with anyone else. Okay?”

“Cross my heart. Besides, I’m going to be busy with stuff around here.” I filled him in on my deal with Joe Puckett and how I’d convinced Cade to help with the roof repair. “The only problem is I’m not even sure we have enough money in the accounts to cover the cost of repairing the roof, not to mention the parts for the pump and tractor.”

“And laying new irrigation lines,” he added.

I rubbed at a kink in my neck. “Yeah, it doesn’t look good for the farm. I can’t believe things are this bad.”

Ray reached across the table, touching my arm. “Hey, don’t give up. You’re one of the most resourceful people I know. You’ll think of something; I’m sure of it.”

I managed a halfhearted smile in return, wishing I felt as confident as Ray. Dealing with the plights of refugees, orphans, the diseased and the displaced was much easier than dealing with my own family’s problems. With other people’s issues, I could approach objectively. The problems I now faced with Hollis and the farm cut a little too close to the heart. The stakes were personal and so was my fear of failure.

Georgia Belle Fact #073:
When life gives you lemons, put them in your sweet tea and take a nice long sip.

Just after sunrise the next morning, I stood on the porch, coffee mug in hand, admiring the tiny diamond-like sparkles of dew on the front lawn and making my plans for the day. Ray had risen even earlier, eating a quick breakfast before leaving with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’d planned to stop by the jail and visit with Hollis before heading back to the work awaiting him at his office in Perry. As for me, I’d awakened with a new attitude. Fear of failure had never stood in my way before and I wasn’t about to let it stop me now. I was determined to save my family’s livelihood.

I willed myself to look past the crime scene tape and disastrous remnants from the party, and really study the orchard. My eyes roamed from early spring producers like Flavorich to the late-season O’Henry and Summer Lady peaches. We’d planted enough strains to maximize our picking time, knowing that diversification was the key to a bountiful harvest. I wondered if it was time for the Harpers
to look toward other forms of diversification. After all, change was inevitable. The last century alone brought with it new technologies and new markets. Daddy hadn’t really ridden the wave of change. Instead, he’d sort of come along kicking and screaming, clinging to the old ways and hoping for miracles. But we’d moved beyond that point now. What we really needed to do was make our own miracle.

I swilled the last of my coffee and sighed. I’d just turned to head back inside for another cup when Joe sauntered around the corner of the house. “Mornin’.”

“Morning, Joe. You’re up and at it early.” I noticed his eyes were drawn to the crime scene tape.

“Don’t mind that mess. What can I do for you?”

“Been out lookin’ at your equipment.”

I tipped my empty mug his way. “Why don’t you come in so we can talk about it? I’ve got coffee on.”

He nodded, removing his hat and clambering up the steps. He hesitated inside the doorway. “What’s wrong, Joe?” I asked, turning back from my way to the kitchen.

“This is a fine house you have.” His bright eyes took in every square inch of the front room, from our ancient upholstered sofa to Mama’s collection of Depression glass displayed on the window ledges. While everything seemed outdated to me, I tried to imagine how impressive it must seem to Joe, who’d spent most of his life living in not much more than a shack.

“Thank you, Joe, but won’t you come on back to the kitchen? The coffee’s still hot and I think there’s some corn bread left over from last night’s supper.”

His face lit up as he followed me the rest of the way through the house and settled in one of the chairs at the kitchen counter. I cut an extra big slice of corn bread and poured him a cup of coffee. “Why’s all that yellow tape out in your yard?” he asked.

“The sheriff put that up. Ben Wakefield was murdered out in our orchard the other night. She’s investigating it.”

Joe started eating. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”

“Don’t get much news up my way.”

I nodded. “Well, she’s arrested my brother-in-law, Hollis. Half the town thinks he did it.” I slid a jar of Mama’s peach preserves and a spoon his way.

“You don’t?”

“No, I sure don’t.” A question popped to mind as I watched him spread a dollop of the preserves on his corn bread. “Did you know Ben Wakefield?”

He shrugged. “My son used to work for him up at the mill.”

“Your son worked for him?” My mind flashed back to a young, shy boy from my youth who loved nothing better than fishing down at the Hole or running his coon dogs at night. I hadn’t thought of him for a long time. “His name’s Tucker, isn’t it?”

“Was. He’s dead.”

“Oh, Joe. I’m sorry.”

He glanced up from his food and nodded.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, I dared to speak up again. “So, tell me what we’re up against with the equipment.” I cut him another slice of bread and topped off our coffees.

“It weren’t too bad after all,” he surmised. “Think I can have it all back up and runnin’ with just a few parts and a little know-how.”

“Wonderful! That’s the best news I’ve had all week.”

He nodded, dipping his spoon again for more peach preserves as I collected a notepad and pencil from next to the telephone. I jotted down a list of parts as he rattled them off between bites. “I can stop in and order these today. They’ll probably arrive in a day or two.”

He finished up and pushed his plate aside, making a little sighing sound and patting his belly. “Thank you for the breakfast.”

We both stood. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

He gathered his hat and repositioned it on his head. “Let’s see. What day is this?”

“Wednesday.”

“Then I’ll be by Friday mornin’ to see if you’ve got the parts.” He glanced back toward the floor and shuffled his feet. “I’d noticed your daddy let all his help go.”

“That’s right. Times have been tight. He let them go right after harvest.”

“Well, I’m figurin’ you might want some help mowin’. It’s a big job.”

My antenna flew up. Another deal coming and I needed to be careful this time. I didn’t have any resources left for a barter. “Yes, sir, it is a big job, but I think I’m up to it.”

His gaze briefly met mine with a little twinkle before darting away again. “I’m sure you can. But I’m thinkin’ you may need time to tend to other things. I’d be willin’ to take care of it for a fair trade.”

I shook my head and chuckled. No way was I going to get caught up in another deal with him. “I don’t believe I have anything left to trade.”

“Not true, missy.” He nodded toward our open pantry door, where rows of golden fruit–filled jars lined the shelves. “I’d be happy to work for enough preserves to get me through the winter.”

“Mama’s peach preserves?” I couldn’t believe someone would trade all that work for a few jars of jelly. Although, there wasn’t much in the world that compared to the goodness of Mama’s preserves.

He nodded. “Yup. As far as I’m concerned, your mama’s peach preserves are as good as gold.”

Once again, I shook hands with the wily old gentleman. I fetched a box and fixed him up with a dozen jars of preserves before sending him on his way. A smile played on my lips as I watched him descend the porch steps, the box of preserves clenched to his chest. “As good as gold,” he’d said.
He was right. The answer to our problems had been right under my nose the whole time. If only I could make it work.

•   •   •

The whole town was hopping today, people moving in and out of shops carrying bags of goodies. I parked my car in one of the few open spots on the square and cut across the courthouse lawn on my way to the Cays Mill Mercantile, pausing for a second to admire the colorful mass of flowers at the base of General Lee’s statue. Red, white and blue petunias surrounded a plaque that read,
In Memory of Our Confederate Dead.
I looked up at the formidable figure of Lee mounted on his horse, thinking back to the time in high school when Hattie and I climbed up and draped Laney’s black lace push-up bra across his chest. How Hattie had gotten ahold of Laney’s bra, I never knew. But to this day, I couldn’t look at the statue without remembering our little stunt.

A bell jingled overhead as I entered the mercantile, garnering a wide smile from the woman behind the counter. “Nola Mae Harper! I—”

I held up my hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “Bet you heard I was back in town,” I quipped.

“Why, yes! Welcome home, sweetie. It’s good to see you.”

“You, too, Sally Jo.” Sally Jo had been manning the front counter of the mercantile since I was an itsy-bitsy thing. In all that time, I don’t think I’d seen her in anything other than Levi’s and a chamois shirt. Still, her utilitarian choice of clothing and short, bobbed gray hair suited her personality. Sally Jo was a hardworking, honest gal with a sweet disposition and a willingness to help anyone in need. We were similar in that regard, always willing to lend a helping hand. Come to think of it, we were alike as far as fashion went, too.

“What can I do you for?” she asked.

I handed over my list and started to explain: “Just a few things for around the farm. Here’s a list of parts. How long do you think it’ll take for them to come in?” The Cays Mill
Mercantile carried everything from hardware to small farm needs and even had a small clothing section in the back stocked with outdoor apparel—which was probably where Sally picked up all those chamois shirts. Anything they didn’t carry, like engine parts, Sally Jo could special order.

She lifted a pair of readers that dangled from a chain around her neck and placed them on her nose. “These parts won’t take long. Let’s see. I’d say Friday, for sure.” She paused, perusing the rest of my list. “I see you also have mason jars on this list. Getting ready to do some canning?”

“Just thought I’d experiment with a few of Mama’s recipes.”

She smiled at me over the rim of her glasses. “Is that so? Well, isn’t that sweet? I do love her chutney. She always gives me a few jars at Christmastime, you know.” She pointed to one of the aisles. “Jars, rings and lids are down that aisle. If there’s anything you need help with, just holler.”

I spent a few minutes gathering everything on my list and was just turning to head back to the cash register when a ruckus arose from the front of the store. “I told you I don’t want any of those darn things in my window!” Sally Jo belted out.

Hurrying up front, I placed my items on the checkout counter and watched the scene unfold.

“But we have to stop Wakefield from cutting trees.”

“Not all my customers agree with your position on the matter, Mr. Reeves. Lumbering is an honorable profession. Just how do you suppose we get wood for building homes and making furniture? Why, even that paper you’re trying to put up in my window is made from trees.”

“This paper is recycled.”

Sally placed her hands on her hips and let out a loud harrumph. “Well, it originally came from a tree! Listen, young man, I’m sick of this smear campaign you’re running against Wakefield Lumber. Have you no decency? The man was just killed, you know?”

Her words didn’t seem to faze the guy. I watched as he flipped a strand of blond hair out of his face and squared his gaze on Sally. The vehemence in his eyes was scary. “So what? I’m glad he’s dead. The world is better off without people like him.”

My mouth dropped. Where was Maudy Payne now? Here was a man with enough motive, and definitely enough twisted logic, to kill Ben Wakefield. A prime suspect if I’d ever seen one!

“Out!” Sally ordered, pointing a shaky hand toward the door. After the fellow finally shuffled away, Sally returned to the register and started ringing up my order. “Sorry you had to witness that ugly scene,” she told me. “That young man is a menace.”

“Is he from around here?”

She started bagging my stuff. “I don’t believe so. His name’s Floyd Reeves. He showed up here last month and started putting up flyers and such. No one paid much attention to him at first. He was sort of a lone renegade. But lately, he’s been recruiting some of the local high school kids. He’s got a regular little posse now.”

I handed over my credit card. “What’s his beef with lumbering?”

“Who knows?” She gave me the slip to sign. “He’s just against it, it seems.”

“But why? He’s worried about illegal lumbering or protecting endangered animal species?”

Sally shook her head. “Now, something like that might make sense. I could sort of understand if he had a reasonable cause he was supporting. It seems, though, that he just doesn’t want any trees cut down. No matter that they’re cut to regulation and replanted.” She exhaled and shrugged. “You know how kids that age can be. They’re always looking for a reason to rebel. Sometimes it doesn’t matter what the cause; they just have to protest something.”

I agreed. My own misguided youth was filled with
enough rebelling to keep child psychologists busy filling medical journals for a lifetime. Still, could this kid be enough of a head case to actually kill someone to promote his cause? “You’ve heard, I’m sure, that the sheriff’s arrested Hollis for Wakefield’s murder.”

Her mouth drooped. “Yes, I’ve heard. I’ve been thinking about your sister and those precious girls of hers. So sad, really.”

I bristled. “What’s sad is that he’s been wrongly accused. Hollis says he’s innocent and I believe him.”

I was about to add the possibility of the murderer being the anti-lumbering Floyd Reeves when she slid my purchases across the counter with a mollifying smile. “Well, bless your heart. That’s the right attitude. You just go on being loyal to your family . . . no matter what they’ve done.”

•   •   •

I left the mercantile so mad, I could hardly see straight. It was no wonder I ran smack into Frances Simms from the
Cays Mill Reporter
. “There you are, Nola! I was just out at your farm.”

I readjusted my grip on the cumbersome case of mason jars. “You were? Why?”

Her birdlike features homed in on me with an exacting expression. “Just hoping to get a statement from you about Ben Wakefield’s murder.”