Nuts and Buried (7 page)

Melody finally reached over and touched Jeannie's arm. “It's okay, ya know. You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to.”

Eyes red, Jeannie looked at Melody and then around at the rest of us. “Billy just got out of prison. He was in a fight. The man died. Elizabeth knew about it, and right in front of that deputy and me, she said she thinks Billy killed Eugene 'cause he thinks I'll get all the money. She told me right then I'm not getting anything and right after the memorial I'd better get out.”

Melody sat back with a thump of her hands on the table. Miranda's exasperation matched her sister's.

“Then don't go back there.” Miranda stood and started clearing the table. “You need to be someplace where none of them can get at you. I'd say that's right here with us. Got a nice spare room I can clean out in an hour or so. Lindy, you take her back there, to the Wheatleys' an' get all her clothes. She'll be safe enough with us. Seems we got ourselves a killer in Riverville. Had 'em before. I took out one myself once, with my twenty-two. Sheriff said I must've been shooting at a snake, but I knew darned well what I was doing. Sheriff didn't want me going to jail over a skunk like that one, so he comes out here and tells me to just forget about it. I did. Not even a guilty conscience. That was the biggest snake I ever plugged. And the worst of all of 'em.”

“No—” Jeannie put her hand up. “I've got to get myself out of this.”

Miranda shook her head. “You get yourself out of the next mess you get into. I can smell this one's going to be bad. You got people coming at you from all sides and no middle place to rest. You're staying here.”

Miranda turned to me. “Don't you think that's best, Lindy?”

I nodded. I did think that was for the best. I could see why Eugene fell in love with Jeannie. Not just the fun and sweetness, but a real need for somebody to love her and care for her.

I took Jeannie home to get her clothes, then back to the Chaunceys'. Elizabeth was still at the funeral parlor, the housekeeper said.

I got back to Rancho en el Colorado too late to get out to the greenhouse, and when I told Meemaw where I'd taken Jeannie, she wasn't happy.

“This is a murder, Lindy. We don't know who did it and we don't know who else they're after. Hunter's not going to
like you getting in the middle of things. And the Chaunceys are sometimes too helpful for their own good. They could be in for trouble they can't handle.”

“Just don't tell anybody where she is, okay? I've got the feeling it's going to be one awful thing after another with those families. And I mean the Wheatleys, and Jeannie's family.”

“Hunter's got to know where she is.”

All I wanted to do was get back to my apartment and sleep. I called Hunter on my way into town. He was curt. Not happy with me hiding Jeannie away like I did, he said. But then Hunter wasn't happy with much of anything I did lately.

I figured it was time to go home, lock myself up in my apartment, and let the Garrison Brothers put me to sleep. Which I did, forgetting all about the dinner I was supposed to have with Peter Franklin.

When I woke the next morning, I wondered, for just a minute, if there was something wrong with me after all, as Meemaw was implying. I had Hunter, and now Meemaw, mad at me. Ethelred probably hated me, along with Elizabeth Wheatley, and I wasn't even that pleased with myself.

I got out of bed, checked my phone, and saw I'd ignored three phone calls from Peter Franklin.

It was only eight o'clock. Too early to call him back. And now I was the one at fault here, too. He'd probably planned our dinner last night and I'd stood him up. I figured I'd call in an hour or so and we could make plans. Someplace nice. Someplace out of town where nobody would see me and pass the news to Hunter.

I opened the small living room windows and let warm morning air rush in to clear out all that air-conditioning. It would be hot later, but for now the air still felt heavy with rain that hadn't reached Riverville though it had been announcing itself for a couple of days. We needed the rain,
as usual, what with the trees blossoming and the pecans setting. Justin was digging the irrigation ditches deeper and keeping the pumps going, but nothing took the place of a good hard soaker.

I brushed my teeth and made myself a pot of tea. I was thinking about breakfast but came up with a great idea. My friend and town librarian, Jessie Sanchez—the daughter of our ranch foreman, Martin—wouldn't be at the library yet. Wasn't due there until ten. I called her to see if she wanted to meet me for breakfast at The Squirrel, coming right out and telling Jessie I needed a friend right then.

“Sure, Lindy. Know the feeling myself. Meet you in . . . how about twenty minutes?”

Since the Sanchezes lived at the ranch and their house was a ways down the road from ours, I figured twenty minutes was cutting it close for her, but I said I'd be there.

“You think Cecil's got those awful kippers and knockers this morning?” She was laughing.

“I don't think it's called knockers.”

“Well, whatever he calls that stuff he throws together. Awful.”

“Don't order it.”

“He makes me feel like a hick when I don't know what the heck he's talking about.”

“That's your problem. I'm getting good old American fried eggs and bacon.”

So we were on and I'd proven to myself I still had at least one friend in the world.

Next I called the Chaunceys to hear that Jeannie slept well and was having breakfast and then was riding out with Miranda to shoot rattlers, which made me wonder if I'd put Jeannie in the right place after all. Then I figured if Miranda wasn't worried about going shooting with Jeannie, everything would be fine, and Meemaw was wrong about her being a suspect.

I got to The Squirrel first. And, just my luck, Hunter was there with a couple of other deputies. I waved and smiled. He waved back halfheartedly.

“Still got that awful dog?” I called over, but he didn't hear. Or he didn't want to hear. No answer. He went on eating and never come over when I sat down in a booth by myself and picked up the scuzzy plastic-covered menu with a hand-typed card clipped in one corner. I kept the menu in front of my face though I could barely see the words.

Jerk
,
I thought. See if I care. Who needs you?

The man didn't have the courage to talk to me. Coward. First cousin to Moses Rose
,
the guy who fled the Alamo. That's who he was, I decided.

I smiled really big at Cecil Darling when he meandered over to see what I wanted to eat. Not that I usually smiled big at Cecil Darling, a misplaced Englishman come to Riverville, he said often enough, to bring couth to the savage. Cecil was a small man with pale eyebrows that could jump up near his meandering hairline when he found somebody to be beyond his understanding—which he seemed to do with most of us Texans.

“Lindy Blanchard, of all people. I thought you'd be out there showing up the police, taking on a killer, at least getting your nose in the middle of things the sheriff's got to warn you away from.”

Word sure traveled fast in Riverville. I could only imagine the gossip going on at the Nut House. Since I'd skipped out the back door that morning without stopping to talk to anybody—not even Meemaw—I'd missed it all. I was willing to bet there were a lot of disappointed people still waiting to corner me with questions.

“Good to see you, too, Cecil.”

He sniffed and turned toward Hunter's table to see if they were watching. They weren't.

I told him I was waiting for Jessie and would have a cup
of tea before I could settle my stomach down enough to look at his menu.

“Bag or loose?”

“This about you?” I asked and smiled big.

“Your tea, Philistine. Do you want a bag floating in a paper cup of hot water or do you want it the English way?”

“Bag. Sounds more sanitary.”

Jessie blew in before I got the tea. And I mean “blew in” because she's a beautiful woman with dark, long curly hair, and a flair for color. Like today, with her wide skirt in reds and golds, her blouse in red cotton. She had a swish to her I could only envy.

When she leaned over to kiss me on both cheeks, I smelled sweet soap and something like rosemary.

After settling across from me, Jessie gave a flick of her hand, pushing her hair back behind her shoulder. “So you need a friend. Guess that's me? Am I the last you've got?”

“Is everybody talking about me? I had to get Jeannie out of that house. Elizabeth's decided she had something to do with Eugene's death and is on a tear. Would be hell if she stayed there.”

“Guess the sheriff and Hunter are trying to get a handle on things, too. Jeannie's gone and Elizabeth's not cooperating. That's all I heard so far this morning.”

“Truthfully, I felt it was the best thing I could do, get her out of there. You know, Jessie, there's a murderer here in town and I don't think it's Jeannie.”

“Heard it was murder. Everybody's speculating who could have done it. They're making guesses. Ethelred Tomroy's telling people that she and Freda, since they know people so much better than other people do, are taking it on themselves to solve the whole thing and bring the killer to justice.”

I moaned. “No wonder Meemaw's so cranky with me. Now Ethelred's taking the competition from who bakes the
best pecan pie to who can catch a murderer first! Whoa. Hunter better put those two in their place.”

“Seems he's sitting right there.” She gestured toward Hunter and the other blue backs, all bent over plates of eggs and bacon. “Go talk to him.”

“Let him come over here. He practically ignored me when I came in.”

She was winding up to say more, but Cecil was back, pad in hand. He wrote down our regular orders then smirked at me.

“I've got black pudding to go with the eggs. Just made it. I know you'll love it, since you seem to be a little bit above an uneducated dolt.”

“Black pudding! What is it?” I was always wary of Cecil, and used to his insults.

“Actually it's a very fine sausage. Very popular in London, where I come from, you know. I imagine you've heard of London. I make the pudding myself. A true treat for people with such . . . eh . . . limited tastes.”

I ordered the pudding against my better judgment then got down to why I'd wanted to meet Jessie.

“Have you heard anything about Jeannie's mother? She's here in town and Jeannie wants nothing to do with her. I figured that the library is a center where people meet and talk, like they do at the Nut House. Ethelred was saying she's been hanging out at the Barking Coyote since she got here, maybe a week or so ago.”

She shook her head. “I don't know who you're talking about. I heard something last night. I think it was Sandy Thompson came in to get a book on French cooking.” She leaned in close. “Guess Cecil insulted her yesterday because she's French—well, back a couple of hundred years ago her people came from France. She's going to show him up, she says. Getting ready for the county fair. He won some prize last year and she doesn't want it to happen again.”

Jessie sipped at the coffee Cecil set in front of her.

“Anyway, she said Elizabeth Wheatley was at the beauty salon this morning hinting that Jeannie had something to do with Eugene's death. Awful, for all the women there. Some of them met Jeannie and liked her. You know how it is—somebody you meet personally can't go around killing people.”

I got my breakfast: one egg over easy, wheat toast, and a circle of something black I figured had to be his black pudding. It didn't look too bad. Kind of like a patty of overdone sausage.

“What's in it?” I looked up at Cecil. He smiled, putting me on guard immediately.

“Don't be a child. Taste it. Wonderful.” He leaned back on his heels and smirked.

I put a fork into the dry sausage, cut a piece, and put it in my mouth.

I didn't spit it out—that would be uncouth. I chewed it, swallowed it, and congratulated myself on getting it down.

“Hmmm,” was all I said. “So what's in it?”

I got the smirk again. “Oh, nothing untoward. Pig's blood, pork fat . . . Hmmm, let me see . . . oats and barley. Things like that. I mix it all together and stuff it right back into the pig's intestines. Absolutely pure and tasty.”

I felt my throat close and my stomach jump, but I got ahold of myself and didn't let him know he'd gotten to me. When we were through eating, I wrapped the rest of that awful black thing in my paper napkin and put it in my purse so he'd think I ate all of it. Next time I'll bring him something to taste, I vowed. Though I didn't know what it would be yet, I figured Meemaw would come up with something. Maybe
huevos de toro
. Yeah, I told myself and could hardly wait.

“One thing I want to tell you, though,” Jessie was going on. “One of the high school interns—we've got a couple helping check out books this summer. She told me something
a couple of days ago. Somebody came in and wanted to know about your family. I think she said the person seemed especially interested in you.”

“Hmmm. I wonder what for?”

She shrugged. “Probably another one of those historians working on Texas history. Family stuff. We get 'em about once a month. You'd think by now everything that ever happened in Texas would be well recorded. Guess they're still finding new things.”

“Man or woman?” I asked and stopped when the door to the restaurant opened and I wanted to shrink down in the booth. Of all the awful times for Dr. Peter Franklin to show up. I glanced over at Hunter and saw he'd noticed the man. His eyes narrowed as he watched Franklin close the door behind him and look around the room. When he spied me sitting in the booth with Jessie, Peter Franklin smiled big and walked over, as if he were expected.

I'd forgotten to call him back. Another mark against me.

I greeted the man, and moved over in the booth, offering him a seat beside me as I introduced him to Jessie, who gave him her hand, then looked over at me and raised one eyebrow.

“I'm not staying.” He spoke only to me. “Elizabeth Wheatley asked me to join her. More memorial planning, unfortunately. And Jeannie seems to have disappeared. You wouldn't know where she's gone, would you?”

I shook my head again and then again.

“I called you . . .”

“I know. I saw the calls this morning. I haven't had the time . . .”

“Then tonight? Seven? Shall I pick you up at that store, or out at the farm?”

“Probably the farm. I have things to do. I'll be there all day.”

“Seven then. I'll find you. I'm really looking forward to
it, Lindy. It's not often I meet a beautiful woman who has a mind to match.”

I colored up. I knew Hunter was watching. Maybe Peter Franklin knew he was watching, too, and played to the audience. Again, there wasn't much I could do about it. All I could hope was that Peter would be on his way back to Boston soon and Hunter would get over whatever the heck was bothering him.

*   *   *

Hunter was gone by the time Jessie and I had finished eating. Not a word to me. Didn't come over. I was getting madder and madder at him—carrying on this silly business. And over what? That I talked to a man who spoke the language of genomes and acids and nucleotides?

If that's the way he wanted it, with no trust left between us, then let it be. I spent a few minutes, after he left, hoping he'd get stuck with that mangy dog.

On the way out to the ranch, after Jessie and I hugged and kissed good-bye, a deep, empty feeling hit me. Maybe I was getting exactly what I deserved, I thought: a long and lonely life which, at the moment, didn't seem like the kind of life I wanted after all.