Rest in Peach (3 page)

I leaned in and whispered into Ginny’s ear, “We really should be going. I need to get back to the shop, and I’m sure you’ve—”

I was interrupted by Tara’s reemergence from the dressing room. Vivien ended the stare down with a smug little smirk, taking the dress from her daughter and handing it back over to Mrs. Busby. “It’s all settled, then. I’ll see you this evening,” she said, heading for the door, Tara following on her heels.

The second the door shut behind them, Ginny’s hands shot to her hips. Her chest heaved as she drew in a deep breath and let go with, “Well, I never . . . !” and continued on describing Vivien Crenshaw with a list of colorful adjectives that would threaten anyone’s good standing with the local Baptists, finally finishing the tirade with something like, “. . . I sure hope that nasty, dress-stealing, backstabbing snob gets hers one day!”

A collective gasp sounded around the room, followed by a moment of stunned silence. Emily looked like she wanted to crawl under a rock. This was definitely not social grace. “It’s okay, everyone!” I assured the ladies, while trying to pull Ginny aside for a little chill time. “She’s just been under a lot of pressure, that’s all.”

But Ginny shook me off and stomped toward the door, turning back at the last minute. “I meant what I said,” she spat. Then she lifted her chin at the entire room of staring eyes. “That witch stole my girl’s cotillion dress. And don’t y’all think for one second that I’m going to stand for it, neither. You mark my words. I’ll make sure that woman gets her
due!”

Debutante Rule #016:
Debutantes cling together through thick and thin; we’d rather perish than forsake a friend . . . unless she’s after our boyfriend.

I swear, Reverend Jones was citing enough Bible passages to please a dozen Sunday school teachers and then some. It was all I could do to sit still through the last minutes of his sermon. When we finally wrapped up the final hymn, featuring a solo part by big-haired Laney Burns, local manicure professional and wannabe gospel diva, I made a beeline for the back door.

“I’ve invited Cade and Hattie over for some chicken,” Mama said, catching up to me in the parking lot. She’d been doing that a lot: inviting Cade over for supper. Either she thought he was too skinny, or she was conspiring, as much as I, to kick our relationship up a notch on the romance scale. “I thought it’d be nice to do a little something extra for Cade since he’s been working so hard getting your new store ready and all. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind? No, not at all.” A grin twitched at the corner of my lips. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday
afternoon. Cade McKenna, Hattie’s brother, and I had been friends since childhood. We’d grown apart over the years, but since my return to Cays Mill, he’d obviously been interested in making up for lost time. At first, I wasn’t sure about getting involved in any sort of relationship. After quitting my longtime job at Helping Hands International and throwing all my efforts into trying to save my family’s business, it seemed I had enough to worry about without throwing a man into the mix. However, as things started to settle, I began to rethink that decision. Then, just when I started to come around to the idea of Cade McKenna and me as a couple, he took a construction job up in Macon. Too good of a deal to pass up, he’d said. He was gone for most of the winter, proving true that old saying about absence and the heart growing fonder. Because, by the time he returned, my heart was more than willing. Only thing was, something had shifted between us again. I’m not sure what happened in Macon, but Cade came back a different man. But I figured winter, and whatever happened during it, was over and he was back. I didn’t want to push him, maybe just nudge a bit. Since hiring him to help renovate my shop, we’d been spending more time together than ever, not that this was (exactly) why I’d hired him—he was great at his work. He’d come back around in his feelings eventually. I was sure of it.

“Here they come now,” Mama said. She hastened over to meet them halfway, looping her arm in Hattie’s as she chatted. Despite her three-inch heels—her Sunday best—my mama still looked petite next to Hattie, who was blessed with the perfect height and a figure suited for modeling swimsuits.

“No, no need to bring anything but yourselves,” Mama was saying. “I’ve fixed enough chicken to feed an army.” That was true. I woke first thing that morning to the smell of
chicken frying. Mama had been at the stove in her robe and slippers, turning chicken in a large cast-iron skillet. And that was after she’d already deviled a couple dozen eggs.

I greeted my friends with a hug, letting my arm linger on Cade’s while I asked Mama, “Will Daddy and the hands be joining us?” Much to her disgust, when peaches were on, Daddy didn’t break for anything. Not even church.

“Well, they have to eat, don’t they?” she answered, pursing her lips and craning her neck to check out the line of churchgoers still shaking the preacher’s hand. “Did I see Pete Sanchez in church this morning?” she asked Hattie with mischievous gleam in her eye. “Because we could invite him, too.” Hattie flinched at the mention of Pete’s name, but before she could muster an answer, Mama flitted on to something else. “Oh, there’s Ida and the kids. I’ll just go over and remind them about lunch.” She handed me the car keys. “Be right back. Get the air going, will you?”

As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned to Hattie. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Next to me, Cade tensed and shot me a warning look. I ignored him and pressed on. “The way you reacted when Mama mentioned Pete. What’s up?”

Bristling, she raised her fingertips to her temples and shook her head. “I’d rather not go into all that right now. Actually, you’d be doing me a favor if you never mentioned that man’s name again.” Hattie was quickly working herself into a frenzy.

Cade blew out a long breath and took a step backward.

“I thought things were going so well. What happened?” I was shocked. Hattie adored Pete. They were perfect for each other. Things were getting serious between them, or at least so I thought.

“I’ll tell you what happened . . .” she started, but from
somewhere within the depths of her shoulder bag, Tim McGraw started crooning a sexy tune. “Oh, shoot! This sure the heck better not be Pete calling me again.” She dug around in her bag, extracting her cell and checking the display. Her brows furrowed as she raised the phone to her ear. “Mrs. Busby? . . . What?” Mrs. Busby’s voice sounded frantic over the other end. Hattie gasped. “Oh, sweet Je— Did you call the police? . . . I’m on my way.” She disconnected and stared at us with round eyes, the color draining from her face.

“What is it, sis?” Cade asked. But Hattie only shook her head in response before turning and darting through the lot toward her shop down the street. Without even taking time to think, we dashed after her, weaving our way between parked cars before crossing the street and running past a couple storefronts. Once inside her shop, we came to a screeching halt. There, sprawled on the floor by the counter, was Vivien Crenshaw—a wicked-looking pair of scissors protruding from the base of her throat. My eyes followed the line of her outstretched arm. Clutched in her now lifeless hand was a debutante gown, its blood-soaked satin transformed from pure white to murderous crimson.

•   •   •

It seemed like an eternity before the authorities arrived. In reality, it was probably only a few minutes, but something about being up close to a corpse made time slow to a crawl. It wasn’t until Sheriff Maudy Payne and her deputy sauntered through the door that I was able to breathe a little easier.

“What do we have here?” the sheriff asked, removing her Stetson and running a hand over an unruly crop of mousy brown hair before bringing it to rest on her gun belt. She
stood there a few seconds, shoulders back, chest puffed out and dark eyes roaming the room. Unfortunately, they turned even darker when they landed on me. Ever since last August, when I got myself tangled up in one of her murder cases, she’d been cold toward me. Of course, I don’t think she cared for me much before then, either. Something to do with a long rivalry between her and my sister, Ida. Guilt by association, I guess.

“It’s Vivien Crenshaw,” Mrs. Busby said. The poor woman was standing off to the side with her arms clenched around her midsection as if she was trying to hold herself together. “I found her when I opened the door.”

“What time was that?” the deputy asked. Deputy Travis Hanes was homegrown, although I’d never really met him until after I returned to Cays Mill last summer. I’d heard he studied criminal justice at Central Georgia Tech up in Macon and had just taken the job with the Cays Mill Sheriff’s Department a few months before our last murder occurred. Now this. Guess he was learning the ropes the hard way.

Mrs. Busby continued, “Just right before I called you. Maybe a little after eleven. I’d come in to get some extra work done. When I saw what’d happened, I called you right away.” Mrs. Busby started trembling. I crossed over and wrapped my arm around her shoulders.

“You came through the front door?”

Mrs. Busby nodded.

“And it was locked?”

Another nod.

Maudy motioned for Travis to check out the back room. In the meantime, she started pacing the scene, circling the body slowly, bending down here and there to get a closer look. “And the rest of you? Why are you here?”

I assumed she meant Cade and me, since it would make sense for Hattie to be in her own shop. “Cade and I were with Hattie when Mrs. Busby called. We just came along to help.”

“Aw . . . I see.” Maudy removed a ballpoint pen from her front shirt pocket and started poking at the dress in Mrs. Crenshaw’s hand. “What time did you close up shop yesterday, Ms. McKenna?”

“I left early, I guess. Maybe around four thirty. I’d had a bad day.”

“Did you lock up the place?”

Hattie glanced over to where I was standing with Mrs. Busby. “No, Mrs. Busby was staying late. Keeping an eye on things for me.”

A pointed look from the sheriff prompted Mrs. Busby to explain. “That’s true. I had to wait for Mrs. Crenshaw anyway. She was supposed to be coming in to pick up a dress at six thirty, but she called and canceled. Said she had something come up and that she’d call me today to reschedule.”

That seemed strange. If Vivien had canceled then why did she show up at all?

“About what time did you get the call?” the sheriff asked.

Mrs. Busby pressed her lips together, tucked her chin and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. A few seconds later she finally responded, “It must have been a little before six. I only say that because I left right afterward, and when I got home the six o’clock news was still on. Channel thirteen. The weather girl was predicting rain, which would make it about six twenty,” she babbled. “Wish it would rain. We could use a little relief.”

“Looks like the back door was jimmied,” Travis announced, coming back into the room. “Nothing else seems to be disturbed.” He looked at Hattie. “You’ll need to replace the lock, though.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see to it,” Cade told the deputy.

“Travis, put in a call to the crime scene guys. We’ve got some work to do here.”

“Yes, ma’am. Funeral home, too?”

Maudy sighed. “Yeah, give JB a call. We’ll need a transport. But call Doc Harris, first. Tell him to get over here. I need him to pinpoint the time of . . . Well, lookie here.”

We all took a half step forward as Maudy squinted with interest at Vivien’s diamond-studded watch. She turned to Travis. “Got some gloves on ya?”

He opened a pouch on his utility belt and produced a pair of latex gloves. Maudy stretched them over her big hands and carefully turned Vivien’s arm, just a fraction, so she could see the whole face of the watch. “It’s busted,” Maudy said. “Must have broken during a struggle. Or maybe when she fell after bein’ stabbed. And it looks like time stopped a little after six thirty.” She pointed at the scissors. “These yours?” she asked Hattie.

Hattie hesitated, sliding her eyes toward Mrs. Busby, who hemmed and hawed a bit before answering, “Afraid those are my fabric scissors, Sheriff. They’re as sharp as a thistle.”

The sheriff nodded and moved to the other side of the body, where she used her pen to lift part of the dress. She studied it for a long time. Finally, she asked, “What is this? A wedding gown?”

Hattie and I exchanged a look, but neither of us dared go down that path. The last thing we wanted to do was identify the garment as the debutante gown our friend Ginny and the very dead Vivien Crenshaw had been fighting over. Mrs. Busby, on the other hand, didn’t feel the same need for discreetness. “That’s a girl’s debutante gown, Sheriff. Just yesterday, Mrs. Crenshaw and that red-haired woman who runs the diner were fighting over that gown.” I closed my eyes and cringed as she went on, “They practically came to blows over
it. But Mrs. Crenshaw won out. Made that other gal real mad, too. Why, she was fit to be tied. Should have heard the way she was talking about Mrs. Crenshaw.”

The sheriff was all ears. “You don’t say?”

Mrs. Busby was on a roll. “Yes, I think she even said something about stabbing the poor woman.”

“No, she didn’t!” I couldn’t help blurting out.

Maudy gave me a cold stare then the cold shoulder as she glanced at her deputy, who’d finished up his phone calls and was busy scribbling in his notepad. “Did ya get that, Travis?”

“Yes, ma’am. Suspect threatened to kill the victim.”

Suspect?

Hattie stepped forward. “Now, that’s not quite what she said, Mrs. Busby. I think you’re a little confused. Must be the shock and all.” She turned to Maudy. “She just called her a backstabbing snob, that’s all. That’s not the same as threatening to stab someone.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Mrs. Busby conceded with a nod. Tugging at her close-cropped curls, she screwed up her face and asked, “What all did she say, exactly? She said more, I know. I’m afraid I just can’t recall.”

The room grew silent as the sheriff looked back and forth between Hattie and me, waiting for one of us to crack, I supposed. Hattie fixated on the floor and clamped her lips tight, which left me as the bad guy. I wavered for a few seconds, finally figuring I might as well spill. The sheriff would get what she needed from one of the other ladies anyway, and who knew what “recollection” they might have of the exact wording. “They were simply arguing over the dress, that’s all.”

“This dress?” Maudy pointed at the blood-soaked gown.

“Uh-huh. A silly thing, really. In the end, things got a little heated between them. All Ginny said was that she wasn’t going to stand for Vivien stealing her daughter’s dress. Who could
blame her, really?” I didn’t add about Ginny stating she’d be sure Vivien got “her due.” Because of course, she didn’t mean
this
.