Peppermint Breath & an Untimely Death

by Willow Monroe

  Once out of the wind, inside the police issued SUV, it was much warmer. Poppy and I sat in the back seat. She hugged herself and rocked gently back and forth, keeping her eyes on the place where we had entered the trees.

  Andy climbed into the driver’s seat and turned to look at us. “Okay, we’ve alerted the state police. They’ll be sending someone here soon to start the investigation,” he explained. He actually sounded relieved.

  “Do we need to wait?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to know what to do,” Andy confessed, his gaze following Poppy’s.

  I felt so sorry for him. Something evil and dangerous had found our little town and he was no more prepared for it than the rest of us.

  Chapter Four

  “If you want us to wait here, we can,” I assured him. “Just let me call Barbara Ellen so she’ll know where we’re at...”

  But Andy was already shaking his head, reaching for the keys in the ignition. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Starla. You have a business to run and I don’t imagine you ladies are going anywhere in this snow.”

  Poppy continued to be eerily silent as he drove carefully through the snow covered streets. When we reached the diner, he opened the door for us and we slid out.

  “I’m sure they’ll be by later to get a statement,” Andy said, following us into the nearly empty diner. The lunch rush hadn’t started yet and I didn’t imagine there would be much of a rush this day.

  Barbara Ellen looked up when we came in with a flurry of snow and that unrelenting wind that nearly took my breath away. She was already pouring coffee in a Styrofoam cup for Andy.

  “Thanks,” he said and reached for his wallet.

  I shook my head. “This one’s on the house. You’ve got a long afternoon ahead of you. Take one to Tommy, too.”

  “Andy, tell your mama I said hello,” Barbara Ellen said as she poured a second cup, snapped on the lid and handed it to him.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted us with one cup and stepped back outside into the snow. I didn’t envy him his job.

  “Let’s get you two warmed up,” Barbara Ellen said. She reached for our coats and ushered us toward the closest booth as if we were children.

  I didn’t want to sit in the booth. I wanted to run upstairs to my little apartment and not come out again until spring. Instead I obeyed, handed off my coat to Barbara Ellen and took the seat across from Poppy.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” I whispered.

  “It’s just...” She stopped and swallowed hard. “We just saw him in the diner. How could this happen?”

  “Honey, they’ll figure it out,” I said, squeezing her cold hands.

  “Until then, someone is going around shooting people. What if he has more targets in mind? What if it’s us? What if it’s Tom?”

  “What if it’s not?” I said, stopping her before her fears got out of control. “What if it was an accident? Don’t borrow trouble, Poppy.”

  I shook my head. Even to my own ears, I sounded more like my grandmother every day.

  That seemed to calm her down somewhat. “If it was an accident, why didn’t the shooter call the police, get Mr. Nettle help. He could have saved his life.”

  Before I could answer, Barbara Ellen returned with two bowls of loaded potato soup and a small plate of biscuits. Motioning for Poppy to scoot over, she slid into the booth beside her.

  “So what happened to Mr. Nettle?” she asked, crossing her skinny arms over her chest.

  Barbara Ellen’s black hair was pulled back into a tight bun like she always wore it, a pencil tucked behind her ear. Behind those red cat’s eye glasses, her emerald green eyes pinned me to the seat. Barbara Ellen had worked at the diner for at least twenty years. Could probably run the place single handed even at the busiest of times. But right at that moment, behind her brash exterior, she looked as vulnerable and fragile as I felt.

  News travels fast in a tiny town like Sugar Hill so I wasn’t surprised that she already knew pretty much what had happened. She just wanted first-hand information. I explained what we knew, telling her about finding the old mailman and then getting scared by the toy guns.

  “Oh, that’s right, schools are closed,” she said quietly.

  “Someone will need to call Adam,” Poppy reminded me about Mr. Nettle’s son in Atlanta.

  I nodded. “I’m sure Mayor Gillespie will take care of that.”

  “Can Andy handle an investigation into something like this?” Barbara Ellen asked.

  “They’ve called the state police in to take over,” I told her.

  Before she could respond to that, the door to the diner burst open. A blast of cold air and a mountain of snow followed Tom Brown inside.

  “Tom,” Poppy called out and I was afraid she was going to leap over Barbara Ellen to get to him.

  “There you are, baby,” he said, pulling her into a big bear hug. “I heard the news about Mr. Nettle on the scanner and then one of the guys on the job said you and Starla found him and...”

  “It’s okay. We’re alright but I was so scared,” Poppy said, her voice muffled by his coat.

  “I’ll get him some soup,” Barbara Ellen told me, patted my hand, and headed for the kitchen.

  Poppy and Tom returned to the booth and Tom wanted to know exactly what had happened. For some reason, I thought maybe we shouldn’t tell everyone everything, afraid that something might get left out when it came time to tell the state police what we’d seen and heard. But Poppy was already telling him the whole story while I quietly buttered a biscuit and dunked it into my soup.

  My cell chimed and when I saw Joe’s name on the screen, I swiped it to answer.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, are you at the diner?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m at the crime scene, taking pictures, getting information for the story. I just wanted to check on you.” He sounded breathless.

  I pictured this handsome northerner, with his inky black hair and that ever present leather jacket, busy, asking questions of Andy and Tommy. I imagined him scribbling notes in the little notebook her carried, moving in that quick way of his around the scene taking pictures for the paper. This might be the biggest story in the whole county this year.

  Before I could respond, he said. “The state police just arrived. I need to talk to them. I’ll stop by the diner later.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  He had already ended the call.

  Gladys’s creamy potato soup and the warmth of the diner was finally settling in to my bones.

  “I’m heading back out to the job site,” Tom said, kissing Poppy’s cheek. “Why don’t you stay here with Starla and I’ll come back by for dinner and take you home.”

  She nodded and we watched him walk out the door.

  “Let’s go upstairs, get into some dry clothes and try to relax a bit,” I suggested. “I’m sure someone from the state police will be here to get a statement soon.”

  I told Barbara Ellen to call if things got too busy and got a stern look from her as if to say, ‘what are you talking about?’ Then she shooed us upstairs to my apartment above the diner.

  Just inside the back door of the diner, a set of stairs led up to my little one-bedroom apartment. My cozy rooms were my haven, my sanctuary, and I really needed their protective walls right now.

  I sold the house I’d inherited from my grandmother to help pay for the diner and moved into this apartment right after that. The wide-planked wooden floors needed some work, but they were clean. I filled the space with second hand furniture and colorful, gently used rugs that I found here and there. There was something purple in each and every room, which always made me happy. Today I unlocked the door and stepped inside, barely noticing my favorite things.

  “I’ll make tea,” I said, moving into my tiny kitchen.

  “Okay,” Poppy said, flopping down on the sofa.

  While waiting for the water to boil, I went into the bedroom and found a pair of fuzzy or
ange sweats and a long sleeved pink t-shirt with a glittery star emblazoned across the chest. They sort of matched but I didn’t care. I’d already decided to close the diner early and take the rest of the day off. We probably wouldn’t have much business anyway and all of our employees needed to be safe at home before dark.

  Rooting around in my clothes, I found a gray pair of sweat pants that might not be too big for Poppy. She had none of my curvy problems when it came to clothing. A gray sweatshirt completed my ensemble for her and I carried it back into the living room.

  “Why don’t I get a colorful outfit like yours?” she wanted to know when I offered her the clothing.

  At that moment, sirens shrieked through the air and my breath caught in my throat. What else could happen on this strange, snowy day?

  “Tea. It’s the tea,” Poppy said, taking the clothes from me.

  Relief flooded through me and I ran for the kitchen to turn off the stove.

  I prepared two purple mugs of tea and carried them back into the living room.

  “So, have you thought about which cupcakes you’re going to enter into the contest?”

  “What?”

  “The Winter Festival? The baking contest?” she reminded me.

  “Well, I’ve been a little bit busy today,” I said. “I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

  “It’s only two weeks away,” she reminded me.

  “I know when it is,” I said, letting the steam from the cup caress my face.

  “You don’t have to be so grumpy about it.”

  “I’m not being grumpy, I’m just...

  “I’m taking a hot shower,” Poppy said, interrupting me. She took her tea with her and headed for my small bathroom.

  It made me happy to know that Poppy was as comfortable in my home as I was in hers.

  While I listened to the water running, I remembered the flyer I’d picked up at the bank. The Winter Festival, held the last week in January every year, was originally designed to get people out of the house. Winters can be long and cold in the mountains of Virginia and the Community Trust took the opportunity to let everyone show off their crafts such as quilting, sewing, candy making and woodworking. They charged a nominal fee to rent a booth at the Armory and then took a tiny percentage of what the vendors made from the sale of their wares.

  The only competition was for baking and that included everything from breads to pies to cakes. Since my specialty is cupcakes, I’d only placed a couple of times but never won. That was fine with me. The Dessert Festival, held later in the year, had always been my big goal.

  This year, however, I just knew that Eva and Anna Lord and Tiffany Samples were going to enter. Since the Dessert Festival last fall, there had been an unspoken rivalry between us, a challenge of sorts. I could see it in their eyes when they came into the diner or when we passed on the street. I could hear it in their voices when they asked if I was planning on entering this year.

  “They’ve actually got categories this year,” I told Poppy who had returned with a towel wrapped around her head.

  “Yeah, I saw that. You might have a chance...”

  “The only one I’d be interested in entering is more of a decorating contest than a baking one,” I told her.

  “You need to do it for the diner,” Polly said, taking my now empty cup and heading for the kitchen.

  “I don’t imagine Eva, Anna or Tiffany have any more decorating skills than I do,” I said, listening to her making more tea for the two of us.

  “You probably have more than you know,” she said, placing my steaming cup on the coffee table. “And there are always YouTube videos.”

  My laughter was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs leading up to my apartment, and then a loud knock at the door.

  That brought both Poppy and I to our feet. I started for the door but Poppy caught my hand, stopping me.

  “Who is it?” she asked, her brown eyes were big and round.

  “State police, ma’am,” said a deep voice from the other side of the door. “We just need to ask you a few questions about this mornin’.”

  Poppy relaxed, let go of my hand and I opened the door.

  And came face to face with a man I hadn’t seen in fourteen years.

  Chapter Five

  “Tucker?” I gasped. “Tucker Ashe?”

  “That’s Tucker with a T, Miss Starla,” he said, grinning broadly and removing his wide-brimmed hat.

  My heart leaped into my throat. There was that dimple right at the corner of his mouth, that strong jaw and those beautiful blue eyes that always made him look like he was up to something.

  Until fourteen years ago, he’d literally been the boy next door, sweet, good natured Tucker with those sparkling blue eyes and ready smile. A year or so older than me, Tucker had taught me how to defend myself, and listened to me cry when some boy at school broke my heart or when the skinny girls picked on me. Now, here he stood at my door in the perfectly pressed gray uniform of the Virginia State Police, stomping snow off his boots, hat in hand.

  “I didn’t know you were back,” I said, feeling more than a little breathless as I opened the door wider to let him in.

  “Been back about six months,” he explained, following me inside. “Decided that this old boy had been out of the mountains long enough.”

  Tucker had joined the Army right out of high school and after that we pretty much lost touch with each other. I’d heard that he was military police and then became a Texas Ranger when he mustered out. I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t kept better track of my childhood friend.

  “You didn’t have to get all dressed up for me,” Tucker teased.

  A nervous giggle escaped my lips and I crossed my arms over the glittery pink star on my chest. “I didn’t know you were you,” I stammered.

  “What?”

  “I mean, I knew someone was going to be here but I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “What?”

  Behind me on the sofa, Poppy was laughing. Tucker was laughing. And soon I was laughing as well. He’d seen me wearing much worse than orange fuzzy sweat pants and a pink t-shirt.

  “Poppy,” Tucker said as Poppy threw herself into his arms. He lifted her off the ground easily. “I hear you and Tom are about to tie the knot.”

  “Yes, we are so excited,” Poppy gasped. “You’ll come to the wedding won’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it but only if Miss Starla promises to come with me,” he said, turning up that boyish charm a notch.

  “We’ll see,” I said, plopping down on the sofa, hugging a purple pillow close.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he grinned again and perched on the edge of the chair across from me.

  I watched him fumble around for a note pad and a pencil and wondered when he’d gotten so...so...well, so manly. He was well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and even through his heavy jacket and that uniform I could tell he had muscles on top of muscles.

  “Looks like you’ve made a success of the diner,” he said. “You two own it now, right?”

  “We’ve worked hard,” I said.

  “I can tell,” he grinned again and then chewed on his lower lip. “I’m really sorry about Mr. Nettle. He was a sweet old guy.”

  “Everyone in town loved him,” Poppy said, shaking her head.

  “Well, not everyone,” Tucker pointed out.

  “So it wasn’t an accident?” I asked, saying out loud what we already knew.

  “It sure doesn’t look that way,” Tucker said. “We’re pretty sure we know where the shot came from because we found the shooter’s tracks and the place where he knelt in the snow. From the distance and size of the wound, I would say it looks like it was a small caliber rifle like someone would use for coyotes or woodchucks. Like a 22 magnum. I think a 223 would have made more noise, but no one heard the shot. It also would have made a bigger exit wound.”

  Tucker had pretty much lost me back at the
word ‘caliber’ and my face probably showed it.

  Tucker shook his head. “Sorry. Got a little carried away. Anyway, there wouldn't have been anything that needed shooting or anything else to shoot at in that direction other than Mr. Nettle. A head shot at rifle distance. It would take too many coincidences for me to call it an accident.”

  Poppy looked worried again.

  “I’ll know more after the autopsy,” Tucker said quietly.

  “Why would someone want to hurt Mr. Nettle?” I asked.

  He shrugged those wide shoulders. “That’s what I have to find out.”

  “So you’re heading up the investigation,” Poppy said.

  He nodded. “Afraid so. My boss feels like a home town boy would have a better chance of getting people to open up.”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  Tucker Ashe, investigating a murder. It just didn’t seem right, but then murder in our little town didn’t seem right either.

  “Okay, one at a time, tell me what happened this morning.”

  “Shouldn’t you separate us or something?” Poppy asked.

  “You’re not suspects. You are witnesses,” he explained patiently. “Poppy you go first.”

  I sat there quietly, biting my lip, while Poppy described our trip to the bank and then our decision to walk in the park despite the fact that it was cold and windy and snowing.

  “I’m determined to fit into that wedding dress,” Poppy told him.

  Tucker chuckled and nodded. “Go on.”

  Poppy told him about our walk and running into the man who was walking the wrong way on the path. I reminded her that he’d stepped over into our footprints and we’d walked through his after we’d passed each other.

  “And you didn’t recognize him?” Tucker asked, sounding a bit skeptical.

  “Sort of but not really. He was covered head to toe with heavy clothes and dark glasses and wearing one of those long cowboy coats with the flap on the back...,” Poppy said.

  “A duster?” Tucker said, tapping the pencil on his little tablet. She nodded.