Nuts and Buried (13 page)

I pulled up and parked outside the Wheatley mansion—still stately and icy cold. I did some self-talking in my head about not feeling small in that huge place and then about not being intimidated by a woman with a lot of money and a look on her face like maybe I smelled bad. Which made me check both armpits and be happy that I smelled kind of like a pine tree.

Meemaw, riding shotgun as usual, gave me a worried look. I put up one finger, letting her know I needed just a minute to think before we went in . . .

*   *   *

When I'd gotten back to The Squirrel, and explained what happened, Jessie agreed I had better things to do than gorge myself on Cecil's Bangers and Mash. “I saw a plate of it go by,” she whispered. “Looked like pig intestines curled over a lump of yellowish mashed potatoes. Let's get out of here.”

“You tell Deputy Austen about the man?” she asked on
the way out the door, the tinkling bell letting Cecil know we were leaving without eating, for which I would pay—double and dearly—the next time I was in.

“I tried to, but nobody was around and that idiot new deputy was all wrapped up in Hunter's dog.” I rolled my eyes the way women do after dealing with men who weren't raised the way they should've been. Jessie got it and gave me a sympathetic cluck and a hug.

“He kept that mongrel then?” Jessie was laughing to herself. “Heard the dog doesn't listen, doesn't like being touched, eats more than a cow, and never comes when he's called. Sounds like the perfect companion for Hunter. He's kind of that way himself, you ask me.”

She smiled and so did I. It was good to have a girlfriend. Women knew about things men didn't even know existed.

“Guess where I'm going?” I said though Jessie could have no idea, not being in the middle of all the things Meemaw and I were in the middle of.

“Un-uh.”

“Elizabeth Wheatley called and wants to see me. I want to see her, too. See what that Curly was up to and why he was at the party.”

“Good idea,” Jessie said, then kissed me on both cheeks and hurried off toward the library. At least somebody had the kind of job they had to get to—and people let 'em.

I called Meemaw and told her who I'd been chasing in town and that I was going out to see Elizabeth.

“You get ahold of Hunter, Lindy. I don't like you out doin' things on your own.” Her voice was as stern as it gets.

“Tried. He's on a call.”

“Then come pick me up before you leave town. I don't want you at that place alone. Seems so much is going on. People taking up sides. Jeannie's and Elizabeth's, and it's all wrong. Every bit of it. Eugene's murder wasn't an attempted robbery, so who benefits? I see a bunch of people
standing in line for that one. Elizabeth, Jeannie, Jeannie's mother and brother. And somebody's helping whoever did it. Neither Elizabeth nor Jeannie could've done it alone. They were in plain sight at the time of the shot.”

She hesitated when someone in the store asked a question. She answered then came back on the phone. “Last thing whoever's responsible for all of this wants is you and me looking into it. I think we have to make a pact, Lindy. You may not like it, being free-spirited the way you are, but I say we stay together as much as we can from now on.”

“You mean I have to work in the store all day? Or you have to sit out in my greenhouse?”

Her voice froze a couple of degrees. “You know very well that's not what I'm talking about. I mean: You go to the Chaunceys'. I go. You go hunting down some dark man. I go. You go to the Wheatleys'. I go. So come and get me. Treenie's here now. She'll take over.”

I wanted to groan, but I agreed, just to make peace and not stir her up more than she was stirred already.

On the way over to the Nut House to pick her up, I called Hunter again because Meemaw said I had to, telling me, “He's looking for that man, too, ya know. He has to know the man's still hanging around Riverville.”

“You're sure on top of what he's doing,” I came back at her, trying to keep a nasty tinge out of my voice.

“Humph. Somebody has to be.”

She hung up.

I dialed the station number. “Deputy Hunter,” he answered, his voice gruff and hurried, but achingly familiar.

“Hunter,” I started right in, almost breathless, as if I had to justify calling him. “Are you looking for that dark waiter who was at the party? That Curly?”

“Heard about him, but I'm pretty busy right now, Lindy. I'm out here at the Chaunceys' ranch. A little trouble. Could I call you in, say, half an hour?”

“What kind of trouble?” I got worried right away. “Is Justin still there?”

“Yup. He's the one took a shot at the Trulys' car. And they're the ones called me out.”

“Oh, no!”

“I guess there's fault on both sides, Lindy. Don't worry about Justin. Melody and Miranda back him up—the Trulys were asked to leave and wouldn't go. Justin kind of chased them out to their car and took a shot when they wouldn't leave. Warning them, Justin says. But say, I gotta go now. They're all standing around. Trulys met me on the highway and were damned and determined to come on back with me. Wanted to press charges 'til I pointed out that they'd been trespassing, and in Texas, that gave the owner the right to protect their property.”

“Thanks, Hunter. I really appreciate . . . Oh, Lord, wait 'til Mama hears. Justin's out there because of me and Meemaw wanting to protect Jeannie.”

“Heard about that. Tell you one thing, Lindy. I don't think those people will be coming back too soon to bother these folks. I kind of read them the riot act. You gonna be at that memorial service later?”

I said I was.

“Then I'll see you there. You can tell me about that Curly fella then.”

“But I saw him . . .”

Hunter was gone. More trouble. Poor Justin, I'd gotten him into this. I took just a second to be grateful for Hunter, being nice the way he'd been, then I realized he was talking in front of other people and had to be at least halfway decent to me . . .

*   *   *

Meemaw rang the bell at the Wheatleys' house, and waited. Elizabeth Wheatley answered the door herself,
dressed in what I supposed were riding clothes: narrow-waisted jacket, jodhpurs, and small, round hat on her head. I'd seen pictures in school of people “riding to hounds” that looked like her. All that was different on Elizabeth was the small gun holster at her hip.

She didn't say hello, just “Come on in.” Striding across the wide, front hall, she turned to snap out an unpleasant, “See you can't go anywhere without your grandma.”

“Don't pay me any mind, Elizabeth.” Meemaw had her “You poor dear” face on, the kind of face Southern women have been joyously showing to bad husbands as they died of too big a dose of pecan pie. “Just wanted to get out of the Nut House for a while. You won't know I'm here, dear.”

We weren't shown to one of the pretty rooms off the main corridor. We weren't offered sweet tea or a single cookie, though my stomach was growling by now, having had only one slice of Meemaw's pecan bread to eat so far. Made me wonder just how “Southern” Dallas was these days, that people didn't know the simple rules of hospitality.

I was feeling huffy when Elizabeth pointed to a settee in the hall. We sat. She decorously lowered herself to a brocaded couch set at an angle to us. She sat there like she had a broomstick down her back, hands together between her knees. I reminded myself, she's the one asked me to come by
.
I couldn't help but think how some people maybe had a whole lot of money and no idea how to treat other people.

“So.” Elizabeth cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at us. “Jeannie's coming to the memorial this evening, or so I've been told. I mean, Eugene was her husband, after all. No matter that it was one of the shortest marriages on record.” She smirked at me, then at Meemaw.

I wished, for just a minute, I wasn't a lady so I could smirk right back at her, but I could see Meemaw was doing it for me: a smirk, with a sweet tip of the head, so you weren't supposed to notice how pissed off she was getting.

“Not her fault the marriage was short, Elizabeth.” Meemaw's voice had that touch of pure Southern oil that could make me cringe. “Poor soul seemed to have loved him an awful lot.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Love. Phooey, you ask me. You've seen those relatives of hers, pure gold diggers. If any of you people are still looking to solve my brother's murder, I hope somebody's taking a good long look at that Billy Truly. Just out of prison. I heard it was manslaughter they got him for. So here's that family not wanting to wait too long to get poor Eugene's money. And my money, by the way. You ask me, it was that brother. He's the one hanging around the house that night. And that awful mother of hers running in almost as soon as the shot was fired. What was the pair of them doing here at all? They weren't invited. Must've been hiding in the bushes. I can see that Billy Truly now, knocking on Eugene's door, maybe saying he was there to see Jeannie, and Eugene, being the pushover he was, letting the man in.”

“Doing what then?” I asked. “Did Eugene go back to work with the man behind him holding a gun? Wouldn't he have taken him out to see Jeannie—if he let him in at all? He wouldn't have gone back to work at the table. Just wouldn't be the right thing to do.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Who knows what happened? To tell you the honest to God's truth, I don't see anybody but him doing this. I'll just say it again, right out loud. Those awful relatives of Jeannie's hope to benefit one way or the other. I think, sincerely, this was the way they took.”

“Was there anything special you wanted to talk about,” I asked because I didn't like the circle we were plowing.

Elizabeth made a face at me and looked down at her watch. “That was it. I just want to make sure the sheriff takes a long hard look at that Billy Truly.”

“I'll pass on the word,” I assured her.

“I want this over and that pair in jail. I'm telling you, I
can sense things like that. Like who can kill another human being. I just know. Feel it just by looking at them.” She nodded hard. “And that other pair, Miss Ethelred and Freda Cromwell. Did you hear what Ethelred's spreading around? She thinks it's some gun runners from South America killed Eugene. As if my brother would have anything to do with gun runners or drug lords or what have you. I hope you can put a lid on what she's spreading, Miss Amelia. I imagine you're the only one who's got any sway with that woman.”

Meemaw frowned. “Nobody has ‘sway' with Ethelred Tomroy, Elizabeth.”

“Well, now that you know, I hope you'll have a word with her and shut her up.”

Meemaw had nothing more to say though I could imagine her thinking she wasn't in the business of shutting anybody up.

“I want to ask about something, too.” I drew out my remark. “There was a waiter at the party. Tall man with dark curly hair. Heard his name was Curly. Chantal Kronos and Roy Friendly didn't recognize him. You hire that man, do you remember?”

She turned away to think awhile, and then back. “No, I don't hire staff myself. Usually Chantal does that. She's the one got Roy Friendly to check the invitations. Don't want just anybody wandering in.”

“Looks like somebody did. The man was there and Chantal said he didn't seem a whole lot interested in doing a waiter's job.”

“Really?” She leaned back and gave me a look.

“And there was another one nobody knew. A woman. Lots of makeup. Crooked teeth. Blond . . .”

“For heaven's sake! That sounds like that awful—” She didn't finish what she was going to say. I saw the look in her eyes. She was guessing the woman was Wanda Truly, but she wasn't going to come out with it. For whatever reason
Elizabeth had for doing anything, she was holding this one close to her chest.

“Anyway, I saw that Curly in town this morning. I called out his name and he ran away like his pants were on fire.”

She leaned back. “You don't say! Well, if you ask me, you don't have to go looking for any ‘dark man.' I just know that Billy Truly had something to do with this. And you all know he's just out of Huntsville. You can check it out with Hunter Austen. Manslaughter, for goodness' sakes. Now, if that doesn't give you pause.”

I agreed it certainly did.

“Oh, another thing. My attorney called a while ago. You hear that Ben Fordyce is taking on Jeannie's case against me?”

I nodded.

“He's the Blanchards' attorney, isn't he?'

“A good friend of my daddy's,” I put in.

“You people choosing up sides?” she demanded and reared back to give us a hard look straight down her nose.

“Why no. We're not against anybody. She needs her own attorney. You gave me that card to give her. Remember? Stands to reason she needs a lawyer on her side, too.”