Murder on Pea Pike Read online

  Murder on Pea Pike

  A Listed and Lethal Mystery

  Jean Harrington

  Camel Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.camelpress.com

  www.jeanharrington.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  Murder on Pea Pike

  Copyright © 2017 by Jean Harrington

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-647-2 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-648-9 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017941695

  Produced in the United States of America

  * * *

  For my dear Chris

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  My sincerest thanks to fellow writer, Doris Lemcke, a former Florida and Michigan real estate agent, for her many helpful insights into the world of real estate sales; to critique partners, writers Joyce Wells and Brenda Pierce for their skill and honesty (you were relentless!); to Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary Agency and Catherine Treadgold and Jennifer McCord of Coffeetown Enterprises for their confidence in me and their enjoyment of this story. And, of course, to John for all the times he has said, “Where are you? Oh, at the computer. It’ll wait. I’ll talk to you later.”

  * * *

  Chapter One

  I knew she was trouble the minute she stepped in. It wasn’t just her big hair. In Eureka Falls, Arkansas, big hair’s a tradition, kind of like pecan pie. Her shoes, like some I used to wear, were the giveaway. Silver stilettos with ankle straps that crisscrossed up to her knees. Those boots were made for mischief. I ought to know. So was her little scrap of a skirt.

  As I watched through my open office door, she strolled over to Mrs. Otis at the reception desk by the plate-glass window.

  “Morning, ma’am. I’m Tallulah Bixby, and a while ago I dropped my car keys nearby. I’m hoping someone here in Ridley’s Real Estate may have found them.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did find a set of keys earlier. Right next to an automobile.” Mrs. Otis opened her desk drawer and paused. “You live here in town?”

  “No, I’m from Fayetteville.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, what kind of car do you drive?”

  “A big ol’ Caddy. A present from my daddy.”

  “Color?”

  “The prettiest sapphire blue you ever did see.”

  “That’s right where I found them.” Mrs. Otis reached into the drawer, took out a set of keys, and handed them over to the girl.

  “Thank you, ma’am. If ever I can return the favor, I surely will.”

  “I appreciate the offer, young lady,” Mrs. Otis said with a sniff, “but I’ve never lost a key.”

  “Neither have I,” Tallulah replied, quickly adding, “except for now.”

  The “except for now” sounded like a hasty cover-up, and though Mrs. Otis was trusting enough to believe the story, I wasn’t so certain this Tallulah girl owned that Cadillac. If she did, the “daddy” she mentioned might be made out of sugar, a subject I had no business messing with. A stolen car, however, meant a lot of grief for somebody.

  I came out of my office, and acting on that uneasy feeling, jotted down the Caddy’s license plate number. Wasting no time, Tallulah pulled out of a parking slot and shot down Main Street going ten miles over the speed limit.

  “What’s a sweet girl like that doing in those shoes?” Mrs. Otis wanted to know.

  Pretending I didn’t hear the question, I went into my cubicle and closed the door. Problem was, Mrs. Otis thought everyone was sweet, maybe because she was so sweet herself.

  Out of loyalty to me, she’d quit Winthrop Realty when I did and came to work at Ridley’s. The last thing I wanted was to upset her. But as office manager and sole sales agent—other than my boss, Sam, of course, who happened to be in New Orleans for the week—I felt responsible for what had just happened and wasted no time dialing Sheriff Matt Rameros.

  In his own calm way, he’d been hitting on me since my Saxby Winthrop days ended. I’d never encouraged him and didn’t want to give him the wrong idea today either. But with a possible car theft in the works, I figured I’d better make the call.

  “Honey Ingersoll,” he said the instant he picked up, “as I live and breathe.”

  “Mighty glad to hear you’re alive and well, Sheriff. I have a number here for you to check out.”

  “Your phone?”

  “You wish.”

  “No wishing about it, Honey. I’ve had your number for over a year now. Memorized it too. One of these fine nights I may give you a ring. Most likely between midnight and three a.m.”

  “Why three a.m.? So I’ll think somebody up and died?”

  “No. That’s when the longing for you gets intense.”

  I took a deep breath. We weren’t having what you might call telephone sex. That was against the law, and Matt was a law-abiding man. But the conversation was heating up in a way I didn’t quite favor. “Here’s that number, Sheriff.”

  “Oh, we’re getting formal, are we, Miss Ingersoll? Well, let’s have it, and then suppose you tell me what this is all about.”

  The wheels of justice moved slowly in Eureka Falls, which didn’t seem to matter much since we had next to no crime. Whether that was due to Matt’s efforts, or because peace-loving folks lived here, I hadn’t a clue. But I gave him Tallulah’s license plate number, refused his offer of a beer after work, and said goodbye. Just in time.

  We’d no sooner hung up when Mrs. Otis forwarded a call to me. Always hoping an incoming call meant a prospect, I hurried to answer. I’d learned a lot under Saxby, including sales techniques. I’d give him that much. All sugar, I drawled, “Good morning. Ridley’s Real Estate. Honey Ingersoll speaking.”

  An indrawn, shuddery breath echoed through the line. Then another. I was about to hang up on a crank call when Amelia sobbed out, “Honey, I’m so scared.” I gripped the phone and sat up straight.

  “What is it?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

  “We’re being thrown out. Onto the street.”

  “Explain, Amelia, please. Is Joe back? Has he threatened you?”

  “No.” Though her voice wobbled, I was real glad to hear that “no.” Her ex-husband, Joe, was bad news, always had been. Sad to say, Amelia married him before she found out just how bad, and left him after he gave her two baby boys and four broken ribs.

  I paced my cubicle. If Joe wasn’t the problem, I was afraid I knew what was. “Are you losing the house, Amelia?”

  “Yeeess.” She was still wobbly voiced but getting stronger. “I’m going into foreclosure. The bank’s evicting me. We’ll be out on the street, the boys and me and the fridge.”

  Next to the boys, that stainless steel beauty was her pride and joy and, foreclosure or no foreclosure, she’d never leave it.

  “We can’t let that happen.”

  “But what can I do?”

  “There has to be an answer. Why don’t I stop by after work and we’ll talk about it? I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

  She was my friend, and I wanted to help her. We were both about the same age, twenty-four, and though I’d had my share of bumps, Amelia had been through far more.

  “If only we could,” she said. Crash! “That’s little Joey. He flung his truck agains
t the fridge. See you tonight.”

  The phone went dead. Just as well. Amelia and her boys were in deep trouble, and though I’d tried to sound comforting and all, there was little to nothing I could do to help them.

  Except ….

  Chapter Two

  Like a bloated king of the hill, Eureka Falls First Federal Savings & Loan, the holder of Amelia’s mortgage, sat perched at the very top of Main Street. A sturdy, rough-cut limestone building with lots of walnut paneling inside, the S&L was no fly-by-night enterprise. It sure was ugly, though, and had proudly been so since 1912.

  Last year, thirty-year-old Cletus X. Dwyer, considered Eureka Falls’ biggest catch by every unmarried female in Yarborough County, had replaced his granddaddy as president of the bank. When I walked in, he was chatting away with a man I didn’t know but could swear I’d seen somewhere. A tall man, forty maybe, with a dark suit and a stern, pock-marked face. They looked to be tight as ticks, but when the heavy, carved doors whooshed closed behind me, Cletus excused himself and hurried across the marble floor to take both my hands.

  “Well, my day is now complete.” He beamed his glittery Cletus smile. He had a healthy set of molars, and a man with a great smile usually made my heart beat faster. But somehow Cletus didn’t, and for the life of me, I didn’t know why not. His cheeks were chubby but pinchable, and the elastic garters he wore on his shirtsleeves weren’t all that bad. If he’d say good riddance to them and those lavender shirts with the white collars, he’d look a whole lot younger, not so much like somebody’s grandpa.

  “Your timing is perfect, Honey.” He gave my fingers a quick squeeze. “There’s someone here I’d like you to meet. Someone you might find valuable to know.”

  He led me across the bank to the stern gentleman. “Honey Ingersoll, this is Trey Gregson, Senator Lott’s aide.”

  Ah, up close I knew where I had seen him. On the TV. I held out a hand. “You’re mighty well-known around these parts, sir.”

  His smile was cool and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Delighted to meet you.”

  I doubted it, but that was all right. Anyone close to an important man like the senator met people every day of the week. Saying he was delighted was a polite way of talking, no more, and his next words proved it.

  “Cletus, I believe our business is complete, so I’m going to say goodbye and leave you with this lovely lady.”

  A final nod of the head for me, a quick man-to-man handshake for Cletus, and he was off.

  As Cletus watched him stride away, he whispered in my ear, “The senator’s aiming for the White House. Trey just confirmed it. Unofficially, of course.” He cleared his throat. “But that’s not why you’re here today, and whatever the reason may be, I want to hear it.”

  With a wave of his hand, he pointed to his office, pleasing me to no end. That was just where I wanted to go.

  “So, how are you these days, Honey?” he asked as we walked into his walnut cave. “Good as you look in that pretty blue suit?”

  “Well, I’m just fine, Cletus. Thank you for asking. From that great big smile of yours, I don’t need to inquire how you might be.”

  “Inquire, darlin’, inquire. I love it when you do.”

  I shook my head. “My eyes are telling me everything I need to know, and while I don’t wish to be rude, I’m here on a delicate matter.” I fluttered my eyes. “May we speak privately?”

  “I was hoping for that very thing.” He closed his office door behind us and took a seat in the leather swivel chair behind his desk.

  “I’ll come right to the point.” I settled in the armchair across from him. “We have a problem.”

  “A mutual one?” Up went an eyebrow.

  “A fiduciary one.” I hoped I’d said it right.

  He bent forward and rested his elbows on his desk blotter. As long as I’d known him, I’d never seen a single ink stain on that blotter. Like his garters, a useless frill.

  “Tell me about this problem of yours.”

  “Ours.”

  He ignored that little correction. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “It concerns Mrs. Amelia Swope.”

  “Oh, I see.” He withdrew his elbows and slumped back in his chair, swiveling like crazy. To ease his guilt, maybe, or his tension over what I was about to say.

  “We can’t let her lose her home, Cletus. She has two little boys and a devil of an ex-husband. She needs that house.”

  He stared at the wall behind me as if it held some kind of artwork, instead of all that dark ol’ walnut.

  Time for Plan B. I fanned myself with my left hand. “My, it’s warm in here today. In all this heat, I can’t seem to catch a deep breath.” With my right hand, I undid the top button of my blouse. Well, the top two, but no more than that. Sometimes two were enough. Anyway, having captured Cletus’ attention, I leaned over the desk. “Oh, that’s better. Now tell me, darlin’, what earthly good will it do you to throw an innocent woman and two helpless babies out into the cold?”

  His eyes stayed glued to my cleavage. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then help me do so.” I leaned in a little farther. “It’s a tragedy in the making.”

  “That’s extreme language, Miss Honey.”

  I sat up straight and borrowed his fancy way of speaking. “As you know, I’m not given to exaggerated phrasing. Unless the situation warrants it. And this one does.”

  He sighed and dug his elbows into the blotter. “My hands are tied.” He locked his fingers together.

  Drawing in a shocked breath, I placed my right hand over my left breast. “Stop right there, Cletus. I know you don’t mean that. You’re the most powerful man in town”—scarily close to the truth—“so I can’t believe, not for a teensy little second, there’s nothing you can do. Why,” I paused and let my hand slide from my breast to my lap, “when your mind is set on a goal, you can perform miracles.”

  His eyes were following my hand’s every move. “Miracles only happen in the Bible. Make no mistake. I’m a true believer, but there are limits.”

  “None a man like you can’t overcome.”

  He pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. “Sorry to refuse, but like I said ….”

  I stayed seated and rebuttoned my blouse. “I’m not through yet.” Every trace of sugar was gone from my voice.

  His eyes flared wider than they had when I bent over his desk. “No need to take that tone.”

  True, getting vexed with Cletus would do no good. I was on an errand of mercy and had come dangerously close to forgetting that. So, I sweetened right up, and dripping syrup, murmured, “I do apologize. I’m afraid I misspoke, but it won’t happen again. So, please take your seat and let me finish.”

  He cleared his throat. “Very well.” Holding his tie against his belly, he sat. And waited.

  “My employer, Mr. Sam Ridley, sends a great deal of business your way. Isn’t that true?”

  A shrewd man and a far cry from a fool—after all, Cletus X. Dwyer had inherited his granddaddy’s horse sense—he narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”

  Wanting to get all the words right, I steadied myself with a gulp of air. “Well, I know Mr. Ridley plans to continue sending prospective mortgage clients to the Savings & Loan.” I paused. “And to no other. He’s been happy with the arrangement. So much so that Ridley Real Estate hasn’t created the same kind of warm and … and, ah, beneficial relationship with any other banking establishment. However ….”

  Cletus threw his arms, garters and all, in the air. “Stop. This is blackmail, pure and simple.”

  “True.”

  He sat there frowning but didn’t offer a solution. I guess for that I’d have to strip, and I knew without asking that even though Amelia was desperate, she wouldn’t expect me to show that much skin.

  He fiddled with a paperclip for a while. “The woman’s six months behind in her monthly payments, and she has no visible means of support.”

  “Correct. Joe Swope’s lef
t town. No one knows where he is. At least no one who’s willing to up and say so. Amelia’s looking for employment, but with two little boys to care for …” I let my voice trail off.

  Cletus flung the paperclip across his desktop. “A client’s marital complications are none of my business.”

  I was perched at the edge of my chair. “What a downright silly thing to say. I’ve seen the mortgage forms you require people to sign. They’re asked to tell you every detail of their private lives.”

  “Not quite.” He smiled, right up to his black banker’s eyes.

  “Oh, this is funny, is it?” I was losing my temper again. Couldn’t be helped. Couldn’t be reined in, not a second time. “What Amelia has gone through is partly your doing, Cletus. You’ve known Joe Swope since grammar school. You knew he was a bully with a mean streak. What did you think was going to happen on that property? That he’d build a white picket fence and live happily ever after? You owe Amelia for letting her sign your documents without warning her what Joe was like.”

  His brows meshed together in a single, jagged line. “How on earth could I have done that? Get between a man and his woman? It’s not possible.”

  I could have argued, but instead, with a sigh, I softened and tried a little sweet talk. “Well, perhaps not then, but you can help now if only you’ll try. After all, who’s to say you can’t? You own the bank.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting the board of directors? I report to them.”

  “No, I’m not forgetting, but if anybody can win them over, it’s Cletus X. Dwyer. And when word of how good you’ve been gets around town ….”

  He slapped his palm on the desktop. “I’ll have every deadbeat in the county clamoring for the same treatment.” He held up a warning finger, the one flashing his great-granddaddy’s diamond signet ring. “If Mrs. Swope can show she’s actively seeking employment, perhaps the bank can forgive her payments for three more months.”