The Fame Equation (29 page)

The principal, a short, tired-looking woman who must have been near retirement, absorbed my news without surprise. “Let us know how the court hearing goes,” she said. “Any care-giver will be an improvement over Bubba’s father.”

With that sterling recommendation, I then headed for the office of Bubba’s social worker. On the way I realized I no longer had a safety buddy and I had not even been on the lookout for Mr. Clean Cut or his little green Honda. I called Martin to let him know where I was. He assured me he’d send someone to keep an eye on the car, and me, until I got home. I was more relieved than I let on.

“Stay in the car until Bobby Lee gets there,” he said. I heeded his words.

Inside the social services office the receptionist told me there was a four to six week wait for an appointment. Hmmm. I could either insist upon speaking with her supervisor, or reach over the counter and shake her until she let me speak with Bubba’s social worker. I settled for the former. Using the commanding body language I used with Gigi when she was being silly, I explained the situation and demanded five minutes of the social worker’s time.

To my surprise it worked, and within minutes a social worker appeared, a woman named Claire Adams. Then she invited me back to her office, produced the forms, and helped me fill them out. When I left the building I waved at Bobby Lee, who followed me to the courthouse so I could file the temporary custody request.

We were in luck. Bubba and I were scheduled to be in court bright and early the next morning. The clerk also suggested I bring a few character references along with me. That I could do. The Carsons also faxed a letter to the clerk’s office and copied me in an emailed version, and Martin and Jon agreed to come with us in the morning.

Later, after Bobby Lee followed me home, I called Mason Whitcomb, Darcy’s dad, to let him know that Bubba would be staying for a while in the same house as his daughter. I was pretty sure he’d be okay with that, and he was.

“Be good for her,” he said between barking orders at various assistants. “Her mother and I spoiled her. Neither of us had time for parenting, so we tried to make up for it with money. You’ve been good for her, and that boy will do her good, too.”

By the time I hung up, I realized my head was aching. So much for slowing down. I decided to take time to sit on the porch and watch Ringo. You could learn a lot by just watching a horse. Most horses were content to have their four basic needs met: food, water, shelter, and companionship. Once they had those, they could relax into being a horse.

In just a few days, Ringo had gone from pulling up grass frantically, as if he would never have another chance in his entire lifetime to graze, to a more relaxed time in the pasture. For this horse, a horse who had been stalled most of his life, continuing pasture time would be more important to his mental health than for a horse who’d had ongoing pasture time throughout his life. And, we weren’t going to campaign Ringo in conformation classes, so the occasional scratch that he might get in the pasture would not be judged against him.

Wednesday morning Darcy insisted on skipping school to come with us. “I’m, like, living in the house, too,” she said. “The judge might want to ask me how many times you’ve beaten me, or how often I go to bed hungry. Stuff like that.”

I stifled the urge to comment. Darcy prided herself on provoking outrageous reactions. All I said was, “I don’t think you can chew gum inside the courtroom.”

Martin arranged for us to park Jon’s car behind the courthouse with the patrol cars, where he’d have someone watch it. And once we got inside the courtroom, the hearing itself was quick. Claire Adams was there and gave a recommendation on my behalf, and the judge, a kind, older man, spoke quietly to Bubba. Then the judge asked me about work and travel, looked over the fax from the Carsons, and signed the order.

“We’ll revisit this after Mr. Henley has his hearing in Alabama,” the judge said with nods to Claire, and to Bubba.

Claire had to get back to her office, but to celebrate, the rest of us went to McDonalds. After ingesting more than our share of chemicals and food-like products Jon drove us to Bubba’s house.

“What’s gonna happen to my dad’s horses? An’ the dogs?” Bubba asked when we drove past the barn.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Your dad’s helper is taking care of them for now. We’ll just have to see.”

No one had given us any indication how long it might be before Hill had a hearing, or, if it came to that, a trial, so I asked Bubba to put a week’s worth of clothes into the bags we had brought. We also gathered some of his video games and action figures. I would clear out the closet, as well as the business files and computer that were in my office/guest room. Bubba could bunk there until we learned more.

Just in case Hill’s helper hadn’t heard the news, when we drove back past the barn, we stopped. I hastily scrawled a note that suggested the helper call Bobby Lee at the sheriff ’s office for more information. Then I tacked it to the door with a push pin I’d found in my truck. My earlier note was still tucked into the doorframe, however, so I had little hope that Hill’s “man” would respond to this note, either.

That afternoon Jon, Darcy, Bubba, and Hank all went out to the barn, while I locked the doors to the house and went into Bubba’s new room. I booted up my laptop and checked my email. There was one from Annie, three from Agnes, and one from Buffy. Agnes and Annie were just checking on me and I sent them short, positive replies. Buffy’s however, informed me of another committee meeting.

DAVIS HAS SECURED THE RYMAN FOR THE MEMORIAL, SO WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS. NOT TO BREAK UP THE WORKDAY, LET’S ALL MEET THURSDAY AT 6 PM IN PASTOR RUTHIE COSGROVE’S OFFICE. SEE YOU THEN.

I wracked my brain for schedule conflicts and, recalling none, emailed Buffy back that I’d be there. Then I took another nap. Even though I’d told myself that I was done with all this carbon monoxide stuff, my body apparently had not yet gotten the message.

About three o’clock Darcy bounced noisily into my room to wake me.

“Martin’s here,” she said.

It was quite possible that after breathing all the tainted fumes in my truck, I craved fresh air. I couldn’t find any other explanation for my recent desire to sit on the front porch, as it was something I rarely did. In any case, that’s where Martin and I ended up, I in Agnes’s black trench coat, and Martin in a wind-breaker emblazoned with the sheriff ’s office logo. The sun was out again and felt good on my face.

“This new sheriff,” Martin stated, “he’s a good guy. I’d been ’bout ready to quit if our previous sheriff didn’t get voted out.”

Sheriff “Big Jim” Burns had been petty, sexist, and a card-carrying member of the good ol’ boys network. He certainly had not been a fan of mine––or vice versa.

“We got us a bunch of new rules and procedures, all for the good,” he said, “and I’ve been discouraged about talking about cases out of turn. But durn it Cat, you were Miz Cross’s best friend and you can’t give me information unless you know the context in which I’m askin’ it.”

“What do you want to know, Martin?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know what I want to know. I’ve asked all the questions of all the people and I still haven’t got one clue as to who murdered Miz Cross.”

“Well, you’ve ruled out Fitch, Chas Chadwick, Augie Fremont, and Claudine, right? Don’t they all have tight alibis?”

“They do,” he said. “Unless one of them hired someone else to do it. We don’t think that’s the case, though. And Bodine and Cletus Potts were both in prison. They’ve been interviewed and no one thinks either has the intelligence to pull something like this off from inside a cell. Both of them, it’s like the engine’s running but nobody’s driving.”

“So that leaves . . .” I forced my brain to click into gear, “Brandyne––”

“Who waits tables at a truck stop near Toad Suck. She was off on Wednesday and her shift didn’t start until eleven A.M. on Thursday.”

“It’s what, a little more than five hours from here to there? Brandyne could have done it,” I said. “She still in jail?”

“No. She made bail the next day and she and her mama went back to Arkansas. She’s got a court date next month. The judge so far has managed to keep the incident quiet, well, the judge and Buffy. Brandyne has been interviewed about her sister several times in the past few days. She’s a fireball for sure, but I just don’t know about her.”

“Then Ruthie, and Allen and Emily Harding, were supposedly all together at the Harding home until about midnight,” I said. “Any one of them could have gotten to Melody.”

“True, and there’s motive, as the church benefited big time, but I don’t get a sense that any of them knew that before the will was read. And why? It’d seem that Miz Cross was more valuable to them alive. Ongoing, she gave them a lot.”

“She gave time and brought them publicity, in addition to the money,” I agreed.

“Keith and Carol Carson alibi each other, but unless Keith and Miz Cross had something going on the side, there’s no motive there, either,” Martin said. “Miz Cross was important to the promotion of that single. Seems they’re getting a bang out of it now that she’s gone, but accordin’ to everyone we’ve talked to, it would have been a big single anyway.”

We talked for a few minutes about the possibility of Keith and Melody having a fling.

“Not possible,” I said. “I knew Melody well, and would have known if something was going on. Plus, Keith and Carole have a solid marriage.”

“Then that brings up Buffy Thorndyke,” said Martin. “She has a thing for Keith. If she thought Keith and Miz Cross were secretly a couple, or even just attracted to each other . . . ”

I remembered Keith saying how uncomfortable Buffy made him feel with her unwanted advances.

“Buffy has no alibi to speak of,” Martin continued. “Still lives in Belle Meade in her folk’s home, but they were in the Bahamas. No live-in help. There were some overnight emails sent from her laptop that Wednesday night, sent from the server in her house, but they could have been written before and saved to send during the night. We’re checking on that.”

Sounded like there was good reason for both Brandyne and Buffy to be high on the detective’s list. “Wasn’t Davis home alone Wednesday night?” I asked. “He’s always so stony faced. I never know what he’s thinking.”

“He was, but again, motive. Miz Cross would be more valuable to him alive with a long career in front of her. Agree he’s a tough read, though. The only one left, then . . . is you.”

“Me!” I yelped. “Martin, I didn’t kill Melody, I––”

“Calm down. No one thinks you did, not even the sheriff. But, you were home with Darcy all night. You have just as weak an alibi as some of the others. That’s my point. We still have too many players and I don’t know where to go next.”

Martin and I kicked a few other motive ideas around until it started to grow dark. I wasn’t sure what it was, but something he said, or something we discussed, threw up a red flag in my brain. I just could not pinpoint what it was.

I
SPENT THE REST OF
Wednesday and all of Thursday morning resting, but by noon, I felt pretty good. Jon and I worked with Petey after lunch, and hooked him to the black cart for the first time. He took to it like a pro and I was glad we had spent so much time doing ground work, pulling the travois, and bringing the new cart next to and behind him before we asked him to pull it. We planned to surprise Darcy the second week in December, just before Jon left to visit Tsula.

We all ate early so I could get to my committee meeting by six, and I wondered if this family-style dinner was part of my new reality. I also wondered what I felt about it. Darcy agreed to drive me to the meeting, but she had an ulterior motive. She and a friend were meeting at the McDonalds in Kingston Springs. She’d pick me up at eight, unless I texted her first.

Everyone in our memorial planning group was present at the meeting, except for Emily, who was finishing up a class at the riding center. Ruthie said she’d fill her in, and Davis started by giving us the details of the venue agreement. The Ryman held twenty-two hundred people, and we discussed ticket prices, the number of tickets to hold back for family and friends, and which charity should benefit if there was money left over. Ruthie looked like she wanted to lay claim to it, but she’d already gotten the lion’s share of the estate, so she had the good sense to keep her mouth shut. We also discussed which artists would be invited to perform.