Chapter Seven #2
There were a few people Cordelia recognized.
The Newman brothers, who still smelled like a couple of wet dogs.
Ashby Clover, who rode in the mayor’s convertible as the Pumpkin Patch Festival Queen the year Cordelia started kindergarten.
Bert Baker, who chipped his front tooth trying to jump a rail in the park on a dare, now walked around the store with a baby strapped to his chest. And Rayla Towne, who moved to Houston to work for NASA, but still came back every other week to volunteer at the local animal shelter.
A collage of faces from her childhood that had shifted and changed, even as the town around them remained the same.
“Miss Daisy.” A man in his late fifties with a bristly beard and small eyes took off his John Deere hat and clutched it in his hand.
He handed Daisy a flyer. “Would you be so kind as to put this up in your room? The sheriff is more interested in helping that real estate fellow from Catterwood, Sean O’Leary, scout out land than he is in solving crime these days. ”
Cordelia looked over Daisy’s shoulder at the poster offering a cash reward of twenty dollars for anyone who had information on a recent break-in, or forty dollars if anyone had heard of an old miner’s journal reported to be sold to a nearby pawn shop.
If so, people were instructed to contact Porter Sheldon.
“Oh, Porter, honey, I’d love to. Really.” Daisy handed back the flyer. “But I’m not sure it fits in with my decor. Next thing you know, everybody will be wanting to pin things to my wall, and that’s not good for ambiance, you know?”
“Yeah. I know.” Porter put his hat back on. “Thought it would be worth a try.”
“I’ll be sure to pass the word along though.” She gave his cheek a pat.
“Thanks, ma’am. Appreciate it.”
They walked up a few more aisles, grabbing a package of gummy worms for Daisy and cooking spray for Arline to do Lord knew what with since she didn’t have a stove.
“There’s Stella.” Daisy pointed to a woman who stood alone in the baking aisle holding a bag of flour and staring off into space like she wasn’t quite sure how she got to the store.
She looked nearly the same as she had in Cordelia’s youth, with sleek raven-black hair twisted into a tight bun, wide tawny eyes, and understated makeup.
Even her style screamed elegance, though she wore only a plain black shift dress.
She had a softness about her that made her the perfect pastor’s wife. The picture of a nurturing soul.
“Should we say hi?” Cordelia whispered. While it seemed like the polite thing to do, as Stella had been her neighbor for the first ten years of her life, she didn’t want to bombard her with the woman her husband had been spending time with for the last thirty years.
“Probably not.” Daisy maneuvered their cart toward the produce section. “Stella didn’t have a problem with my arrangement with the pastor, but it’ll stir up gossip, and that’s not a nice thing to do to a woman in mourning.”
Daisy put Belinda Sue’s strawberries in their cart, then grabbed Cordelia’s upper arm. “Ooh, don’t look now, but here comes Honey Stevens. She don’t like me on account of her obsession with the pastor. I’m surprised she’s not wearing a black veil.”
Cordelia turned her head to take in a woman of about sixty wearing a skintight leopard-print leotard with neon-pink leg warmers and a matching headband that pushed back a pile of blond curls sprayed stiff enough to be a storm shelter.
An old memory prickled the back of Cordelia’s mind.
Twenty years ago, Honey Stevens had been too busy gossiping to pay attention to where she was going and bumped into Cordelia as she was coming out of Parson’s Drugstore.
Instead of apologizing, like any good Texas woman would, she yelled at Cordelia right in the middle of Main Street while she doused her hands in sanitizer like Cordelia was a germ who was trying to invade her ecosystem.
Honey’s blue eyeshadow cracked as she raised her brows at the sight of Daisy.
Her gaze passed over Cordelia as if she weren’t worth noticing, and Cordelia couldn’t decide whether to feel offended or blessed at the obvious brush-off.
Bracelets jangling as she waved, Honey made a beeline toward Daisy with her reusable shopping bag dangling off her overly tan, speckled arm.
“Now you’ve done it,” Daisy said. “I told you not to look.”
“Well, if it isn’t Daisy Dawson. I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.” Honey fluffed her immobile curls. “I’m sure you heard the news.”
“It’s a tragedy.” Daisy’s voice couldn’t have been flatter if it had been pressed between a stack of Bibles. “He was a good man.”
“The best.” Honey’s thousand-watt smile dimmed by several degrees as her eyes filled with tears. A practiced move, if Cordelia had to bet the farm on it. “I’m not sure how this town is supposed to move on when he was the center of it.”
“I’m sure people will find a way. They can be real resilient like that.” Daisy began to guide Cordelia away. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Honey’s eyes narrowed. “Truth be told, I thought you’d be more broken up, but here you are, out strutting through town without a care in the world.”
“It’s not my place any more than it’s yours, as you’d do best to remember.” Daisy leaned in closer to Honey and lowered her voice. “I hope you’re respecting his wife’s time of grieving. She doesn’t need to hear how devastated you are right now.”
Honey turned up her nose. “I’d never.”
Daisy gave her a short nod and walked away, her heels clicking on the concrete flooring, leaving Cordelia to hurry to catch up to her.
As they turned into the next aisle, Daisy clenched her fists and released a low growl.
“If I hear one word about Honey bothering Stella right now, I might be tempted to slap some sense into her. That fool woman would fire a missile if she thought she could take credit for a war.”
Cordelia didn’t say anything, just hummed and placed a jar of pickles in the cart.
She didn’t bring up her brief history with Honey Stevens.
Memories only had as much power as a person was willing to give, and Cordelia wasn’t willing to give Honey a lick.
And perhaps Honey had her own problems now.
Back in the day, she’d been a nurse at the local hospital and married to a town councilman.
She wore a diamond the size of a small boulder.
There had been rumors that her ring was a fake and her husband was a conman.
Cordelia never set much store in rumors, but she had noticed the absence of the ring and the husband today.
Daisy and Cordelia continued to shop, but it wasn’t until they made it to the baking aisle that Cordelia realized why Daisy wanted to come into town so bad.
It wasn’t just because she was itching to socialize, though that was probably part of it; she was also fishing for information.
Aside from a few mentions of Porter’s reward and the Abernathys hurting local builders by going into business with an out-of-town real estate developer, almost every conversation revolved around the pastor.
Had Daisy heard about his tragic passing?
Did anyone know he was having heart troubles?
Or did the intruder scare him so bad his heart stopped?
Wasn’t it a shame the church didn’t have cameras?
Why did the intruder only take a stapler and a paperweight?
How were Stella and Archer holding up? Whose turn was it to bring Stella a casserole?
What would happen to her house seeing as it was church-owned?
Not one whisper about the pastor and Daisy or the Chickadee. As far as everyone was concerned, he’d passed away in his office from heart failure during a break-in, where he’d been working late on the coming week’s sermon. Cordelia could hardly dare to believe they got away with moving a body.
Though that feeling of elation appeared to be short-lived. As they were loading groceries into Cordelia’s trunk, the loud clang of metal on metal jarred their attention as a woman ran her cart straight into theirs.
“Pardon me.” The woman with the cart had a short bob of black hair and a mole the size of a nickel on her right temple. She smiled at them with what could only be described as clear malice. “Well now, if it isn’t the local whore and her pimp.”
Cordelia’s blood burned hotter than the hinges of hell.
Who was this terrible woman and where did she get the gall?
Everyone else managed to be polite. Even outright friendly.
She’d almost forgotten where she was and where she’d come from, but she could feel it rising in her now.
That shadow of her momma’s poor reputation, daring her to fight fire with fire.
Cordelia gave her the kind of hard-edged stare she generally reserved for book banners and people who left carts in parking spots.
“You look lost, honey. Did the circus leave town without you? That’s all right, I’m sure there are a few children’s parties around here that could use a spare clown, bless your heart. ”
Now she’d gone and done it. Cordelia hated confrontation with every fiber of her soul, but it was too late. She’d have to accept the consequences of her irrational outburst. It wasn’t every day her momma’s influence took hold, but it could be ugly when it happened.
Daisy cackled with delight. “Like I said, Miss Penelope didn’t make mistakes.”
The woman before them looked ready to do a murder without reasonable cause, and suddenly Cordelia didn’t feel so bad.
“I doubt y’all will be laughing when it comes out that my husband happened to see the pastor’s Cadillac and a car that looks an awful lot like this one leaving the motel last Friday night, right before the church was broken into. ”
Cordelia stiffened, but Daisy appeared unfazed. “Why, Edna Abernathy, are you telling me Corbin was at the Chickadee last Friday? What a scandal.” Daisy placed a hand over her chest. “Oh, I do hope for your sake that doesn’t get out.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” Edna hissed. “I think you had something to do with the pastor’s death, and when we prove it, that nasty little establishment of yours will go up on the auction block. So enjoy those laughs while you’ve got them.”
“Okay.” Daisy blew her a kiss. “I’ll be sure to tell Arline that Corbin said hi.”
The blood drained from Edna’s face, though Cordelia was certain Corbin Abernathy wasn’t a regular of Arline’s. But if the headlights Cordelia had seen that night were Corbin’s, they were in big trouble.
Edna rushed away, no doubt on her way to read her husband the riot act. Cordelia might’ve felt bad for her if she hadn’t been so mean.
Daisy shut the trunk and dusted her hands together. “That’ll teach her.”
“You know . . .” Cordelia glanced at Edna’s retreating back. “We might not want to go around poking bears. I did see headlights that night.”
“Ain’t no one going to believe them.” Daisy tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Everyone knows the Abernathys are as dirty as they come, and they’ll say anything to get their hands on the Chickadee. Don’t pay Edna any mind.”
“Fair enough.” Daisy knew this town better than she did, and if she wasn’t worried, then Cordelia wouldn’t worry either.
They’d just finished putting the eggs, bread, and other fragile foods in the back seat when Archer Reed-Smythe strolled up to them. Cordelia’s pulse kicked up to an erratic beat as his eyes locked on hers and he gave a slow grin.
He chewed on the end of a toothpick, same as the ex-smokers would do outside the church where her momma attended AA meetings.
Cordelia released a small, involuntary squeak and his mustache twitched.
Trouble. This man was so much trouble. Try as she might, Cordelia couldn’t go on thinking of him as the vile little boy from next door who took pride in how much of the alphabet he could belch.
He tipped his hat. “Ladies.”
Daisy immediately began to fuss over him, such was her way. “You poor dear. Sad news all around. How are you and your momma holding up?”
“As good as we can be.” He crossed his arms, and Cordelia’s treacherous gaze skimmed over the way his shirt tugged against his biceps. “I’ve got to be honest with you, it was a surprise to find him working that night. Didn’t you say earlier that day he had plans to see you?”
Daisy twisted her fingers together and glanced away. “He never showed up. He must’ve changed his mind and gone into work instead.”
Archer raised his brows. “Gone into work on a Friday night instead of spending his free evening at the Chickadee with you? Come on, now. I find that hard to believe.”
His voice was like hot butter over fresh biscuits. Downright mouthwatering. But his line of questioning was too practiced. The glint in his eyes too aware. Like a hunter setting a trap for a rabbit. Cordelia’s urge to run kicked up a notch.
“It’s been known to happen a time or two.” Daisy’s voice grew thinner with each word.
Cordelia didn’t like where this was going. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears. “Why are you interrogating Miss Daisy?”
“I’m not interrogating.” He paused, his gaze darting between the two of them. “Yet.”
“‘Yet’?” Cordelia placed her hands on her hips.
She’d always channeled the short fuse she’d inherited from her momma into more practical endeavors, such as cleaning the grout in her shower with a toothbrush or balancing her checkbook, but it seemed as though Sarsaparilla Falls brought the spitfire out in her.
Must be all that South Texas heat. “What do you mean by ‘yet’?”
Shadows crossed Archer’s expression and Cordelia felt the pinch of regret for being so stern with him.
She was protective of Daisy, but he just lost his daddy and deserved a little grace.
Cordelia loosened her rigid posture and tried to appear more open and inviting, but when he cocked an eyebrow, she gave up and resumed her natural, straight-faced expression.
“I might as well tell you now.” Archer rubbed his jaw where a thin layer of stubble had started to grow. “We had an autopsy done. My father didn’t die of a heart attack like everyone is saying. He was poisoned.”