Chapter NINETEEN
“What’s going on?” Marge wanted to know when I dropped off Josie that morning.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know very well what I mean. Something’s going on. You know I’m always glad to have Josie here, but yesterday nobody could pry her away from you with a crowbar, now you’re willing to leave her with me. Why?”
“Just take care of her, please,” I said. “I can’t explain, but she’s better off here.”
Marge folded her arms and stepped closer. “This doesn’t have anything to do with her running away, does it?”
I shook my head. “No, really.”
“Or with Ned. He hasn’t called, has he?”
I told her about phoning the hotel to learn my husband had checked out. “You’re sure he didn’t call while we were gone?” I asked.
My cousin looked like she wanted to cry. “Kate, if he had, we would’ve told you.” She put an arm around me. “He must not have heard about Josie, or you know he’d be frantic. Uncle Ernest did a pretty good job of keeping the news mongers out—although it did make the local news.
“I’m sure you’ll hear from him today,” she said as we walked to my car together. But Ned McBride wasn’t my main concern just then. If I could just make it safely through the next twenty-four hours, maybe I could begin to put my own life back in order. But right now, he would have to get in line.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why we hadn’t heard from Ned. Had he taken sick? Been fired from his job? All kinds of scary notions went through my head—except the scariest one: He just didn’t care enough to call. But surely that couldn’t be true!
When I got back to Bramblewood, Ma Maggie was there to greet me with happy news. My mom was on the phone to tell us Sara had delivered a healthy baby boy in London a few hours before. They had named him Andrew Joseph after our dad and his dad, and we all crowded around the telephone taking time about congratulating the new parents and grandparents. Much to my relief, kin on this side of the ocean silently agreed not to mention the scare of Josie’s overnight adventure.
After I phoned Josie to tell her about her new little cousin, I escaped from Violet’s watchful eye long enough to wander into the rose garden. Uncle Ernest had not yet returned from town, but Lum and Leona were still here and my grandmother seemed to have settled in for the day. Deedee, I was told, would be along later.
The day had turned cloudy and there was a heaviness in the air. I felt vulnerable in the garden, as if I were being watched, and I didn’t like it. In spite of my guardian angel, whom I knew must be somewhere near, I sensed an inert danger. Trouble was simmering, and Violet and I had the stick to stir it.
I had received no sign from Augusta that day, so I assumed she hadn’t turned up anything interesting in the toolshed. And at first the garden seemed as it had before, except that someone had filled in the hole Uncle Ernest dug earlier. In earlier years, my uncle had taken excellent care of the roses, and even though he had neglected the garden somewhat recently, the bushes were in full bloom. There were several varieties ranging in color from white to deepest red and they smelled the way I’d want to smell if I could only bottle the scent. I inhaled the aroma of sweet summer and thought of how much Uncle Ernest must have loved his young wife to have kept up her garden in this way.
Now and then I saw evidence of an earlier digging, probably done the same night the rainstorm drove us inside, but at the far end of the garden I noticed an excision almost surgical in its neatness. No wonder we hadn’t noticed it before! The line was so fine, I almost passed it by, and if it weren’t for a small clod of raw red dirt, I don’t think I would have looked at it twice. On closer inspection, I found the rose bush there, a deep pink specimen, a little droopier than the others, and I soon knew why. Someone had excavated beneath it with a straight-sided shovel, removed whatever was in there and filled the cavity with clumps of rock and clay.
“Find anything interesting?”
I hadn’t heard footsteps behind me so I must have jumped when Grady spoke because he threw up his hands and stepped back. “Hey, Cuz, it’s just me! Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Didn’t hear you coming. After the last few days, I’m getting downright neurotic.” I plucked a rose and sniffed it, trying to appear normal.
“So what’s with the bush here?” Grady knelt to examine the thin line in the dirt.
Obviously he had been watching when I found what was underneath, so I showed him how the hole had been filled with little regard for the rose’s root system.
My cousin frowned. “Wonder what was under here? Reckon Uncle Ernest knows? You said he was out here digging the other night.”
“I’m not sure. It could’ve been done since, but whoever did it knew what he was doing, I almost didn’t notice it.”
“What about Casey?” he said.
“Casey’s a gardener. He’d know better than to shock the root system like that . . . look what it’s done to the bush. Besides, I heard Uncle Ernest tell him to stay away from the rose garden.”
“How’s Josie?” Grady asked. “Her foot any better?”
“Swelling’s down some, thanks. She has poison ivy, though.” I started walking back. We were only a few yards from the house; nothing could happen to me here, yet that feeling of unease persisted.
Walking along beside me, Grady must have sensed it. He put out a hand to stop me. “Wait a minute, Kate. Something’s wrong. What is it?”
I tried to laugh. “You mean other than we all spent the night roaming around the mountain and somebody pushed Ella into a ravine? Not to mention the skeleton they dug up next door and the yellow jackets that attacked Belinda.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to mention that.”
When Grady grinned, he looked and sounded so much like his old self I had to laugh. But now he turned serious. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you, Kate?”
“What? Don’t be silly! Of course not. What a thing to say!”
“Yes, you are. I can tell. What’s the matter? You think I did in poor Ella?”
We walked to a bench beneath the scuppernong arbor and he sat and put his head in his hands. “Just tell me what it is, will you? Please?”
I sat beside him and pulled his hands away. “It’s just that . . . well, you said something the other day that made me wonder, that’s all.”
“When? Said what? You mean when I told you about my . . . father?”
“No, not that, although that did come as kind of a shock. You described Beverly’s apartment, Grady, when you said you’d never been there.” I glanced at the back porch. No one was there. And Augusta? She was probably somewhere shepherding Penelope.
“I see.” My cousin linked his fingers together and stared at the earth between his feet. He didn’t speak again for a while.
My mind went crazy. This is where the murderer says, And now no one need ever know . . . as he chokes the victim. I hoped my wandering husband would turn up sometime soon to take care of Josie in case Grady took a notion to do away with me. The idea was so ridiculous, I almost laughed.
“You’re right, I was there,” Grady said finally. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone. There didn’t seem to be any reason . . .”
“You were there when Beverly died?”
“No! No, I drove up there a few weeks before. Didn’t mention it to anybody—it was a spur of the moment thing, but Bev and I hadn’t seen each other in . . . well, years really. We’d talked over the phone for hours, and everything seemed to click between us—almost like it used to. I just needed to see her, to be with her, and Bev felt the same.” Grady pulled a leaf from the scuppernong vine and rolled it between his fingers.
“So, how did it go?” I asked.
He took a deep breath and dropped the leaf to the ground. “Okay, I guess. It was good to see her again. We went out to dinner, had some wine. She told me about her work and what she planned to do when she got her degree. We talked about old times . . .”
“And?” I waited.
“And . . . nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” I asked.
“Just that. We had a pleasant time together, but that was all. There wasn’t any chemistry between us. It was gone—zilch!”
“Do you think she felt the same way?”
Grady shook his head. “Don’t know. It’s hard to say. Bev seemed eager to be back in North Carolina, closer to her family and all that, and I’m sure she was glad to see me. To tell the truth, I was so disappointed after building this all up in my mind, I didn’t pay much attention to how Beverly reacted. I was disgusted with myself for dragging it out like that, for wasting all those years hoping someday Bev would change her mind.”
“And when she did, you didn’t want her?”
“Something like that. Frankly, I was hoping Bev felt the same so it would save me the embarrassment of going through all that. Kate, you must think I’m a real jerk.”
“You can’t help how you feel,” I said. “So that’s how you knew about her apartment, how small it was and where it was located.”
He nodded. “Right. That place was out in the boonies.”
“Grady, while you and Bev were talking, did she mention having a quarrel with anyone?”
“Not that I can think of. Why?”
“She didn’t seem afraid or suspicious of anybody at the university or maybe somebody she worked with?”
Grady got to his feet. “Why are you asking me this, Kate? Is there something I don’t know?”
I was explaining that the police there thought Beverly’s death wasn’t an accident when Uncle Ernest drove up. Once he’d gotten out of the car, he barely nodded to us as he approached; his pace was slower than usual and his hair looked as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. My uncle seemed to have aged five years in the last few days.
I knew it probably wasn’t the proper time to ask him, but I had to know. “Uncle Ernest, it looks like somebody dug up something under one of the rose bushes. Did you know about that?”
He looked at me as if he didn’t understand. “What, Kate?”
“The rose bush—the pink one in the back. Somebody’s been digging under there. Looks like they tried to put it back so nobody would know.”
He took a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, and it occurred to me that Ella must have ironed that handkerchief. “Let’s don’t worry about that right now, Kate, and I’d just as soon you stay away from the garden for now.”
I nodded. I felt like a little girl with her hand in the cookie jar. “I’m sorry about Ella, Uncle Ernest. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“It’s all taken care of. Service is tomorrow at three—Presbyterian church, of course.” It surprised me when my uncle smiled. “Ella left instructions, you know—had everything written out. And guess what hymn she wants? ‘Shall We Gather at the River’! And her terrified of water!”
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I left Grady to mull over what I had told him about Beverly and followed my uncle inside where Violet waited in the kitchen. She had a tall glass of sweet tea ready with lemon and mint, just the way Uncle Ernest liked it, and before the man had a chance to do otherwise, Violet had him seated at the table. She pulled out a chair and plopped down across from him, then indicated that I was to do the same.
“Kate and I are concerned about Maggie, Ernest,” she began in a confidential whisper. “She’s uneasy, you know, living alone with all that’s been going on.”
My uncle glanced at me and I repeated what Violet had said.
He drained his glass and waited while Violet refilled it. “I never knew Maggie to be the nervous type,” he said.
Violet smoothed her purple hair and patted his hand. “Well, of course, she won’t let on, but I know she’s been awake half the night.”
I almost laughed. My grandmother usually slept like a rock.
“We were thinking, since she’s alone over there it might help her to get a good night’s rest if you were to stay with her—for tonight at least. We have Lum and Grady here with us and I’ll be sleeping on the cot—just until this passes over.”
Uncle Ernest took off his glasses and polished them. I doubt if he’d been out of his own bed more than two or three times in the last forty years. He was not a happy man. “You want me to stay tonight at Maggie’s?” He sighed. “Well, Violet, if you really think it would help—”
“Oh, I do, I do!” For a minute I thought she might hug him, but Violet restrained herself. “But don’t let on to anybody about this, please. It would embarrass Maggie for anybody to know she’s having these problems. You know how independent she pretends to be.”
My uncle nodded numbly. I wanted to jump up and run. Surely lightning would strike us at any moment! If my grandmother ever found out what we had done, Violet and I would really have something to worry about!
A few minutes later I heard Violet telling Ma Maggie that Ernest was concerned about her staying alone and insisted on being with her that night.
“Why, I’m perfectly all right by myself. Ernest knows that.” My grandmother spoke a little too loudly and Violet made even more noise trying to shush her.
“He wants to do this, Maggie. He’s your brother, he worries about you. One night isn’t going to kill you, so just humor the man, will you?” I could tell Violet was losing her patience.
“Oh, all right, but I’ll have to make up the bed in my guest room. I just hope I can find the sheets!” Ma Maggie grumbled. “And for the last three nights some idiot woman has been calling me at four in the morning asking to speak to somebody named Homer Earl. I keep telling her there’s no Homer Earl there, but she can’t seem to get it through her thick skull! Hope Ernest doesn’t mind losing out on his sleep.”
“And please don’t say anything to him or anybody else about this, Maggie,” Violet said. “He’d hate for everybody to know he’s such an old worrywart. Promise it will be our secret.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, all right!” My grandmother waved her away. “But I think you’re both about three pickles shy of a quart.”
She doesn’t know the half of it, I thought.