Beverly Connor - Dust to Dust

Diane smiled. “Thank her for me. I’m fine. Just rattled. Did you say your mother remembered something?” Diane asked.

“Yes, but I can talk to you later about it. I’m sure the police are there,” said Vanessa.

“They are, but I’d like to give them the information,” she said.

“Okay. Mother remembered Edith Farragut. Farragut was the woman’s maiden name. Mother didn’t know her well. My grandmother said the family were merchants, and she didn’t associate much with them. Grandmother could be a bit of a snob. Anyway, she also said Edith’s husband gave her the creeps when she saw them in church-just something about him. She didn’t say what. She also said he had a lot of pride. The whole family did. I’m not sure what she meant by that either. They divorced, but the two of them lived near each other for a long time. They didn’t live in Pigeon Ridge, but in Rosemont, near here. They purchased the old Gutemeyer estate. Mother said they had a daughter named Maybelle Agnes Gauthier.”

“Maybelle Agnes Gauthier,” repeated Diane. MAG.

“Mother said the daughter was an artist,” continued Vanessa. “She may have lived in Pigeon Ridge-in a sort of artist’s cottage. Mother didn’t know Maybelle very well, even though they were contemporaries. She said she was a strange girl, but painted very well indeed. Mother thought that at one time she may have had a painting of hers. A landscape, she thought. She said if you go to the courthouse, in the corridor where all the portraits of Rosewood politicians are hanging, you can see one of her paintings. She signed with the picture of a little bird. Mother has no idea why.”

“Do you know what happened to her?” asked Diane.

“Mother didn’t know. We lived in Europe for a while, so we didn’t know about a lot that went on in Rosewood. When we came back in 1957, Mother said that Edith Farragut had died and the Gauthiers were gone.”

Diane hung up with Vanessa, but not before Vanessa again told her to get herself a good stiff drink. From the way Diane felt at the moment, anything in her stomach wouldn’t stay down. She sat quietly, collecting her senses before she spoke. Garnett didn’t push.

“I guess you need my gun,” she said, gesturing to the weapon lying on the coffee table. “I shot four times.”

Garnett nodded. “Just procedure,” he muttered, and took possession of the gun.

There was a jumble of things going through her mind, but what rose to the surface at the moment was the thought that if she had waited any longer to get out of the bathtub, she would have gone though all this naked. “Hell,” she muttered.

“Can I get you something?” said Frank.

“Vanessa recommends Irish whiskey or Kentucky bourbon. I think I’ll pass for now,” she said. You never know when I may need a steady hand and good aim .

Garnett asked her what happened and she gave him a description of the evening’s events.

“Why did he target me?” she asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” said Garnett. “If he had been successful, the investigation into the attack on Dr. Payden would have gone on. The well would have still been excavated. I don’t know what was supposed to be accomplished.”

“From his looks, he might be related to Dildy,” said Diane.

“He won’t be talking for a while and I can’t make a positive ID until we check his fingerprints, but I’m pretty sure he’s Ray-Ray’s cousin, Emory,” said Garnett. “We don’t know of any criminal activities connecting them. The two sides of the family don’t get along and haven’t since Raymond and Emory were kids. If it is Emory, he’s been a petty crook all his life, just like his cousin. They just ran in different circles,” said Garnett.

“How could they run in different circles?” said Diane. “Rosewood isn’t that big.”

“Emory is from Atlanta,” said Garnett.

“Ray-Ray’s name was really Raymond?” said Diane. “I’m glad to know his mother didn’t name him Ray-Ray.”

“Just as bad, if you ask me. His legal name was Raymond Raynard Dildy,” said Garnett. “Kind of runs in the family. His cousin Emory’s first and middle names are Emory Emanuel. I’m at a loss to explain how Emory escaped the moniker M amp;M.”

Garnett’s phone rang. He hadn’t chosen a piece of music for his ringtone, but had just an old-fashioned ringing sound. He flipped it open.

“Garnett.”

From his conversation, Diane guessed it was the policemen who had gone out to check the grounds, and they had found something.

“They found what they think is his vehicle parked beyond the trees in back of the house,” he said. “It’s a beat-up green Toyota registered to a Rick Gomez. It was reported stolen yesterday. We’ll leave it where it is until your people go over it. I’ll have my people watch it and your house.”

When Garnett left, she called David and asked him to finish the well excavation.

“I’m going to sleep in,” she said. “I’ll be out late morning.”

“What’s happened?” he said.

Diane hadn’t wanted to tell him, but he needed to be alert in case some maniac came to Marcella’s place. She gave him a brief description of the evening’s events. She tried to play it down, but the facts of the incident being what they were, it was hard to put a no-big-deal face on it.

“Diane, my God, why in the…,” he said. “Are you all right? What the hell was that about? You say he’s related to the guy who was killed here?”

“I don’t know what it’s about, and yes, they’re apparently related. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to bed to get a good night’s sleep. Tell the policemen there to keep a lookout. And David, be careful. Be extra paranoid.”

“Sure thing,” he said. “You know how I am.”

“This is just crazy,” said Diane when she hung up. “I don’t know why I was a target. It solves nothing for anyone, unless it’s some kind of revenge thing.”

“Revenge? Who?” Frank asked. “And for what?”

“Maybe it was just a coincidence Emory turned out to be related to Ray-Ray. Emory is from Atlanta, which is a straight shot down the interstate from Gainesville. Perhaps Marsha Carruthers and her husband are behind it. Perhaps it’s some kind of revenge for stirring up the tragedy in their lives.”

As she said it, it didn’t seem right. The kinship thing between the two men was just too much of a coincidence. She was getting a major headache.

“Why don’t I heat up the leftover pizza?” said Frank. “We’ll have pizza and red wine. You know how you love leftover pizza.”

“Sounds good,” she said.

While they waited for the pizza to warm in the oven, Frank boarded up the back door so it wouldn’t open at all.

“I’ll have it fixed tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll call my partner and tell him I’m taking the day off.”

“I’m sorry you have to do that.” Diane felt guilty on top of everything else. She had brought this to his house. Maybe it wasn’t her fault, but it was about her.

“They could have been after me,” said Frank. “After all, had I been here, I probably would have been the one to answer the door. I do have Atlanta connections who might want some revenge.”

Frank had a strange habit of reading her mind sometimes. But she probably wore her feelings on her face. She was a terrible poker player.

“Ray-Ray after Marcella; his cousin after you?” She shook her head. “That would be too much of a coincidence.”

They ate and drank and Diane began to feel better.

“I finished the diary,” he said.

“Oh? Was it hard?” asked Diane.

“Very easy really, once I got to know how Ellie Rose’s mind worked. She must have been a neat kid. Very clever code for a kid.”