Ten Little Bloodhounds (33 page)

“Spraying crops beats hauling pot.”

“I want you to sit here for one hour,” I explained. “If I’m not back by then, contact Sheriff Jeff Beaman of Camden County and tell him I need rescuing.”

“Y’all be back.”

“What makes you so sure?” I snapped.

“You sound like you have it together. If you’re smart enough to know you might need rescuing, you’re smart enough to go in with more than just a crop sprayer waiting outside without a working radio.”

I glanced around the tiny cockpit in dismay and gave him a dirty look.

“Y’all be back,” he repeated, nodding his head.

I stalked angrily across the grass, and hoped that both Rand and Celia were here. I wanted to confront them together.

I stood patiently and waited for someone to answer my summons. Rand opened the door.

“Ah, if it isn’t Miz Jo Beth!” he sneered. “I’m shocked that a murderer is standing at my door!”

“Takes one to know one,” I answered calmly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’ve
come to beg me to change my story about the fatal night, forget it. I’m going to enjoy sending you to prison for a very long time.”

“I’ve read your deposition, Rand. The lie that I shot Bubba in cold blood without provocation doesn’t bother me. By the time I’m tried, you might be in jail yourself. I want to talk to both you and Celia right now.”

“I’m not going to let you bother her.”

“Then I’ll talk to Sheriff Beaman, it’s all the same to me.”

Frowning while he studied my expression, he finally swung the door wide.

“Come in then, by all means! I for one would like to know what you
think you know.
”

I walked around him and straight into Celia’s office. She looked up from her desk and her eyes widened in shock. She directed her gaze behind me.

“Rand?”

“Right here, Celia. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. She insisted on speaking with you.”

“What do you want?”

I sat without an invitation in an armchair with the desk between us. Rand took a seat in its mate.

“As you know, I’ve been hired by the estate to investigate your aunt’s murder. I would like to ask you a few questions.”

She looked at Rand. He gave her a brief nod.

“All right.” She didn’t look nervous.

Nothing like getting right to the point. “When you finished your sophomore year in high school you were sixteen. You and your Aunt Alyce went to Florence,
Italy, during your summer vacation. Why didn’t you return in the fall and resume your studies here?”

She answered immediately.

“I had a severe bout of flu. It sapped my strength so much that Aunt Alyce thought it best for me to remain in Florence and convalesce under the clinic’s care since they had taken such good care of me. I had a private tutor, as I was unable to attend regular classes.”

“That’s what your aunt wrote to your school, and you both told the same story to your cousins, but it wasn’t true. But let’s continue. When you returned, from nineteen sixty-one until nineteen seventy-nine, a total of eighteen years, you rented a car once a month and traveled approximately two hundred miles. Would you care to tell me who you were visiting?”

“A … an old friend.” She suddenly had moisture on her carefully made-up brow.

“Another lie, but we’ll continue. After eighteen years you stopped visiting and never rented another car. Did your ‘friend’ move or die?”

“She moved.” Her answer was so low I could barely hear her. Her head was drooping.

“Another lie.” I slid forward in my seat so I could catch her if she fainted; she really looked ill.

“That’s enough!” Rand yelled. “Get out of here, you are upsetting her! Just get the hell out of here!”

“Why can’t I tell her?” Celia whispered. “I’m not ashamed of—”

“Shut up!” he yelled. “Don’t say another word!”

“You leave her alone,” I told him. “I will not let you speak to your mother in that tone of voice in my presence!”

It worked. Celia slid from her chair in a dead faint. Rand stood frozen and his face lost all color. I got a glimpse of what he would look like when he was a very old man. He turned and walked out the door. I straightened Celia’s body and hollered for the maid. Between the two of us, we got her on a couch. She moaned once before she opened her eyes and saw me kneeling beside her.

“Where’s Rand?” she whispered.

“He left you laying on the floor,” I said. “Give it up, Celia. Don’t cover for him any longer. He killed Alyce.”

“His father was so beautiful. I loved him and Florence and the whole world when I found out I was going to have a child. Aunt Alyce paid him money to go away. I refused to have an abortion. I wish you could have seen Rand when he was a baby, he was the most beautiful baby in the world.”

She looked feverish. I wiped her brow with a damp washcloth the maid had fetched.

“You didn’t know that he was going to kill her, did you?”

“He was tired of waiting for the money. Aunt Alyce had promised me that she would leave him money in her will if I never told anyone. He said she could live for another twenty years.”

And then there was one.

“You’re planning on taking the blame if he’s arrested, aren’t you?”

“He’s my son.” She closed her eyes.

I guess that said it all. I left. I never would have gone and gotten conformation of my guesses if I had
known that the love between a woman and her illegitimate child would make her sacrifice the rest of her life for him, not even for
all four
of my father’s paintings. Chester Adams was smart enough that he would figure it out shortly. If I didn’t tell the sheriff, he would. I called John Jason Jackson and told him the whole story. I also told him there wasn’t any evidence that would convict either of them.

Two days later, on March fourth, the first day of my trial, Celia Cancannon turned herself in to Sheriff Beaman and confessed to killing Alyce Cancannon because she wanted her money and didn’t want to wait twenty years. Rand was not by her side. He was waiting with the other witnesses at my trial to testify against me.

And then there were none.

J
asmine and I had been sitting on my back porch dressed in our court finery since eight-thirty this morning. It was a few minutes before eleven. Today was March eighth. My trial had lasted four days, Monday through most of Thursday.

The judge had charged the jury and sent them to deliberate my fate at three yesterday afternoon. Hank, Wade, Jasmine, and I had waited in the courtroom until eight. The judge sent the jury home and Jasmine and I came back to find that Rosie had left a full meal warming on the stove. Surprisingly, I was hungry. I ate well, but Jasmine picked at her food.

“The condemned-man syndrome,” I said with a shrug, to explain my appetite.

“Don’t say that!” Jasmine snapped. Her nerves were as strung out as mine were. “Wade said that it was a
good sign they were taking so long. The longer they are out, the better it is for you. Don’t you remember?”

I had agreed with her last night and again this morning on three separate occasions when she voiced the very same sentiment using the exact same words. It was too cold on the porch to be sitting out here; I had tried to get her to go in several times. She went in and brought out two quilts and we were cocooned within their folds. My feet were like ice, but I didn’t mention the fact. Jasmine would have run for a hot water bottle.

I stared into the bleak, cool sunshine and remembered the trial. There had been a short burglary trial that was heard before mine. My case started about eleven. Wade and Charlene had agreed on two jurors before the dinner break, and it took the rest of the afternoon to choose the rest.

I had been shocked when Hank came over that evening and gave us the news about Celia confessing to her aunt’s murder. I brought Hank up to date on my last visit to Little Cat Island.

“You idiot,” he stated without heat. “You shouldn’t have confronted him alone, and on his territory, to boot.”

“The only thing I accomplished was to show Celia that she had to protect her son,” I said wearily. “If she had kept quiet, they both would be home free but without their inheritance. The estate would never have been settled without the murder being solved. Litigation could have stalled the division of assets for years. I know the bastard convinced her that he would never get the money with the murder investigation still open, so she happily threw away her life so he could collect. Case closed.”

Tuesday was opening statements. Charlene’s hatred of me fueled her voice and made her sound assured as she outlined the case against me.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I will prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant deliberately murdered Buford Sidden Junior, her ex-husband, with malice aforethought on the night of October twenty-third of last year. The coroner will testify that Mr. Sidden was shot in the chest and torso area a total of six times with the defendant’s gun. Not once, not twice, but a total of
six bullets was fired at point-blank range.

“In the confrontation that resulted in Mr. Sidden’s death, he was not armed with a gun. Mr. Sidden didn’t own a gun. All his friends knew he kept a favorite baseball bat in his truck. He had been a hero, winning several crucial baseball games during his senior year in high school. The bat was a memento of happier times, not a weapon, as the defense will claim. Don’t also be fooled by the defense’s claim that the defendant killed him in self-defense. Mr. Sidden was not a foolish man. Only a foolish man would charge a vindictive, embittered ex-wife who was pointing a loaded weapon at him, especially an ex-wife who had
previously killed an unarmed man with the same gun!

“A grieving father asks for justice for the deliberate murder of his only son. I ask you in the name of the State of Georgia to listen to the evidence presented and return the rightful verdict of guilty as charged. Thank you.”

As Charlene returned to her seat in the silent courtroom, I whispered into Wade’s ear.

“She’s convinced me. I’m ready to be fitted with prison twill.”

“Now it’s my turn.” He patted my arm, rose, and went to stand before the jury.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Wade Bennett. I’m a local attorney, and was hired by Jo Beth Sidden, the defendant, to clear her name of this ridiculous charge of second-degree murder. We should not be in this courtroom today. Jo Beth Sidden was defending her life when she shot her enraged husband, and I will prove it to you beyond any reasonable doubt. It was justifiable homicide.

“Before I start giving you the unassailable facts of what occurred on the night of the shooting last October, it is my unpleasant duty to clear up a gross misrepresentation of facts that the prosecutor told you about a prior shooting involving my client and her work weapon.

“Jo Beth Sidden raises and trains bloodhounds for search and rescue and trailing escaped felons. She is currently under contract for furnishing bloodhounds and a trainer to track all prison escapees in Dunston, Herdon, and Shelton counties.

“Almost three years ago, three vicious felons escaped from Monroe Correctional Institute in Shelton County. Jo Beth Sidden and her mantrailing bloodhounds were called in. They tracked the felons to an isolated farmhouse, where they discovered the bodies of John and Ellen Stevenson, an elderly couple, repeatedly stabbed to death in their bedroom. They were killed for their truck, which was not there, but at a son’s home to have the oil changed. A thirty-thirty rifle, a
twelve-gauge, and a twenty-gauge shotgun were missing. The search team comprised of Jo Beth Sidden, one bloodhound, and three Shelton County deputies continued to track the felons into heavy brush in the Okefenokee Swamp.

“During the confrontation when the felons were found, a talented bloodhound’s throat was cut. From less than six feet away, Jo Beth Sidden stood, walked around the brush, and fired six times, hitting the felon three times, as he was reaching for a shotgun lying beside him. Jo Beth Sidden was given a commendation for bravery for saving three law enforcement men’s lives and her own.

“This was the unarmed man that the assistant district attorney referred to in her opening statement. She owes the court an apology for misleading you so badly.

“On the night in question, Jo Beth Sidden was taken from her home and driven to a deserted warehouse, where her ex-husband from whom she had been divorced for eleven years was waiting for her with a baseball bat. This bat was not a memento of happier times, as the prosecution claims, but a
deadly weapon!
I will show you in testimony from an expert that it was drilled and the hole filled with lead shot!”

He had been eloquent and I again felt hope.

Jasmine and I didn’t talk much as we waited. We had said it all the past few nights as we lingered over each word spoken during the trial, the jurors’ expressions, Wade’s passionate defense, and Charlene’s determination to bury me.

We were waiting for
the
phone call. It came at eleven.

Wade sounded a little breathless.

“The judge is bringing in the jury in fifteen minutes.”

“We’re on our way.”

Jasmine and I entered a packed courtroom. Every day there had been more spectators than the day before. As I walked down the center aisle beside Jasmine, I felt that all eyes were focused on me.

It made me wonder if all these people really cared about my fate, or whether they didn’t have anything else to do on a nippy March morning. I casually glanced back at the gathering as we waited for the judge. The room was awash with whispered conversations. I saw the usual hangers-on, the bored retirees, and many more. I spotted several lawyers. Wade was earning a deserved reputation for winning. He was good. I didn’t know if his peers had come to cheer or jeer.

I saw four off-duty deputies. I knew they were off-duty because Hank was seated one row behind me. I spotted Susan, Rosie, her fire chief, and a few of my friends. I also spotted Rand sitting on a back bench. He gave me a grin and held a thumb upside down, in case I didn’t catch on to why he was still here. Bubba’s father, Buford Sidden Sr., was sitting behind Charlene’s chair in the first row. He had been there every day in the same seat, trying to bore holes into my back with his beady eyes.