May Cooler Heads Prevail Read online

  I couldn’t deny the truth of that. I do have the Tanner eyes. Not all the Tanners are born with them, but there are enough of us to make it a family trait. And I had them. One eye is greenish-brown and the other is just brown. Oh, how I have pined for baby blues. Even though my vision is 20/20, I tried colored contacts once, but threw them away after the redness and swelling started. So, I am a Tanner. I admit it, but not without many, many reservations.

  Crossing the Missouri state line, I didn’t have time to think about anything but my driving. My old, but much loved, CJ-7 Jeep started slowing down to a crawl on the hills, even though I pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floorboard. There was no place open to get it checked out.

  By the time I reached Shotgun Hill, just outside of Kenna Springs, I had lost a lot of time. I rounded the bend at the top of the hill and came out onto a straight patch of road. It was already past eight o’clock. Estelle would be up and getting ready for church by now. The weather was clear enough and the road wide enough, I could pull over and make the phone call.

  I pressed her number on my speed dial. She answered on the third ring. No, it wouldn’t be easy to rearrange my schedule on such short notice, but since I had some sort of family emergency that I refused to specify, she would manage. I thanked her and hung up. I felt guilty about not telling her any details, but what else could I do? I didn’t want to lie, and I sure didn’t want to tell her why I was going to Kenna Springs.

  As I rounded the second bend before starting down Shotgun Hill, I had a panoramic view of Kenna Springs. It is one of those quaint old towns made up of stone, wood, and brick. Since it’s close to a network of natural springs and a fair-sized lake, Kenna Springs has always been a minor tourist attraction. During the summer months the tourists spend just enough money in the antique shops and craft stores dotted around the square to keep everyone hopeful that next year will be even better.

  I loved Kenna Springs as it looked now, dressed to the nines in an array of fall colors. The tourists have gone home, and everything and everyone moves to a slower cadence.

  At the bottom of Shotgun Hill sits Jobina’s Jellies and Jams canning factory. Jobina’s Jellies and Jams is the biggest employer in the county. It was originally founded by Eldon and Jobina Sheffield. Their grandson, Latham, runs the factory now, making him the wealthiest man in several counties.

  As I drove around the town square, I noticed that Truman Spencer, the owner/editor of the Kenna Springs Bugle, was leaving the newspaper office with a small box in one hand and a clip-on tie in the other. Next door to the newspaper, Ed Baringer, dressed in his Sunday suit, was taping a sign up on his storefront window advertising the community-wide bake sale at the Veteran’s Hall next week. Even Maybelle Chesewick was out and about, pushing her battered grocery cart, which was already half-full of whatever odds and ends she happened to find lying around.

  I couldn’t help but slow down as I drove past Aunt Connie’s Red Carnations Flower Shop. The shop was dark except for the lights in the display windows on each side of the front entrance.

  Turning north off the square, I passed the older part of town with its two-story Victorian homes, decked out in colorful gingerbread trim. Once past the residential area, I headed out on the country road toward Uncle Rudd and Aunt Nissa’s farm, then turned into the half-mile driveway that led up to the two-story white farmhouse.

  As I drove up and parked by the garage, I could see Aunt Nissa waiting in her rocker on the front porch. Smiling and waving a greeting, she started walking toward the Jeep.

  “My goodness, child, we thought you would be here before now,” she said, reaching out to hug me.

  “I’m sorry. I would’ve been here sooner, but something’s wrong with my Jeep,” I explained. “I’m just grateful it didn’t quit on me. I thought about calling, but I thought you might be trying to get some sleep.”

  “Well, you’re here now. Rudd’ll take a look at the Jeep. In the meantime, you just come on inside and let me get you some breakfast.” Eyeing me up and down, she sighed. “You’re like your mama, a little on the puny side, but I’ll do what I can while you’re here.”

  “Breakfast does sound pretty good about now.” I grinned at her. Aunt Nissa is a firm believer in feeding anyone who crosses the threshold of her home. Fortunately she is one of the best cooks in the county.

  Stowing my bags by the staircase, we went on into the kitchen. The smell of fresh-baked biscuits and bacon permeated Aunt Nissa’s cheery red and white kitchen.

  I took what I have always considered as my seat at the table. “Are Uncle Rudd and Aunt Connie still asleep?”

  “Connie is still asleep. We gave her a sleeping pill. Rudd is out doing some chores, but he’ll be in directly.” Aunt Nissa piled scrambled eggs, bacon, and hash browns, along with a biscuit loaded with gravy onto a plate. She handed me the plate then poured a glass of milk and set it on the table.

  “Are you going to go to church with us this morning?” she asked, pouring herself a glass of milk and sitting down at the table across from me.

  Although I have a church home that I love and cherish in Little Rock, the little nondenominational church most of my family belongs to in Kenna Springs has always held a special place in my heart. I grew up in that church. I was loved and cared for there. It was there I learned my first Bible verses, learned that Jesus is alive and well and what He does for the living. A part of me wanted to go to church, but my eyes were burning from lack of sleep. Mostly I just wanted to finish breakfast and climb into one of Aunt Nissa’s beds.

  Swallowing a bite of crisp bacon, I shook my head. “Not this time. I’m pretty tired, and as much as I love Pastor Jeff’s preaching, I don’t think I could stay awake this morning while he’s encouraging the flock.”

  “Of course, dear.” Aunt Nissa gave me a little nod. “You just finish up with your breakfast, and we’ll take your bags on upstairs and get you settled in. I’ve already freshened up the lilac room for you. You can talk to Rudd and Connie after a nap.”

  I had just enough energy and curiosity to ask, “Do you really think it’s a good idea for Uncle Rudd to go after whoever murdered this Aaron Scott fellow by himself?”

  Aunt Nissa pondered the question just long enough for me to be hopeful before she said, “Well…Rudd promised he would be careful. And I really don’t see any other way, dear.”

  Aunt Nissa has obviously been a Tanner a tad too long.

  “But there is another way,” I wailed. “You can call Sheriff Otis and let him find the person who murdered Aaron Scott. Don’t you think that would be a lot less dangerous?”

  “Oh no, dear, we really couldn’t do that,” Aunt Nissa said, shaking her head so hard she nearly jiggled the bun on top of her head out of place. “You really must understand the situation, dear. Connie can’t remember much of anything about last night. Rudd is afraid Otis wouldn’t have any other choice but to arrest her. I know it would be less dangerous to call Otis and let him handle it, but you can see, can’t you, there isn’t any other course of action open to us.”

  I suddenly felt like the woman who shows up late at a clearance sale. I simply didn’t stand a chance. So for the time being, I pushed aside my plate and gave in. “Okay, we’ll talk about it after I get some sleep.”

  As we negotiated the staircase with my luggage in tow, I came to a decision. The best way for me to help all three of them was to borrow one of Uncle Rudd’s vehicles and head back to Little Rock first thing in the morning to cash in my one and only certificate of deposit, along with my small, but growing, stash of money in a mutual fund. Because, bless them, they were going to need all the bail money they could get.

  Aunt Nissa and I unloaded my bags next to the four-poster bed in what she refers to as the lilac room. It has always been a peculiarity of hers to refer to rooms by color.

  “Dixie dear, I was thinking that while you’re getting settled maybe it would be good for us to chat about something else besides this horrible murder. I think you would sleep better if we sort of take our minds off our troubles for just a bit before you take a nap.”

  “Sure. What would you like to talk about?” I wasn’t actually in the mood to be talking about anything. All I wanted was sleep. But an aunt is an aunt, and I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Aunt Nissa, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to chat for a few minutes.

  She sat down, making herself quite comfortable in the white wicker rocker near the bed. Then, smiling shyly at me, she opened with, “You know, dear, since Rudd and I were never blessed with children, we consider you the closest we can come to having a daughter. So, let’s catch up a little with what’s going on in your life. Have you seen any good movies, eaten at any interesting places, been dating anyone special?” Then, with all the subtlety of a fox in a hen house, she patted her pearly white hair. “Rudd called a time or two before he got ahold of you. I thought maybe you were out on a date with some nice young man.”

  Only Aunt Nissa would consider a date more important than a murder. The woman is truly obsessed with my love life, or lack thereof. Over the past three or four years, it has been of grave concern to Aunt Nissa that I am not married. Every summer when I come up to help her with the preparations for the big fish fry on Founder’s Day, she takes it upon herself to introduce me to every available bachelor she can find within a three-county radius. I’ve come to look upon that time of year as the Kenna Springs Founder’s Day Fish Fry and Dixie Tanner Manhunt.

  As I stood there contemplating my answer, I knew I could lie. That would be the easy way out. But lies always seem to catch up with me somehow, so I braced myself and told the truth. “Yes, I happened to be on a date last night. It was one of those blind dates that didn’t turn out well at all. So, no, there is no one special in my life.”

  “Now, how do you know this young man isn’t your special someone, dear?” Aunt Nissa asked. “You’ve only had one date with him.”

  “Trust me, the man I went out with last night is not my special someone.”

  “Well, no one is perfect, dear. I’m sure if you really looked, you might find some good qualities about this man. You’re thirty-three years old, honey, maybe you should be thinking about settling down.”

  I glared at her as much as one can glare at a much-loved, but determined aunt, and said, “The particular man I had a date with last night seems to think that a two-thousand-year-old Babylonian undertaker speaks through him. And as far as I could tell, neither one of them could sit upright and chew meat at the same time. And just for the record, I am thirty-two…at least until next June.”

  “My, you do need a nap, dear.” Aunt Nissa jumped up and bustled around the room. “I’ll just turn down your sheets and go on downstairs to get things cleaned up before church.”

  Once she left the room, I cracked the window open. The cool air smelled fresh and clean. There’s something invigorating about the wind in the fall. Tired as I was at the moment, I pulled the wicker rocker up to the open window and sat breathing in the fresh air and watching the leaves on the ground as they danced their last dance. I started to nod off in the chair and decided it was time for me to get some sleep.

  I took off my tennis shoes and crawled under the covers, not caring that I was still dressed in my sweatsuit. My last thought was that I was sorry I had snapped at Aunt Nissa.

  CHAPTER THREE

  As I woke, I felt, rather than saw someone in the room with me. I heard a clickity-click-clickity-click-clickity-click noise, so I pried one eye open to see what was making such an irritating sound.

  The clicking came from the knitting needles Aunt Connie was using. She had pulled the wicker rocker right next to the bed and rocked and knitted with what looked to me like the speed of light. The fruit of her labors seemed to be a long blue thing piling up on her lap.

  Eyeing me over the top of her knitting, she said, “‘Bout time you woke up. Thought maybe you got it into your head you’re some sort of sleeping beauty. Guess you’ve never seen yourself sleep.”

  Aunt Connie literally cackled at her own joke. She even slapped her knee, apparently not noticing she was the only one laughing.

  I did my very best impression of a person waking up from a sound sleep and mumbled, “What time is it?”

  She shrugged and kept on knitting. “Don’t know. I suppose since you’re awake, it’s time to get up.”

  “I see. Well, in that case I’d better get my shoes on.”

  It occurred to me, while I was scrounging for my left tennis shoe underneath the bed, that Aunt Connie was certainly her usual mouthy self and seemed in peak form.

  “You always sleep in your clothes like that?” she asked.

  “It’s a failing of mine. Anytime I go more than twenty-four hours without sleep, I tend to crash wherever and however I can.”

  “That so?” Aunt Connie stuffed her knitting into a red paisley bag and stood up. “Rudd and Nissa got back from church awhile ago. I’m gonna go on down and help set out lunch. You come on when you’ve a mind to.”

  She stopped at the doorway, turned, and gave me a long look. “I reckon Rudd called you about last night.”

  I nodded my head.

  “You know then that Rudd’s set on finding out who murdered my Aaron. Which means the only man I ever loved is dead, and I have an idiot for a brother. I agreed to go along with this business last night ‘cause I was half out of my head with grief.” Aunt Connie heaved a mournful sigh then added, “Today things look a bit different. I’m gonna talk Rudd outta this fool notion, so you keep them bags packed, Dixie June. You just might be goin’ home sooner than you think.”

  She shut the door so fast I didn’t have time to tell her that I wholeheartedly agreed with her.

  Cheerfully leaving my bags packed, I grabbed my makeup bag and sprinted down the hall to the bathroom to clean up a little before we ate.

  By the time I made it downstairs, lunch was already on the table. Before I could sit down, I received a bear hug from Uncle Rudd. “Dixie-gal, good to see you.” His voice boomed in my ear. Once everyone was at the table, we bowed our heads while Uncle Rudd, a firm believer in chatting often and long with the Almighty, took his time saying grace.

  While we were all filling our plates, it hit me that over the years Uncle Rudd had somehow grown older. When had that happened and why hadn’t I noticed it? He had always been a big man, and hard work kept his muscles from turning to flab. But I couldn’t remember when he had added those extra pounds, or when his salt-and-pepper hair had lost most of the pepper. Uncle Rudd could be exasperating at times, but he’s a good-hearted man, and I love him. Right now, I was afraid for him—for all of us really. A shiver went down my spine, and I desperately hoped that when the time came, he would listen to Aunt Connie.

  Other than comments like “Please pass the rolls,” and, “Pastor Jeff preached a great sermon this morning,” we were a pretty quiet bunch at the kitchen table. By silent, unanimous agreement, none of us spoke about the murder while we were eating.

  Once lunch was over and the dishes done, it was time for a family discussion. Aunt Connie and I put away our dish towels and took our seats. Aunt Nissa poured coffee, while Uncle Rudd went into the other room and came back with a file folder, legal pad, and pen.

  “We want to do this thing real organized and official-like,” he commented as he sat down.

  “I got something I want to say to you, Rudd,” Aunt Connie ventured.

  Holding up a hand for silence, Uncle Rudd said, “Wait a minute, Connie, then you can say your piece, okay?” Not waiting for a yea or nay from his sister, Uncle Rudd cleared his throat and continued, “I know this is gonna be tough for you to talk about, but if we don’t nab whoever murdered Aaron, the only one they’ll point to is you, Little Sis. If that happens, you’d have to sell your shop just to pay the legal fees. Of course, we’d all chip in what we could, but I don’t think even a good lawyer could keep you outta jail.” He crossed his arms on the table and leaned toward Aunt Connie. His eyes worried and soft, he spoke to her in a hushed voice. “It near breaks my heart to think about you livin’ out your days huddled up, all lonely-like, on a narrow bunk, in a six-by-ten, skanky-smelling jail cell. So, you can see why we can’t go to Sheriff Otis about this, don’t you, Sis?”

  Pale-faced and wide-eyed, Aunt Connie slowly nodded her head. That wasn’t exactly the go-get-’em attitude I was hoping for.

  Uncle Rudd reached over to pat her hand and asked, “Now, what was it you wanted to say, Sis?”

  “Thank you,” she squeaked.

  “Oh now, you don’t have to thank me.” Uncle Rudd beamed. “We’re Tanners, you know, and Tanners take care of each other.”

  I was disappointed that Aunt Connie was not going to talk Uncle Rudd out of this wild caper, but after listening to Uncle Rudd talk about smelly jail cells, I understood her change of heart. That left me with the question of whether or not Uncle Rudd had called my parents.

  When I asked, Uncle Rudd turned to look at me, smiling that big lopsided smile of his. “Well now, Dixie-gal, I sure did think about it. But I decided there wasn’t much they could do. Besides, by the time they drive all the way from Florida, we’ll have everything wrapped up all nice and neat-like. It’s nice of you to want them in on things, though.”

  In on things! I had lived all my life in abject fear that my parents would be “in on things.” I was so relieved that Uncle Rudd wasn’t going to call them that I smiled back at him. “Well, if you think that’s best.”

  He nodded at me and turned back to Aunt Connie. “Like I said, you don’t need to worry, Little Sis. We’ll catch whoever did this, but we’re going to need your help. Now, you just take it nice and slow-like, think about it a bit, and tell us whatever you remember.”