A Tough Nut to Kill (Nut House Mystery Series) (18 page)

Out in my car, with the motor running and the air-conditioning
on full in my face, I dug out the rehab letter. It was signed by a Dr. Ted Lambert. I called the number on the letterhead.

A woman answered at the clinic and put me on hold while she located Dr. Lambert. The voice, when Dr. Lambert came on, was higher than I’d expected, young sounding, and distracted, as if he was in too big a hurry to take inquiring phone calls.

“Ted Lambert,” he declared. “How can I help you?”

I explained who I was and why I was calling. I told him about my uncle Amos. That he was dead, murdered, and we had traced him to the clinic.

“I’ve got questions, Doctor. We think somebody from his last two years there in Houston might be involved and—”

“I’ll stop you right here, Miss . . . eh . . . Miss Blanchard, did you say?”

“Lindy.”

“I am not at liberty to give out information about any of our patients.”

“This is a police investigation,” I argued.

“Then you have the police call me.”

“He’s my uncle,” I protested.

“Have the police call and I’ll cooperate all I can. But I’m warning you, a phone call won’t be enough. I’ll need the officer or detective—whoever’s doing the inquiry—to come here, present me with the right court order, and I’ll cooperate. You see, Miss . . . eh . . . Lindy, privacy is our first concern here at Spenser Clinic. If our patients ever thought that was being violated, why, we might as well shut our doors.”

He hesitated. “Give me that name again? The dead man.”

“Amos Blanchard. Was he there? Did you know him?”

“I can’t give out medical information about our patients but what I will say is . . . well, he was here. And I liked Amos, Lindy. He was a good man . . .”

“You’re talking about Amos Blanchard from Riverville, right?”

“Yes. I’d have to say he became a . . . well . . . friend to a lot of people here at the clinic.”

I set that aside—Amos as a friend to anyone. “So he was there.”

“That’s the best I can do, Miss Blanchard. Just let me . . . well . . . accept my condolences. I know there will be others who would do the same if they could.”

“Please, Dr. Lambert. Tell me who these others are. And tell me anything you know about Uncle Amos’s time there in Houston—”

He interrupted. “I’ve said all I can say. As I told you, get an officer over here . . . but forget the legal papers. I just need to know . . . you’d be surprised what lawyers and family do to undermine a person’s sobriety. I can’t trust anybody’s word. Show me a uniform. A badge. Something. Then we’ll talk.”

He hung up.

• • •

When I walked in The Squirrel, I was greeted by a terse
“Cheerio” from Cecil Darling, crisp white apron in place, the few hairs left on his bald head swept over to the left and pasted there. Cecil was a man for the bow tie. The exemplary bow tie Englishman. If he could have worn spats and swung a cane while clearing heaps of dirty dishes from Formica tables, he would have been just that bon vivant.

“’Day, Lindy.” Cecil nodded toward a corner booth. “Hunter’s over there. Looks like you’re five minutes late.”

I looked at my watch. “Am not,” I disagreed. “He’s early.”

I think there was a comment about “uppity women,” but I ignored it as I always ignored Cecil, even as he called behind me, “Finnan haddie today. Probably too refined for your tastes.”

“That’s from Scotland, not England.” I tossed my head, happy to show him I was no hick.

He only laughed behind me. “A lot you’d know.” His voice was full of scorn.

I went to the far corner booth, where Hunter had settled in. He had a tall glass of sweet tea in front of him.

“You order?” I asked as Hunter sat up straighter on his side of the booth.

“Chili and cornbread.”

“That must’ve got you a big sniff out of Cecil.”

“Don’t let him intimidate you. Order a pile of biscuits and gravy, if you want.”

I shook my head. “Makes my behind spread. I’m off that stuff.”

I ordered a salad. Dinner, which comes in the middle of the day for us Texans, was supposed to be bountiful but I wasn’t feeling like taking on a big plate of barbecue or pulled pork, which would only make me sleepy. I had a lot ahead of me and had to stay sharp.

“So.” I settled back and took a deep breath. “Justin’s pretty broken up about Martin.”

“We all are. Just shouldn’t have happened. Justin coulda asked to see me . . .”

“Yeah, the guy who read him his rights.” I let the sarcasm drip.

Hunter examined the backs of his hands, laid flat on the tabletop. “I got something we gotta talk about,” he said. I detected the gloom in his voice and fought the urge to get up and run.

“What now?”

“Ben Fordyce.”

“What about Ben?”

“Been looking into people who had trouble with Amos before he left.”

“How’s Ben fit in that group?”

“Turns out Amos scammed him out of a big chunk of money. And not just him but friends of Ben’s, too. A big lawyer in San Antonio, for one. Another one in Columbus. Ben’s been paying back the money they lost, but it looks like he’s falling behind, can’t pay the way he wanted to. You ask me, Lindy, I’d say we’re looking at a very angry man under that all-business outside.”

I gave him a disbelieving look.

“Sheriff dug it up by looking into Amos’s financial dealings. Got a look at things over to the bank from back when Amos still did business there. Supposed to be a big amusement park coming in toward San Antonio is what Cal, at the bank, said. Amos swore it was a locked-up deal. He talked Ben into buying acreage—lots of land—where the park was supposed to go up. Trouble was some pals of Amos’s owned that land. There was no amusement park. And by the time Ben found out, it was too late. Owned a few thousand acres of worthless brush and Amos’s friends made a killing.”

“Why would Ben trust Uncle Amos? He knew what he did to Daddy. All the harm to our family.”

Hunter shook his head. “What I heard was people think he did it to help the Blanchards. If Amos got something of his own going—enough money to maybe buy a ranch for himself. You know Ben cares a lot about your mama. Wanted to help.”

I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. Ben had always been good to us—like so many in Riverville, but caring about Mama? And doing something as foolish as taking Amos at his word? Hard to believe.

“So? What happened to the money after Amos got it?”

“All gone. Nothing in the bank. We’re thinking maybe Amos was suckered, too. But that sure gives Ben a reason to hate the man. Seeing him back in town like that.”

“Are you crazy? Ben wouldn’t hurt a—”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what you’ve been saying about everybody. The trouble with that, Lindy, is that we still got a dead man on our hands, and sure as anything, somebody did that to him. And now this business with Martin being hurt . . .”

I couldn’t argue plain facts. “Ben’s coming over to our house later. He said he had something to talk to us about.”

“Probably this business with Amos. See if you want a different lawyer.”

“Different lawyer? Daddy trusted Ben. Mama trusts him.”

“Sheriff’s looking hard at Ben now. It’s up to you folks. I’d think about it if it was me.”

Our food came and Hunter dug in. I pushed the salad away. Despite Cecil’s arrogance and pretentious daily specials, he wasn’t known for his “healthy” food. Most of his salads looked like what I had on the plate in front of me: a whole chunk of plastic lettuce with a glob of dressing dumped on top.

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” I leaned toward Hunter.

He nodded, a large spoon full of chili going in with half a piece of cornbread not far behind.

“Okay. Then I’ve got something I want to talk to you about. I need your help.”

I told him about the doctor in Houston, and the rehab clinic for alcoholics. I told him the doctor admitted Amos had been there but wouldn’t give me any information. He wanted someone in law enforcement asking the questions.

I told him how I got the letter about the clinic. He wasn’t surprised that the girls didn’t bring it to the sheriff. He knew the Chauncey twins and their antipathy to lawmen.

“So you want me to go to Houston and talk to this doctor?”

I nodded. “I want you to go
with me
. Remember that ‘Virginia’ letter? Seems like that’s where she’d be. And if she knew Amos during those two years, she’d know if anybody had it in for him. And she’s got a package, something Amos left with her. I really think we’ve got to find her. Could be what’s behind this whole thing.”

“Okay. So give me the letter and I’ll call. How about tomorrow?”

“Sooner the better.”

He nodded a few times. “What else you and Miss Amelia up to? Mind tellin’ me?”

I thought a minute then decided, what the heck. “We’re going over to the Barking Coyote tonight.”

He gave me a disbelieving look. “You’re kidding. You and Miss Amelia?”

He laughed enough to choke on his cornbread, then coughed a couple of times. “I’ll save the pair of you the trouble,” he finally said, an amused look on his good-looking face. “Already been there. Nobody knows nothing.”

“You talk to a Finula? She’s the one who broke up Jessie and Amos. From what I heard, she showed up at the library one day and told Jessie she was pregnant by Amos. Doubt it was true. She had another boyfriend at the time—but he wasn’t a Blanchard, had no money. Probably the name was what appealed to her. Anyway, I heard the boyfriend was out to get Amos. Maybe that’s what he did.”

“Couldn’t learn a thing. You’d think nobody ever knew your uncle, the way they shook their heads at me. What I understood was he went to the Coyote almost every night. Guess all the people who knew him two years ago must’ve died.”

“Let’s see what we can find out.”

“I don’t like it, Lindy.” He looked hard at me. “That’s no place for Blanchard women.”

“Blanchard women go where they have to go, Hunter. You should know that by now.”

“Your grandmother isn’t a young woman. What if a fight breaks out?”

I had to laugh. “In case of a bar brawl, that’ll be me standing behind her. Meemaw’s a whole lot tougher than she looks.”

When we finished eating, Hunter paid.

Out at my car he asked me to call him when we got back from the Barking Coyote. “I don’t care what time it is. And I’ll call this doctor in Houston,” he said, shaking the letter at me. “You want to leave here about nine in the morning?”

I thought ten would be better, thinking about a night over at the Barking Coyote and what I might feel like come morning.

Back at the Nut House, I walked into chaos. People were
everywhere and most of the shelves had been stripped of merchandise, dumped into boxes, and set along the front windowsills.

“We don’t know anything for sure, but don’t miss a single thing,” Miss Amelia was calling out to Mama and Bethany, to Treenie and Miss Ethelred.

I pulled my meemaw aside. “What’s going on here? You decide to clean the place right now?”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t get that letter Amos wanted to give Emma out of my head. Since we didn’t find it over to his room, and the police never came to talk to Emma, I was thinking about where it might’ve got to, and all I could do was picture him in here. Remember? Tipping over those gift boxes there at the end of the counter? Seems he took a long time righting them before leaving the store.”

I saw what she was getting at.

“So we’re looking for it,” she said.

“Everybody wanted to help.” She pointed around the store where Bethany was stacking boxes and Mama and Miss Ethelred and Treenie were moving bags and stacks of aprons and pot holders into cardboard boxes or from one counter to another, looking in and under everything.

“Nothing so far,” she said. “And I was awfully sure.”

“It’s been four days. If he put it in one of the boxes, it could’ve been sold.”

“Well, yes. We’re looking anyway.”

I chipped in without another word. I opened gift boxes carefully, checking under the waxed liner and in among the candy packages. There were the smaller boxes with chocolate turtles and spiced nuts. There were the medium boxes with the turtles, nuts, and sugared pecans. And there were the large boxes with all of that plus a generous-sized bottle of pecan oil. There were two-bottle pecan hot sauce boxes.

After a while I fell into a pattern, searching each box and closing them carefully, wrapping a new bow on each one, and setting it aside so we wouldn’t go through it again.

Bethany sat on the floor, shaking out aprons and dishtowels with the family crest on them. “I don’t think there’s anything here,” she said, looking up at me then checking her watch. “And I’ve got to get back to the ranch. Chet and Christina are deciding for sure . . .”

I smiled at my pretty sister, her face more relaxed than I’d seen it in a week or more. “So the wedding’s on?”

She nodded and raised crossed fingers at me. “I’m hoping.”

When I got the chance, I cornered Meemaw, feather duster in hand, going through the cookbooks. I could see she was using the search as much to give the place a good dusting as anything else.

“I’m going to Houston in the morning with Hunter,” I told her, keeping my voice low.

She nodded, whisking her duster across shelves and over a stack of
Barbecue the Pecan Way
books. “Glad to hear it. I been thinking about that letter we found over to his room. Seems somebody who knows him has got something we need to see.”

“That’s what me and Hunter been thinking, too.”

She nodded fast. “Glad to hear it. And if the man won’t tell you anything, do whatever it takes to get inside. Tell him you want to get anything Amos left there. You know, tell ’im ‘sentimental value.’ All that stuff. Talk to other patients. Do what you have to do, Lindy.”

“Is this the same grandmother who taught me never to tell a lie? Something about the truth being all mankind has against evil? And about how a woman should be known for the truths she tells?”

Her face got dark. The duster halted in midair. “Who’s asking you to lie? All I’m saying is you should think things out a bit before you get into Houston. Bet Amos leaving Blanchard papers and things behind in Houston never entered your mind, did it? You know he had legal things. Copies of your grandfather’s will. Like he could make it read different than it really was, with your daddy left in charge. So where else is all that stuff, I’d like to know? You got answers?”

I had to admit I didn’t.

She held her duster still as she thought of something else to tell me.

“And you watch out for Hunter. I know he’s sweet on you . . . but right now we can’t depend on anybody. Nobody at all. We’ve got to be looking out for our own interests. Keep your eyes open, Lindy. And your mouth shut.”

“Geez, Meemaw!” I was still incensed at the “sweet on you.”

She nodded hard. Her eyes narrowed. I knew the last word was coming.

“I’ll give you a ‘Geez, Meemaw,’ young lady. I’ve seen you around Hunter. I know what I’m talking about.”

She went back to dusting so hard a stack of
Pecan Desserts
books tipped to the floor.

I moved over to work next to my mother, thinking it the only safe place in the store.

Mama at least smiled at me, though it was a weak smile.

“So much going on, Lindy. My head’s spinning. And still those co-op books. I wanted to ask you for just a little bit of help with something.”

“Sure, Mama. What do you need?”

“It’s that private detective thing. You remember, your father paid the man a thousand dollars but still owed him five hundred. I asked the men over to the co-op if Jake hired him for some of their business back when he was president. They had Harry—you know he’s on the board now—look into it and they can’t find anything.” She turned to look squarely at me. “You think you could call the man for me?”

“Why can’t you do it, Mama?” My head was going to explode if one more person asked me to do one more thing.

She shrugged. “Guess I’m a little scared, Lindy. Jake didn’t say anything to me . . . ever. Who knows what he had on his mind?”

I looked hard at her. “You think Daddy hired somebody to watch you? Is that it? Mama, that’s crazy.”

“I know.” She looked away. “But would you do it for me? Just so I don’t have to . . .”

“Of course. Give me the number.”

She went to the back of the store for her purse. She handed me a piece of paper. It read “Donny Fritch Investigations,” followed by a phone number.

She had something else on her mind and was about to say something more when Ben Fordyce walked in the store and stood just inside the door, looking around. Spotting Mama, he headed over to us.

“Why, Ben, you gave me a start,” Mama said when she looked up. I noticed she straightened the collar of her blouse, pushed her glasses up her nose, and brushed back the hair from around her face.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was going out to the ranch when I drove by and saw you all in here.”

“You need to talk to me about something? Getting Justin out of that place?”

I’d forgotten he was coming over that evening, though I didn’t forget what Hunter told me.

“Trying. Think I’m making some headway with Sheriff Higsby. He’s beginning to see maybe Justin couldn’t have killed Amos. And now this thing with Martin. Well, looks more and more like it’s somebody else.”

“Good.” Mama looked relieved. “Just let me know when to pick him up.”

“I’ll certainly do that, Emma.”

“And was there anything else?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

Ben looked at me and then away, as if reluctant to come out with what he had to say.

“I think I know what it’s about, Ben,” I hurried to reassure him. “I saw Hunter at dinner a while ago.”

He flinched and turned back to Mama. “Emma, maybe you could come outside a minute? It’s best we get this out of the way.”

I could see she didn’t want to go anywhere, with anyone. Seemed to me Mama was at an edge where she just might sit down and refuse to listen to even one more bit of misery brought to her by even one more relative, or friend.