Snoop to Nuts (15 page)

“No robbery. Done on purpose.”

“Awful for Dora. I’ll be on my knees soon as I get back in that house. Me and Georgia will be prayin’ all day for the poor man. I thank you for bringing me the news. But it’s got nothing to do with me. I hope you can tell Dora and Selma that Shorty’s sorry for their trouble.” He turned as if to go back into the house.

Hunter stopped him, calling out, “So you got religion in prison. Seems kind of convenient, hiding behind God.”

The man turned back slowly, his craggy face wreathed in sorrow. “Found my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Yes, I did. I know what I done before. Never gonna happen to me again.”

“That mean you’re not trying to get even with Selma? That’s not what we heard.”

“Hurt Selma? Not anymore. Why, I’d go down on my knees in front of her this minute and tell her how sorry I am for what I did—if she’d let me. What I learned is that the biggest favor I can do Selma is to stay far away from her. What the chaplain in prison taught me was that trying to apologize in person was a thing I wanted for myself and that ‘myself’ wasn’t the important one here.”

“So you had nothing against the pastor?”

Shorty took a long time shaking his head. “You really think I did something to Millroy? Don’t even own a gun.”

“He wasn’t shot, Shorty,” Hunter answered. “I didn’t tell the truth about that. He was poisoned.”

“Poisoned! What the heck you come talking to me about it for? That’s women who poison people. Not men.”

“Well . . .” The chief stepped in. “Not exactly true, Shorty. More men than women use one kind of poison or another. Maybe in the olden days a woman could do in her husband with a dose of ant poison and get away with it. Not now.”

“You aware of a scripture that says something about a man only proving he was truly righteous by taking poison and living?” Hunter asked.

He nodded. “Know it. Mark. ’Bout true believers: ‘
They will throw out demons in my name, they will speak with new tongues, they will take snakes in their hands, they will drink poison and not be hurt, they will lay hands on the sick and make them well.’
Snake handlers quote this when they’re takin’ up rattlers.”

“Seems like the kind of thing a man with a little too much religion might use to kill off an enemy. You know, quoting scripture while doing evil. Like if the parson drank poison and lived, he was truly a good man after all.”

“Not me. I know better than to be fooled by false gods and false words. Alcohol’s the evil I let into me, but I haven’t had a drink since the first day I come out of prison. Living the best life I can now. Georgia used to drink, too. Lost her husband. Kids hate her. We’re all we’ve got—just the two of us. I wouldn’t do anything to mess my life up any more than I already done. Especially not to a good man like Millroy.”

I knew the truth when I heard it. I looked at Hunter, who gave the same message back to me. I thought of one more thing and broke in for the first time.

“Would you write a letter saying what you just said about Selma? How sorry you are?”

“’Course. You give me an address.”

I shook my head. “No. We’ll take it to her. Why don’t we just wait out here in the car. A couple of lines will be enough. Tell her you’re sorry for hurting her and say you’re not drinking and you’re getting your life together. Wish her well and promise you’ll never bother her. It’ll mean a lot to her. Maybe set her free in some way. That all right with you?”

Shorty nodded. He promised to be right back out and went into the house while the chief, Hunter, and I sought out the air-conditioned car.

The tall man was back in fifteen minutes carrying a single sheet of paper in his hands. He shoved it in the window at me, nodded, and sauntered back to his house.

I read the paper out loud:

Selma. As God is my witness I am sorry for ever hurting you and I swear I would die a hundred times before I ever hurt you again. Your old husband, Shorty Temple.

PS—I heard about Millroy. You tell Dora he was a good man.

Mama called just after we dropped off the chief. When she heard we were in Tupelo, her voice went up into a teenager’s trill.

“Tupelo! Why, for heaven’s sakes. Don’t miss Elvis’s house. It’s on Elvis Presley Drive. Signs everywhere. You know he was there in 1936, the year the big tornado hit Tupelo? More than two hundred people dead. Can you imagine, Lindy? Elvis was spared. And we all know why, don’t we? You miss it, you’ll be sorry your whole life long.”

“Mama, we found that man Selma was married to.”

“’Course. What was I thinking about? Just the name ‘Tupelo’ took me back. What’d the man say? What did the police there say about him? I know Miss Amelia will be on pins and needles, waiting to hear what you found out.”

“We don’t think he had anything to do with the parson’s death, Mama. The man’s very sorry for what he did to Selma. Got a new wife. Very religious.”

“Hmmp. Lots of people get religion in prison. I wouldn’t be too quick to fall—”

“Mama,” I interrupted. “Tell you what. I’ll ask Hunter to drive by Elvis’s house just so I can say I saw it and then we’re heading home.”

“There’s something else, Lindy. We’re both so busy we don’t often get a chance to talk, but it’s this Jeffrey Coulter. You know your meemaw can’t stand him, and I don’t like the way Bethany’s falling all over him.”

“You have a talk with her yet?”

“I tried last night. She thinks we’re being unfair. He’s got her bamboozled. I’m talking to Justin today. I want that man out of my house as soon as we can get him to go.”

“I thought Meemaw said something to Justin about Jeffrey not being what he thought he was.”

“I heard that. Didn’t seem to do much good. I never knew Justin to go against your grandmother’s feelings like this. I just wish I knew what was going on.”

“You try asking him?”

“Justin? You ever try asking him anything? That boy’s as tight-lipped as a statue. Think I was the CIA, I ask him what’s up with a single thing he’s doing.”

“I’ll talk to him when I get back there. He’s got to see it’s not working, having Jeffrey underfoot. Especially now, with so much trouble hanging over our heads.”

“Thanks, Lindy. You and Justin are close. Tell him we don’t need somebody always sneering, like we’re a big joke to him. And having him laying in bed all morning and coming down, expecting somebody to be feeding him. Can you imagine? Bethany was complaining because ‘poor Jeffrey’ got nothing for breakfast this morning. I told her to give him directions to the refrigerator or The Squirrel. Now she’s not talking to me.”

“Mama, I promise. I’ll talk to Justin as soon as I get back.”

“Well, I thank you again, Lindy. You drive carefully, ya hear? And tell Hunter what a fine boy I think he is. More like a son . . .”

“Yes, Mama. I’ll pass on the word.”

Although he groaned, Hunter found Elvis Presley Drive and slowed as we drove by the white shotgun house where Elvis was born. The house was set up on blocks, and a swing dangled from hooks on the front porch. There were other buildings. Signs pointed to the church he attended as a boy, a chapel, a museum. A kind of Elvis Presley complex.

“You want to go in?” I was excited, now that I was there. “Maybe just walk through the house.”

“Don’t know if you can do that. It’s the whole thing, I’ll bet. And we really should be heading back.”

I slumped. “At least I can tell Mama I saw it. She was here when she was a teenager. Can’t see my meemaw bringing her. Maybe the senator was more indulgent. She even put up a huge Elvis poster in my room, insisting every young girl needed one.”

We settled down for the ride home. Hunter drove for the first two hours. I took over after that. There wasn’t much enthusiasm about stopping in New Orleans this time.

“Want to just keep driving?” I asked.

“Think that’s best. We got what we came after.”

He took the wheel after a quick potty and peanuts stop.

“To tell the truth, I hate to tell Miss Amelia,” I said when we were back on the road. “I should call her.”

“You told your mama. Miss Amelia knows by now.”

“True.”

“Anyway,” Hunter said. “I was hoping right along with her. Thought maybe we’d have Shorty locked up and waiting extradition to Texas by the time we started home.”

I felt depression slowly settling in. “Poor Meemaw. What do we do next? You have any ideas?”

He shook his head, glanced down at the speedometer, and slowed. “One thing’s still bothering me, though. I hate to bring it up. Probably it doesn’t have anything to do with anything, but it’s about why Miss Amelia dished up more of her Texas caviar for the parson. It’s the only solid thing I know of that doesn’t fit anywhere and it’s driving me crazy.”

I thought a minute. “I asked her.”

“What’d she say?”

“Something about wanting him to taste the real thing.”

He looked over at me, making a face. “What wasn’t real about the stuff he judged?”

I shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Meemaw’s funny about her recipes. Maybe, since she didn’t win, she was afraid that judging batch wasn’t up to what it should’ve been.”

“Like it could’ve gone bad or something?”

“That’s what she was afraid of.”

“What’s in that stuff?”

“If I remember, it’s black-eyed peas and jalapeños and peppers. Lot of vinegar, I know. Garlic. Cumin. Nothing to spoil, if you ask me. And anyway, something going bad wasn’t what killed the parson. Somebody deliberately laced Miss Amelia’s caviar with ground-up spotted water hemlock.”

“I know. Just can’t quite figure why she was giving him her caviar when she wasn’t supposed to. Weren’t the winning dishes the only ones served? Kind of pushy, making him taste more of her caviar. Doesn’t seem like your grandmother.”

I leaned forward and looked hard at him. “You’re not back to thinking Miss Amelia had anything to do with it, are you?”

“’Course not. Just feels wrong. There’s something else. Her losing like that, then serving more of the losing dish to the man. Something smells really wrong there.”

“Why don’t you go ask her yourself?”

“Don’t get huffy. I’m trying to figure out what happened just as hard as you are.”

There was quiet in the car for miles after that, until we stopped to eat, and afterward, I took over the driving again. The trip was going fast.

I was just back on US 45 when my cell rang. Mama again. Maybe checking to make sure I got to Elvis’s house.

“Lindy?” Mama’s voice trembled. “Something awful’s happened. I don’t even know how . . .”

“Slow down, Mama. What’s the matter?” I looked over at Hunter, who sat up, listening hard.

“Just awful, Lindy. You gotta come straight back here. I mean . . . we need you.”

“Mama, of course I’m coming straight home. Now get ahold of yourself and tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh, Lindy. It’s Treenie Menendez.”

“What happened to Treenie?”

“Just awful. She’s in the hospital. Treenie could die.”

“What! Mama. Tell me. What’s going on?”

“She found a jar she thought was some kind of spice left out on a shelf in the store. No label on it. She stuck her finger inside to taste it and was choking and gagging in fifteen minutes. Because of what happened to the pastor, the doctors started treating her for that spotted hemlock right away. She might make it, but they don’t know. Miss Amelia is distraught. Absolutely distraught. She won’t leave the hospital though Sheriff Higsby’s got a guard on Treenie’s room and won’t let Miss Amelia go in to see her.”

“Oh, no. You mean he thinks it’s something Meemaw did? I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I need you here, Lindy. Miss Amelia’s been crying and asking for you.”

“Fast as I can, Mama. Fast as I can.”

We didn’t get back until almost morning—those last few miles being torture, slipping into slow motion so I thought we’d never get there.

Hunter hurried down the hall to talk to the deputy guarding Treenie’s room while I went looking for Meemaw. She was asleep in a waiting room chair. She sat up, startled, when I put my hand on her arm and whispered her name. I’d never seen my grandmother this disheveled and wild-eyed. I squeezed her hand hard, holding on but not knowing what to say to her.

Miss Amelia closed her eyes and leaned back, her head against the wall. “Poor Treenie. Can’t believe this is happening.”

“Why would she go ahead and taste something when she didn’t know what it was?” I was mystified.

“That’s what cooks do. We know what things taste like. It was just a small bottle left out on a shelf in the store. I mighta done the same thing. I’ve done things like it many times. When a label falls off a spice bottle. When the words get worn off . . .”

“Who would have put the jar on a shelf in the Nut House? Wouldn’t someone have seen them do it?”

Meemaw shook her head and waved both hands as if pushing reality away. “Heaven’s sakes, Lindy. I don’t always know what’s going on in that store. When those tourist buses come through, the place is jam-packed for half an hour or so. Plenty of times we got people roaming up and down the aisles, looking at stuff, touching stuff, putting things back on counters and on shelves then taking them down again. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, you know.”

Miss Amelia reared back to fix me with an impatient look. “And don’t you go asking me, like the sheriff did, if any strangers were in. We’ve always got strangers in the store.”

“I don’t think whoever’s doing this is a stranger,” I shot back, then went on to tell her what we’d learned in Tupelo, that Shorty Temple was an upright citizen, changed by his time in prison.

She nodded, then pushed steely gray hair back from her eyes, patting it in place. “I heard and I’m just as glad. Been awful if Selma thought she had any part in this.”

“So let me ask it differently.” I felt I had to get ahold of something in this big mess. Just one thing, a path I could go down and say,
“There, that’s who’s doing this to my grandmother.”

I asked, “Anybody from town come in recently who doesn’t usually come in? Any group maybe?”

“Morton Grover and Suzy Queen were in this morning with some of the girls from the saloon. Just to say how much they support me. They nearly bought me outta pies. And . . . let me see now . . . some of the people from church. I think it was Hawley Harvey’s idea, to come over and show people like Freda Cromwell they are all in my corner. Thought that was a nice gesture from Hawley.”

She hesitated a minute, then put a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Oh dear. After this, nobody’s going to believe I didn’t poison Reverend Jenkins. And nobody’s gonna want to buy anything I make. You think the sheriff’s going to arrest me?”

“Sounds more like somebody’s after you. No use blaming you just ’cause the sheriff doesn’t know who else to blame.”

I looked at her face. Set and determined. I truly believed Meemaw didn’t have a whole lot to worry about—at least I fervently hoped not.

She held my hand extra tight, hard enough to break my heart.

“I’ve got to think. Just got to think,” she said, looking around the waiting room where two people sat reading old magazines. “Somebody’s doing this ’cause they want me put away in a prison. For heaven’s sakes! Who’d have thought I’d ever done something so bad to anybody . . .”

She shook her head.

“Not just put you away in prison. If they put that jar or bottle or whatever on one of your shelves, who’d be most likely to taste it?”

Her eyes got big. “Why, Lindy, I think you’re right. So poor Treenie’s in there suffering and maybe dying because someone’s after me.”

She moaned. “I hate to think I’m the cause of more misery.”

“Not your fault and you know it. Let’s think hard on this. We know it had nothing to do with Selma and that ex-husband of hers.”

“My head’s spinning . . .”

“You go with Ethelred to the hospital in Columbus?”

She nodded. “Yesterday.”

“She get results yet?”

Miss Amelia nodded. “Not the worst news. Still, since Margaret Sanford planted the idea, Ethelred’s sure she’s gonna die. She’s gonna have to get that thyroid out and then have some treatments. But you can’t tell her it’s not a death sentence. Still wants to blow all her money on a big car or a cruise so the state doesn’t grab it when she dies. Hope she can get it out of that investment club at the church. Don’t know. From what I’ve been hearing, that addition’s cutting into profits the investors were promised, and people who invested are starting to rumble about wanting their money back. I said all along—don’t mix religion and money. People should’ve learned that a long time ago: no money changers in the temple.”

“I’m really sorry to hear about Ethelred. As much as the woman annoys me, I don’t want to see her sick.”

“Me either. Whatever’s going to happen, I already promised I’d be with her through the whole thing.”

“Oh, Meemaw. You’ve got a handful of your own troubles right now.”

She thought a minute, then gave a small, rueful laugh. “You’re right. I could be sitting in a jail rather than in a hospital with Ethelred.”

“Can I ask you something else?” I asked, wanting to get away from thoughts of jails and prisons. “Tell me the truth now. You gave the parson more of your caviar after he showed he didn’t like it by not voting you a prize. Why? There’s more to the story than you’ve been telling. This is Lindy, remember?”

There was a long, thoughtful pause. I was determined to wait her out. When she looked back at me, I saw a little bit of sadness, and a lot of embarrassment written on her face. She bit at her bottom lip. “If I tell you, will you keep it a secret?”

I shook my head. “Not on your life. I’m telling Hunter and the sheriff and anybody else who needs to know. We’ve got to move on with this, Meemaw. I don’t know who’s after you and I don’t know why, but it’s obvious that the first target might have been the parson but the next target is you. You’re the one somebody’s trying to blame for what happened. I need to know everything. And I mean everything.”

Meemaw gave a long sigh before looking around the waiting room. She got up and motioned for me to follow her out into the hall, where no one could hear us. Out there, she leaned in close.

“This can’t get around. It would just kill . . . well, you just can’t . . .”

“Kill who?”

“It was all about Ethelred.”

“Ethelred? What’s she got to do with any of this, beyond taking up that rocking chair in the store like she’s watching you?”

Miss Amelia, looking disappointed, shook her head at me. “I just felt so sorry . . .”

“Sorry? For what?”

“Let me finish talking.” She lowered her voice as a nurse walked by. “It was something I cooked up with the pastor, because he was going to be a judge in that last event. I knew about Ethelred’s medical problems. I was thinking it might be worse than it turned out to be, what with her symptoms and all. The woman was scared and looking peaked. Something told me I couldn’t go on being selfish and keep her from winning. I knew I had to do something for the poor soul, make her happy in some way. It’s said you can beat a lot of things in life if you’ve got a happy outlook. Well, Ethelred’s never been one to be very cheerful.” She gave me a long look. “It was something I had to do, and winning that award was the only thing that would put a smile on Ethelred’s face.”

“And the pastor went along with you?”

She nodded. “Had a hard time at first. He didn’t like the thought of cheating. That’s what he called it. But I told him it was just this once and for the highest of causes. He was the only one I told about Ethelred facing serious health issues.”

“So he agreed to throw the contest.” I was astounded. I knew my grandmother was good at persuasion, but persuading an upright man like Millroy Jenkins to throw a contest . . . well, the idea made my jaw drop.

“Stop it, young lady. It wasn’t throwing anything. What you’ve still got to learn is that there are times in life when you aren’t the most important person on the planet. Ethelred needed happiness right then, and me and the parson were the only two people around to give it to her.”

“Meemaw.” I shook my head at her. “That was . . .” I was going to say “awful” but figured I’d save the effort, since she was convinced her reasons for throwing the contest Ethelred’s way were high moral ones. Instead I took another direction. “Did the parson ever talk it over with anybody besides God?”

“I don’t know. Millroy was a very upright man. I could see he wasn’t happy about doing what I was asking. Still, there are times . . . even for a pastor . . . when doing good work means breaking some of the rules. Anyway, he agreed and that was that. I don’t know if anybody but God was in on it.” She shrugged. “Maybe Dora.”

“So the pastor voted for Ethelred. But how’d he get the other two judges to vote for her?”

Miss Amelia colored just a little. “I didn’t make that first dish of caviar taste too good.”

“Oh, Meemaw.”

She shrugged. “Had to do it. Piles of garlic and the teeniest bit of alum. Makes the mouth pucker a little. Then my pride kicked in and I told the pastor I was giving him some of the real stuff later, at the dinner, to prove I still knew what I was doing. That was something just between the two of us. Almost a kind of inside joke, you might call it.”

I wanted to groan. “I’ll tell Hunter.”

“Do you have to?”

I didn’t even answer. She knew better than to think her little secret was safe with me at that point.

I glanced down the hall to where Hunter stood talking to a doctor, just outside a room I figured had to be Treenie’s.

“Would they let me go in and see how she’s doing?” I nodded toward the deputy.

“I don’t think so. Wouldn’t even let me in.”

“What’d they say about the poison?”

“They’re treating it as if it was spotted hemlock, same as Millroy’s poisoning. At least until the toxicology report comes back. Wanted to get it right on this one.” She sighed. “Sheriff’s upset. But I don’t think it’s so much with me. I think he still believes I had nothing to do with any of it. But who knows for how long? First the poison’s in my caviar. Then it’s in my store. What’s next? Caught with the stuff in my hand? Good thing is, the man doesn’t take me for a fool—putting it into my own dish and having it in my own store.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Still, if we don’t find out what’s behind this, well, of course he’s got to take another look at me.”

“It’s not ‘what’s behind this,’” I said. “It’s ‘who’s’ behind it.”

We sat still, thinking hard. I ran things around in my head. There had to be something else. Something we were missing or didn’t even know to wonder about yet.

“You hear back from the Reverend Albertson?” I took in the circles under her eyes and the new sag to her usually straight shoulders. I didn’t know how much more she could take. Now a good friend put in danger . . .

Slowly, she shook her head. “Been too upset about Treenie to even think about anything else. All he had was the store phone number to call back at. If you go there and you want to open up—’cause I’m staying here—would you check the answering machine for me?”

I’d already planned to go to the store, but not to open. I needed a shower and a change of clothes. First I needed to talk to Hunter, tell him what I’d found out. I led Miss Amelia back into the waiting room, where I assured her I would certainly check the answering machine. As she began in earnest to describe which products had to go into which refrigerators and which had to be baked off, I waved both hands at her and fled as she called after me. “And if Justin wants to help out in the store, don’t let him bring that Jeffrey Coulter with him. You hear me, Lindy? There’s something about that boy . . .”

Hunter was back from checking on Treenie, smiling. “She’s going to be okay. Just talked to the doctor. Close, but she didn’t get enough to kill her.”

“Meemaw’s got news for you, too, Hunter. Think there’s more than one or two little intrigues going on here.”

I got the look I expected to get from my grandmother. Shock and annoyance. Then eye-narrowing outrage.

“You tell Hunter all about it, Meemaw. I’m going home to shower and change clothes and maybe even lay down for a couple of hours. I don’t want anybody calling me or knocking at my door. I’m going to sleep. Then I’m going to eat . . .”

Now she had new concerns to worry about. “Don’t forget Pastor Albertson. If he called, you’ve got to call him back. And you were going to talk to Justin. Remember? About that Jeffrey. Oh, and tell Bethany to take that Outhouse Moon dough out of the refrigerator and let it stand awhile . . .”

I turned my back and left, thinking maybe I’d go back to school. A Ph.D. would be a good thing to have. Or I’d move into my greenhouse. Lock the door. Never let anybody in. Become a hermit with trays of food left outside.

For most of the way back to the Nut House, just the idea of solitude calmed me down.