Mama Stalks the Past (20 page)

Cousin Agatha’s usually timid eyes held their determination. “Mind you, I could use better,” she told Fred, “but not at the expense of selling the Covington land.”

“Corporation is what we’ve decided to do with the land, that’s all to it!” Daddy added hotly.

The veins popped up in Fred’s neck. He stuttered furiously. “I-I want my piece. I’m g-going to sell it.”

I took a deep breath. How much scotch had Fred drunk since he’d arrived for the funeral?

“Sell to who?” I asked.

“What?” he roared, turning to stare at me like he’d never seen me before.

“Who are you going to sell your portion of the land to? That is, if you get it?” I repeated calmly.

Fred glared at me. “T-There’s a man who’s
trying to buy land. I’ve talked to him and he’s offering a good price for it, way above what it’s worth!”

“Who is he?” Mama asked. There was an odd look on her face. “What’s his name?”

“It’s not really a man,” Fred replied hastily.

“Then who?” Daddy demanded impatiently.

“It’s a company. A corporation.”

“What would a company want with acres of rural land?” Mama asked.

“They want to farm the timber,” Fred answered. “The money ain’t in cotton, watermelons, or soybeans anymore. The money is in
timber
!”

“What company?” I asked. “What corporation is buying up land around here?”

Fred’s look grew blank. “I-I don’t know. I just know this company wants to buy land around here so that they could farm timber. I-I ain’t got nothing against that. And you shouldn’t either!” he roared at poor Cousin Agatha.

“Well, I do have something against it,” she snapped, showing more spunk than she’d ever shown while Uncle Chester was alive. “I don’t care if a plow never touches the Covington land again! No company’s getting it!”

“How much is this company offering an acre?” Mama asked Fred.

Fred hesitated. “Two hundred fifty dollars.
Maybe two seventy-five,” he said. “But I got the idea they’d give more for a quick deal,” he added greedily.

“I don’t care if they give a thousand dollars an acre, we’re not selling,” Cousin Agatha retorted.

“K-keep your land to be buried in, if that what’s you want. I-I want my Daddy’s part and I’ve got a right to it!” Fred bellowed, veins bulging again. I was glad Gertrude was in the room, just in case he had a stroke.

Cousin Agatha folded her arms across her breast. “Can’t be split,” she said, satisfaction in her voice. “I done put it in a corporation and that’s all to it!”

“Can’t be! Uncle Chester wouldn’t never sign the papers for something like that,” Fred roared.

“Well, he did,” Cousin Agatha replied. “Before my Daddy died, he signed the papers. Ain’t that right, James?”

Daddy nodded. “It’s legal and all. We’ve had the lawyer look it over, everything has been fixed up. Nothing more can be done about it.”

Fred’s mouth twitched. The sweat poured from his forehead. “What good is having all this land when—”

Cousin Agatha cut him off. “Calm down, Fred. I knew you wanted money. So I’ve got it set up that the timber on the land will be cut
every ten years. The money from that will be divided among us.”

Fred scowled. “What good will that do us today?”

“The timber hasn’t been cut since I was a boy, almost fifty years ago,” Daddy said.

Cousin Agatha beamed. “It’s going to be cut soon as the weather breaks, and it should net us all a little money to do something with.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Fred asked anxiously.

Cousin Agatha smiled. “Enough, I hope, to get me a better house to live in,” she told him with satisfaction.

Tishri turned to Mama, who seemed lost in her private thoughts. “Why don’t you sell those two hundred fifty acres Hannah Mixon left you to that company Fred just told us that’s looking to buy land?” she asked.

“I’m not going to sell that land,” Mama said firmly. “I’m going to give it away.”

“Give it away! For God’s sake, why?” Fred looked like Mama had just uttered a string of swear words.

“Because I don’t want to profit from it,” Mama answered evenly.

“Who are you going to give it to?” Tishri asked.

“The county,” Mama said. “They’re going to make it a nature preserve.”

Fred stomped toward the front door, pushing through the roomful of people. “That’s stupid,” he boomed. “You people are too crazy about dirt. Obsessed with dirt!” he spat out.

“I don’t think you should give that land to the county,” Cousin Agatha told Mama. There was a pleading in her voice. “Give it to somebody in Hannah’s family. People around here believe that land should stay in the family!”

Mama looked stunned. Cousin Agatha’s words seemed to have hit her like a brick. She stared at Agatha as if she was the only person in the crowded room.

“You all right, Candi?” Daddy asked, concerned.

But I recognized the look on Mama’s face. “She figured out what has been happening,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Mama?”

“There is a bond between family and their land,” Mama whispered. “She wasn’t trying to
kill
me, she was trying to
scare
me into giving her back her family’s land!”

I
nside the car, Mama made her announcement. “I want to stop by Abe’s office. Can you drive me, Cliff?”

Daddy made a face. “What you need Abe for?” he asked.

“I need his help,” Mama said. “I need Abe to convince Judge Thompson to allow me to give Hannah’s acres to another person.”

“Another person?” I asked.

“I thought you were going to give the land to the county for a nature preserve?” Cliff asked.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Mama told us. “Land should be kept in the family. Agatha reminded me of that—it’s the way folks do things
Mama Stalks the Past around here. It’s what I’ve been expected to do all along!”

The sheriff and his deputy were in their office. “I’m glad you stopped by,” Abe said, when we walked in the door. “Hunters found Trudy Paige’s body in the woods behind her apartment house this morning.”

Mama thanked Sheriff Abe for that information. Then she explained her theory about the poisoner. A little over an hour later, we all left the office. Sheriff Abe, Deputy Rick Martin, Daddy, Cliff, and I agreed to help Mama with her scheme. She had worked out the details of a trap to catch a killer.

Two weeks after that, Cliff and I were once again back in Otis. I must admit what we’d planned to do was scary. The only thing that made Mama’s plan halfway all right was that Sheriff Abe and Deputy Martin would be in the next room.

“It’s possible,” Cliff had warned Mama, “what you get won’t stand up in court.”

Mama had shrugged. “It’ll have to do. There’s no other way.”

“It won’t stand up in court even though the
sheriff and Rick Martin will hear it?” Daddy asked.

Cliff shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said.

“Maybe the killer will confess,” I said.

“If the killer is as ruthless as Miss Candi thinks,” Cliff had replied, grimly, “I doubt that, too!”

Mama had a set table again. Her crocheted tablecloth, her china, silver, crystal. Everything was perfect. Mama was ready for her guests and it showed.

The menu: homemade relish tray with pear relish, roasted turkey with herb gravy, baked country ham, peach catsup, corn bread dressing, steamed rice, marinated vegetable salad, candied sweet potatoes, turnip greens, brandied cranberries, yeast rolls, and butternut pound cake with caramel sauce. Just looking at that table made my mouth water.

Judge Thompson had finally agreed to Mama’s petition, and Calvin Stokes had notified Hannah’s niece Raven Wescot that Mama wanted to give her the two hundred and fifty acres of land; Mama, Calvin had told Raven, felt the land belonged to somebody in Hannah’s family, not to her.

Exactly at one o’clock, the front doorbell
rang. A few minutes later, Mama walked into the dining room. Both Raven Wescot and Moody Hamilton followed behind her.

Raven looked different than she had the first time we’d seen her, the day she’d been with Nat in Mama’s kitchen. I remembered her light skin, but her lustrous hair was no longer in long thick cornrow braids; today it hung loosely over her shoulders. Her large black eyes were clear and intelligent; her features looked sculptured, almost aristocratic. She smelled of Chloé perfume, a scent I particularly liked. Still, something about her struck me as odd. I think it was her body language. Every gesture and motion seemed exaggerated. “This is a beautiful table! The food looks delicious!” she said, her voice soft, breathy.

Mama normally loves it when someone admires her cooking but today something told me that it didn’t much matter. “Thank you,” she told Raven. “I’m glad that Calvin was able to convince you to join us.”

“I was happy that you decided to give up our land,” Raven said. “I’m glad you’ve come to feel, like most folks around here, that heirs’ property belongs to the family!”

“I really didn’t want it,” Mama said. “It’s right that it goes to Hannah’s kin.”

Moody Hamilton, who hadn’t looked into
Mama’s eyes since he had arrived, glanced at her now, then turned away. He looked very uneasy.

Later, after we were all seated, and the food was being passed around the table, Mama turned to Raven. “I understand that you’re Hannah’s niece through her third husband, Richard Wescot. Is that right?” she asked politely.

Raven held a fork full of turnip greens in midair. She didn’t answer at once. She shifted in her chair and seemed to want to make us wait for her explanation. “I’m kin to Hannah through Uncle Richard but I was kin to Hannah before he married her,” she finally told Mama. “Hannah’s second husband, Charles Warren, was my mother’s brother.”

“Nat’s father was your uncle, too?” I asked.

Raven nodded. “Hannah made Nat use the Mixon last name but Nat was really a Warren like all my Mama’s people,” she said. Raven smiled, then ate her forkful of turnips. We waited. “Besides that,” Raven continued, “Hannah’s fourth husband’s first wife, Stella Gordon, and my mother were sisters.”

“I was under the impression that Stella Gordon didn’t have any brothers or sisters,” I whispered to Cliff. The unsettled feeling in my stomach intensified.

There was silence. “My mother was an outside child. Old man Gordon never admitted to fathering
her. Still, my Mama was a Gordon,” Raven said firmly.

Daddy, who had just swallowed a piece of country ham, nodded knowingly. “One thing about those old people, they didn’t mind sowing seeds wherever they found fertile ground.”

Raven cut her eyes, unamused.

Mama smiled and looked at Moody. He sat, staring morosely down at his hands, his fingers interlaced and knotted on Mama’s best tablecloth. “Moody, I’ve known you for years,” she said. “I had no idea that you were any kin to Hannah or Nat!”

Raven’s head jerked toward Moody. Moody didn’t say anything. Finally, Raven spoke. “Moody is my son,” she told us.

Moody kept staring at his hands. “My grandmother in Darien raised me,” he said, as if he needed to explain. “I just got to know Raven a few months ago when she came home for a visit just before Hannah died.”