CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
We spent the next five minutes trying to make heads or tails of it, but murder was the only conclusion that fit.
“It can’t be anything else,” Dixie said. “One, there’s no doubt he was scared last Sunday. Everyone’s said so. Something had him spooked. Two, he would never drink Jim Beam. Three, even if he died at the lake, how’d he get out there?” She narrowed her eyes. “You said the janitor at the church told you about the bike, right?”
“He told me he saw it there when he was fishing yesterday.”
She cocked her head, scrutinizing me. “Old Pete doesn’t fish.”
“Old Pete? Why would they call a guy in his twenties Old Pete?”
“Old Pete’s seventy years old.”
My mouth dropped open, then I leaned my head back into the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “Then who did I talk to?”
“Are you sure you talked to anyone? You hit your head pretty hard, and your memory is hazy.”
I shot her a look. “Dixie, I told you about him before we even left the church.”
“True.” She tapped her chin. “So someone was setting you up.”
“The guy told me about the bike to lure me there, but why take the bike?”
“I don’t know.”
Something nagged at my mind, a half-formed memory that wouldn’t surface, but what? “I’m forgetting something important,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “It’s right there, but I can’t reach it.”
“Oh, Summer. Your head was hurt pretty bad. Maybe you just think there’s something.”
“No. I know there is.”
Tears flowed from my eyes, pissing me off. How had I gotten here? In this ridiculous situation. I always tried to do the right thing, and yet I always seemed to get screwed over.
Maybe I should just give up.
“I think I want to be alone right now.”
“Summer . . .” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
I opened my eyes. “I’m not mad at you, Dixie. I’m just really tired.”
“We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
I tried to focus on her face so it wasn’t so blurry. “I think I’m going to quit the show.”
“What?”
I shook my head, tears flowing from me like a faucet now that I’d let them loose. “I hate it. We’re messing with people’s lives and faking so much. No wonder they think I moved Otto’s body. Why wouldn’t they? We’ve faked everything else.”
“Summer. You’re hurt and tired. Just think about it.”
I started to cry harder. “I know you’re counting on me so you don’t have to work at the Dollar General, and Meemaw and Teddy are counting on me for the farm, but I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
Her voice sounded strained. “Why are Meemaw and Teddy countin’ on you for the farm?”
Oh, crap. She didn’t know about that part. I needed her to leave before I told her everything. “Just go.”
“Summer . . .”
“Please. Just go.”
“I’m comin’ back later to check on you,” she said, rubbing my arm.
Then she turned around and left me alone.
Alone. I’d felt alone ever since I’d left Sweet Briar twelve years ago. And I was so weary of it.
I slept most of the rest of the afternoon, waking up only when the nurses came to check on me. I was surprised Lauren hadn’t come back, so I mentioned it to the nurse who came in to scold me for not eating the disgusting dinner of instant mashed potatoes and meat loaf that tasted like cardboard. She looked like she was Dixie’s age, so I had a hard time taking her seriously.
“Oh, she’s been by a few times,” the nurse said, checking my IV line. “But we were given strict orders not to let Ms. Chapman in.”
“By the doctor?”
She laughed. “Oh, no. By Luke.”
“The police chief? Why?”
She shrugged. “Beats me, but honey, when Luke tells you to do something, you don’t argue.” A naughty grin lit up her face. Great, another Luke lover. She picked up a single red rose I hadn’t noticed before from the bedside table. She sniffed it and grinned as she set it back down.
Where had that come from? Luke?
Then another thought floated to the surface of my jumbled mind: I’ve got plenty of competition.
I was tempted to physically shake the notion away, but I’d probably only puke on her shoes. There was no Luke and Summer. Not anymore. We’d been kids, and now we were adults. We were different people. There was no picking up where we’d left off—not that I would want to because the end had been ugly. But I was a fool if I thought I could pretend I wasn’t still attracted to him. I just needed to remember I was leaving when this was over.
I just needed to remember why I was leaving.
“When can I get out of here?”
“Unless you have some major setback, tomorrow morning. You probably could have gone home tonight, but the doctor wanted to make sure you didn’t fall into a coma.”
My eyes flew wide. “What?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Nothin’ to worry about. Just a precaution.”
“And if I want to go back to work?”
She turned to look at me. “You’ll have to ask Dr. Livingston about that tomorrow.”
“But what’s your best guess?”
“I guess it depends on how bad you want to do it.” She grinned. “You know us Sweet Briar folk don’t let much hold us back.”
I knew it all too well. “Thanks.”
She started to leave, then turned around to face me. “But if it were me and I decided to start filmin’ a show again, I’d probably take it easy for a couple of days. No crazy stunts. Lots of sittin’ around.”
I gave her a smile. “Thanks.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised Luke’s not here with you.”
“What? Why?”
“Everyone knows he rushed to the hospital as soon as he heard you were here.”
“That was an official visit.”
She snickered. “You keep tellin’ people that, but we know all about it from the town Facebook page.”
It was time to see that Facebook page for myself. “Do you know where my phone is? It was with my clothes.”
She waved a hand. “You let me get it. You shouldn’t be gettin’ out of bed unless you have someone helpin’ you. In fact, while I’m in here, do you need to pee? You’ve had a lot of fluids goin’ through you with the IV.”
“No. Just my phone, please.”
She opened a cabinet and found my phone, then handed it to me with a wink. “Look up Sweet Briar News.”
I cracked a grin as I took my phone from her. “How much is actual news?”
She chuckled and gave me a lazy shrug. “I guess it depends on what you call news.”
I opened my Facebook app and quickly found the page. There had been lots of posts today, but there had also been lots of actual news. The post at the top was about how the Bixley County sheriff’s department had moved Otto’s body to the Sweet Briar Hospital for an autopsy.
Otto’s body was in the same building I was in. I shuddered. Maybe I should go home and risk the coma.
Below that was a post about my Exorcist reenactment, and from the glee over Luke getting plastered, it was obvious the person who’d written the post (presumably Maybelline) had already filled in Amber’s protest form at the police station. But there were lots of comments about how worried Luke had been and how he’d stayed by my side until I came to.
Did that mean he really did care about me?
The post below that was about Otto’s death. Maybelline was setting up a fund in the café to help pay for the funeral.
Below that was a post about the sheriff’s office being dispatched to Lake Edna, and a note that, rumor had it, Dixie and I had gone out there. People were instructed to watch for more information.
Did Maybelline have a police scanner, or had someone else told her?
Before that, there was a post about Dixie and me chatting up Fred and Al, who were back to their usual appearance by the Dollar General.
There were plenty of posts about other things we’d done around town, but I was more interested in the one post about the murder. The only new information was that Ruby Garwood had heard a scuffle out back before calling the police. Cale had thought he was about to tuck in for the night, but he’d found a body instead. The alley was completely blocked off, and no one other than the cops knew who had been killed.
My gaze jerked up when I heard a soft rapping on the door. Dixie walked in holding a pie covered in whipped cream.
“I came bearing gifts,” she said with a soft smile.
“I owe you a huge apology, Dixie. I totally overreacted earlier.”
“Hush now. I don’t blame you one bit, Summer, so don’t you go worryin’ about anything.”
“I wasn’t very nice.”
“Bull hockey. And you’d just had your head bashed in.”
I cringed. “I wouldn’t say it was bashed in . . .”
“True. Your brains weren’t leakin’ out . . .” Then a huge grin broke out on her face. “Ready for some strawberry pie? Looks a little like brains, right?”
“Oh, my word. That’s so tacky.” I shook my head and started laughing, immediately regretting both. I squinted while I waited for the pain to subside. “I hope you brought forks.”
Dixie beamed while she set the pie on the bedside tray and then fished two metal forks out of her purse.
“Where’d you get those? Meemaw’s silverware drawer? She’s going to kill you,” I said as I took one.
“What Meemaw doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her.” She dug a fork into the pie. “Just like she can’t know we ate like this. She’d call us heathens.”
I dug my fork into the middle. “She already thinks the worst of me, so why not.” The words were pathetic, so I tried for a light tone.
“She loves you, Summer. I suggested moving to your old bedroom, but she wouldn’t consider it. She’s been waitin’ for you to come back even if she won’t admit it.”
“Does she know I’m here?”
Dixie made a face that suggested she did.
“What did she say?”
“Nothin’.”
What did I expect? In the grand scheme of things, I wasn’t dying . . . unless I fell into a coma. I was still counting on the nurse’s assurance it was unlikely. But Meemaw’s silence still hurt.
I took a bite, embarrassed when I released an involuntary moan. “Who made this?” I asked through a mouthful of pie.
She grinned and wiggled her shoulders back and forth. “I did.”
I scooped out another bite and released another moan. “This is orgasmic, Dixie.”
She chuckled and pointed a pie-filled fork at me. “You must be havin’ some pretty bad sex if you believe that.”
“It’s been three years, but my last boyfriend wasn’t too bad in bed,” I said with a wicked grin.
Dixie squealed. “Oh, my word. Which movie star was it?”
I lifted my eyebrows. “No one you’d know.”
“Try me.”
“Aiden Clay.”
She scrunched her nose. “Who’s that?”
“Exactly.” I scooped a smaller bite. “And it was short-lived.” I grimaced. “Let’s just say I could have used your bullshit detector.”
“Aww . . . Summer.”
“I’m over it.” I set the fork on the bedside tray. “This pie is delicious, but I can’t eat anymore.”
Dixie took another bite. “Are you really quittin’ the show?”
“I don’t know. I hate being a quitter. But I really do hate what we’re doing.”
She gave me a sly look. “What if we found Otto’s killer?”
“What?”
“Bill and I talked it over, and we both support you in this.”
“What does that mean?”
“Bill already tried to convince Lauren to investigate Otto’s death. She said it was a dead end with little possible payoff. She’s already got a new big case lined up but won’t tell anyone other than Karen what it is.”
“More lies,” I said in defeat.
Dixie was silent for a moment. “Someone killed Otto. I believe it with all my heart,” she said quietly. “He blamed himself for the fire that killed his family, and it drove him to drink, but he wouldn’t have killed himself out of the blue. He would have done it a long time ago.”
“Dixie . . .”
She turned quiet. “There’s something else, Summer. Something you need to know.”
The seriousness in her eyes scared me. “What?”
She pulled up a screen on her phone. On a national gossip site, there was a post titled “America’s Darling Not So Darling?” There were several photos of me looking like I was yelling and chewing people out—Lauren, Officer Hawkins, Becky in her front yard. Somehow someone had gotten a photo of me talking to Luke last night, and they’d caught me poking his chest.
“How . . . ?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but Lauren’s ecstatic, so she probably had something to do with it. And I bet you she’s putting some of this in the show.”
Crap. Dixie was right.
“All the more reason to quit, Dixie. She’s gonna ruin me.”
She shook her head. “No. If you quit now, you know you’ll look like you’re guilty of bein’ a diva.”
“So I’m supposed to go along with it?”
“No!” She sat on the side of my bed and grabbed my hand. “Bill has a plan to find Otto’s killer and restore your reputation, but you have to be all in.” She paused and searched my face. “Come on, Summer. Let’s bring Lauren to her knees.”
Part of me was tired. Someone had attacked me for trying to find out the truth about Otto, and now I was catching hell for trying to do my job. Did I really want to risk my life? But there was no denying it felt good to feel like I was doing something real. Only the job had been left half-finished. I’d promised to find Otto for Gretchen, and while I had fulfilled that promise, I was certain she’d never be at peace until she knew what happened to him. We had the chance to give her closure.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”