Death in Dahlonega (A Trixie Montgomery Cozy Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter Six

Before I could tell Dee Dee my plan, Joyce hurried back to our table and sat down. I heard Dee Dee groan, and I kicked her under the table, sure that Joyce had heard her. Now that I had gone into information collecting mode, I didn’t want to discourage the innkeeper, but once again she was oblivious to anything but herself and began to talk as though she’d never stopped.

“As I was saying, he did a lot of things to help the community. Not everyone liked him, but Mr. Tatum always pitched in if the need arose.” Joyce waved to an older couple across the room and hollered out a hardy ‘hello.’ “He could be overpowering when he exerted his authority and that rankled some feathers.”

My ears perked up like a coon dog on a scent. “Are you saying he made enemies around town?”

“I guess you could say that. He was known for using strong-armed tactics to get what he wanted.” Joyce started stacking plates and swiped up several empty jam and sugar packets. “As you experienced first-hand, he had the personality of Attila the Hun. I suppose you could say he had a heart of gold and a fist of steel. Nonetheless, I felt sorry for him. He was going through some hard times.” Her tone didn’t match her words. I wondered if she really felt sympathy for him.

Dee Dee and I looked at each other, her brows rose and fell. I felt pretty sure we thought the same thing. It was possible that several of the town’s folk wanted John Tatum dead.

“What bad things?” I watched Joyce clatter a cup full of silverware and restack the plates, and tried again. “What had he been going through?”

“His father, John senior, died about six months ago.” She kept moving the plates from one place to another. “He was patriarch of the family business. After his death, everything was left to John—including all the problems his father left behind.

“And it’s common knowledge he’s recently gone through a nasty divorce.” Joyce lifted, dropped her shoulders with a sigh. “His ex-wife, Miranda, made sure everyone knew. Anyway, Miranda found out he’d been messing around with his secretary. He was gone from their house faster than he could say, ‘I’m sorry.’

“You go girl!” I shoved a fist in the air for emphasis.

Joyce looked at me, eyes wide with surprise. Dee Dee, however, just shot a knowing look to my pain. I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud my thoughts. Heat warmed my cheeks. “Uh, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“Honey, you just voiced what I was thinking.” Dee Dee squeezed my arm.

Dee Dee, no stranger to loss, stood by my side as staunch supporter and friend this past year during my own divorce. When her husband, Gary, died suddenly after an undiagnosed heart problem several years ago, Dee Dee’s enduring faith through the tough times, as well as the good, set an example for me to follow.

To lighten the mood, Dee Dee asked Joyce, “What happened after she turned the two-timing, low-down, scum-sucking, no-good son of a snake out of the house?”

I choked on a mouthful of lukewarm coffee. Joyce’s startled gaze darted between me and Dee Dee. I laughed out loud. “Well, Dee Dee, why don’t you tell us how you really feel.”

“I just did.”

Joyce finally laughed and patted Dee Dee’s arm. “Miranda went for where it hurt the most—the wallet. I heard it got nasty in court. Miranda’s attorney exposed all of John’s indiscretions. A woman judge sat on the bench that day, and she made John pay through the nose.” Joyce shook her head as she spoke, her bob bouncing back and forth.

“How did you learn about the court proceedings?” Dee Dee asked.

“We’re a small town. Everybody knows somebody who knows somebody, and news travels faster than butter on a hot biscuit.” Joyce wiped the crumbs off the table and smoothed the tablecloth. “Miranda is president of the Historical Society. I was at the meeting where she spent the majority of the time enlightening the members of John’s affair. She was mad as a wet setting hen!” Joyce had a faraway look and her shoulders shuddered.

I couldn’t blame Miranda. Being betrayed by the one person in life you trusted, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was devastating.

Joyce voiced my sentiments. “Yeah, but you can’t blame her. I’d be mad, too.” She stood and gathered the stacked dishes, cups, and utensils. “Time to go see about my customers; got to keep them happy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Joyce!” I Columbo’ed her and smiled as she turned around. “One more thing. Where can we get in touch with Miranda? I might want to interview her for my magazine article since she’s in the Historical Society.”

“She owns an antique shop on the square, The Antique Boutique. She works most of the day. She’ll probably be busy today though, it being Gold Rush Days and all.” And with that, she hurried off to take care of business.

Dee Dee shot a shark-toothed grin. “Are you really going to interview Miranda for your article, Trixie?”

“Sure, why not? And while I’m interviewing her I might happen to ask her a few questions about her ex-husband. I’d say she had a motive for murder. Since I’ve found out about Wayne, there’s been more than one occasion I dreamed of doing bodily harm to that two-timing cheater.”

My poor heart ached talking about it. I quickly prayed for forgiveness for such angry thoughts. I’d begun to recover, but was still in the healing process. Band-aids of hurried prayers and half-hearted pep-talks held my fragile heart together.

What if John’s ex-wife had taken her red-hot anger and humiliation to the extreme and acted out those feelings? It was possible.

Dee Dee’s expression softened. She put her arm around my waist. “Trix, you know it’s all right to have thoughts and feelings that aren’t in our best interest. It’s what we choose to do with those emotions that can get us in trouble. Why, I don’t know how many times I’ve said, ‘If Gary hadn’t died, I’d have killed him for making me a widow.’” She gave me a squeeze as I wiped a tear from my cheek.

I’d just blown my nose when Sheriff Wheeler sauntered up with his sidekick, Deputy Ray. I stashed the Kleenex in my pants pocket.

“Good morning, ladies.” The sheriff touched the tip of his hat, like any good southern gentleman’s mama taught him to do. “I hope you slept well last night.”

His Cheshire-cat grin stepped on my last nerve. “Well, of course we didn’t sleep well, Sheriff. My friend
did
find a dead body yesterday.”
Like, I needed to remind him.

He shot me a wickedly handsome smile. “You’re right, Ms. Montgomery—may I call you Trixie?” I nodded, and he continued. “Both of you experienced a traumatic affair. Maybe this job has left me a little too jaded. Please accept my apologies.”

I nodded at his honey covered words, and felt the hard shell of my resistance begin to melt.

“We do accept your apologies, Sheriff.” Dee Dee pushed me aside. “And you can call me, Dee Dee.” She giggled like a schoolgirl and offered her hand. As they shook, the bangles on her wrist played a jaunty, chinging melody. “I reckon that means we can call you Jake.”

He didn’t answer.
I guess not.

Sheriff Wheeler turned and gestured towards a man dressed in a Sunday go-to-meeting suit. “Let me introduce Agent Jeff Cornwall from the Georgia Bureau of Investigations. Any time there’s a crime on state property, the GBI is called in to perform an investigation.”

Agent Cornwall, light pole thin, loomed over Sheriff Wheeler. I had a mental picture of the agent as Abe Lincoln on stilts and almost burst out laughing. I quickly covered my mouth to hide my mirth. I could tell my nerves were frayed like an old electric wire.

“We’ve questioned several witnesses present in the lobby yesterday when Dee Dee had the unfortunate confrontation with John Tatum. There might be more to it than she suggested.” The sheriff looked directly into Dee Dee’s eyes. “We’d like for you to come down to the station so we can question you further.”

Dee Dee’s nostrils flared. “If I’d’a known you intended to arrest me, I sure wouldn’t have accepted your apology much less shake your hand.” Her flirtatious smile gone, she shot him a scathing look.

“I’m not going to arrest you. I just want to ask you a few more questions. This shouldn’t take long,” Sheriff Wheeler said. “We’re going back to the office, why don’t you ride with us.” Then, turning those baby blues towards me, he asked, “Why don’t you come by in an hour or so? We should be through by then.”

I offered him the sweetest smile. “Of course I will.” I addressed Dee Dee. “Just call me on my cell when you’re done, and I’ll come in a jiffy.” I avoided eye contact with the sheriff. I gave Dee Dee a quick hug and hoped she didn’t see the tears pooling in my eyes.

“All right,” he addressed the two men standing beside him. “Let’s get on our way.”

Agent Cornwall, Deputy Ray, Sherriff Wheeler, and a forlorn looking Dee Dee traipsed out of the dining room with tourists looking on. I couldn’t shake the notion that Dee Dee looked like a lamb being led to slaughter.

Chapter Seven

I returned to the stifling air of our tiny room. The walls seemed to close in on me. My mind tripped to the time I wandered away from my parents in Redford’s Five and Dime. I had never been so glad to see my Mama when she found me. Feeling like that same lost child, I pulled my cell phone from my purse and dialed her up.

“Mama, I’m so glad you’re at home.” Mama’s an angel on earth. She possessed the patience of Job, the strength of Samson, and the faith of Abraham. She had to, being the sole caregiver for Nana, her strong-willed, quirky aunt.

“Trixie, what is it? Are you okay?” Mama must have heard the strain in my voice.

“Yes and no. We’ve run into a little trouble.” I wondered how much I should tell her. “There was a murder yesterday at the Gold Museum.” At Mama’s sharp intake of breath, I continued. “We were watching a film on gold mining when Dee Dee went to the bathroom. She found the body.” My bottom lip quivered.

Mama gasped. “Oh my goodness, how horrible! How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing fine, Mama.” I didn’t want her to worry any more than necessary. “They took her to the sheriff’s department to ask her a few questions. I think it’s only a formality.”
Please forgive me for stretching the truth
. I prayed it was true as a sick thread of worry for Dee Dee wove through my stomach.

“Do you need me to do anything?” Mama asked.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the worry etched on her face.

“No Mama, but I’ll let you know if I do. How are things at home? Is Nana behaving?” I asked, knowing good and well she was probably giving Mama a hard time, her quirky behavior a cover up for getting away with her antics. I’d seen some of Nana’s mischief first hand when Mama had offered me a place to stay after the divorce. Wade had made so many bad investments we lost everything, including our house.

A hearty laugh came through the phone. “If you call Nana inviting Beau to come over for dinner behaving—then yes, she’s behaving.”

“What? She’s been trying to marry me off to him since the third grade.” I had to laugh, too, thinking of the countless times she’d tried to set us up. I’ve told her up and down I was done with men, but she never listened.

Mama and I had learned it was easier to laugh at Nana’s meddling. We’d discovered too many times the alternative was to cry.

“Thanks, Mama, I appreciate it. I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you back later.”

“Please keep me updated, and don’t worry. Nana and I will take care of Bouncer. She loves your dog.” Images of Nana in her nightgown, coming to my rescue, popped in my mind. A forewarning?

“By the way, Jill called, and she’s doing fine. She’s looking forward to winter break.” Jill, my daughter, was and a junior at the University of Georgia.

“Mama, if she calls again please don’t mention the murder. It’ll just upset her.”

We talked a few more minutes and said our good-byes. “Sweetheart, please be careful. We love you,” she said, her voice full of concern.

“Okay, Mama, I’ll be careful. I love you and Nana, too.” I disconnected the call.

I rummaged around and found a tablet and pen. I needed to make a list of questions to be answered in order to help Dee Dee. I needed a place to start.

1. Who had a reason to kill John Tatum?

2. Why would they want him dead?

3. How did they know where he was going to be?

After I made my list, I wandered to the bathroom to clean my face. The pasty reflection in the mirror shocked me. I’d arrived feeling like a forty-something diva, and now looked like a tired, red-eyed woman. I reapplied my make-up for damage control and left to pick up Dee Dee.