A Tough Nut to Kill (Nut House Mystery Series) (21 page)

I bought Hunter a burger at a truck stop outside Houston.
I f
i
gured it was only fair. It was his car and gas, and after all, he bought the food last time.

I didn’t let myself think how natural and easy and normal our conversation was going. Not a whole lot about murder. More about the master’s degree in law enforcement he was working toward online.

“Only got a year of classes left,” he said while digging into his burger.

Hunter’d left college when his daddy died, to help his mother in their feed store. When he got the feed store to the point where it was making a profit, they sold it. Now his mother was well and happy and working part-time at a dress shop in town. Hunter had time to study for further advancement in a job he loved. I was glad things were going so well for him.

Back in the car, pulling out on to the busy highway, when I’d almost forgotten we weren’t together just because we were good friends, my cell rang.

It was Mama. She sounded as if she’d been crying.

“I had more to say before you left,” she began.

“Sure, Mama. I’m still with Hunter. Just leaving Houston. Saw that doctor who treated Uncle Amos.”

“You coming back?”

“Be about an hour and a half. I want to see how my greenhouse is coming. And anyway, I’ve got to pick up my car at the ranch.”

“We’ve got to talk, Lindy. Whenever you get here. It’s about what Ben told me last night. I think the whole family has to decide . . .”

“I know what it’s about. That deal he got suckered into with Uncle Amos. Hunter thinks it makes Ben a suspect, about as much as Justin and me. But, Mama, you know Ben didn’t kill Uncle Amos.” I glanced at Hunter, to make sure he heard me. “Why would he be out in my greenhouse? If it wasn’t Amos who cut down my trees, you know, sure as anything, it wasn’t Ben.”

“Oh, I know all of that. Of course it wasn’t Ben. Not you either. But, oh Lord, Lindy. We’ve got to decide what’s best for Justin. Should we get him another attorney? All I can think about right now is my son.”

“Mama, Ben was the best for Daddy. I’d say we stick to what we know. Like Daddy always said, find that single path and ride it hard. You talk to Miss Amelia?”

“She said the same thing you’re saying. It’s just that I’m so scared.”

“Don’t be scared, Mama,” I said, glancing over at Hunter, who had to be listening though his eyes were narrowed, concentrating on the traffic in front of him. “Let’s have a little faith in justice and friends, and family, Mama.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Of course you’re right. You hear about the letter from Amos the Chaunceys brought in here a while ago?”

“Knew of it. I was supposed to call Miss Amelia about it but I forgot. So much going on.”

“You gotta read it, Lindy. All about how sorry he was for the things he did to your daddy and me. It’s really sad, Lindy. I don’t know why he didn’t come right over when he got back here in town. At least I woulda talked to him.”

Thinking maybe that wouldn’t have been the case—too many things in their past—I slid right on by what she was saying.

“I’ll be there soon as I can. We’ll talk and—”

“Lindy? Did you find the time to call that private detective yet? Seems like maybe what Jake was after plays into what’s happening. Me and Miss Amelia talked a few minutes ago. She kind of thinks the same thing. And there’s still five hundred dollars owing, far as I can see. I went through everything. Not another bill. You’d think—”

“I’ll call right now.”

“If we owe the man money—something Jake was supposed to take care of—well, tell him I’d like to pay.”

“Of course, Mama. That’s what I’ll say.”

I hung up.

I decided to call the detective after Hunter dropped me back at the house to get my truck. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him listening in; more I’d picked up on Mama’s unease and didn’t want any more dirty linen swinging in the wind.

It wasn’t a time to be dependent on anybody. Not even Hunter, whose blue uniform was like a blinking red light that could stop people, besides Finula Prentiss and everybody at the Barking Coyote, from talking to me.

Hunter dropped me off and promised to call in an hour or so.

With Hunter’s taillights still in sight, I called Meemaw from the front porch. “Just checking in,” I told her. “Wanted to bring you up to date on what Hunter and I found in Houston.”

“You coming to town?” she asked in a bright tone that didn’t match what was going on. I figured there were people around her.

“Thought I’d stay here awhile. Still I’d like to see that letter you got from the Chaunceys.”

“Well, don’t you worry none. And—since you’re askin’, we got the place cleaned up without you. I’m still not going to be baking my own pies, like everybody’s asking here. Not yet. Seems like a fitting memorial, don’t you think, Lindy?”

I heard a woman’s high-pitched complaint behind her and figured Miss Ethelred was standing nearby.

“No, no, Lindy. Now don’t push me,” Miss Amelia kept on, pretending I’d said something. “Can’t do it. Not yet. Even though all these folks are just begging—”

“Can it, Grannie,” I growled into the phone. “I know you’re playing me. And personally, I don’t care if I ever have one more slice of your rotten—”

“Yes, well, you just take your time coming in, Lindy. You sweet thing, you.”

“Think I’m gonna do that. Take my time. I’d rather be out in my greenhouse anyway.”

“Suit yourself. Bye now, dear. Oh, and don’t worry, we’ll just bring that other thing along home with us. So many kind folks here. Can’t think about . . . well, you get yourself some rest, ya here?”

She hung up, giving me an extra bang in my ear. I was sure, from what Meemaw had just put me through, that she was still busy with people at the Nut House. That “other thing” she was talking about had to be the letter. I’d see it later. And tell her what we’d learned—or hadn’t learned—from the doctor.

I figured I’d take the time to get out to my greenhouse. It had been a while.

A little time to myself sounded awfully good right then.

• • •

The private detective, Donny Fritch, wasn’t in his office
when I called. I was still standing on the front porch when his answering machine came on, telling me to leave a message, which I couldn’t do because I didn’t know what to say. I’d call later. Mama would keep after me until I did.

With Miss Amelia among all her friends, with Mama upset about Ben—well, time alone with the seedlings I had left seemed like the place where I was needed most. And while I was thinking about it, on the way around the house to get my truck, maybe I’d call the sheriff and arrange to pick up the five trees he was holding hostage. Poor trees. Roots drying out. Dying even as I thought about them.

If I was ever mad about anything in this whole mess—suddenly it was about my trees. With this new drought raging around us and newspaper headlines tolling out bad hot weather news like a funeral bell, my trees were the future. And if the sheriff wouldn’t let me have them—as if they would climb up on a witness stand one day and point a long, leafy branch at the killer and, in a long hissing voice, make an accusation—like some Perry Mason moment—well I was going in there and . . .

When I got to the greenhouse, a small, dark man with a wide chest and back stood there. My sentry—on duty. Mama had called the workmen to see if they would take turns keeping an eye on my empty grove and greenhouse. José had been the first to offer, Mama’d told me.

“Hey, José.” I was happy to see his smiling face, those big arms, the butt end of a revolver in the waistband of his pants, and those sharp dark eyes looking back and forth.

“We don’t want nobody coming back here, Miss Lindy. Finish what they started. And we want to get whoever hurt Martin like that.”

He nodded again and again. I thanked him and hurried away. Being tired and depressed, I knew that the one thing that could break me faster than anything right then would be kindness.

First, into the greenhouse, avoiding the burned circle on my office floor. I checked the temperature, then the sprayers above my yellow seedling pods. I checked the water timers, resetting one. I checked to see how well everything had been cleaned up, avoiding the one row where I’d fallen over Amos.

Back inside my office, I settled down with a new ledger, entering tag numbers I’d jotted down in the greenhouse. Although all my old records were gone, I still had the new genera I’d been working with. I had a good idea of what I’d grafted. What I needed to do was fix the records for seedlings I still had, from memory if I had to. The killer had destroyed the notes with grafting dates, seed germination of a particular type of tree I was interested in—one that stood up well to drought. I had nothing on the other trees I’d been working with, but I had a lot of that in my head. I put all of it into the record book in front of me. If I was lucky, I’d have the cleaned greenhouse back on a schedule of individual feeding and watering in a week.

What I faced, I decided, was a bad bump in the road, but not a complete disaster. I thought about climbing back up the hill I’d already scaled and it seemed daunting, but I wasn’t a quitter. My work was too important. The only way to stop me now, I thought, laughing to myself, was to kill me, too.

It was a chilling thought. I brushed it away as fast as it came, but not without looking behind me, toward the closed door, and feeling grateful again for José, standing outside the gate.

When I’d wrung my brain dry of facts and dates, I stopped working to try the detective, Donny Fritch, again. This time a man answered. Not a machine.

“Donny Fritch,” the deep male voice said.

“Mr. Fritch, I’m glad I caught you . . .”

“Who’s calling?”

“I’m Lindy Blanchard . . .”

“Name’s familiar.”

“You did work for my father, I think. A few years ago. Jake Blanchard.”

“Oh, sure thing. Now I recall. Jake Blanchard, of Riverville. I read in the newspapers that your father died. Accident, wasn’t it? Sorry for yer loss.”

“My mother’s been going through Daddy’s records and found a bill from you. She was wondering if there’s still money owing. It didn’t seem you were paid the full amount. At least, not from what she could find.”

“Hmmm.” He hesitated. Took a deep breath. “Let me think back now. Had some trouble here in the office. Lotta things got messed up. Seems we would’ve billed the estate if the work was completed. Maybe your daddy canceled the job. Let me go ask my partner what she remembers. That was a couple years ago, but let me see what I can find.”

He was gone. I waited. Not long. I heard the faint sounds of voices at the other end before the phone was picked up again.

“Yes, ma’am. Carrie reminded me. She’s the one handles the billing. Seems I finished the job your daddy asked me to do. Had a final report, along with records he wanted. Quite a bit of work. I talked it over with my partners here and we decided to close the file after your father died. We don’t like springing things, like an investigation with maybe some embarrassing elements to it, on a family once a client has passed.”

“Embarrassing things? Was there any of that in what you did for my father?”

Hesitation. “Sorry. Can’t do that. I don’t know who you are. You’re just a voice on the telephone. And to tell the truth, well, it has been a few years. I remember looking into a couple of people for your dad. But not exactly what came of it.”

“But you must still have the report? You’re in Columbus. I could come there. I’ll pay you what’s owing. It’s important.”

Another long pause. “Well . . . Miss Blanchard . . . you see, there’s no way I can turn the file over to you.”

“I said I’d pay. You worked for my father. I’ll bring ID . . .”

“No, no. You don’t get it. That bill was paid. In full. Says so right on the invoice. And I don’t have the file anymore.”

“We didn’t find anything in Daddy’s papers. You’d think he’d keep something he paid that much—”

“You wouldn’t find it. Someone came in just a few months ago and paid it off. The whole thing. Took the file with him. So, Miss Blanchard, you see, you don’t owe me anything.”