Moonlight, Murder, and Small Town Secrets

by K C Hart

  “I didn’t know you had been going by to see him so much.”

  “I just dropped by and saw him on my way home from work every day. I didn’t stay long, just had prayer with him. I got Pastor Scott to go with me last Wednesday and I guess he got everybody else involved.”

  “Katy climbed into the truck seat beside her husband and used her Sheriff Andy Taylor voice. “Well, it was a good thing you did Mr. Cross, a mighty good thing.”

  “Aww shucks mam, it weren’t nothin.”

  Katy had a roast in the crockpot and the aroma of slow-cooked onions filled their nostrils as they entered the kitchen. She had her Bible in one hand and her shoes in the other as she padded across the kitchen toward the bedroom to get into her usual Sunday afternoon get up of old sweatpants and a faded T-shirt. They had stopped by the Pig on the way home so she wouldn’t have to leave the house again today. She was looking forward to sitting on her back patio in the shade and losing herself in the troubles of Jane and Elizabeth Bennett.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Katy’s eyes shot open and a small scream escaped her lips. Something was crawling up her leg. The corners of her mouth turned up as she felt it again. Her cell phone, still on vibrate from church, lay in the recliner beside her where she had sat down with her book earlier. While asleep the vibrating had felt like a bug or maybe a mouse wiggling against her thigh. At least she hadn’t wet her pants. She fished around in the side of the chair for the phone and turned on the screen.

  John called about an hour ago. He had left on his fishing trip four hours earlier and was probably calling to let her know what time he would get back. She sat the recliner up and slid her feet into her slippers. He would call back in a minute. In the meantime, she would start making the peach cobbler to take to the grieving Carson family. The buzzing started again before she could put her phone in her pocket.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, did I wake you?” John asked.

  “No, well not this time anyway.”

  “You ain’t going to believe what’s going on over here.”

  “What happened?” Katy walked into the kitchen and grabbed the cookbook from the drawer under the microwave. “Did you sink your boat trying to haul in the big one?”

  “You’re almost right.” The background noise overtook the line as Katy waited for him to continue. “Hey, hold on a minute,” he finally said.

  She could hear machinery noise and what sounded like a crowd of people talking. “Where are you?”

  John waited a second or two for all this noise to die down. “I’m still at the pond. It’s a little crazy out here.”

  “It sure sounds like it. What’s going on?”

  “Me and Mike got to the pond and put our boat in the water just like we always do. You know this pond’s a lot bigger than the one we’ve been going to over by the preacher’s house.”

  “I’ve never been to either one of them, but if you say so I believe you.”

  “It is. Anyway, we got in the boat and after about an hour of not catching anything, decided to paddle over to the far side to see if we’d have better luck there. You won’t guess what happened.”

  “Mike fell out of the boat,” Katy said. She flipped through her cookbook. Most of the pages were shiny white from lack of use.

  “No, nothing like that. We paddled a little way over and all of a sudden the boat started dragging like it was hung up on something.”

  “What was it?”

  “Wait,” he said, cutting her off, “don’t mess up my story. Mike started poking his paddle down in the water and sure enough, there was something hard that the boat was hung on.”

  “Okay, Mark Twain.” Katy turned toward the back of the book to the dessert section. She could probably make the peach cobbler from memory, but she was too chicken to try. “Get on with your story. What snagged the boat, a tree, a dead moose?”

  “No, but something just as weird. A truck.”

  “A what?”

  “A truck. There’s a vehicle in that pond. Like I said, it’s a big pond, and fairly deep in places, but off the east bank just barely under the water, is a truck.”

  “What kind of truck? Is it an old truck? Does it look like it’s been there a while?”

  “Hold on Columbo. I’m afraid I don’t have any answers to your questions. The water’s pretty muddy so you can’t see much. We could just make out the top of the cab where our boat was dragging across it.”

  “What did yaw do?” She looked up from the cookbook, cobbler forgotten for the moment. “It sounds like a three-ring circus out there.”

  “Oh, it is. We used our paddles to push the boat off the top of the cab then sat there for a little while trying to decide if this was important.”

  “Well, of course, it’s important. You found a truck in a pond.”

  “Now don’t get your britches in a wad. What if that truck had been in the pond for ten years? Just because we found it today doesn’t mean it hasn’t been there a while.”

  “Oh,” Katy said, closing the cookbook and returning it to the drawer. “I see what you mean. Well, what did you do?”

  “First, Mike called his daddy and asked him if he knew there was a truck in his pond.”

  “That makes sense,” she said.

  “He said that was the first he’d heard of it. He seined the pond last spring before restocking it and there wasn’t a truck in it then.”

  “So, it is important.” Katy slammed the kitchen drawer. “I knew it.”

  “We figured it might be,” John agreed. “I called Todd and now half of the county seems to be out here.”

  “Really?”

  “Well no, not really. Mike’s daddy and uncle came over, and then Todd and the sheriff pulled up. Tubby saw the sheriff turning into the logging road with lights a blazing and sirens squealing so he came over with Joe Phobs.”

  “Wait, are you in the woods across from Piney Acres?”

  “Yeah. Mike’s dad owns that track of pine trees they’re cutting. The pond’s in a clearing right behind where those logging trucks are working.”

  “You probably have half of Piney Acres over there seeing what’s going on,” Katy grinned.

  “There’s about three or for more trucks here now and I don’t even know who some of these people are.”

  “I told you nobody can keep a secret in this town.”

  “I believe you’re right. Plus, anything that goes over the police scanner has half the county listening in.”

  Katy pulled a bag of flour from the cabinet. “What’re you and Mike doing now?”

  “Just sitting here watching the show,” John said, laughter in his voice. “The sheriff’s taping off the area and trying to keep everybody from going near that side of the pond. He even let Todd use the bull horn a couple of times when some guys in waders tried to walk into the edge of the water.”

  “Why don’t you just come home? I don’t imagine you’re going to get anymore fishing in today.”

  “We would, but the sheriff said he needed us to hang around until he can talk to us. I think he’s forgotten about us though with all these people showing up meddling in his stuff. They got him running around like a chicken with his head cut off.”

  “Naa. He’ll get to you eventually.”

  John sighed. “I’ve had two days of fishing and the only thing I’ve caught is a flip flop and a turtle.”

  “A flip flop?” Katy stopped measuring out the sugar. “Where did you hook a flip flop?”

  “In this pond.” John’s voice dripped with disgust. “That’s why we decided to row to a different spot. We sat on the other side for an hour and Mike caught one tiny little catfish and I caught a turtle and then a flip flop.”

  “It just isn’t your weekend for fishing.”

  “I guess not. If I’d caught two shoes at least it wouldn’t have been a total loss. I could have given them to one of the girls.”

  “I hope you’re joking,” Katy said. “Who in their righ
t mind would want slimy pond shoes? That’s pretty nasty, even for you.”

  “I’m joking,” John laughed. “But Mike said that this is an expensive shoe. He said Misty has a pair just like them and they cost over fifty dollars.”

  “Fifty bucks for flip flops?” Katy dumped the flour into the mixing bowl a little harder than necessary. “Are they gold plated or something?”

  “No, but they do have a lot of fake diamonds and rubies and stuff on them. Kind of fancy-looking to be worn fishing.”

  “John,” Katy said slowly, “I bet you a plate of fried pickles that I know what color that truck is.”

  “And just how do you know that? Nobody here knows what color that truck is.”

  “By what you just told me. I know who owns that truck too. I just don’t know how it got in that pond.”

  “Slow down Sherlock. You’ve lost me. What did I say?”

  “You said the flip flop is too fancy to wear fishing. That’s because the flip flop came out of that truck yaw found in the pond. Laney’s truck is missing and remember, I told you she was barefoot when we found her.” Katy paused to take a breath as the words tumbled out. “Mrs. Simmons said that Laney always took her shoes off when she cleaned, so she could feel if there was any dirt on the floor that she missed with her broom.”

  “Well I guess that’s possible, but you can’t know for sure. This place is just strewed from can to can’t with beer bottles and coke cans. I think teenagers come here to park. If things got a little rowdy a flip flop might have just ended up in the pond.”

  “I don’t think so. I bet you money that those are Laney Finch’s flip flops and the other one is in the cab of her truck stuck in that pond.”

  “You may be right, but I ain’t sold yet. I’ll let you know when they find out something. It shouldn’t be too much longer because the sheriff is getting Tubby to pull the truck out with his skidder.”

  “What are you gonna do while you wait?” Katy asked.

  “Mike found a deck of cards in the glove box. I think we’re going to play a little rummy.”

  “Try to find a shady spot to play in,” Katy said. “The last thing you need is to get a bad blister.

  Katy’s phone rang again about an hour later. She answered it and put John on speaker so she could continue with the laundry. “Am I right? Is it her truck?”

  “I don’t know yet,” John said. “Todd got our statements, and I told him what you said about this being Laney Finch’s truck. He didn’t think the flip flop was that great of a clue for you to base your assumption on.”

  “I’m not giving up on that idea yet,” she said, pulling warm towels from the dryer into the laundry basket. “I’ll wait until he can take a look in that truck. I bet the other shoe is there and that the truck is hers.”

  “He said you may be right,” John conceded. “He seems to think that you know more about what’s going on with these murders than most of the police department. He just wasn’t ready to agree completely. I told him not to tell you that because you already think you’re Mrs. Marple.”

  “Ha-ha,” Katy said sarcastically. “right now the only thing I’m trying to figure out is how in the world two people go through so many towels and washcloths in just two days.” She lifted the lint trap and raked it clean. “This is ridiculous.”

  “I may have used a few extra washcloths yesterday when I got home,” John said. “I had to give Belinda a bath.”

  “You used my good washcloths and towels to give that bloodhound a bath?” Katy held a washcloth to her nose as sniffed. “You know that I keep rags for that.”

  “I know but I couldn’t find them.” John paused as the loud sound of the skidder drowned out his voice. “Look, I’m going to be a little bit longer,” he shouted. “This looks like it might get pretty entertaining.”

  “It sounds like you’re at a monster truck pull,” Katy said, lifting the clothes basket to her hip.

  “But this is even better,” John said with a grin, “this is free.”.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Katy took the cobbler out of the oven and frowned. She pulled the recipe book back out of the drawer and read it again. Talking to John while mixing everything together had been a little distracting. The ingredients were strewn all over the counter, but everything seemed to be accounted for.

  “Oh shoot.” She looked at the two cans of peaches, opened but never poured into the bowl with all the other stuff. Can I make the cobbler again without going back to the Pig? No, she thought, not enough sugar. Should I change from my holy orange sweatpants and paint-stained t-shirt for the trip? Yeah, probably.

  She put on some jeans and another t-shirt in slightly better condition and headed out the door. She decided to order pizza to pick up on the way home. There was leftover roast, but they could eat that tomorrow night. She wanted to call John to see what was going on but had promised to wait and let him call her.

  The Pig was not crowded this afternoon, so getting in and out of there was easy. The pizza place was a different story. It seemed that everybody in town was having take-out pizza tonight. She pulled into the packed parking lot and went inside to stand in line with the rest of the town.

  “Hey Mrs. Katy. You having pizza too?” Katy turned around to see Emma Robinson smiling at her with a perfect set of lined and glossed lips. She sent up a thank you prayer that she had changed out of her holey sweatpants.

  “Hello, Emma. Yeah, we’re having pizza too. Probably shouldn’t, but I do love thick crust pizza.”

  “Me too, and of course, Tubby loves it all.” Emma moved her hands rapidly as she talked, and several silver bangles slid from wrist to elbow with every other word. “Did you hear about Joe getting out of jail?”

  “Yes I did. He was at church this morning.”

  “Wow, did the roof cave in?” She laughed at her own joke. “I’m just kidding. That’s probably what people will say when me and Tubby start back to church.”

  Katy smiled as Emma continued with her flow of words. The young woman reminded her of a wiener dog puppy waiting for a pat on the head. She seemed to have energy seeping from her pores.

  “Tubby called me a while ago and said he is doing something for the sheriff,” Emma continued at a rapid-fire pace. “I can’t imagine what that could be, but I figured it would be better to be on the sheriff’s good side than on his suspect list like poor ole Coach Finch.”

  Katy started to comment while Emma caught her breath but wasn’t quick enough.

  “I guess you know they have him in jail now. He said he was out driving around looking for Laney the night she was killed and then came home to an empty house. Do you think he will be in jail long?”

  “I’m not sure,” Katy shrugged, “since I don’t know what all they are holding him for.”

  That was all the encouragement Emma needed to continue with her news. “I heard, and I’m afraid I can’t say where I heard it, but I heard they’re thinking he might have killed both women. There was a pair of gloves in the back of his jeep that the sheriff thinks were worn while he strangled his wife.”

  “Gloves,” Katy said, looking at Emma intently. “What kind of gloves?”

  “Oh, you know, them ole nasty work gloves you buy at the hardware store. Tubby buys packs of them to keep in his truck so he won’t get blisters or splinters from the logs. They’re made from some kind of stiff cloth like canvas. Tubby buys the white kind with the little black rubber dots on them. He says they keep your sweaty hands from slipping off when you’re holding stuff.”

  Emma happened to notice that she knew the person who had walked up behind her and turned to start another conversation. Katy was thankful. Emma talked so fast and spewed out so much information at once that it kind of put her teeth on edge.

  So, gloves connected to Laney’s murder were found in her husband’s jeep. The type of gloves Emma described was fairly common. John had a couple of pairs in the toolbox of his truck. There must have been some other way to link them to Lane
y’s murder. She hadn’t been bleeding, so there shouldn’t have been bloodstains on the gloves. Maybe Laney’s saliva was on them. Since the victim and the suspect lived in the same house saliva could have gotten there some other way. It seemed unlikely but possible.

  Katy was brought out of her mystery-solving thoughts by the tall, skinny, pimple-faced teenager behind the counter asking her name and order. She paid for her pizza and returned to her car. If John didn’t call soon, she was going to forget her promise and call him anyway. The waiting was driving her nuts.

  When she got home, she mixed up the cobbler one more time and put it in the oven. As she was setting the oven timer her phone finally rang with Conway Twitty’s familiar “Hello Darlin”. Katy grabbed the phone from her purse. “Well?”

  “Well hello to you too.”

  “Oh John, I’m sorry. I’ve just about gone stir crazy waiting for you to call.”

  “Kind of like you did when we were teenagers huh?” John laughed.

  “Not exactly,” Katy smiled. “That was a few pounds ago for me and a lot of hair ago for you.” She tapped her fingers on the bar. He was going to drag this out. “Are you going to tell me if I was right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, you are going to tell me, or yes I was right?”

  “I guess yes to both, and yes I owe you some fried pickles.”

  This time Katy slapped her hand on the counter and a puff of white smoke went up in the air from the spilled flour that she had not cleaned up. “I knew it, I just knew it. I’ve got to write some stuff down in my clue book.”

  “I’m on my way home half-starved and completely filthy. I got a little too close the action while Tubby was pulling the truck out and got slimy pond mud slung all over me.”

  “I bet you smell just fabulous.”

  “You know it. What’s for supper? I can stop and get a thing of fried chicken from the gas station if you want me to.”