1 Murder on Sugar Creek (8 page)

Chapter Eleven

The speed at which Sylvie Johnson
maneuvered the knitting needles made Maggie dizzy. As Sylvie looped the needles
in and out of the yarn, she never looked at her hands or ceased talking.

“I have to stay busy,” Sylvie
explained. “Even if I’m watching TV or talking on the phone, I’ll pick up my
quilting loop and make a few stitches or grab my crochet or knitting needles.”

Maggie leaned back on the
overstuffed sofa and rested her arm on a throw pillow. Out of curiosity, she
picked up the blue pillow on which the words, “Forget housework. I’m busy being
creative,” had been embroidered with beige thread. After a quick scan of
Sylvie’s living room, Maggie concluded it an apt description. She could have
written her name in the lint that settled on Sylvie’s furniture and choked on
the dust bunnies that huddled in the corners of the room. Clutter usually made Maggie
nervous, but the piles of craft books and baskets of well-begun projects that
crowded the room actually comforted her. “Who are you making that baby quilt
for?” Maggie inquired about the pink-and-white afghan materializing on Sylvie’s
plump lap.

“Whoever needs one. Like I said,
these hands never rest. Somebody is always inviting me to a baby shower, so I
keep a few quilts or booties or afghans on hand. Now, you don’t have any
young’uns, do you?” Before Maggie could answer, Sylvie said, “And you never
married? Smart girl. Getting hitched was the biggest mistake I ever made. He
laid drunk. You just ask anybody and they’ll tell you. He wouldn’t have worked
in a pie factory counting pies. I was young and stupid but not young or stupid
enough to love him. I could barely stand him. But everybody told me I needed to
get married. Needed somebody to take care of me, they said. Well, I took care
of him ’til the day he passed out face first into a mud hole. He drowned in
less water than I’ll use to clean this-here coffee cup. Don’t get me wrong. I
don’t want nobody to die. I ain’t that hard-hearted. But I never shed one tear
over him. I’m just glad we never had no children. That’s something else people
always told me. Have a couple young’uns so they can take care of you when you’re
older, they said. I’ll be seventy-three at my birth and I ain’t needed them to
take care of me, yet. Take it from me. Ain’t nobody going to take care of you
but yourself. Now, what did you want to ask me about Mac Honaker?”

“Oh, yeah.” Maggie was so enthralled
by Sylvie’s monologue that she had forgotten the purpose of her visit. “My
parents said Mac Honaker sold you an insurance policy years ago –”

Sylvie shook her head and a lock of
hair fell from the loose bun fastened to her head with bobby pins. Due to
Sylvie’s hairstyle, her lack of makeup, and her fondness for house dresses,
Maggie had once assumed Sylvie belonged to the Old Regular Baptist Church. Lena had cleared up matters for Maggie by explaining that Sylvie had more
important things to do than primp and preen.

“Mac didn’t sell it to me. Let’s
see, who did sell me that policy?” Sylvie cocked her head to the side. “I’m too
old to remember that. Anyway, Mac became my insurance agent when the one I had
retired or quit or died or whatever happened to him. Why are you asking about
this?”

Although Maggie had anticipated
that question, she had not formulated an answer to her liking. “It’s, well,
it’s a long story. Regardless, I’d prefer if we could keep this conversation
just between us.”

“Whatever floats your boat, honey.”

“So, about this policy …”

“Yeah. Those was the days when
they’d come to your house and collect your premium. Mac would show up every
month like clockwork. I’ve knowed his family all my life and he was a
personable, kindly man, so I always had some sort of sweet prepared for him.
Where is my mind? Do you want something to eat? I made a banana nut bread
yesterday. It’s still fresh.”

Maggie felt she had been
overindulging lately and had vowed to cut back on desserts. On the other hand,
she had worked out every day for two and a half weeks. “I don’t want you to get
up,” she said. “Maybe I’ll take a piece for the road.”

“Don’t you let me forget. Now,
where was I? Mac. He never left here without eating a piece of cake or a
helping of cobbler or without taking my premium. I still remember the day he collected
the last premium from me. He sat in the very seat you’re in and ate a piece of rhubarb
cobbler. The next month came and went, but he didn’t darken my door. I gave it
a few days and called the insurance company. They said my policy had been
cancelled two years before. I said, ‘No, it ain’t been.’ I want a proper
burial. I don’t want to be throwed in a cardboard box and dumped in a hole with
some stranger. I know I’ll be dead and the dead know nothing, but I want a nice
service and a nice coffin. Nothing expensive. There’s no need to go overboard.
And I want a nice stone. I’m not counting on nobody to pay for that but me.
That’s why I paid on that insurance policy every month. I told the man at the
insurance office as much. He made me out to be a liar, but I told him I could
prove it. Take some advice from me – keep your receipts. That’s the only thing
that saved me. If I hadn’t kept them, I would have lost that policy and all
those premiums I paid. In cash. I learned my lesson on paying in cash, too.
Looking back, I see it was a mistake, but I trusted Mac, Ah, you live and
learn. Anyway, I showed those receipts to the manager or whatever he was, and
they, what did they call it, re-activated my policy. There was more to it and
it took a while, but to make a long story short, I didn’t lose nothing.”

“Did they tell you what happened?”

“They said it was a clerical
error.”

 “But Mac had kept your money?”

“He sure did. I considered the
receipts proof of payment. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t care to pay in cash.
I’ll only trust anybody so far. But those receipts was phony. He pocketed the
money.”

“How much did he steal from you?”

“A little more than five hundred
dollars.” Sylvie took a momentary break from knitting to take a sip of coffee.
“It don’t seem like a lot unless it’s coming out of your pocket.”

“Oh, no. Five hundred dollars is
five hundred dollars.” Maggie thought to herself that Edie could buy another
pair of over-priced boots for that kind of money. “Do you know if he stole from
others?”

“The insurance company wouldn’t
tell me, but I know he did. He up and quit before they could fire him. You see,
they caught him.”

“Oh, really.” As Sylvie wove her
intriguing tale, Maggie felt like a kid during story hour. “How did they catch
him?”

“One of his customers died. When
the funeral home tried to cash in the insurance policy to pay for the funeral,
the insurance company said there wasn’t no policy. They did them the same way
they did me, but those smart souls had kept their receipts. Just like I did. The
insurance company didn’t do nothing then. Mac quit as soon as he heard about
his customer’s death and I reckon the insurance company thought that was the
end of it. Until others like me started asking questions.”

“How many customers do you think he
robbed?”

“Now, how do you expect me to know
a thing like that?” Sylvie finished one row of the afghan and started another.
“It couldn’t have been many. It would have raised too much suspicion if all his
customers started cancelling their policies. It was probably just a few of us.
But even if he stole one dollar, that’s one dollar he didn’t earn.”

“Did you consider going to the
police?”

“Not really.” Sylvie ceased
knitting, studied the afghan, and mumbled something under her breath before
resuming the needlework and the story. “It didn’t make no difference to me. I
just wanted the insurance company to make everything right for me. And they
did.”

“Did they let Mac by with stealing
all that money?”

“I wouldn’t say they let him by
with it. Not that he paid the piper. Mac’s daddy made everything right with
them. McKinley cleaned up a lot of Mac’s messes. I don’t know how true this is,
but I heard Mac stole from that shoe store, but his daddy got him out of that
one, too. God only knows what he did when he worked for the nursing home or
what he did to get himself killed.”

“You don’t think Kevin Mullins
killed him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So, you think he’s guilty?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Maggie found talking to Sylvie
almost as exasperating as engaging in certain conversations with her mother.
“What do you think?”

“I know that Mullins boy was seen around
the store and I know he’s been in some trouble. But I don’t know if I see him
as the type of person who could kill somebody in cold blood, as they call it. I
don’t care how much you want that dope, if you ain’t got it in you to kill, you
ain’t going to kill. I buy my eggs off him. There’s been plenty of
opportunities for him to knock me in the head and take off with everything I
have, but as far as I know, he ain’t took a thing of mine. But maybe I don’t
have nothing worth stealing. Anyway, that boy don’t seem like a killer to me.”

Maggie felt grateful to finally
encounter someone who shared her perspective on Kevin. She also found it
amusing that Sylvie referred to the thirty-one-year-old-old Kevin as a boy.
Then, again, she had to admit to referring to anyone under twenty-five as a kid
and she was less than half Sylvie’s age.

“You know,” Sylvie continued, “I
saw Mac many times after that and he acted like nothing never happened. But we
both knew the truth and, one time, he caught me in a foul mood and I said
something to him. I looked him right in the eyes and said, ‘After what you
done, you should be too ashamed to be in the same room as me.’ He let on like
he didn’t know what I was talking about, but I wasn’t having none of that. And
you know what he did? He laughed.” Sylvie sighed. “If he could rip off his
insurance customers and most of them neighbors here on Sugar Creek that he had
knowed forever, he’d do anything. I just wonder where Dottie is going to find
work. She ain’t getting any younger.”

“How do you know Dottie?”

“The same way I know you. I know
everybody on Sugar Creek. The question is, how come you don’t know them?”

Maggie ignored Sylvie’s question.
“What do you know about her?”

“Dottie’s a good woman. Maybe too
good. Her husband has had a few odd jobs here and there, but he ain’t never
held down a job longer than a week and that girl of theirs was so sorry they
took her boy from her. Dottie has raised him and she’s still raising him even
though he’s grown. That boy’s so lazy he wouldn’t turn his hand to strike at a
snake. He don’t work or go to college, but he drives a nice, shiny new vehicle.
When he ain’t running up and down the road in that, he’s gunning that
motorcycle or terrorizing the neighbors on that four-wheeler. I don’t know how
Dottie is going to support him now. Maybe whoever buys the store from Mac’s
wife will hire her.”

At the mention of Carla, Maggie
remembered the news Ben had shared regarding her finances. “Do you know Carla
Honaker?”

“Not well. I did some sewing for
her and I sold her a quilt. I was surprised when she contacted me, but I
realized she didn’t have no idea what Mac had done. She seems nice enough, but,
well I guess you would call her a little snobby, but she was respectful to me.”

“What did you think of them as a
couple?”

“It’s funny that you would ask that.
I didn’t shed no tears when Mac died, but I’d still describe him as friendly
and outgoing and common. Carla ain’t none of those things and I think she is
out of place here on Sugar Creek. She never belonged in a community such as
this. Of course, I get the impression that Jasper ain’t big enough for her,
either. She and Mac didn’t seem to match, but other people had other opinions. My
neighbor, she’s since passed, cleaned for them. She knew how I felt about Mac,
but we agreed to disagree cause she said he was good to her. She also said he
adored Carla. I’ll never forget her telling me that Mac was always bringing her
flowers and leaving little gifts around the house for her. She asked Mac about
it and he said he’d always remember the way Carla supported him when he decided
to build the store. He said other wives would have complained and fretted over
the money. Not Carla. He said nobody had ever believed in him the way she did.
That shocked me cause you didn’t see them together much. He was always with that
big ole boring Bug.”

Maggie laughed. “Don’t hold back.
Tell me how you really feel about him.”

“He’s always seemed like he was
just there. Like he was Mac’s shadow or something.”

Maggie had to admit that, other
than his fits of crying, Bug didn’t leave much of an impression. “Did you know Mac’s
first wife?”

“I knew of her cause of him and his
family, but she wasn’t from Sugar Creek.” Sylvie cocked her head again. “I
can’t remember exactly where she was from, but she went to school with him so
it had to be somewhere nearby. I remember her mostly from when she worked at
Walmart. I used to get her to slice baloney for me. She seemed nice enough. Not
snooty like Carla. Mac’s mommy and daddy loved her.”

Maggie forced herself to quit
daydreaming about a fried baloney and mustard sandwich. “What happened between her
and Mac?”

“I don’t rightly know.” Before
Sylvie’s pronouncement could impact Maggie, she added, “But I heard there was
other women.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You hear everything, and I
find that one hard to believe cause Mac, well, he was always kind of sloppy. I
couldn’t believe it when he snatched a woman like Carla.” Her eyes widened and
she blinked several times. “But I’ve never been able to understand what
attracts people to each other. And I remember Mac when he was younger and I
guess he was good looking enough and he did have a good personality. Maybe I’m
just prejudiced against him cause he stole from me, but I wouldn’t have had an
affair with him. If I was going to cheat, it would be with somebody like Conway.”