“That sounds good,” I said. “I hope she’s not allergic to cats or afraid of them, or you’ll have to interview her on your own.”
Jack rose from behind the desk. “We’ll figure it out as we go along. I hope you don’t mind driving again.”
“Not at all,” I said. “We want to stay cool, after all. We don’t know what hot water we might get into.” I grinned, and Jack laughed. Diesel trilled and chirped, as if he understood the joke himself.
While I put Diesel in the backseat, Jack retrieved his notebook from his car. He showed me a small digital recorder he had. “I always ask if I can record, of course. A lot of the time, they don’t mind, and it’s helpful later on. I take good notes, but it’s easy to forget to write something down.”
Jack directed me, and within a few minutes we pulled up in front of a white frame house with a neatly groomed yard. The lots in this neighborhood were not large but were wide enough to give the illusion of distance between the houses.
“That’s the Delaney house on the right,” Jack said. “Let’s get this thing started.” He opened the door and stepped out of the car.
“Come on, Diesel, time to get to work,” I said.
With Diesel on the leash, I followed Jack up the walk to the front door of Mrs. Cooper’s house. Jack rang the bell, and moments later a woman answered. I reckoned she was about my age, early fifties. Short, with dark hair and a wary expression.
Jack introduced himself. “I believe you know my wife, Wanda Nell. She was Wanda Nell Culpepper before.”
The wary expression disappeared and a warm smile replaced it. “I sure do know Wanda Nell. If she isn’t the sweetest thing the good Lord ever created, I don’t know who is. I heard she got married a while back but I haven’t run into her since I found out. It’s nice to meet you. Y’all come on in.”
She looked past Jack and saw Diesel and me. Her eyes widened at the sight of Diesel. “Heavens to Betsy, I swear that’s the biggest cat I’ve ever seen. He’s not a bobcat, is he?”
I repressed a smile. I’d heard that question often. After I introduced myself, I said, “No, ma’am, he’s a Maine Coon.” I gave her the quick facts on Maine Coons. “He’s very well-behaved, and his name is Diesel. Would you mind if he comes in with us?”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Y’all come on in. I hope y’all will ignore the state of my house. We don’t have a lot of company, and I’m inclined to let things slide a little.” She motioned for us to precede her into a room to the left of the entrance.
Based on years of experience of Southern housewives, I knew that when Mrs. Cooper asked us to ignore the state of her house that it would be pretty near immaculate. Even my late wife, Jackie, used to say similar things whenever we had company.
Sure enough, Mrs. Cooper’s living room looked perfectly clean and well organized. She motioned us to the sofa. “Would y’all like something to drink?” she asked.
We took places on the indicated sofa, and Diesel stretched out on the floor by my feet. He had allowed Mrs. Cooper to pat his head a couple of times, and he rewarded her with a couple of warbles.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m fine. Jack?”
“No, I’m good, Mrs. Cooper,” he said. “I really appreciate you inviting us in.” He waited for her to seat herself across from us before he continued. “I’m a writer, and Mr. Charlie Harris is helping me with the research for the book I’m working on now. The books I write are true crime, and I’m interested in a crime that happened here about twenty years ago.”
“The Barbers, has to be,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Oh my Lord, I haven’t thought about them in a long time, although I do sometimes see the Barber girl in the paper. She’s married to a businessman, Campbell’s the name, I think. So nice to know she made a good life for herself after all that tragedy, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said. He shot me a glance. Obviously, getting Mrs. Cooper to talk wasn’t an issue here. “I don’t know if you knew the Barbers, but your neighbor’s son worked for them. Bill Delaney.”
“Sylvia’s son,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I hated when she had to go into the nursing home. She was the sweetest person, and we had a lot in common, both being widows with sons to raise. That was a terrible time for her with everybody pointing the finger at Bill.” She shook her head. “Sylvia stood up for him, though. Just the way I would if somebody was accusing my son of doing something terrible like that.”
“Did you know the Barbers?” I asked.
“Not to say really know them, no,” Mrs. Cooper said. “A lot of people sure knew who Hiram Barber was, let me tell you. People would duck out of the way if they saw him coming down the street. Mean as a rattlesnake, and crazy to boot. I never could figure out how he ever talked Betty into marrying him. I went to school with Betty’s younger sister. She was an Eaton. Do you know the Eatons?” She looked at Jack but didn’t wait for an answer. “Betty must have seen something in him nobody else ever did, but I bet she wished she’d never married him after he started getting crazier and crazier.”
Jack was busy scribbling in his notebook. He hadn’t had the chance to ask Mrs. Cooper if he could record the interview. I hoped he knew shorthand, otherwise he’d never keep up with the spate of words.
“I’d see her in town sometimes but she would never talk for more than a minute or two. Always afraid Hiram would come along and have something ugly to say to her. He was always running her down. I’d’ve scratched his eyes out if he tried that with me, but Betty wouldn’t stand up to him.”
The import of Mrs. Cooper’s description of Betty Barber finally sank in with me. Before she could launch into further speech, I asked, “Do you think Hiram Barber abused his wife and children?”
“I’m sure he did,” Mrs. Cooper said. “He was just the type of man who would. Like I said, he got crazier and meaner. Betty never would admit it, but I bet he slapped her around.”
Jack and I exchanged a quick glance. This could be a piece of the new information we’d been hoping for. I asked another question. “Do you think the sheriff’s department knew about this?”
“Nobody ever asked me,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Back then people didn’t talk about stuff like that much.”
“I don’t think they knew,” Jack said. “My source never mentioned it, and I’m sure he would have if he’d known about it.”
The situation Mrs. Cooper described left me in little doubt that Hiram Barber was abusive. The question was, had that played a role in the murders?
TWENTY-EIGHT
I was so lost in thought, considering the ramifications of Hiram Barber as an abuser that I nearly missed Jack’s next question.
“You mentioned Mrs. Barber’s sister, a Miss Eaton,” Jack said. “I don’t know her. Does she still live in Tullahoma?”
Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “No, she died a few years back. The way I heard it, she had breast cancer but wouldn’t go to the doctor. Waited too late, and by then they couldn’t do much for her.”
“That’s really sad,” I said. “Why wouldn’t she go to the doctor?”
“Her church.” Mrs. Cooper grimaced. “One of those groups that don’t believe in doctors. Some mess like that. Beats me what some people will believe.”
“Are there any other family around? The Eatons, that is, who would know more about Betty Barber before she married?” Jack asked.
“Most of them have either died or moved away that I know of,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Though I can’t say for sure.”
“We’ll have to see if we can track any of them down,” I said.