An Angel to Die For (25 page)

“Now why would I do that?” Aunt Zorah said.

Maybe Uncle Faris hadn’t been dead for all those
years the way we thought, but his eyes were, and now he fastened those cold orbs on my aunt. “Why indeed, Zorah? You tell me. Is this to be my punishment?” And he called for the guard to take him away.

“Did you?” I asked my aunt later when we pulled up in front of her house.

“Did I what?”

“Did you plant that silverware in his luggage?”

“Of course. It was the only way I could think of to keep him from leaving. You should’ve seen his face, Prentice, when I showed up on his doorstep in Florida. The silly man was all packed to fly out of the country. He knew they’d found that woman’s body and that Maynard Griggs would eventually talk; their little ruse would soon become obvious. Faris has a record for what he did before he was so conveniently ‘killed.’ His company never did recover the money he stole. Faris has been living quite comfortably off his ill-gotten gains, and now he’s an accessory after the fact in a murder case.” Aunt Zorah drew her fringed shawl a little closer about her. “He also speaks fluent Spanish and was headed straight for Mexico.”

“When you turned him in for taking the silver, did you tell the police who he really was?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, but his fingerprints are a matter of record. It just took them a few days to match them up.”

“Why do you care?” I asked. “What difference does it make after all this time? Couldn’t you have just let
him go?” Surely she still didn’t want this creep back in her life.

“I suppose I could, and maybe I should’ve, but how did I know he didn’t have something to do with that woman’s death? When I think of the tears he caused, the shame—and now the humiliation, I’m not even one bit sorry!” And my aunt walked into her house and shut the door firmly behind her.

Maybe I should go after her
, I thought.
Offer whatever comfort I could
. But how do you soothe an injury that deep? Besides, there are times when people prefer to be alone, and for my aunt, I felt sure this was one of them.

Ever since Augusta had left me to sojourn in the south end of the state, I’d felt as though an anvil hung over my head just waiting for the right moment to drop, and in the last couple of days that awareness had developed into a heavy dread.

It was odd that Aunt Zorah had mentioned a warning bell because during the drive back to Smokerise, the one in my head became deafening, like a hundred fire trucks clanging, and I knew something had gone wrong at Ellynwood. The closer I got to home, the stronger the feeling grew until it became oppressive, almost suffocating.

Then for a brief moment it lifted and Augusta was beside me in her golden gauzy clothing and sun-glow hair. “Come,” she said. Then she touched my arm and was gone.

H
ad I only imagined her there? I reached out a hand to the seat beside me—empty now, but the sweet scent of strawberries lingered still. Augusta was trying to tell me something, to warn me.

“I’m coming, Augusta! I’m coming.” But would I be too late? A panorama of disaster scenes played across my mind. Ola Cress had disappeared with the baby . . . Joey was sick or hurt . . . Mom had suffered an accident . . . or Sonny’s father had tracked them down and was . . . I didn’t even want to think of it!

At Smokerise I raced down the driveway at breakneck speed intending to toss a few essentials into an overnight bag and leave immediately for Ellynwood. My heart seemed to have jumped into that space usually reserved for my brain and was pounding big-time—loud and fast, so it was just pure luck I avoided crashing
into the car coming from the other direction. We both stopped in a squall of tires and scattering gravel on the narrow twisting road, our bumpers inches apart, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed when I recognized my cousin’s familiar green sedan.

“Be-trice, I’m in a hurry right now. Don’t have time to talk,” I hollered, rolling down my window.

My cousin popped open her door and scurried around to lean bony arms on the side of my car. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Prentice, but some man called me trying to find you. Seemed to think it was real important. Sounded like a matter of life and death!”

“Called you? What man?”

“Wait a minute . . . I’m sure he told me his name, but it just went in one ear and out the other . . . Pug something . . . That sound right?”

I revved the engine and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel but Cousin Be-trice wasn’t one to pick up on subtleties. “Never heard of him,” I said. “Why did he call you?”

“Said when he couldn’t reach you at home, he asked somebody down at the Kettle if they knew where to find you.” My cousin drew herself up and threw out her chest—not that you’d notice. “Naturally they referred him to me,” she said.

“Did he say what he wanted?” Peter Whisonant had mentioned setting up a meeting with his nephew to look over the property, but I wouldn’t consider it urgent.

“Not really. I told him to call Zorah. She usually knows where you are.” Be-trice pawed at the gravel with one foot and snorted. “Lord, that’s some mess she’s gotten herself into with that old fool Faris coming back like he did, and I hear she’s even been questioned by the police! Reckon this man showing up has anything to do with that?”

“I don’t see how it could. Look, I’ve really got to go.” I gunned the engine again. I thought I knew who was trying to find me, and I didn’t mean to stick around long enough to give him a chance.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Oh, lordy, you aren’t mixed up in all this gruesome business, are you? Prentice, are you in some kind of trouble?” My cousin hung on to the door of the car as if she had suction cups for hands.

I explained to her as kindly as possible that I didn’t have anything to do with dead bodies and such, I wasn’t planning to hang around long enough to get into trouble, and that I really was in a hurry to be on my way.

She squished her mouth into kind of a wad. “I don’t know what all the big secret’s about,” she huffed, “and I can see you’re not going to tell me. I just hope you know what you’re doing, Prentice Dobson. I’ve a feeling you’re getting in way over your head!”

I could see she was way past placating so I didn’t really try. “Honest, Be-trice, I don’t know a whole lot more than you do, but I’ll let you know when I find
out. Right now I have a long drive ahead of me and I want to get there before dark.”

She promised to feed the cat.

The telephone was ringing when I reached the house. Dear God, don’t let it be Sonny’s creepy relative again! Or maybe there was something wrong at Ellynwood. I hurried to unlock the door and almost stumbled over Noodles in my dash to reach the phone.

“Are you all right?” my mother wanted to know. “They haven’t arrested Zorah, have they? You sound out of breath.”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” I said between gulps of air. Naturally I didn’t tell her about Augusta’s brief visit. “They seem to believe Faris killed Jasper, so it looks like Aunt Zorah’s in the clear. Is anything wrong down there? How’s Joey? You haven’t had any problems have you?”

“No, no, Joey’s fine. He and Ola have gone for a stroll. There are paths here on the grounds—just wait till you see this place, Prentice! It’s good to see Ola get out of the house for a while, the fresh air will be good for her. She’s been a bit mopish lately.”

My mother was a great one for fresh air, especially if it was for somebody else. “I called to ask a favor,” she said, and I could tell by her voice it wasn’t a happy one. “Tomorrow would have been your father’s birthday,” she reminded me, “and I’d like some fresh flowers for his grave. The tulips should be blooming in that bed by the front steps—you know how your dad liked
red—and you might mix in some forsythia, jonquils, whatever you can find in the yard. It’s so much prettier than those stiff things you get from the flower shop. Do you mind?”

Of course I didn’t mind, and I was upset with myself for forgetting the date. Mom had always made a freezer of homemade vanilla ice cream and a chocolate pound cake, Dad’s favorites, to celebrate the occasion.

“I was just on my way upstairs to pack,” I told her, glancing at the kitchen clock. I was surprised to find that it was barely past noon. “If I leave soon after lunch, I should reach Savannah before dark, and I’ll stop by the cemetery on my way out.”

“Then you’re coming today? I’m glad! But I thought you were going to spend some time with Zorah. Are you certain she’s all right?”

“No. She’s bitter. Hurt. But spunky enough, I think. Mom, I’ve done all I can to help her right now.” And more, I thought, but I wasn’t ready to deal with that. “You’re sure everything’s okay down there? Ola didn’t go far, did she?”

“Prentice honey, she hasn’t been gone half an hour yet. My goodness, where would she go? We’re miles from everything out here.”

I knew, and that was what worried me. Augusta wouldn’t summon me for nothing.

“You be careful driving, now, and don’t worry about us. I’ll have supper ready when you get here. How about a nice pork loin with some of those little new potatoes?” My mother sounded so cheerful I almost believed
all was well and I was wasting my time charging to the rescue. After all, Augusta was sometimes overcautious.

I checked the answering machine to find a message from Peter Whisonant telling me his nephew would be in the area for a few days, and would like to get together this afternoon to discuss their proposal if it was convenient. It wasn’t, and I phoned his business and told the woman who answered I’d have to get back to him later.

The tulips, I found, were in short supply, but I tucked in a few early iris, some sunny forsythia, and filled in with vivid pink quince for a colorful bouquet. Dad would approve, I thought. It took only a few minutes to pack for Ellynwood as I chose only comfortable, casual clothing for playing with Joey and exploring the neglected estate. I tossed my luggage into the trunk and bumped my way along the furrowed back road to the family graveyard. Augusta’s warning still rested like a stone in my stomach, but at least I was on my way.

It had rained a little during the night and the dirt road that circled the cemetery was pocked with puddles. I parked beneath the sycamore where Maggie and I used to sit and tell ghost tales, and as always when I thought of my sister, the familiar pang of sadness twisted in my throat. But now I had Joey to think of.

I’ll take care of him, Maggie
, I said to her innocuous
stone angel.
I’ll love him, I promise
. And I knew I wouldn’t even have to try. With large stones I anchored the billowing arrangement of spring flowers on my father’s grave and lingered a few minutes to tell him we loved him and that he had a cute little namesake named Joey. Of course he probably knew that already, I thought. And I reminded myself to ask Augusta if they have homemade ice cream and chocolate pound cake in heaven.

I had almost reached the bottom of the hill where I’d left the car when something made me turn, and I saw him standing there. It was the man with the beard, the same one who had come to the house a few days earlier.

He was less than fifty yards away, but if I hurried I could reach the car in time. I bolted over the stone wall like an Olympic hurdler and immediately skidded in a patch of mud. My knees buckled, my arms flapped, and the rest of me performed a most ungraceful hula dance, but I managed to keep my balance.

I heard the man yell something that sounded like “wait,” and looked up to see him standing in the same place. And he was
smiling
.

“Go away!” I shouted. “Leave me alone!” I slid (and I mean that literally) behind the wheel of the car and started the engine, giving it enough gas to soar over the treetops. It went the other way. I was stuck in the mud.

I did all the wrong things. The more frantically I pressed on the accelerator, the deeper I sank. Wheels
spun futilely, flinging mud and stones in a dirty arc behind me. I swore, but Augusta wasn’t around to censor me. If she had been, I might not be in this mess. When I looked again, the man had disappeared from where he’d been standing and I heard the alarming crunch of twigs and gravel. Oh, Lord, he must be right behind me! Quickly I locked my doors and tried to rock the car loose by switching from forward to reverse and back again. It didn’t work. Mired in cemetery mud, I was digging my own grave.

“Please let me help. I’m not going to hurt you. Really.” A voice spoke next to my ear, and my heart did a back flip to see him standing a few inches from my window.

Again he smiled. “I’m afraid you’re only making it worse,” he said.

“Don’t you think I know that? Now will you please go away and leave me alone?”

He shrugged. “Okay, but I think you’re going to need some pine branches under these tires for traction. I can get some if you like.”

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” I was trapped. Helpless. He could break my window with a rock, bash in my head.

“Didn’t my uncle call? He said he’d left a message.”

“You mean Mr. Whisonant? You’re his
nephew?’
I felt like a complete fool! The man was here on a perfectly innocent errand. “You’re here about leasing our place for a nursery—you’re the horticulturist!” I fumbled with the door lock and hesitantly offered a hand. I
wouldn’t blame him if he ignored it. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m Prentice.”