One for the Road

by Mary Ellis

  Jamie strode to the nearest chair and sat without being invited. ‘My, I’m surprised to see they called the cavalry to Roseville. From what I heard, poor old Roger slipped in spilled bourbon and whacked his head. That wannabe distiller was usually half in his cups most of the workday.’

  Maybe it was his attitude or maybe it was the expensively tailored suit. Or maybe it was on general principles, but Nick hated Jamie on first sight. ‘By all means, Mr Shelby,’ he murmured. ‘Have a seat.’

  Jamie lifted an eyebrow. ‘Excuse me, Lieutenant. I thought I was here as a courtesy to your investigation, to provide distillery information of a general nature. After all, my family and the Clarks have been friends for a long time.’ He smiled at the sheriff who hung back in the doorway.

  Switching on the tape recorder, Nick chose his words carefully. ‘I appreciate that, sir. But just so we’re clear, Mr Clark didn’t die by slipping on spilled liquid or any other accidental means. I’m conducting a murder investigation, so I’ll ask you again and record your response: would you like an attorney present during questioning?’

  Shelby crossed his legs. ‘Absolutely not, only guilty people need attorneys. Ask me whatever you like.’

  ‘We’ve just learned that Michelle Clark, Roger Clark’s niece and goddaughter, was pregnant with your child.’

  ‘Only a DNA test can prove whether or not that’s true, which I will demand if Michelle expects any sort of financial support. Michelle and I have been friends for years, during which we’ve both had plenty of lovers.’ He grinned smugly.

  ‘So you don’t deny being intimate with Michelle Clark?’

  ‘I do not, but I thought this was a murder investigation, not family court.’ He aimed a confused expression at Adkins.

  ‘Correct,’ said the sheriff. ‘But we wanted to verify any gossip or conjecture that could be connected.’

  The sheriff’s choice of words triggered a laugh. ‘Excellent, since we know how small-town folks love to gossip.’

  ‘I learned from the widow, Mrs Clark,’ Nick continued, astounded by the man’s self-confidence, ‘that Roger occasionally made appointments in the distillery after hours, especially if he wanted to discuss sensitive matters. Perhaps his niece expected you to marry her, so Uncle Roger asked you to stop by Black Creek after the production crew left.’ Nick glanced at the sheriff to see if he wished to take over the questioning. Judging by his expression, he did not. ‘If Clark insisted that you do the right thing, you two could have gotten into a fight, especially if you insinuated Michelle had multiple lovers.’

  Shelby ran a hand through his hair. ‘This is starting to sound like a bad made-for-television movie. Any of that could have happened, but I assure you it didn’t. Roger died last Wednesday, I believe. I wasn’t at Black Creek the night Roger died. I was at my own distillery late that day because our tour guide called in sick and I had to fill in for her. There was a very pretty travel writer in the last tour who wanted to ask more questions. Since Founder’s Reserve loves to promote positive publicity, I invited the writer for drinks and canapés on the patio afterwards. Once I answered all her questions I drove her back to her B and B.’ Shelby glanced at his watch.

  Nick felt his breakfast sour in his stomach. ‘And this travel writer will verify this?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she remembers me. Her name is Jill Curtis and she’s staying at the Sweet Dreams B and B.’

  ‘About what time did you drop off Miss Curtis?’

  Shelby gazed at the ceiling for a long moment. ‘I’m not sure … maybe eight or eight thirty. And to save you from asking, I got a call from my father during the drive to Roseville. I drove straight back to Founder’s Reserve where I was seen by several people. I spoke to my father, then a few friends dropped by and I ended up talking late into the night on the back terrace.’

  Sheriff Adkins finally pushed away from the doorjamb. ‘We’ve got one troubling detail to clear up, Jamie. Your fingerprint was found at the crime scene on an aging rack, fairly close to the body of the deceased. The Shelbys and Clarks aren’t known to socialize in the same circles.’

  ‘Why was my print on file at the sheriff’s department?’

  Although Shelby asked the question of the sheriff, Nick provided the answer. ‘It went into the database when you were arrested for a DWI a few years ago. How do you suppose it ended up several feet away from Roger Clark’s body?’

  Shelby rubbed his clean-shaven chin. ‘I must have grabbed the rack during the party at Black Creek. Michelle Clark had invited me to her uncle’s fundraiser. At one point we ducked into the warehouse for a little private time. We’re all men here. I think you can read between the lines.’

  Nick clenched his fists under the desk, but Adkins spoke first. ‘In her uncle’s distillery? What’s the matter with you, boy?’

  Anger sparked in Shelby’s dark eyes. ‘First of all, Sheriff, I’m not a boy. And secondly, the tryst among the barrels had been Michelle’s idea. It was quiet and dark and nobody saw us.’

  Nick swallowed the bad taste in his mouth. ‘When was this fundraiser?’

  ‘Roughly a month ago. But the invitation is still on the office bulletin board if you need an exact date.’ Shelby swiveled the chair to face Adkins. ‘I assure you, Roger Clark didn’t know what Michelle and I were up to at the cocktail party. And I didn’t see him the night he died. So can I leave now?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Shelby, we’re done, at least for now.’

  He rose to his feet and straightened his tie. ‘If there are any additional questions, direct them to my lawyer, because this’ – he drew a circle with his finger – ‘was humiliating.’ Shelby stomped from the office.

  ‘There goes his vote for my re-election,’ Adkins joked. ‘But his alibi sounds pretty solid. It’s possible for a print to last that long.’

  Nick glanced over notes in the file. ‘According to the widow, Roger came home from work on Wednesday around six o’clock, wolfed down his dinner, and went back to the plant. He’d been doing that a lot lately, but Mrs Clark didn’t know why. He wasn’t home yet when she retired for the evening and still hadn’t returned when she woke up Thursday morning.’ He tapped the pen tip against the file. ‘Don’t you think it’s strange that Mrs Clark didn’t call the police when her husband was still MIA Thursday morning?’

  Adkins needed no time to ponder his response. ‘Nope, you never met the deceased, but I did. Roger Clark was not a warm, fuzzy kind of guy. If Dot sent in the hounds after him, and it turned out he was just sleeping off a bender in his office, he would have blown his stack.’

  ‘You’re saying Clark had a drinking problem?’ Nick asked.

  ‘Oh, yeah, but that’s not what killed him. Could the ME narrow down the time of death?’

  Nick picked up the report. ‘He estimated Clark had been dead approximately twelve to sixteen hours when Miss Curtis found his body, which puts his time of death between seven and nine p.m. Wednesday evening.’

  ‘Which might rule out the upstanding Jamie Shelby as a suspect.’ The sheriff drew the obvious conclusion.

  ‘Yeah, I’d better check into the timeline of his alibi. Too bad. It would be great if Shelby had to spend a few nights in lockup just for being a jerk.’

  ‘Can’t argue with you there.’ Adkins strolled to the window to gaze out on parked cars, a tasteless office building and a dilapidated billboard in the distance. ‘Don’t you find it strange that Miss Curtis found the body and provided Shelby with an alibi? That woman just blew into town and checked into the deceased’s B and B. Then she informed the widow that she’s a long-lost relative. Way too many coincidences, don’t you think?’

  Nick studied the back of the sheriff’s head. ‘There are not many places to stay in Roseville. Plus I called her boss at the news service – her story checked out.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But I think you should verify this so-called family connection. Dot Clark had never heard of this woman before. And see if you can find anything connecting Jamie Shelby
to this Jill Curtis. All too neat and tidy in my book.’

  ‘I’ll get right on it, Sheriff,’ Nick murmured, mildly annoyed.

  ‘Sorry, Lieutenant,’ Adkins said over his shoulder. ‘Didn’t mean to start issuing orders. This is your case and I have complete confidence in you. It’s just that tomorrow we bury the husband of my wife’s best friend and we’re a long way from knowing who put him in an early grave. Nice guy or not, Roger Clark didn’t deserve what he got.’

  Nick laced his fingers behind his head. ‘It’s OK, Jeff. I get it. If Jill Curtis is hiding something, I’ll find it. And I will enjoy digging up the dirt on Jamie Shelby.’

  Adkins left Nick’s temporary office. When he strolled back in two hours later, neither of them was smiling.

  ‘Tell me you found something.’ The sheriff set a cup of coffee on Nick’s desk.

  ‘I found nothing connecting Miss Curtis to anyone at Founder’s Reserve Distillery. I don’t believe the woman has ever set foot in Kentucky until now. From Mrs Clark I learned the relative they have in common is an Emma Vanderpool, who is Mrs Clark’s first cousin. Then I spoke with Mrs Vanderpool who lives in assisted living in St. John, Illinois. She verified that Jill is her granddaughter and that she was born in a small town outside of Louisville. She indeed has a first cousin living in Spencer County. I found nothing on Jamie Shelby that you don’t already know … DUI, two drunk and disorderlies while attending University of Kentucky, where he finally flunked out in his junior year. One charge of felonious assault with a deadly weapon, but the charges were later dropped. Wonder how much that cost dear old dad to make it go away?’ Nick tossed his yellow tablet across the desk and picked up the coffee.

  Adkins slumped in the opposite chair. ‘Two of my deputies caught an interesting call while on patrol. Malicious vandalism out at Founder’s Reserve. Sometime last night or early this morning someone spray-painted: You ain’t getting away with murder this time, Shelby on the side of Founder’s rickhouse.’

  Nick straightened in his chair. ‘And no one saw it until now?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost noon.’

  ‘Apparently not. When one of the workers did spot the graffiti, they reported it to their supervisor, who then reported it to his boss. Finally, Jamie Shelby made the call to dispatch once he returned from our little interview. How’s that for coincidence?’ Adkins shook his head. ‘According to the deputy at the scene, the number-one-son was fit to be tied. I instructed the deputy to send you photos and a copy of his report when he’s done.’

  Nick nodded. ‘What do you suppose was the first murder – the Christmas Eve fistfight that killed one of Cook’s sons?’

  ‘So you heard about the old feud.’ Adkins stared at the ceiling. ‘I doubt that’s what they meant. It was so long ago. Nobody cares about ancient history except for librarians, history teachers and a few geeks.’

  ‘You have other unsolved murder cases lying around?’

  ‘No, but who knows what the artist meant by the wording. Unfortunately he or she didn’t leave the paint can behind with plenty of fingerprints. Shelby said this was the second vandalism in two weeks. His father, Owen Shelby, refused to report the first incident.’

  ‘What happened? More graffiti?’

  ‘No, someone dumped over several huge potted plants on their terrace. Made quite a mess. Owen Shelby thought it related to an incident at a recent wedding reception at the facility. One of the guests had too much to drink and picked a fight with one of the groomsmen. Security guards hustled the man into a taxi and off the premises. The guest actually took an Uber back to the reception to pick up where he left off. This time security locked the man in a storage room and didn’t release him until the next morning, madder than a wet hen. He threatened to bring a lawsuit and blah, blah, blah. Nothing came of his threats, but the senior Mr Shelby chose not to make an issue about the potted plants. Bad publicity might hurt their wedding bookings.’

  Nick pushed to his feet. ‘I think I’ll take a drive out to Founder’s Reserve. See the graffiti for myself. Then I’ve got a few questions for Miss Curtis.’

  ‘Don’t forget tonight’s the wake for Roger Clark at Trehanny’s. Never know who might show up at these things.’

  ‘With any luck, one of his employees will throw themselves at our feet and confess. That’s what we could use right about now.’

  ‘Does that happen a lot in Louisville, Lieutenant? I can’t remember the last time anybody confessed to anything in Roseville.’

  TEN

  Monday evening

  Jill had spent the day sticking close to Sweet Dreams Bed & Breakfast, on the off-chance Aunt Dot needed her help. However, between Mr Trehanny’s expertise with tasteful funerals, the ladies’ guild of the Roseville Episcopal Church, and Dot’s wide circle of friends, the house was spotless and the food prepared. Everything was ready for tonight’s wake and tomorrow’s funeral. Uncle Roger would get a proper, southern-style send-off.

  Instead she had typed, edited and proofread the first two installments of the Kentucky Bourbon Tours. Then she helped Michael edit the video footage which would bring her clever narrative to life. With little else to do, Jill put on her new black dress and black high-heeled sandals and nursed a cup of tea in the kitchen until it was time to leave.

  ‘Good evening, Jill,’ Nick said as he rounded the corner from the stairwell. ‘I didn’t know anyone was still home.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t we be, Mr Harris?’ She leveled an icy glare. ‘The funeral home is only five minutes away. We don’t need to be early to get a good seat.’

  Nick paused in the middle of adjusting his tie, as though her flip comment caught him by surprise. ‘I thought we’d gotten along well last night. In fact, I’d describe our pizza party as rather splendid. Yet this evening I seem to have fallen from favor, despite the fact we haven’t seen each other all day.’ With the crooked tie forgotten, Nick sat down beside her, his spicy aftershave assaulting her senses.

  ‘Today I realized I’m still one of your suspects, if not your primary suspect.’ Jill walked her cup to the sink to put some distance between them. ‘What were you playing at last night? Were you hoping I’d drink too much and let some crucial detail slip that you could hang me with, literally and figuratively?’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Dot said you asked her about the relative we allegedly have in common. Sounds like you don’t trust me. What’s next? Are you going to call my Granny Emma?’

  Nick’s gray eyes locked with hers. ‘I already did. Mrs Vanderpool confirmed you were her granddaughter and that she had a cousin who lived in Spencer County she hadn’t seen in decades.’

  Jill’s mouth fell open wide enough to catch flies. ‘How could you, Nick? You act like we’re friends, then you sneak around behind my back. Some things are none of your business.’

  A tic appeared in Nick’s right cheek, but his voice remained soft and in control. ‘This is a murder investigation. It’s my job to verify every detail in this case. It was the only way I can rule you out as a suspect.’

  She shrugged. ‘You should be able to tell by my character that I’m no killer.’

  ‘If only it were that easy,’ he said. ‘Beautiful women can be killers. Nice girls who take their aunts to church on Sunday can be killers. I can’t rule someone out just because they charmed me one night in the moonlight.’

  Jill braced her hands on the table. ‘Now I’m confused. Am I beautiful or nice or am I simply charming?’

  ‘What you are is an exasperating woman.’ Again the cop didn’t bat an eyelash.

  ‘Well, good, because that particular feeling is mutual,’ she sneered, feeling a tad juvenile.

  ‘Look, Jill, I had no choice. Sheriff Adkins pointed out all the coincidences in this case: you showed up in town and announced you’re Dorothy Clark’s relative.’ He held up one finger. ‘You found the body, and you’re staying in the home of the victim.’ Nick extended his second and third fingers. ‘Then today I identified a fingerprint found clo
se to Roger Clark’s body and brought the man in for questioning. But he has an alibi for the time of the murder. Guess who that would be?’ A fourth finger popped up.

  Jill swallowed her irritation with the handsome detective. ‘I told you Jamie Shelby drove me home after the tour. His print was found at the crime scene?’

  ‘It was. And I thought you took a tour, had one drink and a snack and went home.’ Nick stretched his legs out under the table.

  ‘Well, he was with me Wednesday afternoon and early evening until maybe eight or eight-thirty.’ Jill reiterated facts Harris already knew. ‘But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have stopped at Black Creek on his way home.’

  ‘You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mr Shelby. So tell me, what are you playing at?’

  Jill knew by his tone Nick wasn’t talking solely about the case. ‘I must admit Jamie is a handsome man, assuming he’s not a murderer. But if he is involved in this mess, I might be in a good position to discover how. He likes me so I can use his trust to my advantage.’ She grinned. ‘Goodness, Detective, you sound a tad jealous.’

  Nick blushed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You need to step back. I have the sheriff, along with several deputies and the full resources of Kentucky law enforcement. I don’t need a travel writer and her videographer getting in my way.’

  Jill’s head snapped around. ‘Getting in your way? I’m the one who told you Michelle Clark, Roger’s goddaughter, was pregnant by Jamie. That little tidbit could be connected to the murder.’

  ‘We don’t have one shred of evidence tying Michelle to the crime. You and Michael jeopardized yourselves by going up the mountain to confront the Clarks. That could have ended badly.’

  ‘But it didn’t. And the fact someone cut the power while Michael was in the elevator proves we’re getting close to the truth.’

  Nick exhaled a sigh. ‘A smart person would’ve taken it for what it was … a warning. You and Michael are in danger. You should return to Chicago immediately after Roger’s funeral.’