Read Still Life in Brunswick Stew Online
Authors: Larissa Reinhart
Tags: #Mystery, #humor, #cozy, #Humour, #Romance, #cozy mystery, #southern mystery, #humorous mystery, #mystery series
Still Life in Brunswick Stew (26 page)
“Look, I’m living at home and things are tenuous at best. JB and I have our own issues. Nobody’s thrilled that I’m a cop. You’re just another...complication.” He dug his hands out of his pocket to reach for me. “Darling, I sure spend a hell of a lot of time in your rickety house. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It tells me you only want to hide out when you’re with me. So forget it.”
“Cherry...”
I choked back what might have been a tear if I hadn’t been so angry. “I’m more than a warm body you can find in bed at night, Luke Harper. If you’re serious about the cow, you ain’t getting the milk for free. And until you take me home and proclaim your love for me in front of JB and Wanda, this cow isn’t for sale.”
That didn’t come out exactly the way I wanted, but I think he got the picture.
It seemed the perfect time to visit the Maynard farm. I had a lot of thoughts that I would rather not explore. And a couple gaping holes in my chest that felt like someone had taken a shotgun to me. I also had the convenience of already driving around Sidewinder. Luckily, the Feed Junction Grocery had duct tape to repair my shoe and dress. It’s tricky to duct tape the inside of a dress, but I reattached the spaghetti strap without exposing myself too badly.
Although I might have given a man in the neighboring truck a cheap thrill.
After passing the Parkers’ home to drop off the boxes of pots and to leave a note of apology for taking on a bitchy Amazon in the Baptist Church vestibule, I turned the Datsun in the direction of the Maynard residence. Handy signs sprinkled around town for Cotton Pickin’ Good Plantation led me to a gorgeous wrought iron gate. Looping letters intertwined with cotton blossoms decorated the lintel.
The beautiful craftsmanship in an Art Nouveau style dated the gate to the turn of the past century. I longed for my sketchbook, a good pencil, and a minute to replicate the gorgeous work. I took a picture with my phone instead.
I turned onto the gravel lane and drove through the opening. Not a goat in sight, but several buildings rose in the distance, towering over the low shrubs of cotton filling the fields on either side of the lane. Groves of pecans grew amongst the buildings and a crumbling three story chimney exposed the remains of the old plantation house. I parked in front of a quad-pillared antebellum style house that made the Gable’s modern, brick home look tawdry. Grabbing a box of Krispy Kreme’s I had retrieved from the Feed Junction with my last dollars, I scooted out of the Datsun and dodged rain drops and the low rumble of thunder in the distance.
As I hopped the last step to the porch, Hunter walked around the side of the house, hunching his shoulders against the rain. I searched him for signs of hostility, but he seemed to have cooled from his previous mood at the Viper.
“Hey, Scarecrow,” he said, ambling onto the porch. “What are you doing here?”
“Come to pay my sympathy. I met Miss Marion in the hospital.” I waved my Krispy Kreme box at him.
He eyed the box with wanton covetousness. “She’s in. My mom and I are moving.”
“You live here?” I wrinkled my nose. Lewis Maynard was the dirtiest of old men, keeping his girlfriend in the same house as his wife. I didn’t feel sorry for his death in the least.
“We live in an apartment above the museum. My mom’s the manager, remember?”
“Sure. How’s she doing?”
“Not so good.” Hunter spit over the side of the porch. “She’s pretty tore up over Lewis. Getting fired has pissed her off, too.”
“I suppose so.” I wasn’t sure what good manners dictated in the case of the death of a home-wrecker’s married boyfriend. “Where are you going to move? Are you staying in Sidewinder?”
“Dunno. I might go to my aunt and uncle’s house for a while. But they won’t take in my mom.”
“Why’s that?”
“There’s always been bad blood between the farms. When Momma took up with Lewis, Uncle Bruce hit the roof. He didn’t allow Aunt Belinda to consort with my mom after that. Besides, Momma and Aunt Belinda both think they stole each other’s ideas about the cotton education center and whatnot.”
“Your Aunt Belinda would let your mom go homeless?” Stories like this made me appreciate my messed-up family even more.
“Yep.” Hunter leaned over to spit and drew up, his eyes on me. “Momma says Belinda’s always thought she’s too good, especially after catching Bruce. Didn’t even help us after Daddy left.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and strolled closer. “Pretty screwed up situation, ain’t it? But don’t worry about my mom. We just found out a couple hours ago that Lewis left her plenty. Which is probably why Marion fired her so quick.”
“What about Miss Marion? Didn’t he leave her anything? It looks like there’s a lot of money sunk into this place.”
“It’s Marion’s land. She keeps the Maynard stuff. But Lewis had my mom’s name on the insurance policy and not Marion.”
“Wow.” Ka-ching, Miss Janine.
“I think that shows he loved my mom pretty good, don’t you?”
I glanced at Hunter and felt another hole open in my heart. The boy was damaged goods, but he was still a boy.
“Sure, Hunter.” I opened the box of Krispy Kreme and handed him one. “I guess Miss Marion doesn’t need all six.”
He spat the rest of his chew over the side, wiped his mouth, and took the donut. “Thanks, Scarecrow.”
“Hey, you still think Lewis poisoned the stew? It looks like Griffin Ward’s Genuine Juice did it. He was trying to make Miss Eloise sick so he could make everyone think his drink cured her. I guess it got out of hand or he didn’t pay attention to which drinks he poisoned.”
“Shit,” said Hunter. “I know Griffin Ward. I heard he’s dead, too. But I drink that stuff all the time and it never made me sick. He told me it would build muscle. You know, like he’s got. Or had. What a bullshitter.”
“You drank Genuine Juice all the time? Did you drink any at the festival? Griffin was handing out cups.”
“I don’t remember. Can I have another donut?” He reached for the box.
I whipped the carton away. “These are for Miss Marion.” It’s going to look bad that I already opened the box.
“Hunter. Did you or did you not drink Genuine Juice at the festival?” I used my best impression of a teacher’s voice.
He used his best impression of a student who didn’t give a crap about teachers. “I don’t remember.” He stared at the white and green box in my hands. “Maybe I’d have a better memory if I had something to eat.”
“Well, get a job and buy a burger, because I’m not giving you any more donuts. These are sympathy donuts and they are not for you. Do you remember anyone on your cook-off team drinking Griffin’s green stuff?”
“I don’t see anyone bringing my mom sympathy donuts.”
Probably because folks tend not to sympathize with white trash home-wreckers, I thought, but judiciously decided to keep that comment locked tight. “I don’t know your mom. I know Miss Marion.”
“You’re just like everyone else, Scarecrow. But y’all will see. My mom doesn’t need your freakin’ Krispy Kremes after she collects Lewis’s money. We’ll be rolling in Krispy Kremes.”
Leaving me with that interesting picture, he stomped off the porch and into the rain. I wondered if Krispy Kremes counted as blood money. Possibly, considering how good they tasted. Especially warm. My stomach jumped to attention, and I realized I had better hand off the box before I tore it apart.
I returned to my original mission, approached Miss Marion’s front door, and knocked. She answered, wearing black, pearls, and lipstick. Appropriate, although I would find it hard to mourn in such fancy clothes. But that’s me. Some people may find it hard to mourn in a t-shirt with the deceased’s face outlined with Swarovski crystals. Because that’s what I did when Grandma Jo died.
“Miss Tucker?” she said, fluttering a hand around her pearls.
“I’m here to offer my sympathies. I heard about Mr. Maynard.” I handed her the Krispy Kreme box. “Sorry that it’s open. I saw Hunter and offered him a donut. He looked hungry.”
“Hunter is always hungry,” said Miss Marion. “Do come in.”
“Thank you. I will do.”
I swept past her, hoping she couldn’t tell my sundress straps were attached with duct tape.
We entered a sitting room that had probably been designed by Southern Living. The drapes, furniture, rug, and lampshades had coordinating colors. Fresh flowers in big bowls sat on tables. I sank onto the edge of a couch and held my knees together like Grandma Jo taught us.
“How are you holding up, Miss Marion?” I asked. “So sorry about your husband. And are you feeling better?”
“Much better, thank you.” She took the silk armchair and placed the donuts on the coffee table between us.
I eyed the box and told my stomach to behave. “So I guess you heard about Griffin Ward? Sounds like the poison might have come from Genuine Juice.”
“I am so glad the police figured that out. That man is deranged.”
“Pretty much,” I said. “So have the police told you anything? You think it’s a closed case?”
“I certainly hope so. The fact that Griffin had a house full of poisoned drinks should settle things, I would think. I was so sure it was the Gables, getting back at us for our success with the Cotton Pickin’ Plantation Educational Center and all.”
“I’m not sure about the Gables. Although they do act peculiar. But, I did witness Griffin Ward drinking his own poison.” I inched forward on my seat. “And I just discovered a box of trash from the festival. I guess the police can use that as evidence, too.”
“How did you discover this box of trash?” Marion’s hand drifted to the Krispy Kreme box and flipped the lid open. “Please help yourself.”
“I might have told you Eloise Parker and I shared a craft booth at the festival. When she got sick, I went to the hospital and sent a friend to close up our booth. He just tossed everything in boxes and left them in his car.”
“Goodness. So this evidence has been sitting in his car? I wonder if the police can detect arsenic if it’s been sitting that long.”
“I have no idea. Guess we’ll find out,” I said, reaching for a donut. I sank my mouth into a cloud of heaven so sweet my teeth itched. “You know to heat these up, right? Twenty seconds in the microwave and you’d think the Second Coming has arrived via your taste buds.”
“Did Hunter tell you about his mother’s inheritance?” Marion’s hands stroked her pearls. “I imagine he did.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to hear about that.”
“I suppose everyone will know soon,” she sighed.
“I suppose.” That was a fact of life in small towns. A relentless drive for gossip, churning up lives in its wake. “Are you going to be hurting for money?”
“Me?” She straightened in her chair and her hand dropped to her lap. “Gracious no. Lewis couldn’t touch my daddy’s money or the land. That remains in Maynard hands, thank the Lord. I wish I could have prevented that piece of trash from getting anything, though.”
I kept my mouth busy chewing. Seemed safer.
“It’s bad enough to live with this unfortunate situation even if she did improve my daddy’s estate,” Marion continued. “I guess that’s why I tolerated her so long. It just galls me that gold-diggers like Janine still land on their feet. I hope she gets what she deserves.”
“I guess she will eventually,” I said. “Your situation is rather unusual, if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am. I hope you can hold on to some good memories of Lewis.”
“Phwft.” She swatted the air. “I certainly didn’t marry him out of false ideas of love. Don’t you worry about me, missy. Now tell me more about this new evidence. I’m very anxious to have this case closed so I can pick up the pieces of my life and move on.”
“Not much more to tell, actually.” I dipped into the donut box again. “They either find the arsenic in the remains of the Genuine Juice bottle and Brunswick Stew cups or not.”
“Genuine Juice bottle and Brunswick Stew cups?”
I nodded and swallowed a hunk of donut. “The sheriff’s team will confiscate any and all remains of food and drink when it’s a poisoning case until they locate the source of the poison.”
“But I thought they already located the source. Griffin.”
“Yes, and it’s solid evidence in Griffin’s death. But because I have the remains of what Eloise ate, that would show what poisoned her. Hopefully.”
“I see. Of course, our team had thrown everything away so the medical staff couldn’t pinpoint what poisoned Lewis and me.”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it past the sheriff to have confiscated all the trash at the festival. It could turn up something, although to pinpoint Lewis’s empties might be impossible. It would take a lot of time and effort to test all that trash. So finding Eloise’s half-drunk bottle is a needle in a haystack.”
“Didn’t the police have other suspects?” she asked. “I mean before they discovered Griffin had poisoned his drinks?”
“They wouldn’t tell me, although for a while they thought it could have been a lunatic who thought it might be fun to poison a festival. However, I’m sure they’d also look at folks in connection to Eloise and Lewis’ death. Griffin, of course. And people in relation to your, uh, situation.”
“Like the Gables.”
“I suppose.” I bit into another donut. “And Miss Janine and Hunter, too. I know the police questioned them. And now that Janine stands to inherit, she makes a good suspect. If it wasn’t for Griffin, that is.”
“If Lewis weren’t already dead, I’d kill him for giving Janine all that money.”
Wanting to laugh, I jammed the rest of the donut into my mouth and choked on sugar instead.
“You seem very knowledgeable about this evidence and all.” She fiddled with her pearls. “Are you some kind of investigator?”
“No ma’am, I’m just an artist. But I’ve taken a keen interest in my buddy Eloise’s death. I’d like to see justice served.”
“I guess you’ve done what you can do. Turning in that box and all.”
“To be honest, something is still gnawing at me. Probably the way Griffin died. I might do a little more nosing around.” I hopped from the couch before I polished off the rest of the donuts. “I guess once I hear the lab results on that garbage, I’ll feel better. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”