Nuts and Buried (12 page)

Nine o'clock and there was Roy Friendly coming out of the Coyote, shutting the door on the sound of a whining guitar. He stood still, in silhouette, cowboy hat pushed to the back of his head. He looked like every tired cowboy ever resting out on the range. A heroic stance for a guy who'd been drinking for hours.

Roy glanced around, saw us, and took the bright stub of a cigarette out of his mouth and threw it to the ground. He stepped on that butt again and again, grinding it into the dirt before ambling over to my truck.

“Evening, ladies,” he greeted us through Meemaw's open window. He wasn't drunk or anything, just smelled of whiskey and cigarettes and that other thing the Coyote always smelled like. Meemaw didn't open the door. Just left him standing there, leaning on the truck.

“Mighty happy to see the both of you. Fine weather, don't you think?”

We agreed it was a fine, almost cool, evening. Then we
agreed that the stars were brighter than we'd ever seen 'em before.

Here was the man from the party, dressed up in a tuxedo, standing formal and cool in that front hall, demanding to see invitations. I couldn't help but wonder how humans, more than any other animals, could change color and who they were whenever they needed to. Which brought me back to that extra woman helping in the kitchen at the party. Those crooked teeth couldn't be anybody else but Wanda Truly. Probably getting as close as she dared to get, keeping an eye on things. Or as close as she could get to be in on the killing of Eugene Wheatley, leaving Jeannie a wealthy widow.

“What I wanted to talk to you about was the party,” Meemaw started the conversation when she figured they'd socialized enough.

He closed one eye and grimaced. “What'd you want to know that I ain't told the sheriff?”

“I was thinking.” Meemaw knew how to talk to cowboys. Don't push 'em too fast or they get nervous. Drag out what you want to know so you both could chew it over and over like a cow's cud. “Was there anybody coming to that party that you didn't know?”

He thought awhile. “Sure. Lotsa people. Wasn't exactly my crowd.”

She looked out the window over his head. “Anybody come who wasn't there after the murder? I mean, you see anybody leave, go out the door, around that time?”

“Couldn't tell you, Miss Amelia. They was coming and going all night. After a while, I just gave up checking off names.”

“What do you think happened out there, Roy? You're a pretty good observer of human nature, I'll bet.”

He took a while then nodded. “You gotta study 'em. People come in just a few types. Those people there were all rich and don't care a damn for anybody like me. Didn't
even see me. Some, I heard, were nasty about Miss Jeannie though I liked her good enough. And Mr. Wheatley, too. Good man. Too bad he's the one they got. Now, that sister of his—”

“You think she could have been in on killing him?”

“I'll tell you one thing. She loved her brother. Maybe too much, some said. Trying to run his life and all.” He shrugged and pulled another cigarette from a squashed pack in his shirt pocket. After feeling around in his back pockets, he brought out a matchbook, lit the cigarette behind cupped hands, and blew smoke off, away from the car window.

“Still, you never know about women. Saw one in here . . .” He moved his head toward the Coyote. “Long time ago. Always quiet. Nice. Took a lot from that husband of hers. Ya seen the kind. Drunk and insulting her in public. Like that. One night she just up and stuck a steak knife in his chest. Missed the heart, but she went to jail for it. Came out and went right back to him. Like I say, you never know about women.”

“And what about the staff? Anybody different?”

“I was never there before. It was Chantal, the cook, called me, said they needed somebody like a butler to check invitations. You know, keep the riffraff out.”

“Was the staff on your list?”

He shook his head. “Some of 'em didn't know no better and came in the front, by me, but all they did was tell me what they were there for.”

“Did you see anybody who was working that night that you didn't know? I mean, people not from around here.”

He thought awhile as he blew out rings of smoke. “Maybe one, I'd say.”

“Do you know what Wanda Truly looks like?” I asked.

“You mean that woman who says she's Jeannie Wheatley's mother? Yeah, I know her. Been hanging around for a
couple of weeks. Not anybody you want to be too friendly with.”

“Did she come in past you?”

He shook his head slowly. “Didn't see her there. Suppose that was funny, her being Miss Jeannie's mother and all, and not invited to her daughter's wedding party.”

“What about a tall, dark man? He was one of the waiters.”

“Yup. That's the one I was talking about. He came in the front door. I sent him 'round to the back, where he was supposed to go. Never saw that one before.”

“Did he give you his name?”

“Didn't ask. Too much going on. That was just about the time all the other people started walking in and I was busy.”

“Do you have any suspicions who did this terrible thing, Roy?” Meemaw asked.

He shook his head. “Heard about gun runners from South America. That's all.”

We thanked him and got out of there before Meemaw split a gut.

*   *   *

I still had to take Meemaw out to the ranch and then get back into town, to my apartment. I had to find something presentable to wear to the memorial service the next day. Supposed to be about seven o'clock in the evening. Be a long time in church, I was willing to bet. Then some small dinner or something afterward. That was the usual thing.

Back at the farm I could tell Miss Amelia was tired. I shooed her right off to bed then went looking for Justin and Bethany. I hoped one of them had taken Jeannie back out to the Chaunceys'. I was too tired for that long trek—out and back to Riverville.

I could've groaned when I saw the three of them sitting at the long trestle table in the kitchen. Justin was nursing a
glass of whiskey. Jeannie and Bethany had clear glass cups of tea in front of them. They gave me relieved smiles.

“Wondered where you got to,” Bethany said.

“I called Miranda,” Jeannie said. “They're worried about me. Especially coming back after dark. And I guess my mama was out again, looking for me.”

“You want to stay here?” I asked immediately.

“My clothes are all out there. All my personal stuff. Even some of Gene's things I brought with me.”

“I'll take you, if that's what you want,” Justin offered, and I could see he meant it, wasn't just being nice.

“Eugene's memorial service is tomorrow evening,” I said, not apologizing for how late I was because I didn't think apologies were in order at this point.

“I heard. Miranda said Mama was in a state, insisting I be there.” Jeannie shook herself. “None of it will be about Eugene. I wish I could . . . have a moment in that place. You know, alone with his ashes. Ever since he died, it's like he was spirited away from me. No time to say good-bye. We were just getting to really know each other and then it was over. I feel . . . I don't know. Cheated, maybe? Or just mad at whoever did this to him. So mad!”

She shook her head. “Nobody's going to scare me away from the memorial. Last thing I have to do for Gene. Ever. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. He wanted us to get away from Elizabeth. Move to Dallas, if we had to, or wherever we could be left alone. That was why he was going to sell that gun collection once we got back there. Just get rid of it. We were going to buy a condo—not too much to have to look out for. Travel. That's what he wanted to do. Take me to Europe and Asia, is what he said. He painted word pictures of where we were going to go. I think Gene was more excited about showing me the world than I was to see it.”

She smiled a sweet, sad smile, and took a deep breath.

“So he was going to sell the whole collection? How much is it worth, if you don't mind my asking?”

She shook her head. “We didn't talk about it. I don't know a thing about guns. I guess his collection is a rare one. One time he said he was having an appraiser come out.”

“Are we talking millions?”

“I . . . think so. Gene told me after Sally was killed, he needed something to fill his mind. That was when he seriously began collecting—just about every rare gun that came on the market. Like, if he owned them all, nobody could kill somebody he loved again.”

“Who does the collection go to? I mean now. Will it be yours?”

“I talked to Ben Fordyce today. Guess he's your family lawyer, too. He called back with some information. He's looking into all the rest for me. But I just don't care. There's nothing I need that much money for. It was all about Eugene. He said he was glad for the first time he was so rich, because of me.”

I believed her, about not caring for the money. Maybe not caring about anything—with people after her, people accusing her of things, people letting out their meanness in her direction. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered how the poor woman could stand on her feet.

Bethany said Jeannie had been a big help with the wedding that afternoon. “She's a natural at this business. If I ever need a helper—” She blushed, probably thinking it was inappropriate to be talking about giving a new widow a job.

“I don't suppose you feel like talking more about what Ben said.” My curiosity overcame any pity I was feeling. All this had to be about the money. I couldn't come up with anything else.

Jeannie bowed her head and rubbed at her eyes.

Justin gave me an angry look.

“Why don't you leave her alone, Lindy. You can see—”

“No, no.” Jeannie put her hands up, then looked directly at me, her eyes shining—maybe with tears, maybe fatigue. “He said there's a family trust that Elizabeth claims Gene didn't change after we got married. I thought I remembered Gene saying he went to Dallas to do that very thing. The current trust is only held in Gene's name and Elizabeth's. At least that's what Elizabeth's lawyer said. I guess she'll get almost everything, except what isn't in the trust.”

“So the gun collection might still come to you?”

“Ben asked for a copy of the trust to be faxed to him. We're getting together tomorrow evening so we can go over everything and see what I have to do.”

“After the memorial?” I asked.

She nodded and started to get up. “Think it's best I get back out to the twins' ranch now. Miss Miranda and Miss Melody really seem to worry about me. I don't want to cause them any more—”

“I'll take her,” Justin said again, and it was settled.

“And maybe stay the night?” I asked, giving him a significant look. Better a young man in the house, though I couldn't really think of anybody better in a tough spot than Miranda and that shotgun of hers. “The girls won't care.”

“If you think it's needed.” Justin pulled out Jeannie's chair, like the gentleman he was, and they were off.

In the morning I waited until I heard Meemaw's key in the lock downstairs at the Nut House. Since the store wouldn't be open for another two hours, I hurried on down in the clothes I slept in: an old yellow T-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. No shoes, which was the first thing Meemaw noticed and warned me fiercely about getting slivers from the old wood floor, which meant I had to run back up the steps and get a pair of sandals before she'd even talk to me.

I sat at the table, feeling like a little girl again, with my grandmother fussing over me, bringing out a fresh pecan bread to toast a slice. One slice, I told her since I was meeting Jessie for breakfast.

She poured coffee, which I drank without complaining. No use being ungrateful, especially when the pecan bread slice came hot out of the toaster, and I could use a little taking care of since I was feeling alone and unhappy with Hunter still being such an ass. I'd checked my cell first thing that morning and there was a call from Peter Franklin asking me
to call him. Which I did, to get it over with. He wanted to know, he said, if I was going to the memorial. And Elizabeth wanted to make sure Jeannie knew the memorial was set for seven that evening, at the Rushing to Calvary Independent Church. And she wanted to talk to me, if I could find time in this sad day to come on over to the house.

“You understand, don't you?” he went on. “Elizabeth says Jeannie should make it a point to be at the memorial, otherwise everybody will be scandalized—the wife not there. I'm sure you can see what she's saying. Last thing Elizabeth wants is more scandal.”

I said far as I knew, Jeannie was going to be there, with a lot of friends around her. He ignored that last comment and went on to say he'd love to pick me up, but Elizabeth requested that he go with her. She had a limo for the occasion. And she'd be in no state for conversation by that time.

I congratulated myself on not being compelled to go with the two of them. Just hearing his voice made shivers run down my back. My plan, from there on, was to freeze him out cold. Something I didn't like about the man—no matter how he kept trying to impress me. Two scientists, after all, he seemed to suggest, while all I could think was I may be a scientist but I wasn't a snob, and I didn't stick my nose into other people's work, and I sure didn't suck up to rich people.

No call from Hunter. That was a thing that was starting to hurt like somebody pulling a big scab off a sore.

When Meemaw settled at the table across from me, I got into what I'd hurried down to discuss. “Did you know Eugene was selling that gun collection of his?” I asked, my mouth still full of pecan bread.

She shook her head, eyes blinking a couple of times as she thought about what I said. “Kind of brings in another angle, doesn't it?”

“I thought so.”

“Hope it's not Ethelred's angle. You know, that gun
runner business. You think about it, those drug people have a lot of money. What's a couple million more or less to them?” She yawned behind her hand and said she didn't sleep too well last night.

“Meemaw, think about it. Bet anything those gun lords want guns that work, not to hang on their wall.”

Meemaw sort of giggled. “Just shows you how tired I am. But I'm just as happy to have Ethelred stuck on her theory. Keeps her out of everybody's hair.”

“Justin took Jeannie home and stayed out to the Chaunceys'. Just to keep watch.” I gave her a dubious look.

“You don't think he's smitten with her, do you? Poor soul just lost her husband. Justin needs a better sense of timing.”

“He hasn't been interested in a woman since that Grace Prouty broke up with him,” I said.

“Probably about time, but for heaven's sakes, the girl's in mourning.”

“I don't think Justin would be dumb enough to start anything. But I kind of hope she'll hang around Riverville. At least for a while. Be good to see Justin happy,” I said.

“What about you and Hunter?”

I shook my head. “That man's a complete ass.”

“Well, bless his heart. I've got to speak to that boy. The way he's actin'! Dumb as a box of rocks. And, you know, we gotta work together. So much is going on, and from what he tells me, the sheriff isn't any more ahead findin' the murderer than we are.”

“Guess you can put away that silver set you been saving for me. Don't look like I'm ever gonna use it.”

“Pshaw! This is just one of those bumps in the road. He'll come back around.”

“Not with that pretty blonde after him.”

Meemaw made a face. “You just forget about that girl. I'm sure she doesn't mean a thing to Hunter.”

I smelled a rat. “You know something you're not saying?”

“When I don't say something that could save my granddaughter's feelings, you know I've got a pretty good reason. That enough for you?”

“No, ma'am. Come on, Meemaw. What's going on?”

She shook her head hard two times, made a disapproving noise, and went back to talking about guns. “Somebody who wanted that gun collection and wasn't willing to pay for it wouldn't shoot Eugene and leave all the guns behind. They would've worked the whole thing different. Wouldn't pose as a buyer and come at a time when Eugene was in the middle of his own wedding party. Doesn't make sense if you look at it like a robbery.”

“Worth a lot of money,” I reminded her.

“Still and all, Hunter said they had an expert in to go over the collection. Nothing missing, according to Eugene's own records.”

“So you're still talking to Hunter behind my back.”

Meemaw colored up. “Not about you, Lindy. He's got the basics to the case.”

“And you asked him about that blonde he was with the other night. Won't tell me what you know about her.”

She shook her head. “Think it's up to you to ask. I'm your grandmother, young lady, not your fight manager.”

*   *   *

Jessie walked into The Squirrel in a gorgeous turquoise silk blouse that wrapped around and tied at her waist. I had just one tiny minute of jealousy, thinking how I should go shopping and get some clothes that looked better than things a farmhand might wear. And if I was going to start publishing my work, well, who knows what conferences I'd be asked to? But that all flew out of my head as Jessie sat down and pushed a computer runoff at me.

“I looked up that Dr. Franklin of yours,” she said. “Seems he did go to Harvard. Even lived in Boston—some of the time.”

“What about the Global Plant Initiative in Italy? Did it say anything about him being connected there?”

She scanned her runoff then shook her head. “Nothing like that on here. Some articles on plant propagation. Wow—a whole list of them, but nothing current.”

“Could be because he's been working in Italy.”

She shrugged. “Or he doesn't have a job.”

I laughed. “You have any background in the CIA?”

She shook her head. “No, just tracking down overdue library books.”

Cecil was on his way over with his usual scruffy menus from which I would be talked into some awful English dish. I looked up and out the big front windows and around the enormous squirrel painted on the glass.

The man walking by on the sidewalk wasn't hurrying, but he still moved like a person with a purpose: long, thin body bent forward, head with a mop of curly black hair. He wore a muscle shirt, sun-darkened arms sticking out at the elbows, hands shoved into the pockets of dark pants. No waiter's tuxedo, yet I recognized him. The waiter from the party, who nobody seemed to know.

I didn't have time to say a word to Jessie. I got up and ran out of the restaurant, the door closing with the tinkle of the bell behind me.

Curly was taking long strides, getting along without seeming to be going fast. I walked behind him for a couple of blocks, almost down to the Nut House, when he turned to look over his shoulder. The look on his face was all shock. He knew who I was, or remembered me from the party. I expected him to stop, seeing I was almost up behind him, but he didn't.

“Curly?” I called out.

Faster than I could catch on to, he was off, loping around a corner, past the sheriff's department, and over into the park. I was too surprised to go fast enough to keep up. And
what if I caught him? I asked myself. What then? I slowed down and watched as he jogged around the ice cream shop and ran deep into the park where people were sitting on benches, or standing with baby carriages, talking, fanning themselves because the day was getting to be a hot one. There was no use yelling “Stop that man,” since I had no reason to stop him if he wanted to get away from me.

I turned back and ran up the steps to the sheriff's department. Greg Harner, new to the force, was on duty at the front desk. I asked for Hunter, but he said he was out looking for that dog of his.

“Thing won't listen to Hunter worth a damn,” Greg said. “If it was me, I'd get him to the pound fast as I could. But Hunter says he likes the dog. Go figure that one.”

I asked for Sheriff Higsby. He was out on a call, too.

No cop to help me. That was a pretty scary feeling.