Southern Sass and Killer Cravings Page 5

  He responded instantly, holding me tightly. I’d think about this later, second-guessing my actions and motivations and the complications that could arise, but right this second, I couldn’t have cared less.

  Chapter 5

  The next day all of us who had been present the day Mr. Ledbetter died were called down to the sheriff’s department for interviews. The old department building, located adjacent to the town hall, was in major need of renovation. The station had been built to last, utilizing hardy Georgia red clay bricks.

  The office was small as precincts went. I’d always told Eddie the place reminded me of something out of an old seventies police show, with its drab wood-paneled walls and white-tiled flooring. There was enough room for about twelve people, if they didn’t mind getting cozy. Rearrangements had been made to the room to accommodate the crowd. Eddie had to borrow folding chairs from the Peach Cove Baptist Church for seating. The chairs were lined up and down the perimeter of the walls.

  I was seated between Betsy and my sister. Heather sat on the other side of Betsy, with Sam next to her. If it hadn’t been our slow time of day when it happened, Eddie wouldn’t have been able to seat everyone. The Davidsons, who had been contemporaries of Mr. Ledbetter, sat on the opposite side of the room, looking bleak. I recalled them cheering him on in his determination to live out his days on the island. Two other couples sat near them. For the life of me, I simply couldn’t remember their names.

  The front door opened and in walked a cantankerous Ms. Brooks, escorted by Yvonne.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Yvonne said to Alex, as he held the door open for them. “Mama had a doctor’s appointment.” Yvonne gave us a little wave as she and her mama took the only vacant seats available across the room.

  “Did you hear that Yvonne put in a bid for the old Palmer place?” Sam asked.

  The Palmers were our cousins on Mama’s side.

  “Nate told me,” my brother went on. “She made the offer a few days ago.”

  That must have been what delayed her homecoming. She’d told me about her appointment with her lawyer but not that she’d spoken to my cousin Nate. I had been so preoccupied with my own ordeal, I’d neglected to ask the specifics.

  “To live in?” Betsy asked.

  He shook his head. “Nah, for her interior design business. That’s what Nate said.”

  Yvonne leaned forward, obviously overhearing bits of our conversation.

  Sam was loud. I mouthed congrats to her. She brightened, her smile gracious.

  “Nothing is done yet,” she mouthed back. “But it’s looking good.”

  Her mama asked her a question, and the two engaged in a low discussion.

  “I heard Carl has a detective coming in to head up the investigation,” Jena Lynn said to me. “This is just getting worse and worse for the diner.”

  “Eddie will get to the bottom of this.” I picked a bit of lint off my sister’s shoulder. “I wonder if the autopsy is completed yet.” This was obviously not an accidental overdose as I had first assumed. They wouldn’t have hauled us in here if it was. I clasped my hands in my lap, trying hard not to fidget.

  If Mr. Ledbetter’s wife were still with us, she would be the first suspect. I turned my attention to Carl and Rainey Lane, standing in the back of the room. Rainey Lane appeared unsteady in her white open-toed sandals. Perhaps she was medicated. Carl had his arm wrapped around her waist. He wore tan linen slacks and a pale yellow button-down shirt that matched his wife’s sundress. He scrutinized the room, and I wondered if he viewed us all as suspects. Did he realize that, from this side of the room, he was on the list?

  “Are you listening to me?” Betsy bumped her shoulder against mine.

  “Sorry. What were you saying?”

  She scowled. “I was saying they’ve gotten the autopsy back. Carl put in a call. His dad was moved to the front of the line.”

  Carl appeared to have a lot of connections.

  “Alex told me Mr. Ledbetter had internal bleeding.” Alex was Betsy’s first cousin on her mama’s side. I highly doubted he would come forth with that sort of information.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Did he really?”

  “Well, to be honest, I overhead him talking on the phone to Felton last night. We were at my meemaw’s.” She’d been snooping. Typical Betsy.

  Like me, she had a curious personality. I moved my head closer to hers.

  “I caught bits and pieces then put it all together. I told him about what Ms. Brooks said.” Of course, she did.

  “He asked about you. You know, he and Olivia broke up.”

  I shrugged a shoulder. I wasn’t sure what Alex thought about yesterday. Eddie had called him, and we’d been forced to part swiftly.

  My mind drifted back to Mr. Ledbetter. What was internal bleeding a symptom of? Strychnine? I hated to think it. Had Ms. Brooks and the old man had some sordid past I was unaware of? I fought the urge to get out my cell phone and google a symptom checker. His ramblings about the past coming back to bite you ran through my mind. What were the numbers and letters references to? I glanced at my little pink paisley Vera Bradley cross-body bag, knowing I should hand it over to Eddie, but the old man had instructed me to trust no one. He could have easily handed the paper over to the sheriff’s department. He obviously had reason to believe he needed to pass the information along to someone he trusted. Or maybe he had just been given this information and had yet to figure out what it meant.

  I twirled a curl of hair around my index finger. There’s going to be a murder at the diner, Mama had warned. Goose bumps traveled up my flesh.

  When I noticed we were attracting attention, I shushed Betsy, as she weaved her own theory. My customer from the diner had a pair of those half-lensed glasses perched on the tip of his nose today. He caught me staring. There was something within his gaze. What information did this stranger possess? He also had a watchful eye on all in attendance. What he must think of us. This certainly wasn’t an accurate impression of our island and townspeople.

  A heavyset man wearing a dark jacket came into the room. He was taller than my father. Eddie began relaying information to the man. His back was to me, so I couldn’t read his lips.

  “Folks,” Eddie addressed the group, “This is Detective Davis Thornton from the Atlanta PD. He’s going to be asking you all a few questions, one at a time.” It made sense that, with a bizarre crime like this, they would need outside intervention.

  “How long is this going to take?” the old man, whose name I couldn’t recall, asked. “The Braves are playing at 1:05 today. They’re away until Sunday.”

  “Sorry to inconvenience you.” Eddie paused and pinned the man to his seat with a dead stare. “But, I believe the death of a neighbor to be far more important than you making it home for the first pitch. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  The old man made a grunting noise and folded his arms across his chest. His wife gave him a disapproving glare.

  “Detective Thornton, you have the floor.” Eddie stepped back between his two deputies. Both men’s faces were impassive, though I could tell they were both energized by a case such as this. I’m sure neither one of them ever believed they’d catch a murder.

  The large man scanned the room. He spared a few extra seconds on every face. His scrutinizing gaze was uncomfortable as it landed on me then moved on to Betsy. She sucked in a breath then released it when he moved on.

  “Afternoon, folks,” he finally began. “We have a homicide on our hands here.”

  Several shocked gasps met the detective’s bombshell of an announcement. My sister started crying. I reached out and took her hand.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered to her as I gauged the reactions of those in the room as inconspicuously as I could manage.

  The face of the man from the diner altered. Excitement? Anxiousness? Curiosity? Mr. Personality who had dined with him appeared bored.

  “Like your sheriff said, I’m going to have a talk with you one by one,
and one of these deputies will be taking your statement.”

  I glanced behind him at Felton and Alex. Felton was trying not to appear excited. Alex, on the other hand, looked uneasy. He shifted his weight from boot to boot. He gave me a half-smile when he caught me staring.

  “You’ll leave your contact information with the deputy, in case I need to speak with you again later.” He nodded to Carl and Rainey Lane. “We’ll begin with you and your wife, since you’re both grieving your loss. Deputy Myers, you’re with me.”

  “I warned him,” Ms. Brooks said.

  “Mama, hush.” Yvonne’s face flushed.

  “Well, I did. Somebody got tired of his ways. Served him right, I’d say.” Ms. Brooks unwrapped a peppermint she’d extracted from her purse and popped it into her mouth.

  Yvonne was whispering furiously into the woman’s ear.

  “My money’s on her,” Betsy whispered.

  Mine wasn’t. Poisoning had to be premeditated. Especially in the way Mr. Ledbetter had been. Someone probably mixed up his meds on purpose. Although, with the search and seizure at the diner, that didn’t make sense. My stomach lurched. He could have easily been poisoned or bludgeoned to death in his villa with no witnesses. Someone wanted his death to be public and tragic. Why at the diner?

  Lord help us, we had a murderer on the loose in Peach Cove.

  Chapter 6

  Two hours passed before the detective’s large hand engulfed mine. Detective Thornton asked me a series of questions regarding my relationship to the Ledbetters and my duties at the diner. What had Mr. Ledbetter eaten that day? Who prepared the food? Who served it? Was I in charge of ordering supplies? Was I aware of anyone who had a grudge against Mr. Ledbetter? None of it felt real. I didn’t hand over what Mr. Ledbetter had given me. I didn’t know the detective from Adam, nor did I trust him.

  “How much longer do you think the diner will have to stay closed?” Sam asked when I came out of the interview room. “He said the forensic team needs about a week or so. I hope they won’t keep it closed for longer than that.”

  He needed the paycheck. Everyone who was employed at the diner did, including my sister and me. None of us were wealthy, and the financial strain this would put on us would be painful.

  “I spoke with Felton while he was outside having a smoke,” Sam said.

  He and Felton had played football together.

  “What did he say?” I asked in a stage whisper and leaned against the back wall in the hallway.

  “Not much. Just that some test had come back positive and everyone was waiting on the toxicology report. Dad said it usually takes a minimum of two weeks for that, but since Carl could get a rush on the autopsy, he felt confident he’d had the report expedited as well. The Ledbetters must have some serious connections.”

  If the Ledbetters had connections in high places, and utilized their contacts, that meant they didn’t have any confidence in the island’s law enforcement to handle the case objectively.

  “I’ll see ya.” Sam stalked off.

  Slowly, I moved down the narrow hallway under the fluorescent yellow lighting. Lockers snaked around corners. I paused when I spied Alex in a cubicle taking Betsy’s statement or a condensed version of the one I assumed she gave the detective. She was moving her arms and acting out the scene of the crime dramatically. He noticed me and began to rise. I kept moving. Eddie would be disappointed in me if I withheld anything. The interrogation process was something I wanted to avoid in the future. Withholding evidence would certainly not aid me in that endeavor, but when I’d found him, he was getting chewed out by the old man fuming about missing his game. He’d instructed me to go home. So that was exactly what I did.

  I had a pot of gumbo going on the stove. Bacon, dill, and Gouda cheese scones were in the oven. Since my sister had still been waiting to be interviewed, I planned on running them over to her house later. I was positive she hadn’t given dinner any consideration.

  After I listened to the voice mail Peter had left, I felt melancholy. He wasn’t budging on solely retaining the property, and he had no intention of selling, citing that, with the current housing market, we’d lose money. I was thankful that I’d had the presence of mind to have a prenup drawn up in regard to the diner and Mama’s house. His voice brought back memories I wanted to forget. Not to mention I was tired of him humiliating me. The first time he’d come home after having a few too many, hurling insults about my lack of refinement or straitlaced personality, I’d been shocked. I’ll never forget standing there staring at the “stranger” in our bedroom. I cried as I attempted to help him into bed—the vile words spewing from his lips. He just needs to sleep it off. I kept telling myself that everything would be okay in the morning. That night he’d broken my finger: It was an accident. He hadn’t intended to hurt me. But every time he drank, more accidents followed. Flowers, jewelry, and promises of change came after each incident. But change never occurred and his possessiveness grew.

  I’d put a call in to my attorney. He was out, but his secretary was still in the office. She informed me that my attorney was already aware of the car situation. At this point, I would agree to sign almost anything, just to be done with this ordeal. I told her so. She said she’d relay the information.

  I was in the kitchen making a glass of iced tea when there was a knock at the front door. Tea sloshed over the rim of the glass.

  “Shoot!” I stooped to wipe up the mess.

  My nerves were on edge as I made my way through the living room. I opened the door, surprised to see the man from the diner.

  His lips turned up in an uneasy grin. “Remember me?” Like I could have forgotten so soon.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He held his hands up defensively. “I should’ve called first. Listen, my name is Roy Calhoun.” Putting a name to the face was always helpful. He pushed his square black frames up on his nose. He wasn’t imposing. He didn’t have shifty eyes or a menacing demeanor. Nevertheless, this stranger had no business being on my front porch.

  He reached into the front pocket of his plaid short-sleeved, button-down shirt and pulled out a card. “I’m a reporter for the Atlanta Journal Daily. I’m covering the turtle project.”

  I didn’t take the card he was extending.

  He put the card back in his pocket. “I saw Mr. Ledbetter put something in your hand. You didn’t tell the detective about it.”

  How did he know that? Had he observed the transaction on his way to aid the old man?

  “I was questioned after you. The detective would have asked if I had been privy to the information if you had.”

  Would he have? Or is this man trying to trip me up? Could he possibly have had something to do with Mr. Ledbetter’s death?

  “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I need to go.” I moved to close the door.

  His hand braced against the top of the frame forced it to stay open.

  “I’m not here to cause you any trouble, but I did lie to the detective.”

  I contemplated his words as I peered at him through the crack in the door. “What are you after, Mr. Calhoun? You planning on writing a piece for the paper?”

  He didn’t look away when he spoke. “I’m thinking about it. There’s a story here. I’d like to get your take on how all of this will affect your diner.” The glint in his eyes spoke volumes, reminiscent of a dog chasing a chew toy. This man was champing at the bit to discover what I was hiding.

  Well, the way I saw it was I had two choices: I could tell him, “No comment,” and hope he wrote a positive article, or let him in and hope my words were a positive influence. Reporters were a pain in the butt.

  Stepping back from the door, I said sweetly, “You want a glass of tea or something?” Nanny always said you could catch more flies with honey.

  “Yeah, that’d be great.” He followed me into the kitchen.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look around. I was sure it seemed odd a woman i
n her late twenties would be living in a home obviously decorated in the late eighties. The fuchsia rug in the living room and the hunter green curtains were a dead giveaway. Redecorating wasn’t high on my list of priorities.

  “It’s my mama’s old house.” I filled the glass full of ice then pulled the pitcher of tea from the fridge. “You want lemon?” I poured him a glass.

  He waved off my offer as he took the glass from me. “Something smells good.”

  “Scones and gumbo.”

  “I haven’t had gumbo in ages.” He eyed the stove. If he was fishing for an invite, he would be sorely disappointed. His attention turned back to me. “What did the old man give you and why didn’t you hand it over?”

  “I thought you wanted to ask about the diner?”

  “I do. The man died in your diner.”

  “You said you lied to the detective?” I took a deep sip from my glass.

  “I did. I don’t have all the facts yet, but I intend to.” He seemed to be studying me, as if I were some riddle he needed to solve. When I didn’t comment, he continued, “The man obviously suspected that his days were numbered. He was carrying something around with him. Something I’m assuming of value. Information or a clue? Then he chose you.” His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up with his index finger.

  I laughed. “I think you’ve got this built up in your mind, Mr. Calhoun. And that would make a great story for you to sell. But . . .” I took another sip and watched him over the rim of the glass.

  He had leaned forward, listening intently.

  “It was nothing. He handed me the napkin he had in his hand when he groped for help.” I sighed. “I was the one next to him. You see, there was nothing to tell the detective, and that’s why I didn’t mention such a trivial thing.” My tone was even as I lied.

  “I don’t believe you.” He stared so hard into my eyes I felt he was crawling through my sockets to reach my brain.

  I could almost see the wheels of suspicion turning within his head.