by Mary Ellis
She sat clumsily and clutched her bag to her chest. ‘I hope that sheriff didn’t say I was a suspect. Why would I kill Mr Clark? Are you going to keep me overnight? I learned on TV you could hold someone for twenty-four hours without charging them.’ She was breathing so fast and hard that hyperventilation was a distinct possibility.
‘Take a deep breath, Miss Curtis. I don’t want you to faint.’
She did as instructed, then added, ‘Thanks, and you can call me Jill.’
‘All right. I know Sheriff Adkins took possession of the shirt you had on, but were you wearing that skirt this morning?’
‘No, the shorts I wore are back at the B and B. Am I a suspect? Should I have a lawyer here?’
‘Right now I consider you a witness, nothing more. But if you prefer to have a lawyer present during questioning, you have that right.’ Nick waited, while she cleaned her glasses on her sleeve and continued to inhale and exhale deeply.
Finally, she looked him in the eye. ‘No, Lieutenant Harris, I don’t need a lawyer because I didn’t do anything wrong. Ask me all the questions you want.’ Jill pulled a notebook from her bag. ‘Mind if I take a few notes? I’m writing a travel piece on the bourbon industry and your questions might come in handy for my article.’ The last of her discomfort seemed to evaporate before his eyes.
Oh, great, Nick thought. This writer has her sights set on a Pulitzer Prize while I try to conduct an investigation. And to ice the cake, we’re both staying in the victim’s house.
Thursday evening
From her bedroom window Jill watched as the police car parked in front of Sweet Dreams B&B and the sheriff and Kentucky State detective climbed out and marched up the porch steps. Despite the fact the investigator was relatively handsome, Nick Harris gave her the heebie-jeebies. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he suspected her of murder.
What motive could she have in murdering Roger Clark, a man she’d never met before Tuesday evening? Jill had felt sick to her stomach while washing Roger’s blood off in the shower, even though the innkeeper’s husband hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy. At this moment, the hometown sheriff and his sidekick were telling Dorothy Clark the awful news, but all she could do was sit up here and wait. Jill wanted to go down and hold the woman’s hand. Maybe brew a pot of chamomile tea to soothe her nerves. But as far as her innkeeper was concerned, she was just another rent-paying guest.
Her grandmother had explained she and Dorothy were first cousins, twice removed, whatever that meant. Jill lifted her damp hair off her neck and pulled her shirt away from her skin. Her bedroom was too warm even though the air conditioning was as high as it would go. What would it hurt if she tiptoed downstairs to a cooler spot in the house? But when she opened the door, Jill bumped into the starched, uniformed chest of a large man.
‘Ouuff.’ She gasped. ‘What are you doing, Trooper Harris, eavesdropping?’
‘Of course not, I was getting ready to knock.’ Harris stuck his head into her room and glanced around. ‘Who were you talking to? You’re all alone.’
‘Maybe I was thinking aloud,’ Jill said, oddly defensive. ‘But at any rate, what can I do for you?’
‘I know Sheriff Adkins took the shirt you’d been wearing when you found Mr Clark’s body. I would like your shorts or slacks too, along with your shoes.’
‘The shorts are soaking in my bathroom sink.’ Jill crossed her arms over her sleeveless dress.
Harris’s gray eyes turned steely while he arched his back against the door frame. ‘Why would you do that, Miss Curtis? It could be construed as tampering with evidence.’
‘It only would be tampering if I did something wrong, which I didn’t. If you don’t soak bloodstains in cold water fairly soon, you might as well pitch the garment into the trash.’ She lifted her chin indignantly.
Harris studied her like a bug pinned to poster-board. ‘I’ll need the shoes you had on or are those soaking too?’ he said as he handed her a see-through evidence bag.
‘No, I was going to scrub them outdoors when Mrs Clark wasn’t home. I don’t want her more upset than she already is. I’ll get them.’ Jill headed to the closet, but when she turned around, the cop was right behind her. As though I might sneak down a hidden staircase or something. ‘Here are the shoes.’ She held out the bag. ‘I want them returned when you finish your investigation.’
He inspected the bag as he took it from her. ‘Of course, I’ll see to it personally.’ Harris pivoted on one boot heel and headed down the stairs.
Jill stayed right behind him. ‘I’ll see you out, Detective.’
He stopped so abruptly, she almost lost her balance. ‘You do realize I’m staying in this house too. My room is next to your videographer’s. I believe he said his name was Michael Erickson.’
Her jaw fell open. ‘The poor widow has to contend with yet another guest?’
‘That was my reaction too. I assured Mrs Clark I would find somewhere else to stay in town, but she insisted I stay. She said she can’t deal with an empty house right now. Having breakfast to fix will give her stability since the rug has been pulled from under her feet. Those were her exact words.’ Despite being on a lower step, Harris managed to look down his nose at her.
‘As soon as the sheriff leaves, I plan to volunteer my services to Mrs Clark. I can help with breakfast and at teatime and with housework.’
‘That’s very nice of you.’ Harris’s expression softened. ‘Since I assume you’ll be staying until after Mr Clark’s funeral, I won’t need to tell you not to leave town.’ He tipped his hat, tucked the bag with her shoes under his arm, and strolled out the front door.
Pulling her focus off the trooper, Jill peeked into the living room. Sheriff Adkins had an arm around Mrs Clark’s back while she sobbed into his shoulder. The tender, poignant scene made Jill feel even more like an intruder than she already did. For a moment she was uncertain what to do. Creep back upstairs? Seek out her partner to see if he had learned anything new online? March into the sitting room and admit she’s a long-lost relative and take over the consoling?
Adkins’s booming voice kept Jill rooted in place. ‘Remember, Dot, if Jenny and I can help in any way, don’t hesitate to ask.’
‘Your wife has already organized the ladies’ guild to prepare the funeral luncheon, whenever that will be,’ said Mrs Clark. ‘You go on back to work. If you think this wasn’t a horrible accident, you have a job to do.’
Jill slumped onto the hall bench, trying to become invisible.
Adkins spotted her on his way out. ‘Miss Curtis,’ he murmured and tipped his hat, her second hat-tip of the day.
Jill counted to ten before entering the living room. ‘Mrs Clark?’
The innkeeper was seated on the sofa with her face in her hands. ‘Miss Curtis, how are you?’ She peered up with red-rimmed eyes. ‘Sheriff Adkins said you were the one who found Roger. How awful for you!’
Jill closed the distance between them in a few strides. ‘No, how awful for you. I wished there had been something I could do.’ She perched on the arm of the sofa and reached for Mrs Clark’s hand. ‘I should’ve been arrested for trespassing.’
‘Nonsense, you were trying to get a story. That’s your job.’
‘Trooper Harris said you’d appreciate your guests staying so the house isn’t empty. If that is the case, I want to help with breakfast and teatime and house cleaning – anything you need.’
‘Absolutely not. Fixing simple meals will keep my mind busy.’
‘But you have to make … arrangements.’
One large tear slipped from beneath her lashes. ‘Actually, the coroner is also the undertaker and one of my friends. Once the police release … Roger, Mr Trehanny will make the arrangements with my pastor. The luncheon will be handled by my friends at church. Even our burial plots were bought and paid for years ago. See the advantages of living in a small town?’ Her lips formed a smile while a second tear fell. ‘There’s nothing for me to do but pick out Roger
’s outfit. And my husband only owns one suit.’ Mrs Clark squeezed her hand, then shakily pushed to her feet. ‘You and Mr Erickson came to Roseville with a job to do. Besides, I could never allow a guest to run the vacuum.’
Jill inhaled a deep breath. ‘I’m not really a guest,’ she said when her hostess was halfway to the door.
‘What do you mean?’ Mrs Clark paused and looked back over her shoulder.
‘Of course, we’ll pay for our rooms, but I booked this place for personal reasons. You and I have a common relative.’
‘Who on earth would that be?’
‘Emma Vanderpool. I believe Vanderpool was your maiden name and Emma was … is your first cousin.’
Mrs Clark strode back to the sofa. ‘Emma! I haven’t talked to her in ages. How are you related to Emma, young lady?’
Unable to gauge the woman’s mindset, Jill braced for the worst. ‘She’s my grandmother.’
‘You said is, so Emma Vanderpool is still alive?’
‘She was when I left Chicago.’
‘Oh, thank goodness! I was afraid one of us would go to the grave before we mended fences. Then we’d have to sort it all out at the pearly gates.’ Mrs Clark released a chuckle. ‘Did Emma explain the horrible transgression I committed against her?’
‘No, ma’am, only that it was unforgiveable and that she never planned to set foot in Kentucky again.’
Mrs Clark’s smile vanished. ‘It was unforgiveable, at least for two eighteen-year-old cousins. At the time we’d been closer than sisters. Then I let hormones and emotions cloud my better judgment. I will write a long letter for you to deliver when you get home. After fifty years, Cousin Emma might be willing to forgive me.’ She stood with great dignity and pulled Jill into her arms. ‘In the meantime, welcome to my home, granddaughter of Emma Vanderpool. Even if it was just curiosity about a wanton woman that brought you here, I’m happy to meet you.’
‘I meant what I said about wanting to help, Mrs Clark.’
‘I won’t have you calling me “Mrs Clark” now that we’re related. And First-Cousin-Twice-Removed sounds like a bag of hot air.’ She pressed a finger to her lips while considering. ‘How about Aunt Dot? Dot is what my friends call me, and “aunt” respects the difference in our ages.’
Jill nodded. ‘I don’t plan to leave until your husband’s killer is behind bars, Aunt Dot.’
Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘Oh, my. I would like that very much, but I can’t bear the idea of a cold-blooded killer prowling the streets of Roseville. I hope it turns out to be simply a bizarre accident.’ She left the room with tears streaming down her face.
Jill was left alone in the formal parlor, wondering if her timing had again made a bad situation worse.
FOUR
The last rays of a particularly gorgeous sunset fell on the uncut grass and peeling yellow paint of the home of Elmer and Janice Maxwell. Nick Harris and Sheriff Adkins climbed from the squad car and perused the residence of the irresponsible security guard at Black Creek Distillery. Enough toys and yard games were strewn across the property to mimic a day care center.
‘Man, don’t their kids put away anything when they’re done?’ Adkins groused. ‘If these kids were mine, I’d bag it all up for the trash.’
Nick wasn’t concerned about stuffed animals or board games left out in the rain. His focus fell on a 1966 Chevelle Super Sport convertible that was being restored to its original power and glory under an aluminum carport. Funny thing about vintage car enthusiasts – they often would let their kids go without shoes and the roof repair to consist of a well-placed bucket, so that they could buy the appropriate car part. Movement at the window caught Nick’s eye as they made their way up the front steps. Something didn’t feel quite right at this rural, middle-class home.
Nick pounded on the door while Adkins shouted, ‘Elmer Maxwell. Spencer County Sheriff’s Department. We’d like to talk to you.’
When the door opened, a very thin woman appeared with bleached blonde hair, very dark roots, and a bad complexion.
‘What can I do for you, Sheriff? Elmer’s sick in bed. I’m his wife.’ The woman rubbed her forearms as though cold yet the temperature had to be in the eighties.
‘Good evening, ma’am.’ Nick forced a pleasant smile. ‘I’m Lieutenant Harris. Sorry to bother you, but it’s imperative that Elmer answer our questions himself. We promise not to stay long.’
Mrs Maxwell glared at Nick, letting her gaze travel from his polished shoes to the top of his head. When the cops didn’t give up and go away, the woman finally stepped to the side. ‘Fine, but I hope you don’t cause a relapse.’
Nick crossed the threshold into a cluttered living room with worn carpeting the color of dirt. Almost as many toys were scattered in this room as outdoors.
Wearing striped shorts, black socks and no shoes, Elmer Maxwell sat in a recliner watching the ballgame, not in bed as his wife had described. ‘Come in, Sheriff,’ he greeted. ‘What can I do for you? Take a load off. Just put those papers and magazines on the floor,’ he directed when no other chairs appeared to be available.
The sheriff did as instructed, but Nick preferred to remain upright, keeping Janice Maxwell within sight at all times.
The sheriff took the lead, since he knew the man from previous run-ins. ‘Were you aware that Roger Clark was found dead this morning in the main rickhouse?’
‘Yeah, I got a call this afternoon from one of my buddies in production. Man, that sucks.’
‘What exactly sucks, Mr Maxwell?’ Nick asked.
Maxwell’s brow furrowed. ‘Roger slipping and fallin’ like that. Goes to show just how easy everything can be over like that.’ Elmer snapped his fingers to illustrate the brevity of life.
‘You were supposed to be working security last night,’ the sheriff prodded. ‘When and why did you leave?’
He nodded his head enthusiastically, as though he’d been waiting for this question. ‘My shift runs from seven in the evening to seven a.m. I always eat supper right before leaving the house, but last night Janice was at bingo with her mother. I dug around in the fridge for something to eat and found this casserole that looked OK to me. So I heated it up and chowed down.’
‘That chicken and rice had to be two weeks old,’ Janice said defensively. ‘You shoulda given it the sniff test.’
‘And you should clean that fridge out more than once a year,’ shouted Maxwell. ‘Before you put somebody in the ground.’ The victim of food poisoning wasn’t taking any sass from the little woman.
‘Getting back to last night,’ Adkins prompted.
‘Well, I upchucked most of it in the men’s room, but I still didn’t feel right. So I called Mr Clark and left him a message when he didn’t pick up. I also left a message for Gordon Clark. Gordy handles personnel and scheduling.’
‘Then you just left without lining up a replacement?’ Nick let his tone reveal his opinion on the matter.
‘Hey, man. That’s not how it works at Black Creek. I called Mr Clark and Gordy. It’s up to one of them to find someone to fill in.’ He took a gulp of whatever was in his plastic cup. ‘I left another message this morning that I’m still sick.’
‘So what happens now?’ Janice demanded.
Nick half-turned to face her. ‘You’ll have to wait until Gordon contacts you to see if and when your husband should return to work.’
‘And what are we supposed to do for money in the meantime? It ain’t Elmer’s fault that he got sick. We need sick pay or something to tide us over.’ The wife’s focus shifted to Adkins whom she thought might be more sympathetic.
But Nick provided the ready answer. ‘Your husband will have only been off work for two night shifts. You shouldn’t be in dire straits yet.’
The sheriff pushed to his feet. ‘Elmer, did you see anything out of the ordinary when you arrived at work that evening or when you left to go home?’
‘No, everything seemed to be right-as-rain in the plant.’ Maxwell gazed up
at them with bloodshot eyes.
‘You locked the security room when you left the plant?’ Nick asked.
Maxwell’s forehead furrowed. ‘Nah, I don’t remember doing that.’
‘We just stopped at the distillery before coming here and the room is locked. Do you have the key at home with you?’
‘I guess it’s in my uniform pocket, but that’s weird.’ Maxwell refocused on the TV screen.
‘Could we have that key, Mr Maxwell?’ Nick growled, unable to hide his impatience.
‘No need to get nasty. The Reds just scored.’ Maxwell swiveled around to his wife. ‘Get that key out of my pants pocket.’
‘Thanks,’ Nick said after Janice complied. ‘If you can think of anything helpful, give us a call.’ He pushed aside an empty Coke can and laid down his business card. Then he strode out the front door and down the rickety steps to the squad car.
Later, on their way back to town, Adkins delivered a few pearls of wisdom. ‘You know, Harris, you can usually get more flies with honey than with vinegar.’
‘Sorry. You’re absolutely right, but something about that couple rubbed me the wrong way. I won’t let that happen again.’
The good-natured veteran lawman chuckled low in his throat. ‘It happens. Don’t worry about it.’
Friday morning
Jill needn’t have worried about helping with breakfast that morning. From six thirty on, a steady stream of women arrived with homemade pies, cakes, bagels and muffins for breakfast, along with casseroles and salads for later in the day. Jill kept the coffee maker churning out pot after pot since most of the friends and neighbors remained on the porch to support Aunt Dot in her grief.
Jill carried extra dining-room chairs out as the crowd grew, then retreated to the kitchen. Despite having a family connection with the bereaved, she felt exactly like what she was: a stranger in Roseville.
‘Wow,’ said a deep voice behind her, startling Jill out of her reverie. ‘Who brought all these goodies?’ Michael pulled a mini muffin from the platter and popped it whole into his mouth.
