Nuts and Buried (15 page)

Nobody realized who he was when he walked up the aisle, head down, fists clenched at his sides. When he got to the altar and started up the wide steps toward the lectern, Wanda noticed and frowned at him, but it was like stopping a charging bear. First he pulled at her arm, but she resisted. Then he tried to get his big arms around her. She ducked down between them, yelling at him to leave her alone.

I saw Jeannie get up. Justin tried to get out of the pew behind her, stepping on more than a few toes, I was willing to bet. Jeannie got to the lectern first, talking to Billy, ignoring their mother, who was struggling now in Billy's grip. He had his arms around Wanda's waist and lifted her into the air. Jeannie turned and grabbed at Justin's hands, then pulled him aside as Billy walked off the altar and up the aisle with Wanda struggling like a bug on its back, hands trying to reach back to scratch Billy's face. Feet kicking wildly.

He carried her straight out the door.

In a few minutes the pastor raised his hands for quiet and soon we were all singing a hymn of consolation as if nothing had happened. The only thing good about Wanda's show was that I didn't get to say a word about Eugene. And then I was sorry about that.

One thing I learned right there in the church that day was how cool and kind Riverville people were. Outside, when the service was over, nobody stood around gossiping. Instead, they formed a wide circle around Jeannie, like they were protecting her. She was too busy to notice when Elizabeth and Peter exited, hurrying off to the black limo waiting at the front of the parking lot.

I heard Mrs. Vernon Williams, the Culinary Arts Supervisor at the county fair, asking if there was going to be a funeral dinner and somebody telling her no and her clucking that it was too bad, she'd heard the church ladies were great cooks.

There was no reason for me to wait for Jeannie. She had plenty of people around her to see she got back to the Chaunceys' safely. I'd come in Mama's car so I wasn't going anyplace until Mama and Meemaw came out of the church. All I could do was stand and watch. Mostly I kept an eye on the black limo idling at the curb, making no attempt to
pull away. It seemed like an anticlimax, all of us walking out into the evening sunshine, long shadows falling over faces, and nothing to look forward to. Not even supper.

Hunter came out with the blonde. He was looking over to where I waited for the others and nodded. I turned my back. The parking lot emptied slowly. The black limo seemed to be waiting for everybody else to leave. Maybe protocol, for all I knew.

I was tempted to go in and hurry Mama and Miss Amelia along. They both could get to talking to the parson and his wife and forget I was waiting outside with no other way to get home. So I was just about getting mad when they came out and we were in the car—last in the lot, almost, and I was having a few words about leaving me standing alone outside.

Mama moved the car toward the narrow gates, letting me stew alone in the backseat.

The black limo with Elizabeth and Peter Franklin pulled out ahead of us and turned toward town. Mama pulled out right behind them then had to stop as they stopped dead. Maybe they were deciding where to go, or if Peter should be dropped off at the hotel in town, or whatever people have to decide after saying a final good-bye to somebody they loved.

One side of the road leading to the church was all trees—a thick woodland some people in town wanted to clear for new houses and others wanted left alone, maybe for a Texas botanical garden. I'd been out to look it over when Mrs. Beasley, from the local conservation group, invited me and I agreed with them: Let's save what we've got left.

I was looking at the pretty woods when I noticed a man standing between two of the trees. It was the dark man, Curly, from the party. He just stood there, like some kind of death's head, staring at the limo in front of us and then at our car.

“Meemaw.” I tapped her on the shoulder. “That's him.”

“That's who?”

“That waiter from the wedding party.”

She leaned back and took a good look. “That him? I don't remember seeing—”

“Take my word for it. That's Curly. What the heck's he doing out here? Why's he hanging around?”

“Call Hunter, quick,” she ordered. “I know he wants to talk to the man.”

Which I did. But Hunter didn't answer and I was mad all over again and stammered into his voice mail that the man was right there at the memorial service and maybe he should get his mind back on solving this murder. I hung up, mad and wondering if we were ever going to get Eugene's death settled with our sheriff's deputies so busy with other things.

Elizabeth's limo started up right then and sped away. The dark man dissolved into the dark of the woods, and Mama took off, talking to herself about needing to get back to the farm and having had just about enough of the whole Wheatley family.

Since Mama had to drop me off at the Nut House, she drove straight up Carya Street, where there was more traffic that made her mad. I just held myself together, having had about enough of everybody for one day. I planned a couple of hours on my computer, maybe going over the files I'd been able to get set up and coming up with a few ideas for that article I was going to write for the journal. A little peace and quiet would do me well. Meemaw could deal with Hunter. Justin could see to Jeannie. I was going to take care of myself and mind my own business from there on in.

That's what I was thinking when Mama stopped at a traffic light and I looked over at The Squirrel and the people sitting in the front windows and saw Hunter sitting in a booth with “the blonde.”

I didn't think what I was doing when I got out of the car and started back toward The Squirrel. In front of the big
squirrel painted on the front window, I stopped, thinking I was going to compose myself, which proved not to be the case when I pulled the door open, brushed off Cecil's “Good evening,” and walked directly to where Hunter and “the blonde” sat. I plunked down in their booth without a “by-your-leave.” I smiled big at both of the startled people. Hunter fumbled around and then finally introduced me to Diana Richards, from Dallas, there for her brother-in-law's memorial.

I forgot what I was ready to launch into, stopped before my mouth got open.

“Brother-in-law?” I looked into the big blue eyes and stopped. “You're not related to Jeannie, are you?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath. “I'm Sally's sister. Sally was Eugene's first wife.”

“Sally?” I acted as if I didn't know the name. “Sally? You mean Sally Wheatley?”

She nodded. “And you're Lindy Blanchard. Sally talked about you. Said you were the most fun in Riverville and that you were trying to do something for the pecan farmers. She was really impressed, from what she said.”

My mouth must have been hanging open. Hunter reached over and closed it for me.

“I don't understand,” I said and was sure I looked my confusion.

Meemaw came huffing in, saying she'd sent Mama on home and she hoped I had a bed upstairs in the apartment she could use for the night, since we were both stuck in town now. She pushed me to move over in the seat and sat down. I was thinking—while lost in a lot of confusion—that's where I get my pushiness from: Meemaw. She sure could fool people, with all her lady airs.

“You know who this is?” I turned to ask her.

She nodded. “We met once.” She smiled over at Diana Richards then back at me. “Couldn't say anything about who she was. Hunter asked me not to.”

Meemaw looked across the table at Hunter just as Cecil strolled up with four menus in his white little hands.

Hunter looked at the man and said something just came up and we were leaving, which was news to me. Cecil sniffed mightily and turned to me.

“I hope you're not making my restaurant into nothing more than a meeting place, Lindy. This is the second time—”

We were up and out of there and all piled into Hunter's scout car, heading for the Nut House and my apartment.

“Where we can talk,” Hunter said as he pulled out into traffic. “Without you blowing a gasket.”

“You see, Lindy,” Diana Richards began once I'd handed around glasses of sweet tea and a plate of Meemaw's Double Action Chocolate Chip and Pecan Cookies. “I never accepted Sally's death as an accident. Or maybe I should say, I thought somebody was trying to cover up something. I talked to Elizabeth about it, but she was too sad at that time to even think of such a thing—that's what she said. I hired a private detective. What he came up with was that they didn't know whose gun fired the bullet that hit Sally. It seems the game ranch, where they were shooting, only had one guide up in the hills with the whole group. They were shooting sika deer, and wandering around like they probably shouldn't have been. Everybody said the same thing, that the shot came out of nowhere, up in the hills. Nobody would say they were shooting at that time. I guess, because they couldn't think of anything else, the local police decided it had to be an accident. I'm still not so sure. And now, look what happened to Eugene.”

I didn't know what to say, or think, and I was still mad at Hunter for not trusting me with this information and not ready to let it go.

“Why didn't you tell me who she was?” I turned on Hunter, a hint of suspicion still niggling at me—after all, Diana Richards sure was pretty.

“Couldn't. Until this morning she didn't want anybody to know she was in town.”

“Sorry if I caused any trouble,” Diana said, leaning back in her chair, drink in one hand, cookie in another. “I don't know what really happened to Sally, and to tell the truth, I was a little worried about even coming to the memorial today. If somebody saw me before . . . I mean, I'll bet anything Elizabeth isn't too happy with me. She knows I've still got questions about Sally's death and she sure doesn't want me here asking anything about Eugene's.”

“I don't see why not,” I said. “She wants this thing solved as bad as the rest of us.”

“Elizabeth's kind of an odd . . . person,” Diana went on. “But you know her. Wants everything neat and not messy, like what poor Eugene's memorial turned into. I'm just another mess to her right now.”

“Too bad,” Meemaw snorted.

“So.” I was more interested in why she questioned Sally's death than in gossip about Elizabeth. “The police up there, in Ralston, near that game ranch, never got any real answer to who shot Sally. I didn't know any of that. Sally was a friend of mine. I just, well . . .”

Hunter lifted an eyebrow at me.

I turned back to Diana. “Who was there that day, shooting?”

“There were six or eight people in the group, is what I was told. Eugene and Sally. Elizabeth was there, too. She's an avid hunter. The rest were friends of both Eugene and Elizabeth.”

“Do you have a list of names?”

She shook her head. “The game ranch wouldn't give it to the detective I hired. I guess we could ask Elizabeth. She's the only one who was there we can put a name to, and is still alive.”

“I've been working on it, Lindy,” Hunter said. “Miss Amelia's been checking, too. Even got a few names from Elizabeth.”

I looked over at my meemaw. “How'd you do that?”

“Offered to send out notices of the memorial service to her friends in Dallas. Asked about Sally's friends. Brought up the hunting accident and came right out and asked her who was out there with them. She named two couples and said to be sure and invite them to the memorial. Said she figured anybody on that hunting trip would want to come see Eugene off.” She hesitated. “Don't know if any of them were there tonight. In all that uproar, I didn't get a chance to check the memorial book.”

“Couldn't you just go ask her, Hunter?” I asked.

“She's not a whole lot of help. Seems this battle over the money's made her skittish, like she doesn't want to give out anything to anybody. Had trouble just getting basic facts about people at the party out of her.”

“Anybody named Curly on the hunt?”

Hunter shook his head. “If he was, then Elizabeth's been lying to me, that she didn't know him. Still, I've been looking into the man.”

“You know he's been hanging around town?”

“Yeah, you told me.”

“We saw him right after the memorial. He was standing across from the church, in the woods. I think Elizabeth saw him, too. Anyway, her limo stopped and then sped off.”

“And he was near you yesterday.” Meemaw thought a long time then looked over at Hunter.

“What I think your grandmother is getting at, Lindy, is maybe the man's after you now. I don't know why or what's
going on in the man's head, but you see him yesterday and then today, outside the church. One thing I think we'd better do is make sure you've got somebody with you at all times until this is cleared up.”

“Why me? I don't know him. Never saw him before in my life. I think you're both jumping at spooks. Coincidence. Maybe he was a friend of Eugene's and didn't want to come to the memorial for whatever reason.”

“A friend?” Meemaw's eyebrows shot up. “He was a waiter at the party, Lindy. Not a friend.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Be careful. Don't go anywhere alone for a while,” Hunter said. “And I was thinking of something else. What do you say to coming into the sheriff's office tomorrow morning. I'll get an artist in there. Maybe you can come up with a sketch that looks like him. I'll get a BOLO out to departments across Texas. Don't want to scare the guy. I just need to talk to him.”

I agreed and mentioned Chantal. She'd seen him and could probably identify him better than I could. Hunter agreed to call her and get her into the department in the morning, along with me, to put together a composite picture of “Curly.”

Hunter was going to drop Diana off at her hotel and then offered to take Meemaw back out to the ranch so she could sleep in her own bed. I was grateful all the way around, and especially grateful to Diana, now that I knew who she really was, and was happy to meet Sally's sister, and just plain glad to have my life settle back into what it used to be, with Hunter in it again. Well, almost. We still didn't get a chance to talk about how close we almost came to being enemies. And if we were going to get past all of that. And if we had a future. Three questions that kept me awake that night. I hoped they were keeping Hunter awake, too. In his own house. In his own bed—by himself. No, I forgot about his awful dog.