I stuck my head into the guest room to check on Hannah before leaving. I found her sitting on the side of the bed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me.” Hannah shook her head. “I don’t remember coming in here.” She paused. “I seem to be taking a lot of naps lately.”
“You were tired. Maybe you should try to go back to sleep.”
“Humph.” She put her shoes on and stood up. She turned and remade the bed. “I got too much to do to be napping all day. We need to find out who killed April’s husband before that trooper locks her up and ruins her career.”
“If you’re sure you feel up to it . . .”
“Of course I’m up to it. I been meaning to have a talk with that Marjorie Rivers anyway. Gotta find out where she’s been all this time. I’m sure if I talk to her, then it’ll all come back.”
That was a good point. Hannah was back to herself. As long as she felt up to working, Michael thought it was good for her to keep going. She loved baking, and Baby Cakes allowed her to do what she enjoyed while surrounded by people who loved and cared for her.
I filled her in on the plans we’d made for today.
“I’ve got some of those apple turnovers downstairs, and I made a strawberry pie. We can take the pie. Nothing like a strawberry pie to loosen the tongue.” She laughed. “Although I seem to remember Marjorie always loved lemons. I don’t have time to make lemon pie, but . . . strawberry will have to do.”
We went to the kitchen and grabbed the pie. Before we left, I wrapped up a couple of the apple turnovers too. If the pie loosened Marjorie’s tongue, then I felt sure the turnovers would loosen Mayor Abernathy’s.
It wasn’t until we were in the car that I realized I didn’t know where Marjorie was staying. I turned to Hannah and asked.
“I’m betting on Garrett Kelley’s house.” Hannah gave me directions.
The New Bison rumor mill had suggested that Marjorie Rivers had run off with Garrett Kelley’s son. Garrett’s son died years ago. If Garrett left his property to Marjorie, then the rumors must have been right.
I followed the directions Hannah gave and drove to a small farmhouse near Lake Michigan and the interstate. It was a small, eclectic neighborhood with small bungalows, farmhouses, and the occasional ranch thrown in to keep things interesting.
Any questions on where Marjorie was staying were answered when I pulled in front of the driveway and saw her on a swing on the front porch.
We got out and walked to the house.
“I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—”
Marjorie hurried over and hugged Hannah. “Of course I remember you, Miss Hannah. How could I forget you? I certainly couldn’t forget your sweet potato pie. Please tell me that’s what you have under that foil.”
Hannah chuckled. “This one’s strawberry, but I’ll have to make you a sweet potato pie and bring it by tomorrow.” She turned to me. “This here’s Maddy Montgomery, Octavia’s great-niece.”
Marjorie smiled and extended a hand. “I’m really sorry to hear about Miss Octavia’s passing. I know Garrett was devastated. She was an amazing woman.”
When I first arrived in New Bison, I wasn’t sure how to respond to condolences about her death. I didn’t know her. Surprisingly, since her death, I’d learned a lot about my great-aunt from her friends and the notes and messages that she’d left around the house. She was a smart, determined woman. She had a sound mind for business, and unlike me, she didn’t have problems making decisions. Aunt Octavia knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it.
“Thank you.”
Marjorie led us inside to the kitchen, which was small but clean. There was a small wood table with four chairs in a corner. “Coffee or tea?”
Hannah and I sat while Marjorie got cups and plates from the cabinets. She couldn’t have been here more than a few days, but she knew exactly where everything was. Within minutes, we were all sitting at the table sipping coffee and eating pie.
“That pie was delicious.” Marjorie leaned back in her seat. “Now, as much as I want to believe y’all came over here just to feed me, I’m guessing that’s not why you’re here.”
I wasn’t sure how to approach things since I didn’t know Marjorie. Thankfully, Hannah came to the rescue. “I been meaning to come by ever since I heard you was back in town. How did you get mixed up with a slimeball like Clayton Davenport?”
Nothing like the direct approach. I wouldn’t have been able to get away with being that direct, but older Black women could get away with saying things no one else could.
“After Garrett’s death, that lawyer got in touch with me, Chris Russell. He told me Garrett had named me in his will.” She gazed out the window into the backyard. “Garrett had always been nice to me. He knew where I was all of these years, and he never told Paul.” After a few moments, she snapped out of her trip down memory lane. “Not long after he reached out, I got a visit from Clayton Davenport.” She scowled. “It was so close, that I thought Mr. Russell must have told him about me. At least, at first . . .”
We waited, but Marjorie blushed and took a sip of her coffee. She was holding something back.
“Clayton Davenport approached you about buying Garrett’s bookstore, is that right?” I asked.
“Yes.”
We sat in an awkward silence for several seconds while I tried to find the right words to ask what I really wanted to know. Fortunately, Hannah didn’t share my indecisiveness.
“Honey, when you left that sleazy snake oil salesman, I just knew you had gotten free. How is it you didn’t divorce the old goat?”
Unfortunately, I took that exact moment to take a sip of my coffee. When I heard Hannah’s question, I spit my coffee out.
Marjorie hurried to the sink and came back with a roll of paper towels and helped me clean up the table.
I apologized over and over again.
When I was as clean as a Shout wipe could make me, we all settled back down.
“Now, where were we?” Marjorie asked, as if any of us had lost sight of the question.
“You were about to tell us why you never divorced Paul Rivers,” Hannah said. For someone with dementia, she had a really good memory when it mattered.
Marjorie stared into her coffee. “I don’t know. At first, I didn’t want him to know where I was. If I filed for a divorce, then he’d find out. Later, when I heard he got remarried, I thought he must have gotten divorced in Mexico. I’d heard that you could do things like that.”
“I saw that on an episode of Perry Mason. This man got a divorce in Mexico and then later, he married somebody else. Well, apparently his Mexican divorce wasn’t recognized in the United States, or something like that. So, his ex-wife, who was a real piece of work, called the district attorney and filed charges claiming he was a bigamist.” Hannah sipped her coffee and shook her head. “Perry Mason had his hands full with that one.”
“What happened? How did Perry Mason get him out of it?”
“Someone killed her.”
