Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (16 page)

“Don’t do that, Ray! You’re going to ruin him. Dogs aren’t supposed to eat people food.”

“Oh, okay. Don’t go getting your knickers all in a twist.” He wiped his fingers on a towel and stood. Reaching down, he scooped up another beer and twisted the top off. “I’m going to head inside to make a couple calls. I need to fill Hawk in on this thing with Reeves, and I suppose I should call the sheriff, too. She needs to know what you and Ginny saw in the alley today. She’ll probably want to pick up Floyd Reeves for questioning.”

“Don’t bet on it,” I mumbled as the screen door slammed
shut behind him. Maudy Payne was dead set on Hollis as the killer, and nothing short of a confession from the real murderer was going to convince her otherwise.

•   •   •

Early Monday morning, I laced up my field boots and headed out to the orchards, Roscoe with his clumsy paws pummeling behind me, his nose to the ground and long ears flopping about. At one point, I heard a sharp yelp from behind and turned to find the poor fellow desperately trying to pull his head from the ground. “For Pete’s sake, Roscoe! What have you gotten yourself into now?” I stooped down, expecting to find his nose tangled in the weeds, but instead discovered he was standing with his front paws on his own long ears. “For crying out loud!” I exclaimed, rescuing him from his own demise. “I wish you’d let me tie those pesky things in a knot on top of your head before you hurt yourself.”

I swear he looked annoyed with the suggestion.

Laughing, I released him back to his sniffing and we continued on our way. The previous night’s rain had tempered the humidity and brought a fresh crispness to the air. Perfect conditions for a long, mind-clearing walk. I made my way past our barn and toward the south ridge, the highest point of our land. From here I knew I’d have one of the best views of our orchards.

As I moved along, I suddenly got an antsy feeling—a feeling I remembered well from growing up on the farm. I’d felt it nearly every spring. Especially after a long winter when the orchard lay dormant and chores dwindled, making my muscles hunger for physical labor and my mind crave the feeling of accomplishment that came with putting in a full day’s work. Which made me realize that even though I hadn’t always appreciated it, growing up in a hardworking farming family was a blessing. My experiences in my youth had served me well in my career as a humanitarian. No matter the crisis, I could always hold my own. That very
same grit and determination was just the thing my family needed to carry them through this current crisis.

In the spring, the abundance of pink blossoms would make the south ridge vista breathtaking, but even now as I worked my way to the top and took in the rolling green acres with their rows of sharply pruned trees, I was caught off guard by its beauty. A sense of pride overcame me. This was my family’s land. Land my great-grandparents purchased with nothing more than borrowed money and a prayer for a better life. I couldn’t begin to imagine the resolve and courage it took to break through the spring sod and plant an orchard that wouldn’t even produce its first fruit for three to five years. Or the toil and sweat compiled by the next three generations who tended the trees with passion, hope and sometimes even despair.

I inhaled deeply, the smell of warm earth flowing through my nostrils and bringing back memories of seasons past. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my heart was entrenched in this land. “I’m staying,” I whispered, reaffirming out loud what I’d already subconsciously known for the last few days—I’d do just about whatever it took to make sure this farm remained in the family for generations to come.

At the sound of my voice, Roscoe came over and stood next to me, whapping his tail in the dirt. I looked down and he rolled over for a belly rub.
Silly pup!
I quickly squatted down and, suddenly, a sharp crack rang through the air. A gunshot? Instinctively I crouched lower, covering my head while Roscoe pressed against me, whimpering. Was someone shooting at me?

We huddled there for a few seconds before another shot rang out. Then another. This time, I could tell the sounds were coming from across the orchard. Slowly unwinding, I dared a peek over the fields. In the distance, I saw a cloud of blue smoke, heard another loud crack, and finally recognized it as the sound of backfire. Then I heard the rumbling of an engine cranking to life. I took off down the hill, the
smell of burnt fuel stinging my nostrils as I neared the old irrigation pump.

“Hey, there, young lady!” Joe called out. He was standing by the holding pond watching to see if the pump was extracting water. “I think I’ve got it goin’ again. Yup,” he added, running around the pump house to examine the first stretch of drip lines. “It’s pumpin’.”

I joined him under a row of trees, bending over to get a closer look at the long line of black hose running along the base of each tree. When working properly, our system delivered intermittent drips of water that provided a slow but steady supply of moisture directly to the root zone. Looking around now, I could see where several of the damaged lines were allowing too much water to pass through. “We’ll have to turn off the flow to a few of these lines until I can get them replaced,” I told Joe.

He looked up from petting Roscoe and nodded. We started walking the rows together, Roscoe tagging close to Joe’s heels as we turned off specific pressure valves, cutting the water to the damaged lines. By the time we were done, my back and legs ached from trudging along the rows. Even my well-worn boots chaffed along the back of my heel. “Thanks for your help, Joe.” I shifted uncomfortably, my damp shirt sticking to my back. I scanned the area for Roscoe, and noticed him lapping at some water that’d gathered under one of the lines.

“How ’bout you?” Joe asked, eyeing the dog and then me. “Need a little somethin’ to cool you down?” He motioned across the pond toward his cabin. Despite the heat and hard work, Joe, I noticed, was looking no worse for wear.

My mouth felt like cotton, but I wasn’t sure what Joe was offering would fix that. What sounded good was a whopping big glass of iced tea. “Think I’ll pass this time. I have a few things to do up at the house.” His face fell, making me feel bad for declining his offer. Surely it was lonely for him living out here by himself. I thought back to what Hattie had told me
and that little niggle of suspicion came back. “Joe?” I started, unsure of how he’d take my prodding. “I heard what happened to Tucker. I hadn’t realized he was killed up at the mill.”

Joe turned away, his body seeming to shrink as he gazed out over the fields. Instantly, I regretted the pain I’d brought by opening old wounds. I started trying to soothe things over. “I’m sorry, Joe. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He flicked a glance my way and shook his head. “No. It’s true. My boy was killed up at the mill last year.” He pulled a hanky from his overalls and wiped down his forehead. Finally meeting my eyes, he went on to explain. “An accident with one of the machines.”

My heart went out to him and I reached over to touch his shoulder. “When accidents like that happen, there’s usually an investigation. Sometimes the court awards the family compensation.”

His bobbed his head. “They looked into it. Said my boy was at fault.”

“Tucker? But how?”

“Drinkin’, they said. But I don’t believe it for a minute. Sure, he liked to partake a little, but never before work. Tucker was a good boy.” He wiped at his face again. “Just twenty-two when I lost him.” This time his voice caught and he turned away, lifting his hand to indicate the conversation was done. “Gonna head back to my place for a spell. I’ll check on that tractor this afternoon.”

Georgia Belle Fact #024:
Sweating is for our sweet tea glasses; we Southern Belles glisten.

By the time Roscoe and I made our way back to the house, my hair was plastered to my head and my T-shirt clung to me for dear life. I could hardly wait to get inside and shower, but as I approached the porch, I noticed Hawk’s bike parked off to the side of the house, under the shade of a large magnolia.
Shoot!
All I wanted was a hot shower at the moment. Probably, he was in the den talking to Ray. If I was quiet, perhaps I could sneak in and get in a quick shower before having to face them.

I scooped up Roscoe and cradled him close to my chest. “Shh,” I told him. “Not a peep!” Tiptoeing, I took the porch steps as quietly as I could, hopping over the third one, because I knew it would creak under my weight—a lesson I’d learned the hard way during my teen years after trying to sneak back into the house after breaking curfew. However, even though I’d successfully avoided the creak, the problem of the squeaky screen door loomed before me. So, as slowly as possible, I opened it just enough to slip between the screen
door and the frame. Successful, and cradling Roscoe closely, I then started inching open the main door.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you.”

I started and looked up to see Ray watching me from inside the front room. Sighing, I pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside, a wonderful rush of cold air greeting me.

His hound nose kicking in, Roscoe sensed his master, howled and dug his claws into my arms. “Ouch! Easy, boy!” I bent over and released him, watching him take off in a sniffing frenzy. Then, turning back to Ray, I asked, “Hey, Ray. Thought you were heading back to Perry today. Something up?”

“I decided to stay an extra day. Probably have to head back tomorrow, though.” He motioned toward the den. “You might as well hear the latest news on the case. Hawk’s back there. I’m just heading into the kitchen for some drinks. Looks like you could use something. You’re glistening.”

I laughed at his use of one of Mama’s terms. Contrary to all theories of human science, my mama had never sweated a day in her life. Me, on the other hand . . . Well, I didn’t glisten, sparkle or even get dewy. I got downright sweaty. I sighed. Just one more thing that set me apart from my true Southern Belle roots. “Sure, I’ll take an iced tea.” I trudged toward the den, tugging and shaking my shirt dry on the way. “Hello, Hawk,” I said, plopping down with a thud in the chair next to him. Roscoe was already prancing on top of his lap, planting big, sloppy puppy kisses all over his cheeks. I folded my arms across my chest to ward off a sudden chill brought on by the combination of my damp clothes and the fan circulating overhead, and watched as master and dog got reacquainted.

Ray finally came in with the drinks. “You were up and out early this morning,” he commented, handing me my tea.

I guzzled down half the glass before speaking. “Joe got the pump up and running in the south orchard, but a lot of the drip lines are bad, so we spent half the morning shutting off valves.”

Ray seemed pleased. “At least the pump is running again.
That’s a major accomplishment.” He paused, handing Hawk his drink before settling behind the desk. “We’ve made some progress, too.”

“That’s right,” Hawk started. He lowered Roscoe to the floor and told him to sit. I scowled as the little scamp obeyed Hawk with grateful eyes but had failed to sit even once on my command. “We met with the sheriff this morning and found out a few things.”

“Like what?”

Ray spoke up. “For starters, the lab wasn’t able to find any prints on the scarf. Looked like it’d been wiped clean.”

“No prints? Not even Ida’s prints?”

“None,” Hawk said. “But the real news is that the sheriff’s finally looking into other possible suspects.”

“Finally! Who’d she add to her suspect list?” Leaning over, I snatched a piece of junk mail to set my glass on, then leaned back and rubbed at the goose bumps forming on my arms.

Ray folded his hands on the desk blotter. “Hawk checked into the mill. It seems Millicent Wakefield does take over now that her husband’s out of the picture. So, you were right.”

“Did you tell Maudy about the payoff in the alley yesterday?” I asked, noticing a smirk lurking on Hawk’s face. “What?”

“A payoff?”

My eyes darted between Ray and Hawk. “Well, what else would you call it?”

Ray cleared his throat. “We can’t really call it anything without further proof. It’s hard telling what might have been in that envelope.”

I stood, a bit tired of the conversation and really needing a hot shower. “I see. But you did mention it to her, right?”

Ray nodded. “Yes, we did. She said she’d look into it. But, before you take off, there’s something else you should know.”

I could sense it was something bad, by the way Ray’s back stiffened. I glanced toward Hawk, who seemed to be studying the floor. “What is it?”

Ray let out a long breath and started running his hands
through his hair until it stood on end. “Someone vandalized Millicent Wakefield’s car last night.”

“A Mercedes,” Hawk threw out. “An expensive one.”

The first thing that jumped to mind was Laney Burns and retaliation for the casserole dump. I started to tell Ray, but his next revelation stopped me short.

“A bottle of Peach Jack was opened and dumped inside the vehicle,” he added.

My mind whiplashed back to Hollis. Peach Jack: his drink of choice. “Oh, no! Prints?”

Hawk shook his head. “Wiped clean.”

“Is Maudy going to arrest him?” I thought of Ida. This was going to put her over the edge.

“Fortunately, there’s not enough evidence,” Ray said. “Without prints, she really can’t tie the bottle to Hollis. But it does look bad. Just one more thing stacked against him.”

I didn’t want to believe that Hollis would be that stupid. Then again, there was that empty bottle of Peach Jack. Had Hollis transferred his anger from Ben Wakefield to Millicent, the new owner of the mill? “Do you think maybe he . . .” I started.

Ray held up his hand. “Already talked to him about it. He says he didn’t have a thing to do with it. Still . . .” He shrugged.

I finished his thought out loud. “Still, he’s been drinking a lot lately.” After accomplishing so much out in the orchard that morning, I’d come back to the house feeling encouraged and full of hope. With this latest news, it felt as if that hope was being sucked right out of me. I really couldn’t stand to hear any more, so I excused myself, thinking a hot shower might restore my positive perspective.

•   •   •

A half hour later, I bounced back downstairs feeling refreshed but hungry. I was planning on running to the diner for some dunch—my term for late lunch and early dinner—and to grab the jars of preserves I’d left behind the day before in the wake
of the casserole fiasco. Only my bounce fell flat when I reached the bottom of the steps and saw Hawk sprawled out on the front room floor, roughhousing with Roscoe.

“Hey,” he said from the floor. “I forgot to thank you for taking such good care of my buddy.”

“You’re welcome.” I looked around. “Where’s Ray?”

“He went into town. Something about checking on Ida.”

“Good.” I hesitated, not really wanting to get involved in much more conversation. I was starving and really needed to get to the diner before it closed. “I’m heading into town myself to run a few errands,” I hedged, glancing suggestively toward the door.

Taking the hint, he stood and brushed off his jeans. After bending back over to give Roscoe one last scratch behind the ears, he walked toward the door and held it open for me. I adjusted my shoulder bag and motioned for him to go ahead, so I could lock up the place.

He started down the porch first, stopping on the top step. When he turned back toward me, his head was level with mine. “You know,” he started in his easy drawl. “Hollis is lucky to have you as a sister-in-law.”

I was taken aback, a little flattered and confused all at the same time. I’d never really thought of myself as a good sister-in-law to Hollis. We’d more or less tolerated each other over the years. Still, it was a nice thing for Hawk to say. Actually, put the compliment together with the fact that we were standing not more than a foot apart, his blue eyes boring into mine, the whole moment was more than nice; it was unnerving. I gulped. “You think so? Why’s that?”

He continued, his attitude nonchalant although his intense gaze never left my face. “Despite the fact that everyone in town is against him, you’re still on his side. Both you and Ray. I envy that.”

Did he say ‘envy’?
Everything in my life was a mess; what was there to envy? I scrunched my brow. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s just the point. You don’t even understand what there is to envy. All this comes so naturally to you and your siblings.”

I shook my head, still not getting it. “All what?”

“Loyalty. Your loyalty to each other,” he explained. “It’s rare to find people so willing to go to bat for you in a time of crisis. Especially given the fact that Hollis hasn’t always made the best decisions.” He started ticking off points. “You know what I’m talking about. The drinking, womanizing, gambling the family’s nest egg . . . Most people would give up on the guy. Actually, they’d probably be glad to see him go to prison just so they could get him out of their lives. But not you and Ray. Y’all just keep on doing whatever you can to help him.”

I’d never thought of things quite that way. And the fact that Hawk did left me quite speechless. Maybe I’d misjudged him. Did he actually have a sensitive side buried under all that tight denim and leather? It made me wonder what might have happened all those years ago if I’d just told him about the—

“Why are you looking like that?” he asked.

I could feel my eyes widen. Mama always did say I should never play poker. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. You suddenly had an odd look on your face. Is there something going on with your family I should know about?”

I immediately cleared my expression. Mama was right. I was an open book. “No. Nothing at all.” The sound of crunching gravel interrupted us. I looked over Hawk’s shoulder, surprised to see Cade’s truck coming down the driveway.

“Looks like you’ve got company. I’ll catch up with you later.” He skipped down the steps. By the time Cade parked his truck, Hawk had already crossed to the magnolia tree and kick-started his bike. From inside the house, Roscoe let out a long, mournful bay.

Cade slowly walked my way, one eye on Hawk as he thundered down the drive. “Who was that?”

“The investigator Ray hired. Dane Hawkins. Calls himself Hawk. I would have introduced you, but as you can see, he’s not much on manners.”

Cade came up the steps and stood by me. “That’s the investigator?” He stared after the gravel dust left behind from Hawk’s bike. “He rides a motorcycle?”

I exhaled. “Yup. Guess he likes to stay inconspicuous.” I glanced at Cade, but he seemed to have missed my sarcasm.

Instead, he stared longingly down the drive, watching the last specks of dust dissipate from Hawk’s quick retreat. “I’ve always wanted one of those. Asked for a dirt bike for Christmas once.”

“Oh really? Didn’t you get it?”

“Heck no! Are you kidding? My folks thought it’d be too dangerous. Said I’d probably kill myself.” He hesitated for a second, obviously searching his memories. “That’s okay, though. They got me a really nice shotgun instead.”

I did a double take, chuckling at the irony of his statement, then realized he wasn’t joking. Of course, once I reconsidered what he was saying, it did make sense. Around these parts, most kids learned how to shoot right along with reading and writing. “It’s good to see you, but what brings you all the way out here?” I asked.

He held up his hand. “Hold on.” He jogged back to his truck and extracted a heavy box. “To bring these by,” he said, struggling to balance the box as he ascended the porch steps. “Your preserves. Get the door, will ya?”

I skipped ahead and held the door open. “My preserves?”

“Yeah. Went into the diner for some coffee first thing this morning and Ginny said you’d left them there. I knew I was going to be out this way, so thought I’d bring them by for you.”

I followed him through the house and to the kitchen where he slid the box onto the counter. “Well, that’s so sweet of you. Thank you, Cade.”

He turned back to me. “No problem. Hope they didn’t
get too hot in my truck. I had to run a load of supplies to a new job I’m doing down the road.” He reached down and scratched between Roscoe’s ears. “Hello there, boy.”

I peered over the side of the box, a sense of pride welling inside me. Silly that I’d feel so happy about a few jars of preserves. “I’m sure they’re fine. Speaking of jobs, how much do I owe you for the roofing supplies?”

He tapped the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ve got the list right here, just haven’t had time to tally it up yet. I’m about starved, though, so what you say we head to the diner and discuss it there. I’ll buy.”

His proposition flung me into an immediate eternal debate. Was it really a good idea to go to lunch with Cade? Something had shifted with us since I returned: sly looks, little sparks, bated innuendos and even some heated emotions. Truth was, there’d been more than just a little innocent flirting going back and forth between us, but so far that was simply all it had been, just flirting. I sensed, however, that Cade wanted more to come of it. Was he thinking of this lunch as a date? And, if I said yes, would I be giving the impression that I was ready to take things to the next level?