Bone Is Where the Heart Is Page 6
“You haven’t been charged with anything. The investigation is still ongoing.”
Details. I knew the small town rumor mill all too well. Charleston may be a large town in relation to population, but it still operated very much like a small town, especially the dog show circuit.
By the middle of the week the fine citizens of Harmony Grove will be ready to convict me in the court of public opinion: Guilty As Charged. Ask me how I know.
“Do you have any witnesses at all?” This was getting exasperating. There was nothing to corroborate my story?
“I’m still looking into it and I can’t dis—.”
“Discuss it with me, I got it.” With a sigh, I looked down at Winston, who wagged his tail tentatively. Then it occurred to me. “Actually, I do know of a witness who saw the whole thing and can prove it wasn’t me.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Who?”
I held out Winston with one hand.
“Mary did it!” Winston barked.
Chief Reed looked from Winston to me. “You’re joking.”
“He was there when I found Violet’s body. He saw who was talking to her and who killed her.”
“And I’m supposed to interview him...how?”
“I can be his interpreter.”
I was the only one who understood him, after all. Although I didn’t divulge that fact.
I didn’t want the chief to think I’d completely lost my marbles.
Chapter Six
“I’m so embarrassed.” I pressed my face against the kitchen table to hide my face.
“Why?” Mom bumped me with her knee to get my attention. She held the stack of dishes to set out for supper.
“If she went out looking like that, I’d be embarrassed,” Jolene said.
“Nonsense. She looks like the fresh outdoors.” Gramma pushed the lever to start the mixer for the mashed potatoes.
“Not that.” Okay, yeah that. But not just that. “I told him I would interpret for my dog.”
“It’s a fair point, though.” Robbie was hovering over the salad fixings as Sarah made the salad. Everyone looked at him as if he lost his mind. “The part about Winston being a witness. I can’t actually testify to the other part of her comment.”
“It’s been known to happen,” Sarah added.
Mom motioned for Robbie to get down glasses for iced tea. “Only in TV shows.”
“So you’re not embarrassed for having run in to the hot police chief looking like a hobo?” Jolene mugged at me before dodging the cork trivet I flung at her. It hit Sarah in the back.
“It’s something Alistair should consider.” Dad wisely stood in the doorway to the living room. Winston was quite happy in Dad’s arms. “If Winston did see the murderer, maybe he’d have a negative reaction and could point the investigation in that direction.”
Sarah set the salad on the table. “Winston. Negative reaction. That’s funny, Daddy.”
She had a point. Winston had a good nature for a small dog. He probably never met a stranger.
“So, did you look over our list? Open that door to the garage, Robbie. It’s so beastly hot.” Gramma sat down and fanned herself with a dish towel.
“I did.” I went to get the pitcher of fresh brewed sweet tea from the fridge and poured Gramma a glass. “Do you think we could pull something like that off?”
“I think we can sell it and make it work,” Mom said. “You have experience with dog shows. It should be a snap to organize a small amateur event. Any little bit of money will help.”
Running a dog show was never an easy task. At least judging from what I saw backstage from my work station. I witnessed more than one meltdown in my years as a circuit groomer. When something went wrong during an event, chaos erupted. Thankfully, resolving the issue never fell to me. “Well...I don’t know that much about it, actually.”
“You wouldn’t have to do it alone,” Dad said. “Harry Stillwell is on the donation drive committee of the craft fair. I’m sure if you talked to him and explained it was just a fun, casual thing to raise money, he’d be more than happy to help.”
Jolene gave me the side-eye and I shook my head. We’d talk about our run-in with him later.
Sarah scooted chairs around the table to make room for everyone. “You could have Gramma do it. I think he’s sweet on her.”
Gramma straightened in her seat. “Not sweet. We were good friends and he was having a bad time. Oh the trouble we used to get up to in high school. One time, during a football game with Simpson County, Harry stood guard when I used to sneak behind the concessions stand after halftime—”
“No tales of your exploits, Mother. I’m still traumatized by the last story.” Mom looked at me with a scandalized expression. “It was quite graphic and it was in front of the mayor.”
“It was about the mayor,” Gramma corrected her.
“Gramma, you sure got around when you were younger,” Sarah said with a laugh-snort.
“Well, the 60s were an unusual time. With the discovery of birth control pills, the sexual dynamic shifted. Not everyone was ready for it. I embraced it,” she said with energy. “Phoebe was born in that time of free love. It didn’t stick to her, though. I could never get her to loosen up.”
“Mother!”
“She was the model girlfriend and I’ll have you know she loosened up enough to have two beautiful daughters.” Dad to the rescue. He handed Winston off to me.
“Galen!” Mom turned beet red.
He ducked in to kiss her cheek and brush the backs of his fingers on her chin before giving me a cheeky wink.
“I’m hungry, Mary.”
Saved just in time. Otherwise I might relent on my policy to not get involved in a relationship for a while. A long while.
I got up to pour Winston his kibble for his dinner and set him in front of the bowls. After a glance at Jolene, I relented. “I guess I can give Mr. Stillwell a call tomorrow. But I haven’t committed firmly to doing this yet. I’ll just be putting feelers out.”
“She’ll do it,” Sarah said to everyone at the table as Mom set the last of the food out. “Robbie can design the flyers. He did the art for the Harmony Grove Blues Festival last year. We’ll pass them out all over town. That’s on our list. The Harmony Craft Fair Dog Show will be a huge hit. You’ll see, Nomi.”
“So glad we got that settled,” Gramma said. “Galen, you say grace and let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Getting up the next day was like rolling a bear out of her cave. My nap yesterday contributed to staying up way too late reading a book I couldn’t put down. That led, of course, to me getting up halfway between breakfast and lunch.
Both Mom and Dad were gone, leaving me carless. Jolene was at work at the pharmacy. Sarah was also at work. Of course, by having no way to get around town, I felt the sudden compulsive need to go somewhere.
For example, I needed to visit the Courthouse Museum where Harry Stillman worked.
Sarah had a 10-speed stored in the garage. After checking the brakes and the gear shifts with a practice lap down our street, I felt confident I could get to the square without killing myself.
The look Winston gave me when I told him I was leaving for a while and that he wasn’t coming with me made me feel like I’d kicked him.
“Not this time, Winston. It’s not safe.”
“Okay, Mary.”
“Who are you talking to, Naomi?” Gramma asked from the living room.
Needy Chihuahuas. “Winston. I’m getting the Guilt Look like I’ve just abandoned him because I won’t take him with me into town.” I followed him as he jumped on the couch next to Gramma. “I promise. When Mom or Dad gets home we’ll go for a car ride.”
She gathered him up to sit on her lap. He curled up immediately. “We’ll be fine. Go enjoy the outdoors on that death contraption if that’s your thing. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”
“Love you, Gramma.”
Climbing on ‘The Death Contraption�
��, I headed into town.
Harmony Grove was one of those southern towns where everything built up around the center hub of the old courthouse and surrounding greens where all the social events took place.
The old courthouse itself was a museum supported by the city. This allowed the Chamber of Commerce access to schedule major events such as Symphony on the Greens, fairs, festivals and all major holiday town gatherings. Radiating out from there, many of the stately manor houses and winter mansions from the plantation era radiated out on the four main streets, quaint, tree-lined avenues that led out of town and into the surrounding area.
Sadly, economic times were hard on everyone and many of the historic houses were not in pristine shape. They were filled with history, though, and the CoC arranged for historic walking tours during the spring through fall seasons.
Our house was one of those blessed (and cursed) with being one of the older homes in the city’s history. Gramma was born in the house. It had been in her family for generations, since the founding of Harmony Grove. Sightseers filed by daily during the walking tours.
My bike path took me along the shaded sidewalks, past the other fine plantation homes in the neighborhood. As it was a pleasant day, I took my time. I got my first really good look at where I grew up, only now with a more adult, perhaps jaded, eye. The closer into town I rode, the more the obvious residences gave way to city zoning and homes repurposed for businesses. Maybe that was the only way to save the homes from decaying into nothing.
The history of the region, such that it was, still meant something to the people of Harmony Grove.
By the time I reached the square, I thought I was going to die. I didn’t realize I was in this bad of shape since huffing and puffing and sweating wasn’t my idea of fun. The thought of riding home didn’t hold the same charm as when I started out.
Reaching the Hole in One and stepping into the air conditioning was like stepping into heaven. As far as donut shops went, it wasn’t fancy. There was no bright cheery decor or branded theme to the shop. One tired cafe table sat in the corner with two equally tired chairs pushed against it. It was a little run-down, truth be told. Almost as if the owner didn’t really care what the place looked like, as long as it was clean.
However, that sugar infused aroma of donuts filling the air was a salve to a weary soul. The heavenly scent of donuts and fresh brewed coffee reminded me that I hadn’t had breakfast. Suddenly, the lackluster decoration made little difference to me as I anticipated gorging myself on half a dozen sugar glazed donuts.
Sarah came out of the back of the shop. Her smile brightened when she saw me. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“Trying to kill myself. I decided to die by sugar overload and not on your bike.” The glass display case was filled with a wide variety of donuts, all arranged neatly on trays. There were a few choices that were down to the last handful and one tray was completely empty. “Is your coffee fresh?”
“Just made it.” Sarah went to pull a large cup for me. “I just filled the raspberry donuts, by the way. So, they’re fresh.”
“Two chocolate glazed with nuts. If I’m going to die, stick with the tried-and-true favorites.”
She handed me my donuts and coffee and waved off the total, pulling the money from her tip jar. “I have something to show you, if you’ve got a minute. Robbie made the flyers last night.”
Nodding, I headed to the lone table and eased onto the chair, dubious that it would hold up anyone’s body weight. To my relief, it did. I was halfway through my first donut when Sarah came back out with a stack of flyers and flapped them down in front of me. “Doesn’t he do good work?”
I had to admit, he did. “If you tell me he did the art by hand, I’m going to throw my donut at you.”
“Don’t waste your donut. It was out of stuff that was rejected for another job he had. So he made some adjustments and tossed on some vector art from a stock photography site.” Sarah smiled at the flyer. It was obvious she was very proud. She should be; Robbie was very talented. “So I figured we could divvy these up and put them up all over town.”
Only if I can borrow Mom’s car. I’m not doing that bike thing again unless I can’t avoid it.”
Sarah glanced out the storefront window. “Uh-oh.”
I looked out and saw a group of women streaming across the street from the museum. They were heading straight for the shop. “Uh-oh?”
“Yeah. Three members of the executive committee of the Woman’s League Historic Association. Belinda was applying as a member. Apparently there was some snafu as to why they were having trouble approving it.” Sara rose from the table. “Let me go make nice for a bit. Don’t leave.”
“I still have another donut to eat.”
“Hi, y’all,” Sarah said cheerfully. “What can I get you today? Is this for a board meeting?”
While my sister assisted the three ladies, I marveled at how little southern matron snobbery differed from Charleston. It wasn’t blatant, just something in the way they carried themselves. There was a rigid, haughty carriage in how they stood with their hands primly folded at their waists. If it weren’t the twenty-first century, I could see the 50s era judgmental snobbery as plain as day. Only they weren’t wearing the couture designer dresses and prim little hats. Their clothes most likely came from Macy’s in Jackson.
Yet they treated my sister well, chatting with her in friendly tones. From where I sat, I didn’t see any judgmental sneers, so...maybe I was just being too harsh. An artifact of Charleston, no doubt.
While Sarah busied behind the counter, Belinda stepped out of the back part of the shop. They greeted her with cheek kisses and hugs and everything looked fine on the surface.
Operative word. Surface. Beneath that ran a thread of tension that strung tight between all of them. Smiles were rigid and fixed as they talked pleasantly about the weather and yes, yes nasty business with what happened to Violet, yadda yadda.
One of the women broke from the group and pulled Belinda aside while the others stepped away at a discreet distance. None of them appeared to notice me until a heel came down on my foot and I squawked.
“Oh my word, honey, I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there.” She reached out a hand to touch lightly at my arm. “Say, do I know you? I recognize you from somewhere.”
The other woman playfully swatted at her friend’s arm. “Of course you do. I’d recognize Phoebe Cooper’s freckles anywhere. You’re her daughter, aren’t you? Um...”
“Na—”
“No no, don’t tell me. Must keep my memory sharp. Naummm...hm...Naomi! Am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You probably don’t remember me. I’m Reba Hawkins. My husband is the county tax assessor. I went to school with your mother. This is Annabeth Baker. Her brother and husband run the auto parts store down on Silkes Street.” She nudged Annabeth. “Doesn’t she look like her mother?”
“Spitting image,” Annabeth said. “We heard you were back in town. Visit?”
It was awkward sitting in one of the only two chairs so I stood up. “Home for good. Decided to come back and maybe open my shop in Harmony Grove. I hear that it’s just begging for it.”
“What is that?” Reba asked. Her eyes glanced down at the flyers and back up to me.
“Groomer. I’m going to set up a groomer’s service.”
“For dogs?” Annabeth looked impressed. “We don’t have one here. I think that’s a great idea.”
“Won’t have to go into Yazoo City now,” Reba added. “Have you picked out a place yet?”
“Still looking.”
“Well you let us know. The Women’s League will do whatever they can to help you. We promote our lady business owners in Harmony Grove.”
“I still need to figure out where I go to get all the business stuff lined up. As soon as I know something, I’ll let you know.”
Annabeth stepped back and made a face at my arm. “Naomi, darling, what happened?”
“Of course!” Reba said. “We heard about what happened. Lightning struck the tree outside Violet’s house. Killed her, you see.” She leaned in to Annabeth as if she was revealing a secret.
“Naomi or the lightning?”
Reba paused. “I’m not really sure.” She laughed lightly and smiled at me. “I suppose we couldn’t get too lucky that someone actually murdered poor Violet and that it really was an act of God.”
Now, why would she put it that way? Lucky that someone murdered her? “I certainly didn’t murder her. She was already dead when I got there. When I tried to call 911, kapow.”
“Very tragic,” Annabeth agreed. “But good riddance, I say. We need new leadership in the League. Violet was far too...severe. No one will miss her.”
“No one?” As oily as I felt, now I was intrigued by the rumor mill I hate so much. “She didn’t have any family?”
“Well, she had a niece. From her husband’s side, I think? I don’t remember since Violet didn’t talk much about her. They didn’t have children of their own, Violet and Horace, you know. The niece is all the family she has left and from what I understand, they were having difficulties.”
“Difficulties?” Now they had my interest.
“Oh, definitely. Almost came to blows at the nursery, next to the gym. Right there between the Better Boys and the chrysanthemums. Shouting and carrying on about being cheated out of some land sale.”
Annabeth gave an undignified snort. “I’m not sure how Horace tolerated her all these years.”
“That’s true. Anyway, I suppose to make up for it, Violet arranged for her niece to work at the chancery clerk’s office. Just down across the square here.” Reba pointed vaguely out of the window.
Before I could get any information, like the niece’s name, Belinda and the third woman had wrapped up their conversation.
Annabeth and Reba said their goodbyes, gathered their donuts and left.
“My goodness, Naomi Cooper, how you’ve grown.”