Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (10 page)

“How is your father doing?” I asked. In all my excitement over this Hollis stuff, I’d forgotten to ask about her father. Apparently, I needed to brush up on my friendship skills.

She sighed. “He has good days and bad. More good than bad so far, so that’s a blessing. He’d love to see you, if you get the chance.”

“I’d like that,” I agreed.

We’d started to pass the flower shop when Pete came out the door holding a large watering can. “Have a good dinner,
mi querida
,” he said with a slight accent. He started pouring water over a colorful window box of trailing petunias, pausing for a second as Hattie strolled by, his dark eyes taking in every inch of that perky sundress and bare legs. “Perhaps I’ll see you later?”

Hattie shot him a sizzling-hot look. “Promise to whisper sweet Spanish nothings in my ear?”

Pete’s grin widened. “Anything you want,
amorcita
.”

“Oh stop, you two! You’re making me jealous.” I playfully tugged at Hattie’s arm, pulling her farther down the walk.

“Hey!” she protested. “You’re ruining my fun.” She gave a little finger wave to Pete as we walked away.

I chuckled. “Something tells me that you and Pete have plenty of fun together. Is it serious?”

“You mean more serious than sweet nothings and a lot of hot, spicy . . .” She let the words hang, laughing at my expression. “I was going to say ‘food.’”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, seriously. He makes the best chili rellenos ever!”

“So
that’s
what you call it!” I countered.

We turned the corner, still laughing, and started up Orchard Lane.

“So, how’s Ida been doing?” she asked, bringing me back to the present situation.

“Not so great. Worried for Hollis. Ray’s sending an investigator to help out. He should be here tomorrow.”

“An investigator? Well, good. Seems our sheriff’s got a one-track mind.”

“Well, admittedly, Hollis looks really guilty.” I went on to explain how Hollis hired a firm to investigate Wakefield Lumber and found that he’d loaned more than a million dollars based on fraudulent collateral. “They found the investigation report in Hollis’s pocket when they arrested him.”

“So, Maudy thinks Hollis found out about the fraud, confronted Wakefield and things escalated.”

I nodded. “Apparently, that’s enough of a motive for her. She thinks she’s got her man. Except I believe she’s being too narrow-minded.”

Hattie glanced my way. “I’d say. Like I said before, Millicent seems kind of suspicious to me.”

“Yes. And a young man named Floyd Reeves. I saw him today at the Mercantile.”

Hattie nodded. “I know who you’re talking about. He’s been organizing protests against Wakefield Lumber. He’s got a real nasty attitude, but do you think he’d really be stupid enough to kill someone? I mean, it doesn’t make sense. Just because Wakefield’s dead, it doesn’t mean timbering is going to suddenly stop.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.” My mind flashed back to the angry young man I’d seen earlier that day, and I shrugged. “Who knows? Hopefully Ray’s investigator will look into it all.”

We’d reached a small, quaint house covered in dark green shakes. It had a wide porch and white-trimmed dormer windows. “This is it,” she said, waving her hand in front of the house. Everything about it was well kept, especially the
yard, which reminded me of a meditation garden with little artsy statuettes hidden near bushes and wide patches of purple, yellow and white flowers adding colorful accents to the abundance of shady flora. A white picket fence seemed to bring it together into an inviting space that made me want to linger outside with a cup of tea and a good book.

“The house is beautiful and . . . your garden. It’s magical!”

Her lips curved upward. “I can’t take all the credit. Pete helped me. He’s a talented landscape artist,” she said, moving up the wide steps and motioning me inside before I could ask what other talents he might have. The screen door shut with a bang behind us. “Cade!” Hattie called out. “We’re here.”

The divine smell hit me as soon as I walked through the door. “What is that?” I asked, following Hattie through the cozy family room to the kitchen at the back of the house.

She inhaled deeply. “I’d say my big brother has made his specialty.”

We’d come into the kitchen where Cade was bent over the stove, lifting what looked like thick brown pancakes from a large cast iron skillet. He glanced up. “Perfect timing; the fritters are almost done.”

If I was in my right mind, I would have found the sight of him in a flowered apron that was at least three sizes too small for his well-developed physique humorous, but instead my breath caught. I stood, momentarily frozen in place, mesmerized by the sight of his muscled biceps under his rolled-up T-shirt, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, the sparkle of his eyes as he worked. I was completely caught off guard by the flips in my stomach.

A nudge from behind pulled me back to reality. “Hey, I was asking you if you want some wine.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. “That’d be great; thanks.” I willed myself to settle down the flutters as I eased around the island and stood next to Cade. “It smells wonderful. What are you fixing?”

“Ribs on the grill and fried corn fritters are coming out of the pan.”

“Wait until you taste Cade’s ribs,” Hattie said, setting wineglasses down in front of each of us. “He makes the best sauce in the county.”

“Really?” I was fascinated. “I didn’t even know you could cook.”

Cade had finished plating the fritters and passed the plate to me before grabbing a clean, larger platter with tongs on it. “It’s just something I picked up over the years. Here, take this, too.” He handed me a bowl of freshly chopped coleslaw. “I thought we’d eat on the deck.” He started for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Hey, sis, bring our glasses and the wine bottle out, will you?”

I followed him out, placing the fritters and slaw on the deck table before joining him at the grill. I watched as he slathered a rich-looking sauce over the top of a couple racks of baby ribs. I inhaled the rich, smoky tomato smell and sighed in anticipation. “I can hardly wait to taste it,” I commented, my mouth watering.

“If you think that looks good,” Hattie chimed in as she joined us on the deck, “wait until you have these fried corn fritters. I swear, I could eat these every night.” She cast a grateful glance Cade’s way, broke a piece of fritter off and popped it into her mouth with an appreciative eye roll.

“Hey, if I didn’t know how to cook, I’d starve around here.”

“What? I can cook,” Hattie protested, topping off our wineglasses.

“Only if you count boxed mac-n-cheese as cooking,” Cade teased, pulling the ribs from the grill and stacking them on the big platter.

“Speaking of cooking,” I said, as we settled around the table. “I have something I wanted to pass by you guys.” I scooped up a load of slaw while Hattie put a couple of fritters on my plate. Cade followed up with a generous cut of meaty ribs. I took a second to use my fork to pull some meat from the bone,
spearing it with a piece of fritter and a running it through the slaw. I closed my eyes as I bit into the scrumptious combination. The perfectly spiced meat combined with the salty, crispy corn fritter and the tangy coleslaw was a bite of heaven.

“What’s that?” Cade was asking.

I opened my eyes, trying to remember what I was saying before my first bite. “Oh, my. This is so good.”

Cade beamed with pride.

“You were saying something about cooking,” Hattie reminded me.

“That’s right. Sorry,” I said, setting up my next bite while I started to explain. “I was telling Cade yesterday that Harper Peach Farm isn’t doing too well financially.”

Hattie’s smile faded. “I know; he told me. I’m sorry. Seems your family is having such a difficult time right now.”

I nodded. “Well, I was thinking about how a lot of the farms up north sell specialty items like peach preserves, peach candies . . . stuff like that. There seems to be a demand for those types of things, especially around the holidays.” I took another bite, chewing slowly so I could enjoy all the flavors.

Hattie spoke up. “Oh, most definitely!” She glanced at Cade. “You remember that gift box of jellies we ordered for Aunt Connie last Christmas? That came from that peach farm up around Musella—what’s its name? I can’t remember offhand, but they sell everything: preserves, syrup, peach candy and even little knickknacky things like peach Christmas ornaments and stuff. Anyway, Aunt Connie just loved it.”

I swallowed. “Exactly! Why couldn’t we do the same thing? You know all those recipes my mama has for peach this and peach that. They’ve been handed down through my family for generations.”

Cade reached for the roll of paper towels in the middle of the table and piped up, “And isn’t your mama always winning prizes for her recipes?” He went to work on wiping the sticky sauce off his hands.

“That’s right. Actually, that’s how they won this cruise
they’re on right now for her peach chutney recipe. And she’s placed several times at the State Fair for her jellies. And just this morning, Joe Puckett traded about two days’ worth of mowing for a dozen jars of her peach preserves.”

Cade raised his brows and laughed. “Really? Too bad it couldn’t have been that easy for the last deal you struck with him.”

I laughed and agreed, feeling more enthusiastic about my ideas by the minute. “Anyway, I thought I’d start simple. Maybe just chutney and preserves. Of course, I’ll want to test the market.”

“What do you mean?” Hattie asked.

“I need to see if people will actually buy the stuff. Mama has a surplus of canned peach preserves stored away in our pantry. I thought I’d try to sell a few dozen jars at the Peach Festival next weekend. I’m going to try to duplicate a few of her recipes, too. Just to get an idea of how things might come together for the business. There’s so many things to think about. I know there’s a lot of regulations when it comes to selling food products.” Not to mention everything I’d need to do just to sell a few jars next week. My mind reeled with details: I’d need a catchy sign—something to really draw customers to my booth—and maybe some professionally printed labels for the jars and . . . Oh, I’d need a slogan, a logo, or at least some sort of business name.
Hmm . . . what would that be?

“But you don’t have a booth,” Cade pointed out.

My shoulders fell. “You’re right. And it’s probably too late to get one.”

Hattie poured me some more wine. “Not necessarily. You could set up right outside my shop. All you’ll need is a table and a sign of some sort. You could run it by the planning committee tomorrow night. We’re having a meeting over at the diner after it closes.”

I sipped at my wine, mulling over her suggestion. “You know, that might just work. I wouldn’t be with the main
vendors, but I’d get all the foot traffic from people going in and out of the shops on the square.”

“That’s right,” Hattie agreed. “Last year was the first festival for my boutique, but I made pretty good sales. We get people from all over the county, you know.”

Cade shook his head. “So, let’s say you are successful this weekend. Then what?”

“Then I set up a website and we start selling our peach products online. Plus a few of the festivals around the area.”

“We? You’re only here for a couple more weeks, remember? Then you’ll be traipsing off to some foreign country to do your own thing.”

“Cade!” Hattie interjected. “That’s not nice.”

He glared across the table at his sister. “Maybe not, but it’s the truth. She hasn’t been home for how long? Now she’s just planning to waltz in here and save the day with a few peach recipes? Then leave the work behind for others to pick up.”

I flinched at the severity of his words, heat rising to my cheeks. He was right. Who was I to show up and play hero? Still, why so vehement? I’d seen traces of this irritation with me ever since I’d arrived. What was he so angry about?

Hattie started in, trying to cover the awkwardness. “Cade, I don’t think—”

“No, it’s okay, Hattie,” I said, standing and clearing my plate. “How about I help you get these dishes done, okay? I should be going soon.”

Her face fell. “But I thought we were going to watch a movie—”

“Maybe another time, okay?”

She shot out of her chair and snatched up Cade’s plate with hers. “Please don’t bother with these dishes. Cade will be happy to do them after he gets back from walking you to your car.” She shot him a murderous look. “That’ll give him a chance to apologize for being such a jerk.”

Georgia Belle Fact #035:
“Y’all ever heard that song, ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia?’ Well, every Georgia Belle knows it’s true . . . so watch your back, you hear.”

“So, you don’t seem too thrilled with my ideas,” I finally said to Cade as we approached my Jeep. I’d just endured the longest, most awkward three blocks ever and was determined not to let the evening end on a bitter note.

“No, your ideas are fine. They might even work. I’m just surprised, I guess.” He was walking next to me with his hands in his jeans, eyes glued to the sidewalk. The sun was just starting to set, bringing a little relief from the afternoon heat. A nearby mockingbird was ratcheting up his night call, echoing the sounds of his chatty feathered friends.

“Surprised that I’d want to help my family?” His nonchalant shrug set my blood a-boiling. “Okay, that does it. What gives, Cade? Ever since I arrived, you’ve been acting like I’ve done something wrong. What? You don’t like my job?”

“Not your job, exactly. I mean, I’m sure it’s exciting and all. At least more exciting than this Podunk town.”

Oh, so that’s it. Jealousy
. “Hey, if you don’t like it here, why don’t you go somewhere else?”
Like straight to . . .

His head snapped up. “Who says I don’t like it here?”

“You. You just said it’s boring.”

“Yeah, but I happen to like boring.”

“Well, that’s your problem, not mine. I just happen to like my job.” Even though I knew that job I liked so well no longer existed.

He sighed. “That’s great. But you and I both know there’s more to it than that. You’re . . . Oops!” He reached out to steady me after my toe caught in a crack along the walk. “Careful!”

I mumbled, “Thank you,” and quickly shook off his hand. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about. More to it? Like what?”

We’d reached my car door. While I searched through my purse for the key, he put his hand on the doorframe and leaned in, his voice low. “You ran out of this town like a coon being tracked by a pack of hounds, Nola.”

I shimmied around and glared up at his face. “Oh, lovely comparison. That sure makes me feel good.”

“You know what I mean. You ran from something and you’ve kept running all these years. You hardly ever come back, and when you do come back for a quick visit, you avoid everyone.”

“Well, I’m not avoiding people now. I’ve been all over town. I’m even going to the Peach Festival. Isn’t that what you’ve been on me about? Going to the Peach Festival?”

He frowned. “It’s great you’re trying to help your family, Nola. But as soon as your parents get back, you’ll be off and running again.” His eyes searched mine. “We used to be such good friends: you, me and Hattie. Yet you never told me what drove you away. Something happened. And I thought we were friends enough that you’d tell me.”

I sucked in my breath. He was right; I never told him and I never would. Cade was a good guy, the solid-morals type of guy who could never understand what I did all those years ago.

I exhaled and rolled my eyes, giving him a playful little
shove. “Oh, come on! Stop with all the drama already. Nothing happened. I’d just outgrown Cays Mill, that’s all. Not everyone’s cut out for small-town living, you know.”

His lips pressed into a thin line and I caught a flash of anger cross his face. But instead of pushing it further, he let it drop. We stood there, suspended in awkward silence as his eyes lingered on mine. After a half beat too long, I looked away. No, Cade must never know my secret. If he ever found out, I’d lose his friendship, tenuous as it already was, forever.

•   •   •

An ear-busting, roaring sound jarred me awake first thing that Thursday morning. I lurched out of bed, grabbed for my robe, swinging it on as I ran down the steps as fast as my sluggish legs would carry me, and peered out the front window. My breath caught. A helmeted man, dressed in all black leather, was parking a motorcycle. I was deliberating whether or not I should go for Daddy’s shotgun, when he reached up and removed his helmet.

My jaw dropped. Then my heart. It was him. I huddled there, mouth open, completely and utterly gobsmacked. The secret I’d been trying to outrun all these years had just returned . . . and was standing in my own front yard, looking as wickedly hot as ever—too hot for even the Devil to handle. The idea of Daddy’s shotgun seemed suddenly all too appealing.

Dragging my feet, I made my way to the front door, pausing for a quick glimpse in the hallway mirror before opening it.

“Hey, Nola,” he said as if we’d just seen each other a couple days ago. “Wow, you cut your hair.”

My hand flew to my head, then back to my gaping robe as I watched him hang the helmet on the handlebars and reach around to a large black saddlebag, pulling out one of the tiniest basset hounds I’d ever seen. “This is Roscoe,” he announced, setting the puppy on the ground. It wrinkled its
forehead and cast a large brown-eyed look my way before moseying over to Mama’s petunia bed and lifting its leg. “Well, aren’t you going to invite us in?”

“In the house?” I croaked, cinching my robe tighter.

“Well, yeah. Why? You got something against dogs in the house?”

Four-legged dogs, no. Two-legged ones are another story.
But before I could formulate a decent answer, one worthy of my gracious southern upbringing, he snatched up the dog and started for the porch.

“Didn’t Ray tell you I was coming?” he said, stopping inches from me. A familiar, fresh-soap scent rushed to my nose, unleashing a whole slew of unwanted memories. I struggled to maintain my ground when what I really wanted to do was turn heel and run back inside. “Is it Roscoe?” he asked, readjusting the pooch squirming in his arms. “He’s no trouble really. Ray said you wouldn’t mind if he stayed.”

“Here?”
No way is Dane Hawkins and his mutt staying in this house
. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Dane.”

“I’m going by Hawk now. It’s more suiting for a private investigator.”

This is our private investigator?
I was going to kill Ray. “You staying here wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Hawk stopped short, cocked his head and shot me a strange look. “Appropriate?” Then a gleam of understanding showed in his blue eyes and he started laughing. Not just some run-of-the-mill laugh, either, but a deep, husky laugh that took me back fifteen years or more to a starlit summer’s night down by the river. We’d shared a lot of laughter that night, and other things, too.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, wishing my voice didn’t sound so weak.

He finally stopped laughing and leveled his gaze on me. “I’m not staying here, just Roscoe. So don’t worry, darlin’. I’m here on business.” He pushed past me, his boots making a
determined clomping sound as he opened the screen door and walked into the house.

Inside the living room, he set the dog on the davenport and started pacing around. “Well, after all these years, I finally get to see the inside of the Harper farmhouse. Interesting.”

“I’m sure it is.” I shooed the dog onto the floor. “Ray hired you to look into Hollis’s case?”

“Yup. I’m your man.”

No, you’re not. Nor will you ever be.
“I see. Well, if you’re not staying here”—
and you’re definitely not
—“then where?”

“Someplace called the Sunny Side Up.” He laughed a little more. “Sissy-sounding name, huh? Anyway, they don’t take dogs.” He grinned down at the tiny ball of brown and white fur.

I hated this man, this situation, this darn dog—well, maybe not the dog per se—but the facts were that Hollis and my family needed help and I had to forget the past, grow past my personal feelings and move on. I cinched the belt of my robe tighter. “Look, if Ray thinks you’re the right man for the job, then so be it.”

He looked at me with a mix of surprise and indignation, as if confused that anyone would question his abilities. I just shook my head. Ego just never grows up.

He started for the back of the house, his hands swinging confidently at his sides while his eyes took in his surroundings. I followed, becoming more irritated by the second. “Your daddy’s room, I bet,” he commented, stepping inside the distinctly masculine den and running his hand along the top of the desk. “I always envisioned myself sitting across from your daddy in a room like this, talking with him, man to man.”

I closed my eyes for a second, took another deep breath and opened them again. “There’s some things you should know about Hollis and his case. But, we’re not discussing
it in here. This is Daddy’s private study.” I pointed a rigid finger toward the hallway. “We’ll talk in the kitchen.”

He waved his hand toward the door, indicating that I should lead the way. I shuffled ahead, back through the living room and down the hall that led to the kitchen, distinctly aware of how big my heavy chenille robe must make my hips look. “Coffee?” I asked, once we’d reached the kitchen.

“Black.”

I worked my way through the motions of measuring the coffee and filling the maker, feeling his eyes on my back the whole time.

“Why’d you cut your hair?”

“Long hair didn’t suit my work.” Not wanting to continue this conversation any longer than necessary, I slid a mug under the stream as soon as the liquid starting dripping. Then another for me, cringing when the hot liquid hit the burner and sent up an acrid-smelling puff of burnt coffee. “Here you go,” I said, placing his mug down before settling in across from him, gripping my own mug between my cold palms, hoping the hot porcelain would calm my trembling fingers.

“Ray told me about your work. Is it the travel you like or helping people?” he asked, shedding his leather jacket on the back side of his chair. I quickly averted my eyes from his tautly stretched T-shirt.

I nodded. “Both. And you? You’re a private investigator?”

“Hey, it’s more lucrative than my old job.” I must have looked confused because he went on to explain, “I used to be a cop. Up in Atlanta.”

“I see.” I focused on drinking my coffee. I’d never kept tabs on Dane, or Hawk as he called himself now, but it didn’t surprise me to find out he’d gone into law enforcement. He was always a take-charge type of guy.

“I’m good at what I do,” he assured me. “That’s why your brother hired me. He says Hollis’s chances will be slim if it goes to trial. Ray wants me to find something before that happens.”

I nodded, glad the conversation was on point now. Nothing really mattered, I told myself, except helping Hollis, and Ray was right—we really had to come up with something solid before any trail. “I’ve picked up a few things that may help.” I went on to tell him about Floyd Reeves, the overenthusiastic protester, and my encounter with Millicent Wakefield at Hattie’s Boutique. He pulled a notepad and pencil out from his leather jacket pocket to take notes as I talked. “There’s something else, too. Hollis is. . . .” I rolled my eyes up toward the ceiling, trying to think of the right way to put it. “Well, he’s sort of a womanizer.”

Hawk leaned forward. “Is that so? Thought he was married to your sister?”

Unfortunately, he is.
I nodded. “That’s true. But I’ve been hearing things about him around town.”

He gave me a scrunched-face look. “Substantiated ‘things’ or the typical gossip stuff?”

I sighed. “Just hear me out, will ya? There’s this gal that works at the salon, Laney Burns. She was messing around with Hollis after the party, right before the murder supposedly happened. And that’s not gossip; I got it straight from her own lips.”
Highly glossed, sneering lips, but still . . .
“Anyway, she saw the scarf—the one used to strangle Wakefield—tangled up in a tree branch. It was still there when she left Hollis that night, half-drunk, she said, in the orchard.”

“Okay. So, it could have been picked up by someone else later.” He shrugged. “Or not.”

“Okay, so that’s not much,” I admitted. “But there’s something else.”

The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “What?”

“This isn’t something we’d want to necessarily get out, but I think maybe Laney was also seeing Ben Wakefield.” I explained to him what Millicent told Hattie and me.

A flicker of understanding crossed his face. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. It’ll look bad for Hollis if
it comes out that he was caught up in a love triangle with Laney Burns and Ben Wakefield.”

Hawk nodded. “It sure will.” He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “Anything else I should know?”

I shook my head, a little surprised at his nonchalant attitude. He didn’t seem to be feeling the same anxious urgency that I did. Maybe because he handled this type of stuff all the time, or, more than likely, because the stakes weren’t as high for him. After all, it wasn’t
his
sister’s husband facing down a murder charge.

Hawk stood and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thanks for the coffee. I’m going to get settled at the B and B for a little rest. I’ve ridden half the night.” He started for the door.

“Rest?” I followed on his heels. “Aren’t you going to get started?”

“I’ll work better after I get some sleep.” He bent down and started running his fingers over Roscoe’s flappy ears. “Be good, fella,” he said to the dog, who I noticed was back up on the sofa again. He looked over at me and winked. “I’ll be in touch, Nola.”