Over Troubled Water: A Hunter Jones Mystery (5 page)

“How old is Andy now?” Robin asked, remembering him from high school as a big guy who appeared to be pathologically shy, but occasionally got into arm-swinging, cursing tantrums.

“Thirty,” Sunshine said. “Honestly, he’s always been weird, but he’s smart, and I think he must do okay on the job. Mom said she thought he made pretty good money. He’s in civil service, does accounting work. I tried to get him in a conversation about it once, and he just said, ‘It’s okay. They don’t ask me questions all the time like you do.” I pointed out that we hadn’t had a conversation for about twenty years, and he yelled at me to shut up.”

“Do you think he could be dangerous?” Colin asked.

“Physically?” she asked. “No. He just has these temper fits. Yelling and cursing and banging his head on the wall. You know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Colin said gently. “He sounds out of control to me.”

“He’s controlling himself at work, or he wouldn’t have a job,” Robin said, “You need a lawyer.”

At a little after eleven that morning, Aaron Twitchell filled the tank of his truck at the Super Star, using part of the mileage money Sam had gotten Shelley to give him in cash. He had gone home to change into his regular jeans, t-shirt and work boots, and was thankful that Nancy was at her job. He’d tell her, he thought, but not until he saw how it was going.

John Thomas Tyson, better known as J.T., put down his brand new copy of the Magnolia County Messenger, took the cash, and said, “I just read where you were the one who came up on that shootin’ on the creek bridge. That must have been a horrible sight.”

Aaron said, “Worst thing I ever saw.”

J.T. waited for details and got none.

“Who do you think it was?” he finally asked.

“Some crazy lunatic,’ Aaron said. “Whoever it was had an assault rifle. They were pickin’ up bullets all over the bridge.”

“Well, I tell you what I think,” J.T. said. “Nobody deserves to die like that, but somebody ridin’ a bike in the road can sure get on a man’s nerves, and that was four of ’em. You heard about road rage? I was thinking it was somebody who just stopped his car and got out and shot ’em, and then turned around and went the other way. I mean whoever it was couldn’t have gone over the bridge then.”

Aaron just nodded and said, “I heard Russell Carson just about went crazy when he heard his wife got shot.”

A woman whose face was familiar had come in and was standing behind Aaron waiting.

“Yeah,” J.T. said. “Did you see her picture on the front page of the paper? That was one beautiful girl. I never met her before, but he came out here and cleaned up for me after the big flood, and he’s about as good looking as a plucked chicken. How’d a guy who looks like him wind up with her?”

“If you two don’t mind,” the woman said. “I need two packs of Winstons.”

“Yes Ma’am,” J.T. said.

“And by the way,” she added, “Russell Carson’s sister is a friend of mine, and that boy had a hard time growing up with his mother runnin’ off, but he’s grown up to be a good man and a good provider. Works hard, too. Looks aren’t everything, and besides, when he married her, she was fat.”

When Aaron got back in his truck, he tried out the little recorder Shellie had given him. He had caught every word, but he wasn’t at all sure that it mattered.

At the newspaper office, the front page had taken shape on Mallory’s computer screen, and Hunter had rolled her chair over to take one last look before it was sent back to the printer.

“It’s so sad,” she said. “But I’m proud of what we’ve done, especially for the victims.”

The top headline was over a story about the crime itself, with a photo of the flowers people were placing on the bridge. The rest of the page was devoted to the beginnings of stories about the three who had died and the one who was wounded, with quotations from their friends, family members or co-workers. Each had a picture, and Mallory was particularly happy with the beautiful picture of China Carson that her sister had brought in. It had been taken at an Easter Sunday family gathering just a month earlier. Inside the paper, the stories were continued, with a notice to readers that funeral plans would be announced on the newspaper’s website as soon as that information was available.

There was also a brief boxed story about the closing of the Magnolia County Schools, which would continue through Thursday unless parents were notified otherwise.

There was no mention of the letter from Abomination.

“Okay,” Hunter said to Mallory. “Let’s put it to bed and get some lunch. Sam has promised to join us if he can.”

Jeremy Hays, Taneesha’s husband and the junior partner at Roland and Spillers law firm, stood on the porch of the Chapman House on Clearview Circle, waiting for someone to come to the door.

The house, he thought, could use a fresh coat of paint, but it was still impressive, with a yard bursting with azaleas and two large dogwood trees There was a car – an older Volvo – in the driveway. He was quite sure he had seen somebody looking out the side window as he pulled into the driveway.

He rang the doorbell again and knocked. There was no answer.

As he started back down the steps, a white-haired couple came out of the house next door with two poodles on leashes.

“Excuse me,” he said, “Do you know the family that lives here.”

“Of course,” the woman said. “It was just so tragic about Annie, and now Andy just won’t talk to anybody. We went over last night to take some food and offer our sympathy, but he wouldn’t come to the door. He yelled out the door that he had enough food.”

“He’s not even letting his sister come in,” the husband said. “Are you a friend of theirs?”.

“I knew Mrs. Chapman,” Jeremy said. “I’m Jeremy Hays, with the Roland and Spillers law firm, and I was her attorney.”

“Well, my goodness,” the wife said. “You’re not going to get anywhere with Andy.”

“Don’t even bother,” the husband said, “You need to talk with Sunshine. That’s Annie’s daughter. She’s the one with some common sense. I heard she’s staying at Hilliard House.”

Jeremy smiled and thanked them.

Back in his car, he headed toward Hilliard House feeling encouraged. Sunshine was the one he needed to see. Annie Chapman had been his very first client at Roland and Spillers, and he had drawn up her will for her.

Andy Chapman might be barricaded in that grand old house, trying to hold onto it, but Jeremy knew that the son had used up his mother’s good will. The house, along with her considerable financial assets, was bequeathed to her daughter.

She had left the Volvo to her son.

R&J’s Café was run by Taneesha’s uncle and aunt, James and Ramona Martin. It was always crowded at breakfast and lunch.

The attraction wasn’t the ambiance. Remodeled years back from one of the brick stores that faced the courthouse square, it wasn’t much to look at.

The attraction was dependably good food: biscuits, eggs cooked to order, streak-o-lean, sausage patties, cinnamon rolls (on Wednesdays), and at lunchtime, fried chicken, baked chicken, meat loaf, fried or smothered pork chops, fried catfish and hushpuppies (Fridays only), mashed white potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, macaroni and cheese, collard greens or turnip greens, field peas, fried okra or okra with tomatoes, a salad bar heavy on iceberg lettuce, cornbread, biscuits, at least four kinds of pie, and lemon pound cake.

And then there was the whole business of seeing and being seen, building business and political connections, and sharing the latest gossip.

When Hunter had first come to Merchantsville from Atlanta, her editor and publisher, Tyler Bankston, had told her that one of her goals should be to try to get something into the paper every Wednesday that everybody eating lunch that day at R&J’s didn’t already know.

It was Wednesday once more. The paper was on the press, and the carriers would be taking it out soon to newsstands all across the county while others got the papers sorted for bulk mailing. Hunter and Mallory were hoping to have some good food, chat with a few people, and maybe get a sense of how people were reacting to the shootings before they took the afternoon off.

“Hunter Jones, haven’t you had that baby yet? How long is Sam going to make you keep on working?”

It was County Commissioner, J. Burton “Jaybird” Hilliard, a big red-faced man, whose once legendary good looks had been wiped out by alcohol and overeating. Still, the Hilliard name and money went back to Civil War days and counted for a lot in Magnolia County. Jaybird owned and ran Hilliard Realty and had built two subdivisions and a shopping plaza in addition to being an elected official.

Hunter simply said, “Hi, Commissioner,” and he turned his attention to Mallory.

“And, hey there, Miss Mallory Bremmer,” he said, pulling out a chair and joining them without waiting for an invitation. “Looks like my boy Burt is giving your old man a run for his money in the insurance business, doesn’t it? And Burt isn’t that all much older than you.”

Mallory was very good at remaining expressionless. She sipped her tea.

Annelle arrived with her order pad, and the conversation was diverted to matters of chicken or meatloaf, but Jaybird kept making jabs.

“I heard you moved into Rose Tyndale’s apartment,” he said to Mallory, “I could have found you something a lot newer than that.”

Hunter knew he was warming up to something and didn’t require give and take to get there.

“So,” Jaybird said. “What’s the headline, today? I noticed we don’t have any helicopters today. Does that mean Sheriff Bailey’s called off the search for the Foxtail Creek killer already?”

He leaned toward her grinning, and she smelled the usual mixture of bourbon and coke on his breath. She looked toward the door for Sam, hoping he’d arrive soon.

Jaybird was waiting for an answer.

“You’ll just have to catch up by reading the paper,” she said with a sweet smile. “Oh, look! Here’s our food.”

Jaybird leaned back in his chair.

“Well, what I came over here to talk about is that new sign ordinance that Jordan guy came up with. No disrespect, of course. Everybody liked that young man, but not everybody liked what he was proposing. If what I hear about that ordinance is right, it’s gonna be mighty unpopular with the newer businesses over at our shopping plaza.”

“We’ll make sure we get both sides,” Hunter said.

“If you’re going to do a story on it before it comes up for a vote, call Burt and some of the others over there, and get their point of view, you know, just to be fair and balanced. You know the County Commission never has done all this fussy stuff the city does with signs.”

He glanced at Hunter’s stomach as he stood up.

“So is it going to be a boy or a girl?” he asked.

“We’re not telling,” Sam Bailey said from just behind him, “You’ll just have to read the paper to find out.”

Sam had given Annelle his order on the way in. Chicken and dumplings in a bowl, with a side of collard greens.

“Did you know you’ve almost got a flat tire?” he asked Hunter.

“I didn’t have one when I left home,” she said.

“You would have noticed on the way back home, “he said, “And you’re past due for new ones on the back. I’ve just called Mike Burney to bring two new ones over and put them on. I’ll drive you home.”

Annelle came over with his order, and when she had left, Mallory asked in a near whisper, “Do you think that crazy letter was from the shooter?”

“Off the record,” he said, “I do, but I’d rather talk about normal things. How’s your sister doing?”

“She loves Mobile and they’ve just moved into their new house,” Mallory said. “All Miranda talks about on the phone is furniture buying and what the dogs have done lately. Our old cocker spaniel Merlin is trying to keep up with two Golden Retriever puppies and a new kitten.”

“What kind of kitten?” Hunter asked.

“Just one from the shelter,” Mallory said. “Very ordinary, but she’s put about a dozen pictures of him on Facebook. She says she’s going to volunteer at the shelter once they get everything finished in the house.”

The conversation moved easily to dogs, cats, and houses, with the usual interruptions from people who just came by their table to ask Hunter when the baby was going to arrive.

After the fourth, Hunter looked at Sam and Mallory, and asked, “Do I look that huge?”

They nodded in unison, and Sam signaled to Annelle for the check.

Hunter had picked up some copies of the latest issue of the paper and had just gotten into Sam’s car when his cell phone rang.

It was Shellie. He listened and frowned and listened some more.

“Call the mayor back and tell him that I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said. “I need to take Hunter home first.”

“Jim Jordan’s parents are at City Hall,” he explained as he started the engine. “The father’s upset, and Mayor Washington wants me to come over and tell them what’s happening with the investigation.”

“Well, do that first,” Hunter said. “I don’t mind waiting in the car.”

“I don’t know how long this is going to take,” Sam said.

“I can wait in the lobby and look over the paper,” Hunter said. “It’s no problem.”