Rest in Peach (12 page)

Before he could get another word out, the kitchen door swung open and Maudy sauntered in, gun belt jingling and Stetson low on her forehead. Next to her, Travis was staring wide-eyed at the purse. Maudy inhaled, her lips forming a little sneer as she asked, “Well, what do we have here?”

“Vivien Crenshaw’s purse,” Ginny explained with a wobbly voice.

Maudy removed her hat, tucked her chin and raised her brows. “Is that so?” Then she looked over at her deputy with a smirk. “This, Travis,” she started, “is what I call the missing key.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shifting his feet anxiously. “The victim’s purse. Could be the purse she supposedly had with her the night she was murdered.”

“Could be,” Maudy replied, swiping her tongue over her bottom lip. She slid a sly glance toward Ginny. “How exactly did you get it?”

Sam kept one arm around Ginny as she answered. “I found it inside a stack of crates outside the back door.”

“Ginny,” Sam interrupted. “I don’t think you should answer any more questions until Ray gets here.”

Maudy snorted and shot Sam a dirty look before going back after Ginny. “Decided to call your lawyer, huh? Why’s that? Got something to hide?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, it’s just Ray advised me to call if anything else came up with the case. I’m sure this is just one more attempt to frame me. You know I’m not capable of murder, right? I mean, we’ve known each other practically all our lives.”

Maudy scowled. “All I know is you’re in possession of a crucial piece of evidence, possibly stolen from the crime scene, and you’re not willin’ to answer any of my questions. Seems suspicious to me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Seem suspicious to you, Travis?”

Travis removed his hat and ran a hand over his hair. He must have recently gotten a haircut; the longer strands in the back looked evenly trimmed around the collar, and his ears sported bright white walls around the tops. “Yes, ma’am. It does seem a bit suspicious.”

Maudy nodded and turned back around, leveling her gaze
on Ginny. We all stood there for a second, in a silent standoff. Even Cade stopped grilling and was watching intently from the sidelines.

Maudy, I’m sure, was hoping for Ginny to break down, but Sam’s grip tightened around her waist, encouraging her to hold strong. I was struggling with my own self-control, wanting more than anything to jump in and defend Ginny. I was also kicking myself for not heading over to the sheriff’s office first thing this morning and reporting my suspicions about Vivien being a blackmailer. If I had, this whole fiasco might have been avoided. I was going to keep my mouth shut now, though. Better to let Ray lay out all the facts and deal with the sheriff in his lawyerly way.

Finally, Maudy broke the silence with a long, dramatic sigh. “Well, I guess I have no choice, then.” She nodded at Travis. “Let’s take her in. She can sit in a cell and wait for her lawyer to get here.”

“You can’t do that!” Ginny shrieked. “The Mother-Daughter Tea’s this afternoon.” She glanced at the wall clock. “In just a few hours actually!”

Sam jumped in. “Ease up, Maudy. For Pete’s sake, we called you as soon as we found the purse. Doesn’t that prove we’re not trying to hide anything?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Cade frantically motioning for me. I scurried over to the grill and glanced through the window to the dining room. Frances Simms was standing just outside the kitchen door, camera in hand, ready for any action that might come her way.

Behind me, Ginny’s voice was coming in loud and clear. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. You know I’m not a killer!” Ginny said, struggling against Travis’s grip as he dragged her toward the door that led out to the diner.

I started to suggest they use the back door, but it was too late. Travis burst through the door, pulling Ginny behind him. Frances’s camera flashed like lightning as she clicked off several shots. At least it was probably too late to sneak them into today’s edition of the
Cays Mill Reporter
. It’d be Tuesday before we’d see them.

I ran through the kitchen to catch up to them just as Emily cried out, “Mama! What’s going on?” She left her customer hanging and ran to her mother’s side, her face twisted with worry. The diner went dead silent. Again, several flashes from Frances’s camera lit up the area, capturing Emily as she clung to one side of her mother, Travis on the other.

I stepped up and placed my hand over the camera’s lens. “Take one more picture and you’ll regret it,” I threatened. Frances’s birdlike eyes popped with surprise, but she let go of the camera, letting it dangle from the strap around her neck.

Maudy held up her hand and assumed her professional persona. “Everyone stay clear now. This is official police business.”

I rolled my eyes.
Great.
That was sure to get tongues wagging.

Turning back to Ginny, I saw her shake off Travis and pull Emily close. “Don’t you worry, sweetie,” she said. “Ray’s on his way, and he’ll get to the bottom of this.” She glanced over Emily’s shoulder at me. “But I may be just a little late for the tea. Don’t fret, though, ’cuz Nola will take you until I can get there. Won’t ya, Nola Mae?”

“The tea?” I was barely able to utter the words, my jaw was so slack from the shock of the discovered purse, Ginny’s arrest, Frances still skulking on the sidelines, and what is Ginny worried over? The tea! And she wanted me to take Emily? Inside my head, my mind came up with all sorts of reasons
why that wasn’t a good idea, but my mouth must have had a will of its own, because I heard myself mutter, “Sure, I’d be happy to.” Compared to everything else going on, why not?

“But you’ll be there as soon as you can, right Mama?” Emily asked, her voice sounding much younger than her seventeen years.

Sam stepped up with a brave smile. “Of course she will, sweetie. Don’t worry, this will all be straightened out in no time.”

Debutante Rule #010:
A debutante’s tea isn’t just sweet; it’s sugar-shocked. And, that’s the way we like it.

Sputtering into place in the long row of luxury sedans and decked-out SUVs, I put the truck in park and shifted in my seat, adjusting the straps of my dress and straightening my windblown hair. I started cranking up the window and motioned for Emily to do the same. The Harper Farm truck had a model 2-70 air conditioning—crank down the two windows and drive seventy.

“I wish more than anything that Mama could be here right now, but since she can’t, I’m grateful you’re here,” Emily said. Her long auburn braid swung beneath her wide-brimmed hat with a two-toned pink bow that perfectly matched her pink and white flowered sundress.

“Sure,” I replied, trying to smile through my misery while I eased my feet back into the high heels I’d kicked off en route. I sighed, preferring a clunky pair of field boots any day over these instruments of torture. Still, it was just a streak of luck that I had anything to wear at all. After learning that I’d be
going to tea, I had Cade run me back out to the farm. By the time I got there, I only had an hour or so to get presentable. Not an easy feat for a gal with a limited wardrobe selection.

Emily nodded toward the walk where staff members were waiting to escort guests to the party area. “Guess we should head on in, huh?” she asked, making eye contact with a young man dressed in black pants and a white shirt. He skipped over to the truck and opened the door for her.

Another young man was making his way toward my side, but I waved him off and climbed out on my own, turning back at the last minute to grab a small-brimmed black cloche-styled hat I’d borrowed from Hattie a few frantic moments before we left town. I hadn’t known hats were mandatory until I’d already picked up Emily and we were on our way. Luckily, the hat’s large showpiece silk flower was the perfect complement to my all-purpose black dress.

We were escorted up the steps to the multi-columned porch and through ornate double oak doors where Stephanie Wheeler was greeting guests. Despite the heat, she looked cool and fresh in a pale yellow chiffon dress and a vintage straw hat. Several uniformed housemaids stood behind her, peeling off one by one to escort small groups of chortling women through the home and, I presumed, out to the back gardens. I watched in amazement as Stephanie greeted each guest by name, warmly grasping their hands and making pleasant comments about this and that. She was definitely charming—an indispensable asset for a politician’s wife.

As we made it to the front of the line, she reached out and shook Emily’s hand. “Hello, Emily and . . . ?” Her brows furrowed quizzically.

I quickly introduced myself and explained, “Something’s come up and I’m standing in for Emily’s mama.”

“I hope nothing’s wrong,” Stephanie remarked with concern.

Both Emily and I hesitated, unsure what to say. Finally, I mumbled something about Ginny having another obligation, and we moved through the line where a young woman, not much older than Emily, smiled warmly and offered to escort us to the gardens.

For years, I’d admired the Wheeler Plantation from afar, always wondering what lay beyond the impressive white columns, deep porch and magnificent two-story colonnade. Unfortunately, our attendant was moving us so quickly from the foyer and through the main hall, I was getting whiplash trying to see everything. I did, however, slow my pace enough to catch a glimpse of a study with dark-paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Then, a few steps later, we veered off to the right and into a large sunny room with pale yellow walls and airy drapes flanking a row of doors leading to the garden.

“Oh my!” I heard Emily exclaim as she took in the expanse of the room. My own eyes were immediately drawn across the room to a painting hanging above the marble fireplace. It portrayed a formidable man with wavy black hair, a sternly set jaw, and hauntingly piercing eyes that matched the confederate gray of his officer’s uniform.

“I see you’ve met General Aloysius Wheeler,” the young woman said, noticing my interest in the painting. “Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler are so proud of that portrait.”

It reminded me of a scary movie I’d once seen where the portrait’s eyes moved. I couldn’t catch myself before a little shiver belied my feelings about it. I glanced quickly at the housemaid, but with a little grin she leaned in and whispered, “Agreed. I for one would be happier if they hung it in the attic,
or someplace where I wouldn’t have to look at it all day. Gives me the creeps.” She stood upright and shook her head. “But, the general is Congressman Wheeler’s claim to fame. You see that framed letter next to the portrait?”

I squinted, noting a faded parchment written in fancy script. The paper itself appeared wafer thin and yellow in spots. “It looks really old,” I commented.

“I’d say!” she enthused. “It’s a commendation from Mr. Robert E. Lee himself. Thanking General Wheeler for his outstanding service to the Confederate cause. Why, the congressman’s practically built his entire political career on the coattails of his famous ancestor.”

I nodded, vaguely recalling General Wheeler from my high school history class. I couldn’t quite remember the whole story, but something about the general thwarting Union forces and saving much of our area from the devastation of Sherman’s torch. Though I now had to wonder if maybe he scared away those Yanks with his steely eyes.

The young housemaid beckoned us through the doors and outside. A large patio of massive flagstone slabs set under the shade of an expansive white pergola was set with a dozen cloth-covered round tables. Two massive flower-filled urns marked wide steps leading down to the lower garden where the debutantes were playing a lively game of croquet. Next to me, Emily raised up on her tiptoes a couple times and anxiously smoothed away invisible wrinkles in her dress.

As if on cue, the other mothers, dispersed about the patio in tight little groups, glanced at the steps to see the newcomers to the tea. The giggly group to my left—I didn’t recognize anyone there—gave us only cursory looks, slight nods and went back to their high-pitched sniggering about who knows what. The cool-looking mothers straight ahead, with
their designer dresses, glitzy jewelry and expensive handbags, offered Emily an approving glance then gave a quick inhale at my all-black outfit, which, I had to admit, looked like a black eye in the sea of pastel colors. Off to the right, a small group of whisperers sent darting looks our way; their covert pointing told me they had obviously been awaiting Emily’s appearance, further fuel for their gossip about Ginny. I sighed; at least only that one group seemed aware of Ginny’s current situation. So far.

“Go ahead,” I told Emily, nodding toward the other girls.

She looked at me with a worried look. “I hate to leave you up here by yourself.” She glanced at the less-than-welcoming women. “You probably don’t know anyone here.”

With no children of my own, I wasn’t well acquainted with many of the mothers in town, but I certainly knew a few from the dinner rehearsal at the diner. Like Debra and Maggie, who would both certainly be here with their daughters. And maybe if I got lucky, I could corner the two and gauge their reactions when I mentioned that Vivien’s purse had been found. “Don’t be silly,” I said, waving her away and snatching a glass of iced tea off the tray of a passing waiter. “I can hold my own.”

Emily eagerly nodded and bounded down the steps to join her friends. I stared after her like a mother hen, until I saw her happily involved in conversation with a couple other debutantes. Then, sipping my tea, I scanned the crowd for a group of my own to join; and right in the middle of the scandalmongers stood Debra Bearden—just the person I was hoping to run into today.

“Hey all,” I said, sidling up to the group and doing my best to smoothly insinuate myself. “Isn’t this home just gorgeous? And the gardens.” I sighed dramatically. “So lovely.” I was trying to imitate what my sister, Ida, would say in such a
situation. I’d watched her sweet-talk her way through numerous social soirees over the years. She was a master mingler. Unfortunately, my own sweet talk wasn’t winning over this group. One of the women simply raised her chin and moved in closer to the gal next to her, squeezing me out while she bent in to whisper something to her friend. But another stepped forward, her mint green taffeta dress rustling like a snake slithering through grass. “Nola, isn’t it? How nice of you to bring Emily. And at such an”—she cast a sly glance at her compatriots, who now all hung on her words—“well, an awkward time for her family.”

Behind the woman, Debra’s eyes twinkled with devilish delight as I opened my mouth to respond and found no words. I took a sip of tea, something I’d seen Mama do strategically when collecting her thoughts in such situations, then smiled and said brightly, “I’m just so pleased to be here.” Yeah, right. I thought I’d passed their bait successfully only to see Debra now step forward as well. I braced myself.

I squinted at Debra, wondering if she knew the purse she’d so desperately been looking for had been discovered. Then again, maybe she did know. Maybe she’d somehow found the purse since her desperate conversation with Nate by the fountain, taken what she needed and ditched it behind the diner to frame Ginny. Who knew? One thing was for sure: it burned my butt to know these gals were talking about Ginny with malicious smiles. I drew in my breath, ready to set these women straight, when I noticed everyone gawking at something behind me.

Turning, I saw Stephanie had walked into the patio area, her hand resting on the suit jacket of a handsome man. I’d never met Congressman Wheeler before, but I recognized those piercing gray eyes of his immediately. They were
identical to the ones I’d just seen minutes ago in the portrait of General Wheeler.

“Ladies,” Stephanie called out. “If y’all would please be seated, I have a surprise announcement.”

An excited murmur hummed through the crowd as everyone shuffled to find a chair. I immediately homed in on Debra, intent on sitting at the same table so I could pump her for information, but I was waylaid by Emily. “Look,” she said, pointing back toward the French doors. “Belle Jones is here. Let’s sit with her and her mama,” she said. I readily agreed, sliding my eyes back toward Debra, who’d chosen a table with one of her cronies. They were still whispering between each other, casting furtive glances our way. By now, they probably had Ginny tried, convicted and sentenced.

Belle and Emily slipped into easy conversation as we settled at the table. Maggie, not so much. She seemed preoccupied, or maybe it was distracted, as her gaze darted about the room. I noticed her mouth was drawn tightly, lines etching her normally smooth face as she toiled nervously with the edge of the table covering. A waiter brought by two glasses of tea. Without tasting, Maggie stirred in a couple teaspoons of sugar, her spoon clinking against the glass. “Where’s Ginny?” she asked, glancing around.

“Something’s come up and she’s running a little late. I’m just holding down the fort until she gets here. Is everything okay with you?”

Maggie set her spoon aside and sat a little straighter. “Of course. But . . . is there something going on that I should know about?” she asked, touching the brim of her pillbox hat, making sure it was securely fastened over the tightly woven bun at the nape of her neck. “Everyone keeps looking at me.”

Everyone was looking at Emily and me—word about
Ginny being hauled off with the sheriff was getting around fast. The ladies who had been whispering in Debra’s group had now joined other mothers at tables, and the gossip was spreading like honey on hot toast. But Maggie and Belle had joined the party at the last minute, so they hadn’t been privy to the latest gossip, and I wasn’t about to tell them. I made a point of looking around before answering, “If anything they’re admiring your beautiful hat. Where’d you get it?”

Maggie ducked her chin modestly, but a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Up in Atlanta. My husband and I were up there last year for Church Leadership Conference and . . . well, it caught my eye. I’m afraid I splurged a bit.”

“Well, good for you. Everyone deserves a little treat now and then.”

Maggie nodded and smiled politely, her eyes drifting over my shoulder to where Stephanie and the congressman had positioned themselves at the front of the patio. Stephanie cut through the low din of conversation by demurely clapping her fingers against her palm, “Ladies, if I could have your attention please. I’m delighted to announce that my husband, Congressman Wheeler, has decided to take a few minutes from his busy schedule to talk with us today. As soon as he’s through speaking, refreshments will be served.” She flashed a dazzling smile and made a sweeping gesture. “So, please, sit back and enjoy.”

An enthusiastic applause arose from the tables as the congressman stepped forward and prepared to speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of two dark-clothed figures near one of the pergola’s posts. I turned my head and squinted. One of them was Hawk. He stood out like a sore thumb, with black trousers and a black T-shirt that clung to his pumped-up muscles. His eyes met mine, and I shot him a quick wave, which he answered by widening his stance and
folding his arms across his chest. I swallowed down a round of giggles that threatened to escape.