Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (13 page)

“So you played along?”

“I tried to get it from her, but she ran into the trees. I chased after her for a while, then gave up. I don’t know what happened to the scarf after that. Well, not until I found out how it was used, anyway.”

“That’s not the story Laney is telling. She said you guys messed around together in the orchard, but you were too drunk for much fun, so she left you there alone.”

“She’s lying. Ask Ida. I’d been drinking that night, but I’d sobered up before it was time to leave.”

I mulled this over, remembering that Ida did say something about Hollis being sober enough to drive home that night. But could I really believe anything Hollis said? And what reason would Laney have to lie about such a thing? Was she covering up something else? “So, why’d you get home so late?”

“I’d been expecting a fax from that investigative firm I hired to look into Wakefield Lumber.”

“The report the cops found in your pocket.”

“Exactly. I came by here, to my office. I knew Wakefield was up to something. He was late with his payments. In fact, I questioned him at the party about it and things got heated between us. But when I saw that report . . . well, it confirmed everything I suspected. Wakefield had scammed me out of a boatload of money.”

“So you were upset.”

“To put it mildly.”

“Did you go back to the party looking for Wakefield?”

“No!” He slapped the top of his desk. “I swear that’s not what happened. And I’m getting sick and tired of retelling this story.”

I ignored his antics. “Where’d you go then?” I pressed.

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk and head buried in his hands. “I couldn’t go home after that. I needed to get my head together before I went home and told Ida. . . . I mean, I’d just found out we were ruined financially, and mostly due to my negligence. So I went by the liquor store and got a bottle of Jack and headed out to this spot I like to go to.”

“Up McManamy Draw by Hill Lake?”

He looked up. “You know about that?”

I nodded. “This is Cays Mill. No one has secrets around here.” Well, maybe a few, like Wakefield having a wife, but still . . . I stood and shouldered my bag. That was when one of the files on his desk caught my eye. “What’s this?” I said,
pointing at a file marked with a familiar name. “Is that Puckett, like in Joe Puckett?”

Hollis shrugged and tidied up the pile, Joe’s file disappearing into it. “It is, just normal banking stuff.” He looked at the door as his other hand moved toward the desk’s side, where his liquor drawer awaited.

“Sure. I understand.” Still, I was surprised to see Joe’s name attached to anything to do with the bank. As far as I knew, the old fellow rarely came to town. Especially not to use the bank. I imagined what money he had, he kept hidden away under his mattress. But I didn’t push the issue any further. By the looks of Hollis, he’d had enough interrogating for one day. Judging by the haggard look in his eyes, as soon as I left, he’d more than likely be back into his liquor drawer again. So I told him good-bye and turned on my heel. On the way out, I passed by Candace, who waggled a set of sticky-lemon fingers my way and wished me a good day.

Right. Like there’s anything good about this day so
far.

Georgia Belle Fact #071:
In a Georgia Belle’s eyes, any man who plays the banjo is simply divine.

“Nola, over here!” Ginny called, waving at me from the other side of the room full of festival participants. Red’s Diner was put up neat, so to say. Everything polished to a T with stainless steel glimmering, the floor sparkling, and even the red vinyl glistening with cleanliness.

I made my way across the room to where Ginny, Sam and Hattie were huddled together. “Glad you made it,” Hattie said, squeezing my arm. I was glad, too. After the day dealing with messes—Hollis and then the leftover party mess—it was good to be around friends.

“Me, too,” Ginny added, leaning in front of Hattie. “I’m so excited you’ll be selling your jams at the festival this year. You’ll have to talk to Margie Price before the meeting is over. She’s in charge of organizing this year’s vendors.”

“Sure. Where is she?” But I’d no sooner asked than a booming voice cut through the crowd, telling us all to take a seat. I settled at one of the tables next to Ginny and Sam; Hattie sat across from us with Pete taking the chair next to
her. The room was packed, but I recognized a few in attendance: Ezra Sugar, Sally Jo from the Cays Mill Mercantile, Mrs. Whortlebe from the Clip & Curl, and Frances Simms. It stood to reason that most of the town’s business owners would be there. It was probably one of their biggest sale days of the year.

After everyone found a seat, a wiry man with a tattered hat jammed atop his head moved to the head of the room. “Who’s that?” I asked Hattie, eyeing his handlebar mustache and long braid trailing down the back of his T-shirt.

She giggled and whispered back, “Don’t you recognize Wade Marshall? He’s our mayor now.”

That’s Wade Marshall!
You could have knocked me over with a feather. But this was what happened after being away for several years. People I knew in my youthful prime changed, while I, at least in my own mind, stayed the same. I’d noticed quite a few examples of this since I’d returned. Small things, like Mrs. Whortlebe, bless her heart, who had put on at least fifteen extra pounds and changed her hair color from mousy brown to a shocking black. Despite the changes, though, she was still recognizable. Wade Marshall, on the other hand, had undergone more than just a little change. The once-upon-a-time baby-faced, nerdy boy, who took the 4-H blue ribbon every year for his bug collections, had morphed into a . . . a . . .

“He looks like one of those Hell’s Angels, doesn’t he?” Ginny leaned in from the other side.

That’s it. A Hell’s Angel.

She went on to explain, “But he’s done a great job as mayor. He’s working on bringing the town back to life.”

I sat back, trying to keep an open mind as Wade began his spiel. Not about his looks, mind you. I’d been raised to value people for their actions, not their appearances. No, I needed to keep an open mind because I just couldn’t imagine Wade Marshall as anyone other than a pesky seventh grader who
terrorized me in science class by dangling a hairy-legged spider in front of my face. How in the world did he ever get elected as mayor?

“It looks like we’re going to have a record turnout for this year’s festival,” Wade was saying. “We’ll have artists and vendors attending from around the county. I’m also pleased to announce that we’ve been able to secure a carousel for this year’s kiddie carnival.”

An enthusiastic round of applause erupted.

He cleared his throat and continued. “It’ll be set up on the courthouse green along with the other children’s activities.” He pointed to a crude map, drawn on foam board and propped up on an easel. “Both Blossom and Orchard streets will be blocked for vendor booths, with food stands here, and a stage here.” He turned back to the table with a glint of pride in his eye. “I’m happy to announce that my bluegrass band, the Peach Pickers, will be playing on the stage Saturday night. Hope y’all stop by for a listen!”

“He’s in a band?” I hissed in Hattie’s ear.

“Yup. Banjo,” she confirmed. A sense of awe suddenly overcame us. To a Southern gal, the banjo was the end-all of instruments. Why, a guy could be the homeliest man alive, but if he played a banjo . . . Well, what more need I say?

“And more good news, folks,” Wade continued. “Judging by the booth fees we’ve collected already, we should be right on track with our budget.”

Another round of clapping started up, but abruptly ceased when the diner door flew open and Maudy Payne stepped inside with her bad attitude preceding her by a couple steps. She briefly caught my eyes, her lips twitching upward in a snarly grin. I shuddered and turned away, focusing again on Wade, who was now droning on about revenue and budgets. He finally wrapped things up with a nod toward Maudy. “Again, a huge thank-you to Sam and Ginny for providing the meeting place and refreshments this evening. Now I’m
turning the podium over to Sheriff Payne, who’ll be discussing this weekend’s security concerns.”

Wade settled back into his chair as Maudy sauntered over to take his place. While she went on about various security rules, I found myself thinking about my own festival projects. I had a lot of work left if I was going to get my preserves ready in time. Starting with making them palatable! I leaned toward Ginny. “Are you still available to help me with my recipes?”

“Sure. How about Sunday? We close early right after the church crowd finishes up, so say around four o’clock? That’ll give me time to get the kitchen cleaned up and ready.”

“Perfect,” I agreed, grateful that she could spare the time. As the meeting wore on with topics such as volunteer coordination and shuttle buses for visitors, I considered more personal tasks, like labels for my jars and a sign for my booth. By the time the last speaker wrapped up, I’d assembled my own mental to-do list.

“I’m so glad I came tonight,” I told my group as we made our way over to the counter where Ginny and Sam had placed a large urn of coffee and several plates of cookies.

“Are you Nola Harper?” a voice came from behind. I turned to find a pleasant-looking woman wearing a flowered blouse, straight gray skirt and a classy strand of pearls. Her blond hair was cut into a crisp bob angled toward her large dark eyes and high cheekbones. She held out her hand. “I’m Margie Price. I own Sunny Side Up.”

I abandoned my quest for coffee and took her hand. “A pleasure. I was hoping to run into you this evening.”

She nodded. “Hattie mentioned you planned on starting a home-based business.”

“Yes, that’s right. My family owns one of the local peach farms. I’m expanding our business by selling jams and preserves, and a few other things. I’m hoping to put a few jars on a table outside Hattie’s Boutique next weekend. Just to see how they sell.”

“Wonderful idea! We’ll have food vendors from all around, but something local like that is sure to be a hit.”

I smiled. “I hope so.”

“And as soon as you get your business up and running, give me a jingle. I’ll be one of your first customers. I’d love to offer my out-of-town guests a taste of local fare.”

“Really? Thank you!” I gushed. I could hardly believe my ears. A customer already and I hadn’t even started.

My enthusiasm, however, was quickly squelched by Maudy’s sudden appearance. “I need to talk to you,” she insisted, rudely interrupting our discussion. She motioned for me to step aside, so I turned to Margie with an apologetic look and excused myself. Maudy and I navigated our way around several conversational groups before settling on a quiet corner of the diner where we faced off, each of us assuming a defensive posture.

“So, this Hawk guy paid me a courtesy visit yesterday,” she started.

Uh-oh.

She stood with her arms crossed over her chest. “Ray thought he needed to bring in an investigator, huh?”

“Well . . .” I hesitated, trying to find my tact. “He’s just hoping to locate the real killer, that’s all.”

She pressed her lips tight and scrunched her brow. “I’ve already found the real killer. There’s no doubt about it. Your brother-in-law had motive, means and opportunity, and I’ve got the evidence to prove it. Any jury would convict him.”

“You’re right, Maudy. The facts are stacked against Hollis, but we still think he’s innocent.”

“You’re biased.”

I crossed my own arms, sucked in my cheeks and lowered my gaze. “Do you know who Millicent Wakefield is?” I threw out, not giving her time to respond before spouting off some more. “She’s Ben Wakefield’s widow—that’s who. And it’s possible that his death saved her from a nasty divorce battle
and earned her control of Wakefield Lumber. Have you looked into her? Or any other suspects, for that matter?”

She rocked onto her toes and stared down her nose at me. “As a matter of fact, I have. Which brings up something else I wanted to tell you.” She slid her eyes across the room and nodded at Frances Simms, who was ogling us from behind her heavy black-rimmed glasses. “I don’t appreciate you spouting facts about my case all over town.”

I felt my shoulders crumple. “What do you mean?” But I knew darn well what she meant. She’d found out that I blabbed about the scarf. I took a step backward, my back pressing against the wall.

Maudy stepped forward and shook her finger my way. “If I find you’re going around causing trouble for my investigation, I’ll throw you in a cell and leave you there.”

“Sheriff Payne!” It was Ginny, carrying a white foam takeout box and sidestepping in front of me, cutting off Maudy’s direct attack. “Thank you for coming to the meeting tonight. Bless your heart. I know how busy you are trying to keep our streets safe, so we wouldn’t want to keep you any longer. But here.” She handed Maudy the box. “A little something for you to munch on back at your office.”

Well, give the dog a bone. Ginny’s ploy worked! Maudy’s hard gaze left me with a glance at the box already being placed in her hand. Then her eyes instantly softened and I saw her tongue give a quick swipe of her lower lip. She gratefully accepted the box and excused herself, obviously eager to partake in Ginny’s notoriously good food.

“You okay?” Ginny asked, after Maudy left. “I swear, I wish someone else would come along and run for her position.” She giggled. “Last election, someone went around with a marker and added the words ‘in the ass’ on all her campaign signs. It was hilarious.” She swiped her hand through the air as if spelling it out for me. “Vote Maudy Payne
in the ass
for Sheriff!”

We both laughed. Leave it to Ginny to know just the right
thing to do and say. I reached out and gave her a quick hug. “Thank you.”

She waved it off. “Heck, that’s what friends are for!”

•   •   •

Her words stuck with me as I left the diner. Friends. Since returning, I’d realized I had more friends in town than I thought. Sure, Cays Mill had its share of naysayers and gossipmongers, but I’d also been surprised by a few true acts of friendship since I’d arrived: Hattie, so willing to take back up with our best-friend status despite the fact that I’d neglected our friendship all these years; Cade, coming to my rescue with Joe Puckett’s roof; and Ginny, willing to take time from her family and business responsibilities to help me with Mama’s recipes. Come to think of it, the locals here weren’t all that different from the people of the small villages I’d traveled to, with their petty squabbles and vicious rumors . . . and yet still with hearts that forgave and hands willing to help in times of trouble. It made me wonder whether things might have been different if I’d stayed all those years ago instead of running from my secret. A twinge of regret that I’d abandoned my family, all for nothing, pricked at my conscience. I shook it off; I’d done my best with the hand fate had dealt me.

I left my Jeep parked on the square, deciding to walk to the Sunny Side Up. I was determined to find Hawk and report my latest findings. As far as I was concerned, he was wasting his time hanging out with Laney Burns. Millicent Wakefield was the new prime suspect.

Walking along Branch Street, I passed the
Cays Mill Reporter
building before turning the corner and heading down to Majestic Boulevard. Majestic boasted some of our town’s most beautiful homes, from large Colonials with black shutters and red doors to impressive Italianates with deep-set arched windows and scrolled accents. The Sunny Side Up Bed & Breakfast, however, was the only home in
the neighborhood loyal to its heritage. Built in true Southern Antebellum style, the impressive three-story with a deep pillared porch stood proud among its immigrant-styled neighbors.

I’d been dying to see the inside of the bed-and-breakfast, but as I neared the place, I started to lose my nerve. Did I really want to just show up at the place Hawk was staying? Was that even appropriate behavior? Then it occurred to me: What if someone from town saw me? What was I thinking? This was just the type of behavior that could ignite a whole explosion of rumors.

Just as I was about to turn on my heel, Hawk’s motorcycle roared to the curb. He dismounted and came right over, a perplexed look on his face, and, I noticed, a few lipstick stains, too. “Looking for me?”

“Yes.” I squinted at the smudges on his jawline. Crimson red, a perfect match to the bloodred claws I’d noticed on Laney Burns earlier that week. I suddenly thought of my own chipped pink nails and instinctively curled my fingertips into my palms.