A Wedding To Die For

If Jeff’s theory held any water, Cedric did indeed do it. “What happened?” I asked.

“She was going to cut her hair and I stopped her. That’s the God’s truth.”

“Is it?” I tried to mimic that laser stare his granny had offered earlier.

His lower lip quivered and he didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

When Georgia and the girl returned a few moments later—a Band-Aid covered the wound on the child’s forehead—Cedric said, “I’m sorry, Granny. I didn’t mean to cut her.”

“I still owe you a licking for lying. And Aisha is owed one for letting you near those scissors. Separate rooms.” She pointed toward the hall and both children scurried off.

She eased down in her chair, pulling her sweater tighter around her bony shoulders. “Tell me how they’d handle that little episode in some day care? Probably wouldn’t even notice. And we wonder why our children have strayed so far from what’s right. No discipline, I say. Now, what were we discussing?”

“Vengeance,” I said.

“Ah yes. Did you ever read Jane Eyre?”

“Yes, but—”

“Guilty pleasure of mine, reading about little white girls with silly problems. Anyway, that author made a few decent points, and since I was reading that book when Laura went astray, I remember what Brontë said about vengeance because it seemed to fit at the time.”

“Sorry, but my memory isn’t as good as yours.” I needed to trust that Georgia would get to the point sooner or later. I was fast learning to allow people to tell me what they knew at their own pace.

“Brontë said vengeance is as tempting as wine, smells wonderful, but when you drink of it, it makes you feel like you’ve been poisoned. Pretty smart woman, huh?”

“Very smart.”

“I think Laura was poisoned by her own need for vengeance.”

“Vengeance and not greed?” I asked. “She did steal a lot of money.”

“She didn’t have a greedy bone in her body. But Laura knew money was Mr. Beadford’s soft underbelly. And the love of that money was his downfall. Laura took advantage of his weakness.”

“Are you saying she embezzled his money to get even with him for something?”

“That’s what I’m guessing.”

“For what?” But I was beginning to understand.

“I think I’ve guessed enough. I have no direct knowledge of anything except Laura’s character. Of her weakness. Of his weakness.”

I wanted to scream So guess anyway! But I knew this woman had such a strong sense of fair play it wouldn’t help. I said, “His weakness was his love of money. What about Laura’s?”

“Poor judgment. Impulsiveness. I suppose youth is a built-in weakness, isn’t it?” She smiled, and in that smile I saw what she’d been implying, what I had to say rather than have the words come from her lips.

“They were having an affair, right?”

Georgia said nothing. Didn’t even blink.

“Yes. That’s it. He dumped her, and she got even by stealing his money.”

Georgia shut her eyes and came close to a nod. “As I said, I had no direct knowledge. No proof.”

“But you are an insightful woman. I think that’s enough proof for me. Is there anything else about Laura you could tell me?”

“Nothing except she was smart. Misguided, yes. Foolish, yes, but intelligent and caring. Of course not as smart as Miss Charlotte Brontë or she would have known better than to do what she did.”

A few minutes later I left Georgia Jackson’s home with a Ziploc full of cookies and walked to my car in a chilly drizzle. That drizzle turned to a steady rain by the time I reached home, the afternoon now as dark as night.

Diva was sitting on the kitchen counter by the answering machine when I came in, which meant I probably had messages. She’s conditioned for plenty of petting while I listen, and I stroked her as I pushed the play button.

Jug’s cheerful voice filled the kitchen. “Miss, this be Jug here. Got plenty of news, so call me quick as you get in.” He hadn’t left his number and it hadn’t shown up on the caller ID so I’d have to hunt up his card. The other message was from Megan and I called her back first.

“Hi, Abby,” she said once I had her on the line.

“Travis and I wondered if we could drop by this evening.”

“Sure, but why?” I asked.

She lowered her voice. “My mother is right around the corner. We’re just finishing up with the funeral director after setting up Uncle Graham’s services. Is seven okay?”

“Fine, but—”

“Great.” She hung up.

That was strange. Did she want an update on the mother hunt? If she did, was I ready to tell her all I knew, even the latest? That apparently her birth mother had had an affair with her father and—

“Holy shit!” I slapped my forehead with the heel of my hand. “Now I get it.”

19

I took Diva’s face between my hands and put my nose an inch from hers. “James Beadford adopted his own daughter, cat!”

She was not impressed by my lightbulb moment. She struggled free and ran off, leaving me with a handful of calico hair.

I should have considered this possibility sooner. Why else would James Beadford have brought the child of the woman who’d nearly ruined him into his home?

I had to tell Megan, but was tonight the right time to load her up with a heavy dose of family and company history, none of it too pretty? No, I wanted the DNA report in hand and Kate sitting beside us when that conversation took place. Kate’s the expert on dealing with emotions.

I unzipped the cookie bag—I definitely needed a chocolate fix—and ate while I dumped the contents of my purse onto the kitchen table to look for Jug’s card. Three cookies later I had him on the line and he sounded as cheerful as when we’d last seen each other.

“Sorry I don’t call sooner, miss. But Martha, she be having so much trouble.”

“Oh no. Her pregnancy?” I asked.

“Yes, but everything irie now.”

“Irie?”

“Means everything fine. We got us a new daughter yesterday. We call her Rose.”

A tiny lump formed in my throat. “Thank you, Jug.”

“Me the one be thanking you. Where you get so much money to be giving it to your taxi man?”

“Doesn’t matter. I want to hear about the baby. How big is she?”

“Let me figure in American.” He paused. “Ten pounds. So hard on Martha. She say no more babies, mon.”

I laughed. “I don’t blame her.”

“But I got more news, miss. Found your midwife. The one who delivered that baby you been asking about.”

“You’re kidding!”

“She be some booguyaga. I’d never trust no birthing to her. Gravelicious woman, though, so your money talked loud and clear. She told me everything.”

I wasn’t sure what those odd words meant, but I got the gist. “And what’s everything?” I asked.

“That she was paid to drug your lady after she gave birth—kept her drugged about a week, if she remembers right. She gave the little girl to a lawyer from the U.S. and told the mother the baby died.”