The Cantaloupe Thief (31 page)

“Apparently, when Rita Jones was drunk, which was quite often, she mentioned to several people that she knew something about an elderly lady who was stabbed. She even said that the rich family might pay to keep it quiet.”

Ramsey, Heath and Amanda were staring at Branigan in open horror.

“Do the police know this?” Heath demanded.

“They do now. All the people Rita told — rather cryptically — over the years weren't the kind of people to go to the police. So this didn't surface until we had Liam Delaney at Jericho Road start asking questions among the homeless. In fact, I fear those questions may have gotten Rita and another homeless man killed.”

“Are you saying Mother's murderer did turn out to be a hobo?” Amanda asked, her face ashen.

“Or more likely, that a transient saw who did it,” Branigan replied. “Unfortunately, that could still be anyone.”

She gave the trio a few moments to regain their composure before continuing. “We double-checked the guest list that the police compiled. Rita Mae Jones was on it. Furthermore, Ben Jr,” she said, looking at Amanda, “told me he saw her at the party.”

Amanda looked at her with stricken eyes. For the first time, Branigan felt she had hit up against something unexpected. The strain in Amanda's voice was unmistakable.

“What did Ben say?”

“That Rita Mae had joined him at the pool house. And that they had... um... smoked crack together.”

Heath and Ramsey's eyes widened. Amanda bowed her head. “That doesn't surprise me. Ben Jr had quite a wild period, as we all know. I'm happy to say that's behind him.”

“He was quite helpful,” Branigan told her. “He was the one who told us about Rita Mae being at the party. What we now believe happened was that Rita Jones talked a great deal about something she saw — either that night or the next day. And that ultimately got her killed.”

She watched the three closely. Heath looked disgusted, Ramsey thoughtful. But Amanda appeared to be breathing so shallowly Branigan feared she might hyperventilate.

What are you hiding, lady?
she thought.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

JULY 5, TEN YEARS AGO

After dropping her nieces at the Peach Orchard Country Club, Amanda drove to the hotel near the interstate where her family was staying. She needed to think about what her mother had told her that morning — about Heath's youthful stealing and sexual assault, about his Prodigal-Son-like run through his portion of the inheritance, about her mother's upcoming visit to her lawyer to cut Heath from the will.

It was a lot to take in. Plus, she was hungry, having had her fruit-bowl breakfast interrupted. So instead of pulling into the hotel parking lot, she drove past it and entered a fast-food outlet. She parked her car in the only space she could find that provided shade from the Georgia sun.

Once inside, she rather mindlessly ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and a bottle of water. Her mind was whirling.
Heath. Boy, what have you gotten yourself into?

She'd always been closer to Ramsey, two years her senior. She'd looked rather benignly upon Heath, five years younger. Maybe that was the problem, she now contemplated. Maybe he had manipulated them all into being — what was her mother's word? — indulgent. But stealing? And sexual assault? She hadn't heard a whisper of that. Did Ramsey know? Like her, he had been out of Grambling during Heath's late teens. Had their father covered it up so thoroughly that even Ramsey didn't hear about it?

That part of the story shook her. But upon reflection, she was more intrigued by the money. How much had Heath gone through? What was her mother's estate worth? Amanda thought it was sizeable. She appreciated her mother's sense of fairness. But was Mother being completely honest, even now? Or had Heath gone through, perhaps, more than a third? Was he broke? And how would he react when he found out he was being disinherited?

Amanda stood and tossed half her sandwich into the trash, then drove to the hotel. Bennett, she knew, was playing golf with clients from the region. He had already told her to drive home to Atlanta in one car with the boys; he'd keep the other and catch up with them tonight.

She expected to find Ben Jr and Drew at the pool, and sure enough, she found Drew under an umbrella, reading.

“Where's your brother?” she asked.

“He dropped Dad at the golf course, then took the car,” he said. “He went to breakfast, I guess. When are we leaving?”

“A little later than I'd thought. I need to run one more errand for your grandmother. Do you want to wait for me at her house, or stay here? I can ask for an extension or even pay for another night if we need to.”

“I'll stay here.” He returned to his book. “Call me fifteen minutes before we need to leave.”

Amanda walked to the front desk and added another night for the boys' room to Bennett's credit card. It was easier than trying to pack their clothes and stow the luggage.

She wanted to talk to Ramsey, but he was accompanying Mother to Dr Arnott's office. That conversation would have to wait. Restless, Amanda walked to the shopping strip next door and got a pedicure she didn't need.

That took up the remaining time. Her nails were blood red — and dry — by 1:40. She walked back to the hotel, and breaking into a sweat, hopped into her blue Mercedes and drove to her mother's house.

 

Amanda turned off North Main Street, cutting her speed automatically, watching for children to dart into the street. It occurred to her that she'd been in Grambling longer than her usual twenty-four hours. Another couple of hours in the lawyer's office, and she'd be on the road to Atlanta. Thank goodness.

The duskiness of her mother's driveway was a welcome relief from the mid-day brightness. No other cars were there, so Ramsey must have already dropped her off after the doctor's appointment.

Amanda got out of the car, careful not to let her newly polished toes touch anything. There was nothing worse than smearing a fresh pedicure.

She saw the broken panes of the back door and stopped. Oh, no. Someone at last night's party had broken the door. It was always something. But wait. This was the door she exited two hours ago. It wasn't broken then.

The door was standing ajar too. She pushed it, and saw a sack of dirty clothes on the floor. But Tabitha had left when they did. She wouldn't leave laundry in the middle of the floor. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the gloom of her mother's kitchen.

The clothes moved.

Mother's dog, Dollie, whimpered and limped toward Amanda. And that's when her brain caught up with her eyes. Amanda fell to her knees, staring, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. She reached blindly for the dog. She wasn't tempted to go to her mother, wasn't tempted to hold the body that had once held hers. She felt only revulsion. And then fear. She looked around wildly. Heath! Was Heath still here?

She scrambled in her purse for her phone, and started to hit 9-1-1. Then her eyes fell on the open laundry room door. Something was lying on the floor, just beyond the doorjamb.
Something that shouldn't be there.

Amanda's brain needed no time to make this leap. She snapped her phone shut and began to wail.

 

It took her only moments to pull her wits about her. She breathed deeply, gave Dollie a final pat, and stood. She walked to the laundry room, careful to avoid the blood puddles, and picked up the NYU Law baseball cap. She tucked it beneath her arm, then tiptoed back to her car. It wouldn't matter if she'd left fingerprints on the dog's collar, on the door, on the counter, anywhere. She'd been in the house all day and all night.

She opened her car trunk and found an old beach towel. She wrapped the baseball cap in it, then stowed it carefully as far back in the trunk as she could reach. She'd deal with it later.

Glancing about the property, she slipped into the Mercedes, and backed slowly out of the driveway. She turned in the direction of the hotel, scanning the yards lining Conestee to see if anyone was watching. Thank heavens, no neighbors were outside.

Okay, who knew what? Only Drew knew she was doing an errand for her mother. She would make it an errand that didn't require going back to the house. She could say she picked up dry cleaning. No, that made no sense. The girls. Caroline and Ashley. Maybe she could buy something for them and say Mother had asked her to.

She turned onto South Main, headed to the interstate. A picture of a globe caught her eye — a globe as a head with a basket carried on top of it.
Ethnic Treasures,
read the sign below it.

Amanda wrenched her wheel to the right, and turned into the tiny parking lot beside the store. The glass door had bronze Indian bells that announced her entry. She glanced around at woven mats and rugs, pottery, paintings, baskets. Ordinarily, she'd love browsing in a place like this. But now, she turned abruptly to a side wall that featured jewelry, snatched two pairs of earrings and took them to the counter.

“I'd like to pay for these and have them gift-wrapped for pick-up later, please.”

“Certainly,” said a petite Asian woman, ringing up her purchase.

Amanda started to pay in cash, then switched to her credit card. She also asked for a piece of paper, and carefully wrote out
Caroline and Ashley Resnick,
then
Alberta Resnick.

“I'm not sure which of these three will pick up the earrings,” she said. “Alberta is the grandmother, and she asked me to buy them for her granddaughters.”

“How sweet,” murmured the woman.

Amanda carefully filed the credit card receipt in the section of her wallet that held cash. She concentrated on walking casually out of the store, though the screams in her head were telling her to run.

Drew probably wouldn't even remember she was going on an errand for her mother, but she was covered nonetheless. She glanced at her watch: 2:10.

What next? Mother's attorney would be wondering where they were. No, he was probably expecting only Mother. Mother was famously tight-lipped. She didn't know if Amanda would accompany her and wouldn't have presumed to tell the lawyer that she was.

Amanda gripped the steering wheel and forced herself to calm down.
I have to find Ben Jr and get Bennett's car to the golf course, then head back to Atlanta.
That was the important thing — getting Ben Jr far away from here and back to Atlanta.

Then they'd wait for the call. The inevitable call.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

PRESENT DAY

Branigan met up with Jody and Marjorie in the newsroom to compare notes.

“Jody, I always thought you were a little obsessed with Amanda Brissey,” she told him. “But you're right. Something is up with her.”

He looked surprised. “You think she killed her mother?”

“Hard to say. How closely did the police look at where Ben Sr, Ben Jr and Drew were on July 5?”

Jody leaned back in his office chair. Branigan knew he'd reviewed the files when they started reworking the story. She wanted to see if his take jibed with hers.

“Bennett Sr had a solid alibi from three other men on the golf course. Drew was in full view of waiters and hotel guests by the swimming pool until his mom and brother picked him up and left for Atlanta.

“Amanda and Ben Jr were a bit looser. They were alone, in separate cars. Apparently, the family had come up from Atlanta in two cars.

“Amanda dropped her nieces at the country club, had lunch, went by the hotel and paid for another day on one room, got a manicure or pedicure or whatever you call it, shopped at a store on Main Street, met the boys at the hotel, dropped Ben Sr's car in the golf course parking lot, and drove to Atlanta. They were literally pulling into their driveway when they got the call about her mother's murder.”

“And Ben Jr?”

“Dropped his dad at the golf course, had breakfast at an International House of Pancakes, went shopping at one of those stores that sell college gear, then back to the pool with Drew, dropped the car at the golf course for his dad, drove home with Mom and Drew.”

“Okay,” Branigan mused. “The police retraced their movements, driving and timing. But there's no way they could verify the exact amount of time they spent in each place.”

“If you're asking
could
one of them have squeezed in a trip to kill Mrs Resnick,” Jody said, “then yeah, probably.”

“Tell me about these shopping expeditions,” she said. “Why does someone from Atlanta come to Grambling and shop?”

“Well, police traced Amanda's purchase. She bought earrings for her nieces, Caroline and Ashley Resnick. Said they were from the grandmother and left them to be gift-wrapped. Police found all that exactly as she described.”

“And Ben Jr's college gear?”

“He didn't buy anything, but a female clerk at the store identified his picture. He's a pretty handsome guy, so she remembered him.”

Branigan went to her desk and looked up Ben Jr's cell phone number. He answered on the third ring.

“Mr Brissey, this is Branigan Powers again from
The Grambling Rambler.
I have one more question for you.”

“Shoot, Miss Powers.”

“The police files say you went to the University Shoppe on the Eastside on the morning of your grandmother's murder. Can you tell me why?”

“I was looking to replace my NYU Law School hat,” he said promptly. “I lost it at the party.”

“How did that happen?”

“Like I told you before, I was drinking pretty heavily. But I remember my Uncle Heath kind of kidding around and taking it. When I woke up at the hotel the next morning, I didn't have it. I figured it'd be easier to buy another one than track him down. But the Grambling store didn't have one. I got one a couple of weeks later in Atlanta.”

“I see. You know, Mr Brissey, what you told us about Rita Mae Jones turned out to be helpful. Is there anything else you can remember? Anything that struck you as odd, even if it didn't seem to relate to your grandmother's murder?”