Chapter 41
By the time I was back at Starnes’ house, she was sitting in her rocking chair, enjoying her front porch. The dogs greeted me with great flair. That seemed to be what the dogs did when they greeted almost anyone.
“Your head better?”
“Hurts some, but I think I’ll live. And what trouble have you gotten into while I was snoozing away my life?”
“Still pulling threads out of this weird tapestry to see what I can unravel.”
“Tell me something substantive.”
“Substantive? Hmm … Agent Hawkins told me that he got wind of a contract on Laurel. He gave me the name Diamond as the assassin.”
Starnes continued rocking looking straight ahead from her front porch vantage. She showed no expression and made no other movement except for the methodical rocking.
“And you called Diamond,” she said.
“I did.”
“And you learned?”
“Diamond turned down the job. Gave me the name of one of her peers after I described in detail what our faux Agent Redwine had done and what I recalled of his appearance. And she sent me a photo of said assassin.”
“She keeps records on the competition?” Starnes said.
“According to Diamond, she has no competitors.”
“Of course,” Starnes said. “Why is it you draw such a weird collection of friends and acquaintances?”
“You’re included in that gathering, you know.”
“Yeah, I get that. And the photo?”
“Our faux Agent Redwine. She nailed him. His real name, or at least the name she gave me, was Rutledge Connors.”
“No kidding.”
“You know Mr. Connors?”
“Name surfaced in a murder investigation when I was back in Norfolk with Wineski,” she said.
“I don’t recall it,” I said.
“You weren’t involved with that case.”
“And where did that name Rutledge Connors take you?”
“Dead end. We lost whatever we thought we had on him. Sort of disappeared.”
“Like a ghost.”
“Yeah, like a ghost. Interesting that his name surfaced here.”
Her rocking movement persisted, as did her staring off into the distance straight in front of her.
“More interesting to me is that someone involved in this kidnapping-gone-awry-business hired an assassin to take out Laurel Shelton.”
“Does seem odd. What do you make of it?”
“We’re missing something,” I said.
“Sounds like your usual mantra.”
“Detectives often miss things.”
“Makes me wonder why you’re so successful.”
I took out my cell and hit the number one. I waited while the phone buzzed Rogers on the other end.
“Ah … now I know. You and that machine. Without her and me, you’d be a lonely woman and, quite possibly, a failure.”
“So you say.”
Rogers answered.
“I think I’ve had you checking into the wrong people,” I said.
“Is that a confession?”
“No, just a statement. Research Laurel Storm Shelton,” I said.
“You asked that already. Been working on her … say, isn’t she the victim in this?”
“Very much so, but it appears that there is something about her that we have missed.”
“You think she’s a former Soviet spy?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Good guess.”
“Can’t a girl joke?”
“Get back to me on this one. Dig deep.”
“She’s fourteen years old. How deep could my investigation go?”
“I want you to look under every rock.”
“Could take a few minutes,” she said.
“Starnes and I are waiting.”
“Far be it for me to keep you two lovely gals waiting.”
She was gone in a second.
“Have we missed any relatives or close friends in this?” Starnes said after I put my phone away.
“No one else has been named. Maybe we should make another social call on Josephine Starling, your psychic.”
“She’s not my psychic. She’s a long-time family friend who has an extraordinary gift.”
“And makes delicious tea,” I said.
“Let’s go have some tea with Aunt Jo,” Starnes said.
“You up to a road trip so soon?”
“She probably has some special blend that will take away the last remnants of my headache.”
Chapter 42
Josephine Starling opened the door to her quaint cottage at the end of the holler where she had lived for the ninety years of her life. I opened the door for Sam to escape on my side of the Jeep, and Dog followed him immediately. I had been watching Dog carefully in light of her lost leg from that earlier case. I was amazed at how she had adjusted to her missing limb. She seemed to be able to stay with Sam as much as she ever could. Or maybe Sam had adjusted his speed to compensate for her physical challenge. I could detect few differences between them. That being said, Sam was still the smartest dog I had ever encountered in my life.
They headed off up the holler chasing some scent or trail. Lickity-split.
As we walked to the front door, I noticed Josephine’s flower gardens on both sides of the house. Interspersed among the flowers were herbs, some of which I recognized. I could smell the sage. My knowledge of such things was growing, but it still had a long way to go.
“Come in. I have tea ready for you, Starnes,” she said as she moved back from the threshold and gestured for us to enter her home.
I shook my head as Starnes walked in front of me into the house. The woman knew we were coming. Apparently, she also knew that Starnes needed some medicinal beverage. Aunt Jo was quite incredible and that would be a serious understatement of fact.
“I blended something special to help you with your pain,” she said to Starnes as we sat down in front of her couch in the two separate chairs facing it.
A teapot painted with a variety of butterflies rested conspicuously on the antique table between us and Josephine. Three cups surrounded the teapot. Each cup had a different painted butterfly on it, which matched one of the butterflies on the teapot. It appeared that she had been awaiting our arrival.
“You are still having a hard time with all this, Clancy Evans,” she said to me.
“Beg your pardon?”
“You still doubt my gift.”
“I have no solid explanation for how you do what you do,” I said.
“Nor I,” she said.
I watched her pour three cups of tea slowly. She put the teapot back down on the table with great care. She slid the individual cups to our side of the table.
“I have said that myself many times. I told my mother that years ago. Something along those lines, I think it was I said to her. I don’t believe I used your exact words, but I was confounded. Yes, I think that would be the term. I didn’t want the gift exactly. So, my mother sent me to my great grandmother. Great Grandmother Starling.”
Instead of waiting for us to pick up our cups of tea, Josephine stood and handed Starnes the cup she had slid toward her. She then handed me the cup intended for me. She sat back on her sofa and sipped from her own cup quietly and serenely.
“Is this to your liking?” she finally said to Starnes after what seemed to be several minutes passing.
“It is. Wow… quite … wonderful,” Starnes said as she took her third sip from the cup decorated with the large monarch.
I recalled that Josephine Starling had used this tea set with us on a previous visit.
“And what is this blend?” Starnes asked.
“What do you taste, my dear?” Josephine said.
“I taste some ginger, I think,” Starnes said.
“Precisely. I grow it in my herb garden.”
“Some parsley as well. Is that in there?”
“You have good taste buds. I grow
that as well.”
“I think there’s more, but I’ve reached the limit of my taste-knowledge,” Starnes said.
“And you, Clancy Evans, what do you taste?” Josephine said.
“I taste an interesting tea. I have no idea the specifics of said tea.”
“I think you are holding back,” Josephine said.
“I get a lemon flavor. That’s about the extent of my knowledge.”
“Lemon is in there. And there is something which I would not expect either of you to know about. Long ago I had a friend named Zhen Lee who taught me about the wonders of Sichuan lovage. I add just a smidgeon of that to it. She told me that the Chinese have used it for centuries as a cure for headaches.”
“So, you knew that her pain was from a head injury?” I said to her.
She sipped her tea quietly, put her cup down on the coffee table, and then smiled at me. A majestic blue-black butterfly was painted on her cup. It was difficult not to notice it.
“You have to ask?” Josephine said.
“You grow this Sichuan lovage in your garden as well?” I said.
“No. My friend Zhen Lee gave me ample supply years ago.”
“How many years ago?”
“I’d rather not say. A lady never wants to even hint at her age.”
“Of course not. The tea is quite good, unusual, but … very tasty,” I said.
“How’s your head?” Josephine said to Starnes.
“Wow, I think it has stopped hurting altogether.”
“That was fast,” I said.
“The tea is quite direct,” Josephine said. “A lot like you both. Now, tell me the other reason you are here.”
“But you already know,” I said.
“I would like to hear it from you.”
“Someone put a contract out on Laurel Shelton.”
“That’s the same child you asked me about the last time you were here,” she said.
“It is. She’s the daughter of William Shelton and Beth Call.”
“Yes. I recall.”
“Do you know anything more about her?”
“I have seen nothing since you were here.”
“What do you know about her parents?”
“Her father was a good man,” Josephine said.
“And Beth, the mother?”
“She had difficulties growing up. Came from an extremely poor family.”
“And?”
“You might check into the Weaverville Fidelity Credit Union.”
I was puzzled. Starnes appeared the same.
“For what?” I said.
“I don’t know. I simply … saw that name in connection with this young girl. I suggest you investigate.”
“Why not?” I said and finished off my tea. “Thank you, Aunt Jo. Wonderful tea. Puzzling conversation. Always a delight to be here and chat with you.”
“You are equally delightful, my dear. One day you might come to trust me as much as you trust Rogers,” she said.
Before I could stutter something out, Starnes thanked Josephine and ushered me out of the door. We loaded the dogs and headed to Weaverville.
“I was afraid you might say more than you needed to say to her,” Starnes said.
“How on earth does she know about Rogers?”
“I can’t answer that. I can only tell you that the more you tell her, the more she knows. But, if you’re worried about your secret, Josephine Starling is not a problem in that regard. She’s about as tight-lipped a person as you will ever come across.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Some things can’t be explained,” she said.
“And some things defy all logic.”
“Quite so. And my head feels great,” Starnes said.
Chapter 43
“I am relieved that you are safe,” Beth said to Laurel.
“Me too.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
“I’m tired.”
“You can rest when we get home. I’ll fix you some tea to relax you. You need some sleep, I’m sure.”
“Do you believe me now?”
“Believe you now…what do you mean?”
“I tried to tell you that Curly McClure was not a good man.”
“Yes, dear, I believe you. I was wrong. I should have trusted you.”
“I couldn’t believe that you fell for such a jerk, Mother.”
“When you’re older you’ll understand.”
“I don’t know that I will. Why would I lie to you about such a thing?”
“I didn’t think that you were lying … exactly. I thought maybe you were stretching the truth a little. Or that your perception of what was happening between you and Curly was skewed a bit. Curly was always nice to me.”
“Well, he certainly was not in a class with Dad.”
“You know nothing about your father.”
“I was almost ten when he died. I think I know enough.”
“People can fool you.”
“Is that why you and Dad divorced?”
“Whattaya mean?”
“Did Dad fool you?”
“I don’t wanna talk about your father. I just want to get you home and get you to bed so you can rest,” Beth said.
“I need to go to the hospital in Asheville later,” she said.
“Why?”
“To check on Homer.”
“Who’s Homer?”
“He’s the one who saved me from those men who tried to kidnap me.”
“He’s the one who killed those men you mean?”
“He was protecting me.”
“I don’t want you around that man. I’ve heard some things about him.”
“What have you heard?” Laurel said.
“That he is mentally retarded,” Beth said.
“He’s slow, but he’s not retarded. At least not the way most people think. He’s kind and very gentle.”
“And he killed four people.”
“They were trying to harm me.”
“Why were they trying to harm you?” Beth said.
“I don’t know. They never said.”
“Maybe this Homer fellow never gave them a chance. What if they were innocent?”
“What is wrong with you, Mother?”
“There is nothing wrong with me. I believe in giving people a fair shake.”
“And you also doubt your daughter’s ability to know what’s good and what’s bad,” she said.
Laurel was angry at her mother’s position on all this. Something was not right, but she had no idea what was wrong. Talking with her was not getting anything accomplished. She decided that she would keep quiet.
“I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. You’ve been through a lot. You need rest. And, you need to be calm. I don’t want you seeing this Homer man anymore.”
Laurel did not answer her mother. She kept her thoughts to herself. They rode the rest of the way home in silence.
Chapter 44
We were on our way to visit the Weaverville Fidelity Credit Union. Just following a lead. At least that’s what I told myself to justify our following this unorthodox clue we had been given. As we pulled onto the Future I-26 heading south in the direction of Asheville, Rogers called.
“Ready for an earth-shattering finding?” she began.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Shatter-away.”
“Laurel’s father, William Shelton, set up a trust fund for her to make sure she had some financial backing when she was older. The initial amount was $250,000. That was eight years ago. The market hasn’t done so well since then, but it has grown a little. She will be able to have access to the money when she turns twenty-one.”
“That’s a lot of money,” I said.
“What’s a lot of money?” Starnes said.
I hit the key to turn on the speaker for Starnes’ benefit.
“Repeat what you just told me,” I said to Rogers.
Rogers said it again.
“Wow,” Starn
es said. “Nice nest egg.”
“That’s good news, but hardly earth shattering?” I said.
“Haven’t finished.”
“By all means,” I said, “do continue.”
“When Laurel turns fifteen, she can access $50,000.”
“Is that soon?” Starnes said.
I shrugged. If I knew, I had forgotten. I had known Laurel for only a few years, but not well enough yet to retain any birthday information.
“She’s been fourteen for eleven months and fourteen days, if you must count precisely,” Rogers said.
“That’s close to earth shattering,” I said.
“Still haven’t gotten to the earth-shattering part, my pretty,” Rogers said. I could almost detect a hint of teasing in her voice. I could be wrong on that, but it certainly sounded like vocal mischief.
“Then get there,” I said.
“If she dies before she’s twenty-one, then the closest relative gets the money.”
“All of the money?” I said.
“Every penny.”
“And the closest relative would be …?” I said.
“Beth Call, her mother.”
“And this is earth shattering?” I said.
“It is, my lady. A detective might call this motive.”
“Motive? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you something else,” Rogers said. “I discovered that Beth Call withdrew her entire savings account recently.”
“So?”
“She then deposited that money into her checking account and wrote a check for $10,000.”
“Payable to … someone we know?”
“Not sure. It was sent to an off-shore bank account. Only had the account number on the payable-to line. Those Cayman Island banks are a bit secretive when it comes to accessing client information. Just thought that was a tad unusual.”
“Where are you going with this, Rogers?” I said.
“I think Beth Call hired Rutledge Connors to kill her daughter.”
“Knock me over and call me stupid,” Starnes said. “I don’t believe it.”
“This trust fund that her father set up for her … where was it established?”
“Oh, … yes. The Weaverville Fidelity Credit Union,” Rogers said.
The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon Page 21
