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holding in his giant hand, “You are hereby under arrest for the murder of Mrs. Addie Andrews.”

 
     
     
     
    Part 2: Motive & Opportunity

 
     
    Chapter 9
    September 1934
    Grove Hill, Alabama
    “Stop it !” I leapt toward the strange man and struck his chest with both of my hands bound tightly into fists. All of the anger I felt toward the gossips of Frisco City came out of me in sharp blows. One after the other, I struck the man with every bit of strength I had. “Leave us alone! Leave us alone!” I cried as I continued to strike him.
    That was what my heart wanted to do, but, in reality, I froze. My lips allowed no sound. My feet were still, as if bolted to the floor, and my limp arms dangled at my sides. Daddy was arrested right in front of me. Daddy was handcuffed and treated like a criminal, a murderer. Daddy murdered Momma? The sheriff thought Daddy looked into Momma’s beautiful eyes and pulled the trigger of his rifle. These men thought Daddy took her away from me.
    Before I really knew what was happening, the strange man, who I would later learn to be Detective William Murray of the Clarke County Sheriff’s Office, handcuffed Daddy and told him that he could keep silent if he wanted and that he would be given an attorney.
    Daddy glanced at me and said, “I won’t be long. Don’t worry.” Then, the three men took him away.
    The front door slamming felt like a slap in the face. Daddy was supposed to fix the hinges on the door that afternoon so it wouldn’t slam shut every time a customer walked through the door. I guessed the door would continue to slam until Daddy came home. I just didn’t know when that would be. As the sting faded, I realized that I was holding my breath.
    “Were handcuffs really necessary?” I asked to the empty room.
    For a moment, I looked around , wondering what I was supposed to do. Do I tell Meg, Billy, and Albert that Daddy was handcuffed and taken to jail? Do I finish getting the dining room ready for dinner service? Do I tell Henrietta that Daddy was just arrested so I have no clue what we’re supposed to do with the hotel guests or dinner service? Do I run four blocks over to the jail and beg the men inside to let Daddy go?
    “Henrietta, I’m going out for a bit ,” I yelled toward the kitchen.
    I propped the Sorry, We’re Closed sign in the window, and rushed through the café door. I ran down Main Street and then turned right onto Jackson Road, dashing passed the few pedestrians sauntering down the sidewalk. In four short blocks and what felt like mere seconds, I was standing, out of breath, in front of the Clarke County jail. My heart was racing, and I felt beads of sweat streaming down my back under my cotton frock and apron.
    I must have appeared insane sprinting down Jackson Road, with my apron on and clutching my pen and tablet, one in each hand. The old biddies back in Frisco City would have loved each delightfully embarrassing morsel of the scene I surely made. I quickly took off my apron, wiped my face with the hem, and then rolled it into a ball around my pen and tablet. I smoothed my hair and tried not to look as crazed as I felt. As I walked into the foyer, I tried to remember all of the legal terms used in the murder mysteries I loved to read, but, much to my disappointment, I just felt incredibly aware of standing alone in a jail looking for my father.
    “May I help yew, Miss?” asked the officer seated behind a desk toward the back of the room. The way he squished and dragged out the ‘yewww’, made the hair on my arms stand up, and reminded me of the voices of the men outside Hendrix General Store in Frisco City.
    I approached him and said, “I am looking for my father, Hubbard Andrews. I think he was brought here just now.”
    “Speak up now,” he said, “I can barely hear ya, Girl.”
    So much for discretion , I thought. I repeated myself loud enough for everyone in the entryway to hear.
    “Uh, huh,” the officer muttered, “And why