Snoop to Nuts by Elizabeth Lee Page A

Ben and the sheriff waiting.”
    After hugging Justin and Bethany and Mama, and ignoring Jeffrey Coulter, we got out of the house.
    None of what was happening seemed real, not Hunter’s hand on top of Miss Amelia’s head as she got into the back of his patrol car, and not joining her on the other side of the tight backseat with a metal grate between us and Hunter.
    He sat in the front, not looking back. It was like one of those dreams where things are going wrong but your brain warns you how much worse it could still get.
    At the sheriff’s office, I wasn’t allowed in the back with Meemaw. All I could do was sit in the outer room and wait for Ben, who came rushing in about ten minutes after we got there. “She in back?” he asked hurriedly.
    I nodded.
    “Hope she’s not answering any questions. I’m getting her right out of here.”
    The hurried man in his rumpled tan suit, overstuffed briefcase at his side, went through the swinging gate and around to the back.
    *   *   *
    Ben was an old friend of Daddy’s from the time when Ben first came to town. That was a few years before Daddy was murdered out in the pecan grove. Now Ben seemed like one of the family.
    Within fifteen minutes they were all back out in the lobby.
    “You through grilling Miss Amelia, Sheriff?” I shot an angry look at the man standing behind her.
    “Not ‘grilling’ anybody, Lindy. You been watching too many cop shows.”
    “I’m just glad she didn’t come out in stripes,” I, still fuming at the sheriff and at Hunter, said between clenched lips.
    Sheriff Higsby ignored my snit. “Need to talk to you, too, Lindy. Want to hear if you’ve got any ideas about all of this. All I’m doing is looking for help here. You got anything . . .”
    I looked around the nearly empty room and thought fast. Was there any way I could swing suspicion away from Meemaw? The kick in the butt I got from Jessie had already started my brain.
    “What about that prize hog?” I asked. “Find out who let him loose to send everybody running out to watch him go.”
    He frowned at me, thinking hard.
    “And there’s talking to the deacons at the church. What about any problems the parson was having with anybody? You do that yet?”
    He shook his head, beginning to look sheepish.
    “I’d say it’s somebody local—because of the spotted water hemlock—except it grows straight across the South.”
    The sheriff listened and I felt good. It was like doing something positive at last. The feeling even got to Miss Amelia, who put a finger in the air at one point, but I was on a roll.
    “All the ladies brought in two bowls of their entries. One for judging. One for the Winners’ Supper—in case they won a ribbon. So how would anyone know which one was going to the judges and which one was for later, for the supper?” I asked everyone in general.
    “I can answer that one,” Miss Amelia perked up.
    “You’re not supposed to say a word, Meemaw,” I cautioned her.
    “You be quiet, young lady. I’ll take care of myself.” She turned to the sheriff. “The judging dish was already out on the table by the time the hog got loose. The other one was all that was left in the cooler.”
    The sheriff thought awhile. “Then tell me this, how’d he know you weren’t going to win and be serving that other bowl to everybody?”
    Miss Amelia snapped her mouth shut. We all knew what he was saying but it was too awful to think about: Maybe the killer didn’t care.
    The sheriff turned to Ben. “I talked to Dora. Asked if she knew what happened when Miss Amelia heaped that caviar on to her husband’s plate and she said she doubted he even wanted any more since he didn’t like it to begin with. Seemed odd to her, and Selma, too. That’s what they told me. Figured I should tell you.”
    At that bit of treachery, I fell silent, until a new thought struck me.
    “What about them? They were sitting on either side of the parson, only ones close enough to dose his