Maya Mound Mayhem (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 3) (3 page)

Chapter Six

 “Well look what
the cat drug in,” Miss Vivee said as I walked through the double oak doors of
the Maypop.

She was sitting on
her tufted, beige bench that sat in the corner of the foyer. Her usual place.

“I missed you too,
Miss Vivee,” I said and plopped down next to her. I looked around and sighed.
“Didn’t think I’d be back here so soon.”

“Death seems to
follow you wherever you go, doesn’t it?” she said with a smirk on her face.

I closed my eyes
and took in a breath.

“I don’t know what
you mean,” I said.

“I heard about
what happened up there in Gainesville.”

Bay. He tells his
grandmother everything.

“Death doesn’t
follow me around,” I said. “But I’m beginning to think that bad luck does.”

She waved her hand
down the front of her. “I’m all dressed up with no place to go,” she said. “I
was waiting for you to come so you could take me over to Viola Rose’s.”

I looked at her.
She looked the same as she always did. Her long gray hair with a few strands
still black was braided and hung over her shoulder. She had on a powder blue
dress and one of her thin coats with a rounded color that was almost the same
color blue. Her purse sat on her lap. She’d swiped her face powder across her
wrinkles and had on a coral colored lipstick. The only thing missing was Cat,
her Scottish wheaten terrier.

“Where’s Cat?” I
asked.

“At the vet’s.
Renmar took her. Figured you and I could go and pick her up.”

“And why can’t
Renmar just pick her up, Miss Vivee?” I said with more of a whine than I’d ever
care to admit. “I just want to fall into my bed and cover up my head.”

“I wanted go to
the Jellybean Café. Get an early supper,” Miss Vivee said and put her hand on
my knee. “I’ll treat you to one of those bacon cheeseburgers you like so much.
I’ve called Viola Rose and told her we were coming.”

I looked at Miss
Vivee. She already had the rest of my day planned for me and I had only just
walked in the door. She was trying to be nice I know. And going over to the
Jellybean Café wasn’t so bad. It was bright and cheery. I always thought of it
as the Technicolor part of the
Wizard of Oz
. Yellow, purple, red and
green striped booths. Shiny white floors and aluminum stools. Viola Rose was
always sparkly, she reminded me of Glenda and her munchkin husband, short
stocky Gus with the permanent scowl on his face did make phenomenal burgers.

I shook my head. There
was no getting out of this and I knew it.

So much for
locking myself up in my room and wallowing in self-pity for the rest of the
day.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s
go. We can get you some of that ‘horrid’ egg salad you love to hate.”

“I was thinking
today I’d have tuna.” She stood up and looped her hand over my arm. “And I was
thinking on the way we could pick up Mac.”

Chapter
Seven

“We’ve got a new
murder, Mac,” Miss Vivee said with a nod of her head. “We’ve got to put our
heads together and get it solved.”

My head jerked
around at her comment. It was the first thing she’d said since we left the
house. I had called Mac, Miss Vivee’s one time man and current suitor, and told
him we were coming to pick him up. Miss Vivee had said “hello” to him with a
silent nod. The same way she acknowledged Viola Rose when we entered the diner.
Now that we were seated, her eyes lit up and she had become excited. I was sure
I almost saw her salivating.

 “What?” I said.

Not another one.

“Do tell,” Mac
said. “Tell me about it. I hadn’t heard of anyone else dying off.” He was as
old as Miss Vivee and had just as many wrinkles. Short with a limp caused by
Miss Vivee and her automobile twenty years earlier. He had gray hair that
sprouted from his head like a porcupine that he was constantly trying to smooth
down.

“It was up in
Gainesville,” Miss Vivee answered. “At Logan’s work area.”

“Oh no, Miss Vivee.”
I realized the murder she was talking about. “You can’t solve that murder.”

“After all I’ve
showed you, you have that little faith in me to think I can’t solve a murder?”

“It’s not that I
don’t have faith in you-”

“Y’all here to
eat, or did you just come for one of your murder solving sessions?” Viola Rose
interrupted before I could finish my sentence. She pulled a pen out of the top
of her bouffant strawberry nest of hair, her dozens of bangles clanking as she
retrieved it, and an order pad from her pocket. She clicked the top of the pen
and looked around the table.

I raised an
eyebrow.

It
was
where we met to talk about all things murder. Miss Vivee seemed to like to
discuss her insights – which she was full of – at the Jellybean Cafe. By full
of them, I also meant she was good at it. She had just looked at Gemma Burke
and Oliver and knew instantly what they’d died from. But who knew Viola Rose
had an inkling that her diner was where Miss Vivee came to put her clues
together. Maybe she really was the Good Witch, Glenda and could see what we
were up to by gazing into her crystal ball.

“For cryin’ out
loud. Didn’t you think I knew what ya’ll were doing when you come in here?” She
waved her hand in the air, her arm of shiny bangles kicking up a ruckus. “Somebody
dies. You three meet. Case solved. Murder used to be rare as hen’s teeth around
here, but after Logan blew into town, and you and Mac reconciled, it’s all that
seems to happen anymore.”

“I don’t know what
you mean, Viola Rose,” Miss Vivee said and folded her hands in front of her on
the table. “It’s just easier to eat here sometimes than at the Maypop. Can’t
always stomach Renmar’s food. Although your husband, Gus’ food isn’t that much
better.”

“I declare, Miss
Vivee I weren’t just born yesterday. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say ya’ll
had something to do with the murders. Only ways I know you can solve them so
easy.”

“It’s not easy,
Viola Rose.” Miss Vivee waved her hand in the air. “But I must say, you may
have hit the nail on the head with that estimation,” Miss Vivee said. “Looks
like Logan may have committed murder while she was up in Gainesville.”

Ohmigosh!

“Miss Vivee!” I
said. “Why would you say that?” I looked over at Viola Rose. “It isn’t true. I
haven’t murdered anyone.”

“Don’t worry,
dear,” Miss Vivee said. “I’m going to help you. Just like I did Renmar.” She
nodded her head. “Same rules apply for you as they did when my own daughter was
a murder suspect. We’ll find out who did it, and if it was you, we’ll help you
get out of town and hide. Right, Mac?”

“You can count on
us, Logan. We’ve got your back.”

“Lord have mercy,”
Viola Rose said. “That’s all you need is these two old goats, Sweetie Pie.
They’re better than your FBI boyfriend, I’d say. With these two, getting you
outta a murder wrap should be as easy as sliding off a greasy log backwards.”

“I’d thank you to
be careful about what you say about my grandson, Viola Rose. Best just bring us
all some iced tea before something gets said we can’t take back.”

“What you say?”
Viola Rose put her hands on her hips and looked at Miss Vivee “I love that boy
like he was my own. You know it. Only saying that the three of you make a good murder
solving team, is all.”

“And,” Mac offered
to Viola Rose, “Vivee is a lady. Not a goat.”

“I wish I could
say the same thing about you, Mac,” Miss Vivee said. “But ‘goat’ fits you to a
T.”

Viola Rose clicked
her pen again and turned on her heels.

 “What do you
think?” I turned and looked directly at Miss Vivee after Viola Rose left. “You’re
just this little crime solving machine?” I asked her. “You’ve got Viola Rose
fooled, and you may have solved a murder-”

“Two,” she
corrected. “I’ve solved two murders.”

“Yeah, well. There
are people who solve crimes as their actual job. They may let you do things
here in little bitty ole’ Yasamee. But Gainesville is a big town. A city. No
solving murders there.” I leaned back on the bench and crossed my arms across
my chest.

“Phooey. I can do
it. And it would seem that you’d want me to.”

“Why is that?” I
scrunched up my nose and raised my eyebrows. My voice up an octave.

“Because you are a
suspect.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a brand new memo pad. How’d she
gotten it I didn’t know. She always had me go to Hadley’s Drugstore to pick one
up for her when she was set to solve a murder.

I looked at the
notebook and then back at her. “What are you doing, Miss Vivee?” I asked.

“Writing your name
down as a suspect.”

Viola Rose came
back with our drinks, and even though Miss Vivee was bad mouthing me, she
remembered that I never drank iced tea, I always had a coke.

But even her kindness
didn’t take away the hurt I suddenly felt from Miss Vivee’s comments about me. I
felt tears sting my eyes and I blinked hard to keep them from falling. I
couldn’t believe Miss Vivee could think something so bad about me.

Me. A murderer.
Geesh.

But then again,
she had written her own daughter’s name on her suspect list. Renmar had made it
on her list. Twice. Still, I wanted to let her know how I felt.

“Miss Vivee that
really hurts my feelings, you saying something like that about me.”

“You’ll have more than
hurt feelings if they decide you are responsible for that dead body you found.”

“Why in the world
would they think I had something to do with it?”

“Wasn’t it on your
excavation site?” Mac asked.

“Yeah. But that
doesn’t mean anything.”

“How many other people
are allowed in that place?” Miss Vivee asked. “Isn’t that the same place that
they had locked up and you tried to sneak into?”

When you’ve
committed a crime, I’ve learned it’s just better not to admit to anything.

“I don’t know what
you’re talking about,” I said.

“Have you and Bay
consummated your relationship?” she asked like it was a natural line of
questioning in our conversation.

What the hey? Was
she asking me if I’d had sex with Bay?

“You don’t
consummate a dating relationship, Miss Vivee,” I said trying to avoid answering
her question. “Just a marriage.”

“Well, whatever
you want to call it, I’m thinking you should make sure you get the deed done.
Otherwise it might be a long time before you have the opportunity again. I
don’t think they allow conjugal visits in prisons anymore.” She looked at Mac.
“Do you know if they do?” she asked. Apparently genuinely concerned for me.

Chapter
Eight

“Miss Vivee they
haven’t even figured out who those bones belong to,” I said pushing my plate of
burger and fries away from me. “Nor do they know how long he’s been buried
there.” Viola Rose had delivered our supper, but all of Miss Vivee’s talking
had made me lose my appetite.

“He?” she asked.

“Yes. He. It was a
man.”

“Well if you don’t
know who it is, how do you know that it’s a ‘he?’” Miss Vivee asked.

“From the bones,”
I said. “I could tell from the shape of the bones.”

“Oh,” Mac said
smiling. “Like the girl on that television show.”

“The one that’s an
anthropologist?” Miss Vivee asked. “And works for that institute in Washington,
D.C.?”

 “I’m an
anthropologist,” I said. Seems like I was always fighting for my worth. “That’s
how I knew.”

“Yes. That’s the
one,” Mac said still talking to Miss Vivee like I wasn’t there. “It’s called
Bones
.”

 “That girl on
that show is really smart,” Miss Vivee said.

And what about me,
I wanted to say.

I played with my
food, biding my time until Miss Vivee and Mac finished so I could take them
home and do as I first planned. Bury my face, and the rest of me, under the
covers in the bed.

“Why are you
playing with your food?” Miss Vivee asked once again acknowledging my presence.
“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I said.
But I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone with the long face I had.

“You want some
tea,” she asked me. “We can get Viola Rose to bring you over a cup. It won’t do
the job, but it’ll work until I can get you home and brew you up something to
help your mood.”

Oh now she wants
to be nice.

“No I don’t want
any tea,” I said.

“I know what
you’re thinking.” She nodded her head. “You’re worried about what will happen
with that body you found. Don’t worry.” She patted my arm. “Everything will be
okay. Especially after I make you some of my special tea,” she said. “It calms
the nerves. Very soothing.”

She did seem to
know how I was feeling, but what I was
thinking
was that tea wasn’t
going to cut it. And that instead of coming to Yasamee, I should have gone
home. If I was home, my mother would be in the kitchen cooking my favorite meal
and trying to take me shopping to cheer me up. She wouldn’t be accusing me of
murder. That’s for sure.

My mother. I really
did need to talk her. I picked up my phone.

I probably should
have called her first anyway.

As I started to
call her, my phone rang and I noticed the area code. The call was from
Gainesville.

 “Hello,” I said
after answering.

“May I speak to
Logan Dickerson, please?”

“Speaking,” I
said.

“This Detective Charlie
Cecil Davis with the Gainesville police.”

Charlie Cecil. I
wondered was that one name?

“How are you,” I
said.

“Well,” he said
and hesitated like he was debating if he should ask me how I was doing. I was
sure he really didn’t want to know.

“I needed to speak
to you. Get your statement,” he said instead, kind of hesitantly. “Can you come
in to see me?”

“When?”

“You can come in
now. I’m here. Or. I can see you this after I take my dinner break. Say about
six. Six-thirty.”

I looked at the
clock on my phone. Four o’clock. It took almost two and half hours to get to
Gainesville from Yasamee. No way was I going to make it. Plus, I was too tired –
and sad – to drive.

“I can’t make it
in today,” I said. “It’ll take longer than that to get there.”

“Where are you,
Ms. Dickerson?”

“It’s Dr.
Dickerson.” I needed to keep some semblance of respectability after all of Miss
Vivee accusations of me being some low life murderer. “And I’m in Yasamee.”

“Yasamee?”

“Yes. Down near
Augusta.”

“Georgia?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone tell
you that you could leave?”

“Leave?” I asked.

“Gainesville.”

“Uhm. No. But-”

“Then you
shouldn’t have left,” he cut me off before I could finish my explanation.

“I suggest that
you get back here.” He paused. “And as soon as you get here, come in to see
me.”

I got off the
phone and held my head. All of the things going on were just too much. Couldn’t
dig. Was being made to return back to Gainesville. Had to go in for
questioning.

I looked at Miss
Vivee. Yep. I felt just like a criminal.