Peach Cobbler Murder (31 page)

“We’re clamping a lid on this,” Mike warned them. “I don’t want either one of you to say a word about what happened.”

Hannah started to frown. “But Winthrop . . . I mean Bobby Joe, told me that Vanessa killed Neil Roper. He said they planned the whole thing together. isn’t that enough to arrest her?”

“It would be in most circumstances, but this one’s a little tricky. Bobby Joe Peters is an escaped felon. His word isn’t highly credible. And the alleged murder took place in Macon, Georgia. That’s way out of our jurisdiction. I think we could get away with arresting her and getting the warrant from Macon later, but I don’t want to take the chance that some smart lawyer could get the case dismissed on a technicality.”

“That makes sense,” Delores said, sipping the coffee that one of the deputies had brought her. She made a face and Hannah sympathized. The coffee at the sheriff’s station was awful.

“I guess I can understand how you’d have to be careful to follow procedure,” Hannah said, “but aren’t you afraid Vanessa’s going to hear that Bobby Joe was arrested and take off?”

“Mike shook his head. “Not if you ladies don’t talk. Bill already warned Andrea, and now I’m warning you. Mum’s the word.”

“Mum’s the word,” Hannah repeated, because Mike seemed to expect it. “But we’re not the only ones who know you made an arrest. How about the secretary who typed our statements? And the other deputies who saw you bring him in cuffed? They know, so we’re not the only ones who know, you know?”

Hannah gave a little groan as her last sentence replayed in her mind. She’d always prided herself on having decent grammar and a good command of the English language, but she’d just used the word know three times in one sentence.

“That’s not a problem. The only other people who know are sheriff’s department employees. They can’t talk.”

“You mean mustn’t. If they can’t talk, they’re mute,” Hannah mumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” Mike asked.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself. Are we through? I still have some things to do today.”

“We’re through.”

“Thank goodness!” Delores looked very grateful. “I’m going to tell Andrea that she should do something with this room now that Bill is the sheriff. This institutional tan paint is dreadful. Perhaps she could put a nice pale yellow on the walls, since there aren’t any windows. That would make it a lot more cheerful. And new furniture, of course. I’ll never understand why they bothered to bolt down these chairs. No one in their right mind would want to steal them!”

Mike smiled at her and Hannah could tell he was amused. “You’re absolutely right. This furniture is pretty bad, but it’s an interrogation room and it doesn’t have to look good. See that rub mark on the arm of your chair?”

“This?” Delores touched a spot where the paint had worn off and the metal showed through.

“Yes. Those scratches are from handcuffs. We leave one hand free so the suspect can write, and the other is cuffed to the arm of the chair. That’s why the chairs have to be bolted down.”

“Oh,” Delores said. “I didn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know. I really doubt that you’ve been in an interrogation room before.”

“You’re right.”

Delores gave a little laugh and Mike joined in. so did Hannah. She was glad Mike was handling her mother so well. Delores had suffered a big shock this afternoon and her pride was bound to be at low ebb.

“Thank you very much for your cooperation,” Mike said, smiling at both of them. “I know giving your statement hasn’t been fun, but it was necessary.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Hannah quipped, but she quickly sobered when Mike didn’t laugh. “Sorry. We’ll be going then. And don’t worry about us saying anything. We won’t.”

Mother and daughter were silent as they headed out to Delores’s car. Once they were buckled in, Delores turned to Hannah. “Do you have to go straight home, dear?”

“Not really,” Hannah said, reacting to her mother’s expression. Delores looked dejected.

“Do you have time to get a cup of coffee somewhere?”

“Of course I do,” Hannah said, because if she didn’t have time, she’d make time. Then she glanced at her watch in the light from the dash. It was five forty-five and winter darkness had closed in. “Let’s go back to The Cookie Jar and I’ll put on a fresh pot. Lisa’s gone, but there’s bound to be some cookies left. I had a whole bag for you when I started out this afternoon, but Andrea ate them all while she was waiting for me in the car.

Instead of the outraged expression Hannah had expected or the god-natured laugh that would acknowledge her middle daughter’s love for Hannah’s cookies, or even a comment about how Andrea had best start watching her weight, Delores just nodded. That made Hannah worry. And what made her worry even more was the fact that her mother didn’t ask what kind of cookies they’d been. Delores always asked. At least, she had always asked in the past.

Delores drove through the silent streets to The Cookie Jar. There was only the swoosh of an occasional car as it passed by on the other side of the road, heading home to hearth and family. When Mike had first moved to Lake Eden, he’d commented that they rolled up the streets at six o’clock in the winter. Except for bright lights spilling out of the front window of the Cut n’ Curl signifying that Bertie Straub had a late customer, all the businesses on Main Street were closed. And since it was such a cold night, no one was out on the sidewalk, walking.

“I hope Carrie remembered to turn on the alarm,” Delores said, turning in the alley and driving past the back of her building.

“Do you want to stop and check?” Hannah asked.

“No, that’s okay. She’s usually pretty good about that.”

Delores pulled into the small parking lot in the back of The Cookie Jar and took the spot right next to Hannah’s truck. “I could just go home if you’re busy, or something.”

“I’m not busy. And I’m not something, either.” Hannah tried for a laugh, but she didn’t get it. “Come in, Mother. You need some chocolate to perk you up.”

Five minutes later, mother and daughter were sitting at the back table in The Cookie Jar, sipping coffee and dunking Chocolate Almond Toast.

“Wonderful,” Delores said, looking much relieved. “You’re right, Hannah. Chocolate does improve one’s mood. I’m sure that’s why men have given women chocolate over the ages. They had chocolate in Regency England, you know.”

“They did?”

“Yes, The primarily used it in beverages. A young woman would have chocolate for breakfast.”

“Was it like our hot chocolate?”

“It was similar, but much less sweet. Marge Beeseman gave a report on it last year.“ Delores stopped and raised the corner of a paper napkin to her eyes. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m just so depressed. I keep thinking of Winthrop’s favorite saying.”

“What was that?” Hannah asked, not reminding her mother that Winthrop was really Bobby Joe Peters, the con man, and that his favorite saying, if he had one, would be, Never give a sucker an even break.

“He used to say, Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.”

“Didn’t work for Neil Roper,” Hannah said, before she could stop herself.

“What do you mean?”

Hannah came close to groaning. Her mother was depressed. The man she’d trusted, the man she’d been about to marry had betrayed her. She needed tender loving care, but Hannah had stuck her foot in it. “I mean, he had his breath taken away. Literally. And I don’t think he enjoyed it.”

“Hannah!” Delores rebuked her, but a smile was hovering at the corners of her lips. “That’s awful.”

“I know. It’s just the way my mind works. I must have gotten it from Dad.”

“Or me,” Delores said, the smile peeking out. “I had a pretty good sense of humor at one time. I lost it after your dad died.”

“Maybe you’ll get it back,” Hannah said, hoping that was the right thing to say. Careful, sensitive counseling wasn’t her thing. She tended to say it like it was.

“I hope so. I miss being able to laugh at myself. Change places with me, Hannah. I don’t want to look at myself in the mirror.”

“Okay.” Hannah got up and changed places with her mother. “Why don’t you want to look at yourself?”

“Because I look awful.”

“No, you don’t!” Hannah stared at her mother in chock. Delores was wearing a sleek dark green pantsuit that showed off her perfect figure, her make up was flawlessly applied, and her hair looked fabulous. “You look great, Mother. That pantsuit is terrific on you. I’d kill for a figure like yours.”

“You would?” Delores looked pleased at the compliment.

“Absolutely.”

“It’s simple to improve your figure, dear. All you have to do is watch your diet and get plenty of exercise.”

“I know. But I won’t do it.”

“But . . . you said you‘d kill for a figure like mine.”

“Oh, I’d kill for it. I just won’t diet and exercise for it.”

Delores laughed, a bit hysterically, Hannah thought, and then she reached up to dab at her eyes again. “I’m terribly ashamed of myself, Hannah. Winthrop was right. I’m just a foolish old lady.”

“No, you’re not!” Hannah crossed her fingers and hoped she could think of the right thing to say.

“I am foolish. What else would you call a fifty-year-old woman who falls for a fake English lord who’s more than ten years younger than she is, just because he’s handsome and he can dance the tango?”

Hannah took her heart. Her mother was fifty-seven, not fifty. If Delores could still lie about her age, she still had some hope left for the future. Of course there was another possibility, one that negated any positive spin that Hannah had attempted to generate. It was possible that her mother had lied about her age for so long, she’d actually lost track.

“Well? What would you call her?”

“A romantic,” Hannah said. “I admire that about you, Mother. You’re not afraid to dream. And once you find that dream, you go for it. I wish I had your nerve.”

“But not my gullibility,” Delores said, smiling slightly.

“No, not that,” Hannah agreed, reaching out to give her mother a hug. “Although . . . it beats being bored for the rest of your life.”

“Are you bored, dear?”

“Not me. Just when I think I might be, there’s always something.”

“That’s true. I was just saying to . . . “ Delores stopped in mid-sentence and started to frown. “I swear that was Vanessa’s Corvette I just saw.”

“Are you sure?”

Delores gave a short laugh. “Of course I’m sure. How many gold Corvettes are there in Lake Eden?”

“You’ve got a point,” Hannah said, turning to look at the taillights that were disappearing around the corner of the block. “She must be just getting home.”

“Well, I hope she stays put.”

Delores stared at Hannah and Hannah stared right back. Hannah had no doubt that the mother-daughter radar as working and the same thought was running through their minds.

“You think somebody’s going to call and tell her that her former partner’s been arrested? And she’s going to take off before Mike can get that warrant from Georgia?” Hannah asked.

“That’s exactly what I think. How about you?”

“Me, too. There are no secrets in Lake Eden. Mike should have realized that. what do you think we should do about it?”

“Watch her.”

“Surveillance. That’s good. And what shall we do if she leaves?”

“Follow her. And call the sheriff’s department. We’re supposed to do that, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we’re supposed to do that. I don’t have a cell phone, do you?”

“No. I was going to get one, but . . . she’s leaving!” Delores pointed out the window at the car that was inching out of the alley that led to the Magnolia Blossom Bakery. “She must have heard about it wherever she was, and she made a quick trip back here to pick up money, or her passport, or something.”

Hannah got up for a better look. “You’re right. That’s Vanessa. She’s just checking out the street to make sure the coast is clear. Let’s go!”

“This is exciting,” Delores said, sipping the mug of coffee she’d grabbed to take with her. “Are you sure your truck can keep up with her?”

“She’s not driving fast.”

“That’s because she really is from the South. They just don’t know how to deal with the weather we have up here. Do you think she knows we’re behind her?”

”Maybe, but it really doesn’t matter. I’ve got a full tank of gas and we’ll follow her as far as we have to.”

Hannah and Delores were silent as they tailed Vanessa through the silent streets. The only sound was the slap of Hannah’s windshield wipers against the glass. It was snowing again, very lightly, but just enough so that she needed to clear the glass. Why was it that snow, or rain for that matter, always fell at a rate that was just between the set speeds of the windshield wipers?”

“What if she sees us behind her and stops?” Delores asked. “Do you have a weapon?”

“Only cookies. We could force-feed her chocolate, but I don’t think that would do much good.”

“I’ve got my coffee cup,” Delores said, “I could throw that at her.”

“But could you hit her?”

“Of course I could hit her. I used to be the pitcher on my high school softball team.”

“Whoa!” Hannah gasped, turning for a quick look at her mother. “Will you play for The Cookie Jar? I’m going to have a softball team this summer and I need a pitcher.”

Delores looked as excited as Hannah had ever seen her. I’ll do it! You’ve got a pitcher!”

“Thanks, Mother,” Hannah said and then she gasped as Vanessa did something she hadn’t expected. She hung a U-turn in the middle of the road and headed straight back toward Hannah’s truck.

“What is she doing?” Delores asked.

“I don’t know. Brace yourself, Mother. I’m going to try to run her off the road. I think she’ll go in the ditch rather than hit us.”

Even if Vanessa had opted for toughing it out, it wouldn’t have been much of a collision. Vanessa’s Corvette was to the ground, and Hannah was driving the American SUV that some car magazines had compared to a tank. As Hannah bore down on Vanessa’s car, and Vanessa tried to move out of the way, the Corvette hit a patch of ice and skidded off the road into the ditch.