Snoop to Nuts (16 page)

I stayed in the shower until I ran out of hot water, which could have put a strain on anybody cooking in Meemaw’s kitchen below—had anybody been down there. I heard my cell ring a couple of times while I basked in steamy water, but there are moments in life when what a person needs most is to be away from ringing phones and frightened voices, and yet one more dire event. This was my moment.

It’s not like those phone calls disappeared into some gentle ether. I dried my skin and shook my hair dry—much like a dog coming out of a river, and went to stare down at my cell before picking it up to see that both Justin and Hunter wanted me.

I still had a few minutes to myself and found clean white clam diggers and a yellow tee and a pair of sandals that actually looked almost new. When I checked the half of me I could see in the bathroom mirror, I thought I was passable. Could get through another day of whatever was coming my way and at the same time do the Blanchard family proud.

It was a toss-up, between Justin and Hunter, but I thought I’d better get Justin out of the way since Meemaw and Mama wanted me to talk to him anyway. Family was always supposed to come first, especially in emergency times like these.

“Lindy, yeah,” Justin greeted me. “We gotta talk about some things.”

“First off, who’s with Meemaw at the hospital?”

“Mama should be there by now. Heard Treenie’s going to be okay.”

“Bethany open the store?”

“Yup.”

“Thought I heard somebody down there. Hope she didn’t bring Jeffrey in with her. I’m telling you, Justin, Meemaw and Mama don’t like Jeffrey Coulter.”

“I know.” His voice dropped. “But what do you expect me to do? Chase him outta the house?”

“I’m not saying that but right now, geez, don’t you think you could ask him to go? I mean, under the circumstances, wouldn’t you think the guy would offer to clear out?”

“Guess he doesn’t see things . . . well, like we see them. His daddy’s real rich, Lindy. I mean New York City rich. Jeffrey’s, well, he takes some getting used to.”

“Nobody likes how he’s coming on to Bethany. She’s acting ditzy.”

“She’s always acting ditzy.”

“No, don’t blow it off. Find him another place. How about one of the other ranches? They’re all your friends.”

“You don’t understand, Lindy . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Then explain it. I don’t think you even like him much.”

“Lindy . . .”

“Come on, Justin.”

“He did me a big favor back in college.”

“Uh-oh. He save your neck or something?”

“Kind of like that. I got caught with pot in my room. Probably some other friend left it there. I wasn’t doing any of that stuff, I swear. Still, campus police got a tip and they came in and found it. I could’ve been thrown out of college. You know what that would have done to Mama?”

“So? What happened?”

“Jeffrey said it was his. He took the fall on it, but his daddy came up with some pretty big lawyers that got the school to slack off prosecution and expulsion.”

“What if it was his to begin with?”

“Said it wasn’t.”

“Oh, Justin,” I moaned. “Look, that was a long time ago. That man’s got to go.” I took a deep breath, thinking it was time to move on to another disaster—whatever Justin called me for.

“Okay, so why did you call?”

“Bethany’s at the Nut House, like I said, and she’s afraid to call you. She said she’s getting all sorts of phone calls, people wondering when they could pick up pies they’d ordered. She said she’s overwhelmed and there’s nobody but you to help out. Think you could? Work the rest of the day?”

“Is she going to run off on me? Go someplace with Jeffrey?”

“No. That couple from Sheridan’s coming in to sign their contract for the wedding. She says she can’t do that and take care of the store, too.”

“Crap! You know what? I’ll call Jessie. She offered before to help out.”

He was relieved to know he’d be getting Bethany off his back.

“You tell her she better not take off with Jeffrey. She does that and Meemaw will snatch her baldheaded.”

*   *   *

Jessie, as usual, was not just dependable but eager to help out. I worked with her the first couple of hours after letting Bethany go. Between onslaughts of people, I filled her in on what had been happening.

“I’m going over to talk to Dora and Selma. Me and Hunter went to Tupelo.”

“I sure heard about that.” Jessie pulled at her Rancho en al Colorado T-shirt. “People are wondering what’s going to come first, the wedding or a baby.”

I groaned. “Tell ’em it was business. Strictly business.”

She laughed, then got serious.

“You find out anything about Selma’s ex-husband?”

“You knew about that, too?”

“My father heard from Justin.”

“Yeah, well, we found out he’s the one did damage to Selma’s leg. Found out, too, he’s the reason they left Tupelo. He was in prison and still threatening Selma.”

“Sounds like a good candidate for murderer.”

“Yeah. Turns out he got religion in prison. He’s got a new wife. He truly is a changed man. Very worried about Selma. I’ve got a note he sent to her. He wishes her well and asks for forgiveness. I don’t think he had anything at all to do with murdering the pastor.”

“At least you’re getting things out of the way—I mean, people who can’t have done it. Like this new thing with Treenie.”

I agreed. Shorty was the first one off that list. But the list didn’t have many names left. And when I crossed off the last one—what then?

I checked the answering machine, in case Pastor Albertson had called. Nothing from him on there.

*   *   *

It was almost one o’clock by the time Bethany was back at the Nut House and I got over to the parsonage to call on Selma and Dora and deliver Shorty’s note. Water spouts, shooting from the garden’s sprinkling system, shot rainbows of water over the flowers, making foliage and colors shimmer in the sun. I walked deliberately through an arc of cold water, enjoying the feeling on my hot skin.

I was refreshed after eating a huge sandwich with a couple of the cinnabuns as dessert. Now I was ready to go.

Selma was at the far end of her garden, large straw hat clamped to her head so only half her face showed beneath it. She waved and peeled off her gardening gloves. Still very much the Southern woman, she gardened in a skirt and blouse, making me want to groan at how far some of these women still had to go.

“Why, Lindy! I didn’t know you were coming over,” she greeted me.

The transformation in Selma was all too obvious. She was holding her head high again, even smiling. The beaten-down woman who’d hung behind her sister seemed to have disappeared. She came up the walk fast, her limp barely noticeable.

“Hunter and I saw Shorty and . . .” I fumbled in the pocket of my slacks for the note.

“I know. I know. You’ll never guess. Shorty called me. All apologies. He told me he would never do anything to hurt me, and didn’t do a thing to Millroy. I believe him, Lindy. I really do believe him.”

“That’s what his note says.” I handed it over. Selma unfolded the note and scanned it quickly.

“I’m sorry I sent you on a wild-goose chase, but I was so afraid. I mean, I heard he was out of prison. He could’ve gone on one of his old rampages, coming here and punishing Millroy for getting me away from him, the way he did.”

I smiled back at the glowing woman. “Not a wild-goose chase. I got to see Elvis’s house.”

“Did you?” Selma beamed. “Isn’t that just the most remarkable place? Why, I’ve been through it more times than I’d like to admit.”

“Is Dora home?” I figured Selma had missed the irony of Elvis taking the place of finding a killer.

“She sure is. Come on, let’s go up to the house. I got sweet tea in the fridge.”

“And, Selma. We still don’t know who dug up that hemlock by the river.”

She wrinkled her face. “We don’t, do we.”

As we walked, I kept talking about why I’d come though Selma pointed out new blossom after new blossom, seeming so relieved that Shorty would never bother her again that she was forgetting Millroy’s death.

“I been meaning to ask you about those people who help out here in your garden. You said folks from the church come on in and do what needs doing.”

She nodded, her hat wobbling so she had to hold it with her hand.

“Anybody in particular? I mean, anybody here a lot?”

“Oh, so many. Ladies from the Women’s Garden Society. Your grandmother comes once a week. Even some of the men come over when they’ve got a minute or two to do a little weeding. I just love watching them stroll over from the church, knowing they love the garden as much as I do. And in return, I help them as much as I can. I do the flowers for all the dinners and luncheons. Whatever they need over there.”

“Nice,” I said. “But no special help. Any one person . . .”

“Well, you know it was the board that put in the sprinkling system for me. I couldn’t believe it, the day Millroy came home and told me they’d put the garden right into their budget. He said they thought it was an asset to the church and to the parsonage. I even got a warm letter from Tyler Perkins, thanking me, in the name of the board, for all my work in beautifying the grounds.”

“Tyler ever come over to help?”

“He’s not much of a gardener. But Hawley comes, time to time, to do a little edging and things like that. Paid for some of that irrigation himself. Hawley’s a fine man.”

“But nobody you’ve ever seen going down to the river?”

We were at the front door. Selma stopped to think then pushed the door open. The house was warm. Fans turned lazily overhead. The blinds were shut against the sun. Cool enough.

Selma shook her head at me and put a finger to her lips before calling out to Dora that she had a guest coming in with her.

Dora was at the kitchen table, a notepad in front of her, pen in her hand. She didn’t smile or look happy when she looked up. Didn’t even look sad.

“Dora.” I nodded and got a brief nod back.

“How are you, Lindy?”

“I know this is still a bad time but I had to come over to talk to you.”

“My bereavement hasn’t stopped Sheriff Higsby from asking questions. Why should it stop you?” She set her pen down and folded her hands on the table. “I heard about Treenie. Terrible thing. Whoever’s doing this has got to be stopped. It’s like . . . well, I don’t know . . . a kind of Biblical plague starting up.”

“Nothing like that, Dora. You’re just grieving so bad maybe you see things darker than they really are. Treenie’s going to be okay. I was at the hospital this morning.”

Dora shot a telling look at her sister. “Well, I’m relieved to hear it. I heard tell the poison was right on the shelf at the Nut House.”

I sighed. “In an unmarked bottle. Treenie stuck her finger in to taste it. You know how women do.”

Dora nodded. “I’ll say one thing, Lindy. I’m beginning to see how this doesn’t have a thing in the world to do with Miss Amelia. Your grandmother is not stupid enough to keep poison on her store shelves. Most people I’ve been talking to feel the same way. Instead of making everybody suspicious, it’s making all of us see somebody’s trying to pull the wool over our eyes.”

I felt enormously relieved, just hearing the words.

“So now that I’ve got my head together a little bit . . .” Dora’s brief smile was sweet. “I want to help you in any way I can. I owe Millroy finding the truth, and me and Selma are dedicated to bringing whoever did this to justice.”

“I’m truly happy to hear it, Dora. Miss Amelia’s been suffering, as you may well expect.”

“What I’ve been doing is going over the last weeks before Millroy died. In my head, you know. Thinking and thinking about how he’d been, if he’d been acting different, if something was on his mind.”

“What’d you come up with?”

“Let me tell you.” She pointed to a chair, inviting me to sit.

Selma joined us then hopped up to take down three tall glasses from the cupboard, go to the refrigerator, and pour sweet tea for everybody.

“Millroy was acting like he was sad about something. I mean, like he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. I even asked him one day if there was something he wanted to discuss. For a minute, I thought he was going to confide in me, but Millroy doesn’t like to put burdens of the soul on other people—eh, I mean didn’t—if he could handle things himself. Comes from his years being a pastor to a flock. A lot of secrets get told to a man of the cloth. One thing a pastor has to do is learn to shoulder people’s problems and keep them to himself.

“Anyway, I could see he was worrying. The day before he was killed, we were having breakfast . . . you remember, don’t you?” She’d turned to Selma, who only shrugged.

“That day Millroy sat right here in this kitchen and told us he’d been praying hard on something.”

Selma nodded now. “Yes, I do remember. I thought it was about the color to paint the addition. Something like that.”

Selma smiled at her sister. That these two would always care for each other was pretty obvious. It made me think for just a second how I often treated Bethany. But then . . . I started excusing myself . . . Bethany could be a big pain, especially over this Jeffrey thing . . .