Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (9 page)

“I don’t have a statement. Sorry.” Shuffling past her, I made a beeline for my Jeep.

She followed close on my heels. “But I heard you were the one to find the body. I also heard a scarf might have been used to asphyxiate him. Can you confirm that report?”

Uh-oh.
Ray was right. My little fiasco at the Clip & Curl was getting ready to explode in my face. If Frances knew about the scarf, it was only a matter of time before Maudy Payne caught on that I was the one who told. “No comment.” I picked up my pace.

Frances pursued me across the square and right up to the
back of my Jeep. “The people of Cays Mill have the right to be informed,” she pressed.

Trying to ignore her, I placed my purchases on the ground next to my back bumper, pulled out my key fob and clicked open the locks. I slid everything into the cargo space and turned to make my escape. Unfortunately, Frances blocked my way.

“Excuse me, Ms. Simms,” I said, trying to nudge her out of the way. For being such a frail-looking woman, Frances was sure hard to budge.

She pressed closer. “Has Hollis ever discussed with you the fact that he risked all of the bank’s assets on one of Ben Wakefield’s trumped-up Ponzi schemes?”

“No!”

“You mean the bank wasn’t backing Wakefield’s latest lumber venture?”

“No, I mean I’m not answering any of your questions,” I bit out. “Now move out of my way!”

I squeezed past her, flinching as my arms scraped against the sunbaked metal of my Jeep.

“Just one more thing,” she called after me. “Was it really Ida’s scarf wrapped around Ben Wakefield’s
neck?”

Georgia Belle Fact #034:
Deep fat–fried chicken pairs perfectly with crispy gossip.

I kept going, breaking into a jog until I reached Hattie’s Boutique.

“You’re early,” she said, looking up from the front counter as I burst inside. Her look of surprise quickly turned to alarm as she noticed my state of panic.

“Hide me!” I stood in the middle of her store, out of breath and frantically searching for a suitable hiding spot. I spied a set of dressing rooms. Dashing across the floor, I dove into the nearest stall and slammed the door shut. Not more than a second later, I heard the shop’s door open.

“Did Nola Harper happen to come in here?” It was Frances.

“Frances! I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the ad I placed for this week. I’m just not sure if you’ve quoted me correctly—”

“Not right now,” Frances cut her off. “I’m hot on a story.”

The door shut again and Hattie sniggered and called out, “The coast is clear.”

Easing the door open, I took a cautionary peek before coming all the way out. “Frances Simms has more than a
little paparazzi in her. You should see how she pursued me around the square.”

“Oh, I know. She’s all worked into a tizzy. Wakefield’s murder is probably the biggest story Cays Mill has seen, unless you’re counting last year’s debacle at the debutante ball.”

My ears perked up. “Last year’s what?” I asked, heading toward a display of handbags that caught my eye.

Hattie chuckled. “Two of the debs got into it over a young man. They ended up smearing cake in each other’s faces.” She laughed some more. “You should have seen the picture in the paper.”

I picked up a black leather bag, fingering the soft leather and fine stitching. “That doesn’t compare at all to murder.”

“Oh my goodness, Nola. You’ve been away for too long. Have you forgotten how seriously people take the debutante ball? Why, those poor girls haven’t shown their faces around here since that horrible incident.” She paused for a beat. “Do you like that bag?”

Glancing up, I saw the insecurity in her expression. “Like it?” I waved my hands around the room. “Hattie, I like everything in here. The whole place is gorgeous! I’m so impressed with what you’ve done.” The wide-planked pine floors and walls painted in subdued hues of mauve with white oak moldings gave the place an uptown feel, but still it somehow managed to seem feminine and homey. Perhaps it was the comfortable seating area with a chintz sofa and coordinating flower-print chairs, or the children’s nook, tucked away in the corner and painted with a fairy-tale-themed mural that made it seem so inviting. “It’s absolutely amazing, Hattie!”

She blew out her breath, her shoulders notably relaxing. “I’m so glad you like it. Cade spent practically every weekend for six months helping me put it all together. Do you remember what this building used to be?”

I scanned my brain, trying to remember as I ran my hand along a row of dresses. Her inventory was just the right mixture of classic and more modern styles. I wasn’t sure
how, with such a small shop, she’d managed to carry something to suit almost every type of woman’s taste. “No, I don’t remember. What was it?”

“The old video shop. Don’t you remember coming down here Friday afternoons and picking up movies for the weekend?”

“That’s right!” I twirled around, getting my bearings. “Horror was there.” I pointed at the far wall. “Family movies in the middle . . .”

“And romance, right here,” Hattie finished, pointing double fingers down at her counter.

We both giggled. “Romance was our favorite. But, if I remember correctly, you only wanted to watch movies with Julia Roberts, like
My Best Friend’s Wedding
,
Pretty Woman. . . .
Oh my gosh! How many times did we watch
Pretty Woman
?”

“And why wouldn’t I? She’s a hometown girl.”

“She was born over in Smyrna. Almost an hour away.”

Hattie nodded. A mischievous grin crossed her face. “I had the previous owner throw in all the romance movies as part of the deal when I bought this place. We can watch
Pretty Woman
after dinner tonight, if you want?”

“For old times’ sake, I think we should.”

“For old times’ sake,” she agreed. “Just let me finish up a few things and I’ll be ready to close down for the day.”

I was about to ask what I could do to help when the door opened.

“Hey, there! Can I help you?” Hattie asked. Then Hattie blinked double time, pulling my attention to the woman as well. I had to make a conscious effort to shut my mouth.

“I don’t know,” the woman slowly said, walking up to the nearest rack and pulling out a dress. She gave it a snide once-over before hanging it back up. “I’m not sure if you have anything to suit my taste.”

She reminded me of a cross between Dolly Parton and Lady Gaga. Sort of a Dolly Gaga, I guess. She was wearing a skintight pink pantsuit showing all her abundant curves, with a bold zipper that was unzipped low enough to reveal her ample cleavage.
Her black, spiked stilettos added an extra four inches to her already impossibly long legs, while her hair, salon red and teased to the max, rose at least another inch above her crown in a perfectly puffy bump and then fell around her face in wavy tendrils, softening the telltale age lines around her eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder how long it took her to put that look together every morning and just how much cosmetic surgery it took to pull it off. The thing was, it suited her. I couldn’t quite figure out why, but somehow, on this woman, what would have normally been considered trashy, looked good, in a weird sort of way.

“Is this the only boutique in town?” the woman asked.

“Yes, it is. There’s more shopping in Perry, of course, but it’s a little ways away. There’s always Macon, but—”

“Never mind.” The woman cut her short. “This will have to do.” She started snatching blouses off the racks. With a tip of her chin, she called me over and shoved a dozen or so garments at me. “Be a dear and run these over to a dressing room, won’t ya? And, let’s see, do y’all have any spandex leggings?”

Hattie stole a glance at her watch and shot a quizzical look my way. I knew what she was thinking. By the looks of things, it was going to be a late dinner.

I passed by the counter on the way to the dressing room and leaned in to whisper, “How about I help you here and then we’ll grab some quick takeout afterwards. Maybe some burgers from the Honky Tonk.”

The corners of Hattie’s mouth tipped upward. “I can do better than that. Let me call Cade and tell him we’ll be late. He can start fixin’ dinner and have it ready for us when we get up to the house. He won’t mind a bit. He thinks he’s a better cook than me anyway.”

I agreed and trudged the rest of the way to the dressing room with my load. As soon as I returned, the woman had another pile waiting for me. This went on for a while, but just when I thought my arms were going to give out, she finally declared she was ready to try on. After forty-five minutes of squirming and shimmying, and turning the air
blue with cusswords, the woman finally emerged from the dressing room and made her way to the counter with a stack of outfits. Shoving a bejeweled hand into her purse, she rummaged around and pulled out a credit card.

Hattie glanced at the card and gasped. “Millicent Wakefield? Oh, I had no idea. Were you related to Ben Wakefield?”

“That depends if you call being his wife related,” the woman answered.

Hattie offered a little gasp. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Millicent seemed unfazed. “Well, it would have been ex-wife if he hadn’t gone and gotten himself murdered. And don’t be sorry; he was a lousy husband anyway. I might have killed him myself if Hollis Shackleford hadn’t beat me to it.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a pack of mints, offering one to each of us as we stood slack-jawed. We declined and she tossed a few into her mouth, clacking them against her teeth a couple times before chomping down with a loud crunch.

Hattie and I exchanged a look. “That’s a strong statement,” I said.

She waved it off. “Aw, don’t take me seriously. I would never do something that might land me in prison. I don’t look good in stripes.” She tipped her head back and let a low, raspy laugh. “Ah, heck. I shouldn’t be laughing. Benny and I had some good times together early on in our marriage. But then he got all caught up in his work and it all got so dull. We just kind of went our separate ways.”

Hattie passed the slip across the counter for her signature. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t even know Mr. Wakefield was married.”

No one must have known, I thought. One thing was for sure, though: when word of this got out, it’d spur a casserole-baking frenzy. The well-meaning gals in town surely wouldn’t let a widow go hungry during her time of grief.

Millicent laughed some more. “Well, now. It was no secret. But I can see how people might not know about us. We married young and have been separated for years. I live up in Macon.
We have a second home up there and, well . . .” Her eyes skimmed over the shop. “I do prefer the shopping up there.”

Hattie frowned.

Not me, though. Things were looking better all the time for Hollis. I could hardly wait to tell Ray about these new suspects. First, Floyd Reeves—the kid with a chip on his shoulder—and now an almost ex-wife nobody knew anything about. One who maybe wasn’t getting the deal she wanted in a divorce? “It sounds like you two had an arrangement all worked out. What happened?”

Millicent grabbed her bags and looked at us with what I assumed was genuine shock, though I couldn’t be sure from the well-drawn-on eyebrow arches whether she’d really raised them or not. “Why, I’m surprised y’all don’t already know. I just assumed in a town this size that word would have gotten around already.”

“About what?” Hattie and I asked in unison.

“Benny was trading me in for a newer model. He’d met some young hussy from around here and wanted to make it permanent.”

“From around here?” Hattie asked.

“Yes, some young thing that works at the salon, of all places.” She rolled her eyes, hefted her purchases and flounced out the door.

It was a while after Millicent left before Hattie and I even moved, both of us rooted in shock. Finally Hattie spoke up. “Do you suppose she means Laney Burns?”

“Well, she sure as heck isn’t talking about Mrs. Whortlebe!” I glanced down at my nails noticing little pieces of polish were already starting to chip off around the edges. “A Knowing Blush,” Laney said it was called. Now I wondered if she’d chosen this particular shade as some sort of twisted little play on words. Maybe she knew a lot more than she originally told me.

I shook my head. I was being paranoid. Besides, this whole thing about Laney and Ben Wakefield didn’t make sense. The whole time I talked to her, Laney never once
showed any emotion over Wakefield’s death. If she was involved with him, she’d certainly be grieving his passing. Instead, she gave me the impression she had her heart set on Hollis. Which . . . maybe she did . . . and Wakefield found out? And he confronted Hollis and . . .

“What is it, Nola? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I glanced from my nails to Hattie and then bit my lip. If Millicent was right, and Laney was caught up in some sort of weird lovers’ triangle with Hollis and Ben Wakefield, Hollis just gained another motive for murdering Wakefield. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” I replied. “What do you say we finish here and head up to your place for dinner? I’m half-starved.”

•   •   •

“You know what I think,” Hattie was saying a little later as she locked the boutique’s door. I’d helped her rush through her closing chores: rehanging clothes, vacuuming and counting the day’s receipts. “I think Maudy Payne better get her thumb out of her butt and start considering some other suspects. Millicent, for starters. That woman seemed off to me. Did she seem off to you?”

“Way off. But Millicent isn’t the only suspect Maudy’s missed or refused to consider. She’s got it out for Ida, you know? Probably hoping Hollis is guilty just so she can stick it to her.”

“Really?” Hattie pocketed her key and pointed up the street. “Come on—you can fill me in on the way. It’s not too far. We’ll just walk from here.” I was glad I was wearing my low-heeled boots since we were walking, although I noticed Hattie didn’t seem to have any trouble maneuvering in her own three-inch strappy sandals, which went perfectly with her fresh-looking yellow-and-white-checked sundress and chunky white jewelry. Completing the look, she had her long dark hair done up in a Jackie-like French roll. I fingered my own hair, whimsically thinking back to my longer-haired days. I was never into fancy updos, but liked the ease of pulling it all back in a ponytail.

I looped my arm in hers as we started up the street in a
companionable silence for a bit. Up until a couple years ago, the McKennas and Harpers had always been neighbors. But after Hattie’s mother passed and her father became ill, she and Cade decided to sell their peach farm and buy a house in town together. The majority of the sale proceeds went to pay for their father’s care, but as Ray had told me earlier, each was able to use a small portion to start their own small businesses. By the looks of it, Hattie had made good use of her share of the money. I hoped Cade’s construction business was doing as well as her boutique.