Rest in Peach (5 page)

Mama nodded slowly, her eyes slipping into a half-hooded gaze. “I got this information secondhand, mind you, so don’t go quotin’ me. But I heard something went wrong at the pageant. Something that caused one of the girls to drop out at the last minute.” She paused, trying to remember, then shook her head. “Afraid I can’t remember what exactly happened. Maybe you could ask around. I just remember it all sounded fishy. Especially since just a couple of the girls made it to the talent portion.”

“So, you’re saying Vivien might have been a little competitive.”

“Competitive would be a nice way to put it. Cutthroat was more like it.”

Her choice of words startled me, my mind flashing back to the scissors protruding from Vivien’s throat. I flinched, causing my last gulp of coffee to go down the wrong way and send me into a coughing fit.

She handed me her napkin. “You okay, sweetie?”

I hacked a few more times and blew my nose before commenting, “I wonder if the sheriff knows about all this?”

“Don’t bet on it, sugar.” Mama stood and started clearing our dishes. “You know how single-minded that woman can be.” She started toward the kitchen, turning back at the last minute, gasping with a hand to her chest. “Oh my Lawd!”

I stood so quickly, my chair almost toppled. “What is it, Mama?”

“The cotillion dinner. Red’s Diner is catering the cotillion dinner! Oh my. What if Ginny ends up in jail, heaven forbid? Why, she’s in charge of planning the meal.” I rolled my eyes and sat back down. Speaking of single-mindedness. Here I’d thought she was having a heart attack or something. And it was just more stuff about the cotillion. Ever since she and Ida became members of the cotillion’s Board of Governesses—a highly sought-after position, held in the highest regard in our community—they’d talked of nothing but cotillion plans.

She placed the plates back on the table with a thud and paced in front of me. “We need a backup plan.”

“What do you mean a backup plan?” I didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I don’t really think there’ll be a problem. Ginny’s innocent. There’s no way she’ll end up in jail for murder.”

Still pacing, Mama turned her head my way and raised her already well-arched brows. “Oh, really? You have a short memory, Nola Mae. It was just last summer that Hollis ended up in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. What’s to say the same thing couldn’t happen to Ginny?”

She was right, although Hollis and Ginny were as different as night and day. Hollis was my heavy-drinking, conniving brother-in-law who lived life for the next big deal, and not always an ethical one at that. I thought back to Hollis’s brief incarceration. It was such a dark time for my
sister, Ida. Her husband in jail while she was expecting their third child. And my twin nieces, Charlotte and Savannah, not really old enough to understand everything going on, but bearing heavily the weight of their father’s absence. I shook my head; those two were so lost without their daddy. Even the short amount of time he was locked up took its toll on Ida and the girls . . . the whole family, actually. I shuddered to think the same thing could happen to Ginny.

Looking over at Mama, I could see the wheels turning in her mind. Something must have clicked, too, because she suddenly stopped pacing, placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side. Evident by the resolute expression on her face, she’d reached some sort of conclusion. That was the thing about my mama; she never admitted defeat. She’d even likened herself to Scarlett O’Hara many a time—that is, the strong-willed, determined Scarlett who persevered through Sherman’s torch, not the immature, spoiled Scarlett at the beginning of the book.

She slid her eyes my way, the room practically pulsing with her determination. “Nola, I just thought of something.”

I waited, dreading what was coming.

“I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me before. This whole cotillion dinner, why, it’s the perfect opportunity for you to showcase a few of Harper’s Peach Products. Draw attention to our new line of merchandise. And the timing couldn’t be better with the shop opening and all.”

My head bobbled a bit. “The shop? Ah, but there’s still so much to do before it will open, and I don’t see—” I started, but Mama was on a roll.

“This is just the answer we’ve been looking for all along! A committee. Not just one person responsible for the entire meal, but a group of people. We knew Ginny couldn’t do it
all anyway, her daughter’s a debutante this year and she’ll be tied up for most of the evening. We’d already asked Hattie to help out with the actual cooking, but this is even better—a bunch of people with food experience to both plan and prepare the dishes. You, Ginny . . . who else?”

Food experience? Me?! I was the one who fumbled through batches of runny preserves before producing anything salable last summer—and that was only because Ginny, bless her heart, stepped in to save my bacon, or peaches, as was the case. But pointing any of that out would be a waste of breath. Once Mama was onto something, there was no deterring her. So, I simply watched helplessly as she placed her forefinger to her chin and slid her eyes upward while she ran through a mental list of possibilities.

“Ezra Sugar!” she finally said. “Of course. He could work on the dessert end, Ginny on the main meal, and you with all the peachy accents. It is a Peach Cotillion, after all! We should have a peach-themed dinner. Ginny would probably be relieved not to have the responsibility of planning the whole menu. And, I’m sure it’s not too late to make that sort of change.” She waved her hand through the air, dismissing all the dirty little details as inconsequential. “This way, if something does happen, you’re all up to speed on the menu and. . . .”

Her voice trailed off as she regarded what must have been the terror-stricken look on my face. She came over and patted my shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetie. This is just a precaution. I’m sure all this will get straightened out and things will be just fine. Still, I’m going to mention it to the other board members at our meeting today. It never hurts to be prepared.”

I managed a tentative nod, thinking it was a good thing Hattie was already on board. Because if Ginny did end up
in jail for a while, heaven forbid, there was no way in heck I could ever pull off planning a dinner of that magnitude. Even coming up with Mama’s idea of “peachy accents” while finishing up my storefront would be enough of a challenge. Thank goodness Ray was coming home later that day. He’d certainly be able to get all this straightened out and head off any trouble coming Ginny’s
way.

Debutante Rule #079:
Your best friend is someone who always watches your backside . . . and helps you shop for the perfect pair of jeans to cover it.

“You really think I’m the type to just sit around and let someone come in and rescue me? You know me better than that, Nola Mae. No offense to your brother, but I’m capable of straightening out my own messes. I stayed up half the night thinking about my predicament and decided the best approach is to be proactive.”

It was a little after four that afternoon when I’d finally caught up with Ginny again. We were in the kitchen of Red’s Diner, working on a couple large batches of Mama’s peach chutney recipe. The smell of spicy cloves and sweet peaches hung in the air. “Proactive? What do you mean?”

Ginny looked up from her stirring. “I mean, I plan to figure out the real killer so I can get Maudy Payne off my back. And that pesky Frances Simms. She’s been nosing around asking all sorts of questions. Even tried to corner Emily.”

Uh-oh.
Today was Monday, meaning Frances was hot on the trail of a sensational headline for tomorrow’s edition of the
Cays Mill Reporter
. “How did it go with the sheriff yesterday?”

She put down her spoon and turned toward me. “As well as could be expected, I suppose. I’m not sure she’s convinced I didn’t do it. Guess the facts are stacked against me. But you believe me, right?”

“Of course! I just don’t think you should get involved. It sounds dangerous,” I said, remembering that the last time I got involved in police business, I ended up face-to-face with a crazed killer.

“What else am I supposed to do? Everyone’s trying to blame this on me.”

Well, actually, it had been Ginny’s own angry outburst that triggered Maudy Payne’s focus on her. But I decided not to bring it up. Why add fuel to the fire? “Weren’t you able to provide the sheriff with an alibi?” I prodded. It’d stuck in my mind what Sam said about not knowing where Ginny was that evening. Something about that didn’t sit right with me.

Ginny shifted. “As a matter of fact, I did. The sheriff’s checking into it.”

Her tone was clipped, giving me the impression that the topic was off-limits, so I moved on. “Okay. Well, did Maudy mention any other suspects?”

“She didn’t say. But I got to thinking later, whoever the killer is, they had to have been in the shop to hear Vivien making plans to pick up the dress at six thirty.”

I saw where she was going with this. “One of the gals who was at the shop?”

Ginny moved across the kitchen and removed a piece of
scratch paper from her bag. “That’s right. Let’s see. . . . Who all was there? You—”

“Me?”

Ginny held up her hand. “Bear with me. You, Hattie, Mrs. Busby . . .” She dipped her chin and raised her brows. “Debra Bearden, Maggie Jones and that’s it, except for the girls, but you don’t think one of them . . .”

“No, of course not.”

“So, crossing off you and Hattie, we’re left with Mrs. Busby, Debra Bearden and Maggie Jones. But I don’t think sweet ol’ Mrs. Busby could hurt a fly, do you?”

I shook my head, my mind wandering back to what Mama told me about the “wrongdoings” at the Peach Queen Pageant last year. I wondered . . . “Do you remember if Belle Jones was in the Peach Queen Pageant last year?”

“Sure was. She was in the final three but didn’t participate in the last round. If I recall, there was something wrong with her costume and she had to drop out.”

“So the final round came down to . . . ?”

“Tara Crenshaw and Sophie Bearden.”

“And Tara won?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t much of a contest,” Ginny replied. “The final round was the talent competition, and Sophie blew it. She had this great act, too—baton twirling. But she just couldn’t hang on to the baton that night. Must have been nerves. Although, I’d seen her do that act at least a hundred times before, and she’d never messed up like that.”

“So one competitor dropped out for some reason and the other couldn’t manage an act she’d performed numerous times before?”

Ginny nodded. “That does seem a bit suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does,” I agreed. “And it could be a motive for
someone. Even Maggie Jones, considering that her daughter was one of the girls knocked out of the competition. But I hate to think of Maggie Jones as a murderer. She is married to a preacher, after all.”

A skeptical expression flashed across Ginny’s face. “I understand, but we can’t rule anyone out.”

She was right, of course. I recalled what Mama had told me earlier that morning, so I informed Ginny about Betty Lou Nix suddenly being replaced by Vivien as the church organist. “Strange, don’t you think? Betty Lou’s held that position for years.”

Ginny shrugged. “Not really. Could be something as simple as arthritis setting in. And how would Betty Lou know when Vivien was going to be at the shop? I really think it has to be someone who was there that afternoon and overheard our argument.”

“Oh, speaking of which, we forgot Mrs. Wheeler. What’s her first name?”

“Stephanie. But she was only there for a little while, remember? She’d left before my argument with Vivien started.”

I furrowed my brow. “True. Still, this is Cays Mill. Gossip spreads like wildfire here. Any one of those women could have talked about your argument with half a dozen people, including Betty Lou Nix. Heck, probably most of the county knew about it the minute it happened.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I hadn’t thought of that. I can see people talking about what I said, especially since I was so dramatic and all.” A blush crept over her face. “But mentioning that Vivien was going to return to the shop at six thirty to pick up a dress—that part doesn’t seem quite newsworthy. Whoever did this knew she was coming back at six thirty.”

I sort of agreed, but there was no underestimating the things people found newsworthy around here. Suddenly, something came to mind. “Didn’t Tara wonder where her mama was?” I know I’d have been worried sick if Mama went missing for an entire night.

The corners of Ginny’s mouth drooped a bit. “Guess she talked to Vivien around six o’clock, asking permission to go to a sleepover at her friend’s house. And that was the last time . . .” She choked back her final words, her hand flying to her face to wipe away a stray tear. “I’m sorry. This is just so hard for me. Not that I was especially fond of Vivien, even before all the cotillion dress drama, but still . . . well, I just feel so awful for that girl. And I can’t help but to think of my own Emily, the same age and . . .” Ginny cleared her throat and reached for a nearby napkin, using it to dab under her eyes.

I patted her shoulder and softly asked, “Where’d you hear all this anyway?”

“The diner. Next to the Clip and Curl, it’s the leading source of gossip around here.”

“You forgot the
Cays Mill Reporter
.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I’m dreading tomorrow’s issue. Can’t even imagine what headline Frances will come up with. Just hoping my name’s not mentioned.”

Hated to break it to her, but Frances wasn’t one to let a good smear go unused, especially if it meant a boost in sales. Poor Ginny. But I decided not to dwell on all that at the moment and got back to the topic at hand. “What about Vivien’s husband? Didn’t he wonder what happened to his wife? Why she didn’t come home that night?”

“Out of town. He owns that quick oil change station out past the Honky Tonk. You know the one I’m talking about?”
She waited for me to nod before continuing. “Well, he has a couple more, actually. One up in Macon and one over in Buckley. Spends a lot of time on the road.” Ginny’s voice began to thin again. “That’s why I’m so worried about Tara. Being that her father is gone so much, she was extra close to her mama. Now with her gone . . .”

Gone. Tara Crenshaw’s mama was gone forever. Something Hattie once told me popped back to mind. One day, when we were talking about her own mama’s passing, she’d said that there’s just nothing better in the world than a mama who’s always there for you. I know I’d hate to face this world without my own mother, and the idea of Tara Crenshaw having to do so, and at such a young age, was unimaginably sad.

There didn’t seem to be more to say on the subject, and we fell silent.

After a little nervous fidgeting, Ginny finally abandoned her list of suspects and got busy dicing onions for our next batch of chutney. I wasn’t sure, but I was guessing that her watering eyes had less to do with the onions and more to do with the idea of a young girl left motherless. I went back to stirring, my mind wandering over our conversation. If Ginny was right, the list of suspects was quite narrow indeed. That was good news. It meant there were less people for the sheriff to investigate. Of course, it also meant that Ginny was probably her top suspect.

•   •   •

The family pickup truck sounded like it was rattling apart as I drove Ray to the orchard the next morning. When I gave up my job at Helping Hands International, I also gave up use of the company-leased vehicles, a huge perk and one that I sorely missed. Especially now that I needed to drive
the orchard rows on a daily basis to pick up crates of peaches to use for my recipes.

Over the past few weeks, my life had slipped into a regular work routine: breakfast with Mama then out to the orchard to pick up a load of peaches for my recipes, after which I’d head into town, unload the peaches at the diner, then head over to work on the shop remodel until the diner closed, when I could use its kitchen to whip up more inventory. The days were long, but I’d grown used to the predictability and steady cadence of my work. There was a certain comfort in knowing what each day would bring—something I really hadn’t experienced over the fifteen years or so that I worked as a humanitarian. Then, each day was different. One day spent reuniting a family torn apart by a devastating natural disaster, the next perhaps teaching schoolchildren the importance of personal hygiene. Always something new.

Of course, during my years of traveling as an aid worker, I’d return home periodically, finding comfort in the stability of my family’s farm life. Through the eyes of an occasional visitor, it seemed not much ever changed in the peach orchards. However, after returning home for a few weeks last summer, then deciding to stay on permanently, I discovered just how inaccurate I’d been. Things constantly changed in the peach farming world. New markets, new technologies and an ever-changing economy toppled the old ways of thinking and pulled farmers along—some of them reluctantly, like my daddy—to a new way of life. Innovation was the key to success. That’s why my little peach product business venture was so important to my family. So far, I’d made enough money to cover expenses and then some, but I hoped the addition of the shop would boost our profit line.

“I’m anxious to see how renovations are coming along,” Ray said, grabbing the dashboard to steady himself as the tire hit a crevice in the ground. Ray had come home the day before to talk to Ginny about the case. He’d have to head back to Perry sometime midmorning, though. Something about a deposition, or . . . I couldn’t remember. Half the time, his legal talk went in one ear and right out the other.

I briefly smiled his way, then refocused on the road. “Afraid things are going a lot slower than I’d planned, but I’m getting there. I really want to open in time and get a couple months under my belt before the Peach Harvest Festival this summer. Plus, I’ve announced the grand opening on my website and printed up flyers. Nothing big, just refreshments and live music. I was hoping to draw some interest.”

“Music?”

“Wade Marshall and the Peach Pickers.”

“The mayor’s band?”

“Thought he could play a couple tunes and cut the ribbon. Sort of killing two birds with one stone.”

He grinned. “That’s efficient. How’s the online business going?”

I shrugged. “Okay. I think I’ll see an uptick as we head into the holidays this year. But I’ve got a good base of steady customers locally and throughout the surrounding area. Red’s Diner and Sunny Side Up Bed & Breakfast have standing orders.” We were heading down to the southern portion of our farm, the part that bordered our small offshoot of the Ocmulgee. That’s where most of our early producing trees were located. I slowed down even more as the path became more rugged. “Speaking of the diner, how’d it go last night with Ginny? It must have been late when you came in. I was already in bed.”

“Yeah, we had a lot to talk through.”

“You could have just called her, you know.” Only that’s not how Ray operated when it came to people he cared about. Ray thought the world of Ginny and Sam. So, in this case, his taking time from his own firm and coming to Cays Mill was more a show of support than anything else. That’s the way my brother was: generous to a fault. With both his time and his heart.

“Could have,” he agreed with a shrug. “But it’s good to come back and see y’all.” He rubbed his stomach. “And have a little of Mama’s cooking.”

We laughed. “Seriously, though. How’d it go?” I wanted to get the scoop before we reached Daddy and the hands.

“I have to admit, after talking to Ginny, I was a little confused.”

“How so?”