Nuts and Buried (6 page)

I was on my way out to the ranch and back to work. It was great, doing nothing, playing things through my head: what I was going to say to Ethelred the next time I encountered her; how everybody would know what an idiot the woman was. But then I put all that aside: murder, and Hunter being jealous for no reason on this earth, and me enjoying his jealousy a little too much.

It was a beautiful spring day. The road ahead was empty. I didn't want to waste time thinking badly of myself so I rolled down the window and let the wind blow at my face and through my hair, as best it could since I'd thrown my hair into a ponytail that morning.

I was singing along with KULM, 98.3, playing an old Miranda Lambert song, then bouncing in my seat with Tyler Farr's “Whiskey in My Water
.”

But like always, my ringing cell phone brought me down to earth, like Mary Poppins at that sad tea party.

Jeannie Wheatley. I didn't recognize her voice at first.
She sounded kind of beaten down. No laughter here, but who could blame her? I wondered fast if Hunter'd been out there yet; if she knew Eugene was murdered.

I figured I'd have to be careful.

We got through the “so sorry for your loss” and her saying how she was still in a daze, not believing Eugene was gone. We talked like that for a couple of minutes before she got down to what she was after.

“You know, Lindy, I got the feeling last night that we might become friends.”

“I sure hope so,” I said and found I really meant it. I liked Jeannie Wheatley. “What can I do to help?”

“Well, it's just that I don't have anybody here in Riverville I really know. No friends, not like back home in Dallas. I guess what I'm saying is I need to talk to somebody. Get away for a while. Things are moving so fast . . .”

“Sure. Be glad to help out. But you know the word's around already. Everybody in Riverville will be wanting to give you their condolences—we shouldn't be in public. Won't get a minute's peace. I'm on my way out to the ranch, but with Justin and the men in and out; with Bethany there talking to her clients—well, might not be a good idea.” I thought a minute. “How about a ride? Maybe out to see the Chaunceys? You met them last night. The girls are great if you need a shoulder to cry on or just a listening ear. And there won't be anybody else around to make you uncomfortable.”

“That sounds good. I was supposed to go with Elizabeth later to pick out an urn and make . . . well, you know . . . memorial arrangements, but she's been saying out loud she'd rather do all that alone.”

“Really? You're his wife.”

“Not something I want to fight over.”

“Hunter been out there yet today?”

There was silence. “Yes,” she said. “He's back in with Elizabeth now. I hate to think . . .”

“He told you both what they found out? What they think about Eugene's death?”

“He did. You can imagine . . . Elizabeth was already blaming me for his suicide. I don't have a single idea what she's making of murder.”

“I know she watched out for her brother—maybe too much, but that's not fair. She can't be blaming you.”

“Could we talk when I see you? I really need to get away from here.”

I figured it would take me fifteen minutes to get to the Wheatleys'. It was past our ranch—which made me groan. I'd probably have to fight myself, wanting to turn in and get back to my own life, but not able to . . . one more time.

I told her I'd be there as soon as I could.

She said she'd be waiting on the front portico.

I hoped Elizabeth Wheatley would be nowhere in sight. The last thing I wanted was another fight with that woman.

*   *   *

Jeannie looked different. I'd seen her around town and then at the party, but she seemed smaller today, shrunken. Her hair wasn't so big—done up in a messy blond knot at the back of her head. She had on a kind of loosely knit blue sweater over white shorts, with white sandals.

Not Ethelred's idea of widow's weeds, I was willing to bet, and vowed to take Jeannie nowhere near Riverville.

I'd called Miranda Chauncey on the way over, asked if it would be okay to bring Jeannie out for a little while. I said she was upset and feeling all alone and needed to talk to somebody.

Miranda said she was going to make sandwiches since it was close to noon, time for dinner anyway, and sure as anything nobody but her around their place was going to get busy cooking since Melody was sulking out in the shed, only the Lord knew about what.

I got it, that there was a dispute going on between her and Melody, so I hung up fast and hoped the girls would be civil once Jeannie got out there.

Then I called my meemaw, to let her know where I was going.

“And you were upset about me getting involved.” She cleared her throat, gave a little cough. “You know, Lindy. We don't know who did that to Eugene. I'd say everybody's a suspect.”

“Not Jeannie.”

“Everybody. Watch yourself. Promise me that much. Let me know where you're going at all times. Deal?”

I agreed it was a deal as I pulled up to the Wheatleys' mansion.

Jeannie was waiting and hopped in my truck. I peeled out of that driveway before she had the door closed behind her.

“You okay?” I asked, needing to come up with something as I turned on to the highway toward the Chaunceys' ranch.

She gave me a weak smile. “Wish I was. It's just been . . . awful. I can't believe he's gone. Eugene was so good to me. Like nobody ever was before. I can't stand the thought—”

She didn't cry, just fell silent.

“I knew somebody murdered Eugene.” She rested her head on the back of the seat and turned to look at me. “I knew it first thing last night. I can't tell you why or how I knew. I just did. All along, ever since we came back here, I just knew nothing was going to be okay.”

“What's the problem with Elizabeth?”

“Everything. She turned on me like a rattler. Right from the moment Eugene died, I'd say.”

“I got the feeling last night that everything was all right between you two. I mean, she lit into me 'cause she thought I was insulting you. I thought you two were pretty close.”

“I don't know where that came from. Maybe she was
protecting me. Nice enough at first, then all of a sudden she started making comments about how I didn't have the taste to help with the party and asking Eugene to keep me out of her hair while she was setting things up. I don't know if she meant to hurt me, but she sure did. Eugene saw it and promised we were getting out of there soon as the dumb party was over. He'd already seen to having his guns packed up afterward. Eugene changed his mind about staying in Riverville once Elizabeth told him she was going to live here.” She took a deep breath. “I guess Elizabeth always looked after him when they were kids. You know, their mama and daddy traveled a lot on business and, well, just kind of left them both with servants. Eugene said she was a little rough on Sally, too. But then, after Sally was gone, she told him she just wanted him to be happy. Said she hoped he'd find somebody else, and when we met and he asked me to marry him, she acted happy. Now he's gone and neither one of us have Eugene.

“Thing is, Lindy,” she went on, “I can't stay in that house another minute. That's where Eugene was murdered. Can't get it out of my head. And then with Elizabeth treating me like I was . . . trash. She doesn't want me in there any more than I want to be there.”

“The house belonged to Eugene. Just about everything did, is what I was told years ago. So it must be yours now. Could be a family trust or something. Still, whatever he had should come to you.”

“I don't want it. She can have it. All of it. If I have money, it will only bring more trouble.”

“This about your mother?”

“Guess you heard about her. I didn't even know she was here in Riverville. Eugene told Mama, back in Dallas, to stay away from me. There's already been times—”

She shut her mouth as I turned in at the Chaunceys' long, dusty drive.

“They know I'm coming, these women?”

“Said they were happy to have you. Fixing sandwiches or something. Don't get your hopes up for a good meal. Just be as gracious as the girls will be to you.”

The road in was long and winding, ending in the hard-packed, dirt turnaround in front of the ancient, low-roofed ranch house. Beyond the house were the girls' pecan groves, a bunch of tired-looking trees with weeds growing between the rows.

The twins, in their usual getup, met us on the porch, both hugging Jeannie and giving their condolences. Melody was the first to invite us on in and warn Miranda not to keep us standing out there in the heat.

We were led straight to a table set for four in the long, low main room. Miranda told us to sit while Melody fussed with a plate filled with white bread and some kind of meat.

“Don't know what this is, to tell the truth.” She poked at the meat. “Miranda did the food today. Can't vouch for anything.”

Miranda grumbled but passed the platter of mystery meat and bread without apology.

We were told to eat and nothing more was said for a while as the girls passed hot sauce our way, along with a bag of taco chips.

Melody got up and scurried around the table, filling our tall glasses from a sweating pitcher of sweet tea.

After we'd eaten, Jeannie got tears in her eyes, thanking the girls for their kindness. Melody got tears in her eyes right back at her and mumbled all kinds of things about the sorrow of losing a husband and how life goes on, but never the same, and all Jeannie could do was hold on tight to that love and hope to join him one day in heaven and . . .

Miranda couldn't take another word and blew up, telling Melody to keep her trap shut. “You don't know a thing about
losing a husband. You never had one to lose. And if you did, bet anything you'd be happy to be shut of 'im.”

“Why, Miranda Chauncey!” Melody's buxom chest swelled up like a couple of balloons. “What a thing to say in front of a newly-made widow. Least you can do is have a little respect—”

That went on for a while. Jeannie and I avoided each other's eyes and sipped at the tea.

When things settled down, I filled the girls in on what we'd learned that morning. Miranda took it easily. Melody moaned and reached over to pat Jeannie's hand, murmuring her sorrow at such a sad state of affairs. Soon Miranda was shrewdly asking Jeannie, “How're you getting along with Elizabeth? She gets bowed up at the best of times. I can only imagine—losing Eugene. The apple of her eye.”

Jeannie took a while to answer then shook her head. “Not very well. Soon as she heard Eugene'd been killed by somebody and that it wasn't an accident after all, she kind of looked at me and I think she decided I had something to do with it.”

“Wha' the hell—” Miranda stopped herself, looking disgusted.

“Terrible.” Melody took over. “When's the memorial? You know me and Miranda want to be there. Especially now that we know you need people to kind of line up on your side.”

“Elizabeth's seeing to everything. But she can't set the day yet. Hunter says the coroner's not through with Eugene's—”

“You're not going back there, are you?” Miranda blurted out. “To that house?”

Jeannie said nothing.

“Seems like an awful thing. You in mourning and being picked on by your sister-in-law. I just knew that woman was going to cause trouble, one way or the other. But I didn't expect this.”

“What about your mother?” I asked.

Jeannie shook her head and threw both her hands into the air. “Like I was saying, I don't know where she came from last night. Eugene told her when we first got married to stay away from me. That's what I wanted. My whole life . . . if she thought she smelled money, she'd come around, wanting to be a mama to me and carrying on. Last night—said she was driving by and saw something going on and just ran in. Driving by! I didn't even know she was in Riverville and here I'm told she's been around over a week.”

“That bad between you?” Miranda asked.

Melody added, “What a shame. Think of it, yer own mother?”

The two of them clucked and shook their heads.

“Mama's . . . well . . . she's different from most mothers.”

“You an only child?” Melody asked.

Jeannie shook her head. “Got a brother. He's the one Mama's always trying to get money for. Some kind of—I don't know. Maybe she feels bad she was so awful to the both of us. She's been after me before to help him out, but I never had much. I put myself through nursing school. You know how much nurses make . . .

“This time, though, when she heard I was marrying Eugene Wheatley . . . whew! Even in Dallas the name means something.” She looked down at her plate and stopped talking.