Chapter Seventeen
Jude tuned out Millie’s pointed barbs as she scooped chicken casserole onto a plate. Through the front windows, she could see Emmy pacing the porch with her phone to her ear. Her head was down. Her hand was clenched. The conversation looked tense.
“Are you listening to me?” Millie demanded.
“I’m trying not to,” Jude admitted.
“Smart-ass.”
The moment Taybee had left with her soup pot, Millie had unleashed a tirade against Jude for her presence in the house, in North Falls, in Emmy’s life. Jude had decided the only way to maintain her sanity was to ignore her.
She could’ve easily told Millie that there was no need for a lecture. The ride over had given Jude the opportunity to think about what Emmy had told her on the bench outside the flower shop.
You don’t owe me anything. You never wronged me.
Jude knew when she finally told the truth, Emmy would remember the exchange.
All of the ease and companionship that had followed would suddenly feel like betrayal.
The consequences of Jude’s deceit would only keep compounding.
Her brilliant child had already figured out something was off.
In the quiet moments, when the case reached a lull or hopefully was solved, Emmy would put together the pieces.
And she would be furious.
“Why aren’t you answering me?” Millie demanded. “When are you going back home?”
Jude shrugged. “No idea.”
“Don’t you have a house to look after?”
“Condo.”
“You’re too young to retire. I know you can’t afford it. Don’t you need a job?”
Jude sighed. She said what she hoped would eventually be true. “I’ll be okay.”
“What about that car you’re renting? How much does that cost?”
“Millie.” Emmy was standing in the doorway. “Why don’t you let her borrow your Cadillac?”
Jude couldn’t stop the laugh that came out of her mouth. Then she saw the expression on Emmy’s face. She could tell the phone call on the porch had troubled her. She raised an eyebrow, but Emmy shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it in front of Millie.
“Young lady.” Millie’s face twisted into a scowl as she directed her antagonism toward Emmy.
“Have you seen the nonsense folks are saying on the computer? Some peabrain suggested you and Brett take turns being sheriff. They only ever do that when a woman is beating a man. They never tell men to share when they’re winning. ”
Emmy busied herself straightening the placemats on the kitchen table.
“Millie,” Jude said, “are you turning into a feminist?”
“Don’t be disgusting. I just want women to have a fair shot.”
Jude kept her mouth shut as she took the plate out of the microwave and placed it in front of Emmy. “Sit down. You can eat while Millie answers your questions.”
Emmy looked at Millie, but for once, the old battleax had Jude’s back.
After a long sigh, Emmy sat down, snatched up the fork. “We’re looking for an incident that took place in North Falls in 2002.”
Millie’s hands jabbed into her bony hips. “Well, there was that terrible snowstorm in January. We had six inches here. Ace was supposed to bring me groceries, but his truck got caught in a drift. Had to shovel it out with his hands. The storm went all the way up to Atlanta and over to Athens.”
Jude leaned against the counter. “I think we can exclude weather events.”
Millie glared at her. Then she looked back at Emmy. “You found out you were pregnant with Cole in June. Then you took that hard tumble down the stairs. Doctors put you on bed rest. You couldn’t make it to Ruel’s funeral. Same as Kaitlynn yesterday, come to think on it.”
“Ruel?” Jude asked. “Taybee’s father?”
“You know exactly who Ruel Clifton is.” Millie cut her with a look. “Poor man was out fishing on the Flint and his waders filled up with water. Dragged him down to the bottom. Drowned to death all on his lonesome.”
Millie’s expression suddenly softened. They were both thinking about Henry. He’d disappeared into the Flint and his body hadn’t been found until a week later. It wasn’t lost on Jude that Myrna had claimed Emmy as her own fewer than two years later.
Emmy was oblivious to their silent exchange. She was thinking about 2002. “I’d forgotten all that happened in the same year. That’s a weird coincidence.”
“Why is it weird?” Millie asked. “Because of the trial?”
Jude felt like she was watching a tennis match. Her head snapped back toward Millie.
“What trial?”
“Evelyn Gilchrist,” Millie said, as if everyone knew. “Hold on a minute. I’ve got the newspaper stories in my files. There’s Blue Bunny in the ice box. Both of you girls are too skinny.”
Jude’s head swung back to Emmy. “Do you remember the trial she’s talking about?”
“Sort of?” she sounded unsure. “There was a break-in at the Gilchrist farm. Evelyn, Ezekial Gilchrist’s wife, was home.
She walked in on the burglar. There was a fight.
She ended up getting shot. They couldn’t get a helicopter to land because of the weather.
She died in the ambulance on the way to Atlanta.
That’s why Ezekial funded the trauma center in her name. ”
Jude asked, “How is the district attorney related to him?”
“Dexter is Evelyn and Ezekial’s grandson. They don’t talk, though. Ezekial wrote him out of the will.”
Millie said, “’Cause Dexter married a black woman.”
She was struggling under the weight of a cardboard box that looked bigger than she was.
Jude tried to help but she pulled away, plopping the heavy box on the table.
There were labels on the top and all four sides because Taybee wasn’t the first Clifton with OCD.
Jude recognized Millie’s Palmer Method handwriting, which was almost identical to Myrna’s.
NORTH FALLS REGISTER 2002 BOX 4 OF 8
Millie said, “Zeek’s never even met his grandchildren. Not a big loss for the kids if you ask me. Zeek’s always been an ass. Your father hated him.”
Jude tried not to balk. Millie had looked directly at Jude when she’d said your father. “Why did Dad hate him?”
“Because Gerald refused to arrest the prime suspect in Evelyn’s murder.
Said there wasn’t enough evidence. Zeek tried to get Gerald recalled, but there are more people in this town named Clifton than there are named Gilchrist. Such as it ever was.
” Millie opened the box. Started rifling through neatly labelled, thick folders with precisely folded newspapers inside.
They were so crisp she must have ironed them.
“The story was front-page news for months. Even made the Atlanta papers.”
Emmy rinsed her plate in the sink. “How was there a trial if Dad didn’t make an arrest?”
“Chief Kitteridge arrested the man. Now there was an arrogant so-and-so. Always chomping on a smelly cigar. Died of lung cancer. Emmy, you remember Alfonse Kitteridge. He had the job before Reggie. The Clayville Police Department has always punched above its weight.”
Jude exchanged another look with Emmy. Clayville again. The coincidences were adding up. “Who was the suspect?”
“Neil Delano. He had a known history of breakins. Not very good at it, hence the history being known. Now, his mother was Betty Sue Collier. Hannah’s distant cousin on her daddy’s side. Poor thing fell off a ladder. Left her touched in the head. Died of Covid during the pandemic.”
Jude saw Emmy staring at the box as if she longed to snatch it away from Millie’s hands.
“Here we go.”
Millie finally spread a newspaper on the table. Jude put on her reading glasses. She stood beside Emmy and looked at the front page, half of which was taken up by a massive headline.
DELANO GETS LIFE FOR DEATH!
Millie tutted. “I never let the font go this big when I was editor. Looks gaudy.”
Emmy had already started scanning the story. “This wasn’t a death penalty case?”
“Prosecutor was worried the jury would flinch. Delano didn’t fit the type. He was a bit of a character.”
Jude recognized the code. “He was gay?”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Millie said, but she clearly did.
“My point is nobody thought Delano went there with murder in mind. I was at the trial every day. Listened to all the testimony. Lasted fifteen days. The theory was that the gun went off during a struggle. Evelyn was shot in the leg. Bullet nicked her femoral artery. That was the tragedy. She might’ve made it if there’d been a trauma surgeon around to fix it.
Back then, the hospital sent all the difficult cases to Macon or Atlanta.
They didn’t even have an MRI machine. You had to wait for the truck to come on Tuesdays. ”
Emmy turned the page to read the rest of the article. Her finger traced down the text, stopping at a line in bold print—
A TRAGEDY WITHIN A TRAGEDY
She read aloud, “‘The trial was paused for three days out of respect for the family of juror Ruel Clifton.’”
Millie tutted again. “Taybee might not’ve been so high-strung if her daddy had been around to help her. Poor tiny baby. He treated her like a little doll. Her feet didn’t touch the ground until she was thirteen. He was always carrying her around.”
Jude cut to the chase. “A juror on a murder trial died in the middle of the trial?”
“Well, don’t make it sound suspicious. People die. These things happen.”
Emmy looked up from the paper. “What else can you tell us about the trial?”
“I recollect it was pretty straightforward. Nobody thought Delano would get away with it. No tensions or intrigue to report. That was how it went back then. It’s not like today where reporters find some mouthy jackass to give them a salacious quote, then worry about fact-checking later.
We had to tell the truth, and the truth is that trials are boring.
I dare say you gals have sat through your share.
Lots of procedural wrangling. I’d tell you to talk to the lawyers, but both of ’em are dead.
Al Hardage had the cancer, and Wade O’Rourke had a heart attack at a birthday party for his mistress’s sister. ”