Читать книгу Murder in Mayberry - Jack Branson - Страница 23
ОглавлениеBy early evening, I found a place alone in a back row of chairs. But soon someone eased into the chair beside me.
“Hi, I’m Russell’s wife.” I reached out to shake her hand.
“You look as tired as I feel,” she smiled. “This is so hard on all of us. I sure wish we’d met under different circumstances. Russell speaks so highly of you and Jack.”
Russell’s second wife, Terri, was the first person I’d talked to all evening who hadn’t sapped my strength. She had a relaxed way of interacting that helped me slow down and take a breath. I liked her immediately.
Slim, attractive Terri was elegantly dressed in a fitted knee-length black dress. In spite of her careful hair and makeup, she struck me as a natural beauty who didn’t fret over her looks. I liked her immediately and wished I could hide in the back row and talk with this easy conversationalist all night.
I felt that Terri would have liked to hide as well. Though she and Russell had been married for several years, I could tell she felt like an interloper, a concerned person on the fringe, a non-blood relative. Russell was spending time with his sons, and they’d come to the funeral home with his first wife, Denise. Terri stole occasional glances at Russell and his first family, and I sensed a slight rise in her voice and a subtle shifting of body language when she watched them.
When Judy, Ann’s housekeeper, entered the room and stood alone and uncomfortable near the door, I knew I had to make her feel welcome. Reluctantly, I told Terri, “There’s someone I need to speak to. But let’s talk some more. I’d like to get to know you better.”
Judy seemed relieved when I approached her. She was glad to see someone she knew and was eager to talk about the murder. Being one of the people who knew Ann best had elevated her to near-star status. But in spite of her readiness to talk, I sensed that Judy was deeply and truly grieving.
“I know you loved Ann,” I told her. “And I know you did a lot to make her comfortable.”
Judy’s demeanor brightened. “Oh, I did. She loved to go and do and have parties and lunches. And I tried to take some of the work off her. Every week, we’d sit down and talk about her plans. Then I’d put it all together for her.
“I loved Miz Ann. She was so good to me, and to my daughter, too. She’s fourteen. Miz Ann would give her big old boxes of makeup. When I told my daughter what happened, she cried and cried.”
“Thanks for the information you gave us the other day,” I told Judy.
“I’m glad to do it,” said Judy. “I want her killer caught. And I think it’s Wayne. He’s not even coming to the funeral home. Don’t you think that’s strange? When I asked him why, he just said he doesn’t do funerals. He doesn’t even seem sad about Miz Ann. He just told me, ‘Great. Here I am living alone in the country and I don’t have any alibi.’
“He tried to make his mom be his alibi, but she wouldn’t do it. He stopped by her place and ate some chili and biscuits and left at 8:30. He tried to get her to say it was 9:30 but she wouldn’t.”
Judy was insistent. “Wayne has a terrible temper. I think he did it. He’s got memory lapses. And he’s got this heart condition that makes him have blackouts.”
“How were Ann and her fiancé doing?”
Judy was solemn. “She wasn’t going to marry him, at least not right now. She told me a couple of times. She told me, ‘Judy, I just don’t feel good about marrying him while Grace is alive, and I told her, ‘Then don’t you do it.’”
I squeezed Judy’s arm. “Judy, after we go back to Georgia, will you contact Jack or me if you think of anything else?”
Judy nodded. “Jack already gave me one of his cards. I’ll call if I find out anything.”
Judy shook her head in disgust. “I just hope Wayne don’t confuse the police. He’s trying to shift blame to Russell. He told them Russell stopped by on Saturday and, after he left, Miz Ann told him that the only time Russell stopped by was when he wanted money, and she wasn’t going to give him any more.
“That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. Miz Ann would have given her family anything she had. All they had to do was ask.” I nodded but inwardly wondered if Ann would have given Jack or me anything we’d asked for.
David Branson, Ann’s brother-in-law, approached, and he was a welcome relief. Always even-tempered and down-to-earth, he had stories about Ann—and I was hungry to hear them.
“Anybody who’s jealous of Ann’s money needs to know that she and Carroll earned every bit of it,” said David. “Nobody gave them anything. They didn’t have two pennies to rub together when they got married, but Ann had class before she had money.
“They lived down near the old home place when they got married, and I used to go over to their house when I was a kid. Ann always fixed things up nice, set the table nice and all. She’d almost always have a warm syrup pie, and she’d cut me a big slice. I can still taste it.”
“Syrup pie?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said David. “Just what it sounds like. Maple syrup poured over a pie crust and baked.”
Hard as I tried to hide my feelings about such a pie, David knew it didn’t sound appetizing to someone who hadn’t grown up in rural Kentucky.
“I tell you,” David shook his head. “When you’re poor and you’re craving something sweet, there’s nothing like a warm syrup pie.”
David was quiet for a moment before summing up his feelings about his sister-in-law. “Ann was a lady, through and through. That’s what I’ll always remember about her.”
As someone else sought David’s attention, I searched the room for Jack. He was more comfortable in this crowd than I was. This was his family, and he was catching up with relatives he rarely saw.
“Jack, can I talk to you for a minute?” It was Russell. The two cousins found chairs in the back of the room.
“Jack, do you think they’ll catch whoever did this?” asked Russell.
“Yes,” Jack was emphatic. But with his mind still on the gun he’d so quickly found in Ann’s house, he added, “But I think we’re in for a long, involved investigation. This is a small town with limited murder investigation experience and limited resources.”
As the crowd began to dissipate, Jack and I were finally able to talk. I’d tried to let him spend time with his friends and family, but now I realized how much I’d missed him. Squeezing his hand was reassuring.
“I’m going to call a private detective,” Jack said as we were leaving the funeral home. “I’ve got to know we’re doing all we can.
“The PI I’m thinking of is a former Bureau agent. He was the FBI’s polygrapher, and we worked together on a couple of cases. He’s tough but fair. He retired a few years ago and started his own PI business.
“He’s one of the best. And that’s what it’s going to take. We’re up against more than a tough murder case. I don’t want Anna Mae’s murder to end up as a case number and a box of evidence on a back shelf in the MPD records room.”
