Peaches and Scream (Georgia Peach Mystery, A) (24 page)

“Nola.”

“Hello, Travis. How’s Joe?”

He fingered his Stetson in one hand, a coffee cup clutched in the other. “He’s better. The doctors are going to keep him awhile for observation. Sheriff’s coming back by soon to ask him a few questions.”

“Is he awake?”

“Believe so.”

I glanced toward the room. “Mind if I pop in for a minute?”

Travis mulled over my request for a couple seconds before finally shrugging. “Don’t see why not. Sheriff didn’t say he couldn’t have visitors.”

Joe was sitting up in bed, his eyes glued to a television
hanging from the wall. A popular reality show was playing. “How are you, Joe?”

He peeled his eyes away from the television and nodded. “Reck’n I’ll be just fine.”

“So glad to hear it. I’ve been worried about you.” I took the chair next to his bed. “The deputy’s outside the door, you know.”

“Yup.” His eyes wandered back to the screen.

“Has the sheriff been in yet to talk to you?”

“Nope. The deputy said she’d be comin’ by later this morning. Wonder if they got television in prison?”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

A brief smile flashed across his face, then faded away. “I’ll never see my land again.”

His age-spotted hands fumbled with the bed linen, rubbing it between his fingers like a strand of worry beads. I drew in my breath. “What made you kill him, Joe? Why didn’t you just walk away?”

His eyes bounced back to me, wide and scared. “I didn’t mean to kill him. It just happened. I never meant for him to die.”

Part of me felt bad for Joe, but strangling someone didn’t happen just by accident. I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”

He worked his mouth back and forth a few times before finally speaking again. “I saw him leave the party and come out to the orchard. He was just standin’ around, like he was waitin’ for someone. That’s when I decided to talk to him about my land.”

He paused for a second, shifting uncomfortably in his bed. I stepped forward to readjust the pillows behind his back. “We got to arguin’,” he continued. “He said all sorts of things about takin’ my land. He called me stupid. Even said my boy was stupid for gettin’ himself killed in the machinery like he did.”

At the mention of his son, I could see a surge of emotions welling inside Joe. Emotions that were eating at him,
needing to get out. I sat on the edge of his bed, resting my hand on his arm, right above his IV line. “Go on,” I gently urged.

“Well, I got real angry when he said that. Didn’t mean to, but I shoved him. I shoved him hard and he fell backwards and hit his head on one of the tree branches.”

I nodded. “Then what?”

Joe scratched at his whiskers. “Couldn’t believe what I’d done. That I’d killed him. I got scared and ran.” He averted his gaze. “I’m ashamed. But that’s what I did. I ran.”

“You ran?”
Was I hearing him correctly?
No mention whatsoever of strangling Ben Wakefield? Or the scarf. Was he confused? Maybe his injuries had taken more from him than I thought. “Joe, news about Ben Wakefield’s murder has been all over town. It was in the newspaper and everything.”

A quick glance downward and a flush of his cheeks said it more clearly than any words—Joe couldn’t read. No wonder he wasn’t aware of the developments in the Wakefield murder or the pending foreclosure on his land. Still, his account of the argument seemed sincere to me. Could it really be that Joe had no idea Ben Wakefield was strangled to death? If so, that could only mean one thing: Joe wasn’t the killer.

•   •   •

“Have you seen Deputy Travis?” I asked the nurse a few minutes later. Joe’s account of his argument with Ben Wakefield had stirred up a mixture of emotions. For starters, I felt relieved that perhaps Joe wasn’t a murderer after all. Confusion, because if Joe wasn’t the killer, then who? Then, of course, I was worried because I knew as soon as Maudy became convinced that Joe wasn’t the killer, she’d probably turn her focus right back to Hollis. Worse yet, she might even assume Hollis had tried to pin the whole thing on Joe and that shooting him was no accident. I shuddered. How awful would that be? Then I felt guilt. Guilt because instead of taking what I knew straight to the sheriff and perhaps getting
Joe off the hook for murder, I wanted to talk to Ray first. Get his opinion about Joe’s story and figure out the best way to rally another defense for Hollis, just in case things turned bad quickly. Not that I would ever let Joe take the rap for something he didn’t do. It was just that . . . well, Hollis was my sister’s husband. And, for a Harper, family came first.

“He left, ma’am. Got called out on some sort of domestic disturbance.” She pursed her lips and exhaled loudly. “These things always happen after the Harvest Fest Dance.” At the mention of the dance, I cast a regretful glance down at my grungy dress, now paired with my field boots of all things. I sighed. Cade and I never did get our special evening together. The nurse went on. “We see all sorts of things in here after the festival and dance. Guess people drink too much, say too much and do things they shouldn’t. Hangovers and jealousy are a bad combination.” She emphasized this last point with a shake of her head. “Anyways, Travis said he and the sheriff would be back in a couple hours or so to talk to Mr. Puckett.”

I glanced at my watch. A couple hours. That gave me some time. I thanked her and turned on my heel, determined to get ahold of Ray before things spiraled out of control . . . again. Out in the lot, I stopped short of my Jeep and punched his number into my cell. There was no answer. He was probably still en route, dropping off Cade and Hawk. I remembered him saying he might go to church before heading out of town, so I decided to try to catch up with him there.

•   •   •

As I neared the square, I noticed the cleanup efforts had yet to start. The streets, teeming with festivalgoers just hours before, were now empty of people but littered with reminders of them. The ground in front of the stage area was covered with empty plastic cups, discarded cotton candy tubes and red-and-white-checkered paper food boats. A few abandoned booths still remained on the courthouse lawn along with the now silent and still merry-go-round and a handful
of kiddie inflatables, scattered about the grass like a bunch of deflated balloons. The whole town looked as if it was suffering from a massive hangover.

I pulled into the church lot and parked near the entrance so I could catch Ray as soon as he arrived. Wondering why the lot was still empty, I glanced at my watch. Only a little after nine. Services wouldn’t start for another forty-five minutes. Still, I reasoned, it would be best to stay put and wait instead of running around town trying to locate him. Besides, knowing Ray, he’d likely just give his thanks and an update to Reverend Jones prior to the service and then scoot on out. Neither of us was big on church services.

I hadn’t been parked long when something caught my attention. I sat up straighter, homing in on a man walking by the bushes at the back of the church. I squinted. It couldn’t be, could it?

I hopped out of my Jeep and hightailed it to the back wall of the church. Hugging the wall, I glanced around the corner just in time to see Floyd Reeves disappear behind an overgrown winterberry hedge. So, it
was
Floyd Reeves. No wonder Hawk couldn’t find him in Macon. He’d been hiding out here all along.

I whipped out my cell and was about to call the sheriff when I heard Floyd talking to someone. “Why meet here?” he asked. “Church will be starting soon.”

“I’ve got my reasons,” came another voice. I flinched and pressed myself closer to the wall, almost dropping my phone in the process. Floyd was meeting with someone, and that someone was Millicent!

“Just give me my money, so I can get out of here.”

Millicent laughed, a low, menacing sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Afraid that’s not going to happen, Floyd.”

A silence hung in the air. I assumed Floyd was caught off guard by Millicent’s remark. “What do you mean?” he finally responded. “We agreed to an additional five thousand.”

“I don’t think so, Floyd.”

“Like I told you on the phone, if you don’t pay up, I’ll go to the cops.”

“Oh yeah. And what exactly is it you’re going to tell them? You’re in this as deep as I am.”

I couldn’t see their faces, but the tension was palatable, even from where I was hiding.

“Look, Millicent. This isn’t about just about the arson. You told me you needed me to start that fire for the insurance money, but I’ve been reading the papers. I’ve got it figured out. You’re using me to cover something bigger. Murder.”

“Murder? You don’t know what you’re talking about, Floyd.”

“Sure, I do. You see, I’ve got you figured out, lady. You’ve been playing me all along. When you first approached me, you said you’d inherited the mill and that you’d be closing it down, never lumbering these hills again. I was all for that. Then you told me about this idea to set a fire, just big enough to do some damage so you could collect insurance money. Said that if you couldn’t collect the insurance money, you may have to start up the mill again. I didn’t want to see that happen, so I went along with your idea, especially since you offered me part of the earnings. All I’d have to do is set the fire and hang low for a while, wait for the money to roll in.” His voice wavered. “A great opportunity, I thought, to fund my anti-lumbering crusade. I was planning to head up north, take on some of the bigger mill companies.” I could hear his feet shuffling against the pavement. “It didn’t dawn on me until afterwards that it was weird you just wanted to burn down one woodpile, in the middle of the day, too. I mean, how much insurance are you really going to collect from such a small loss? Then, when I read the papers, it all started to click.
I
didn’t put that bottle of Peach Jack up by that woodpile. You must have done that. And your car? I bet you did that, too. You’re trying to frame that Hollis fellow. You needed me because you wanted to make sure you had an alibi for the time of the fire; otherwise folks would have suspected you
right away. Or maybe if your plan to frame that banker fellow failed, you’d point the finger my way. Say that I was some lunatic, stopping at nothing, including murder, to prevent the mill from continuing its operations. Well, I don’t want anything to do with you or murder. So, just give me the money and I’ll leave. Maybe head down to Mexico or something.”

In the background, I could hear a car pull into the lot. Probably the reverend getting to church early so he could run through his sermon before the congregation arrived. I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me from the front of the church, but I wondered if he might see my car and come looking for me. Or would he just assume it was left over from last night’s festivities? Someone who’d had a little too much to drink and decided to ride with a friend, leaving their car to be picked up today.

“You really are such a stupid young man,” Millicent said.

“Come on,” Floyd pleaded. “People are starting to get here. Just give me the money.”

“Sorry, Floyd. That’s not how things are going to go down.”

“What do you mean?” I heard a sharp shuffling of feet and a loud gasp from Floyd. I peeked around the edge of the corner to see Millicent, her back toward me, pointing a gun at Floyd’s chest. He took a couple steps back, his eyes wide with fear. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“I don’t like to be threatened,” she said, overenunciating every syllable. With her free hand, she reached up and ripped the shoulder seam on her blouse. “I’m going to tell the cops that you attacked me while I was on my way to church. I’ll make it look like you were trying to kill me and I had no other choice than to defend myself. They’ll believe me, too. Half the town thinks your some sort of fanatic out to ruin anyone involved in the lumber business.” She reached up and ran her free hand through her hair until it looked disheveled, all the while keeping the gun carefully trained on Floyd. She laughed some more. “You were right—you’ve been plan B all along, Floyd. If pinning the murder on the banker doesn’t work, I’ll simply plant some evidence that points to you.”

Floyd’s eyes flicked over Millicent’s shoulder and connected for a brief second with mine. I was sure the look on my face mirrored the same horror I was seeing in his. I started to duck back around the corner again, but too late. Floyd’s reaction at seeing me caught Millicent’s attention for a split second and she glanced over her shoulder. That single lapse in focus was enough for Floyd to make a break for it. He started for the fence, trying to climb over the top and get away. Millicent heard him scramble and turned back, raising the gun and pointing it at his back.

“No!” I screamed and then clamped both hands over my mouth. Millicent wheeled, her crazed eyes homing in on me.

I stood, paralyzed with fear as she pointed the gun at me. “You!” She quickly closed the distance between us, gun trained on me the whole time.

“Take it easy, Millicent. No need to do something crazy.” Although, those were perhaps the most stupid words I’d ever uttered. Millicent’s twisted expression epitomized craziness. This woman was going to kill me. No doubt about it.

We stood there, both of us frozen in place, caught between her insanity and my absolute, unequivocal terror, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, my little voice of reason, the one I’d heard time and time again in crisis situations, cut through the fog of fear in my brain and told me to keep her talking.

“You killed your husband,” I started. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slight movement in the back window of the church. Was someone watching right now? Calling the police? I ever so slowly started inching my way toward the church’s back door. “Why’d you do it? The affair?”

“The affair?” Millicent’s lips twisted upward. “I guess you could say that. I knew when I married Ben that he was a small-town guy, but . . .” Her eyes took on a strange sheen as she spoke. “But we’d worked out an arrangement. Him down here with his mill and me up in the city.” She shrugged. “As long as the money was flowing, things were good. But
then he got all caught up in that little hussy and started making bad decisions. I swear, his brain turned to mush.”