Nuts and Buried (23 page)

Neither man was in the office. When Deputy Harner, taking the calls, heard it was an extreme emergency, he promised to dig them both up, though it would probably only be Hunter since Sheriff Higsby was in Dallas, and going to be there all day.

We were too nervous to sit around doing nothing until Hunter called. It was like dangling over a deep hole by a thin piece of string.

What the heck was going on? We knew Peter Franklin didn't kill Sally and Eugene Wheatley—Wade's gun proved he was the killer. But could Peter Franklin, or whoever he was, have killed Henry Wade? Why?

Only thing we figured we could do until we heard from Hunter was go check on the women out at the Chaunceys'.

The day was working up to be a hot one. Man on KULM said it could get over one hundred degrees by afternoon. Could've been worse, we both figured, and drove on out with the air-conditioning going full blast though Meemaw
let me know she didn't like that cold air smacking her in the face and she was in charge, since she was driving.

We pulled up their long drive kicking a cloud of dust into the air behind us. The dust was the Chaunceys' early warning system. A bunch of them were sitting in the rockers on the tin-roofed porch when we pulled in front of the old house and parked.

Melody—ever the hostess—was the first to get up and wave us to take a chair.

“Gonna be a hot one,” Miranda said from her rocker, fanning herself a mile a minute.

Jeannie and her brother, Billy, gave us a wave and Melody said she was going in for sweet tea and some of her special oatmeal cookies.

Miranda let out a splash of sound. “Those cookies ain't special, Melody. Out of a bag. You offering Miss Amelia Blanchard, of the famous Nut House, cookies straight out of a bag and telling her they're special?”

Melody put both hands on her hips and glared at Miranda.

“Just sayin',” Miranda shrugged. “You wanna be a fancy hostess, like you said, can't buy bag cookies.”

Meemaw said how she looked forward to bag cookies once in a while. At least they weren't her own baking. With that, Melody gave Miranda a smug smile and went in for her refreshments.

We sat talking about the weather for a while—which was only the polite thing to do. You didn't jump into problems, no matter what was going on.

“Jeannie's just back from town,” Miranda said after reaching around to straighten the rifle leaning against the house wall. “Went in with Billy.”

“So . . . Billy.” Meemaw turned to look hard at the silent man. “Didn't expect to find you here. Your mama around, too?”

Jeannie spoke up for him. “Billy's doing some mowing in the groves for the girls. It's so good to have him. Ever
since he carried Mama out of Eugene's memorial service, he's been keeping a close eye on me.”

Meemaw muttered she was glad to hear it.

“Mama's gone.” Jeannie leaned out in her chair to tell us. “Billy took her to the station in town and put her on a train. She was carrying on up to the last minute, but he stood there until that train was gone. He told her not to come back.”

She grinned at us, her face more relaxed and cheerful than I'd seen since the party. “We been talking a lot ever since.”

Miranda thumped her hands on the table. “Nothing wrong with Billy. Any trouble this boy got into his whole life long was his mama's doing. Always after him to get even with somebody for her. Or to go settle some grievance. A woman like that can drive a man crazy. That's what got him in prison to start with. Now he's staying here. Him and Jeannie.”

She nodded toward Jeannie. “And if you don't mind, I'm gonna tell Lindy and Miss Amelia what happened the last time that sister-in-law of yers came out here. Brought that blown-up doctor with her—”

Meemaw stepped right in. “That's kind of what we're here about. We found out that Dr. Franklin isn't who he says he is. Tried to steal an article Lindy was writing and publish it under his own name.”

“Not the article, Meemaw,” I corrected her. “He stole my notebook. I was basing the article on it and had to cancel with the journal. That's when I found out somebody by his name called and offered an article on the same thing. All hell's been breaking loose ever since. The real Dr. Peter Franklin is working in Africa. Been there a long time. Called all the way from Mombasa to tell me whoever this was, it wasn't him.”

*   *   *

“What'd you know.” Melody was back, handing around sweating glasses of sweet tea and a plate full of oatmeal
cookies as perfectly round and sugared as a big machine could make them. “Thought something was off about the man.”

Jeannie took her glass but set it on the floor beside her rocker. She shook her head at me. “Elizabeth brought him out here yesterday. If he's not who he says he is, what's he doing mixing in all of this?”

“The two of them. Walked right on in without a by yer leave,” Melody put in. “Started on Jeannie. How she had to call Elizabeth's lawyer 'cause he couldn't get anything started on the family trust until she signed some papers. And that Peter Franklin—none of his business—going on about how poor Elizabeth's been crying her eyes out since Jeannie, here, left the house like she was fleeing General Sherman.”

Miranda sat up straight and put her hand in the air. “It was real sad until Elizabeth started telling Jeannie to go pack her clothes. They were takin' her with 'em. And something about how kind Elizabeth was willing to be and how sorry she was Jeannie's expectations couldn't be higher, but then she was going on about the family trust and Eugene never put Jeannie in and never changed the beneficiary of the trust, which, according to Elizabeth, is only her.”

“Eugene warned me about his sister. Said I had to watch her,” Jeannie said. “That's why he wanted to move to Dallas or anywhere Elizabeth wasn't. Then he was thinking Riverville, if she wasn't going to stay in the house.”

It got quiet, only clinking glasses, and rockers on creaking floorboards.

Finally Jeannie said, “Funny, though, how he told me the afternoon of the party he was running into Dallas to put me into the family trust and change the beneficiaries to include me. He wanted it all amended since there's no . . . what did he call it? Something like ‘dower rights,' in Texas law.”

“Yup.” Meemaw nodded. “Know it well enough myself, after my husband died. He saw to my rights, too, so the
government wouldn't get all his money. Good for Eugene. He was a good husband.”

“Thing is,” Jeannie went on, “with the party and all, we never got to talk about it. Then, Gene was . . . gone.”

Jeannie rocked gently.

“That Elizabeth wouldn't leave Jeannie alone,” Billy put in. “I chased the both of them right out of here.”

Melody was back and serving more sweet tea from an icy pitcher.

“Met your brother out here, Lindy,” Billy said after a while, then glanced over at Jeannie.

“Justin?” I asked.

Billy nodded. “Offered to help any way he can. Said he sure hoped Jeannie was planning to settle here in Riverville.”

Meemaw was chuckling. I was mad. That was the thing about Justin. Closed mouth so bad you wouldn't know he even had one, except to other people.

“He came out with Hunter to tell us about you getting shot,” Miranda said. “I tried calling, but yer meemaw here wouldn't let nobody talk to you. Probably the smartest thing, with everybody in the area up in arms about it.”

“Hunter told us about the man who killed Eugene,” Jeannie said. “Never heard of him and I guess Hunter can't figure out why he did it. Then he said Sally, too. This is like . . . I don't know . . . a vendetta against all the Wheatleys.”

“Except Elizabeth,” Miranda said, slapping her hands down on her knees. “Seems like she's the only one not getting shot at.”

“And me,” Jeannie said, frowning.

“And you. Yes. And I plan on keeping it that way,” Miranda said with an “amen” coming from Melody.

“And you know somebody murdered the man that shot your husband.” Meemaw turned to Jeannie, who made a face and bit hard at her lower lip.

“That's what we came out to warn you about. This second killer. We're getting an idea—”

“Can you say what it is yer worried about?” Melody asked, her elderly face unhappy.

Meemaw shook her head. “Got to talk to Hunter first. Be a couple of hours. We'll call you. Just don't let anybody come around.”

Miranda sat up and slapped a hand on a holster at her hip. “Got my rifle, too.”

“Bet you can handle a gun, eh, Billy?” She sat forward, looking at Billy.

“Can't. No guns. A condition of my release—”

“Well, I'll just give Jeannie one to carry, and in case you see somebody who shouldn't be around here, Jeannie could hand you the gun—case I'm in the bathroom or somewhere. Protection. That all right, you think?”

“Whatever I have to do, Miss Miranda.”

With that agreed to, Meemaw and I thanked Melody for her gracious hospitality—which brought a grunt from Miranda—and we were off the porch and into the truck, waving at the brave people lined up rocking and sipping.

We headed back to town. I called the sheriff's office on the way. Deputy Harner said Hunter was still out on a loose cow on the highway call and he'd tell him as soon as he got ahold of him.

The thing I was thinking, on the way back to town, was how Hunter picked up Flasher out on the highway. And look where that got him. Stuck with that ignorant, lumpish dog. Now he was out after a loose cow. So what next? A cow staked out in his yard? No matter how he asked, a cow was one animal that wasn't coming to my apartment.

My cell rang as soon as I was back in signal range. It was Joshua Lightley from
Propagation.

“Did you hear from Dr. Franklin?” he asked quickly.

I said I had.

“He's the real deal. Not that other one.”

“I kind of figured that out.”

“So you've got a phony on your hands. You said he'd been in your greenhouse.”

“Yes, sir. Any idea who he really is?”

“Not a clue, Lindy.”

“Well, he's still here and there's sure a lot been happening around him. Nothing good.”

“Can't figure out why he'd want to do that to you.”

“Me either. Not like I knew him or anything. Like he'd want to get even for something I did.”

“Well, I called to give you the number he gave me. Make sure we're talking about the same man.”

I took the number, saying it out loud as I wrote it down.

“That's him all right.”

Joshua wished me luck and told me to send him anything I had, soon as I could get it all back together. That was the one thing in the day that made me feel good about myself.

What Meemaw and I agreed on was getting over to Elizabeth's. She may be a miserable snob and a pain in the butt to deal with, but the woman had to be warned about Peter Franklin, and fast. He could be out there. We had no plan if he was. Maybe one of us could get Elizabeth aside and tell her what was going on.

“I guess we'll just play it by ear,” I said.

“Terrible thing. I feel sorry for Elizabeth. Caught up with this man. You know he could be a killer, Lindy.”

“I'm starting to see it, Meemaw. Wish Hunter would get back.”

“I gotta think. Just gotta think.” Meemaw was the most discombobulated I'd ever seen her. Her usually neat hair was standing up at the back, like little white weeds. And she was driving too fast. “That other man, that Henry Wade, shot Sally Wheatley and Eugene both. Then he gets shot.”

She thought awhile longer, narrowing her eyes and staring straight out the windshield as we drove up shady Carya Street and back out to the highway, going in the other direction, toward the Wheatley mansion.

“The Wheatleys are at the heart of this.” She was mumbling to herself. “Only two left: Elizabeth and Jeannie. Makes you think.”

I shrugged. “Guess so.”

“No, I mean motive.”

“Guess so,” I said again, not in tune with her.

“Eugene's dead. Sally, his first wife, is dead. If the motive had anything to do with money and maybe inheriting, why, I'd expect Jeannie to be the one killed, not Eugene.” She looked over at me. “You think this could have anything to do with the oil company he ran?”

“I don't know how. From what I've always heard, Eugene wasn't exactly a hands-on executive. Had men who'd run everything since his father passed. He left them alone to do it.”

Meemaw was thinking hard. “Well, if you take a look at the top reasons people kill one another, it's either over love or hate; or money or lack of money. Let me see: revenge. Those awful domestic things—arguing and a gun in the vicinity. Now what category would these murders come under?”

“Seems like a couple of them, if you ask me. Since the Wheatleys are rich, money's got to be part of it. I don't see revenge here. Maybe love or hate? But who hated whom? Domestic . . . no. If Elizabeth was shot, well, I'd say, yes, domestic all right. Couldn't keep her mouth shut around Eugene's wives. That “superior” business of hers. If she'd only tried to get along . . . well . . . Jeannie wouldn't have felt she had to leave the mansion the way she did. Elizabeth would have at least one female friend.”

I pulled in the tree-lined driveway leading to the Wheatleys' mansion and parked along the curve.

No parking attendant this time. No lines of limos and fancy pickups. And no white rental that Peter Franklin was driving.

Just a quiet June morning in Texas. The trees were moving in the woods around the house. I guessed their property ran on and on for a couple of miles. Nice place. Was a house a good enough reason to kill? I wondered.

Meemaw pushed the bell.

Martha, the housekeeper, in her little ruffled apron, opened the door.

“Miss Elizabeth's not home right now.” She smiled a wide smile and greeted Meemaw especially. “Why, I was just going into town for one of those pecan pies of yours, Miss Amelia.”

“Got plenty of 'em waiting.”

“That's a good thing. My granddaughter's birthday party's tonight.”

Impatient with the usual slow pace we lived at, I broke in. “Do you know were Elizabeth's gone to?”

Martha shook her dark head, her hair bundled up in the back into some kind of bun. “Left before I got here. Never knew her to leave so early. Probably off with that Dr. Franklin. He's here most of the time now. She usually has a list ready or calls to tell me the million and a half things she wants me to do. Nothing so far. Tried calling her. She doesn't answer.”

“Think I'll try.” I stepped out into the drive and dialed the number I had for Elizabeth.

No answer. I tried again, and again there was still no answer. Not even a recording telling me to leave a message. The phone had to be turned off. If she was with whoever Dr. Peter Franklin really was, I was starting to get afraid for her.

Back at the door Martha was saying, “Thought that man'd be moving in the way he treats this place like it's his. And the staff, too. Treats us all like dirt. Don't say a word to Miss Elizabeth or I'll lose my job, but there's not a single one of us that like the man. She's had a lot others better than that one.”

Martha crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway. “Tell you another thing, everybody here's talking about how she's carrying on about Miss Jeannie. Just going on and on, like the poor soul's trying to steal from her. And with her own brother not cold in his grave yet.”

She shook her head and sighed.

“Would you have her call one of us as soon as she gets back?” Meemaw asked. “Tell her it's real important.”

She looked around at me. “You got anything to add, Lindy?”

I shook my head. “Or tell her to call the sheriff. Maybe that'll get to her. I got the feeling, ever since the party, she doesn't like me much.”

“You mean that ghost thing you were wearing?” Martha laughed. “Yup, got yerself talked about a whole lot that night. And got Elizabeth going on and on.”

We left, but neither one of us was happy.

“Think we should go back to town and sit there at the sheriff's office until somebody gets back,” Meemaw said. “I feel like something's about to blow up and we're just chasing our tails. You know, I'm afraid Elizabeth could've gotten herself into deep trouble.”

I felt the same way—expecting an explosion at any minute, and worrying about a woman I never expected to worry about. I called Deputy Harner at the sheriff's again and told him about Elizabeth Wheatley and that we were headed back to Riverville.