Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (7 page)

•   •   •

“Auntie Nola!” Charlotte and Savannah chimed in unison, before latching their arms around my legs. I shuffle-stepped into the house, dragging them through the front room while making low, gravelly monster noises. “Where’s your mama?” I finally asked, out of breath.

One of them pointed a chubby finger toward the kitchen while the other picked a doll off the floor. “Look! I got a new doll. She’s a cheerleader!” She held up the plush doll by its yellow yarn hair for my inspection.

“Cute. Does she know any cheers?”

“No, but I do!” Savannah said, snapping to attention, arms straight at her sides and a mischievous grin playing on her face. Her sister took the doll, clutched it against her chest and stared on with worried blue eyes. “Hit it!” Savannah yelled, before breaking stance and beginning to chant, “Bulldogs . . . Bulldogs . . . we’ve got class! Bulldogs . . . bulldogs . . . we’ll kick your—”

“Savannah Harper Shackleford!” Ida seem to appear out of nowhere, sending the girls scurrying for cover amid an echo
of shrieks and giggles. “I swear, I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl. She’s been acting up something terrible.”

“You look horrible,” I blurted, before I could stop the words from tumbling out. But I was caught off guard by her puffy eyes, bedraggled hair and lack of makeup. I hadn’t seen my sister look this bad since high school when she slipped into a funk after losing the title for Miss Peach Queen.

“Thanks,” she retorted. “Did you just come over here to insult me or is there something you wanted?”

I bit my lip and shoved the casserole dish her way. “I brought some food.”

She lifted the foil, peered inside and scowled. “It’s half-eaten.”

“Yeah . . . well, I had some. Ginny from the diner sent it over to me, but I thought I’d share.”

She looked bug-eyed at me, her mouth opening and shutting a few times. “She sent it to
you
? What in heavens for? I’m the one with the husband . . .” She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes glancing around for any sign of the girls, before putting the dish down with a thud on her coffee table. Then with both hands on her hips, she started in again. “It’s just like that Ginny Wiggins to use a hot dish to snub me. The women in this town are so classless. Why, they’ve pretty much excluded me from everything these days. They don’t even call me to play Bunko anymore.”

I plunked down on her davenport. This was going to take a while. “Hey, now. You’re not making a bit of sense. Sit down and let’s talk through this.”

She plopped next to me, jerking up quickly to pull a stray Barbie from between the cushions before settling back down. I repositioned myself, rotating my body and tucking my legs up underneath me. “So, what’s all this about the ladies in town?”

“Oh, Nola. It’s been awful. Just awful. Ever since Hollis started drinking heavily, rumors have been flying.”

I’d figured as much.
I forced back the sigh inside me as I innocently asked, “Rumors?”

She nodded. “I was hesitant to speak of it around Ray yesterday, but it’s true. Awful rumors. Like that he’s too drunk to keep track of things at the bank. It’s even getting around that he’s been stepping out. Can you imagine?”

Yes, I can.
But I kept my mouth shut and instead shook my head sympathetically. “I’m sure all this has been hard on you. What about the girls? How are they doing?”

She waved it off. “They don’t have a clue. I’ve been able to keep it all from them. They just think their daddy’s been busy with work.”

“Are you sure they think that, Ida? You said yourself that they’ve been acting up lately. Maybe they’re more aware of things than you realize.”

Her shoulders slumped and she started wringing her hands. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What are you going to tell them now that he’s in jail?” I kept my voice low, whispering the last part just in case little ears were lurking about.

Ida’s eyes started to tear up again, so I quickly changed the topic. “Ida, do you have any idea how that scarf would have ended up around Ben Wakefield’s neck? I mean, Hollis was the last person I saw with it. Have you had a chance to ask him? Did he drop it? Give it to someone else?”

“No, I haven’t been able to talk to him. They plucked him right off my front yard and hauled him off to jail. I tried calling last night, but they wouldn’t let me talk to him.”

I thought back to how Hollis had suggestively taunted Ida with the scarf. If he’d make such classless innuendos at the dinner table, hard telling what he might do when no one was looking. Especially knowing how he couldn’t keep his eyes off pretty girls.

I studied my sister, thinking she might be giving her husband just a little too much credit when it came to his fidelity. But, instead of bringing up Hollis’s philandering tendencies, I’d need to turn things around if I wanted to get
any information out of her. “Hollis is such a catch,” I started. “I bet there’s always women clamoring after him.”

Her expression shifted from self-pity to indignation. “You bet there is.”

“How about at the party. Anyone flirting with him there?”

Her eyes rolled upward as she considered my question. “No, not really. Well . . . Laney Burns, but she’s always chasing after Hollis.”

“Big-haired Laney Burns?” I croaked.

Ida scrunched her nose in disgust. “Yes, that’s the one. But Hollis doesn’t pay her any attention.” She leaned in and whispered, “He would never be attracted to such low-rent trash.”

And she was off telling me all the gossip on Laney, complete with sly looks and whispered tidbits, none of which pertained to what I needed to know, and my mind zoned out as all I could think of was how much this community thrived on—and died with—its gossip in full
swing.

Georgia Belle Fact #092:
A true Georgia Belle cooks like Paula Deen, drives like Danica Patrick and dresses like Daisy Duke.

Laney Burns wasn’t my favorite person, that’s for sure, but for Ida’s sake, I thought I’d drop by and pay her a little visit. At the very least, if Laney had been following Hollis around at the party, she might have seen something helpful. Unfortunately, knowing Hollis the way I did, there was a good chance Laney was the reason he was late getting home that night. In that case, she was his alibi. At any rate, it would be worth seeing if I could learn anything at all. Ray was already stressed out working on other angles, and I wasn’t too sure I wanted Loose Laney sidling up to Ray anyway. Plus, heaven knew, if I handed these possibilities over to the police, there was no way our barber-cut Maudy would get a thing out of the coiffed Laney!

By the time I made my way to the Clip & Curl, it was almost closing time. Nonetheless, there were still a couple gals with their heads under the dryers, leafing through magazines and sipping colas. Doris Whortlebe, the owner, was busy putting the final touches on a newly washed and set head of gray curls. At the sight of me, she stopped mid-spray,
put down her can of Aqua Net and held out her arms. “Well, I’ll be! Get over here and let me see you!” she ordered.

I obediently scurried over for my plushy, aerosol-infused hug. I let out a little cough. “Hello, Doris.”

“I heard you were back,” she enthused, releasing her grip and holding me at arm’s length. But the delight left her eyes as she saw my short locks up close. “Oh Lawdy,” was all she said.

My fingers flew to my head as everyone craned their necks to get a glimpse of the oddball in the room of big-haired heads. I cleared my throat. “I’m not here to get a haircut,” I started.

“Thank you, sweet Jesus,” Doris belted, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. “Because if you’re plannin’ on going any
shorter
, you might as well head over to Earl’s and let him go at you with the buzzers.” She turned her focus back to the head of billowy curls in her chair and started in with the hair spray again. “Well, if you’re here for extensions, sweetie, it’s a little late in the day, ’cuz I’m closing up in about a half hour.”

“No, ma’am,” I responded, my eyes drawn to the bright little orange balls that swung from her earlobes as she moved about. They perfectly matched the coral-colored flowers stretching every which way against the black background of her blouse. “I came in to see if Laney was here. I’d like to get my nails done.” I glanced around, not seeing Laney anywhere. “Is she already out for the day?”

“Naw. She’s just out back taking a smoke break. Take a seat over there,” she said, indicating one of the waiting chairs and giving a cursory—and disapproving—glance at my work-battered nails. “I’m sure she can fit you in before closing.”

I’d barely settled my bottom on the pink vinyl seat before the back door popped open and Laney sashayed into the room, a cloud of nicotine wafting in behind her. Her bottle-blond hair was teased higher than ever and secured into a mini-pony with a jeweled clip. She wobbled toward me in poured-on jeans and impossibly high stilettos that clacked against the linoleum floor until she spied me and stopped in her tracks.
“Hey, there, Nola Mae. What are you here for?” Her sugary sweet smile didn’t quite reach her heavily lined eyes.

I stood, holding out my nails for her inspection. “Think you can do anything with these?”

She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose at the sight of my jagged-edged nails. “Well, I suppose I could try. I charge twenty-five for a manicure; pay now and you won’t smudge your polish afterwards.”

I fished the bills out of my pocket and settled at her table where I perched on a small white chair and laid my hands atop a padded countertop. “Put your hand in here,” she said, pushing a sudsy bowl of pink liquid my way before sliding her own perfectly manicured nails over a rack of polishes. She finally settled on the gaudiest shade of pink I’d ever seen.

“Maybe I should try something a little less . . .” I struggled for words. The shade she’d picked reminded me of Pepto Bismol. “It’s just that I don’t think I’m a pink type of gal.”

“Don’t be silly. Every girl loves pink,” she assured me with a twisted little upturn of her highly glossed lips. “‘A Knowing Blush’
.
Isn’t that the cleverest name ever?”

“A Knowing Blush”? Why that particular shade? I wondered. Was she trying to tell me something? I narrowed my eyes as she bent over and started rummaging through her purse, pulling out a stick of gum and doubling it into her mouth before lifting my hand from the bowl and patting it dry. “Put your other hand in the bowl,” she told me, wielding a torturous-looking instrument, which she used to snip at my cuticles, her drawn-on brows furrowed with concentration as she began prattling on about how long it had been since she’d seen me, how busy she’d been with learning her trade (which I avoided questioning) and other minutiae of her life I wouldn’t recall later. None of which required any response other than my occasional nod.

“Did you have fun at the party the other night?” I injected, trying to steer the conversation my way.

She popped her gum and nodded. “Sure did. The food
was to die for and that band y’all had . . .” She fingered her hair and smiled. “I haven’t twirled like that since I took my last spin on ol’ Bodacious.”

“Who did you get to dance with?” I tried slipping into the real reason I’d sat at her chair in the first place.

She shot me a nasty look and snipped extra hard.

“Hey, take it easy. That thing looks like it could be dangerous.”

“Don’t be a wuss, Nola Mae. I’ve got to get at these cuticles. I swear, I’ve never seen nails such a mess.”

“Kind of hard to keep nice nails when you’re scouring rubble for earthquake survivors or picking rocks to clear land for a life-sustaining vegetable plot,” I shot back.

“Well, bless your heart. You have been a busy girl, haven’t you?” She branded a nail file and, with a slight sneer, snatched back my hand so she could saw away at the tips of my nails. “I bet your sister sent you over here today, didn’t she?”

“Ida? Why would she do that?” I hedged.

She eyed me suspiciously. “She didn’t send you over here on a witch hunt?”

I gave her my most innocent look. “A witch hunt? What do you mean?”

She clenched the nail polish, shaking it until the little bead inside quit pinging. “No offense, but your sister has poor Hollis on a short leash. Hardly ever lets him out of her sight. She’s paranoid, you know. Thinking every woman around is out to get that husband of hers”

I peeked at Laney’s own nails. Long, clawlike nails, painted hussy red and sharpened for action.
Meooow!

“Besides, all Hollis wants to do is have a little fun,” she went on, straining to open the bottle of polish. “There’s no harm in that, now, is there?”

Depends on what type of fun you’re talking about.
“No. No harm,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show. I grabbed the polish and opened it for her. “So, did you get much of a chance to talk to Hollis at the party?”

She snatched my hand back again and started painting on the pink. “A little.”

“Oh, yeah? What all did you guys talk about?” I asked, trying to stay focused despite the hideous color she’d started gliding over my nails. “Business and such?”

“Business? Oh no. Why would I care about such things? No, we just—oh heck. We didn’t really talk about much. Just small stuff.”

“Small stuff?”

She faltered and ran a pink smudge over the top of my thumb. “Oh, shoot!” Flustered, she drenched a cotton ball in polish remover and started scrubbing my finger. The chemical smell of acetone rose up and tickled my nostrils.

“The weather, perhaps,” I pressed. “I’d forgotten how hot it can be around here.”

She stopped polishing and fanned herself. “You ain’t kiddin’.” Glancing over her shoulder, she shouted out, “Is the air broke, Doris? It’s hotter than Hades in here.”

“No. Don’t think so. I don’t feel hot. Any of y’all feel hot?” she asked around the room.

A chorus of no’s rang out.

I swiveled my gaze back to Laney. She’d moved my first hand aside and started the whole process again with my other hand. I kept staring until I could see her start to crack. She glanced nervously around the room before leaning in and hissing, “For Pete’s sake, Nola. What’re you trying to do, ruin my reputation?”

I fought hard not to laugh out loud. “No, Laney. Nothing like that. I was just wondering if you happened to see Hollis with a scarf that night.”

“Ida’s scarf, you mean?” Her eyes took on a mischievous look. “Well, perhaps I did. Hollis and I were playing a little game of keep-away with it out in the orchard behind the tent. Just for laughs, you know? Nothing came of it.”

Not for a lack of trying, I bet.
“Where did the scarf end up?”

She hesitated a beat. “I don’t rightly know. The last I
remember, it was caught up in a tree branch. Is that what this is all about? Did Ida send you over here looking for that scarf?”

I shrugged and she continued, talking in between cuticle snips. “Well, tell her that I didn’t take her ugly scarf. It’s not my style.”

No, but trying to take her husband is just your style.
Ida’s words—“low-rent trash”—popped back to mind. I shook it off, trying to stay on track.

Laney chomped hard on her gum a couple times and went on, “Anyway, Hollis was too drunk for much fun, so I got bored and went back to the party. I never would have left him if I’d known what would happen.”

“What do you mean if you’d ‘known what would happen’?”

“I mean”—she moved her hand over her heart—“if I’d known he was going to strangle Ben Wakefield, I never would have left him out there. Especially since he’d been drinking so much Peach Jack.”

I felt my jaw go slack. “You think Hollis actually did it? I thought you two were so friendly and all.”

My line of questioning must have been frustrating her, because I noticed she’d skipped a couple of steps and went right to applying polish. Not too neatly, either. “I just know what I read in the paper. I can’t believe Hollis strangled that man with his bare hands. He never seemed like the violent type. He’s just a big ol’ teddy bear, you know.”

Bare hands? I tried to think back to what the paper article had said about the actual death. Did it mention the scarf? Maybe Maudy hadn’t made that information public yet? I needed to tread carefully. I kept quiet for a few minutes, mulling over the scarf bit, while Laney slicked on the rest of the polish. Finally she finished my last nail and sat back to admire her handiwork. “There. That pink looks so pretty.” I looked at my nails and shrugged. They did look kind of pretty. It’d been years since I’d worn polish.

Laney started cleaning up her workstation, while I stood and made my way toward the door. “Hey, wait a minute,”
she called after me. “Why all the questions about that stupid scarf?” Then her eyes lit up like a bulb as she put two and two together. “Oh my goodness. That’s how it happened, isn’t it? Hollis strangled that poor man with Ida’s scarf!”

A southern-fried explicative sounded from across the room as Doris dropped a comb. She stared at me wide-eyed, her mouth agape and earrings still swinging from a whiplash head snap.

Uh-oh. Now I’ve done it.
I ducked out the door before they could corner me for more information. It wouldn’t be good if that little detail hit the Cays Mill rumor hotline. Heck, who was I kidding?
If?
Gossip spread so fast in our town, the telephone company practically had to install speed bumps on all the lines. Now that I’d let the cat out of the bag, it’d be only a matter time before everyone in town knew it had been Ida’s scarf wrapped around Wakefield’s neck.
What have I done?
Ida was going to kill me. That was if she got to me before Maudy Payne.

My only consolation was learning that Hollis didn’t have possession of the scarf the whole evening. And if it wasn’t with him the whole time, there was a chance someone else got ahold of it and strangled Wakefield. A slim chance, sure, but hope often comes in small packages.

•   •   •

Back at the house, I found a brown paper grocery bag on our front porch. I peered inside to find another covered casserole dish. I didn’t even have to lift the foil to know it was tuna noodle this time.

I carried the bag into the kitchen where I removed the container and found a notecard from Candace, Hollis’s secretary at the bank. In addition to instructing me to heat the casserole at 350 degrees until warmed through, she let me know just how sorry she was that Hollis turned to violence and landed himself in jail. But not to worry; she’d hold down the fort until the bank could find a new president.

For crying out loud, I thought. Did this whole town think Hollis was guilty? I wadded up the note and threw it into the garbage can. My pride didn’t extend to the casserole, however. After all, I was starving, and I just happened to know, from years of attending potlucks, that Candace made a killer tuna noodle casserole with tastes of sour cream and scallions mixed in and finished with a topping of crushed potato chips.