Mama Stalks the Past (16 page)

I wondered whether a man with this kind of unstable history would be able to murder with such cold precision. But then I remembered that Reeves’s father had killed his mother; it might be in the blood, I thought. And he certainly had a motive. He had been denied his mother’s inheritance, the only thing Stella Mixon had been able to pass on to her only son, those two hundred and fifty precious acres.

For the first time in years, my brothers and I talked almost daily. They called me every day. Sometimes we did conference calls, all of us on
the phone at the same time. Will and Rodney wanted to find the person who tried to poison Mama just as much as I did. I shared with them what I had on Reeves. “Social Security cards, driver’s licenses, hospital records are my expertise,” I told them. “I’ve done everything I know and I still don’t have Reeves Mixon.”

“I don’t understand what you think he’s got to do with poisoning Mama,” Will said.

“I don’t know if he tried to poison Mama or not,” I said. “But I know we need to talk to him.”

“I can go along with talking to him. What do we do to find him?” Rodney demanded.

“I think we should get a leg man, a private detective who could talk to people, locate him,” I said.

“Then we’ll get one,” Rodney said. Rodney, as I said, is my practical brother.

“We’ll split the cost,” Will interjected. “A third each, okay?” Will is my thrifty brother.

I sighed. “Okay,” I agreed, thinking how my share would blow my budget out of the window again. But then, Mama’s life was worth more than anything I’d allowed to disrupt my cash flow in the past.

“Sidney’s best detective is named Kilroy Seymour,” I told my brothers.

“Get the best,” Rodney said.

“He’s expensive,” I warned.

“You get what you pay for,” Rodney said.

Will grumbled, but he finally agreed.

“I’ll keep in touch,” I promised before hanging up.

Sidney had met Kilroy when the detective had appeared as a witness in one of Sidney’s cases. “I like that Kilroy Seymour,” Sidney told me after the trial. “He’s got a talent.” What Sidney meant, I soon learned, was that Kilroy had a unique ability to look like either a businessman or a bum. Dressed in a suit, Kilroy could get in places that were inaccessible to most African-American men. However, when he dressed down, Kilroy could be any bum on skid row, a wino, a derelict, a man down on his luck. Kilroy had one shortcoming, however: When called to look like the average Joe Blow, he couldn’t pull it off; he simply looked stupid.

Kilroy Seymour was a man in his early forties with a quickly receding hairline, a close-clipped beard, and a mustache. Although he wasn’t heavyset, he did look like he was accustomed to a life of substance.

Kilroy was definitely our man, so I called him. He agreed to fly down to Florida right away to look for Reeves.

I
t was Saturday morning, four days since I’d left Mama. I slept badly.

I rolled over and glanced at the radio clock. Six
A.M
. At seven, I was dressed, and was grabbing my shoulder bag, my jacket, and my car keys. I congratulated myself that I’d had the sense to get the Honda gassed up; I didn’t want to stop until I’d reached Otis.

I was pleased to see how well Mama looked. Her golden-brown complexion was glowing, her eyes sharp.

After hugs and kisses, our conversation focused on my efforts to locate Reeves Mixon. “If
Reeves is the killer, how do you think he’s tied in with Trudy Paige?” I asked Mama.

She shook her head. “That’s what’s got me puzzled.”

“They could be in this thing together. They could be lovers,” I suggested.

“Where would Trudy have met Reeves?” Mama asked.

I rubbed my forehead. “You know, I’ve grown to expect murder in Atlanta, but the town of Otis is so peaceful. Most people who live here have known each other all their lives. It just doesn’t seem possible that a killer could be one of you.”

“Simone, the one thing I’ve learned from traveling with your father is that evil is everywhere.” Mama said it gently but firmly.

For a moment I didn’t say anything. Then something crossed my mind. “What about Cousin Gertrude?” I asked Mama.

“What about her?”

“She promised to get me a list of hospital employees.”

Mama shook her head. “Gertrude has been by to see me twice, but she never mentioned a list.”

I was annoyed. “Then I’ll have to remind her,” I snapped, thinking that there was no sense in closing the book on the possibility that somebody who worked at Otis General Hospital could be the killer in Otis, South Carolina.

O
n Monday morning, I called Sidney and asked for a few more days off. Reluctantly, he agreed. The reason for my action was an announcement Mama made the previous morning.

“Time is running out,” she had said. “In two weeks, the whole county is going to know about Hannah’s will, and—”

“The knowledge of the will isn’t as important as finding your would-be killer,” I interrupted.

“Simone, I know the two are related,” Mama said.

I wasn’t convinced. “What do you plan to do?” I asked.

“Trudy Paige is the key to who is behind the killings,” Mama said. “I’m going to find Trudy!”

“Sheriff Abe is looking for Trudy,” I said.

“I know that,” Mama said.

“You don’t need to be out tramping all over the place. After all, you may still not be strong.”

“I’m as strong as I ever was,” Mama said.

“Mama—”

“Simone, I’m not sitting in this house like a prisoner, expecting Abe or that detective friend of yours to find whoever is out there poisoning people.”

“What can you do?” I asked.

“I can find Trudy Paige, find out who put her up to luring me to that café, and—”

“Okay,” I conceded. It was clear that I couldn’t talk her into staying safely locked up in the house until Kilroy or Abe came through. But every time I thought of Mama’s last encounter with Trudy Paige, I felt a tightness in my chest, and it was hard for me to breathe. If Mama insisted on meeting up with Trudy again, I would be with her. “I’ll call Sidney and ask for a few more days off.”

Mama laughed. “Simone, you think I can’t take care of myself.”

“I think that woman is devious and—”

Mama’s eyes twinkled; she was pleased. “I need you, Simone,” she said, her voice sounding as if she realized that my concern for her life was genuine.

On Monday morning, my father went off to work. After breakfast, Mama and I visited the sheriff’s office. Abe was sitting with his feet propped on top of his desk. “Glad to see you, Candi,” he said when we came in. “Morning, Simone.”

“It’s good to be back out and around,” Mama told him. “Are things the same as it was when we last talked? Have you come close to finding Trudy yet?”

Abe frowned. “You’d think that woman has fallen off the face of the earth. I’ve got an APB out for her, but nobody has reported seeing her since the Friday night you saw her.”

“She’s been missing since the night I got poisoned?” Mama asked.

“That’s right,” Abe said.

“I suppose you’ve talked to Trudy’s people?”

Abe nodded. “I’ve talked to Trudy’s people from all over this county. Even talked to a few in other states—the last anybody owns up to seeing that girl was the night you talked to her, Candi.”

“At what time on that Friday night was she seen?” I asked.

“Around ten o’clock,” Sheriff Abe answered. “That brother of hers, Clyde Paige, told my deputy that he drove by Trudy’s house to borrow
twenty dollars. Clyde said Trudy declared she ain’t had no money, so he left.” Abe paused. “One thing for sure, if Trudy told Clyde that she was broke, she was lying.”

Mama’s eyes lit up with interest. “Lying?” she said.

The sheriff dragged his feet from the top of his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a zippered red wallet and handed it to Mama. She opened it. “This is the woman I talked to in the parking lot—
this
is Trudy Paige.” She pointed to the picture on the driver’s license inside.

“That’s Trudy all right,” Abe said.

“Where did you get her wallet?” I asked him.

“Rick found it on her front step,” the sheriff answered.

Mama flipped through the rest of the wallet’s contents. Inside, there were five twenty-dollar bills, a Social Security card, and a piece of paper with a little black bird drawn on it.

“One thing for sure,” the sheriff continued. “Trudy did quit her job at the hospital on the very day that Nat died, just like you said.”

“Another puzzle,” Mama murmured. She was staring down at the little bird drawn on the piece of paper again.

“Now, don’t worry, Candi. We’re going to keep looking for Trudy. And I’ve got my deputy Rick keeping an eye on you. You may not see
him all the time, but he’s looking over your shoulders, you can count on that.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to—”

“I promised James we won’t let nothing happen to you again.” Abe said it like he would brook no argument.

“The only way we’re going to protect Mama is to find the person responsible for the poisoning,” I told the sheriff.

“You be careful what you eat,” Abe told Mama. “Watch everything and everybody around you, you hear?”

Mama nodded, but she was still looking at the drawing.

The sheriff turned to me. “Rick and I have talked to each person who works at Otis General. Except for Trudy, we haven’t found a link between any one of them and Nat or Hannah, much less Candi. And the truth is that I don’t think the arsenic came from the hospital.”

I took a deep breath. I was suddenly weary of what seemed like another dead end. “Okay, but do you have a list of the hospital’s employees? And can I have it?” If Gertrude wouldn’t get the list for me, I’d get it this way.

The sheriff shuffled through a stack of papers on the top of his desk. Finally, he pulled out a sheet and handed it to me. “You can have it, Simone, but I don’t see what good it’s going to do
you. And, Candi—remember what I said. You be real careful till we find out what’s going on in this town.”

Mama nodded and headed for the door. As I followed her outside, I quickly examined the list Abe had given me. When we were seated in the Honda, I asked, “Where to now?”

“I want to go to Uncle Chester’s house,” Mama replied. “I need to get the map and picture I found in Hannah’s Bible away from him before they get lost. First, though, swing by the house. I’ll take Uncle Chester a bowl of the turnip greens left from yesterday’s supper.”

We drove up in the yard in time to meet the mailman. He handed me an overnight envelope with an Orlando return address on it. I thanked him, then opened it. Inside were three photographs. A note was attached. It read:
“I got these pictures of Reeves Mixon from one of the men who frequents the boardinghouse. Hope they’ll help—K
.” The first picture was of a man who was dark, thin, with deep-set eyes and thick lips. His nose looked like it had once been broken. If this was Reeves, he looked closer to fifty than thirty-five. The second picture was faded. It showed a woman wearing a white cotton dress and a large straw hat. Her face was pleasant but
her eyes held a strange sadness. The third photo was of that same woman with a sickly looking boy about five years old. Reeves Mixon, before time and life had aged him.