Part 4 (1/2)
”Was she difficult to locate?”
Harold laughed. ”Not in the least. Luther knows exactly where she lives. Erin is opposed to selling the land for development. In fact, she's blocked a sale before. Luther is trying to slide this past her.”
Goes to show that just because a man has bone china coffee cups in a trailer, he doesn't always have high morals.
Harold gave me her address and phone number. ”Erin is . . . difficult. She's angry, and she takes it out on this county and the people who live here.”
”How do you mean?”
”When her mom died, neither Luther nor her father let her know. Someone from the funeral home finally took pity and called her. She arrived just in time to see the casket going into the hea.r.s.e for transport. She's never forgiven the people here. She felt, rightly so, that someone should have notified her.”
”That's awful. Luther told me a lot of stuff, but he acted like Erin's refusal to join a sorority was a big deal.”
Harold hesitated. ”Lana Entrekin Carlisle was a fifth-generation Zeta Zeta. Her ancestor was one of the founders. ZZ is the sorority at Ole Miss. Haven't you seen the billboards set up along the highways during rush?”
”I've seen them.” I had indeed. Mortified described my reaction. The billboards listed a toll-free suicide hotline for girls who weren't offered bids for this sorority. ”A tad extreme, wouldn't you say?”
”Erin was a heritage candidate. She was a shoo-in.”
”Jesus, Harold, this is a sorority you're talking about, not members.h.i.+p to The Rapture.”
”Social connections are often more important than any academic degree.”
I couldn't argue that. Too often, life has nothing to do with merit and too much to do with contacts.
”Still and all, to cut her out of the family seems a bit extreme. I mean, she could have married a first cousin and produced a child with twelve fingers. That might have been a reason to kick her out. But a sorority?” I couldn't let it go.
Harold wisely ignored me. ”Call her. She can fill you in on details I'm not privy to. The bank deals with Luther, but she gets a copy of everything.”
”Thanks, but I have another question.”
”No, my l.u.s.t for you hasn't waned. Those photographs from Hollywood have only made me want you more.”
Harold delighted me, even when he was being outrageous. He'd once proposed, but our friends.h.i.+p had recovered from that hurdle. ”You know Jitty thinks I should marry--” I stopped dead. Jitty was Harold's strongest proponent. She viewed him as the perfect donor of sperm and the best potential partner for marriage. But I didn't need to tell him that.
”Who's Jitty?” he asked.
”Oh, a friend.”
”From Zinnia?”
I was stumped for an answer. ”Sort of.”
”How are you 'sort of' from a place? Either you are or you aren't.”
”She lived here once but doesn't now.” I outdid myself with cleverness.
”Have I met her?”
”What is this? Sixty questions? She's a friend. Case closed. Saving Oscar is the focus.”
”You're right. We can explore tomfoolery at another time.”
”I'll contact Erin and let you know what I find out.”
”Anything else?”
”Lana Carlisle. Did she trip and fall down the stairs, or did she have some help?”
Harold hesitated. ”The death was ruled accidental. But there was gossip. A lot of it. Especially since the funeral was held so fast and Erin wasn't notified.”
”Talk that Mr. Carlisle killed his wife?” I was remembering what Luther had said about Erin tattling about an affair. High emotions sometimes led to rash actions.
”That either Mr. Carlisle or Luther killed her.”
Now that shocked me. ”Luther was a suspect in his mother's death?”
”And his father's.”
”Holy cow. Was there an investigation?”
”That was before Coleman became sheriff, so things weren't always done by the book. As you recall, there were some issues with our former sheriff.”
”Thanks for the heads up, Harold.”
”Glad to help. Call me if you need anything. I'm stopping by the hospital when I get off work.”
”Cece and I will be by there as soon as we can. I think I'm going to make a quick trip to Jackson.”
”Good luck, Sarah Booth.” He dropped his voice a notch. ”I can't wait to meet this Jitty person.”
”Sure thing.” Now I'd jumped on the gut wagon with a one-eyed dog. Before long, I just might have to feed him.
5.
Image Photography was located on the north side of Jackson, Mississippi, in the Ridgeland area. I found the studio with ease and noted the parked Lexus and Mercedes crossovers and one vintage, baby-blue Nissan that obviously belonged to someone with excellent taste. I parked my antique Mercedes roadster that had been my mother's pride and joy next to it.
For fifteen minutes I watched the studio, taking the temperature of the clientele and what Erin Carlisle had given up an inheritance of land and comfort to pursue.
While I waited, I got the number for Mississippi Agri-Team in Yazoo City, Mississippi. My plan was to stop by there and speak with Lester Ballard, until a receptionist at the company told me he was out of the country.
”May I speak with someone about the cotton crop on the Carlisle plantation land?” I asked.
”I'm sorry, only Mr. Ballard can talk with you. He handles that property.”
Across the parking lot, a mom came out of the photography studio with twin boys about five years old, dressed in suits and ties. The boys were miserable, tugging at their clothes. The woman looked like she'd stepped from a fas.h.i.+on magazine.