A Tough Nut to Kill (Nut House Mystery Series) (10 page)

Chastity, looking as though she had more to say on the subject, hesitated only a few seconds more before leading us out through another door in the barn, to a back lean-to.

The room wasn’t large. The roof sloped overhead. Everything in there was old and well used. A rickety cot, set along the inside wall, was piled haphazardly with underwear and socks, all dumped on top of a faded quilt. A brown folding table, set up at the middle of the room, held a few bowls and cereal boxes, along with a can of black pepper and a box of salt. The rest of the table was piled with books, some fallen to the floor, splayed open, spines cracked.

Manila envelopes had been emptied by the sheriff’s men, I figured, and thrown to the floor near an old three-drawer bureau. The bureau drawers hung open. Empty. A small TV sat on top of the bureau.

“My, my.” Chastity looked around the room. “Look at the mess those men left for me to clean up. Think I’m sending them a bill.”

Her hands were on her ample hips. “Didn’t look this bad when Amos stayed here. I can assure you of that. Not what he was used to, being a Blanchard and all, but he said he was grateful we gave him a job. Just wanted a chance, was what he said to Harry.”

I looked over at a tiny kitchen area with a sink, an under-counter refrigerator, and a hot plate, where a blackened aluminum coffeepot sat. Above the sink, a single cupboard hung open, showing a couple of dented and scorched pots, a frying pan, a drinking glass, a cup, and a few groceries.

All I could think was, What the heck was Amos doing in a place like this? Almost made me feel sorry for him.

I checked and found cornmeal and flour and sugar, along with a half box of toothpicks in the cupboard, while Miss Amelia kept Chastity busy with questions about Amos’s job there on their ranch.

Open cardboard boxes had been dragged from a narrow closet and overturned, the contents gone through and scattered.

Chastity frowned, breaking into what Miss Amelia was saying as if she wasn’t listening. Lines around her red mouth pulled into a pucker. “I don’t know if I should leave you two . . .” She thought awhile. “Ya know, the sheriff and all . . .”

I put on my saddest face. “Hope you understand. We’d like a minute alone, if you don’t mind. This has been a great shock to all of us.”

Miss Amelia immediately put a shaking finger to the corner of her eye and wiped away an invisible tear.

“Well.” Chastity frowned. “I suppose . . .”

I took Chastity’s arm and walked her to the door, talking all the way about how grateful we were for her cooperation at this terrible time in our family’s life . . . and on and on until the woman was back in the big barn and I closed the door between us firmly in her face.

When I was sure Chastity was gone, I turned to Meemaw.
“Where do we start? The sheriff’s been through everything.”

Miss Amelia looked at the clutter. “Well, now, I don’t know. You got any thoughts?”

“Anything that’ll tell us where he’s been and who had it in for him or was so afraid of him he needed to be killed.”

Miss Amelia nodded, looking hard around the room. “I’m hoping trouble followed him back here from wherever he’d got to. Silly, I suppose, but I don’t like thinking anybody in Riverville could do what was done to Amos.”

“So let’s keep all scenarios in mind,” I said. “Somebody he was in league with against us and they had a falling-out. Or maybe an old enemy who didn’t want him back here. Or somebody who followed him from wherever he was.”

“Think we can say it wasn’t somebody new he met here in town? Only a couple of weeks, after all. Still, you know your uncle Amos. Coulda got himself into some kind of woman trouble.”

“If this was really about our family and he was back to make more trouble, I’d say there’d have to be papers, court records, legal documents. Let’s look for any of that. Unless the sheriff got it.” I opened the door to the little closet, where I found a row of hanging shirts and pants and a single pair of old cowboy boots, well cracked over the turned-up toes, tops hanging over like they were shot.

“Things like that might make it look worse for Justin. Protecting the ranch, and all. Along with whatever it was they found by Amos’s body. That’s something else we need to know. What do you imagine it could be, pointing straight to Justin?”

Miss Amelia opened the small refrigerator, moved a quart of milk to one side, checked a dish covered with aluminum foil to find half a stick of butter, then stood back, frowning at the contents. “You think you can get Hunter to tell you what that thing was?”

“I don’t really want to talk to him just yet.” I knelt to go through a stack of papers dumped on the floor. Bills. Articles cut from newspapers. The articles were all about pecan ranching. Most were old and yellowed, the newsprint faded.

“Looks like Uncle Amos never lost his interest in pecans,” I said. “Lots of reading material here. Mostly about diseases and stuff. Out of date, from what I can see.”

“And a lot of these books are about ranching, too.” Miss Amelia lifted book after book, checked the titles on the spines, then set the books down, neatening them so no more fell to the floor.

“Here’s one of those Alcoholics Anonymous handbooks.” She held the blue book up to show me. “You know, about taking steps to help yourself get off the drink. Well, I’m glad to see he was doing something for himself after all. Maybe while he was away, he was at one of those rehab places.”

“Or he could have just been going to meetings. But that’s a good thing, too. You think we could find out where he went?”

“I don’t think the organization would tell us anything. That’s what the ‘anonymous’ part’s all about, you know.”

“But it’s something.”

“Yup, something. And it goes along with what I’ve been noticing. Not a single liquor bottle in here, Lindy. No Jameson’s. No Garrison’s. Not so much as one bottle of beer.”

I bent over to go through the manila envelopes and other papers strewn around when I heard Miss Amelia give a loud gasp. I turned to see her standing at the middle of the room, a hand over her mouth, pale eyes wide.

“What is it?” I demanded as I got up and hurried to where she stood.

“What on earth’s wrong with me?” she asked herself, hands now at either side of her head. “Oh dear, oh dear. My brain’s not working right. Amos came in to give something to Emma. Remember? I wouldn’t take it from him, and the next thing we know, Amos is dead.”

“I forgot, too, Meemaw. It’s not just you. Too much going on is all. So that’s another thing we’ve got to look for. You said it was a paper or something he was pulling from his shirt when you stopped him?”

Miss Amelia nodded. “I’m guessing it was a paper because it was flat. Nothing bigger than a letter, I’d say. Or as I said before, I thought it was a legal thing. But, Lindy, how do we know the police don’t have it already?”

“If they’ve got it, we’ll know soon enough. If they don’t, he stashed it somewhere and we need to find it.”

“So I guess we got our path pretty well cut out for us . . .” She hesitated, looking helplessly around the room. “Maybe first we gotta go talk to Melody and Miranda Chauncey. If anybody would know where he went and what he was up to, it would be those girls. Why, for the last eighty years they’ve been a part of every single thing that’s happened in Riverville. If they don’t know something for themselves, they sure as shooting know who to go ask.”

We went back to searching a last time through everything in the room. I tested the floorboards, seeing if one was loose, if I could get my fingers between a couple of them. Miss Amelia went through every single paper a second time, sitting in the middle of the floor, her legs stuck straight out in front of her.

I pulled the empty bureau drawers out though they stuck from the heat and humidity in the room, and had to be yanked hard again and again. I turned over each drawer, checking the bottoms for something taped there. Nothing.

Then I turned over the bureau itself, checking for anything he might have stuck to the bottom side. Nothing.

In the closet, I found an old Samsonite suitcase that looked as if it hadn’t been moved by the sheriff. It was empty. I went through every shirt and pants pocket of the hanging clothes, then bent to the old boots that looked like they’d been worn forever.

I slid my hand in one boot, even pulling out the lining to see if anything had been pushed up inside. Nothing.

I did the same in the other boot, sticking my hand down to the toe. It seemed there was less toe space in this one. I felt around until I could pull the sole away from the upper part of the boot and stick my finger through a hole in between the lining and the sole. The material came away slowly, as if it had been glued down, but not the way Texas boot makers usually glued or sewed things—to stay.

With the material came something thick against my fingers. I pulled until the lining was away at the heel and a smudged sheet of paper lay against the sole of the boot. I pulled the paper out and unfolded it.

A letter. A single page. No address. No date. Handwritten and a little hard to read, except it read:

Dear Amos. I got the package and will keep it until you tell me what to do with it. Just the way you said, I won’t give it to anybody but you, unless the police or some official comes asking and proves to me you are dead. I hope you’re sticking with the program the way you promised everybody here. It’s never easy, going back into an old life the way you are, but we’re all pulling for you to make it okay. I just have to say, Amos, that what you said to me in your letter goes for me, too. Maybe we can still have our day together. So much baggage we keep carrying around. I’m doing my best on this end. I hope you’re having luck on yours.

The letter was signed simply,
Virginia
.

I read the letter to Miss Amelia, who listened hard then asked me to read it again.

“So?” I asked. “What do you think it means?”

Miss Amelia thought awhile. “I think we gotta get over to the Chauncey girls’ place and see if we can find out where he went. Sounds like he was in AA, doesn’t it? But what’s this package the woman’s talking about? Who is she? Where’s she live? We’ve got to find her. And what’s all of this got to do with what Amos wanted to give to Emma? Or maybe it’s all nothing. Could be he sent this Virginia stuff about us. About our family. More proof we stole the ranch from him. Who knows?”

“Looks like this path we’re on just got a little longer,” I said, shaking my head as I folded the letter and shoved it in my pocket.

We made our way back through the silent barn, then walked toward the edge of the property. Without a word to each other, we found my truck in the front driveway and got in, avoiding Chastity altogether.

I wanted to go straight back home, but Miss Amelia
insisted we head to town to check on Treenie at the Nut House. I had a sneaking suspicion it was really to check out how many disappointed customers had come in for pies, but I drove past our ranch and into town, pulled over, parked, and followed her up on the porch. Her sign was gone from the door.

Inside, Treenie Menendez stood behind the counter, handing over a logoed shopping bag to a pair of tourists in plaid shorts. She eyed the two of us through narrowed dark slits and crossed her arms over her abundant chest.

“Well, well, well.” She shook her head at us. “Cowards, the both of you. You know how many people read that sign you put up out there and come on in anyway, just to complain about having no pecan pie for their Sunday dinner? I thought to myself, might just as well open up the place. No use having all our goods go bad.”

Miss Amelia smirked. “So you got a couple people wantin’ pies?”

“Couple! Why, Miss Amelia, you don’t know. And some calling—trying to act like they don’t know about no pies bein’ made and ordered three and four pies.” She stopped to sniff an unhappy sniff. “All I heard for the last couple of hours: ‘What! No pecan pies! What’s this world coming to?’”

Her round face broke into a wide smile. She giggled and Miss Amelia giggled with her, then stopped herself, pretending her giggles were really clucks of unhappiness.

“Guess not everybody in this town thinks you’re too old to keep baking, eh, Miss Amelia? Guess your baking’s up to somebody’s high standards.” Treenie’s sly look was transparent.

Miss Amelia pursed her lips as if she was going to chide Treenie, but didn’t. “Always better to show somebody a fact than just tell ’em.”

“I think some people in this town are learning a few hard truths today. One of them: how dumb Sheriff Higsby is. Heard about Justin. Why—”

“Not even out looking for who really killed Uncle Amos,” I added, fueling Treenie’s fire.

“He’s doing his job by the book,” Miss Amelia agreed. “Means no imagination. Sometimes a heavy dose of imagination is what’s needed. Like imagining who would need to kill Amos; what would drive a man to do such a horrible thing? Or imagining why anybody would want to go after Lindy’s trees.”

Treenie shrugged.

“A lot to look at.” Miss Amelia nodded. “Like the truth’s hidden behind this big pile of trash and you gotta dig through a lot of smelly stuff to get at it. It’s like back in Dallas. There was this sheriff picked up a woman for shoplifting a dress and took her right to jail. That woman was an old friend of my mother’s so I went down there and told him he was making a bad mistake. That man looked at me like I was dumb as a stump until their family attorney came in. Biggest lawyer in Dallas. Sylvia was from one of the wealthiest families in town, just like I told the sheriff. In fact, wealthiest in the whole of Texas. I mean big oil money. She didn’t need to shoplift anything—it was just that she was old then, and getting forgetful, and walked out of a store she’d never been to with a dress for her granddaughter’s wedding. Didn’t give it a second thought. No malice. Then that sheriff thought he was being pushed around by rich folks and persisted, taking the case to the district attorney, who shook his head at the man and threw it out. Just goes to show you. Sometimes, even over silly things, a man can get stuck for reasons having nothing to do with the facts. I think some men with a little power forget they’re dealing with human beings and not numbers.”

“I never thought Sheriff Higsby would be like that,” I said.

Miss Amelia shrugged. “A man can’t conduct his life by the letter of some penal code alone, you know. Not and stay his own man.”

“If we only knew what it was of Justin’s they found near the body,” I said, moving on to what I had a chance of understanding. “We could fight that. It’s this . . . nothing stuff that’s driving me crazy.”

“Like that gossip about Miss Amelia,” Treenie said. “I’m gonna go back and say a few words to that Freda Cromwell. She’s the one said it to me. Finger over her lips like it was some big secret.”

“She tell you who it was said it to her?” I asked. “You know Freda doesn’t come up with stuff by herself.”

Treenie shook her head. “You think I wanted to hear any more? Not on your life. Like a rat with a ham shank, that’s Freda with a bit of news. She just had to pull me aside over at the market and ask me if I heard what people were saying and did I agree, since I was right there ‘on the front lines’ with you. Well.” She drew her short and square body up as tall as she could get it. “I told her what I thought of talk like that—about a friend of mine and a woman who can outwork any twenty-year-old in this town. She started squealing but I told her what I thought of lazy gossips with nothing to do but sit around all day drinking sweet tea and spreading stories about hardworking folks.”

“Whew!” I was impressed. “I’ll bet that stopped her in her tracks.”

“Not much, I don’t imagine,” Treenie said with a final shake of her head. “Mean is mean.”

“Looks like there’s another one we’ve got to talk to,” I said to Miss Amelia, leading her to give me a weary look. “I mean, time we stood up against this stuff they’re spreading. Seems like just more folks wanting to hurt us.”

“I been thinking while you two were carrying on,” Miss Amelia said. “I’m wondering if the sheriff didn’t arrest Justin for his own good. Ben was saying something like that. You can see somebody wants him blamed for killing Amos, and if that doesn’t work, why, they just might try to hurt him themselves.”

I stepped back and gave my grandmother a hard look. “Woman, you can change on a dime. One minute the sheriff’s a soulless man. The next he’s God’s gift to the Blanchards.”

“Now, Lindy. Let’s worry about being fair here.”

I think I snorted. “Fair! First you get me mad as hell. Next you’re telling me why I’m wrong. They’ve got a name for that kind of thing, Miss Amelia . . .”

“For goodness’ sakes, Lindy. Calm yourself down. If I’m right, isn’t it better he’s in the safest place? The local jail? Or—if I was right in the first place, and the sheriff really is that dumb, then we’re already ahead of him, knowing what we know and what we’ve got to do. And we’ll get it taken care of without falling over the sheriff everywhere we go.”

“Hunter will still be everywhere we go.” I said the words and knew they had to be true. I couldn’t discount Hunter as a smarter enemy. “If I could just talk to him, maybe he’d tell me what they found on Amos’s body.”

“I’m wondering if it was that letter Amos wanted Emma to have. Seems like the most likely thing. Couldn’t have been anything good. Not from Amos,” she said.

“Crap!” I used one of my stronger swear words. But in my head things were going around and around. Maybe Miss Amelia and I were just spinning our wheels. Maybe they did have evidence that would convict my brother. And maybe Hunter was staying away from me because he couldn’t bring himself to tell me Justin would be convicted of murder, would spend the rest of his days sitting on death row, all because his uncle hated him the way he’d hated the rest of us.

“Oh, almost forgot.” Treenie turned back from checking the tins of pecans on the counter. “Speaking of old biddies, Ethelred Tomroy called maybe half an hour ago. Said for you to call her as soon as you got back or drop by after church in the morning. She’s got something she needs to talk to you about.”

“Wonder what she wants now.” Miss Amelia sighed.

Treenie shook her head. “Maybe she’s swamped with pie orders.”

She laughed at her joke as the Carya Street door opened and a busload of tourists, bent on buying everything pecan, trooped in.