Nuts and Buried (18 page)

“Still and all . . .” She seemed to drop into deep thought.

“He's not staying there with Elizabeth, is he?”

“Not that I know of. But then I've been gone from the house a few days and so much has been going on.” She waited a minute. “Anything else?”

“What's all this legal stuff Elizabeth's been talking about? Did Ben find out anything?”

She nodded. “A family trust. I guess all the money's in it and the house and a couple of apartments in Dallas and a
boat and all the cars and just about everything. Ben says I'll get some of it, as Eugene's wife, but Eugene didn't put me in directly as a trust holder so Elizabeth will get most. That's what Elizabeth claims, which is kind of strange. I remember Eugene saying he was going into Dallas to make sure I got taken care of if something happened to him. That was the morning of the party. Maybe he just forgot.”

“Doesn't seem right.”

“Ask Mama if she thinks it's right. She's been having fits. Threatening to find the best lawyer in the county, all of that stuff. I'm tired. I just want this over. I want to go someplace and start my life again. Eugene didn't owe me anything. Elizabeth's right about that. A few weeks of marriage. I was thinking if we ever had a baby, that would be the time to get me and the baby covered somehow. Guess I'm naïve, the way Mr. Fordyce says. It was never about the money, not with me. It is with Mama. Driving me crazy.”

I believed she was innocent of everything happening around her. And I believed she was naïve—maybe too much for her own good.

I sat back, looking at Jeannie's open and sad face and wished I could go back outside, on that porch, pick up a big broom, and chase Wanda Truly out over the Chaunceys' hills until she could never find her way back.

The notebook wasn't anywhere. I told myself I could remember most of it—for the article—but really I knew I couldn't duplicate the watering: amounts, times, withdrawals, increases. That took solid facts behind it. Awful, that I was that careless. Not what a dedicated scientist should do—be so unprofessional as to lose data backing up experiments.

I walked through the greenhouse, checking the stainless steel tables, in case I'd laid the book down somewhere. Nothing there but my yellow pods of seedlings and pots of newly developed saplings.

No notebook. I had a deadline facing me. I had to have the article in to the journal at least six months ahead of the publication date. It had to be vetted by other scientists. There would be questions to answer and maybe even challenges. How could I defend my work without records to back up what I'd done? It wouldn't matter, in the long run, if the trees
were what I hoped they'd turn out to be: drought resistant, scab resistant—all the things that killed off blossoms and nuts and even the trees themselves. It was my ego prodding me. I wanted credit for my work before someone else grabbed it. All along I'd told myself the effort was only for the good of the pecan farmers and here I was, needing to be known for the breakthrough. One thing I was finding out about me: I was no selfless Mother Teresa after all.

Since I was going to have supper with my family at the ranch house, I stopped over at the Sanchezes' place to talk to Martin, and visit with Juanita and Jessie.

First thing we did was hug all around and catch up on the news. Juanita was cooking supper. The frying peppers about did my eyes in. The house was thick with the aroma of spice. Juanita invited me to stay and I would have loved to, but I'd promised Mama I'd be there that night. It seemed everyone I knew had something they wanted to talk about.

Jessie was helping her mother, a colorful apron wrapped around her as she cooked tortillas on her mother's battered old pan, flipping them as they bubbled and browned. I'd helped out many times in this kitchen. The smells were comforting. Even if my eyes burned, it felt good being there.

Martin was sitting at the table going over the newspaper. He pointed to the dark man's sketch. “I know I've seen him around. Maybe in town. Or over at the Wheatleys' when Elizabeth asked me if I could pick up some serving pieces from a rental place in Columbus.”

Martin shrugged. “I just know I've seen him before.”

I turned to Jessie. “Did you see the sketch?”

She nodded.

“He isn't that man who asked about me at the library, is he?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, I told you, that one was
more like that man at The Squirrel. The one with Elizabeth at the memorial.”

“Dr. Franklin?”

“I would say he fits the description.”

I got right to the notebook, asking Martin to please keep an eye out for it.

“The last time I noticed that book, it was on your desk. Right before that Dr. Franklin came to visit. Maybe that's where you should look. Call him. Maybe he picked it up then stuck it somewhere without thinking.”

Of course. That's who was alone in my greenhouse before I got there. That's the only person within miles who would be interested, maybe stuck it in his jacket by mistake . . .

Or not by mistake. I didn't trust anybody at this point.

Except my family, and the Sanchezes, and Hunter . . .

And Meemaw, and Justin, and Mama, and . . .

So many.

*   *   *

“Have I seen your notebook? Why, what a question, Lindy!”

I called him at a number I had on my cell, from his previous calls. I wasn't accusing him of anything, just asking.

“It's been gone since that day you were out here and I wondered if you picked it up by mistake.”

“I'm not in the habit of pocketing items when I am a guest. In fact, I'm rather hurt to have you asking.”

“I told you about that article I'm working on. Without my record book on these specimens, I won't have proof . . .”

“Dear, dear, dear. I see the problem. I wish I could help. Are you certain you've looked everywhere? I mean, we can be so absentminded when we're in the midst of one of these discoveries. Ah, the hope. Don't you find it appalling how single-minded we get?”

Since I found nothing appalling about doing the job I'd
set out to do and since I was hungry and wanted to get off the phone, I ended the conversation when he was about to go on about some self-puffery that would make him come out looking good.

All that was left to me was to decide when to call the journal editor and admit I had nothing to send.

Supper was set when I walked in. My family ringed the huge trestle table where a tureen of Meemaw's spicy, hot pecan soup sat steaming.

“Hunter called for you. Didn't want to bother you if you were working. Could you call him back after you eat?” Mama smiled her tired smile and lifted an eyebrow at me. “Looks like you two are friends again.”

I took a seat between Justin and Bethany and held my bowl out to Meemaw to be filled. And a plate of tortillas to go with it. Nice, that I didn't miss anything by not eating with the Sanchezes.

I rolled my eyes at Mama. She sure did push about the marriage thing. As if hers had been so splendid, with my daddy being murdered in the grove and her having to take over running the farm—at least all the bookwork, the sales, the ordering, and mailing. Tough job. I always wondered what would have happened if she'd stayed in Dallas, with Meemaw and my grandfather, who was a state senator. What
if Mama never met my daddy? Sure would've been an easier life for her. Trouble with that was Mama loved the groves as much as the rest of us, and wouldn't I have hated living in a city.

But then there wouldn't have been a “me.” No Justin. No Bethany. I looked around at this family I loved so much and gave them all a silly smile, which made Justin frown, Bethany cluck her tongue, and Mama purse her lips, waiting for an answer about me and Hunter.

“Yes, Mama, me and Hunter are friends again.”

“Can I start planning a wedding in the tent anytime soon?” Bethany stuck her nose in.

“You getting married?”

“I was only asking.”

“Anything happens in that department, you'll be the first to know.”

“Maybe you should start bringing that boy over to supper more often,” Mama said. “Seems like we don't see him half enough.”

The rest of the talk was about the dark man's murder and who on earth was killing people in Riverville. Meemaw led most of that conversation, leaving out a lot of information we'd learned earlier, and turning the conversation neatly from the murders in town around to what the county fair committee was coming up with this year, including an appearance by Randy Travis, which made me think about asking Hunter to go with me.

*   *   *

I didn't call Hunter until I got back to my apartment. I had questions for him, and things to tell him. Most of that I forgot when he launched into what he'd learned about the dead man.

“Sheriff Higsby thinks we're getting close to solving most of what's been happening.”

“How's that?” I asked, hoping the sheriff was right.

“First of all—the fingerprints. Name is really Henry Wade. No lie about that. Forty-three years old. Got a record in Dallas: larceny from a building, malicious destruction of property, attempted manslaughter. He got off on that last one. Let's see here. There's an assault and battery charge—when he was in his twenties. Did time on that one.

“Born in El Paso. Seems he's got some family there. Somebody's going out to talk to them and break the news. We've got a whole batch of questions we want answered—like who his friends are, what he was doing here in Riverville, did he know anybody around here—things like that.”

“What about the gun?”

“Let me finish, okay? Just heard from the lab about the rifle. The bullet's a match with the bullet that killed Eugene Wheatley.”

“What? You mean this Henry Wade killed Eugene?”

“That's what it looks like. Checked with the Defense Department, seeing if he was in the service. Turns out he was a Marine. Honorable discharge. Special forces. Sharpshooter . . .”

“Oh, my God. Have you talked to Elizabeth yet?”

“Not yet.”

“It's all so—”

“I know.”

“You want to come on over and talk?”

“About the case?”

“About anything you want to talk about.”

“How about your virginity?”

“I was only joking.”

“Still, seems as good a topic as any if we're going to get back together.”

“What do you mean ‘if'?”

“Give me a half hour,” he said and hung up.

He brought the dog to my apartment. The animal eyed me and I eyed him. I think I won because he laid down on my kitchen floor and went right to sleep.

“What are we going to do with him? I don't have room for a dog here.”

Hunter shrugged and spread his hands. “Nothing, I guess. Can't leave him home. He howls and the neighbors call the sheriff.”

Hunter was hungry, as usual, and all I had were three eggs, a few slices of hard bread, lots of pecan butter, and a brick of cheese. The toast would only get harder in the toaster and the pecan butter would cover that. The cheese called for more toast. And a pitcher of sweet tea.

I made all of it while stepping back and forth across the dog, who awoke at the smell of food and sat next to Hunter's chair.

“What do you call him?” I asked, giving the long-haired animal the fish-eye.

“Flasher. He answers to it—when he answers at all.”

“Where'd you get that name?”

“I used to have a dog named Flasher.”

“You name that one, too?”

He shook his head. “No. My mama did. Don't know why.”

“So now you've got a second Flasher. Seems right for a cop.”

As we discussed the dog, his head swung back and forth—from Hunter to me and around again. I could have sworn he got what we were talking about, but then I decided he was clueless because I didn't want to think of a dog as smart as I was.

“You staying the night?” I asked, the way I'd ask any friend to sleep over.

“Thought so. If you don't mind.”

“Mind? Why should I mind?”

He nodded at the dog. “He's kind of used to sleeping in bed with me.”

“I've only got one bed.”

“Maybe on the sofa then.”

“You and him? On my sofa?”

Hunter laughed. “No. You and me on the sofa. Flasher can have the bed.”

“You better be kidding.” I gave him a narrow look.

Hunter ate the eggs and toast and butter and all the cheese, then gave some to Flasher on a paper towel. He drank two glasses of tea and thanked me for the great meal—which reminded me what an easy guy he was to be with.

“Got more,” he said.

I took that for a question and shook my head—no more food.

“I've got more on the things we took out of Henry Wade's room.”

“What'd you find?”

“That computer. Wiped clean like he was worried about somebody stealing it.”

“So no help.”

“Now, hold on a minute. Sheriff Higsby's already got it going to Columbus. A computer forensics specialist will look at it tomorrow morning. He'll get to the hard drive and pick up anything that's on there. If Henry wanted to really hide something, he should have destroyed the whole thing. Taken a hammer to it.”

“What do you think there could be?”

He shrugged and moved to the sofa, taking his boots off, stretching his legs, and wriggling his toes. “What we're hoping is that we'll find a connection to Eugene. One of our men went through all Eugene's records: sales and purchases. No Henry Wade there. 'Course Henry could've used a phony name. Next we're talking to people in Eugene's office in Dallas. See if there's any record of a Henry Wade there. Maybe even in his secretary's logbook. A phone call or something.” He paused to think a minute. “That gun of Wade's was an AR15, like I thought. Assault rifle. One in seven twist.”

“But there wasn't that much open space in Eugene's gun room, was there? I mean, didn't the shooter have to be pretty close?”

“Not if he stood in the doorway and shot. That table where Eugene was sitting was across the room. One shot to the back. There was a lot of damage.”

“Just like there was to Henry Wade's heart. One shot.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Hunter said. “That's really bothering me. What the heck's going on here? We got us a nest of snipers?”

“What kind of gun killed Wade? Same thing?”

He shook his head. “Far as we know, it was a Remington 700P, 7.62 caliber. Sniper rifle. Must have had a scope on it. Forensics man said he thought it was Remington's Tactical
Weapons System. Comes with a Bi-Pod and a Tactical Scope. Probably a five round.”

“So what we've got is Henry Wade killed Eugene. Sounds like a hired assassin, you ask me. Then somebody else killed Henry Wade. What a mess!”

He nodded.

“We've still got one more death to figure out,” I said.

“You mean Sally Wheatley?”

I nodded.

Hunter gave me a satisfied shake of his head. “You know something? I like working with you and Miss Amelia. Things kind of take a new shape. Start making some kind of sense when the three of us talk things out.”

“Just the two of us, here now.”

That was enough of a reminder for Hunter. He reached out for me and all talk of murder was over for the night. I never did get to my bed. Flasher slept there alone.

*   *   *

Hunter's phone rang too early the next morning. Of course, Flasher barked and had to be shushed.

I was unhappy at the sound of chimes when it was only 6 a.m. Maybe there could have been a long, happy day ahead for us. Maybe no more murder and money and madness for a while. I was thinking I'd get up and make coffee. No breakfast—since he ate all my eggs. And then we could go out to a bend in the Colorado where it was wide, where there was a rope hanging from a tree to swing on out over the water. A private place where a lot of teenagers swim in the buff. I could already feel the muddy water sliding off my skin. Cold, like the air never was. And quiet. In an inner tube, you could float for hours. 'Course now I had to worry about where I parked my car, getting my hair wet, hiding my clothes so no idiot stole them, and then getting back against the current—

“That was the sheriff. Gotta go.” Hunter stood in the doorway, tying his tie.

“No coffee?”

“Nope. Deputy Brent's bringing back one of Henry Wade's brothers from Dallas. The man wants to help, but he said he hasn't seen his brother in months. Something was going on, though. Wade suddenly had a lot of money and was doing some bragging. I'm going into the department, meet them when they get there. Sheriff told me to bring Miss Amelia on over. Figures she can make something of what the brother says.”

“You're asking her on your way out?” I had to laugh. “Won't she be surprised to see you in the store this early?”

He shrugged and snickered. “Guess so, but your grandmother's a pretty savvy woman. Wouldn't try to put anything past her.”

“Maybe Ethelred will be down there, too. Wouldn't that be nice? Town could really use another scandal about now.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to go. “Oh, and Deputy Harner talked to the waitstaff from the party. Asked about Henry Wade. Somebody said she'd seen him before around Riverville. Didn't know his name but recognized him that night. That means the guy's either been here before or was here way before the party. Hope all this leads us somewhere.”

I got up from the couch feeling bent and broken and stiff. Flasher came trotting out of my bedroom, stopping to shake a time or two, and head toward the door.

“You taking him with you?” The question was a formality.

“Could you keep him?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Then could you take him over to my house and close him in the kitchen?”

I groaned. “Okay. But you owe me.”

He kissed me before leaving. I held on to him, looking
up into his deep blue eyes and wanting more than anything to hang on for at least a week.

“I've been thinking, Hunter,” I started while rubbing my head against his chin. “You have to get out to that game ranch. See if either bullet—from Henry Wade's gun, or the bullet that killed him—matches the gun that killed Sally. Meemaw really has a feeling Sally's death is part of all this. And I know better than to ignore one of her feelings.”

He nodded, folding his arms around my back and pulling me close. “Me, too. I'll bring it up this morning. See about going to Ralston and going over Sally's case with that sheriff.”

He turned to go.

“No shower?”

“Can't. Later.”

“I'm taking one.”

He stopped. “Maybe later.”

“Sure you don't have time for coffee?”

“Nope. And don't try to entice me. I've got a lot of work to do.”

He came back to where I stood, smiling wide. The smell of him, when he leaned down to kiss me, was of warm skin and a not too fresh shirt. “About that shower,” he said. “Hope never to miss an offer like that again in my life.”

He left and Flasher crawled up on the sofa, stretched out, and began to snore.