Hark! The Herald Angel Screamed: An Augusta Goodnight Mystery (with Heavenly Recipes) (20 page)

“Oh, dear,” Augusta moaned when we turned onto Interstate 85 at Spartanburg, South Carolina. It was as close to complaining as she would allow herself and I knew she preferred to observe the scenery from the smaller side roads but today we needed to reach our destination as quickly as possible.

“They have good barbecue in Georgia,” I told her. “We’ll stop somewhere for lunch.”

Augusta perked up considerably. “And Brunswick stew?”

Barbecue and Brunswick stew are two of Augusta’s favorite things. “Of course,” I assured her. “Where do you think Brunswick stew got its start?”

But it took longer than I had remembered to reach the state line and by the time we crossed Lake Hartwell into Georgia it was after one o’clock and my stomach was growling. “If you can wait until we turn off at Commerce,” I told Augusta, “there used to be a good place to eat between there and Athens.”

She looked up briefly from her needlework. “I’m not the one with the noisy stomach,” she said.

Less than an hour later I turned onto Highway 441 and hurriedly purchased our late lunch to go at a place called Pig in a Poke, eating my barbecue sandwich as I drove. The two of us rode in companionable silence as we passed the little towns of Madison and Eatonton before branching out onto the two-lane road that would eventually take us to Soso. On either side of the road, winter-bare trees stretched dark limbs against a gray sky, and now and again a strong wind swept dry brown leaves across the road in front of us. In the pasture on our left, white-faced cattle huddled together, looking up to stare as we passed by. I glanced at my
watch to find it was three-fourteen. Soon we would lose daylight and a storm was coming up.

“Here! Turn left!” Augusta suddenly directed, pointing to a sign a few miles down the road. “Soso must be over this way.”

“Don’t blink,” I said a few minutes later as we came into a smattering of stores and houses scattered along both sides of the road.

“Why not?” Augusta asked.

I laughed. “It’s just an expression. It means the place is so small, if you blink you might miss it.”

Augusta didn’t answer. Her attention seemed to be fixed on something on the opposite side of the street and she turned to look back as we drove past.

“What is it? Did you see any sign of the lumberyard?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s just that for a minute I thought—”

“Thought what?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Augusta waved her elegant hand. “Now what are we supposed to be looking for?”

“We need to find the lumberyard. Sandy said Preacher Dave had a recommendation from a man named Martin Shackelford of Shackelfords’ Lumber.”

“Perhaps we should ask—” Augusta suggested.

“No need. Can’t you smell it?” The pungent scent of raw pine and sawdust grew stronger as we came to the end of the third block. “There it is, just down the road on the right.”

“It appears to be closed,” Augusta said as we drew up in front of a head-high chain-link fence. “The gate’s locked.”

I parked and got out of the car to see if I could find a sign of life, but the only living being I aroused was a mutt about half as big and ten times more ferocious-sounding than Clementine, which came bounding out, teeth barred. This dog was not in a good mood. I backed quickly away.

“Come now, we’re not here to harm you … that’s a good fellow.” Augusta spoke calmly from somewhere behind me and the dog grew quiet and sat, tail thumping. He seemed to be smiling.

“Well, I’ll be doggone! I ain’t seen nothin’ like that since Christ was a corporal!”

I turned to find a middle-aged man in sweat-stained overalls and a John Deere cap approaching from across the street. He snatched off the cap as he drew nearer. “Old Skeeter here must’ve taken a likin’ to you, ma’am. He acts like he’s gonna eat most folks fer supper.”

I smiled and introduced myself. He couldn’t see Augusta, of course. “I was hoping to speak with a Mr. Shackelford. Martin Shackelford. Do you know where I might find him?”

He scratched his head before replacing the cap. “I reckon he’s done gone on over to the church. Tonight’s the Christmas covered dish and Martin always helps them set up fer it. We’ve done closed for the day, but if there’s anything I can help you with, ma’am, name’s Buster—Buster Shackelford. I’m Martin’s cousin.”

We shook hands. “Our church has hired a sexton who, I understand, used to work here, and I just wanted to get some information about his background,” I said. “Maybe you knew him—Dave Tansey?”

He frowned. “Don’t know as I did, but I haven’t been back long. Just retired from the army last summer, and it sure is good to be home!” He grabbed his hat as the wind picked up. “It’s a-fixin’ to come up a pretty bad storm, and we need to get out of this weather. Why don’t you come on over to Aunt Eula’s where we can talk without gettin’ wet?” He pointed to the house across the street.

What was I going to do? I hated to turn around and go home after having come this far. “Is there any place I can stay tonight?”
I asked. “Maybe I can come back and speak with your cousin tomorrow.”

“Lord, don’t you worry none about that! I’ll bet you could use a good hot cup of coffee about now and Aunt Eula always keeps a pot on. She just took her lemonade cake out of the oven, too, and I reckon she might even spare us a piece.” And with that Buster Shackelford turned and started back across the street, expecting me to follow. As I stood there wondering what to do, a large woman in a big pink apron waved to me from the porch and motioned for me to come on over, so I did. Augusta, I noticed, followed at a distance.

As soon as I introduced myself and began explaining the purpose of my visit, Aunt Eula whisked me into the kitchen, sat me at the table, and served me coffee in a mug with gingerbread men painted on it. “My grandson did that in kindergarten,” she said proudly. “Harry’s almost seven now.”

I told her I had one the same age and we became instant friends. The coffee was almost as good as Augusta’s and not only was the cake warm, moist, and tangy, but the slice she gave me could have fed the entire state of Georgia. Augusta, I noticed, lingered in the doorway with a pitiful look of yearning, and I knew she was practically tasting that cake and coffee, but there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. When Aunt Eula wasn’t looking I broke off a good-sized chunk of cake, wrapped it in a paper napkin, and stuck it in my purse.

Buster finished his cake in double time, washed it down with coffee, and helped himself to another cup. “Bet you never tasted cake as good as this,” he said, and I took one look at Augusta and said it was even better than my mother made. I’ll bet my mother hasn’t made a cake from scratch in thirty years, and even then they weren’t anything to brag about.

“I hate to intrude on your family at a busy time like this,” I said to my hostess, “but I was trying to get some information on a man
who was hired to fill in temporarily with maintenance at our church. His name is David Tansey but everybody calls him Preacher Dave.”

“Oh, sure, I knew Preacher Dave, but they lived out a good ways and we didn’t see a whole lot of him in town—at least I didn’t, but I think he was a good, hard worker over at the lumberyard. I never heard anything against him. It was sad, though, about their daughter. Dinah was a friend of Carolyn, our youngest, and such a pretty girl.”

The chair creaked as Aunt Eula plopped down beside me. “Lord, it’s good to take a load off! Been on my feet all day.” She fanned herself with the bright apron. “Made two chicken pies, two pecan pies, that lemonade cake, and a couple of loaves of dilly bread, and honey, I’m about done in!”

I told her I could certainly understand why. “Your daughter Carolyn,” I said, “does she live nearby?”

“Oh, honey, I wish she did! Carolyn and her husband moved to Florida last year, but they’ll be here for Christmas. They have the sweetest little girl now—just learning to walk, and we just can’t wait to see her!”

I said I didn’t blame them, thanked her for the refreshments, and rose to go. I wanted to ask her more about the Tanseys’ daughter, but I could see this wasn’t the time. “I really must go, but do you think it will be all right with your cousin Martin if I come back and talk with him in the morning?” I asked Buster.

“Go? Go where?” Aunt Eula clamped a big red hand on my arm. “You gotta eat somewhere, honey, and you’re not going to find anything half as good in one of those fancy restaurants in Milledgeville or Macon as what we’ll be serving up tonight. And then, you’ll
have
to stay for the pageant afterward. Our Harry’s one of the wise men.”

Now, how could I refuse an offer like that? I glanced at Augusta, who waved a few fingers and disappeared.

It was beginning to rain when I went across the street and moved my car into the Shackelfords’ backyard. Augusta joined me there and I gave her the cake I’d saved for her.

“So you’re going?” she said, pinching off a crumb to taste.

“To the church supper?” I shrugged. “I don’t think I have a choice, and then there’s the pageant afterward. We’ll have to find some place to stay tonight.”

Swaddled in her endless emerald green cape, Augusta leapt from the car and lifted her face to the rain. She did a quick pirouette, skirt whirling. “I do love Christmas pageants!” she said.

“Maybe I’ll have a chance to talk with Martin Shackelford or someone else who knew the Tanseys,” I said.

I rode to the church with Aunt Eula and her husband, Ed, along with Buster, his niece Mae Edna, and two of the Shackelford cousins Annie Lou and Fannie Sue. Annie Lou, who wore her graying brown hair in a bun on top of her head, was freckled and tall and so skinny you’d have trouble seeing her if she turned sideways. Her cousin Fannie Sue was as round as a beach ball with a rollicking laugh and a head full of short red curls. All had the surname Shackelford, and all, including me, balanced a cake, pie, or casserole on their laps. The car smelled so good I think I gained weight on the ride over alone.

Martin Shackelford was up to his elbows in flour when we stepped inside the fellowship hall of the Light and Life Baptist Church a while later. “Be sure and try his biscuits,” Buster advised. “But you better get in line because they go fast. Makes them with whipping cream.”

Earlier I had phoned Roger to let him know I wouldn’t be home until the next day and asked him to please take care of Clementine. Of course, he wanted to know what I was doing in Soso, Georgia, so I told him I was there for a little last-minute Christmas shopping at the outlet in Commerce. Now, to stay honest, I would have to stop and buy something on the way home.

Aunt Eula introduced me to so many cousins, nephews, nieces, and siblings I lost track after the first three or four. Everyone had brought something to eat and the women scurried about placing the food on long tables and setting out dinnerware while the men set up tables and chairs for the meal. I was glad when one of the women (I think it was Mae Edna) accepted my offer of help and allowed me to place red candles and freshly cut evergreens on every table. A cedar Christmas tree surrounded by wrapped gifts stood in the corner of the room. The gifts, I was told, were for the children and would be given out later.

I sat during the meal with Aunt Eula and Ed, Ed’s sister Ruby, Buster, and Mae Edna, and although we take pride in our fare in Stone’s Throw, I’ll have to admit, these people had us beat. They had chicken cooked every way imaginable, plus casseroles, bread, cakes, pies, and pickles of just about every kind.

During dessert, I managed to ask Mae Edna, who sat on my right, if she knew anything about Dave Tansey.

“Not much,” she said, after finishing a generous wedge of apple pie. “They didn’t belong to our church, but their son … Joshua, isn’t it?”

“Jeremiah,” I said.

“Well, he was a couple of years ahead of me in school, and it seems like he stayed in trouble most of the time.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Oh, just different things … smoking pot … cutting class … stuff like that.”

“What about Dinah, his sister?” I said. “She must’ve died awfully young. What happened?”

“From what I heard, she married the wrong man. Just ran off without a word. It was awfully hard on the Tanseys.”

“But what hap—” Before I could learn anything more, somebody came around to ask if we wanted coffee, and people started moving tables to the side to make room for the pageant to follow.
Somebody turned out the lights except for those in the front of the room illuminating a small makeshift stage. The room grew quiet as the minister began to recite the familiar passage from Luke:
And it came to pass …

The pageant had begun. Everyone had turned their chairs to face the stage and there happened to be an empty one next to me. It didn’t stay empty long. I soon felt the light touch of a hand on my arm and knew Augusta was beside me.

Watching the scene unfolding in front of me I forgot about what had happened to Opal Henshaw the night before; forgot about the elusive Melrose; and forgot about Idonia’s brush with danger. And when we rose at the end to sing “Silent Night,” Augusta sang as well. And this time she almost managed to stay on key.

Afterward, the kitchen was filled with the crinkle of plastic wrap and the crackle of aluminum foil as people hurried to cover what was left in their dishes for the trip back home. I grabbed a sponge and helped Ruby Shackelford wipe off the tables, then overwhelmed, tried to stay out of the way. But as the bustle died down, I grabbed the chance to jump in to renew my conversation with Mae Edna.