Dixie Divas (39 page)

“Anyway, Cindy said that she and Melody had this little disagreement because Melody’s cousin Serena had everyone out looking for Sherman Sanders on Highway 4 when we now know he was deader than bacon that whole time. Then Melody confessed Serena had only made it up so the police wouldn’t stop looking for him. But most of all, Cindy’s mad because Melody said she’d told her about us taking Philip to the cemetery when she didnuote t even know it herself.”

My head swam a little. I came up for air before Bitty could catch her breath and asked, “How did Cindy find out Melody told us?” I asked. “Gaynelle said she wouldn’t tell Cindy that Melody had told us.”

I began to feel like I was in the middle of that skit about Who’s on First. Bitty seems to handle this kind of thing better.

“She didn’t. After Melody mentioned it to us, she told Cady Lee Forsythe, too. I mean Kincade.”

I drew in a deep breath. “She
didn’t
. Everyone knows Cady Lee couldn’t keep her mouth shut in a sandstorm. She’s sweet, but she tells everything. Bless her heart.”

“Just goes to show you. Beauty and brains don’t always sit side by side.”

We nodded at the wisdom of that old saw. I wondered why Melody seemed to be going out of her way to incriminate Bitty. Naturally, the first thought that sprang to mind was Jefferson Johnston.

“Well, I told you Melody is sweet on Dr. Johnston,” I said, and Bitty shrugged.

“That’s no reason to go telling things you’ve no right to tell. I’m of a mind myself to just go tell Melody exactly what I think. After all, I’m the one who invited her to join the Divas, even though Marcy is the one who brought her. I let my better nature get the best of me, thinking about Maybelle and how poor Melody had to live with her grandmother all those years after her mama died and her daddy took off. You know how spiteful Mrs. Overton was to everyone. She only got worse after Maybelle died. Poor Melody got the brunt of it, I guess. And look how she repays me for inviting her to join us, by telling wicked lies about me.”

“It’s not a lie, Bitty,” I pointed out. “We did cart Philip’s body down to the cemetery.”

“But I didn’t kill him, and she shouldn’t have said things to make it seem like I did.”

“Which brings me to wonder—just why would she do that?”

Silence fell. We looked at each other.

“It’s not really because of Jefferson Johnston,” I said after a moment. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think Melody worried about that for even a minute. At the St. Patrick’s Day party, she encouraged both of you to get better acquainted. So how did the dinner in Oxford turn out? And has he been attentive in other ways?”

“Dinner was fine, but I told you that already. By attentive, if you’re asking if he tried to get in my drawers, no. We just talked antiques and old houses. Though come to think of it,
I
talked antiques and old houses. He just asked a few questions.” Bitty frowned. “I suppose I do tend to monopolize conversations at times, especially when it’s something that interests me.”

It hurt, but I managed to swallow the words that kept burning the tip of my tongue. I might have heartburn for a week, but Bitty’s feelings were spared.

“There’s something funny going on with those two,” I said, and Bitty agreed. “And after all, you don’t really know much about Melody since she came back from Atlanta, do you? What do you know about Jefferson Johnston?”

Bitty thought for a moment. “Not much. But I know someone who probably does. Do you remember Ted Alston?”

“The banker?”

“That’s the one. Bankers know more about a person than their mothers do. That’s who I need to talk to about Jefferson.”

“But Bitty, he’s a
banker
. He won’t tell you anything about a client.”

She smiled. “Not unless I ask him just right. Then he won’t even know he’s answered my questions. It’s lunchtime, so I’ll let him take me to Budgie’s.”

It seemed like a plan.

Chapter Eighteen

There are times when I think I have too much trust in human nature. Despite my cynicism and low expectations, occasionally I’m still surprised by the things people do. It takes a lot, but it’s possible. That’s not usually a good thing.

Oddly enough, I still have that hope buried deep inside me that there’ll be a Happily Ever After down the road, not just for me, but everyone I care about. It’d be nice if the world would cooperate so everyone could have a Happily Ever After, but it doesn’t seem to be going in that direction. I’m not surprised, of course.

You can see how these two opposite ends of the pole can be conflicting: My hope for the happy ending against my certainty it won’t happen. I’m sure I’d be a therapist’s nightmare.

So I carted my contradictory viewpoints right over to Rayna Blue at the Inn. She may not be a therapist, but she seems wise beyond her years. Besides, I’ve known her since we were both in grade school. She taught me how to finger paint. Yes, there’s an art to it.

“How well do you know Melody Doyle?” I asked when we were sitting out in her garden with her three dogs, five cats, and baskets full of flowering crocus, tulips, and daffodils. It was a nice day again, so I expected one of our seasonal storms to rip through anytime. Just to remind us Mother Nature has the upper hand.

“Well, she’s so much younger,” Rayna said, frowning a little. “I was more friends with her mother, Maybelle. Melody had a hard time growing up with her grandmother. Mrs. Overton was always filled with bitterness anyway, and after Maybelle died, she didn’t get better.”

“Why was Mrs. Overton so bitter? A man?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Rayna laughed. “I think she and her husband got along well enough. He died when Maybelle was fairly young, but I never heard of any trouble between them. My mama always told me that the Richmonds never got over losing everything after The War.”

Of course, I didn’t have to ask which war she meant. Most Southerners only refer to one war as
The War
.

“Richmond? Mrs. Overton was a Richmond?” I asked. Rayna nodded, and I said, “I don’t recall ever hearing that before. But of course, Mama never used to gossip. Until lately.”

We both turned when we heard a voice at the garden gate, and Rayna waved to Georgie Marshall, then got up to go unlock the gate for her and invite her to sit with us.

Rather shyly, Georgie said, “Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Lord no,” Rayna said, “we’re talking ancient history. You know, about the Richmonds, the Sanders, and the war.”

“Oh yes,” Georgie said, “I just read about that recently. The Richmonds and Sanders, I mean. I found some old records. I’ve always wondered what started that feud.”

“Once, the Richmonds owned a sawmill, lumberyard, that sort of thing, but they lost it all when Grant came through,” Rayna said. “Yankees burned everything except their house.”

It suddenly hit me about the time Rayna said, “You know, The Cedars,” that I’d found my connection. My heart beat a little faster.

“Melody Doyle’s family once owned The Cedars? Why don’t I remember hearing that?” I asked.

“Well, it is ancient history, but a matter of record if you look in the ledgers. No one still talks about it too much, since there’s so much bitterness about it. The Richmonds never forgave the Sanders for stealing their home out from under them like they did. Besides, Melody is the last Richmond left, and I don’t imagine she cares about that old feud. Young people today don’t get as upset over things like that, so it’ll die out on its own, I suppose. Especially now that Sanders is dead.”

Georgie said, “Not all young people feel that way. I certainly don’t.”

“Well honey, you’re an exception, and I’m glad of it,” Rayna said. “A lot more historic houses would be saved if there were more people like you.”

Thinking of what Sharita had told me, I said, “I’ve heard the Richmonds were rumored to have the money to pay the taxes, but the Sanders somehow got the tax man to foreclose anyway so they could buy it.”

Rayna nodded. “That could be true.”

“But how could the Richmonds have the money if they’d lost everything? Their business was destroyed three years before the war ended, wasn’t it?”

“Like a lot of people, they had a Plan B. The Govans buried their family silver under the front sidewalk of the Walter Place, and rumor has it that the Richmonds buried their valuables at The Cedars somewhere.”

“Confederate money would be worthless after the war ended,” Georgie said.

“But gold wouldn’t be. Elijah Richmond was supposed to have buried a fortune in gold somewhere out there, but if he did, no one’s ever found it. That’s probably just rumor, too. If he had buried it, it’d have either been found by now, or the Richmonds wouldn’t have been as poor as sharecroppers the past hundred and forty years.”

My brain started spinning and spewing out random thoughts like some gumball machine gone mad. Maybe the Richmonds had been poor for a hundred and forty years, but the Sanders seemed to have done well enough. Sherman Sanders had no visible means of support, yet he managed to keep up the house, buy food, and get along quite well. But how would he get rid of the gold? It’s not like he could just tote a gold bar or coin into town to pay for a loaf of bread. If he did, everyone would know it. And wasn’t there some kind of law prohibiting average citizens from owning gold bars? If he started trading in bullion, the Feds would be down on him like a ton of bricks.

Startled back to our conversation by Rayna snapping her fingers and saying “Helllooo,” I shrugged and laughed.

“Sorry. Sometimes I have these trances. Usually harmless.”

“I know what you mean,” Georgie said, and stood up. “Here I am, when I only meant to stay a minute or two. I’m supposed to meet Aunt Gaynelle over at Phillips. I’ll see you two soon, maybe on the next Diva day.” She waved good-bye and left out the garden gate again, but I lingered.

Rayna and I chatted a little while longer, but I’m afraid my mind wasn’t really on our conversation. I had too many questions battering my beleaguered brain. And I just knew Melody Doyle was in this up to her pretty little neck.

For once, I decided to do the sane thing and tell Jackson Lee instead of Bitty what I’d found out. It may be just a wild idea anyway. After all, despite everything, Melody really didn’t seem like the type of person who’d kill two people. But I’m sure Ted Bundy never seemed like a serial killer to all his victims until it was too late, either. That thought gave me the shivers. Then I thought about Bitty “belle-ing” information about Jefferson Johnston out of Ted Alston, and I got a cold chill. Surely, she wouldn’t act on anything she found out?

From the Inn, I went straight over to Bitty’s house, only a block and a half away. Her car wasn’t there, but Brandon and Clayton were entertaining friends.

“Where’s your mama?” I asked Brandon, and he looked a little surprised.

“I thought she was with you.”

“No.” I turned to his brother. “Clayton, did she tell you where she was going?”

“Yes, ma’am. She had to go to the bank. She’ll be right back.”

I nodded, and went right to the phone to call Bitty’s cell phone. As much as I dislike the thought of distracting her while she’s driving, I felt it important.

Bitty answered on the second ring, and I gave a sigh of relief. “Where are you, Bitty?”

“On Highway 4. I’m on the way to pick up Chen Ling from her spa treatment. Brandon took her out there early, so she’s already done for the day. Pugs dry quickly.”

“Did you already go to the bank?”

“I sure did,” Bitty said, “and wait until you hear what all I found out. Ted is just the sweetest thing, but he’s getting a little careless now that he’s seventy. Or is it seventy-one? I can’t ever remember. He’s right around the age my mama would be, I think.”

“Listen, Bitty, I’ve got to go back to see Jackson Lee, and I want you to meet me there. Don’t go anywhere else first, okay? It’s important.”

I didn’t want to scare her or get her all stirred up, because an indignant Bitty can be a dangerous Bitty. More to herself than anyone else most of the time, but there was no point in taking that chance.

“Well, I have to get Chen Ling first, you know.”

“Yes, of course, but then go straight to Jackson Lee’s office, okay?”

“Ooh, this sounds good. I can’t wait. I think Jackson Lee is going to be quite happy with what I have to tell him.”

“That sounds promising. You have proof Jefferson’s a fraud?”

“Oh no, this is too good to tell over the phone. I’ll see you in about thirty minutes.”

Bitty can be very annoying.

Jackson Lee was out when I got to his office, but his secretary said he was due back shortly. “I can get you a Coke or coffee while you wait,” Diane said, and I shook my head.

“Any more caffeine and I’m liable to start vibrating at high speed. It’s not a pretty sight.”

Diane laughed and showed me into Jackson Lee’s office to wait for him. It’s definitely a masculine office, but without the prerequisite deer head or big mouth bass hanging on the wall. It seems to me that most men consider proper wall decoration to include at least one dead animal. A rite of passage, or declaration of manhood, or just a “Look what I killed” statement. Instead, Jackson Lee has photos of his sons, his late wife, and an older couple I presume to be his parents. Diplomas hang on the hunter-green colored upper walls, a dark stained chair rail defines the line from the lower burgundy-colored walls, and big comfortable chairs make a half-circle in front of his big mahogany desk. His chair is burgundy leather, built-in shelves with cabinets line the wall behind him, and smoky glass deflects dust from a few keepsakes that look like the stuff kids do in elementary school. Misshapen bowls, a ceramic cup with
World’s Best Dad
obviously painted by a child and fired in a kiln, and a collection of wood objects that defy description were lit up by one of those hidden lights found in many cabinets. Any man who proudly displays such ugly things in his office has to be an excellent father. My original estimation of Jackson Lee’s fine character was only confirmed.

Jackson Lee showed up about fifteen minutes later. He’d obviously changed boots but not his clothes. Mud and something I had no intention of examining too closely stained his Levi’s. It overpowered the air freshener, but recently I’ve learned to breathe through my mouth fairly well.