by Mary Ellis
‘So I’m beautiful, kind, charming, and stupid? Wow, Lieutenant Harris, you really have a way with words.’ Jill’s fingers curled into fists as she sprang to her feet.
‘That didn’t come out how I intended.’ Nick held up his palms. ‘You’re right, Jill. Something is going on at Founder’s Reserve that we don’t understand. Today someone vandalized the building where they age the bourbon. Apparently, it was the second time they had been vandalized. I don’t want you getting hurt. You can always come back to Roseville after we put the killer behind bars.’ Harris placed a condescending hand on her shoulder.
It was a fatal mistake as far as Jill was concerned. She batted his hand away as though a hairy spider had dropped from the ceiling. ‘Oh, this is priceless. Sheriff Adkins ordered us not to leave town under no uncertain terms. Now you advise we should hop on the next boat, train, or plane going north. Who exactly is in charge here?’
‘No boats go to Chicago,’ he said softly.
Jill pressed one recently polished fingernail to her lips. ‘I am grateful for your concern, Nick, especially since I’m cognitively impaired, as was recently pointed out. But I promised my first cousin twice-removed that I would stay until her husband’s killer was caught. You do not have the authority to order me back to Chicago. So if you’ll excuse me, I hear my aunt on the stairs. I have a wake to attend.’ Jill circumvented the hulking cop as though he were a mossy statue in the center of town.
For the rest of the evening, Jill stood with Aunt Dot next to the open casket of her husband. She tried not to look at the heavy make-up obscuring the cuts and bruises on Roger’s face. She supported Dot’s arm whenever the woman wavered from fatigue or under a Black Creek employee’s outpouring of grief. Jill tried not to notice Gordon Clark’s blatant glares in her direction, as though she were personally angling for his job. And she flat out ignored Nick Harris and Sheriff Adkins who lurked in the back of the funeral home, who studied each mourner who passed through the line while jotting details in their little notepads.
Nick had tried to engage her in conversation when he initially paid his respects to Dot Clark. But Jill had delivered a witheringly cool, ‘Thanks for coming, Officer Harris. Be sure to sign the guest book before you leave.’
Nick hadn’t tried to talk to her again that evening. And his car wasn’t in its regular parking spot when she finally reached her bedroom, weary beyond words. Whatever flicker of attraction she’d felt last night – and was certain he had felt too – was long gone. Distrust and heavy-handedness killed romance just as handily as a whack to the back of the head.
She had more than just Roger to be sad about.
Tuesday morning
In keeping with the day’s somber mood, Jill opened her bedroom shade on steady rain and a dreary landscape. She lifted her one black dress from the back of the chair and shook out the wrinkles. Hopefully, no one would notice it was the same dress she’d worn last night.
As a wave of sorrow crept up her throat, Jill grabbed the windowsill to steady herself. Was her grief for Roger Clark, a man she’d met only once and formed a rather negative opinion of? Even if Roger hadn’t been especially personable, nobody deserved to leave this world lying on a cold concrete floor. Was her grief for Dorothy, a kind and gentle woman who’d just spent the last fifty years estranged from her favorite cousin over a teenage misunderstanding? Such a waste. Or was her sorrow for herself, a woman who couldn’t help but alienate every man who tried to get close? Whatever the reason, Jill let the tears fall for several minutes before she showered, dressed, and put on her usual make-up. Yet her face still looked too pale and hollow-eyed. Jill considered more blusher and less eyeliner, but in the end she simply turned off the bathroom light and trudged down the steps to the kitchen.
Michael and Dot were both already at the table. In his navy-blue sport coat and dark slacks Michael looked like a kid dressed up for the junior prom. Aunt Dot, in her black dress, low-heeled pumps, and broad-brimmed hat, looked exactly like what she was: a widow about to face the worst day of her life.
‘I’m so glad you’re here in Kentucky.’ Dot extended her hand to Jill. ‘It’s better to face tragedy with family.’
Jill hurried to clasp the woman’s thin fingers. ‘I’m glad we are too.’ Although she felt like a poor excuse for family, she smiled and walked their innkeeper out to the car. Together they drove to Trehanny’s Funeral Home where a select few had been allowed one last look at Roger before the casket was closed.
Surprisingly William, Michelle, Justin, Gordon and Billy Clark were already waiting for them, along with a scattering of relatives Jill didn’t know. The Clarks rose to their feet and hugged Dorothy one by one. William, Michelle, and Justin hugged Jill as well, while Gordon offered a business-like handshake to her and Michael. Billy, dressed too casually for the occasion in black jeans and a white T-shirt, ignored Michael and looked at her like something stuck to his shoe. Unfortunately, the short sleeves didn’t hide the panoply of skulls, crossbones, and bloody-fanged viper tats on Billy’s arms.
Considering the fit of his suit, Will had weighed at least twenty-five pounds more when the suit had been purchased. Michelle was dressed in black knit pants and a cream-colored top that did nothing to hide her expectancy. Gordon’s suit looked both expensive and well-tailored. His tie was silk and his shoes had been polished. Each of the Clarks approached the casket one at a time to pay their respects. When it was Jill’s turn, she closed her eyes and uttered a simple prayer about forgiveness of sins.
Then like a shepherd, Joe Trehanny herded them outside to the waiting limo. ‘Please, folks, make yourselves comfortable.’ Trehanny swept open the door, while his employees loaded the casket into the hearse.
Dropping Jill’s arm, Dot turned to her brother-in-law. ‘Are your sons willing to serve as pall bearers?’ she asked. ‘I’ve already asked my houseguest, Michael Erickson. So along with Mr Trehanny we should have enough.’ Dot peered at Will from beneath her hat’s wide brim.
Will squinted at the stretch limo, the bright glare turning his face into a mass of creases. ‘Of course, they’re willing. But all this sure wasn’t necessary.’ He pointed a tobacco-stained finger at the vehicle. ‘Our daddy would’ve called it worthless pretention.’
A blush brightened Dot’s pale cheeks. ‘Roger had paid for our funerals well in advance. It’s part of the Trehanny basic package.’
‘In that case, OK,’ said Will with a shrug of his thin shoulders. He motioned his offspring into the third row of the limo and took his place next to Dot in the second row.
Michelle ducked in after her father. ‘Jill, sit next to me. Michael can sit with the boys.’ She patted the leather upholstery.
When Michael nodded agreement, Jill squeezed into the second row.
‘I’d like to hang out with you today, if you don’t mind,’ Michelle whispered in her ear.
‘It would be my pleasure.’ She patted the woman’s knee. Ridiculously, Jill hoped Amanda Posey would attend the funeral too, so the three could present a unified front to Jamie Shelby.
But once they entered the cool interior of Roseville Episcopal, a church filled to the gills with mourners, Jill dismissed her silly thoughts. As the family followed the casket up the center aisle, the widow grew weak-kneed and began to falter. Supported by William on one side and Jill on the other, Dot settled in the front row and began to weep, which continued throughout the one-hour service.
Parishioners offered readings from First and Second Corinthians, then Father Carl delivered a heartfelt homily about a man who seldom graced the inside of a church. But it was Gordon Clark’s eulogy about his uncle and mentor that brought everyone to tears. Gordy spoke of fishing trips and building treehouses and white water rafting down West Virginia’s New River, an adventure which had changed his life forever. Then Gordy described his training by one of the best bourbon masters in the business and how Roger taught him the ins and outs of a successful operation. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
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br /> During the final hymn, Jill gazed over her shoulder at the congregation. Some people she recognized like Lindy at the front desk of Black Creek Distillery and Amanda, the county librarian. Jill spotted the clerk who sold her the black dress, along with the florist who provided a gorgeous arrangement of lilies and camellias at a reasonable price. Many of the friends and neighbors who had cleaned Sweet Dreams B&B and cooked the enormous amount of food were there. And toward the back of the church sat Jamie Shelby with an older, well-dressed couple who were undoubtedly his parents. His father sported the blotchy complexion and purplish nose which usually meant high blood pressure or alcohol overindulgence or both. Jamie bobbed his head in recognition when their eyes met but looked away just as quickly. The rest of the congregation, though strangers to Jill and perhaps even to Aunt Dot, had known Roger as current or past employees, tradesmen, or fellow bourbon aficionados. Last but not least, Jill spotted the tall, gray-eyed cop from Lorraine, Kentucky and his shorter, bearded sidekick in the last row. The pair seemed to be watching everyone in attendance.
After the benediction, everyone filed out to their cars for the flagged processional to the cemetery. Roger would be laid to rest in the Clark family plot beside his mother and father. There was little chatter in the limo during the short ride to the outskirts of Roseville. Young Justin asked his father who was the lady in the navy polka dots who kept pinching his cheek, while Michelle complained about her need to find a ladies’ room. With his focus out the window, William Clark ignored both of his children. Fortunately, the limo driver heard Michelle’s plea and stopped in front of the cemetery office.
Jill found the custom of everyone trooping to the actual gravesite ridiculous. It was too tight an area for a crowd. People trampled over other graves and someone inevitably tripped on the green carpet and narrowly missed joining the deceased.
At last Father Carl asked people to bow their heads while he delivered a final prayer for the peaceful repose of Roger Clark’s soul. ‘On behalf of the Clark family,’ he intoned, ‘you are all invited back to the church hall for a luncheon. Additional parking is available at the elementary school and on both side streets. Now, please step forward and place your flower as a final tribute to Mr Clark.’
Trehanny’s assistants ushered those standing in the back, presumed less closely connected to Roger, to place their flowers first. Jill noticed most mourners had been given white carnations, while the undertaker gave everyone in the limo a long-stemmed red rose. Jill wondered who had invented such customs, but when her heel caught in a carpet fold, she concentrated on remaining upright when her turn came.
Aunt Dot, her tears dried, delivered her rose on the sturdy arm of Joe Trehanny. William, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, didn’t look any steadier than Jill on her high heels. He leaned heavily on his son, Gordon.
At the church hall, Michael appointed himself parking attendant so that no one double-parked or ended up driving over the church’s numerous flowerbeds. Jill manned the buffet of cold cuts and cheeses, fried chicken, and a variety of salads. She refilled bowls, washed serving utensils that fell on the floor, and kept an eye on the supply of soft drinks and bottled water. Thank goodness the luncheon was alcohol-free, something Uncle Roger would not have liked. Mourners talked, ate, and then talked some more. Apparently, those from small towns never ran out of things to say to each other. But by three o’clock most attendees had bid Aunt Dot goodbye and drifted to their cars or strolled in the direction of home.
‘Anything I can do to help, Miss Curtis?’ The husky voice of Nick Harris pierced her concentration as Jill refilled a coffee carafe from the urn.
‘No, your offer is a tad late. The funeral seems to be wrapping up.’ Her words sounded harsh. ‘But thank you anyway.’
‘It took me a while to work up my nerve,’ Nick murmured. ‘May I speak privately to you?’
Jill pulled off her apron with yellow flowers and carried a cup of coffee to an unoccupied table. ‘Have you come to deliver another ultimatum?’
‘Quite the contrary.’ Nick sat down across from her. ‘I’d like to apologize for yesterday. I had no business ordering around a private citizen, especially not one with a vested interest in justice.’
Jill took a sip of coffee and frowned. The coffee tasted like it had simmered all day. ‘You should know I promised Aunt Dot I would stay to help for a while. And I intend to keep that promise.’
‘I can’t blame you. You have every right to be here, especially since Mrs Clark appreciates having family close by.’ Harris laced his fingers together on the table. ‘The truth is I’ve grown fond of you, so I don’t want you getting hurt. That’s why I wanted you out of Roseville until this is over.’
‘Fond?’ Jill gave an incredulous inflection to his term. ‘Granny Emma is fond of me, while I’m fond of sweetcorn and sliced tomatoes in the summer. If you’re hoping to make up, you’ll have to do better than that.’
The dimple in his left cheek deepened. ‘Very well. Jill Curtis, I think you are kind and pretty and funny and I am fascinated by you.’
She shook her index finger at him. ‘You forgot that I am smart.’
‘Plus, I think you’re smart.’ The detective tapped his forehead.
‘I could be very helpful if you would let me.’ Jill cocked her head to one side.
‘The state police of the Commonwealth of Kentucky are here to serve and protect you. We have a hard time accepting help from citizens. But I’m willing to try as long as you don’t put yourself in harm’s way.’
‘Fair enough,’ Jill agreed. ‘Now, I happen to be starving and I bet you haven’t eaten yet either. Why don’t you get us two plates of food before the church ladies pack it up for the homeless?’
Nick shrugged off his sport coat and rolled up his sleeves. ‘Are there homeless in Roseville? I saw no evidence of that.’
‘One of the church ladies found a family living in their car at the Family Dollar. They have since been taken under the Episcopal wing. The ladies also take meals to shut-ins and the elderly.’
‘I knew I liked this town,’ he said with a wink.
As Nick headed toward the buffet, Jill’s fickle heart swelled beneath her ribs. She really should stay away from him, or at least stay angry. Whenever she gave in to her emotions, or wore them on her sleeve like a banner, her life careened out of control. But at least when Nick returned with two plates, loaded with fried chicken and potato salad, he wasn’t alone.
Michael, his duties in the parking lot finished, plopped into the chair next to Jill. The videographer had created a sandwich that would have made Dagwood proud. ‘Wow, as funerals go, that was quite a turnout. Some people had to park as far away as the fire station.’ Michael squeezed his sandwich with both hands and took a bite.
‘I’m surprised there was any food left.’ Jill speared a sweet gherkin on her fork. ‘Funerals in Chicago don’t draw these kinds of crowds.’
‘Not usually in Louisville either,’ Nick said. ‘I spoke with Mrs Clark in the kitchen. She was very grateful to both of you for all you’ve done.’ He looked from Jill to Michael. ‘William and his family were taking her home to rest. They plan to spend the night at Sweet Dreams before heading up the mountain tomorrow. They said they would see you this evening.’
Jill nodded. ‘In the meantime, Lieutenant Harris, let’s talk some more about the case.’ She decided not to let the former topic get away. ‘What about that security guard at Black Creek, Elmer Maxwell? He was the one on duty the night Roger died. Has anybody managed to track that shirker down?’
Nick chewed his mouthful of chicken and swallowed. ‘No. The sheriff and I only spoke with Elmer Maxwell the next day. He said he felt nauseated at work and came home. He said he’d left two unanswered messages for Roger. His wife corroborated he had thrown up all night and still felt sick the next day. So we don’t have enough for an arrest warrant or even to hold him if he did come back.’
Michael finished a chicken leg and licked his fingertips.
‘Sounds like you’re letting Jill stick her nose into your investigation.’
‘Jill had me up against the wall.’ Nick reached for his lemonade. ‘So she can help as along as her participation doesn’t jeopardize her health and safety.’
For some reason Michael chuckled over Nick’s reply. ‘An amusing notion – a mortal male controlling the actions of Jill Curtis, but I wish you luck. And in case you or the sheriff would like to narrow your pool of suspects based on sorrowful expressions or the lack thereof, I videotaped everyone who showed up at the cemetery.’
‘Thanks. I might just take you up on that offer.’ Nick wrapped the other half of his sandwich in a napkin. ‘Can I drive you back to Sweet Dreams? I’m not sure where you left your car when you rode in the limo.’
Since Michael’s mouth was full, Jill answered for them. ‘We’re fine. Our car is on the street next to the church.’ She ate another forkful of pasta salad and pushed away her plate. ‘Aren’t you going to finish your lunch, Trooper?’
‘Maybe later. I want to get to the station and compare notes with Sheriff Adkins.’ Nick glanced around the nearly empty church hall, then let his gaze linger on Jill. ‘Will I see you this evening, maybe in Mrs Clark’s backyard? I bought another mini-box of white wine.’
Michael’s hoot of laughter echoed off the walls. ‘A smooth move if ever I heard one.’
Jill ignored her partner. ‘That’s the best offer I’ve had in a while, but I’ll have to see how things go. If Aunt Dot’s in-laws are staying over, I should help entertain them.’
Nick stood and put his wrapped sandwich in his pocket. ‘You know where to find me.’
At least Michael waited until the cop left to deliver his observation. ‘I think that guy is starting to like you. How amazing is that?’
‘It was bound to happen sometime. Finish eating, Erickson. We need to get back to the B and B. By now, Billy Clark could be rifling through Aunt Dot’s jewelry box.’
