May Cooler Heads Prevail (14 page)

“You could, except you and Freedom need to go over to Brogan’s Ferry first thing tomorrow morning.”

I barely kept myself from snarling like a wild dog. “And why are we going over to Brogan’s Ferry tomorrow morning?”

“Now, Dixie-gal.” Uncle Rudd started to pat me on the shoulder then thought better of that idea. “While you and Freedom were bringing Scott back, I got to thinking about Chad Gunther, Dolly’s boyfriend. I knew I’d heard that
name connected with some sort of business that had to do with cars. I got out the phone book and poked around in the yellow pages. Sure enough, Chad Gunther owns an auto repair shop. The plan is for Nissa to help Connie in the shop tomorrow, and I’m goin’ ta pay a visit to some of the guys that were out at the bachelor party. You know, talk about old times, see what comes up. That leaves Chad Gunther for you and Freedom.”

Uncle Rudd pleaded with his eyes, holding out the small key for me to take.

“Okay, but Freedom doesn’t have to go with me to the bus station. Surely I can manage to pick up one piece of luggage by myself.”

“Dixie-gal.” Uncle Rudd shook his head. “We’re all tired. I figure two tired heads are better than one tired head if something comes up.”

“I don’t mind going,” Freedom offered.

There wasn’t any use in arguing. I grabbed the key and we headed out. I insisted we take my Jeep. At the moment I needed every little bit of control I could get.

The bus depot in Kenna Springs consisted of a ticket counter, two straight-backed benches, a soda machine, and a candy machine, along with several battered gray lockers standing against one wall. The walls needed painting and the green and white swirled tile floor was beyond polishing.

Except for Fog Whitman, who was reading a book and manning the ticket counter, no one was inside the depot
when we walked in.

Freedom and I matched the number on the key with the number on one of the lockers. I put the key in. It fit perfectly, but wouldn’t open the door. Another keyhole in the door told me that the lockers were set up to use two keys. Presumably one was a master key.

There was nothing else we could do except get the other key. Fog was so engrossed in his reading he didn’t pay any attention to us when we walked up to the counter. When he didn’t acknowledge us after a minute or so, I cleared my throat to get his attention.

Fog carefully laid a bookmark on the page he had been reading and put the book aside. Just as carefully, he patted the thin, gray sprigs of hair on his head then brought out a black, well-worn, official-looking hat from underneath the counter and plopped it on his head. “I see you, Miss Dixie. No need to be in some all-fired rush. There ain’t another bus leavin’ here for another two hours. You got plenty of time. ‘Course, nothin’ says you can’t buy you a ticket in advance. Goin’ back to Little Rock, are you?”

“No, Fog, I’m not going back to Little Rock just yet. I wanted to talk to you about something else, if you don’t mind.”

“Company rules say to be polite, but no social visits. Sorry, Miss Dixie. Been a company man for thirty years. I know the rules. Next!”

I turned my head to see if someone had walked in behind
us. “Fog, no one else is here.”

“Who’s he, then?” Fog pointed at Freedom.

“I’m with her.” Freedom pointed at me.

“Look, Fog, we need some help with the lockers.” I kept a smile on my face. “You’re the man to see about that, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Fog answered slowly, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. “‘Course, those lockers are officially for them that have bus tickets, so I couldn’t let you use one of them lockers. Unless, of course, you want to buy a ticket.”

There was nothing to do but persevere. “Fog, listen carefully. A man named Aaron Scott came in on the bus a couple of days ago. Do you remember Aaron Scott?”

“Don’t know if he did or he didn’t. I don’t recall knowin’ any Aaron Scott.” As far as Fog was concerned, the conversation was over. He picked up the book, opened it, and began reading.

It might have been a bit much to assume Fog would remember a man that hadn’t been in town for four decades. On the other hand, surely Fog had heard the talk going around back then about Aunt Connie and Aaron Scott. Maybe he just needed me to jog his memory a bit.

I cleared my throat again to get his attention. “Pardon me for interrupting, but this is important. Aaron Scott was the man who was engaged to marry my aunt, Connie Tanner, about forty-some-odd years ago. Does that ring a bell?”

Fog scrunched up his bird-like face to ponder the question.

“No, can’t say as it does. You mean to tell me that this fella and Connie are just now gettin’ hitched? My, them folks is mighty slow. Longest betrothin’ time I ever heard of before this was a couple down in Wolf Summit. But they was waitin’ on his mother to pass away.”

I mentally counted to ten then said, “Fog, what I am trying to tell you is that a man named Aaron Scott came in last Friday on a bus. We know this man. He left some luggage in one of the bus depot lockers. We have the one key.” I held up the key to show Fog. “We need the other key from you to get the stuff out of his locker.”

Fog pushed his glasses up on his nose, leaned forward, and slowly looked the key over. “Yep, that’s one of ours. If that key belonged to that Aaron Scott fella, then he’s the only one that’s authorized to use it. I can’t give you the other key because you ain’t Aaron Scott.”

“I told you, Fog, we know Aaron Scott,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Do you have somethin’ in writin’ authorizin’ you to pick up his things? Otherwise, I don’t know how you came by that key. Most folks just take their luggage with ‘em when they come in to town. How come this fellow didn’t do that?”

Raising my voice, I growled, “No, I don’t have anything in writing! I don’t know why Aaron didn’t take his luggage with him. Maybe it clashed with his plaid suit for all I know. The point is we need to get his stuff out of that locker, and to do that we need the other key. Surely other people have come
in and picked up other people’s stuff out of those lockers without a note.”

“Nope,” was all Fog said, and it infuriated me. Without thought, just raw emotion, I slapped both hands on the ticket counter and yelled, “FOG WHITMAN! YOU FORK OVER THAT KEY THIS MINUTE, OR I’M COMING IN THERE TO GET IT!”

Fog reached up with one hand and yanked on the rolling louvered screen above him. It rumbled down between us and snapped shut.

“You got no call to talk to me like that, Miss Dixie,” Fog called from the other side of the screen.

“Fog Whitman, you little chicken.” I started pounding on the screen separating us. “You open up this screen immediately! You hear me?”

“That’s against the rules, Miss Dixie,” Fog squeaked back.

“Rules! I’ll show you rules!” I climbed onto the counter and banged on that stupid screen as hard and as loud as I could.

“Dixie! Dixie! That’s enough!” Freedom caught me by the waist and swung me around behind him. “Calm down. Let me try to talk to him.”

“Have at it,” I told him, and threw myself down on one of the nearby benches. I’d had all I could stand of Fog Whitman.

Freedom knocked softly on the screen and called Fog’s
name. “It’s me, the man that came in with Dixie. Remember? My name is Freedom Crane. Dixie doesn’t really mean you any harm. She’s just uptight about some family problems right now. You can come out now, Fog, it’s safe. I won’t let her hurt you.”

The screen came up about five inches and Fog peeked through. “If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, Miss Dixie, you might be in need of some sort of counseling.”

“I am a counselor!” I snapped back, and Fog slammed the screen shut.

Freedom held his finger to his lips in a motion for me to keep my mouth shut, then he knocked on the screen again. “Fog, you’d like for Dixie to leave wouldn’t you? She’ll leave if you just give me the other key that goes with that locker. How about it, Fog?”

There was a moment of silence, then a quivering voice said, “Maybe that’s best under the circumstances, Mr. Crane.” The screen lifted just far enough for Fog to shove the key we needed out to where Freedom could get to it, then the screen slammed shut. In the same quivering voice, Fog added, “Please leave the master key on the counter when you leave, and don’t forget to take Miss Dixie with you.”

Freedom took both keys and went over to Scott’s locker while I stayed on the bench. With my anger spent, I was now rather busy feeling humiliated. I just couldn’t believe I had acted that way. I was tired, yes. I was stressed, oh yes. But I had been tired and stressed before and hadn’t acted like
that! Of course I had never spent a day quite like this one in my life. I had the distinct thought that had my ancestor Tenacious Tanner been here he would have understood. And that sent chills down my spine.

Standing in front of me, Freedom held up one medium-sized, tan-colored suitcase. “That’s it?” I asked. Not much to show for my childish display.

Freedom nodded. “That’s it.”

He put the suitcase down next to me and walked over to the still-closed screen. Knocking gently on it then turning to wink at me, Freedom said, “Fog, I left the other key in the locker, and I’m putting your master key on the counter. Give us a minute or two and we’ll be out of your hair. Thanks.”

“Mr. Crane, is Miss Dixie a goin’ with you?” Fog asked.

“She sure is, Fog,” Freedom answered.

“Thank you, Mr. Crane,” Fog squeaked from behind the screen.

As we walked out, Freedom put his arm around me and gave my shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. We got into the Jeep and drove to Aunt Connie’s flower shop in silence.

The savory smell of Aunt Nissa’s chicken and dumplings hit me as I walked into Aunt Connie’s apartment. Even that couldn’t tempt me. I was no longer hungry, just tired and thoroughly disgusted with myself.

Uncle Rudd, in quite a chipper mood, decided that the suitcase could wait until after we ate our supper. I found myself being gently but firmly steered toward a seat at the
table by Freedom. Aunt Nissa filled our plates, mentioned apple pie, and Uncle Rudd said grace. I forced myself to take a bite. After all, I was going to need all the strength I could muster to continue my pity party. I found I was hungry, ravenous in fact.

Between bites, Uncle Rudd asked, “Have any problems getting that suitcase?”

I stopped in mid-bite and looked over at Freedom, pleading with my eyes for him not to tell them how I’d badgered poor old Fog Whitman.

Freedom looked at me with laughing eyes and grinning mouth. “We were having quite a bit of trouble convincing Fog we needed his master key, but you should have seen your niece in action…”

By the time Freedom finished telling everyone my wild-woman saga, we were all laughing, including me. As I listened and watched his face as he told the story, I found that I was grateful to him. He managed to take some of the sting out of my humiliation. He really wasn’t a bad sort, and he was a good storyteller to boot!

When Freedom had told it all, Uncle Rudd beamed at me and lifted his iced tea glass up in a toast. “Dixie-gal, you’ve just had a lesson in being human. May you take this opportunity to glean from it all that the good Lord has to teach you. There’s hope for you yet!”

I had certainly learned that I needed to let the Lord teach me about patience. Something I thought I had until I came
up against Fog Whitman. I looked at each one sitting around the table, and I realized that the love and laughter of family and friends had brought warmth and a measure of healing to my heart. After silently thanking God for each one of them, I thought, Yes, there is hope for me yet.

The laughter and fellowship helped to revive all of us. We decided to tackle Aaron’s luggage.

While Uncle Rudd went to get the suitcase from the living room, I asked Aunt Nissa if they had finished going through the briefcase and if they’d found anything else of importance.

Waving a dismissive hand, she said, “Not much, just some rental forms and a calendar book for appointments.”

Uncle Rudd hefted the suitcase up on Aunt Connie’s kitchen table. Taking out his pocket knife, he said, “I’ve already checked. It’s locked.”

When the locks broke, Uncle Rudd turned it upside down and shook everything out onto the table. A thick, blue-colored envelope came out last and started sliding off the table. I caught it.

Holding it in one hand, I slipped the contents out of the opened end. I unfolded the papers and read the top line, “Oh my! It’s Aaron Scott’s Last Will and Testament!”

There was no sense in reading all the legalese out loud, so ignoring everyone’s questions, I read it silently as fast as I could. It didn’t take long, because it was pretty straightforward. Aaron Landon Scott, being of sound mind and body (at the time), had left everything he owned, including
the marina, which included a townhouse on the premises, to Connie Rosalie Tanner. She was the sole beneficiary.

My first thought was “wow,” but it was my second thought that gave me a sobering and chilling insight.

“Dixie dear, you’re white as a sheet, is there something bad in that will?” Aunt Nissa asked.

“Uh, no, not really,” I mumbled.

“Then tell us what it says, Dixie-gal.”

Looking at Aunt Connie, I smiled. “Aaron Scott loved you so much that he left everything to you.”

With trembling hands, Aunt Connie reached for the will and read it for herself. Uncle Rudd and Freedom moved behind her so they could read it over her shoulder.

Aunt Nissa kept her eyes focused on me, a puzzled look on her face. “I don’t understand, dear, what made you look so frightened a minute ago.”

The other three stopped reading, and Freedom frowned. “Yeah, I noticed the look on your face, too. What gives, Dixie?”

I desperately wished that my dark thoughts hadn’t shown so clearly. But being confronted, I had little choice in the matter. I tried to choose my words carefully. “I was thinking, why did Aaron Scott make out a will and bring it with him? I hardly think it was meant as a romantic gesture. Surely he knew he was in danger. Why didn’t he do something to protect himself? He never hid the fact that he was in town. All of that is strange enough, but it also brings up the thought that if
the killer had succeeded in framing Aunt Connie for murder and the will was eventually found, a jury might convict her of premeditated murder. The will gives her a motive.”