Chapter 26
“There isn’t enough coffee in all of Cataloochee County to get me through this party.” J.J. stumbled in the front door of the lake house, crumpled and red around the eyes.
Cheri handed him a mug anyway. “Then you’ll have to rely on—what did you call it?—the adrenaline of a great news story. Just be careful who you go around kissing today.”
J.J. pulled Cheri to him and kissed her hard. “We doubled our print run this morning, just like you told us to do, you sexy thang.”
She giggled. “Good.”
“The story is awesome. Mimi did a hell of a job helping me put everything together after you left late last night, plus she got the FBI to give us a statement—a real one. Cheri, I’ve got a huge surprise for you. Ready?”
She nodded.
J.J. reached behind him and pulled a rolled-up copy of that morning’s Bugle from his belt. Cheri opened it but could barely believe what she was seeing.
“He did do it.” She glanced up at J.J. with her mouth ajar. “They found Wimbley’s nightstick rammed between the dash and the gas pedal of Barbara Jean’s car? Are you kidding?”
“Turner came through at the last minute—he got the FBI to give us what we needed in exchange for bringing Carlotta in to make a statement—and for all your research. Look at this—” J.J. tapped his finger on the third paragraph and read aloud. “‘An FBI spokesman said that Wimbley, a Bigler real estate developer who died in 2001, is now considered the only suspect in the murder. According to investigators, Ms. Smoot had a sexual relationship with Wimbley during his tenure as Cataloochee County sheriff, and forensic examination revealed that prior to her death, Ms. Smoot sustained a blunt force injury consistent with the shape and weight of the police baton found in the vehicle. However, officials said the forensic evidence indicated the injury was not fatal and that Ms. Smoot likely lost consciousness and drowned.’”
Cheri stared at him. “Poor Barbara Jean!” she whispered.
“At least we have answers now.”
“What’s Turner going to do about Wim?”
“Right,” J.J. said, scrunching his nose as if the mere sound of the man’s name left a bad smell. “We agreed to leave out any mention of the blackmail payments. The FBI is still investigating and the district attorney is putting together a case on Wim as we speak—they didn’t want to spook him.”
“He’s supposed to show up here with Tanyalee today.”
“This is sure gonna be interesting.”
J.J. had no idea just how interesting. Cheri had been anxious all morning, knowing that she’d only cleaned up one part of the mess. She still had her suspicions about her parents’ deaths to sort through, which would be no easy task with Purnell still in a coma. Plus, there was her own confession to make. She’d decided the ruse had gone on long enough—she would tell J.J. now and everyone else would find about her financial troubles back in Florida at the picnic. She’d just give them the facts, then ask to be forgiven for taking so long to come clean.
“What’s up, sugar?” J.J. peered down into her face with concern. “Are you worried about Garland? How hard he’s going to take the news about his old friends?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cheri said. “I plan to sit down and hash it out with him before the party, but it’s more than that, really.”
“You gonna tell me?”
She nodded. “I am. But first, there’s something I want you to see.”
Cheri relieved J.J. of his coffee cup, spun him around, and directed him out the front door. When they hit the porch they were greeted by a wall of dark clouds coming in over the lake.
“Uh-oh,” Cheri said. “It wasn’t supposed to rain today.”
When J.J. didn’t concur she found him checking out the kegs of beer sitting in ice on the porch.
“Nothing to fear. Where there’s beer, there’s a way.”
Cheri tugged on J.J.’s hand and dragged him down to the gravel drive and around to the ladder against the side of the house.
“Oh, boy,” he said as he began to climb. “When did you make this discovery?”
“About an hour ago. I hadn’t seen Artemis for a couple days, so I figured I better make sure she was all right.”
J.J. peered up into the soffit and was greeted by a loud “Chit! Chit!” He immediately climbed back down, a huge smile on his face. “I counted five. You know, she’s not going to like our party very much.”
Cheri checked out the gathering clouds again, knowing that the squirrel was the least of her concerns.
Suddenly they heard the crunch of gravel beneath car tires and turned to see who was arriving so exasperatingly early. Cheri’s money was on Aunt Viv when a strange rusted-out Chevrolet Caprice topped the hill and coasted toward the house. It almost looked like a junked police cruiser. Cheri squinted to get a better look.
“Anyone you know?” J.J. asked. “The Blues Brothers, perhaps?”
That was when Cheri got her first peek of blond curls and big, dark sunglasses. The horn began to blast. “Candy?” she yelled out. “No way! It’s Candy!”
“Cherise! I made it! Am I too late for the party?”
* * *
For the first hour or so, the picnic was smooth sailing. There were several reasons for this, and Cheri was thankful for each and every one of them. Most importantly, the rain had held off. Also, the side dishes were plentiful, the keg taps worked, and Tater Wayne’s pork ribs and barbecued chicken were so good everyone agreed they should be illegal. It didn’t hurt that Jim Taggert’s bluegrass group—the Sardonic Beaver Band—had the place rockin’.
Oh. And Tanyalee and Wim hadn’t shown up.
“Where do you think they are?” Viv asked Cheri for the tenth time in as many minutes. “She’s not answering her phone. I’m worried sick.”
Cheri put an arm around Viv’s pink blouse and squeezed her tight. “Please don’t worry.” She nodded toward Turner, standing with a few FBI agents and J.J. over by the hog-shaped barbecue. “If there’d been an accident or something, Turner would have already found out.”
“All right,” Viv said, wandering off.
Granddaddy was her main concern. He hadn’t recovered from hearing everything Cheri had to tell him about Winston Wimbley and Purnell. It broke Cheri’s heart to hear him blame himself. Before the guests arrived, he’d sat at the old oak table and cried his eyes out, saying that if he’d let his friends dupe him like that he had no right to call himself a newsman.
Thank God Candy had shown up when she did. Granddaddy had always adored her, and she had him laughing and reminiscing by the time the party was in full swing.
At one point, Candy took Cheri aside and whispered, “I just knew you needed me here for this. Was I right or what?”
And now, since everything seemed to be going smoothly, Cheri decided she’d get herself a beer and mentally review everything she needed to say to J.J. before anything or anyone else could distract her.
I’m broke. I lost everything in the Florida real estate crash. Please forgive me for not telling you sooner, but I wasn’t ready until now. I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us. I’ll tell you all the details after the party.
A quick peek confirmed that he was now standing on the dock with Turner and the FBI agents. J.J. must have felt her gaze on him because he turned at that moment, unleashing a wickedly sweet smile in her direction.
Cheri took a step toward him. It was going to feel so good to get this off her chest.
Then her BlackBerry rang.
“Incomplete Data” was on the line.
* * *
“No. No. No. This cannot be.”
Tanyalee slapped a hand to her chest. She was having heart palpitations. She was going to die. She should call an ambulance.
It was all gone. Everything Wim had ever given her was gone.
Her two-carat marquise-cut diamond in its platinum setting. Her pearls. Her gold and silver. The emergency cash envelope she kept in her underwear drawer.
He even took his great-grandmother’s hair combs! She loved those things! She hated that bastard!
He’d run all her credit cards through the shredder, which was her first clue that today would not be going as planned.
She’d woken up at eleven. She went into the bathroom and there it was, a little shredded bird’s nest of plastic on the bathroom rug, tiny slivers of what had once been her lovely, smooth, gleaming American Express Gold Card, her Visa card and MasterCard, and her Home Depot card. He’d even shredded her Sears card! Really—like she’d suddenly have the urge to go out and purchase appliances?
Two hours had passed since that initial shock, but she was still sobbing. What had happened? Everything had been going so well—he was so happy with everything they’d discovered about Cheri! Where had this all come from?
And, oh no, she didn’t even want to look in the attached garage, because if he’d taken her Mercedes, she might as well just hang herself.
Tanyalee looked in the bedroom mirror and swore that if she ever saw Wim Wimbley again, she’d put her hands around his spindly neck and cut off his air supply.
* * *
“Hello?”
A man’s thickly accented voice said, “Is this Cherise Nancy Newberry?”
“Who’s calling, please?”
“Am I speaking to Cherise Nancy Newberry, formerly of 4761 Belinda Lane in Harbour Island, Florida?”
“Who is this? How did you get this number?” Cheri abruptly turned away from the dock and swiveled her head around to look for Candy. She found her over by the barbecue hog chatting up Tater Wayne.
“Cheri!” Aunt Viv had just jumped up and down waving a pink arm in the air. “Cheri, come on over here now. We’re gonna have a little presentation!”
“I need to speak with Miss Newberry regarding a matter of—”
“Cheri! Come on now!”
“Listen, I can’t talk at the moment, but I’m doing the best I can to deal with my debt situation. You have my word.”
Viv began swinging a little metal noisemaker over her head.
“I’ve really got to go.”
She shoved the BlackBerry in her pocket.
* * *
The douche bag had taken the singles from her wallet. He’d even taken the change from the kitchen junk drawer, her house key, her cell phone, her laptop, her iPod.
Feeling a lot like Bigler’s version of Cindy Lou Who, Tanyalee walked down to the end of their lane and stuck out her thumb.
A couple of Bubbas in a beat-down pickup offered to take her anywhere she might be wanting to go. She politely declined. More than five minutes went by and no one else stopped for her. That just couldn’t be. Then the Bubbas came back.
“Sure I can’t change your mind, honey?”
Tanyalee sighed. “I am armed. Touch me and I’ll shoot you.”
The two men looked at each other and busted out with a rebel yell. “Well, we’ll get along real well, then! Come on up here!”
Tanyalee felt herself being swung into the cab of the pickup. She immediately clamped her nose shut against the odor of what could only be a combination of chew and dead fish.
“Where’s a pretty little bit like you goin’ on a Saturday afternoon?”
Tanyalee was roughly deposited on the seat between the two men, whom she could now see were no older than twenty. “Take me up to Newberry Lake.”
The driver hit the gas and let out another rebel yell, then handed her a Budweiser. The passenger stuck a pinch between his cheek and gum.
In an unexpected twist, Tanylaee briefly prayed she’d live to see her family again.
* * *
“Now, y’all know how much it means to me that you came out to spend your Saturday with us Newberrys.” Granddaddy had decided that he and Cheri should hold court up on the top porch step, and since he’d already taken an inordinate number of trips to the keg tap, Cheri stood right next to him, basically propping him up. She tried to maintain her smile while her BlackBerry continued to vibrate in her pocket. She didn’t bother to check who was on the line.
“As y’all know, we’re celebrating the end of my fifty-three years as publisher of the Bugle on a significant day. On our front page this morning is—easily—the biggest piece of breaking news we’ve ever published.”
Murmurs and whispers went through the crowd. Granddaddy held up an unsteady hand.
“Yes, we’re all still in shock. It’s going to take a while to come to terms with all this. To think that a man we counted as a friend and considered a linchpin in this community would do such—” He stopped, shook his head, and took a moment to regain his composure. Cheri squeezed his arm. Granddaddy winked at her before he continued.
“Now, here’s what I want to tell ya’ll—the Bugle will continue to cover this story. We will be there to give you every twist and turn in the news of the day. You can count on us to keep you informed.”
Tater Wayne and Candy cheered from their posts over by the barbecue hog. The mayor clapped.
“And now I’d like to thank everyone involved, especially my managing editor, J.J. DeCourcy, and reporter Mimi Grayson, and everyone in graphics and page design and, of course, our law enforcement professionals, for all their hard work.”
Granddaddy paused and looked down at Cheri with a smile. He started to lose his balance but she caught him. Her pocket buzzed again. She felt a bead of sweat roll down the center of her spine. She shot a look of alarm to J.J. who began to edge closer.
“I got this,” she mouthed.
“But the real news today is my granddaughter, Cheri Newberry, who’s come all the way up here—” he gestured so grandly that his plastic beer cup sloshed all over the porch steps—“from Florida and grabbed the bull by the horns, showing all of us that she’s made of tough Newberry stuff! I can’t tell you how proud she makes me.”
Granddaddy kissed her.
“Maybe you should sit down,” she whispered to him.
But he looked out at the crowd and chuckled. “Now, here’s the ironic part! I never would’ve even thought of asking her to come back here if J.J. hadn’t twisted my arm.”
Cheri felt the first raindrop land right between her eyes. The crowd laughed uncomfortably. What had he just said?
She braced her leg to hold him up, and Granddaddy fell against the side of her body, which must have hit the speaker button on her BlackBerry, because suddenly, a man’s voice rose from Cheri’s pants pocket.
“… and because your account is more than eight months overdue, we will now begin legal proceedings to—”
Cheri fumbled around inside her pocket and hit the off button.
The partygoers had gone silent. They stared up at the porch.
“Who in heaven’s name was that talking?” Aunt Viv asked.
“Oh, shit,” was Candy’s pronouncement.
Cheri looked nervously toward J.J., who had started to frown.
None of it slowed down Granddaddy, however.
“Yep,” he continued waving wildly again, beer flying everywhere. “J.J. came to me one day and told me Cheri was flat busted—lost damn near everything down there in that housing … the housing … what the hell was it? A crash? And then he told me she was sellin’ her underwear over the computer and staying in some flophouse and…”
“Oh-f*ckin’-hell, no!” Candy called this out at exactly the right instant during the pause in Granddaddy’s incoherent rant.
Cheri’s face went up in flames. Slowly, ever so slowly, her swimming vision began to find its focus again, and it zeroed right in on J.J.
* * *
“So you like guns, do you?”
Tanyalee lifted her chin and stared straight ahead, estimating she had only another five minutes until they’d get to the lake. She didn’t have the energy to deal with these idiots. And she was way too pissed off to be scared.
“Rifles? Pistols?” The driver wouldn’t drop the subject. “You know, a lot of people assume women should carry around a little twenty-two, or a twenty-eight, or even a thirty-two. But I know better, see, ’cause that small shit ain’t gonna stop two hundred fifty pounds of criminal element, if you get my drift.”
“Right on!” his buddy said.
Tanyalee took a deep breath. She counted to three.
“Nope,” the driver said, putting his hand on her knee. “I think the ladies would do best to keep a nice little thirty-eight snubnose in their panties. Heh, heh, heh.”
“All right, that’s it!” Tanyalee straightened up in the seat and looked from one Bubba to the other. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with here, do you? I’m Tanyalee Marie Newberry, of the Bugle Newberrys, and my dipshit of a fiancé just took away my diamond engagement ring, my cell phone, and my credit cards, and I am about to spit nails I’m so angry, so if either of you f*ck with me, you’re going to live to regret it. Now, hand me another Budweiser and step on it. I’m late for a party.”
There was no response. The only sound in the truck was the metallic crack! of a beer can opening.
“Why, thank you very much,” Tanyalee said.
“Damn,” the driver said, stepping on the gas.
“Yee-haw!” Bubba Number 2 yelled out the open window.
* * *
Wim stood up to his shins in the mud, Purnell’s old revolver cradled in the palm of his hand. It was loaded. He’d checked. But he wasn’t sure the thing would still fire.
Only one way to know for sure. He raised the gun to his head, removed the safety, and reviewed all the reaons why doing away with himself seemed like a good idea.
The Wimbley name was shit. That story on the front page this morning had ruined any hope he had of making this retirement project fly—or anything fly, ever again. Purnell had been right. Once the whole story came out they were going to take everything from him because of the blackmail. He might even be sent to jail, which hardly seemed fair. Wim had worked his ass off to keep Wimbley Real Estate going in this economy. He hadn’t even started this mess! His father had, that black-hearted bastard.
Wim cocked the trigger, knowing that what bothered him the most was his father. The old prick had died without giving him a heads-up on the little problem he’d be leaving him. How hard would it have been to speak the words? By the way, son, you might want to avoid digging in Paw Paw Lake. There’s a dead girl in a car down there. My department-issued nightstick happens to be holding down the gas pedal and there’s a nice baton-shaped hole in her skull, too, details that may cause you a bit of undue embarrassment in the future, should anyone ever discover that car.
Prick.
Not to mention that Wim had been too embarrassed to go to the bank, so he had only six-thousand and change to his name at the moment, all of it from Tanyalee’s secret stash. Once a thief, always a thief, he supposed.
F*cking Newberrys.
Wim took what would be his last breath. He pulled the trigger and waited for the great black empty nothing to swallow him whole.
Click.
But he still stood there in the mud, seething at his father, Tanyalee—all the f*cking Newberrys!—and still breathing.
A big, fat raindrop hit him on the forehead. Well, shee-it. If he was still breathing, he might as well kill someone else instead of himself. Someone who really deserved to die. He ran to the car, pulling his suit jacket over his head to keep his hair dry. He wanted it to look nice for his entrance at the barbecue.