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Authors: Ellen Byron
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rested and contemplated her next move.
Maggie knew that she was bound by law to share this information with Bo. But he owed his job to Rufus, who could use the discovery against the Crozats. The store was on theirproperty, and the Clabbers were incredibly annoying guests—Hal in action, Beverly by association. She could just see Ru trying to twist that into a motivation for murder, painting it as a crazy, last-ditch effort on the family’s part to get rid of an unwanted guest. On the other hand, there was something about Bo that read, “I’m my own man.” Maybe she should trust him and avoid the possibility of going to jail for withholding evidence. She’d seen enough television lawyers use this threat against suspects to assume it happened in real life.
Maggie groaned. She desperately needed to get advice from someone. Her parents would insist on following the proper procedure, as would Lia. Why was she surrounded by such decent people? Maggie got up from the stump and made her way out of the woods. She needed someone who was comfortable occasionally making a dodgy moral choice.
*
“Hmmm,” Gran’ said after Maggie finished filling her in a half hour later. The two sat in the shotgun’s living room, where a ceiling fan above them whirred at top speed, decapitating any hapless mosquito that wandered into its blades. “Hmmm,” Gran’ said again.
“What do I do, Gran’? Do I tell, don’t I tell? What do you think?”
“I think we need to clear out our minds and give space for the answer.”
Gran’ closed her eyes, as did Maggie. Both sat quietly as the fan’s hum provided a lulling white noise. While no Crozat or Doucet ever claimed to be clairvoyant, the family did boastwell-developed intuition, a sort of sixth sense that they could tap into, given some intense focus.
After a moment, both women opened their eyes. Gran’ spoke first. “I believe we can trust Bo.”
“I got the same sense.”
“I believe he will share the information with Rufus because he has to. But I think he’s clever and fair and won’t be swayed by personal obligations. If he feels he owes Ru, he can pay off the debt with a case of cheap beer. But that does not mean he’ll do us any favors, especially since at the end of the day, Ru is still family and we are not.”
“Yes,” said Maggie. She hesitated. “My intuition is telling me that Beverly Clabber’s murderer isn’t some stranger who snuck in off the road.”
Gran’ nodded. “Mine is telling me the exact same thing. Someone at this plantation or in this town knew that woman well enough to want her dead.”
“Exactly. But who? And why? She seemed like a harmless old lady.”
“Well, you know, the thing about us ‘old ladies,’ dear, is that we’ve put in a lot of miles on this God-given ground, and there are sometimes events in our past that we hope time will render a distant memory at worst, or at best, erase completely. Unfortunately, there are times when that simply doesn’t happen.”
“We need to know more about Beverly Clabber. And you know what that means.”
“Indeed I do,” Gran’ said gleefully. She got up, walked over to a small rococo desk, and pulled her iPad out of a drawer. “An Internet search.”
“Exactly,” Maggie said, pulling her own tablet out of a tote bag.
The two sat in silence, conducting separate searches for any and all information pertaining to Beverly Clabber. “I’ve come up with plenty of references to Harold Clabber, Conway professor, but only one mentions his wife, Beverly,” Maggie said.
“That stands to reason; they were newlyweds, after all. What we need is her maiden name.”
“I’ll search for ‘Beverly Clabber, the former . . .” Maggie typed it into her tablet. “A post or two on a couple of social media sites and that’s it. This woman had a low online profile.”
“By choice or not? That’s the question.”
“She didn’t seem the type to put effort into cleansing her Internet
Maggie knew that she was bound by law to share this information with Bo. But he owed his job to Rufus, who could use the discovery against the Crozats. The store was on theirproperty, and the Clabbers were incredibly annoying guests—Hal in action, Beverly by association. She could just see Ru trying to twist that into a motivation for murder, painting it as a crazy, last-ditch effort on the family’s part to get rid of an unwanted guest. On the other hand, there was something about Bo that read, “I’m my own man.” Maybe she should trust him and avoid the possibility of going to jail for withholding evidence. She’d seen enough television lawyers use this threat against suspects to assume it happened in real life.
Maggie groaned. She desperately needed to get advice from someone. Her parents would insist on following the proper procedure, as would Lia. Why was she surrounded by such decent people? Maggie got up from the stump and made her way out of the woods. She needed someone who was comfortable occasionally making a dodgy moral choice.
*
“Hmmm,” Gran’ said after Maggie finished filling her in a half hour later. The two sat in the shotgun’s living room, where a ceiling fan above them whirred at top speed, decapitating any hapless mosquito that wandered into its blades. “Hmmm,” Gran’ said again.
“What do I do, Gran’? Do I tell, don’t I tell? What do you think?”
“I think we need to clear out our minds and give space for the answer.”
Gran’ closed her eyes, as did Maggie. Both sat quietly as the fan’s hum provided a lulling white noise. While no Crozat or Doucet ever claimed to be clairvoyant, the family did boastwell-developed intuition, a sort of sixth sense that they could tap into, given some intense focus.
After a moment, both women opened their eyes. Gran’ spoke first. “I believe we can trust Bo.”
“I got the same sense.”
“I believe he will share the information with Rufus because he has to. But I think he’s clever and fair and won’t be swayed by personal obligations. If he feels he owes Ru, he can pay off the debt with a case of cheap beer. But that does not mean he’ll do us any favors, especially since at the end of the day, Ru is still family and we are not.”
“Yes,” said Maggie. She hesitated. “My intuition is telling me that Beverly Clabber’s murderer isn’t some stranger who snuck in off the road.”
Gran’ nodded. “Mine is telling me the exact same thing. Someone at this plantation or in this town knew that woman well enough to want her dead.”
“Exactly. But who? And why? She seemed like a harmless old lady.”
“Well, you know, the thing about us ‘old ladies,’ dear, is that we’ve put in a lot of miles on this God-given ground, and there are sometimes events in our past that we hope time will render a distant memory at worst, or at best, erase completely. Unfortunately, there are times when that simply doesn’t happen.”
“We need to know more about Beverly Clabber. And you know what that means.”
“Indeed I do,” Gran’ said gleefully. She got up, walked over to a small rococo desk, and pulled her iPad out of a drawer. “An Internet search.”
“Exactly,” Maggie said, pulling her own tablet out of a tote bag.
The two sat in silence, conducting separate searches for any and all information pertaining to Beverly Clabber. “I’ve come up with plenty of references to Harold Clabber, Conway professor, but only one mentions his wife, Beverly,” Maggie said.
“That stands to reason; they were newlyweds, after all. What we need is her maiden name.”
“I’ll search for ‘Beverly Clabber, the former . . .” Maggie typed it into her tablet. “A post or two on a couple of social media sites and that’s it. This woman had a low online profile.”
“By choice or not? That’s the question.”
“She didn’t seem the type to put effort into cleansing her Internet
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