“Vickie?” Margaret said.

  “Yes, I guess that’s her name. They dated and they have a daughter together,” Savannah continued.

  “I didn’t know that,” Gladys said. “Ferrell Peters had a secret daughter? How old is she?”

  “Well, I don’t know that it’s a big secret,” Margaret said. She thought for a moment. “She must be around forty, I’d guess.”

  “You knew about this?” Gladys asked. “Why didn’t I hear about it?”

  “It’s hard to keep up with local scuttlebutt from LA,” Margaret reminded her.

  “Evidently she hated her father,” Savannah said. “Craig thinks that could be motive for the murder.”

  Gladys put her hands to her mouth. “So they think he was murdered?”

  “No, he crawled into the hole and pulled the dirt over himself,” Margaret said sarcastically.

  “I thought he was washed away in that storm,” Gladys said.

  Savannah shook her head. “As it turns out, no. It was probably murder, and his own daughter might have had something to do with it.”

  “She didn’t even know about him for years,” Margaret said. “As I recall, Vickie eventually told the child that Arnie wasn’t her father and she named Ferrell. Linda didn’t know about this and that bombshell caused a rift between the two of them. She almost didn’t marry Ferrell.”

  “When did all this take place?” Savannah asked.

  “Just a couple of years after Linda and Ferrell got back together, so in the late 1980s, I’d say. The girl must have been around eleven or twelve.”

  “Did Ferrell know about her?” Gladys asked. “I can’t imagine that nice young man having a daughter and not acknowledging her—you know, helping to raise her.”

  “I’m not sure what the deal was there,” Margaret said, “whether Vickie didn’t tell him or if he just didn’t want to be a father. But when Vickie decided to spill the beans, this really put Arnie over the edge.”

  “How do you know all of this intimate information?” Gladys asked.

  Margaret shrugged. “I move in the right circles. One of my good friends at the time was pals with one of Vickie’s besties, and she knew how I loved juicy gossip.”

  “So what did Arnie Seacrest do when he found out his wife was sharing family secrets?” Savannah asked.

  “From what I understand, he forbade the girl from seeing her father.”

  “That’s just wrong,” Gladys complained.

  “I agree,” Savannah said. “What about when she got older?”

  Margaret continued, “By then, I guess Arnie—and maybe Vickie—had pretty much soured the girl’s mind about Ferrell. And Linda, it seems, forgot and forgave because the snotty-nosed kid wasn’t coming around at all and interfering in her life with Ferrell. She finally married him and they moved into his family home, where Barney and Bonnie live now. But that didn’t last long because, as you know, poor Ferrell disappeared and left Linda crazed.”

  “So the girl grew up hating a father she never knew?” Savannah asked.

  “Evidently,” Margaret said.

  “And she never made an attempt to see him? Did he make any overtures toward her?” Savannah asked.

  “Not that I know of.” Margaret leaned forward and spoke more quietly. “Picture this, you have parents painting ugly pictures of your father, and a stepfather forbidding you to have anything to do with him.”

  “But a girl might get curious when she comes of age,” Savannah suggested.

  Gladys agreed. “Right! What would stop her from satisfying her curiosity?”

  “Money,” Margaret said smugly. “From what I’ve been told, Arnie threatened to take the girl out of his will if she established a relationship with her biological father. He said, ‘It’s either him or me.’”

  “What?” Gladys said. “Who says that to a child he loves?”

  Margaret mulled that question over, then said, “A bully who doesn’t want to lose face among his constituents and business associates, I suppose. He’s not a nice man. I don’t know why Vickie stays with him, unless…”

  “Unless what?” Savannah asked.

  “Well, maybe he treats her the same way he treats her daughter. I don’t know.” She huffed. “He isn’t any better as a father to his own two boys, in my opinion. He uses money to get his way—to make himself look good. He bribed his boys to follow his dreams, not their own. He told them that he’d pay for college only if they’d go to law school or medical school. Well, those boys had no interest in doing that. One flunked out and became a mixologist for a major hotel bar in Vegas. One is a teacher at an elementary school.” Margaret took a sip of coffee.

  “Wow!” Gladys said. “I had no idea. But I sure feel sorry for Linda, having lost the love of her life so soon after they finally got together. No wonder she went out of her mind.”

  “She didn’t seem all that crazy to me,” Savannah said quietly.

  “You met Linda Peters?” Margaret asked.

  Savannah nodded. “Craig and I…” she chuckled, “…and Rags met her yesterday. She lives in a really plush retirement home or nursing home. I’m not sure what it is. But she seems very comfortable there. Sure, I think she has some mental issues, but she’s articulate, well put together, and her place is amazing.”

  Margaret frowned. “That’s odd. Last I heard she was down on Eighth Street—you know, in one of those sleazy places where alcoholics and mentally ill wards of the state stay. Are you sure that was Linda Peters?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t ask for her ID, but that’s who she claims to be.” Savannah looked at the clock. “Hey, I’d better get going. Craig and I are going to meet the daughter today. Auntie, can you take care of the colony cats this morning?”

  “Go out to the graveyard by myself?” Margaret squealed.

  Savannah winced. “Okay, what time do you want to go?”

  Margaret looked at Gladys, who said, “I’ll work around your schedule. Heaven knows you gals are busier with important things to do than I am.”

  When the others didn’t speak, Margaret said, “How about this: call me when you get home from your meeting and we’ll go then.”

  Savannah agreed. She looked at her mother. “You really are kind of a slave around here, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, Vannie, I wouldn’t say that. I love what I do here and being with the children and you and Michael and having Bri close and you, Maggie. I’m happy.”

  “But you really should get out more and do things that you want to do.”

  Margaret nodded. “Maybe this is the time, Gladys, for you to take pole-dancing lessons or learn to deal blackjack.”

  “Dear me, I don’t think so.” Gladys hesitated and said, “But there is something I’ve always wanted to do someday when I had the time—something just for me—and I’ve decided to pursue it.”

  “Pottery!” Margaret spouted.

  Gladys smiled. “You remembered.”

  “That’s right, pottery,” Savannah said. She winked at Gladys and said, “Auntie, Mom got a lesson on the potter’s wheel last night.”

  Gladys slapped at her daughter. “You don’t have to tell everyone.”

  “And dinner too,” Savannah said.

  “With that handsome gentleman?” Margaret asked. “Pastor Sanders’s son? Really? Wow! How’d that go? Come on,” she urged, “details.”

  “Mom’s not one to kiss and tell,” Savannah teased.

  “I did not kiss the man,” Gladys said indignantly.

  “Oh,” Margaret said, “I would have.”

  Gladys blushed.

  Hoping to take the pressure off her mother, Savannah said, “Mom actually made something last night.”

  Margaret grinned impishly. “Oh? A little hanky-panky? Is that what you made?”

  “Stop it,” Gladys said. “I made a vase. Karl found some instructions for using the wheel. He bought some clay and we actually made this vase. He took it somewhere to be fired. Then I think we’ll have to add a glaze or something.”

  “So you have another date?” Margaret asked.

  “It’s not a date, it’s a—well—a creative endeavor.”

  “With a handsome man,” Margaret teased, “and I’ll bet you’ll be drinking wine while you’re…”

  “I hope so,” Savannah said, laughing.

  Gladys stood up and began clearing the table. “Whatever happens, you can bet I won’t tell you two about it.”

  Savannah walked up behind her mother and hugged her. “Sorry, Mom. I’m just so happy for you.”

  “Why,” Gladys insisted, “because I have a friend?” She faced the others. “You’d think I didn’t have a life the way you two talk.”

  “Really, Mom,” Savannah said, “I’m so happy that you’re getting out and doing something you enjoy. You deserve good times with good people.” When her aunt started to say something, Savannah waved her off. “Just button it up. Leave Mom alone. She’s having fun.” She then said, “Well, I’d better get dressed.” She started to leave the room, but stopped and turned. She shook a finger at her aunt. “Leave Mom alone.”

  ****

  Later that afternoon Craig and Savannah walked up the steps to a well-kept bungalow-style house. When no one came to the door, Craig glanced at his notes. “Oh, I think she lives in the granny flat out back. Let’s go check.” It didn’t take long for a woman Craig determined to be in her late thirties or early forties to approach the screen door. “Are you Justine Seacrest?” he asked.

  “Yes, Detective Sledge?” When he nodded, she unlatched the screen door and motioned for them to enter. She picked up a few toys and tossed them into a corner of the small dwelling. “Excuse the mess,” she said. “It seems like I’m always picking up after my two-year-old. He’s napping now, so I have a few minutes before it starts all over again.”

  “Toddlers can be tiring,” Savannah said.

  “Tell me about it.” Justine dropped into a chair and motioned for Savannah and Craig to sit across from her on a worn sofa.

  “This is Savannah Ivey,” Craig said off-handedly.

  Justine nodded and asked her, “You have kids?”

  “My daughter will be four in a few months and my son is sixteen months,” Savannah said.

  Justine’s eyes widened. “Then you know what it’s like.”

  Savannah nodded. “Do you have help?”

  “Not really. Skye’s dad left after he was born and my parents are busy. They like to visit, but they don’t participate much, if you know what I mean.” She looked at Craig. “So why do you want to see me? I hope it’s about alimony. I could use some alimony. Have they found that deadbeat?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Craig said. “It’s about your father.”

  She looked confused. “Papo?”

  “Is that what you called Ferrell Peters?” Craig asked.

  Justine scowled. “No. I don’t call him anything. Arnie Seacrest raised me. He’s my dad. Anyway, Ferrell Peters ran off someplace and disappeared.”

  “Did he?” Craig questioned.

  “Well yeah, he took off when I was in my teens. I only saw him a couple of times—once when he unloaded a box of junk on me—his junk.”

  This caught Craig’s interest. “Oh? What kind of junk?”

  “Certificates and patches from when he was in the military, you know, and old letters, supposedly from my mother…things like that. Sure, I guess he dated my mother, but I’ll never believe he’s my father, even if DNA proves he is. He was never interested in me. Papo says there’s no way that man could be my father anyway, and I believe him.”

  “Do you know where that box is now?” Craig asked.

  “The box Mr. Peters gave me?” Justine shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. At my parents’ house, in the garage. That’s where it was the last time I saw it. Why?”

  Ignoring her question, Craig said, “Justine, Ferrell Peters is dead.”

  She looked surprised. “Dead?” She chuckled. “What did he die of, some disease he caught in Mexico?”

  “Mexico?” Craig questioned.

  “People say he probably went to Mexico.”

  “Why would he do that?” Craig asked.

  “I don’t know, maybe to get away from his witch of a wife. You know they put her in a crazy house.”

  “You don’t like your stepmother?”

  “She’s not my stepmother,” Justine snapped. “And he wasn’t my father.”

  “So you had no relationship at all with Mr. or Mrs. Peters?”

  Justine shook her head. “I only talked to her once, and that’s when she told me to stay out of their life.” She sniggered. “Like I wanted anything to do with those two.”

  “When did that happen?” Craig asked, furrowing his brow.

  “Right after my…um…Mr. Peters dumped all his crap on me. The creep must have been stalking me, since he knew where I lived and when I’d be home alone.”

  “You mean his box of belongings?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, he told me he was sorry he wasn’t there for me, like I gave a rat’s…um.” She glanced at Craig and Savannah. “Yeah, he said those things meant something to him and that I was his only child.”

  “Had you been told he was your father before he showed up that day?”

  Justine nodded. “Mom told me when I was about ten. I guess she thought he’d start coming around, and she didn’t want it to be a surprise.” She raised her eyebrows. “Boy, did that make Papo mad. Mom said Papo was jealous. He really blew his top when that wannabe father brought his crap to me.” She shuddered. “I didn’t want all that stuff. I just took it to the garage and never paid any attention to it again.” She grinned. “Well, Papo told me there could be something valuable in there, so he and I went through it one Saturday when Mom was at the beauty salon.” Flippantly, she said, “There wasn’t. It was just junk.”

  “And you never saw Ferrell Peters again?” Craig asked.

  “No.” She then said, “Except for a couple of times—you know, when it couldn’t be avoided. He and the witch ate at the same restaurant where we ate once. Seeing them always made Papo so angry, I just wanted them to go away.”

  “And they did, didn’t they?” Craig said. “It was as if you wished them away, right, Justine?”

  “Huh?” she said. “What do you mean?”

  “Justine, we found your father, Ferrell Peters. His body has been identified. I wanted to tell you that before it comes out in the papers.”

  “You found his body?” she questioned. “Like, where?”

  “In a shallow grave, along with a box of his belongings.” When Justine said nothing, he added, “I’m guessing it’s the box he gave you.”

  “That can’t be. That box is still in my parents’ garage,” she insisted.

  “Are you sure about that?” Craig asked. He leaned forward and stared into Justine’s eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t bury it with your father twenty-three years ago? You were—what— seventeen then, old enough to make such a decision on your own…or maybe you had a little help from old Papo.”

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Oh, I don’t know, a daughter who hated her father enough might at least participate in his death to get him out of her face—to make him go away for good and then bury painful reminders of him with his body.”

  She stood up and shouted, “That’s crap! I wouldn’t…I didn’t…” She sat down again and looked at Craig. “He’s dead? All this time he’s been dead?” She shook her head. “I wasted my time hating a dead person?”

  Craig nodded. He then asked, “Justine, do you remember that storm of 1995?”

  “Yes. I was home alone and the thunder and lightning scared me. My brothers had a sleepover at a friend’s house, and my parents went out somewhere. I know that, because I woke up in the night and went to their room. They weren’t there, so I got into their bed and waited for them to get home. Yes, I remember that awful night.” She furrowed her brow. “Hey, that’s right, Papo told me that Mr. Peters got washed down river that night in the flooding.”

  “Yes, that was one theory,” Craig said.

  “Yeah, and then I heard that he ran out on his wife—took his passport, they said. That’s when the Mexico stories started.” She looked at Craig. “So did they find him down river?” she asked. “Did he die all those years ago in that flood?”

  “No. He was buried right there on his property, nowhere near where the river crested that night.”

  “Oh. Well…” When Justine heard her child calling out to her, she stood up and faced Craig and Savannah. “If that’s all you came here to tell me—I mean, as you can see, I’m busy with my son.”

  Craig stood up. “Before you go, Ms. Seacrest…”

  “Yeah?” she said.

  “I’d like to know where your folks said they were that night they left you alone and frightened.”

  “Um…” She tilted her head as if trying to remember. “It seems to me that Mom was across the street with neighbors who had lost their electricity or something. That old couple was always calling on Mom for something, and she’d run over there for the stupidest things. Papo said they were just using her.”

  “Sounds like a kind gesture on your mother’s part,” Savannah remarked.

  “Where did your…Papo say he’d been that night?”

  Justine chuckled. “Oh, he has Mom beat by a mile when it came to helping others. He is always doing something for other people. That night I’m pretty sure he was helping someone with sandbags or moving their animals or something. That’s just the way Papo rolls, you know.”

  “If you say so,” Craig said under his breath.

  “Huh?” Justine questioned.

  “Nothing. Thank you for your time, Ms. Seacrest. Go on and take care of your baby now. We can let ourselves out.”

  “So,” Savannah asked once she and Craig were in the car, “did she do it?”

  “What do you think?” he teased. “What’s your gut feeling?” When she shrugged, Craig said, “To answer your question, she could have done it, but only if she had help. She could probably get her jealous, irate stepfather to help her, or maybe a boyfriend, but I really don’t think she had that much passion behind her dislike for her father. From the sounds of it, he wasn’t harassing her. Kids at that age are pretty ultra-focused on their own life without scheming about how to do away with a father who only wants to know his daughter.”