Bed & Breakfast Bedlam (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 1) (7 page)

The bell on the door jingled again. “Good
Lord. Look like lunchtime rush done started.” She patted Miss Vivee’s hand.
“I’ll be back.”

Chapter Fourteen

Miss Vivee pushed her plate, which was
completely devoid of even one morsel of egg salad, back and leaned her elbows
on the table. “Well do you think any of that was useful information?” she asked
me.

“Any of what?”

“Any of what Viola Rose said. Sometimes
it’s the most innocuous things that reveal the murderer.”

I let my eyes drift upward.

Nothing had been revealed to me.

“I think what happened to her happened
along the route she took to jog.”

“What did happen to her?” I asked.

“In due time. I’ll tell you in due time.”

Fine. Moving on.

“I thought we were going to make a suspect
list,” I said instead.

“Oh, right,” she said. She pulled out her
pencil and pad.  “Who we got?” She licked the granite tip.

“Uhm . . .” I gazed out of the window.
“The Sheriff thinks it may have been Renmar.” I shook my head. “But that was
just him.” I didn’t want to insult her by her thinking I agreed with the
sheriff that her daughter poisoned Gemma.

She licked the tip of the pencil again, I
guessed for good measure. “Renmar Colquett.”

“Are you putting her on our suspects
list?”

“Sure am.”

“Why?” I had to chuckle. “She’s your
daughter.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not a murderer.
Renmar’s got a mean streak in her. And she’d kill to keep her recipes secret.
You heard Viola Rose, Gemma Burke wanted Renmar’s bouillabaisse recipe.” Miss
Vivee licked her lips. “Renmar rather give up her left arm than divulge her
recipes.  And her bouillabaisse is famous. It’s won awards.”

“Yeah, I know about her being protective.”
I laughed. “She said that if she told me what she put in her fruit bowl, she’d
have to kill me.”

“See what I mean.”

“I can’t believe you’d put her down.”

“You think she’s protective about that
fruit concoction, it’s nothing compared to her bouillabaisse.”

“But you said that the murder didn’t
happen at the Maypop.”

“It didn’t.”

“Wasn’t Renmar there all day?”

“Nope.” She said. She picked up her cup of
coffee and took a sip. “She went out early. Stayed a couple of hours. Came back
with Oliver. The two of them had their heads together about something.”

“The murder?”

“It’s possible.”

“They were acting strange when the Sheriff
was there.”

“Yep. And Renmar had Oliver dump that pot
of bouillabaisse. That’s why she told Sheriff Haynes there wasn’t any.”

“But if the bouillabaisse didn’t kill
Gemma, why would Renmar and Oliver get rid of it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why her name is
going on the list.”

“Then what about Oliver?” I asked. “He and
Renmar may be accomplices. He is pretty shady guy with all of his ‘lady
friends’.”

Miss Vivee shook her head. “Not Oliver.
He’s practically family.”

“Renmar
is
family and her name is
on your list.” I pointed to her “detective notebook,” every page blank save for
the lone sheet that had the name of her daughter on it.

“I know Oliver,” she said taking another
sip of the cold coffee and swallowing. “He is a gentle soul. Wouldn’t hurt a
fly. He and Brie had a thing once upon a time. And the only mischief I’ve ever
known him to get into is what Renmar puts him up to. Then you know he and Hazel
Cobb are related and Renmar and Hazel are related. So that makes him family.
He’s not the murderer”

“Renmar and Oliver? They’re related to
Hazel Cobb?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t say anything and I guess she
must’ve seen by the look on my face that I was having problems with putting
that genealogy together.

“Oliver’s great-great-great – I hope I put
enough greats in there – grandfather is Hazel Cobb’s great-great-great
grandfather on the slavery side. And Bay’s father, Renmar’s husband, Louis, was
Hazel’s cousin.”

“Bay’s father is Hazel’s cousin on . . .
On the slavery side?”

“No,” she said and slowly wiped her mouth
with the napkin and then pressed it out on her lap. She met me eye to eye. “You
know, sometimes your lack of understanding is just scary,” Vivee said. “You’re
going to have to try to keep up, otherwise you won’t be much help to me.” She
took another sip of the cold coffee. “Bay’s father was black. You couldn’t tell
that?”

“Yes. I – I was just trying to
understand,” I stumbled over my words. It was hard staying nice and respectful
when the other person was acting out.

“Understand what? Slavery?” she asked.

“No. I get that.”

“Then what are you confused about, honey?”
She pushed back her cup of coffee and folded her hands on the table. She leaned
in and spoke slowly. “Renmar married a black man. The black man was Hazel’s
cousin. Hazel is also black. And way, waaayy back, her family was owned by
Oliver’s family. Is that clear enough for you, Missy?”

“Never mind. I get it.”

I changed the subject.

 “So if the murderer was out somewhere.” I
waved my hand. “That means the entire town could be on the list.”

“That’s not how it works. Don’t you watch
crime shows? Do the people on Law & Order ever put every single citizen of
New York on the suspect list?” She clucked her teeth. “No. We have to narrow it
down.”

“How do we do that?”

“I think I know what to do.”

The bell jingled on the door and it made
me look up.

 “Oh look who just came in?” I said.

“Who?” Miss Vivee tried to turn around and
look.

“The man with the cane and the dog.”

“Lord have mercy,” she said and again
tried to make herself invisible by sliding down in her seat. “What is he doing
here?”

“Getting something to eat I would guess,”
I said and leaned over to her. “Now who’s showing a lack of understanding?”

“Shush!” she said.

“Here he comes,” I said.

“What! No!”

I watched as he walked past our table. He’d
left his cane at home and was doing all he could to walk tall without it. He
had a slight limp. I was thinking he probably should have brought his cane
along. He looked as old as Miss Vivee and hidden under the lap of skin over his
eyes, he had the brightest blue eyes that seemed to sparkle when they landed on
her. As he passed us, he slowed and nodded his greeting to me and spoke to Miss
Vivee.

“Vivienne,” he said.

“Mac,” she countered back not even looking
up.

He walked to the end of the counter and took
a seat on the very last stool.

Miss Vivee could hardly catch her breath.
She put her hand over her forehead. “Driving down Magnolia might not’ve been
such a good idea,” she muttered. “Could we please leave now?” She put the
notebook and pencils in her purse.

“Who is he? Your boyfriend?” I leaned in
and asked with a big grin on my face.

“Don’t be silly. I’m too old to have a
boyfriend.”

“Well, he must be somebody.” I said
looking over my shoulder at him and then back at Miss Vivee. “Got you upset.”

“I’m not upset. And,” she said scooting to
the edge of her seat ready to go. “We have too much to do to dilly-dally around
here all day.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me who he
is. What’s his name? Is it Mac?”

She huffed and fiddled with her purse. “Macomber
Whitson,” she said giving in. “But everyone calls him Mac. Now can we go?”

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday
Afternoon, AGD

Miss Vivee sat down in the car seat with a
huff. Seeing Mac had seemed to really upset her. Even Cat crawling up front and
plopping down on Miss Vivee’s lap didn’t get a rise from her. Her face was
twisted, her wrinkles sagged more than I’d ever seen them, and she seemed to have
drifted off, staring out of the windshield.

I thought maybe I shouldn’t have given her
such a hard time about that guy. He evidently meant something to her, or had
meant something to her. I noticed that Miss Vivee always called people by two
names. If they didn’t have two first names (even if it was one name that
sounded like two, or a title and last name), Miss Vivee would call them by
their first and last name. She did that to everyone but family – Renmar, Brie
and Bay (she didn’t usually call me by name, she’d just sort of talked at me,
and when she did use a name it was Missy). And now this man was just “Mac.” 
Mac must be like family to her.

I looked over at her sitting there, and it
seemed almost like she was sad. Cat had placed her paws on Miss Vivee’s chest
and put her wet nose right in her face, trying to get her attention. But Miss
Vivee didn’t seem to pay her any notice. I remembered what Renmar said, it
doesn’t matter how old you are, you still have the same wants and desires. You
always feel the same inside, she had said.

I guess that went for Miss Vivee and Mac.

Cat gave up, climbed into the backseat,
and I reached over Miss Vivee and grabbed her seatbelt. I buckled her in and
decided I was going to be more sensitive to her. Maybe getting back to the
Maypop would make her feel better.

“You’ve got to get me a newspaper.” She
said suddenly.

 “What?” I asked in surprise. “Why do you
need me to get you a newspaper? There’s one at the Maypop, isn’t there?” I
remembered one was delivered every morning.

“Home?” she turned to me and tilted her
head. “Why in the world would I be ready to go home?” She shook her head and
closed her eyes as if tolerating me was such a chore. “Look,” she said opening
her eyes. “We got some staking out to do, but first I want to go and find the
crime scene.” She reached in her purse and pulled out her sunglasses.

“I thought we did that when we went over
to talk to Viola Rose at the diner.”

“We just learned about the crime scene. We
didn’t actually go to it, now did we?” She turned around and smiled at her dog.
“What’cha doing back there, girl? Come here and give me a kiss.”

Cat jumped up front and I rolled my eyes.

I hopped out of the car and went back to
Hadley’s where I’d bought her notebook and got her a newspaper.

“Where to?” I asked when I got back in the
car. I turned the ignition.

“Mims Point Park. Over by the beach.”

I drove around the square and headed over
to the coastline of the Savannah River.

“This is where she would have gone down to
the run along the shoreline,” Miss Vivee said.

Once we reached the park Miss Vivee directed
me to pull over near a set of sandstone steps that lead from the park down to
the beach. I shut off the engine and we sat for ten minutes or so and watched
as people walked and played. At least that’s what I did. Miss Vivee seemed lost
in thought, either that or she was having one of her senior moments when she
would seem to fix her gaze on something far off and not know what was going on
around her.

“Yasamee isn’t that big,” she said.

Yep, must’ve been a senior moment. I
didn’t know what she was talking about.

I tilted my head and looked at her
sideways. “You okay, Miss Vivee?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” She broke her
trance-like stare and furrowed her brow. “You know. If you don’t straighten up,
I’m going to have to demote you from partner to just driver.”

I laughed. Pointing out the window I said,
“So this is the crime scene.”

“Possibly,” she said and surveyed the
area. “Wherever it was, there has to be something hard. Those steps would be
just about right.”

I followed her gaze. Miss Vivee hadn’t
told me how Gemma died, and I hadn’t bought into the idea that she’d been
murdered yet, but Miss Vivee seemed to know exactly what she was looking for.

“Viola Rose said that Gemma Burke ran past
the Jellybean around 11:30 am.”

“Yep. She said she remembered exactly
because one of her customers that came in at the same time she saw her and he
always comes for lunch at 11:30.”

Miss Vivee nodded. “Junior Appletree. He
works over at the library, doing cleaning and odd jobs. He eats there every
day, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Viola Rose always bragging about how he can’t
get enough of her good cooking and the only thing that keeps him away is the
Lord.” Miss Vivee smiled. “What she don’t know is that he eats all of his
desserts and Sunday meals at the Maypop.”

“So what time did Gemma get to the
Maypop?” I asked.

“About one o’clock.”

“Sooo, it was an hour and a half from the
time she was seen running past the diner until the time she went to get some of
Renmar’s bouillabaisse.”

“Yes,” Miss Vivee said. “And she wasn’t
coughing when she passed by the diner. So I wonder . . .” she looked at me
curiously. “How long does it take to run from the Jellybean Café to here and
back to the Maypop?” Then she didn’t say anything else. She just smiled at me
and stared.

I didn’t say anything either.

“I wonder . . .” she said again.

“Oh no!” I realized what she wanted. “I’m
not jogging around Yasamee so you can work out your timeline of death. No.”

“Why not? All the young people do it I
hear. It’ll help you stay in shape.”

“I have a better idea. What’s her
address?” I punched the button to bring my GPS on screen. “I can find out how
many miles it is on here. Then I can divide the average number of minutes it
takes to jog a mile, and that’ll give me  how many minutes it takes to get here
from the diner.” I waited for her answer.

“I don’t know her address,” she said.
“What is that thing?” She wiggled her finger at the GPS.

“Never mind.” I turned the ignition. “Do
you know how to get there? We’ll use the odometer. We can just do it the old
fashioned way.”