Chapter 29 The Southern Belle’s Guide to Etiquette
Bella Cummings had been stuck inside for almost a week. She couldn’t even get out of bed without her mother acting like she was going to keel over and die.
“Good Lord, Mama, I’m fine!” she argued.
Her mother took Bella’s head in her hands and stared pitifully into her eyes. “Baby, you suffered a terrible head injury. Your beautiful brains need time to heal.”
“Bella, get back upstairs and get some rest before you give your mother a goddamned stroke!” her father shouted from somewhere in the house.
Bella’s brains were the only part of her that hadn’t got any rest. She’d been thinking nonstop. Since she was five years old, she’d been plotting her big escape from Troy. She planned to live someplace like San Francisco or New York when she wasn’t traveling to far-flung locations. She’d take lots of lovers and turn down all their proposals. Somehow, she’d find a way to make gobs of money while simultaneously saving the world. At the end of the summer, Bella would take the first big step toward that goal. She’d be leaving Troy behind for Brown University in Rhode Island. It was a dream come true. But she didn’t want to go.
Something had happened the evening of the rally. She hadn’t told anyone about it because there was a good chance they’d just chalk it up to brain damage. But Bella swore she’d felt a powerful new presence in the square that night. According to The Southern Belle’s Guide to Etiquette, which she kept under her pillow, the ancient god of Justice had been female. The Egyptians called her Maat. The Romans, Justitia. In Greece, she was known as Themis. And when Themis was not obeyed, Nemesis, the goddess of retribution, would show up to kick butt and take names. Bella liked to think that’s what had happened. Justice had not been served. Now the woman who’d been wronged all those years earlier had come for Augustus Wainwright’s legacy. It was her presence Bella had felt at the rally.
The spell that had brought her back was simple. A few strands of DNA. A family Bible. And a collection of books that told the unvarnished truth. It was a spell that would work anywhere in America, and the justice it released could take down criminals who’d gone unpunished for centuries.
Voices in the foyer downstairs dragged her attention away. Just as she’d been doing since she was little, Bella tiptoed to the stairs to eavesdrop.
“I know y’all are worried about her.” It was Wilma’s voice. “That’s why I brought Dr. Chokshi. If he doesn’t give her a clean bill of health, we’ll leave her in bed. But if she’s good to go, I have use for her.”
“But Meemaw—” Bella’s dad began to argue.
“You’re a grown-up now, hon. You can call me Wilma.”
Bella stifled a laugh during the stunned pause that followed.
“Don’t make me stand here all day,” Wilma added. “It’s an emergency, David.”
“Okay then, Wilma.” Bella’s father had given in. “As long as the doctor says she’s out of danger.”
Bella raced back to her room with a smile on her face and waited for the knock on the door.
“Dr. Chokshi!” She feigned surprise when he stepped into the room.
“Hey, brawler,” he said. “How you feeling?”
“Ready for another round,” Bella told him.
She passed the neurological exam with flying colors. Dr. Chokshi said he’d never seen pupils dilate and constrict so perfectly.
“You satisfied?” Wilma asked Bella’s parents.
“I suppose so,” Bella’s father said reluctantly.
“Then give me a moment with your girl if you don’t mind.”
Everyone else left the bedroom and Wilma closed the door. There was a twinkle in the older woman’s eye and a spring in her step. Last time Bella had seen her great-grandma so fired up, Wilma had been piping fresh whipped cream into a penis cake.
“Did you know Lindsay Underwood was the one who switched all those books in Lula Dean’s library?”
“I did,” Bella confessed.
“Well, Lula pressed charges and Lindsay got arrested. Felony theft by taking. That girl did this town a world of good. Get some clothes on. The two of us are going to clear her name.”
“I’ll tell her you’re here to see her,” Beverly Underwood said. “But Lindsay hasn’t wanted to speak to anyone since it happened. I wouldn’t have guessed getting arrested would be such a blow. I’ve never seen her like this before.”
Bella opened her bag and pulled out a book. “Would you mind giving this back to her? Tell her I read it cover to cover, and she needs it more now than I do.”
Beverly let out a snort when she lay eyes on the cover. “The Southern Belle’s Guide to Etiquette? You’re saying this belongs to Lindsay? I haven’t seen one of these since I threw my mother’s old copy in the fireplace when I was thirteen years old.”
Wilma wagged a bony finger at Beverly. “That right there just got you my vote for mayor.”
“We both know I had your vote anyway, Wilma.” Beverly winked at her.
“It’s Lindsay’s favorite book,” Bella told Beverly. “She loaned it to me. Can you tell her it made me the person I am today? Please?”
“Well, alright.” Beverly seemed to be questioning Bella’s sanity, but she was willing to give it a go. “I’ll see what she says.”
A few minutes later, Beverly returned down the stairs. “I don’t know how you figured it out, Bella, but it seems like that book was the magic charm. Lindsay said to send the both of you up.”
When Bella and Wilma got to Lindsay’s room, they found her sitting on the side of her bed wearing pajamas and slippers in three clashing shades of tartan. She had her hair tied in a knot on the top of her head, and black smudges of mascara beneath both eyes.
“Thank you for coming, Bella, but I’m not sure why you’re here.”
Bella gestured toward the woman beside her. “Lindsay Underwood, I want you to meet your new lawyer. This is Wilma Cummings, my great-grandma. She’s a former DA and the best criminal defense attorney Georgia’s ever seen. I’ll be assisting her with your case.”
“You know my dad is a lawyer, right?” Lindsay asked.
“And a good one,” Wilma said, stepping forward. “But his specialty is environmental law. You need a defense attorney.”
“I’m not planning to mount a defense,” Lindsay said in a flat, monotone voice that didn’t belong to the person Bella knew. “I did it. I’m guilty.”
“Lindsay, you know The Southern Belle’s Guide to Etiquette says you should never, ever waive your right to a lawyer,” Bella reminded her.
“What you did does not merit a felony charge,” Wilma added. “And believe me, sweetheart, you do not want a felony on your record.”
“Well, I don’t know how to avoid it. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t take Lula’s books,” Lindsay told her.
“You won’t have to,” Bella assured Lindsay. “Our goal is to make Lula Dean drop the charges.”
Now that they were officially on the case, Bella and Wilma reviewed the charges over coffee and pecan pie.
“Lula’s saying Lindsay took twenty-six books valued at twenty dollars each, which puts the total just over the threshold for a felony charge.” Wilma looked over her reading glasses. “Five hundred and twenty dollars’ worth of books sound right to you?”
Bella nearly choked on her pie. “That woman has no shame. Those books weren’t worth twenty dollars when they were brand new.”
“Where’s the nearest place to buy cheap books?” Wilma asked.
A quick internet search showed the closest thrift store that sold used books was a Goodwill in Macon. Bella was on the road by eleven and pulling into the Goodwill parking lot at twelve-thirty.
The woman behind the counter wasn’t sure what to make of Bella at first. “You look awfully young for a private investigator.”
“That’s what they used to say about Nancy Drew, isn’t it? And look how many cases she solved.” Bella pulled out her phone and pulled up a picture of Lula Dean. “Do you recall seeing this person in your store?”
The woman leaned forward. “Oh sure.” She’d only needed a split-second glance. “That’s Lula. She used to be a regular. Always looking for dresses and such to turn into costumes for her kids. Hadn’t seen her for years until she showed up a few weeks back and bought a bunch of books.”
“Do you remember any of the titles?”
The woman’s eyes rolled upward as though searching for the answer on the shop’s ceiling tiles. “Well, there was Chicken Soup for the Soul, I remember that one. And there were a couple I thought we’d never get rid of. One about a girl going to Europe and one on crochet. Can’t remember any of the rest off the top of my head. I reckon there were about two dozen in all.”
“You happen to remember how much she paid?” Bella asked, though she figured it was a long shot.
“As a matter of fact I do ’cause she demanded a fifty percent discount. Said they smelled musty. I was just glad to get rid of ’em so I gave them to her for seven dollars and seventy-five cents.”
“You’re sure about that? Seven dollars and seventy-five cents?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure. Had to count it out myself. She paid in dimes, nickels, and pennies.”
Outside in the dry, dusty parking lot with the sun beating down on her, Bella phoned Wilma. “I got a woman at a Goodwill in Macon says she sold Lula the books for the library. All of them together cost seven dollars and seventy-five cents. You can’t have someone arrested for stealing something that’s worth less than ten dollars.”
Wilma cackled on the other end of the phone. “What are you talking about? Of course you can, darlin’. This is Georgia. But you just got the charge dropped down to a misdemeanor. And it might be embarrassing enough to make Lula drop the charges as well. I’ll reach out to the sheriff’s department.”
When Bella got to Wilma’s house, her great-grandmother greeted her at the door with a frown and a shake of her head. “No dice. We’re not looking at a felony anymore, but Lula won’t budge,” she said.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Bella responded. “But I’ve got another idea I want to explore.”
On the drive back from Macon, she’d been thinking about the rally—and the moments right before she’d gotten shoved off the stage. She remembered the Wright brothers unfurling their banner. A couple of reporters down below had called out questions. Then Lula had shouted, “Stop him!” She’d said him. Not them. Bella was sure of it. Something strange had been happening up on that stage.
Bella cracked open her laptop and searched for news footage of the rally. The professionals’ cameras had all been aimed at the two boys and their banner. In each of the videos, Lula shouted, “Stop him!” But she hadn’t even been facing the Wright boys at the time. Who was she talking about? Bella wondered. That was the million-dollar question.
She found the answer on Instagram. Mara Ocumma had posted a video she’d taken from the left side of the stage. You couldn’t read the Wrights’ banner, but it offered a clear view of Lula and her followers. Bella studied the film frame by frame and found the moment someone caught Lula’s eye. The woman wasn’t looking at Isaac or Elijah. She was staring in horror at Logan Walsh, who’d dropped to one knee. At first, Bella thought he might be tying a bootlace. But his fingers were on the cuff of his pants. Bella moved forward two frames and saw what she recognized as a gun strapped to Logan’s ankle.
Her heart pounding, Bella pressed play. Mitch Sweeney barreled forward, blocking Logan’s view of the Wright brothers. Mitch stumbled over a wire and rammed into her. Bella watched her own body fly out over the crowd. Then everyone surged to the front of the stage, and Logan Walsh disappeared in the chaos.
Bella sat back in shock. The Wright brothers could have died that day—and Lula had known all along. She had seen Logan’s gun.
“She never called the police,” Bella told her great-grandmother. “Logan Walsh could have killed Isaac and Elijah and that bitch didn’t call the police.”
Never once in her life had she seen Wilma struck speechless. It felt like minutes passed before her great-grandmother cleared her throat. “You were up on that stage, too.”
And yet when Bella phoned their client to report their discovery, Lindsay didn’t think it was useful.
“You think someone like Lula will ever fess up?” Lindsay sounded tired and resigned to her fate. “She’ll just say she didn’t see the gun. Doesn’t seem like you can prove that she did.”
They could try, but Bella knew Lindsay was right. “I don’t understand. Why is Lula Dean out to get you?”
“It’s not me she wants to destroy,” Lindsay said. “It’s my mother. She and Lula have hated each other since high school.”
Bella grabbed a notebook. “Interesting.” She readied her pen. “What’s the source of the bad blood?”
“No clue,” said Lindsay. “Whenever I ask, my mother just says it’s not her story to tell. I know she looks like a sweet little thing, but when Beverly Underwood doesn’t want to do something, there’s no point in trying to make her. Listen, Bella, I really appreciate all the work you’ve done, but I’d rather just have this over with.”
Bella nearly threw her pen across the room in frustration. “Lindsay, you’re acting like you want to be punished!”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Oh my God. You do! Why?” Bella demanded.
Lindsay sighed. “When Logan Walsh shot himself, there was a copy of TheCatcher in the Rye on his desk. I think my prank may have given him the inspiration to kill your best friend and my mother.”
For a while, they sat in silence on either end of the phone.
It was Bella who finally spoke. “Your mail been delivered yet?”
“What?”
“What time does your mail usually come?”
“Late afternoon? Round this time, usually. Why?”
“Make sure you’re dressed. I’ll be right over.” Bella ended the call and set off across town.
“She’s in here.”
Bella guided Delvin Crump into the Underwoods’ living room. Even at four o’clock, the shorts of his uniform remained perfectly pressed and his socks pulled up all the way to the knee. Sitting on her mama’s couch, Lindsay could have been mistaken for a heap of dirty laundry.
“Hello, Mr. Crump.” Lindsay stood to greet him.
Delvin Crump took in the girl’s smeared mascara and unwashed hair. “Miss Underwood. I hear you’re the one who switched out all the books. Were you the one who thought to wrap Beloved in the cover of Our Confederate Heroes?”
“Yes, sir,” Lindsay said with a tremble in her voice. “I’m very sorry for what you saw at Logan Walsh’s house.”
“I am, too,” Delvin said. “Bella tells me you think you’re responsible.”
Lindsay nodded. “TheCatcher in the Rye was one of the books I left in Lula’s library.”
“And you think that book inspired Logan’s actions.”
Lindsay shrugged and sank down to the sofa. “I think there’s a chance.”
Delvin took a seat on a chair opposite Lindsay and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “That was a troubled and tormented young man who’d been used and abused by terrible people all of his life. He had a house filled with weapons and a shooting range with Barack Obama’s face pinned to one of the targets. And you think a book gave him the idea to kill people?”
Lindsay stayed quiet.
Delvin sat upright. “Sounds ridiculous when I put it that way, doesn’t it? But I’m going to go one further for you and put an end to any uncertainty. What I’m about to tell you didn’t make any of the news reports. I saw that book sitting on Logan Walsh’s desk the day he died. I thought maybe I could use it to get him to open up to me, so I asked him about it. He hadn’t read TheCatcher in the Rye. He didn’t know about Hinckley or Mark Chapman or anything else. He wanted to shoot people to prove to Nathan Dugan that he wasn’t worthless.”
“It wasn’t the book that inspired him?”
“It’s never the book,” Delvin said. “You didn’t have anything to do with Logan’s life being lost. But I can tell you one thing for sure—you helped make mine joyful again. I’d lost faith in this town. I thought it was filled with people like Lula and Nathan Dugan. But you, Bella, and the Wright boys helped me see that there are plenty of good folks around here. They just haven’t been shouting as loud as the others.”
All three heads swiveled toward the foyer at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Seconds later, Beverly Underwood appeared in the living room with Ronnie Childers, still wearing his work apron and carrying two bags of groceries.
“Well, hello there,” Beverly said, looking somewhat mystified. “Delvin. Bella. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“They came to give me a pep talk,” Lindsay explained.
“Ah.” Beverly left it at that for the moment. “Well, look who I found at the Piggly Wiggly!”
“Hey,” Ronnie offered awkwardly.
“Ronnie’s joining us for dinner tonight and y’all are invited, too. The Wrights will be joining us at six.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Beverly, but I got to finish up my route and get back to Wanda,” Delvin said, slapping his thighs and lifting up off the chair. “But I’ll see you all at the reunion on the third.”
“That, you will!” Beverly saw Delvin to the door then came back to Bella. “What about you, honey?”
“I’d love to stay for dinner, Mrs. Underwood,” Bella said. “If the Wrights are here, it will save me a trip. There are a few things I need to tell everyone.”
“Wonderful!” Then Beverly shot a quick glance at Ronnie Childers. When she looked back at Bella, there was a glimmer of inspiration in her eyes. “You know what? Why don’t you do me a favor, hon, and invite your grandma, Wilma, too?”
A few hours later, Bella was still wondering what Beverly had up her sleeve when their hostess gave Ronnie Childers a spot next to Wilma at the dinner table.
“I think I found your next client, Wilma,” Bella heard Beverly say.
“That right?” Wilma asked, her curiosity clearly piqued. “What’d they get you for, young man?”
“Felony possession of a schedule-one substance,” Ronnie admitted.
“Oh my!” Betsy Wright, who was sitting close enough to overhear, sounded scandalized.
“Mushrooms.” Lindsay’s cheeks had regained some of their color, but she still wasn’t quite right. “Can you believe that? The same mushrooms that grow in every cow pasture in Georgia. Schedule one—just like heroin.”
Wilma shook her head. “Absolutely ridiculous. From what I’ve read, mushrooms have zero potential for abuse and plenty of recognized medical uses.” Wilma patted Ronnie’s arm. “Tell me all about it. Start from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”
For the next hour, everyone listened in. Over dessert, Wilma announced her conclusion. “Sounds like unlawful search and seizure to me,” she said. “That sheriff is a menace and your public defender must be brain-dead. Come by my house tomorrow morning and we’ll get started on your appeal.”
The whole table had been so riveted by Ronnie’s tale that it wasn’t until after the pie plates had been cleared away that Bella had a chance to bring everyone up to speed on her discoveries. She wanted to get the worst bit out of the way first, so she started with what she’d seen on the video of the rally.
“Unfortunately, there’s no way to prove that Lula knew Logan had a gun,” Lindsay said.
“Maybe in a court of law, but I’ve seen enough to be sure.” James Wright looked like he might explode. “I gave that woman weeks of my spare time, and she couldn’t tell me that my sons were in danger?”
His wife reached over and took his hand. “I’m angry, too. But I don’t think Lula hid that information on purpose,” she said.
Everybody at the table turned their eyes to Betsy.
“I know Lula better than just about anyone,” Betsy said. “That woman can’t see past her own nose. She’s so self-centered that it wouldn’t have occurred to her that our boys were at risk. She would have been too busy thinking about her rally being ruined.”
“My wife worked with Lula for fifteen years,” James explained. “I should have listened when she told me to keep my distance.”
“That’s right!” Beverly exclaimed. “I forgot Lula used to work at Fairview Florist!”
“So what do you suppose we should do, Mrs. Wright?” Bella asked. “What’s the best way to get Lula to drop the charges against Lindsay?”
“Easy,” Betsy said with complete confidence. “You want to put an end to Lula’s nonsense, you need to find her children.”
“That might not be as easy as it sounds,” Lindsay said. “I was friendly with Taylor and Talia in school. As far as I know, they haven’t been in touch with anyone here since they left.”
“I built all the sets for their shows at school.” Ronnie spoke up. “I bet I know who can find them. Want me to send a note to Mr. Minter?”