Downright Dead Page 18

  With that, she spun on her heels and marched to the door. She slid the pocket doors open with more gusto than necessary.

  Miss Alice and Sam stood inches from her face. Sam cleared his throat and took a step back. At least he pretended he wasn’t listening. Miss Alice folded her arms and eyed Holly.

  What had they heard?

  Holly closed the pocket doors behind her then held her finger to her lips. “None of that can go in the paper or anywhere else, do you hear?”

  “The public has a right to know if we have a murderer in our town,” Miss Alice said. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

  Sam’s bushy gray brows twisted across his forehead like they didn’t know which way to go. “Darn straight.”

  “For once, I need y’all to keep a secret.” Holly grabbed them each by an elbow and towed them toward the porch and privacy. “I know what I’m doing, believe it or not.”

  Miss Alice huffed. “If you call getting yourself almost arrested knowing what you’re doing.”

  “Shh,” Holly said as they walked past the parlor doors.”

  Miss Alice huffed. “Don’t you shush me?”

  No need. It won’t work anyway. As they passed the parlor, Holly cased the guests. Bob had manspread over most of Holly’s Victorian settee. Liz dozed, resting her head on Bob’s meaty shoulder. Sylvia paced behind the settee while she talked on her cell phone. Kneeling on the floor in front of the hearth, Thomas tended an impressive roaring fire. But where was Angel?

  Holly paused and scanned the parlor again. Maybe she was in her room. Had she left? And where was Jake?

  Miss Alice wrestled her arm loose. “I can walk on my own.”

  “Fine.” Holly took the final steps to the back door and held it open. “Just hear me out.”

  Miss Alice gave Holly a side-glance as she walked ahead of Sam.

  Old school all the way, Sam grabbed the door and motioned Holly ahead of him. “This is going to be interesting.”

  “No.” Holly faced both of them. “This is going to be boring if you just hear me out.”

  “How long is this going to take?” Miss Alice ambled to a wicker rocker. “My feet are killing me from standing on that hard floor.”

  “You could have been sitting in the parlor like everyone else.” If she wasn’t so nosy, but Holly hoped that would be a good thing for once.

  “That has nothing to do with it.” Miss Alice dusted off the cushion on a wicker rocker. “I’ve been in these pumps since yesterday at five.”

  Sam stood in front of another wicker chair, waiting for Miss Alice and Holly to sit.

  Did anyone under sixty do that anymore? “I’m too antsy to sit.”

  Miss Alice balanced her purse on her knees. “Get on with it.”

  “Neither of you think I murdered anyone, do you?” Holly asked.

  They eyed each other.

  Sam scratched his head. “There was that time she nearly killed Jake.”

  He would bring that up. “That was an accident, and I don’t have to point out that Jake is not dead.”

  “I’ll give you that,” Sam said. “But there was that time—”

  “The point is I’ve never tried to kill anyone.” Holly put her hands on her hips and patted her foot.

  Mercy. Like I’ve got a string of bodies in my past. Well, there was Burl, but still.

  Miss Alice peered at Holly over her glasses. “Not on purpose. But what about Mackie?”

  “Okay. He did fall through my roof, but it’s not like I tripped him or anything.” Holly flapped her hands at her sides. “Really, you both know I wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  She took their silence as agreement or as close as she’d get to agreement by either of them. “All I need you to do is just not even breathe the word murder until after checkout time today.”

  “Why would I suppress that story?” Sam asked.

  “So, I can prove I didn’t do it and who did before they all leave at checkout time today. Just give me twelve hours.”

  * * *

  “Lord help us all,” Nelda said stirring a pot of the homemade hot chocolate on the 1928 gas stove at two o’clock in the morning.

  The sweet, rich scent of cocoa hung in the air as the swinging kitchen door flapped closed behind Holly. Rhett lay curled in a ball dead asleep under the planter’s table.

  No Jake. A niggle of disappointment worked its way through her. Where could he be? “What are you still doing here?”

  “Those poor folks can’t even go to bed, not that they could sleep if they did.” She rapped her favorite wooden spoon on the side of the pot. “I know I can’t.”

  Holly noticed a platter stacked with crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut in perfect triangles. “You made midnight PB&Js like Le Pavillon in New Orleans.”

  Nelda nodded. “Ain’t we fancy.”

  “I guess we could call it an early wake for Tru.” Holly snagged a sandwich. Maybe Jake had gone to bed. He’d told her he’d been traveling all day and night.

  “Poor Tru.” Nelda crossed herself. “God rest his soul.”

  Tru’s soul was nowhere near at rest, but Nelda didn’t need to know that right now. Holly wasn’t sure if she should warn Nelda about Tru or hope he followed rule number three: Don’t mess with the cook.

  Nelda glanced toward a cabinet. “Get some of your grandma’s blue willow cups down for the hot chocolate.”

  “Have you seen Jake?” Holly asked, grabbing stacks of cups and saucers.

  “Not since he came in earlier lookin’ for you.” Nelda turned the flame off under the hot chocolate. “Why?”

  “Oh, just wondering.” She’d expected him to want to know how the interview went.

  “Uh-huh.” Nelda batted her lashes at Holly. “Don’t you lie. You know you’re glad he’s here.”

  “I haven’t even thought about that.” Heat rushed to Holly’s cheeks as she put the blue willow cups on the counter next to the stove.

  “Uh-huh.” Nelda poured a ladle of hot chocolate in a cup. “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him when I see him.”

  Holly spread a white linen napkin over a hundred-year-old silver tray. After Nelda dropped a dollop of whipped cream on a cup of hot chocolate, Holly placed it on the tray. She laced her fingers through the baroque handles on the tray.

  “You just back away from that liquid chocolate.” Nelda elbowed Holly aside. “I don’t want to be mopping up that sticky stuff.”

  “Really?” Holly faked insult. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d let things slide off trays attempting to help Nelda serve her guests. Just this week it had been orange juice.

  Nelda lifted the tray of hot chocolate and motioned with her head to the cute little PB&Js. “You grab those. This ought to put everybody out for what’s left of the night.”

  Holly followed Nelda to the kitchen door.

  Nelda bumped the door with her hip and held it open for Holly. “I hear Buster still thinks it was murder?”

  “He thinks I shoved Tru off the roof.” Holly barely squeezed by Nelda without tipping her tray.

  “Humph. He’s all for show.” Nelda let the door go and it flapped closed behind her. “Buster’s just doin’ all that for attention ’cause he’s runnin’ for sheriff. I think I’d know if I was feedin’ a murderer.”

  “I read somewhere that we walk right past a murderer multiple times a day and don’t know it.” Holly still couldn’t wrap her head around the idea that one of her guests could be a killer.

  “Maybe in New York City or Chicago but not in Delta Ridge,” Nelda said, without as much as a slosh of the cups of hot chocolate as she made her way down the entrance hall.

  “My heart still ain’t right after Tru just dropped from the sky in front of my car. Then the sheriff was thinkin’ one of us shoved him off the roof, ’cept not me ’cause I saw that poor boy fall. Not Miss Alice or Sam either ’cause they were on the ground, too.”

  “It’s just awful,” Holly said, falling in behi
nd Nelda.

  “Couldn’t have been your Jake either ’cause he wasn’t here yet when that terrible thing happened.”

  My Jake. Nelda couldn’t get it into her head that Jake was not the kind of guy anyone could possess, much less Holly.

  That left Sylvia, Liz, Angel, Bob, and her in Holly Grove when someone shoved Tru off the roof. One of them was a cold-blooded killer. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” Holly said.

  “At first, I thought it was a big tree limb, on account of all the wind we’ve been havin’ ’cause that front is movin’ in. But when I got out my car, I saw him all crumpled up there on the grass, God rest his soul.”

  “You really should have gone home after all that,” Holly said. “I thought your nephew was coming to get you.”

  “Humph.” Nelda stopped just before the wide doorway to the parlor. “Buster said I couldn’t go nowhere ’til I give a statement, so I told my nephew I’d call him when I was ready. I figured I’d stay busy to calm my nerves.”

  “Have you given your statement yet?” Holly asked.

  “Yeah, but I was almost finished with the PB&Js when it was my turn. After all that, I decided I might as well wait until six when my nephew gets up for work. No need for both of us to lose a night’s sleep.”

  Holly noticed the deputy who had been guarding the front door had left. “Where’d the deputy go?”

  “Oh, they all left ’cept Buster not long after the judge said it was an accident and not murder.”

  “And Buster?”

  “He left after he took about a book full of notes on what everybody saw, but he still said no one could leave ’til tomorrow after he files his report with the sheriff.”

  “Then why is everyone still up?”

  “ ’Cause I told them I was makin’ something to help them sleep.”

  They stepped into the parlor. Hushed conversations stopped, leaving only the crackle of the fireplace. Sylvia stood warming her backside against the fireplace. Thomas had joined Bob and Liz on the settee, and Miss Alice and Sam sat in the matching Victorian chairs across from the settee.

  “Who wants PB&Js and hot chocolate?” Nelda asked.

  Sylvia groaned. “I was hoping for something stronger after the night we’ve all had.”

  “Me too,” Sam said pulling himself up to the edge of his seat.”

  “Nonsense.” Miss Alice put down her knitting. “The melatonin in the warm milk will help you sleep. Not alcohol.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Sam stood. “I’ll take a shot of bourbon in mine if you’ve got some.”

  “That’s Holly’s department.” Nelda held the tray of steaming hot chocolate in front of Bob, Liz, and Thomas.

  “Hope you enjoy,” Nelda said as Bob and Liz each took a cup. Liz’s cup rattled and a little of the hot chocolate sloshed out onto the saucer.

  At least, I’m not the only one with trouble balancing cups and saucers.

  Thomas smiled and took a cup of hot chocolate. “Smells wonderful, Nelda.”

  She all but turned her nose up at him. Holly had never seen Nelda take an instant dislike to anyone like that before.

  Sylvia stepped away from the fireplace and snagged a cup of hot chocolate. She lifted it to Holly. “I’ll take some of that bourbon Sam is having in mine, too.”

  “No problem.” Holly held out the tray of PB&Js. All she really wanted to do was find out where they were when Tru was killed. She had so many questions that would be better asked privately, but how could she get them alone?

  “It’s really thoughtful of you to make a snack for us after such a trying night,” Thomas said, taking a PB&J from the tray.

  “Nelda made them.” Holly handed him a starched napkin square embroidered with the Holly Grove initials in white on white. “It’s the least we could do after what y’all have been through tonight. It happened right in front of Nelda, bless her heart.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I heard her scream. At first, I thought it was you. I ran as fast as I could to the sound, and then I called 911.”

  “So, you were the first to get there,” Holly said. “Were you still downstairs when it happened?”

  “I wasn’t first.” He glanced at Sam and Miss Alice. “They were already there. I’m not sure who else was there. I was just the first to call 911. I felt like I needed to do something.”

  Holly tried to remember who was standing on the front porch when she made it down from the widow’s walk. Was everyone there except her?

  Liz took a PB&J and her hand shook as she nestled the sandwich on the saucer with the hot chocolate cup.

  “Are you okay?” Holly asked. Was she traumatized from the night or was something else going on? Was this more traumatic for her because of a guilty conscience? Liz didn’t seem like the type to get mad enough about anything to raise her voice, much less do bodily harm.

  Liz nodded. “It’s just I’ve never seen anyone dead. Have you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” She glanced around the room for Tru. If he was like Burl, he could show up anytime.

  “I just want to go home,” Liz said to Bob as Holly held the tray of PB&Js in front of him.

  Bob leaned back and held his hand up like a stop sign. “Allergic.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Holly said, pulling the tray away from him. “I didn’t know. I’ll get you something else.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

  Had he lost his appetite because of the murder or because he’d murdered someone or because she just waved potential death in front of him? Am I letting my imagination take over?

  “I’ll eat his.” Sylvia licked her lips while looking at Bob. She pinched a sandwich triangle between her French-manicured fingertips.

  His lips parted just a fraction, then he quickly looked down at his cup of hot chocolate. Had he been trapped in her spell for that second? Was something going on there?

  Liz sipped her hot chocolate and didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she was used to it.

  “If anybody wants seconds, I’ve got two cups left,” Nelda said as Sam and Miss Alice each took a cup of hot chocolate from the tray.

  Those two cups belonged to the only guests not present, Jake and Angel. Her imagination jumped into overdrive. Were they together?

  Sam loaded four PB&Js on his napkin. “Might as well eat a whole sandwich.”

  Miss Alice passed. “Peanut butter isn’t just peanuts, you know. It was originally made with Crisco. Years ago, I wrote letters to the FDA to demand that be taken out. They said they did but I don’t trust what they replaced it with.”

  Sam smacked. “I liked it with Crisco and I like it now.”

  Holly turned to Bob. “Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen and see what we can find to make a sandwich for you.”

  “No thanks. Like I said, I’m not hungry.”

  Crapola. How was she ever going to get anyone alone to talk to them?

  “Suit yourself.” Holly headed to the kitchen to get a bottle of bourbon.

  A few minutes later, she rummaged through the liquor bottles in her pantry. She shook a half-empty bottle. It’d have to do, but she could have sworn she had a full bottle behind it just the other day.

  Just as she closed the pantry door, she heard the deep rumble of a motorcycle. Jake.

  She rushed to the door and stepped out on the porch. The motor pulsed as a single headlight meandered toward Holly Grove.

  And just like that memories of their night rides in high school popped into her head. She’d slip out of the house and meet him at the highway. Then she’d hop on the back of his motorcycle and wrap her arms around his waist. They rode like one. They were one. Back then.

  Now he didn’t even tell her or evidently anyone else he was leaving. She folded her arms across her chest. Well, he’d better be able to tell her more about what Buster learned by interviewing her guests about the so-called accident since he was a deputy now.

  A few seconds later, Jake rolled up to the porch.
He wore a solid black full helmet and Angel, dripping wet, was plastered to his back. What the . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Jake hit the kill switch on his motorcycle and everything went as black as the night sky except for Holly. Under the porch light, she stood strangling the neck of a bottle of bourbon and staring him down. It hadn’t taken but a glance to see something was wrong, and whatever that something was had to do with him.

  Angel slipped off the back of his bike like a mad wet cat. She swiped the rain off her face and marched toward the house. Evidently he was two for two for ticking off women today. He knew why Angel was mad at him, but Holly? He had no idea.

  He pulled off his helmet and stuffed it in the compartment under his seat.

  “He’s crazy,” Angel said as she stomped past Holly on the way in the house.

  Jake had been called worse for doing less. He brushed the rain off his leathers, then strode toward Holly and whatever wrath she had in store for him.

  “Crazy, huh?” She met him at the screen door. “Must have been some ride.”

  “Wet.” He stomped the mud off his feet, then scrubbed his soles across the not-so-welcome mat. “And eventful.”

  “I bet.” She looked over her shoulder. “What did you do to her? Pop wheelies or do doughnuts?”

  He could see Angel drying her hair with a towel through the window.

  “That would have been more fun, especially with you on the back of my bike.”

  “You didn’t ask me to go for a ride.” Holly spun around and paced double-time into the kitchen.

  “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” Jake followed Holly into the kitchen about the time Miss Alice walked in carrying a cup and saucer.

  “Don’t you touch me,” Angel said, pointing a finger at Jake.

  Miss Alice stepped between them. “What’s going on here?”

  “He kidnapped me.” Angel glared at him.

  “He what?” Miss Alice put her cup on the counter. “Did he do anything to you?”

  “Hold on there,” Jake said. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

  Miss Alice put her arm around Angel, then lifted it and looked at her sleeve. “Child, you’re soaked.”