Cemetery Silk (10 page)

Chapter Ten

It was Cassie who managed to revive our spirits on the drive home by convincing Mother and me to spend some time meandering through the resort park around the lake for the rest of the afternoon. My weariness disappeared as we drove slowly along the narrow winding roads through the wilderness. The deep green woods and thickets were wild and overgrown with heavy underbrush and wild berries, and it was easy to envision an Indian carrying a bow and arrows behind each tree. I marveled as I realized the dangers the early pioneers had faced when they passed through here with all their worldly goods.

We stopped twice to investigate a couple of promising antique stores, then parked by the lake to watch the late afternoon sun set over the water. The sky was beautiful—all orange and reds tinged with blue-purple—the least used crayon in the sixty-four color box. A thin sliver of moon hung just above the horizon.

I loved this time of year in the country. It always brought to mind the smell of burning leaves and supper cooking in a warm and cozy kitchen. On October evenings like this my father used to hide in the hayloft of the barn and wait for Velvet and me to find him. He would then pounce out from behind a bale of hay in the musty darkness and make wonderfully terrifying wolf-like noises that would scare us half to death.

We loved the game even though I always ended up wetting my underwear. Once Velvet, who was four at the time, leapt out of the open window to escape from “the big bad wolf” and fell fifteen feet into the wet mud and manure below. She reeked of cow dung for a week, but it probably saved her life.

I always missed Dad more at this time of the year, and suddenly I dreaded going back home and not finding him there. I couldn't stand the thought that he would not be sitting, pipe in hand, by a roaring fire reading one of his favorite books.

“Hey, what say we make a detour to Sallie's in Big River and detox from all that junk food on one of her fantastic salads?”

“Oh, Paisley, I don't know. Shouldn't we get on home before dark?”

“Great idea, Mom!” Of course, Cassie could have added “since Gran doesn't like it,” but she didn't, thank goodness.

“Oh come on, Mother. I'm sure you're too tired to cook, and I know I don't feel like it. Besides, I really do have a craving for a salad, and we don't have any fresh lettuce at home.”

“Oh, very well. But my treat. And maybe, if we are very good and eat all our veggies, we can share a piece of mile-high meringue pie.”

“Way to go, Gran!”

My flagging spirits lifted, and my thoughts returned to the problem at hand.

“Hey, Mother, you still haven't finished your report, you know. Who was your second call to?”

“Mr. Parks, Joseph Parks III, an old friend of William's. He is still quite spry and capable of getting out and about. He was the one who drove William to the hospital the last two times he was ill.”

“Okay, Gran, for the sake of our chronology, when was William's first trip to the hospital?”

“It was about three weeks after Abigail died. William had some chest pain and shortness of breath. He got scared. I don't know why he called Joe Parks instead of 911.”

“I do.” At least, I was almost certain I knew. “He didn't want anyone to know his business. Half of the population of Lanierville and all the other little towns around here, including Rowan Springs, have those police scanners. Folks sit around with their televisions on mute and listen to the Police and Fire Department radios. They're like vultures sitting at the side of the road waiting for an accident. Forget ‘ten-four.' They know all the codes, from rape to breaking and entering.”

“I guess you're right, Paisley,” sighed Mother. “He didn't even want me to know. Mr. Parks said William was very insistent that he not notify anyone.”

“What about his chest pain? Was he having a heart attack?” asked Cass.

“No, it was a false alarm. Apparently, he just panicked. He was alone and afraid. It probably hadn't hit him until then that he would be alone the rest of his life.”

“And how about his second trip to the hospital, Gran?”

“That was more serious.”

“Well, I guess, since he died.”

“You must be hungry, Paisley. You're testy.” She ignored me and continued, “Joe said William didn't seem any sicker that second time than he did the first. William even made him stop to get some aspirin at the drug store. He said the nurses at the hospital wouldn't let him have aspirin every time he asked.”

“And they admitted him to the hospital?” I was hungry but I was trying not to be testy.

“Yes. Apparently they couldn't locate his doctor, so to be on the safe side, they put him in a room on the third floor. Joe said William was happy because Sue Dibber was on that floor. He felt more comfortable with somebody he knew and said she would give him aspirin.”

“How long did he stay there before he died?” I asked.

“Three days.”

“Wow, that was quick! Did he stroke out?”

“Really, Cassandra, if you must emulate the speech pattern of anyone, let it be me and not your mother.”

“Who's testy now?” I sang as we pulled into the parking lot at Sallie's.

It was a little early for the “cocktails at seven, dinner at eight” crowd so we got a lovely table next to the big front window. The waitresses, excuse me, the servers, wore silly Old South-style long dresses, but they were efficient and pleasant and took our order quickly. We had our salads with Sallie's marvelous, low-fat dressing in less time than you could skin a possum.

Chewing, I insist, has a wonderful effect on the brain. I believe the increased blood supply from the masticating muscles in the jaw causes all the little “grey cells,” as H. Poirot used to call them, to turn on and synapse all over the place. So, as I sat and munched away on fresh carrots, radishes, red leaf lettuce, and homemade garlic croutons, I came to a conclusion. I had pretty much all the information I needed to start writing our book. Since I had a captive audience as long as their food lasted, I decided to run my ideas by them.

“What do you all think about this as a premise for our novel? The Dibbers spend years sucking up.…”

“Paisley, please!” hissed Mother.

“…kissing up to William and Abigail. Since Ernest prepared the Roths' taxes every year, he is well aware of William's sizeable estate, and he and Sue have been trying to figure out a way to get their hands on some of that money. But then, a sexy young waitress with legs up to her armpits comes to town. Dibber becomes smitten by our little pet trollop and wants to run away with her. His desire for money becomes even more pressing, but the only real money he knows about is William's. He also knows that if Abigail outlives William, she will inherit it all, and in turn leave everything to her first cousin, the redoubtable Anna Howard Sterling. In order to prevent such a disaster, he murders Abigail.”

I grabbed a piece of garlic toast and started munching. I needed some more grey cell stimulation.

“After he does away with Abigail, Dibber goes to work on William. Ernest convinces William that he is his one and only best friend and that no one else cares if William lives or dies. Then he just sits back and waits until the inevitable moment when William will suffer another attack. Dibber is lucky. He doesn't have to wait long. And luckier still, when William goes to the hospital he is put on Mrs. Dibber's floor. Ernest talks his wife into giving William extra medication. When William is sedated and mellow enough, Dibber gets William to give him power-of-attorney. Then he goes to the bank and opens the safety deposit box. Luck is with Dibber again. William's original will is inside. Dibber trashes the old will and gets William to write another with him as the beneficiary. This is no problem because once more he has the help of his wife and her handy, dandy, medicine cabinet. William suddenly takes a turn for the worse. Because she is deeply religious, Sue Dibber has an attack of conscience and brings in the priest to save William's immortal soul. William dies alone and unloved, but Catholic, and Dibber inherits three million dollars. The end.”

“My, my, Paisley, that's very interesting,” observed Mother as she delicately dissected a cucumber slice from its seeds and avoided looking at me.

“Yeh, Mom, that's terrific. Anybody else ready for lemon meringue pie now?”

“What's the matter, Cassie? You don't sound very convinced?”

“Well, I hate to say it but you don't have anything exciting like fights or car chases. There's not a single drunken brawl anywhere. Blood, gore, and sex—those are the things that sell murder stories. Don't forget, you said ‘bye-bye' to ‘nicey, nicey' when you parted company with Bartholomew.”

“I can add those elements. And I do have a harlot; isn't that enough?”

I had raised my voice more than a trifle. A dignified-looking gentleman at the next table did everything he could with his facial expressions to show his distaste of me, my conversation, and my cat if I had one. I almost laughed. He looked like he had a tic.

“No, Paisley, I think Cassie is right. You have to spice it up some if you want a best seller.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to chew on that some more.”

I winked boldly at my gentleman friend. He almost choked on a biscuit.

The short drive from Big River to the farm is a very pretty one. The road goes through a forest cut off from the mainland when the two big lakes were formed by the TVA dams. It is a protected animal reserve and in the daytime you can see almost every wild bird and animal native to the area.

At night all there is to admire is a beautiful night sky untainted by city lights. When we saw two brilliant shooting stars, Cassie made wildly insane wishes for all of us. We drove up in the long circular drive of home in a jolly mood.

I always drive around the complete circle when we come in at night. It's partly for the sake of security and partly because of what we sometimes see. Rabbits or raccoons, or even deer, occasionally come up to feed on the fruit in the orchard. This time as I finished the circle and came back up to the house, big, very bright, headlights, suddenly turned on in front of us to blind me.

Cassie screamed loudly, “Mom, back up, back up!” as she saw two men get out of their car and come toward us. I put Watson in reverse and looked in the rear view mirror. Another car had pulled up to my rear bumper. Unless four-wheel drive could move us sideways, we had nowhere to go.

“Damn!” whispered Cassie in my ear as she grabbed on to my shoulders from behind, “we're trapped.”

Mother had not uttered a word during all of this. I turned to look and saw her calm steady profile. She was a one hundred percent reincarnation of her ancestor, the elegant, imperturbable Lady Howard, wife of the Duke of Norfolk and confidante of Elizabeth I.

“Paisley! Close your mouth and quit staring at me. Have you had a seizure?” She tried to open the door. “Please unlock this door!”

“Are you crazy, Gran?”

“No, I am not crazy. This is my home, and I am not going to let anyone terrorize me on my own property.”

The two men closed in on each side of the car. One tapped on my window with a heavy flashlight.

“Miz Sterling, will you step out of the car, please. We have some questions we'd like to ask.”

He had raised his voice so that I could hear him through the closed window but my heart was pounding so hard I could barely understand what he was saying. I held a hand up to block off some of the blinding light from the headlights and saw the badge shining on his chest.

“Paisley! Will you please let me out of the car!” insisted Mother.

I unlocked the doors and Mother popped out like a jack-in-the-box. I followed slowly and motioned for Cassie to stay in the back.

Mother had already established who was in charge.

“Will one of you gentlemen please turn off those lights?”

“Oh yes, Ma'am. Sorry, Ma'am,” responded the younger of the men in uniform as he hurried back to his car to do her bidding.

I heard the door of the car behind Watson open. A familiar face emerged in the light of the mercury lamp over the garage. Mother saw him, too.

“Andy Joiner,” she asked our local Chief of Police, “what in the wide world is going on here? Who are these louts invading my property?”

The tall man with the badge by my side of the car squared his heavy shoulders. He obviously was not used to being called a “lout.” He started to bark out an answer, but Andy cut him off.

“Miz Sterling, I'm sorry ‘bout all of this. These men are officers from Carlsberg County. This here is Bert Atkins, and that young man over there is his deputy.”

The young man in question touched the brim of his hat, “Deputy Hall, Danny Hall. Sorry about the lights, Ma'am.”

Atkins was clearly annoyed that everyone had the floor but him.

He cleared his throat loudly, “I need to ask you ladies some questions.”

“Well, I don't intend to be interrogated out here in the driveway. It's cold and I have had a long day.”

Mother did not wait for an affirmation but turned and headed up to the house. “Come, Paisley,” she ordered, “and tell Cassandra it's all right to get out now.”

We all followed Her Majesty into the kitchen single file like good little serfs. We meekly obeyed her instructions to be seated around the big kitchen table or make coffee depending on who we were.

In my mother's kitchen the men seemed to shrink in size and importance which, I'm sure, is what she had in mind. She was, therefore, able to become quite sweet and hospitable as she poured coffee.

“Sugar and cream?” she smiled as she handed each of the men a dainty porcelain cup and saucer and one of her best silver teaspoons.

Cassie had found some coffeecake in the refrigerator. The sweet smell of cinnamon filled the kitchen as she warmed it in the microwave.