Peaches And Screams (A Savannah Reid Mystery) (14 page)

But it wasn’t gentle enough for Gran.

“What do you mean, asking Sister Dingle a fool thing like that?” Gran demanded. She turned to Elsie. “I’m sorry. You’ll just have to excuse Savannah. Being a police officer just ruined her manners . . . asking a fine, church-goin’ woman for an alibi for murder! I swear . . . !”

Elsie laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I wasn’t offended at all. The sheriff already grilled me like a well-done steak about that night, I don’t mind saying. I was in my room, above the garage. It used to be the carriage house in the old days, and the overseer lived there. It’s a real nice room, away from everything, peaceful and quiet.”

Savannah had a sinking feeling. “So peaceful and quiet that you didn’t hear anything?”

“Not a solitary thing. I left work early that afternoon, went to my room, and took a nap. Slept through the whole thing, I did. I was dead to the world till the sheriff and Mr. Goodwin came pounding on my door. By then, well, it was too late for the judge.”

Although she didn’t really want to see it, Savannah observed a definite lack of mourning on Elsie’s part, considering that the judge had been her employer for more than twenty years.

“You left early?” Savannah said.

“Yeah, the judge told me to.”

In spite of her embarrassment over having a “rude” granddaughter, Gran was getting into interrogation mode herself. “Why did he do that?” she asked. “Did he usually let you go early?”

“No. He never did. The judge was a man who wanted a day’s work for a day’s pay. Never made any bones about that. But Monday afternoon, he told me to quit early, that I looked tired.”

“Were you?” Savannah asked.

“No more than usual. I figured he wanted to get rid of me so he could have some new woman over, try out those pills again. I mean, why else would he miss his game of golf? He must have been staying home for somebody special.”

“Do you have any idea who it might have been?”

“No, I wish I did. I wish I’d been nosy enough to peek out the window a couple of times. I might have seen something, and then your Macon wouldn’t be sitting there, cooling his heels in jail.” She sighed. “But I’m not as young as I used to be. I was tired, and when you’re worn out, you’re just not as curious as you oughta be.”

Savannah grinned. “That’s okay, Miss Dingle. You’ve been a lot of help. You don’t happen to have any concrete reason to think Bonnie Patterson or Alvin Barnes might have killed him, do you? I mean, other than your own intuition?”

“Nothing that would hold up in a court of law.” She smiled slyly. “I know what you’re after, Savannah. I’m no dummy. I watch
Court TV
all the time, and I know what it takes to get a conviction. Believe me, if I had anything like that, I’d have given it to the sheriff already. I never did like that Bonnie. She’s just snooty and shallow and not nearly as bright or as pretty as she thinks she is. And, even if I did like her, I don’t cotton to people getting away with murder.”

“Okay, then let’s put it this way,” Savannah continued. “Is there anything in particular that makes you think they did it? Did you see anything or hear anything that stands out in your mind?”

“Well, yes.” Elsie nodded thoughtfully. “I had to throw them out of this house, Bonnie and Alvin, this past Sunday night.”

“The night before the killing?” Gran asked.

“That’s right. I came home from evening church service about half past seven, and I was going on back to my room, when I saw a light on here in the kitchen. Now, the judge doesn’t ever come in the kitchen. I don’t think he’s been in here once in his whole life—a woman’s place and not a man’s, you know. And his car was gone, so I figured he was still at the club, having a bit of supper there.”

“And Bonnie and Alvin were here in the kitchen?” Savannah asked.

“No. I figure they came in this way and left the light on, but they were upstairs in the judge’s bedroom.”

“I’m afraid to ask what they were doing,” Gran said. But she didn’t look afraid. She looked eager.

“Naw, they weren’t doing
that
,” Elsie replied. “Although I wouldn’t put it past her. They were walking around, picking up stuff like some silver candlesticks and a crystal candy dish, and the judge’s humidor. Whatever struck their fancy, I suppose. I told her to leave everything where it was or I’d call the sheriff, ’cause according to the divorce papers, she wasn’t supposed to just waltz in and help herself. She’d already gotten everything out of the house that she was entitled to.”

“What did she say when you told her to leave?” Savannah cut another slice of cake and laid it on Elsie’s empty plate.

“Let’s just say she called me things that no man should say and no lady should hear. But that was Bonnie’s way. She always has had a filthy mouth on her. White trash, that’s all she is, and I don’t mean nothing racist by calling her that either. I just call it as I see it.”

“I understand,” Savannah replied. “And then?”

“Then I marched downstairs to the kitchen, and I got myself my marble rolling pin out of the cupboard, and I went back up there and told them they’d better reconsider.”

“And?” Gran asked.

“And they put down the stuff, and they left. I meant business, and they knew it.”

“Did you tell the judge when he came home?” Savannah said.

“I did, and I can tell you, he was fit to be tied. He called Sheriff Mahoney and told him to arrest them right away.”

“Did he?”

“I don’t think so. The sheriff said it wasn’t exactly breaking and entering, since she used her keys on the back door and the divorce wasn’t absolutely final yet. So, it’s sorta still her house. But he did have the locksmith out to change the locks.”

“When?”

“Sunday morning.”

“The day he got killed?”

“Yeah, I reckon it was. Do you think that’s got anything to do with it?”

Savannah shrugged. “I don’t know, Miss Dingle. It’s like trying to put together a big puzzle when you don’t have all the pieces and you don’t know if the pieces you have even go to this puzzle.”

“And your grandma says you do this for a living.” Elsie looked a bit puzzled herself, and Savannah couldn’t blame her.

“It
is
a strange way to make a living,” Savannah agreed. “But in this case, of course, the stakes are a lot higher.” She turned to Gran. “I think we’d better get going, now that we’ve just about polished off this cake. I’ve got a few other people to talk to yet today.”

“And there’s Marietta’s wedding rehearsal tonight,” Gran reminded her.

“Oh, goody. I’d forgotten about that.” At the very thought, Savannah’s brief sugar fix from the cake vanished, leaving her weak with fatigue.

Elsie stood and gathered up their dirty dishes. Savannah and Gran grabbed the glasses and the tea pitcher.

“Like I said,” Elsie said as she carried the plates to the sink, “I was feeling mighty lonesome and a bit spooky here in this house all by myself. Or, at least, just me and the ghosts.”

“The ghosts?” Savannah placed the pitcher into the gigantic refrigerator.

“Oh, yes, we’ve got a whole batch of ghosts who hang out here,” Elsie said, her dark face absolutely straight. “Most of them linger in the dining room, on account of that’s where so many of them died . . . when the house was converted into a hospital for the soldiers. A lot of limbs were amputated and a heap of lives lost right there in that dining room. I don’t go in there after dark.”

Savannah wasn’t sure what to say, so she just nodded as though she understood completely. She glanced at Gran, who seemed equally convinced.

“And the judge himself was poking around there in the library last night,” Elsie continued. “So, now I
sure
won’t go in there again. They’re just going to have to hire somebody from town to clean it. This girl ain’t doing it.”

Savannah shut the refrigerator door. “Wait a minute. What do you mean, the
judge
was in there, poking around?”

“Well, I didn’t actually see his ghost, because I wouldn’t go in there, but it had to be a haunt because it wasn’t anybody human in there. I would have seen them go in or out.”

“Unless they came or went through the window,” Savannah suggested.

Elsie seemed to consider her theory for a moment, then discard it. “I don’t think so. Sounded more like a ghost to me.”

Savannah opened her mouth to ask the housekeeper to explain the difference, but Gran shot her a warning look.

Savannah chose her words carefully. “Do you think it would be okay if I were to poke my head in the library now? I mean, it’s broad daylight, and I think it would be all right, no matter what sort of activity there’s been in there. The judge knows I mean well.”

Elsie looked questioningly at Gran, who gave her a slight nod. “I think it’d be all right,” she said. “Savannah does this sort of thing for a living, remember. She’ll know how to go about it and not upset . . . anybody.”

“Okay,” Elsie said finally. “Go on, if you feel you have to. But tread lightly and respectfully. I can tell you, because I knew the judge well, and I know all about haunts: His honor is still mighty mad about what happened to him. And I don’t rightly blame him.”

 

S
avannah did tread lightly, not only out of respect for the recently departed judge, who—according to at least one expert—might now be a restless ghost. But also because she didn’t want to disturb any new evidence that might be lying about for the finding.

“Haunt, my butt,” she said, but only in the softest whisper as she walked down the hall. There was nothing to be gained by offending either Elsie or Gran, who both believed as firmly in wandering spirits as they did in the world of flesh, blood, and concrete.

Besides, for all she knew, they were right. And there was no point in stating her doubts so loudly that the judge himself could overhear . . . if he were still on the premises, as Elsie believed, rather than in the hereafter or in Herb Jameson’s funeral parlor along with his earthly remains.

Little had changed about the library from when she had been there before, Savannah decided, when she pushed the heavy door open and looked inside. Sheriff Mahoney, Tom, or some assistant had wiped away most of the fingerprint dust and swept up the glass from the shattered front of the display frame. But Elsie would still be appalled if she saw the disarray and the sooty residue that remained. It was just as well that she stayed out of here for a while, or the sheriff and Tom would surely get an earful about the mess they had left behind in her otherwise spotless house.

But the crime scene processing dust wasn’t the only residue. Elsie was right; there was still an uneasy presence in the room. And whether it was ghostly or strictly of this world, Savannah didn’t want to spend any more time in the room than necessary.

The midday sunlight streaming through the windows lit the mahogany paneling, the soft leathers, the gleaming brass and stained glass accessories. Any other time, she might have been tempted to pull a book from the shelves and snuggle into one of the giant chairs. Except for that creepy, shivery feeling that tickled at the nape of her neck . . . and the dark stain on the oriental carpet.

Other than being cleaner and better lit, the room appeared exactly the way it had before. But someone—and she wasn’t prepared to believe it was a ghostly someone—had been here. And she had a feeling that if she looked hard enough, she could find evidence of their visit.

With a practiced eye, she studied every inch of the floor, looking for a dirty footprint, an indentation in the carpet, any small object that might have been left behind, even a thread, a hair, a leaf or twig.

But she found nothing.

Likewise, the surfaces of the furniture were smooth and fingerprint free, having been freshly wiped by whoever had cleaned the room.

Nothing seemed to be out of place. The books, desk accessories, telephone, family pictures, and knickknacks appeared to be sitting where they were before.

Having pulled on some latex gloves from her handbag, Savannah walked over to the gun cabinet and checked it. Although it was unlocked, the judge’s classic firearms seemed to be safe and secure.

“Okay,” she said to the room’s unseen previous visitor . . . a blurry, faceless figure in her mind’s eye. “What did you do in here? You snuck in here to get something, or to see something, or to leave something behind. What was it, huh?”

It was on her third time around, checking every piece of furniture, every nook and cranny, that she saw them . . . several small scratches on the brass hardware that decorated the top drawer of the rolltop desk.

The lock had been forced.

Of course, the desk was probably a hundred or more years old, which meant the damage could have been done by someone wearing a hoop skirt and pantaloons, but it was worth a look.

She pulled a small, but powerful, penlight from her purse and pointed the beam on the scratches.

They were new. At least, fairly recent, because the marks glowed brightly in comparison to the somewhat tarnished metal surface.

Savannah felt her pulse quicken as she laid the penlight on the desktop and gently tried the drawer.

Oh, yes,
she thought, as it slid open with the precision of a well-made piece of furniture
. Open, Sesame. And what do we have here?

The drawer was fairly deep, the type used for storing files and papers, rather than pens and pencils, like the neighboring shallow one. And at first, all Savannah could see was green.

Forest-green file folders, suspended from a wire rack, contained all manner of paperwork relating to the judge’s life, professional and personal.

She sighed, knowing how the rest of her afternoon would be spent—perusing these files, one by one, looking for something. Of course, she had no idea what she was looking for . . . until she found it.

And even as she headed for the kitchen to ask Elsie if she could borrow some sort of cardboard box to hold the drawer’s contents, Savannah had a sneaking, sinking feeling that, even if she spent the next few hours learning far more than she ever wanted to know about the judge’s life, she was going to come away empty-handed.

Because instinct told her that Elsie’s “ghostly” visitor had come and gone . . . taking the good stuff with them and leaving her with such jewels of information as overdue utility bills, last year’s stock reports, and the judge’s prescription for Viagra.

 

 

“Well, that was a total waste of time,” Savannah said as she fell back onto the bed in Dirk’s motel room. “And boy, am I bushed.”

Her arms flung outward, she looked as though she had just taken a shot, dead center, from a Wild West gunslinger. And she felt like it, too.

“I
hate
going through paperwork,” she grumbled. “Have I mentioned that I’d rather get a pedicure from a guy with a weed whacker than search for clues in a stack of papers?”

“I believe you did mention that,” Dirk replied as he continued to return the green folders to the cardboard box. “A couple of hours ago.”

“Only then,” Tammy added as she scooped another pile off the dresser and handed it to him, “it was a manicure from a dude with hedge clippers.”

“And I’ve still got to go to that wedding rehearsal,” she groaned. “The fun just never ceases!”

“Is it a dress rehearsal?” Tammy asked eagerly. “Are you going to wear the upside-down tulip dress?”

Savannah opened her eyes and shot her a poisoned look. “Don’t you just wish.”

“Tulip dress? What’s that?” Dirk wanted to know.

“Forget about it.” Savannah slapped both hands over her eyes, trying to blot out the mental picture. “It doesn’t matter. I’m only going to wear that monstrosity once, for about seventeen minutes . . . or however long it takes Pastor Greene to hitch those two nitwits. And if either of you show your face at the church, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“What time’s the wedding?” Dirk asked Tammy.

“Four o’clock.”

“I’ll pick you up at three-thirty. Wear something pretty.”

“I will. I’ve got this slinky little blue slip dress that really shows off my—”

“Oh, will you two just stop?” Savannah sat up suddenly. “I mean it! Some things are off limits for teasing, and that damned dress is one of them!”

Completely ignoring her, Tammy and Dirk continued their conversation.

“I hear it’s peach,” Tammy said, carefully arranging another armload of files. “A really, really
bright
shade of peach. Practically glows in the dark. With poofy capped sleeves, and—”

“I’m gonna hurt you, I swear.”

“And this wide sash around the waist and—”

“If I have to get off this bed, as tired as I am . . .”

“And a great big ol’ bow across the butt, and—ow-w-w! Shit! Dirk! He-e-elp!”

 

 

“Will you, Marietta, take Lester to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Standing next to her sister, watching Marietta gaze up into her fiancé’s eyes, loved ones lined up across the front of the small country church, Pastor Greene, prayerbook in hand, leading them in this rehearsal of the sacred wedding vows . . . Savannah could almost feel her heartstrings twang a little.

Almost.

But not quite.

The whole scene would have been far more romantic if Savannah hadn’t seen the wild-eyed redhead slip into the church a second before with a shotgun in her hand.

“Gun!” Savannah shouted, momentarily forgetting that she was in the company of civilians, not law enforcement personnel. They simply turned and stared at her, as though she had committed some major social faux pas.

“Hit the deck! Get down on the floor and stay there!” she screamed at them as she turned and hurried down the center aisle of the church toward the armed female.

Nice time to be without my Beretta
, she thought, flashing back on the fateful moment when she had stashed it high on the top shelf of Gran’s bedroom closet.

Who needs a gun at church?
she had asked herself.

Now she had her answer: The maid of honor . . . if the present-and-hard-to-get-rid-of wife was attending the rehearsal.

She didn’t have to be told that the shotgun-totin’ mama was Lester’s wife, the one fighting the divorce that was supposed to have been final by now.

“Now, now, you don’t wanna go waving a gun around like that in the house of the Lord,” she told her in her most easygoing, down-homey voice. “It just ain’t right.”

The disgruntled redhead raised the weapon to her shoulder and aimed it directly at Savannah’s face. “You stay right there or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!” she yelled.

The practiced way she handled the gun and the wicked gleam in her eyes set off alarms for Savannah. Mrs. Lester meant business. So Savannah decided not to mention that using the “F” word in church wasn’t a good idea either.

She halted about ten feet from the woman and held her hands up in surrender. “Don’t shoot me,” she said. “I’m a nice person. And I’ve got a husband and four kids and a couple of cats who love me and who’ll starve to death if you kill me.”

Okay, so you aren’t supposed to lie in church either
, she thought,
but surely the Lord’ll understand, considering the circumstances.

“I know you’re mad and unhappy,” she continued, “and I don’t blame you, but bringing a shotgun in here is only going to make things worse.”

The redhead laughed. “It’s gonna make
y’all
feel worse. That’s for sure! But
I’m
gonna feel a whole lot better after I pump some shot into the bitch who broke up my family!” She stood on tiptoes and stared over Savannah’s shoulder. “Where are you, Marietta Reid? Come down here right now and take what’s comin’ to ya!”

Suddenly, Savannah realized she was no longer alone. She had reinforcements: Pastor Greene to her left and Gran to her right.

“Lucille Marie,” Gran snapped, “you put that thing down before you hurt somebody.”

“I
aim
to hurt somebody, but it ain’t you. So stand aside, Mrs. Reid.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere till you put that gun down,” Gran said, stepping closer to her.

Savannah’s heart caught in her throat when she saw Lucille turn the gun toward Gran.

A dozen takedown scenarios played through her head, but they were all too risky. Lucille was still a good ten feet away; the chance that she could reach her before she could pull off the shot . . .

“That’s quite enough!” roared a deep, authoritative male voice.

It took Savannah a couple of seconds to realize it was coming from Pastor Greene.

“I’ll not have this sort of carryin’ on in my church, young lady.” He simply stepped forward and snatched the gun out of her hand. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Lucy, bringing a gun into a house of worship! Why, you went to Sunday school right down there in the basement, and we taught you right from wrong. There’s just no excuse for this. None at all!”

With an even more practiced hand than Lucille had demonstrated, he cracked the breech of the gun and dispensed the shells in one fluid movement.

Savannah’s mouth dropped open. Apparently . . . and thankfully . . . there was more to the soft-spoken, silver-haired pastor than met the eye.

“You get yourself into my study,” he told Lucille, pointing to a door in the back of the church. “You and I are gonna have a long overdue talk about the state of your eternal soul . . . not to mention your messed-up marriage and your behavior here tonight.”

When Lucille didn’t move fast enough to suit him, he gave her a shove from behind. “Get in there now. I mean it!”

He turned back to Savannah and Gran . . . and the rest of the marriage party, who had risen from their prone positions on the carpet and crept to the rear of the church once the rampaging Lucille had been disarmed.

“I reckon ya’ll will just have to go on without me,” he said. “Or better yet, let’s call it a night. The rehearsal’s over.”

They watched, speechless, as he strode across the sanctuary, disappeared into his office, and slammed the door behind him.

“Well! If that isn’t a fine how-do-you-do!” Marietta propped her hands on her hips and turned on her sheepish fiancé, who looked as though he had lost several years off the end of his life in the past five minutes. “And, boy . . . you didn’t exactly hurl yourself between me and danger, now did you, Lester?”

Savannah reached for her sister. “Marietta, don’t. It’s not going to help anything by—”

“Oh, shut up, Savannah!” She shook her hand away. “I’ve got a fiancé and two mostly grown boys and do you think any of them would place themselves in harm’s way to protect me? Not one of them! They just laid there, facedown on the rug like a bunch of spineless wimps!”