Draw and Order

by Cheryl Hollon

  “Hmm.” Miranda noticed that a group of youngsters had gathered in front of the stone fireplace in the lobby. “There’s my group. Keep on the lookout for anything unusual, will you? Austin and I have promised Aunt Ora that we would see that Howard’s killer is caught.”

  Doris Ann pursed her lips in a thinly disguised attempt at looking shocked. “I figured you would get pulled into this. Your aunt is nobody’s fool. I’ll keep an ear out for you.”

  Miranda thanked her and went to work. Her tour group today were all tall, lanky, clean-cut athletes, including their coach. She handed them each a pack that contained water, snacks, and sketching supplies. They set off at a brisk pace down the trail and in no time were standing at the bottom of the carved steps.

  Austin was waiting for them with a broad grin and a quick lecture about the origin of the carved footholds. He demonstrated the most efficient way to ascend and sent Miranda to the top so that they were both in the best location to help anyone who got into trouble.

  Given her last experience, Miranda had both lightened and rebalanced her pack. By concentrating carefully, she was soon up the cliff and waiting to assist her clients to climb safely to the top.

  The view was even more beautiful on this cool autumn morning. The red maples had turned crimson, and each one seemed to have a bright yellow poplar neighbor. She seated her clients in a semicircle for their lesson and they began sketching.

  Austin took over and presented his geology spiel. Miranda felt a smile play on her lips. She enjoyed this ranger talk no matter how many times she heard it. Her clients, however, were that youthful combination of intelligence, exuberance, and curiosity. They were going to ask him some interesting questions.

  She quietly backed away and took herself over to the tree where Howard’s bones had lain for the past five years. First, she slowly circled the area looking beyond the disturbance that had been caused by the removal of Howard’s remains. She didn’t pick up on anything unusual.

  Then Miranda scanned the bark of the pine tree looking for slight discolorations, abrasions, or damage. She squinted to blur her vision to further narrow her focus on color and texture. A tiny strip of bark on the back side seemed to have been disturbed at some point. The growth was thicker, as if it had suffered a wound.

  She pulled out the magnifier she had stowed in her pocket, stooped over, and examined the area. A tiny crease no wider than a phone charger cord circled the trunk at about eighteen inches from the forest floor. Something caused that injury to the bark, but it had recovered and left this mark.

  Miranda stood and looked over to Austin. She waved a hand for him to join her. He was by her side in a flash. “What is it? What have you found?”

  “Look.” She pointed to the tiny crease. “What could have caused this?”

  He squatted and held out his hand for her magnifier. He studied the crease for a few seconds and stood up. “A rope or cord has damaged the bark in the past. It was organic or we would see a raised weal where the bark grew over it. Whatever it was, rotted away and did relatively little damage.”

  “Would you say that a natural handmade rope of, let’s say, hemp could have caused that?” Miranda’s voice dropped. “Howard could have been tied to the tree.”

  Austin rubbed his eyes with both hands. “Yes, that would explain the crease, and it would have rotted away pretty fast.”

  “It also explains why he couldn’t drag himself over to the main trail. But it doesn’t solve the question of why he didn’t call out for help.” She looked down at the area around the base of the tree. “I can’t figure that one out. Even if he were gagged, he would have made some noise.”

  “A drug of some sort?” Austin said. “Or maybe he was unconscious.”

  “Argh! We keep trying to interpret this as a natural injury but keep coming back to an act of foul play.” Miranda pressed her lips tight. “I’m going to call Sheriff Larson. We need an arborist to examine the crease in this tree.”

  “He’s going to hate that.”

  Miranda agreed.

  Chapter 24

  Friday Afternoon, the Farmhouse

  Miranda returned from dropping off her clients to Hemlock Lodge. The leader praised her cultural tour for its educational content. He promised to leave a five-star review with the leading tourist-review site. She was thrilled. Reviews were hard to get but were vital to attracting clients.

  She stood next to Austin on the front porch when he called Sheriff Larson to report their discovery of the crease in the tree where Howard had died. She didn’t think the sheriff yelled at Austin, but Miranda watched Austin repeatedly clench and unclench his fist. When he finally ended the call, he gave her a wave and left.

  The screen door opened and a scrabbling flash of puppy ran down the steps, followed by her mother. “Sandy missed you this morning. He seemed restless and kept searching for you.” Dorothy’s words were clipped and her brow knotted. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  Miranda scooped Sandy up to get puppy licks. “Oh, yes, my little puppy wupkins. What’s wrong, buddy?” She looked up at her mother. “Do you think he senses our feelings? It has been pretty emotional around here.”

  Her mom splayed out her hands and lifted her shoulders. “Things have been routine around here. Even Ron hasn’t had a calamity. I sent Lily and Iris home after they finished cleaning up the kitchen. Then I reset the dining room table for tomorrow’s tour. Was that all right?”

  That was one more thing that her mother was taking over. “If you’re trying to make a case for how much it would help me to have you move back here—you already win. Have you thought about it?”

  Dorothy crossed her arms and shifted her hip. “I’m not saying anything until everything with Howard is resolved.” She threw a stern look over her shoulder on the way back into the farmhouse. “You might want to go back and check on Ron. He did promise to be finished today.”

  “I’ve been dreading that.” Miranda snuggled Sandy and kept him in the crook of her arm. “Is that what you’ve been sensing?” The mess in the barn could certainly cause anyone on the property an injury. They walked in through the open large barn doors. “Ron. . . . Ron. . . . Where are you?”

  “I’m out here. Come around to the back.”

  Miranda frowned. Why was he in the back? Her stomach tightened. What kind of trouble could he cause out there? As soon as she walked out the back, she found out.

  Ron was standing over a crumpled satellite dish device about ten feet from the barn. It was her high-speed internet receiver. It had cost a pretty penny.

  “What! You broke my internet receiver?” Sandy whimpered and Miranda could tell that her voice sounded shrill. She cleared her throat, then swallowed hard to lower her tone. “How did that happen?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it got in the way when I was clearing off the damaged roofing. I swear I didn’t see it.”

  Miranda walked over to the damaged receiver. It was mangled beyond repair. Sandy wriggled in her arms in an attempt to run through the grass, but she held him tight.

  “You are very lucky I have a spare antenna, very lucky. I’ll have to order another one right away so that I have a spare. I need the extra boost to run my business out here.” She paused to emphasize her disappointment. “You’re going to have to work off the cost of the replacement. You’re also going to install the replacement antenna at no cost. Right?”

  Ron looked embarrassed for a moment, then his face turned bright and eager. “It won’t take me long, but I’ll need to stay another day to finish with cleaning everything up. That’s okay, right?”

  Although Miranda didn’t want Ron hanging around yet another day, it did seem to be the quickest way to move forward. “Fine, but I won’t be paying you to fix your mistakes. I expect you to get the spare receiver working before sunset.”

  Ron glanced at the afternoon sun, calculating the daylight left. “Sure, I can do that.”

  “Fine. Get the ladder while I fetch the new antenna.�
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  Miranda stomped back into the house and went into her late uncle’s bedroom. She had turned it into an efficient office and storage space. She found the new antenna and gave it to Ron, who was waiting by the back door. He was upwind and mighty fragrant. She felt like a Dickens miser for not offering some decent hospitality.

  “Since you’re staying another night, why don’t you take a shower after supper? There’s plenty of hot water and extra towels.”

  Ron grinned and left.

  She didn’t know if he was embarrassed or grateful. Whatever. She thought it was the right thing to do. Miranda sighed.

  She went inside and prepared the touring backpacks for the next day’s event. She planned to take her clients to the most popular site, the overlook to Lover’s Leap. The stunning view was an easy hike and Austin’s ranger talk would be a big hit. His beaming face broadcast how much he enjoyed them. Miranda could recite it word for word, and she had done that the few times he was busy with other duties.

  She called her promotional vendor and ordered another seventy-five custom-embroidered backpacks to tide her over for the rest of the month. A quick inventory of her painting supplies resulted in a small order from the art shop in Jackson. By now, the local vendors were giving her a little deeper discount. As she had hoped, her touring business was spreading the wealth to other members of the small business community.

  She heard a tap on the screen door and walked out into the dining room. Austin had walked over from his house and brought over a large bouquet of wildflowers plucked from the roadside ditches.

  “Hello? Who’s out there?” her mom called from the kitchen.

  “I’ve got it, Mom. It’s Austin.” She headed out toward the front room. “Hi, there.” She took in his hazel eyes and still-damp hair. His smile was brighter than the autumn flowers that he held out to her. “Thanks. You picked these for me?”

  His lips quirked in a half smile. “Just for you.”

  Miranda noticed the soft look around his eyes. “Local wildflowers are my favorite. Come on in. Mom’s about got supper on the kitchen table. I’ll get a container for these.”

  In the kitchen, her mom closed the lid on a picnic basket. “I’m joining Ron out back. You two enjoy yourselves. I know I’m going to.”

  After a filling meal of thickly sliced ham with raisin sauce, scalloped potatoes, and glazed carrots, she and Austin went into her office to work with her murder notebook.

  Miranda sat at the desk and Austin took the side chair. “I think we should figure out if we can eliminate anyone at all. Let’s start with Alfred Whittaker.” She pulled a tour application sheet out of a folder on her desk. “I’ve got the basic information he filled out for the tour. He also introduced himself as a freelance reporter with the Lexington Herald-Leader. He lives over on the north side of Lexington near the Blue Grass Airport.”

  “I remember that he took the role as leader of the group.”

  “Right. He made the initial group reservation and made sure I contacted him for any questions. A little timid to my mind, but he’s very organized. You need someone who is willing to coordinate the information for a group of unique individuals. I wonder why he’s the leader instead of Kevin, who appears to have the final say-so on everything.” She scribbled that question in her murder notebook. “Do you think your sister could give us some help here?”

  Austin grabbed the handset from Miranda’s desk. “My thoughts exactly. Tyler might know him.” He dialed, set the handset down, and pressed the speaker button.

  “Hi, Austin. What’s up?”

  “Are you on deadline?”

  “Already submitted my piece for tomorrow’s paper.”

  “Perfect. There was a guy on one of the hiking trails on Sunday, and he introduced himself as a freelance reporter. His name is Alfred Whittaker. I was wondering if you might know him. Oh, I’m at Miranda’s farmhouse and I’ve put you on speaker.”

  “Hi, Miranda. Are you working with Austin on another case?”

  Austin looked over at Miranda. “It feels more like I’m working for her at the moment, but this whole situation is in my territory.”

  Miranda nodded in agreement. “You know we told you about the hiker that had been missing for five years that was found up above the Indian Staircase?”

  “Of course, you gave me an exclusive. The boss thinks it will make a great investigative piece on wilderness safety. I’m researching missing hikers all over the US and Canada. No one has made a comprehensive report. This could be big—maybe Pulitzer Prize material. I turned in the first in the series a few minutes ago.”

  “Congratulations. Do you have time to help us get more information about Alfred?” asked Miranda.

  “Firstly, the title of freelance reporter doesn’t really mean much. He could be an out-of-work journalist or he could be a regular contributor. The name does seem a bit familiar. Hang on a second, I’ll check his byline.”

  They heard a rapid clicking of keys and Tyler muttered, “Not much help, I’m afraid. He was really prolific about five to six years ago, but his work suddenly thins out right after that. Maybe he got another reporting job or something else and his freelance work fell away.”

  “Can you do a bit of research and find out what happened?”

  “Absolutely. It is a bit strange. I mean, the paper was strong and healthy back then. Not like it is now with staff reductions happening all the time.”

  “Really?” said Austin. “You’re not in danger, are you?”

  “Print publications are under extreme pressure to change their business models right now. Paper is under threat with tax and import duties that have resulted in price hikes. We compete with everything electronic. Most young people get their news over their phones—not a delivered broadsheet.”

  Austin’s eyes got wide. “I should have known that. What are you doing to keep yourself employed at the Herald?”

  “I’m looking ahead to see what others have done.”

  “What’s that?” asked Miranda.

  “The most successful ex-journalists I know have started writing novels based on their past experiences. Apparently, publishers appreciate the built-in skill set. We’re used to writing on deadline, creating clear descriptions, and have a great sense of story. I’ve already started a thriller series about a crime reporter who helps her forest ranger brother and his artist girlfriend solve crimes.”

  Austin’s mouth dropped open. “You’re what?”

  “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” Tyler sounded shocked.

  Chapter 25

  Friday Evening, the Farmhouse

  Austin and Miranda took Sandy for a long walk down the dirt road toward the highway. Sandy’s energy level was growing as fast as he was. While the humans strolled casually, Sandy ran ahead at top speed for about twenty yards, screeched to a stop, turned, then ran back beyond them for another twenty yards or so. Then he did it again. And again. And again.

  As soon as they got to the cattle gate turnaround in the highest part of the road, Austin’s cell phone rang. “It’s Tyler.” He put the phone on speaker.

  “Austin, I’ve got some dirt on Alfred Whittaker.”

  “Dirt?” said Miranda and Austin at the same time.

  “Where are you? I called your cell because the house phone went to voice mail.”

  “I’m out on the road in one of those rare places where I get a good signal. Never mind that. You know what it’s like out here. What dirt?” Austin prompted.

  “I looked back into the paper’s archives, and our Alfred was a rising star. He was a golden boy plucked right straight from the University of West Virginia’s journalism program. They set him on a fast track for promotion to the editorial staff.”

  Miranda raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure. The staff at that point were mostly old-timers, and the Herald wanted some young blood, but naturally they wanted the benefits really quick. So, Alfred was one of severa
l new grads that were recruited to appeal to younger readers. It was a great strategy. Too bad it didn’t work.”

  “That’s a management scheme. How is that dirt?” asked Austin.

  “Hang on, baby brother. Let me finish.”

  “Okay, okay, quit beating round the bushes.”

  Miranda smiled. Did all siblings have a pecking order that defined their interactions? It seemed that Austin had a history of prodding his older sister to finish her stories faster than she wanted to tell them. He hadn’t done that to her, but then Miranda tended to be terse. Sometimes too terse.

  “Fine. Apparently after a couple of years, the competition for top dog had narrowed down to two rising stars. Alfred was one of them, and the owner’s nephew was the other. Then something happened to ruin things for Alfred.” She paused.

  “Come on, Tyler. Don’t draw this out.” Austin didn’t sound irritated. It appeared to be another stage of the ongoing game between them.

  “There was a joint project that Alfred and the nephew worked on as a team. It was an undercover investigation into a secret scandal in Lexington. Although I can’t verify it, the undocumented gossip is that it was about the police involvement in narcotics in the seventies. They turned in their work and it appeared to be journalism at its finest. There was even talk of Pulitzers for both of them. Then it all went horribly wrong and Alfred was fired in disgrace.”

  “What did he do?”

  Tyler’s voice softened. “That’s the thing, he might not have done anything. The official issue was plagiarism.”

  “Oh, boy,” said Austin. “That’s fatal.”

  “It is.” Tyler lowered her voice. “Another famous journalist was involved and she got wind of their work while she was in the final stages of crafting what became a bestseller. The paper was embarrassed. It had to print a full retraction, and then after things died down a bit, Alfred was laid off.”