Honey-Baked Homicide Page 17

  “I’m looking for the Winter Garden Funeral Home,” the woman said. “Is it far from here?”

  “Only about three miles.”

  “Oh, good. I’ve got plenty of time to have some coffee and steady my nerves then.”

  Jackie smiled. “You sure do. What’ll you have—dark roast, decaffeinated, or French vanilla?”

  “I’d like the French vanilla, please.” She sat at the counter.

  “Welcome to Winter Garden,” I told her. “I’m sorry you’re here under sad circumstances.”

  “Me too. I’m Patricia Vance, by the way. I’m here for Stu Carver’s funeral.” Her lips curved in a semblance of a smile. “I suppose you knew him as Stu Landon, if you knew him at all.”

  “We did.” I pointed to a jar of the honey still on the shelf. “I sold some of his honey on consignment.”

  “Stu and his stupid bees,” she mused as Jackie sat her coffee in front of her. “Thank you.” She added low-calorie sweetener. “I believe Stu liked insects more than he cared for people.”

  “Some folks are like that, I guess,” said Jackie.

  “He was. I wasn’t married to him all that long, but it was enough time for me to figure that out.”

  Jackie and I exchanged glances. This was Madelyn and Brendan’s mother. Now that she’d told us who she was, I could see the resemblance.

  “I can see why this little town appealed to Stu. It’s lovely . . . quiet . . . isolated.” She sighed. “I’ve been thinking of going out to the house after the funeral just to see how Stu lived, but I’m not sure if I’ll do that or not. Douglas, my current husband, only came with me as far as Abingdon. He said he wouldn’t feel comfortable at the funeral.”

  “I can understand that.” Jackie spotted a couple walking in. “Excuse me, please.”

  “Personally, I think Douglas is being silly,” Patricia said. “He says that for me to go to the funeral to support Brendan and Madelyn is one thing, but for him to explain that he’s their stepfather is another matter entirely. I don’t think so, do you?”

  “No. I feel that he’d come across as a concerned parent. But people react to situations differently.”

  “I know. And I don’t know how I’d feel if the situation was reversed. Frankly, I believe Douglas prefers not to think of Stu at all, so I understand his not wanting to see how Stu lived here in Winter Garden or hear what the mourners have to say about him.”

  “Did he dislike Stu that much?” I asked.

  “He did. Douglas thinks of the children as his own—and he was around for them far more than Stu ever was. Stu came around two or three times a year, called occasionally, and sent birthday cards with checks in them.” Patricia sipped her coffee. “Douglas was there to teach them to ride a bike, to help with homework, to take photographs before they went to prom. Stu didn’t seem to care about any of that. Douglas thinks Stu abandoned them.”

  I felt like saying that Douglas was pretty much right about that, but I kept my opinion to myself, and she resumed talking.

  “Stu claimed he moved here to hide out from members of Callicorp—a company he worked for out in Oklahoma that went belly-up because of Stu—but Douglas said that was a bunch of bunk. He said Stu simply didn’t want to be saddled with a family and so he left.”

  “Do you agree?” I asked softly.

  “Yeah. I didn’t want to think so initially, but when I realized that was the case, I divorced Stu and gave up the long-distance marriage farce.” She looked around the café, and her eyes filled with tears. “Stu could have made a life for all of us here had he chose to. We could’ve called ourselves Landons and hid out here as a perfect happy family. But it’s not what Stu wanted. I lived in denial for a few years hoping he’d come to his senses, but he never did.”

  “So you think Stu was paranoid—that the Callicorp people were never out to get him?”

  “I think there might have been some sort of threat right after we left Oklahoma, but I feel that Stu and his involvement in that ordeal was soon forgotten. Even Walter Jackson came to find Stu because he’d found religion in prison and wanted to apologize for the death threats he’d sent Stu.”

  “You don’t think Mr. Jackson had anything to do with Stu’s death?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Patricia. “I’d like to see the man and find out whether or not he ever got to make his peace with Stu.”

  “He might be at the funeral. He told me he was staying in town for it.”

  She raised her brows. “You really are connected around here, aren’t you? You must be the one to come to when people need to know what’s going on in town.”

  I let her comment pass without expressing an opinion either way.

  “I’m glad Walt will be at the funeral. I’m looking forward to talking with him,” Patricia said. “I want him to know I forgive him. Everything that happened with Walt, Callicorp, Stu, and all the rest was such a long time ago. I have a happy life now, and I probably owe some of that happiness to Walt in a strange way. What he did was very wrong, but he gave Stu the excuse he needed to leave us behind and let us find a better life.”

  I mentioned that my orders were going to start piling up and that I’d better get back to the kitchen. Then I wished her well, gave her detailed directions to the Winter Garden Funeral Home, and headed for the grill.

  • • •

  Mr. Dougherty came in for lunch.

  “Hi there, Mr. Dougherty,” I said. “I’m glad you came back to the Down South Café. I was afraid you might not after yesterday.”

  He huffed. “In my line of work, you don’t let other people’s squabbles concern you.”

  “That’s a wonderful philosophy.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and it serves me well. I missed out on your fabulous desserts yesterday. I won’t be doing that today.” He took a corner table.

  “How many will be joining you?” I asked.

  “It’s just me today. Flying solo.”

  His phone must have buzzed because he took it out and began speaking into it. He started out talking with a booming voice, but then his voice became quieter and quieter until it was practically nothing more than a hiss.

  I unobtrusively put a menu on his table and went back to the kitchen.

  “What do you think is going on with the Ives Oil and Gas guy?” Jackie asked me when she joined me a minute or two later.

  “Mr. Dougherty?” I glanced over at his table. “He was fine when he came in, but then he got a phone call that seemed to bother him.”

  “It’s apparently still bothering him. He’s talking with someone, and he looks majorly ticked off. I went to take his order, and he waved me away. I’ll go back when he’s finished.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Dougherty doesn’t like him working weekends,” I said.

  “Is there a Mrs. Dougherty?”

  I shrugged.

  Luis came into the kitchen with a tub full of dishes. “Are you guys talking about the angry dude?”

  “Yeah,” said Jackie. “Amy thinks he’s getting fussed at for working weekends, but I feel like that wouldn’t make him angry—he’d be more apologetic in that case.”

  He nodded. “Makes sense to me. Besides, when I walked past him, I heard him say something like, ‘These people out here will kill me . . .’ I guess it could still be personal. He could be saying that the people here would kill him if he didn’t work on Saturdays. Who knows?”

  Jackie waited until he ended his call, and then she went and took his order. He asked for a bacon cheeseburger with a side of potato salad.

  When I had Mr. Dougherty’s order ready, I took it out to him myself.

  “Here you go,” I said. “Do you need a refill on that tea? And how about dessert? Have you decided which one you want yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  I put my fist on my hip. “All right, mister. You
were in a chipper mood when you first came in here. What happened?”

  He shook his head. “I’d better not say.”

  “You can trust me. Besides, I might be able to help.”

  “I doubt you can help this, Ms. Flowers. Ives Oil and Gas is wanting me to pull out of Winter Garden without doing any further testing.”

  “Are you serious? But I thought you’d found some promising leads.”

  “I have. It’s political. The local lawmakers want us out.”

  “I’m sorry. Would it help if your dessert is on the house?”

  He grinned. “That always makes things better. And in the meantime, I’ve bought a little time. So maybe the powers that be at Ives can get the lawmakers to change their minds.”

  “I hope so.” I really preferred that the oil and gas developers stay out of Winter Garden for the sake of preserving our quiet community, but I hated to see Mr. Dougherty—and people who might benefit from the development—disappointed.

  He glanced around to make sure that the other diners were too busy talking among themselves to pay any attention to us. “If you don’t mind, could you sorta keep this under your hat? I’d hate for the Carvers or Thomases to hear something negative when Ives might still be able to turn this thing around.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.” And Ryan. I’d have to tell Ryan. And maybe Jackie. But that’s all. Neither of them would tell the Thomases or the Carvers.

  Chapter 18

  We were getting ready to close up shop that afternoon when Sarah came into the café.

  “Hi there. I hope I’m not too late to buy a cake,” she said. “John is coming over for dinner this evening, and I want a good dessert to go with our meal.”

  “Then you’ve certainly come to the right place at the right time,” I said. “Luis, Jackie, and I were just getting ready to divvy up the desserts left in the display case.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Completely. We always do on Saturday because we know the desserts won’t remain fresh over the weekend.”

  “So we have to eat them,” said Luis. “My family is thrilled that I have this job.”

  Luis actually had this job to pay for school, though he was now out for the summer. I knew his parents were extremely proud of him for working so hard. And his younger brothers and sister really were delighted with the desserts he brought home on Saturday. They especially liked cookies. If we didn’t have many on Saturday morning, I’d make a fresh batch for Luis to take home to them.

  From what we had left in the display case, Sarah chose a chocolate brownie pie. She took her phone from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and said, “I have to take this. Amy, could you please box up that pie and bring it outside to me?”

  “Sure.”

  I knew Sarah well enough to know that she simply wanted to speak with me privately. I took the pie from the refrigerated display case, put it into a pastry box, and took it outside. Sarah had turned her car engine on and was sitting in the driver’s seat. She motioned for me to come around to the passenger side.

  I slid into the car. “Ahhh, you have an amazing air conditioner.”

  “Thanks. I wanted to talk with you alone, but I didn’t want my pie to get gunky. I didn’t have a call, by the way.”

  “I never thought you did.”

  She grinned. “You know me too well. I wouldn’t have really cared to have discussed this in front of Jackie, but I don’t know Luis very well. I don’t believe he’d go around spreading rumors, but I wouldn’t want Billy to know that I’d mentioned this.”

  Now I was intrigued.

  “Chad Thomas came into our office yesterday,” she continued. “He was asking Billy who he needed to talk with to make the Carvers a fair offer on their father’s property. Billy told him to see the tax assessor to get the property value. When he left, I think he was going to the county tax office.”

  “Hmm. Now what Fern, Chad’s wife, said yesterday about Chad not being happy with the thought of the Carvers meeting with Mr. Dougherty makes a little more sense. She came in to buy a cake. I jokingly asked if she and the Carvers were celebrating together since Mr. Dougherty was meeting with the Carvers earlier in the day. I had no idea then that she was buying the cake for Stu’s wake.”

  Sarah nodded. “I see what you’re saying, though. If Fern went home and told Chad that the Carvers had met with Mr. Dougherty, then he’d know there was a chance their property had also tested favorably for the presence of natural gas.”

  “Right. So the odds of them selling the property to him likely went right down the drain.”

  “Yeah, especially at a fair price.”

  “And since Mr. Dougherty met with Chad Thomas, Madelyn, Brendan, and Joey Carver—whose land also adjoins to Stu’s property, then those three plots could be sitting atop an extremely profitable reserve,” I said. “Would Chad Thomas really be so selfish as to want it all for himself?”

  Sarah and I smiled at each other. Of course he would.

  • • •

  Jackie and I chose half a boysenberry pie and half a peanut butter pie to take to the big house to serve with lunch tomorrow. We were serving fried chicken, potato salad, and Mexican corn, so either pie would work with the meal.

  I was making dinner for Ryan this evening. I planned to make barbecued pork chops, baked potatoes, and cole slaw. I picked the key lime pie for dessert. I took the pies home—mine and the two halves we were serving with lunch tomorrow—and put them in the refrigerator before I went to the grocery store to get what I’d need to prepare this evening’s meal. Prior to heading back out, I called Mom to see if there was anything she and Aunt Bess needed.

  Mom told me to hold on while she checked with Aunt Bess. Within a few seconds, she gave me the answer.

  “Aunt Bess needs raisin bran and skim milk, and I could use some hazelnut creamer. I’m about out.”

  “Is there any particular brand of raisin bran that Aunt Bess prefers?”

  “She likes the cheaper brand but not the cheapest brand,” Mom said. “It’s like a step up from the store brand but not as expensive as the bigger name brand.”

  “This should be fun.” I told Mom I’d be there in a little while with the items they’d requested.

  I drove to the store half wishing that my air conditioner was as good as Sarah’s. Mine did all right, but it was pretty sluggish compared to the one in Sarah’s newer car. But I wasn’t ready to get a newer car and part with my little Bug yet, so I’d make do and not complain.

  I strode into the grocery store and quickly gathered what I needed. I started with the items Mom and Aunt Bess had wanted because I was afraid I’d forget them otherwise. I went to the cereal aisle and chose three different brands of raisin bran. One of them was bound to be the brand preferred by Aunt Bess. I then got the creamer, baking potatoes, cabbage, carrots, pork chops, and milk.

  I hurried to the checkout lane, delighted by how quickly I was making it through the grocery store. Usually this place was swamped on Saturday afternoons with cart-to-cart traffic and clusters of people blocking the aisles while they chatted with people they seldom saw anywhere other than at the grocery store. But today hadn’t seemed that bad.

  I was standing in line behind one other customer . . . and this customer had only about twenty items. I was sure to finish up the checkout process soon, be back in my car, and on my way to the big house. I was beginning to wonder what I’d wear when Ryan came over when I realized my optimistic thoughts had set me up for a disappointment. One of the twenty items the customer ahead of me had in his cart needed a price check.

  I stifled a groan and turned to glance behind me. Someone had come up behind me in the line. She seemed familiar, but she had her face down and was staring into her purse.

  I nonchalantly perused the tabloid headlines. I saw a small, thick comic book on the stand and smi
led because the kids from Riverdale were still popular. I turned to comment on that fact to the woman behind me who’d seemed familiar.

  When I turned this time, she tried to lower her head again, but I could see that it was Fern Thomas.

  “Fern, hi! How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  I could see her face much better now, and there was an ugly bruise on her left cheek. “Oh, my goodness, what happened?”

  “Oh . . . yeah.” She tried to cover the bruise with her hair. “I’ve been trying to hide it because it’s so embarrassing. I’m as clumsy as can be.” She shook her head. “Fell while carrying a load of laundry up the basement stairs. Can you believe that? Most people fall down stairs—I fall up them.”

  “I hope you feel better soon.” Her scenario was hard to believe. Was she covering for Chad? Had he hit her?

  “I’ll be fine. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”

  The cashier finally found the price of the item in question and finished checking out the customer ahead of me. I moved ahead and quickly completed the checkout process.

  I turned and told Fern good-bye before leaving.

  “See you.” She resumed placing her groceries on the conveyor belt.

  When I went into the big house to take Mom and Aunt Bess their groceries, I left the car running to keep my stuff cool.

  Aunt Bess was on her Pinterest boards when I walked in. She was posting a photo of a man with facial hair arranged to look like a giant spider on her Lord, Have Mercy board.

  “I’ve done been checking out the dating sites today,” she said. “And there’s not a new soul on there . . . just the same sad people who were there the last time I looked. I was out of all their leagues.”

  “I’m sure you were, Aunt Bess. Come and see this cereal I’ve brought you. I didn’t know which one you’d want, so I got three different kinds.”

  “Three kinds. Well, ain’t you the berries? Thank you.” She got up and came into the kitchen, where Mom showed her each box.