Micanopy in Shadow (29 page)

Another lead, possibly. But a forlorn hope.

That night Brandy crawled into bed with John and tried to cuddle close to his rigid back. She still had to atone for her gaffe that afternoon, but he could not object to a daytime trip to the drug store. Not only would the clerk be there, but pedestrians would be outside on the sidewalk.

After he fell asleep, she laid her arm over his chest, felt his warmth and listened to his soft breathing. But even as she fell asleep herself, she remembered her final remarks to Irons. She had one more question to ask. Tomorrow she would ask Grant to find the answer.

* * *

In the morning Hope rose late, pulled on a pair of jeans and a bulky sweatshirt, and flexed her crooked fingers. Arthritis, of course. She looked out at the lowering sky. “Dreary day,” she said to the cat, still lounging on the foot of her bed. Patches yawned. Hope turned toward the mirror. Her frame looked as gaunt as ever, but perhaps she had regained a few pounds since the knee replacement. Cosmetics never interested her much, but if she were leaving the house, she would dab on a bit of powder and sheer lip rouge.

She had not heard from Brandy at all yesterday. Was her granddaughter still running around, making trouble for herself? When Hope stepped out on the porch for the paper, she checked the large metal mailbox she had installed for packages. Her prescriptions should be delivered today. Patches followed, poked her nose into the chill air, and withdrew. Hope knew the cat would patter after her into the kitchen for her first quarter cup of dry food, spiced with a half teaspoon of canned. As soon as her mistress left the house, she would stretch her plump, black-and-white body across the front window seat and watch the cars pass by.

This morning Hope planned to drive to the Stark Drug Store to stock a supply of Ibuprofen. It eased the pain in her hands. Caleb also carried sunflower chips and safflower for Hope’s tufted titmouse and birdseed for the others.

She put on coffee, toasted half an English muffin, and scrambled an egg with a dash of Parmesan cheese. She had another pressing matter on her mind besides her granddaughter’s well being. She would kill two birds with one stone and stop in
Trinkets and Treasures
to face Snug again. She should not depend on Brandy for everything. Her granddaughter had a little boy and a husband to look after.

Breakfast dishes done, Hope pulled on a windbreaker. She rather liked driving alone—no one to caution her to slow down. She rocketed the old pickup out of the driveway, rattled down the street, and swerved around the corner into Cholakka Boulevard. It annoyed her to see that her antique shop was the last to open. Early shoppers went next door.

The drug store’s front window held a sign: CLOSING EARLY TODAY. SHOP BEFORE NOON. Caleb shuffled in before Hope, carrying his morning paper. Once inside, she breathed in the familiar smell of dusty wood and the fainter scent of pharmaceuticals. Caleb’s elderly sister was tidying up around the old-fashioned cash register. They seemed to fit the same era. But Hope wanted to catch Caleb before he settled into his chair.

“Mr. Stark,” she called loudly. He was hard of hearing. He wouldn’t wear hearing aids. Might make him look old, he said. “I’ve come for my birdseed and feeder treats.” She strode even with him in the aisle. “Maybe you’ll hand them down while I look for my arthritis pills.”

Caleb wrenched around his bent body and peered up at her. “Some thanks I get for stocking your special bird stuff. Your granddaughter was here, practically called my papa a killer, and I don’t know what all.” His tone rose. “It’s enough to make a man puke.” He hobbled toward his favorite chair. “Find your own damned birdseed.”

Hope choked back a tart response. Brandy had wounded the Stark pride. She followed him. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. My granddaughter was only trying to help me. I’m afraid she went too far.”

He lowered himself into the chair and laid the paper on the little table next to it. “Sorry don’t cut it with me. She was worrying my sister-in-law with a lot of fool questions, too. I hear she’s been snooping around the Wilson place, trying to find something on old Savage Wilson’s daddy. She wants to make us look like a bunch of country bumpkins, like that other magazine writer did.” His voice dropped. “Folks here stick together. Well, her husband’s about finished with Montgomery Irons’ family home. They’ll both be gone soon enough.” He slapped the table with the flat of his hand. “You ain’t going to be gone, though, old lady. And I reckon you’re the cause of all the aggravation.”

Caleb’s grandson stepped out from behind his window, looked down, and set a cup of steaming coffee on the small table beside him. Caleb picked it up carefully, took a sip, and barked at Hope. “Now get your stuff and get out of my store!”

Hope marched to the shelf, picked up a large bottle of Ibuprofen, rummaged through pet supplies for the bird food, and paid Caleb’s sister without another word. It was miles to another drug store, but she vowed she would never return to this one. Problem was, she had to live in this town. She did not want Brandy hurt again, but she could not help wishing Brandy could settle her great-grandmother’s death once and for all—or quit looking. Then the townspeople might quiet down.

Outside, the smell of rain lingered. Hope tugged her windbreaker tighter. She was still concerned about Brandy when she passed under the sidewalk overhang and reached her antique store.

Snug had finally propped an “
Open
” sign in the window. She brushed through the door and past a crowded display of marigold Carnival glasses. He stood, hands in his pockets, talking to a portly woman in a seersucker pants suit with hair lacquered in tight waves. She was gesturing with one hand at a copper teakettle with a wooden handle. Her mouth turned down and she wore a puzzled expression. Hope knew the piece dated no earlier than 1880. Snug wouldn’t have a clue that it was not older and might over-price it. One afternoon she caught him using glossy polish on a rosewood cabinet, and he had never applied the high tech window film needed to protect their glassware from Florida’s brutal glare. The oak roll top desk and walnut four-drawer chest of drawers she had purchased before she retired still gathered dust.

A familiar-looking gentleman waited in the rear, idly examining a desk and wicker chair. She had seen him in the store before. He was inconspicuous, of medium height, and dressed in light tan slacks, knit sports shirt, and leather jacket—but, still, a definite presence. Was he a scavenger from another antique stores, trolling for bargains? Or a genuine customer?

Hope approached him. “Can I help you? I’m the co-owner,” she said and smiled.

He gave her an appraising look. “Is that the case? You share in the business?”

His tone was not hostile, yet Hope felt faint alarm. “I retired some time ago, but I could help you find what you want.”

He shrugged. “Nothing special just now.” Hope noted his enigmatic half smile. “I believe your partner can see you now,” he said. The woman in seersucker was leaving the store. She didn’t carry the kettle or anything else.

Hope’s grandnephew had begun sprouting a wispy goatee. It only increased his feral appearance. He slouched against a counter of vintage clothing, derision flickering in his eyes. She drew herself up. He thought she was senile, too old to matter.

“Time’s up, my man,” she said. “We’ve almost reached the deadline for getting our best price for the store.”

“And?”

She stood half a head taller. Her schoolteacher glare had wilted many a boisterous little boy. “I’m calling an attorney.”

“Where’s your sidekick? She knows those guys can’t do a thing about our agreement. It’s ironclad, so bug off. We’re doing fine.”

Hope gripped her shoulder strap bag. “Fine my foot! You haven’t sold doodley-squat since I retired. I don’t need to involve Brandy. Something fishy is going on here. I already warned you once. I’m calling the law.”

She strode back down the aisle and left him with jaw hanging. Before the door banged shut behind her, she noticed the gentleman in the leather jacket still dawdled in the store, listening.

Hope drove to the grocery store on the outskirts of Gainesville, too annoyed with both Caleb and Snug to go directly home. She jerked the little truck almost to a halt at each corner and traffic light, then spurted to the next. She hoped she hadn’t overstepped herself with Snug. Brandy might not want to threaten him with the law. She might prefer to tread lightly and not alert him to their plans. Well, too late. She had enjoyed seeing the panicky expression on that weasel face.

She had lunch in a tiny sandwich place in a Gainesville strip mall next to the fruit and vegetable market. Brandy had insisted she carry a cell phone for emergencies, or in case the pickup truck broke down. She pulled it out of her purse, finally remembered which button to push, reached Brandy, and launched into an account of her confrontations with the two men.

Brandy was quiet for a few seconds. “You still there?” Hope asked anxiously.

“Not to worry. As Lady MacBeth said, ‘What’s done is done and cannot be undone.’ I’ll contact the Sheriff’s Office today, before Snug can adjust his operation. The man you’ve seen there a time or two may be in league with Snug. Could be a fence or a supplier.” Brandy paused for a second. “I’ll try to reach someone in Criminal Investigations. I’ve got to go to the store later today for pull-ups and toddler food, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hope tucked the cell phone back into a pouch in her purse, subdued. She had handled Snug less adroitly than her more careful granddaughter would. But Brandy could sometimes be reckless, too. Hope would feel better if she put the whole problem out of her mind and shopped for some new material for a blouse she wanted to make, maybe look for a new pair of jeans, too.

It was almost 5:00 P.M. when she parked again in her own driveway, time to feed the tufted titmouse and the pair of cardinals she had spotted at the feeder. On the porch she stopped to check her mailbox again. Her box of prescriptions was there, but so was something else. The square prescription carton was crammed tightly against another narrower, new one. It took a few seconds to wrench both boxes free. She opened the door and set the longer box on the window seat, displacing the cat, who gave a plaintive mew and jumped down, ears flattened. Hope stared at the unfamiliar box. It was not much longer and wider than a legal envelope, but made of sturdy wood and locked with a heavy padlock. She could make out dim block letters on the top: TO HOPE.

A collection of inspirational writings touting a hopeful attitude? The idea annoyed her. But then she began to wonder if this box was personal, actually directed to her. Material that Brandy, with her investigative experience, should see with her. She examined the padlock. John would surely have a bolt cutter, or access to one. Whoever deposited the box while she was out did not leave a key. Hope’s spirits rose. She carried it through the kitchen and set it on a table by the back door, then gathered up the sunflower seeds and saffron. She’would call Brandy as soon as she had set out the bird seed. Patches padded after her onto the screened porch and sat down, tail quivering, ears pricked at the sight of birds forever lost to her.

Hope opened the back door and felt a sprinkle of rain. It had threatened all day. Now black clouds were sliding across the few patches of blue. Hope gathered up the titmouse’s favorite food. From the north came the distant rumble of thunder, and for an instant sheet lightning flared over Paynes Prairie. When she stepped into the back yard, she heard the tiny gray-blue titmouse call from a longleaf pine, “Peter! Peter! Cheeva, cheeva, cheeva!”

It flew down, lit on the feeder, cocked its perky crest, and pecked sunflower seeds from Hope’s open palm. Overhead oak leaves swished in a gust of wind. Hope was thinking of what she would tell Brandy.

She who believed in mediums had no premonition.

She never heard the gate swing wide. She never heard the soft footfalls on the grass behind her, or the sudden intake of breath. She felt only instant, suffocating pain. She never heard her screen door open and close, or the faint clink of the metal tags on Patches’ collar as the cat raced back to the front window.

She never heard the roar of a car start up and speed away.

NINETEEN
 

W
hile Hope was confronting Stark and Snug in their stores, Brandy reached Grant on his cell. He was working at Payne’s Prairie and sounded weary. “Been trimming a trail and chopping out exotics,” he said. “Chinese tallow again and the Ardesia shrub. What do you need?” Poor Grant.

“One more question. When you checked Zeke Wilson’s files, did you see any mention of Sylvester Haven?”

He paused. “Don’t remember seeing his name, but I wasn’t looking.” Brandy knew she should have anticipated the question earlier. “Tell you what,” he added. “Aunt Liz shops every week this afternoon. I can swing by Granddad’s house while she’s out and check. Call you back this afternoon after 3:00.”

“I’ll be home, maybe late afternoon. I’ve got an earlier errand.” She called Kyra and made sure she was available.

Brandy spent the morning cleaning the refrigerator, baking a meat loaf for the freezer, and tidying up—vacuuming, mopping the kitchen, and clearing off the table and desk. While she organized her unruly stacks of papers and e-mails into folders and filed them, Brad trotted along behind her, pulling a clanking toy duck on rollers. He dropped the cord when she began dusting, and whimpered until she gave him his own cloth and let him begin clumsily wiping the coffee table top and chair rungs.