Still Knife Painting

by Cheryl Hollon

  “Could you please hang back just two more minutes? I’m going to check the road one last time for Dan.”

  Racing through the house out to the front porch, she saw a puff of dust in the distance that meant a vehicle was speeding down the road.

  That better be him and he better have a good excuse.

  Dan parked his logo-decorated panel truck and yelled out to Miranda, “Sorry, I’m late.” Dan was tall, with thick dark hair. He flashed his pearly white teeth at her.

  He trotted around to the back of the truck, opened the double doors, put a zippered carryall bag over his shoulder, and hefted a wooden crate filled with mason jars of distilled moonshine. “There was a jackknife accident on I-75 just north of the I-64 junction. A semi slipped off the road and blocked both turnoff lanes.” He followed Miranda into the kitchen. “Do you have the Ale-8 soda pop? I need that for the first concoction.”

  “Of course, it’s in the refrigerator.”

  “Fantastic, I have everything else with me. How’s it going?”

  Miranda groaned. “Normal for a first day on the job. Things are a little chaotic. A client showed up late and we had to start the hike without him. The cooks let my puppy outside as if he were a country dog, but he is not. And then you were late, but now you’re here.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Thank goodness you’re here now. We’re more than ready to start the ‘Shine’ part of the Paint & Shine experience. If you can get things set up in the dining room, that would be great. I’ve cleared a spot for your stuff on the sideboard. You can mix your cocktails there in front of the group. They’ll love that. It’s better if you stay out of the kitchen. The cook doesn’t hold with hard liquor.”

  “No problem, I’m used to that.”

  “I’ll gather everyone up. They’ve been wandering everywhere. When you’ve got the first cocktail mixed, call us to the dining room.”

  “Fantastic,” said Dan. They started off towards the house.

  “Oh shoot,” she said. “Dan. I’m sorry, I almost forgot to tell you. Mrs. Childers changed the main course to venison stew.”

  Dan’s eyes went wide. “Not chicken?”

  “Nope. Welcome to the confusion.”

  Turning away before he could respond, Miranda stood at the edge of the porch and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Dinner’s ready! Come and get it!” She went back into the dining room in time to see Mrs. Childers placing the first course at each of the nine place settings. She looked calmer but still didn’t look at Miranda.

  Clients arrived from all directions to claim seats and chatter with each other across the large table. The mood was excited and filled with anticipation.

  The newlyweds sat next to each other holding hands and looking only at each other. In contrast with the rest of the group, neither of them smiled. Instead, they looked pensive and serious.

  Beside them, Kelly and Linda sat down and immediately began to critique the plating of the salad greens and fried green tomatoes, and sniff the water in the goblets.

  That’s natural, Miranda thought. Criticizing the meal was a principal form of entertainment in New York City. She had done her share when she lived there. They’ve probably never cooked an entire meal for company in their lives. She could be wrong—people in New York do cook, but these two didn’t seem at all interested.

  “That’s Highbridge Springs water in your glasses. It’s bottled in a family-owned business just a little southwest of Lexington. I love the taste and they’ve been big into recycling since the eighties.”

  Dan finished creating the first cocktail. He placed nine small mason jars filled with ice and a yellowish liquid on a tray. In each jar he had placed a lollipop in the shape of an artist’s paint pallet to act as the stirrer. He seemed genuinely excited to share his knowledge of Kentucky moonshine lore.

  Dan pointedly looked at the empty chairs then sat the tray back on the sideboard. He was clearly disappointed that his whole audience wasn’t yet in place. He threw a frown at Miranda. “How many are we missing?”

  Miranda ticked off her fingers. “Shefton Adams, Joe Creech, and I invited Ranger Morgan, although he might have to work.”

  At that moment, Shefton rushed in from the front room and sat next to Linda. “Sorry to be late, I was down by the barn. Wow! That’s an authentic tobacco barn. There are piles and piles of tobacco stakes in there still fit to use.”

  “Tobacco hasn’t been raised here for over a decade,” said Miranda. “My uncle just couldn’t bring himself to empty the barn of all the equipment. Most folks around here have made the switch to growing organic vegetables. It took a long time to establish a market with the big cities—like Lexington, Louisville, and Cincinnati, but they are gaining ground. I’m going against the grain by wanting to start a distillery.”

  “Grain?” said Dan. “That’s an awful pun.”

  Miranda chuckled. “Exactly, but legal moonshine around here doesn’t make sense to the locals. They still see it as bootlegging. I don’t have a choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t tell you?” Miranda frowned and lowered her voice. “Part of the deal for inheriting this farmhouse is that I have to have a working distillery within the first ninety days.”

  “That’s not good news. We’ll be competitors.”

  “Not really. I’m only going to produce small batch, limited runs. Don’t worry, I only intend to make enough for my tour clients.” She looked at the two still empty seats. She was beginning to get irritated. “Anyone seen Joe lately?”

  Linda spoke up. “I saw him in the living room over by the fireplace right after we got here, but I haven’t seen him since.”

  Miranda walked out into the front room. It was empty. She opened the front door and went out onto the porch. She cupped both hands around her mouth and yelled, “Joe! Joe, lunch is ready.”

  No answer.

  “Will I do, instead?” said Austin as he came up the driveway and on up the steps. “Who are you hollering for? I didn’t see anyone on the walk from my house.”

  “One of my clients has wandered off. I’m going to need to be clearer about what is off-limits, I guess.”

  They went back into the dining room and there was Joe, seated at the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the call. I was trespassing in your front bedroom in order to comfort your puppy. There was some kind of noise that frightened him. I heard him whimpering and couldn’t resist his charms. He’s back to sleep now.”

  “Thanks. That’s sweet of you.” She didn’t recall a noise. Miranda rubbed her hands together. “Okay, we’re all here. Let me start with an introduction to your guide for all things related to moonshine. This is Dan Keystone, owner of the Keystone Branch Distillery over in Lexington. He’s turned a family tradition into a legal business using family recipes and trade secrets handed down the generations. It’s rumored, but only a rumor, definitely not confirmed, that his great-grandfather became friends with Al Capone during a brief stay in the big house.”

  “That’s never been proved,” said Dan.

  “Right,” said Miranda. “The truth is that his father and my uncle were great friends and jostled for the title of best moonshiner in Kentucky. It’s all legal now, of course, and Dan’s moonshine is among the best.”

  She nodded her head towards him and he cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. I’m glad to be here to introduce you to the traditional spirit of the backwoods. It has been called mountain dew, hooch, white lightning, and corn whiskey. The most common description is moonshine, which harkens back to the most popular way it was made—distilling by the light of the moon.”

  He handed one of the little four-ounce jars to each of the clients from his drinks tray. “Now, this here is a great little aperitif to get our experience started. I’ve poured a jigger of Keystone green apple moonshine over ice and topped it up with Miranda’s favorite soda pop, Ale-8.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

  The group bega
n to reach for their little mason jars. “I’ve added a twist of lime and a strip of candied ginger.

  Dan reached out a hand. “Oh, I almost forgot, those little lollipop stirrer things are edible. Not only are they pretty, but tasty, too.”

  Dan raised his sample. “Enjoy your taste of Kentucky.”

  The guests began to sample the drink.

  Laura and Brian clinked their mason jars, removed the lollipops, and knocked back the entire portion. Then their eyebrows shot up and they both produced that distinctive cough that informed all that they weren’t used to drinking strong spirits.

  Joe sipped the liquid solemnly and nodded. “I would never have thought to cut the shine with Ale-8, but this is refreshing.”

  Shefton piped in. “It’s certainly not something I’m comfortable with. I was raised to stay away from drink, but I have to admit, I like the taste.”

  Kelly drank as tiny a sip as was humanly possible and then frowned. Her eyes went wide and she gulped quickly from her water glass. She didn’t utter a single word. She looked a bit sour, as if she regretted coming along.

  “This is so luscious,” said Linda. “The tartness of the green apple is a great complement to the ginger in the soda. This is a wonderful drink.” She sat back in her chair. “I’m looking forward to the rest of our tasting.”

  Dan glanced over to Miranda. She frowned, as Mrs. Childers had been hovering in the doorway antsy to serve the first course and now seemed to be ignoring them. “I’ll tell Mrs. Childers that we’re done with the appetizers. She’s been concerned that we might get the timing wrong for her main course. There’s nothing worse than dry, overcooked venison.”

  She went through the doorway to the kitchen and saw Mrs. Hobb standing in front of the back porch door with a dish of butter in her hand. Mrs. Hobb stared at the floor then opened her mouth to an ear-splitting scream.

  Miranda followed Mrs. Hobb’s gaze and there was Mrs. Childers lying face up in front of the stove with a large kitchen knife protruding from her bloody chest. She was surrounded by a scattering of cutlery, broken dishes, and a spilled pan of biscuits. Miranda felt the image sear itself into her mind’s eye as if she was going to paint it as a masterpiece.

  Mrs. Hobb abruptly fell silent, then crossed the kitchen floor to stand over her lifetime friend. Her mouth opened to say something, but nothing came from her lips. Instead she grabbed her chest, bent over, shrieked in pain, then fainted in a heap at her dear friend’s lifeless feet.

  Chapter 5

  Saturday Noon

  Miranda stood rigid with her mouth open. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

  The excited hubbub behind her prodded her into action. She turned around to the crush of her clients trying to look around her into the kitchen. She threw her arms wide and yelled out, “Stay back. Does anyone have a cell phone with a signal? We need to call 911.”

  Silence followed like a stalled video.

  Dan pulled out his phone from his top shirt pocket and looked at the screen. “No signal.”

  Then everyone came to life at once. There was a rustling as some had their phones within handy reach and some scrabbled into backpacks and others fumbled through their handbags for cell phones.

  A high voice: “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

  A deep voice: “Nope, no signal.”

  Another man: “No bars for me.”

  A woman said, “My battery has gone dead.”

  Austin’s calm voice lifted above the din. “I’ve got about half a bar—that won’t be good enough for voice, but I am texting now.”

  Miranda palmed her forehead. “I’m being dense, there is rarely a decent signal up here. Sometimes I can’t even text. but my neighbors have an old-school land line. Mine isn’t installed yet. The phone company disconnected my uncle’s old rotary phone after he died.” She pointed to the nearest person in the dining room. “Brian. Quick. I need you to drive down the hill to the little cottage on the left side of the road and tell them to call for an ambulance. Oh, and call whoever serves as the local police.”

  Shefton put his useless cell back in his front pants pocket. “Yep, that’s Roy and Elsie’s house.” He looked at Brian. “They’re real friendly.”

  “Of course, you would know that.” Miranda took another calming breath. “They’ve lived down there since forever. Brian, here are my keys. Take my van and use their phone. Just be careful to keep our dirt road unblocked at Roy and Elsie’s. Their house is right at the edge of the road because it overlooks a steep ridge.”

  “I’m going with him,” said Laura, not even looking at Miranda in case she said no.

  “Fine, but you have to go now. Run!” Brian and Laura disappeared.

  Austin peeked past Miranda into the kitchen and gently pressed Miranda’s shoulder. “Let me by. I’m a trained first responder. I can help.”

  He stood just inside the threshold and glanced down at Mrs. Childers. Then he stepped around her to put two fingers on Mrs. Hobb’s throat. He spoke over his shoulder. “Mrs. Hobb is alive, but her pulse is erratic. I think she’s just fainted.” He repeated the check on Mrs. Childers. His shoulders slumped and he blew out a fast breath. “Mrs. Childers is gone. She’s past help.”

  Miranda continued to stand directly in the doorway, blocking anyone else from entering the kitchen.

  Austin looked at the back door of the kitchen, tiptoed over, and locked it. He walked back to the stove and turned off all the burners and the oven, too. He returned to stand in front of Miranda.

  “We’ll bar the kitchen door after we get Mrs. Hobb out of there. I haven’t had to use any of my crime scene training up to now. It was only a two-hour class, but the first priority is always to the living. At this point, all I can do to help the police is to limit the number of people who go into the kitchen.”

  “What about the EMTs? Shouldn’t they take care of Mrs. Hobb?”

  “It will take at least fifteen minutes for them to get way out here. More likely closer to thirty. We’re on our own for a bit. That’s the major downside of a rural life.”

  Shefton peered around Miranda at the kitchen threshold. He scanned the destruction and involuntarily took a step back. “What in the . . . Are they dead?”

  Austin replied in his professional ranger voice, “One is dead and one has either had a heart attack or fainted. Come on in and help me get Mrs. Hobb turned over to this side away from the body. Then I think we need to try to bring her to.”

  Shefton’s head bobbled agreement.

  Miranda turned around to the clients pushing through one another to see through the kitchen door. She waved her hands like shooing chickens. “Everyone out. Go on into the front room. They need space to work on Mrs. Hobb to get her out of there.”

  Austin edged around the still body of Mrs. Childers and gently turned Mrs. Hobb over. He quickly ran his hands over Mrs. Hobb’s arms and legs searching for broken bones or dislocations. “Nothing broken. She seems sound.” He signaled for Shefton to take Mrs. Hobb’s feet while he slipped his hands under her arms.

  Both of them avoided looking at the knife. In a quiet voice, Austin told Shefton, “Slide her over there by the sink. Let’s keep it slow.”

  Miranda glanced at Mrs. Childers and her stomach turned sour. She thought she might throw up. She closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath until the feeling faded away.

  She recognized the eerie stillness that surrounds a person who is no longer breathing. It was reinforced by the dusty gray tone of her flesh, indicating that blood no longer flowed through the body. She recalled that drain of color in the moment her dad died in hospice. It was many years ago, but that image was crystal clear. Mrs. Childers was the same shade. She was truly gone.

  They managed to turn Mrs. Hobb over gently. But then Shefton made a retching noise, clamped a hand over his mouth, and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Austin waved for Miranda to come in and he pointed
to some kitchen towels that were piled up on the worktable just out of his reach. Miranda handed them over. Austin bunched them into a roll and placed them under the lolling head of the cook. He sat back on his haunches.

  Miranda looked at Austin. “Now what?”

  “Do you have smelling salts?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Uh, no. My first aid kit only treats cuts and scrapes. You know, hiking trail stuff.”

  “What about cold water?”

  “Yes.” She turned, opened the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic gallon of spring water.

  “Pour some on a cloth. We’ll give that a try to bring her around.”

  Miranda opened a drawer, pulled out another kitchen towel, and poured water on it until it was damp. She passed it to Austin. “Thanks. Do another one for her wrists.”

  He folded the wet towel into a compact oblong and began dabbing it on Mrs. Hobb’s forehead and temples.

  Miranda soaked another cloth and bent down to take Mrs. Hobb’s hand. She pressed the wet cloth directly on the pulse point on the inside of her blue-veined wrist.

  Mrs. Hobb groaned like a drunk coming to from a three-day binge. Her droopy eyelids fluttered and opened for a moment before she squinted them shut. She groaned again, followed by a low, long whimper of pain.

  Miranda turned the cloth over to the cooler side and pressed it back against her wrist.

  Mrs. Hobb jerked her hand away and her eyes flew open with the white showing all around. “What’s happening?”

  Austin removed the cloth from her forehead and took her other hand. He held it firmly. “You’ve had a terrible shock and you fainted.”

  Miranda bent over and added, “Mrs. Hobb, do you have a heart condition? Do you carry any medication for angina or asthma? Does anything hurt?”

  Mrs. Hobb struggled to sit up. Austin pressed her back down to the floor with a firm hand on her shoulder. “No, not yet. We don’t want you to get up too quickly. We’re waiting on an ambulance to take you to the hospital.”

  “I can’t go to the hospital! That’s clear into Lexington. Who will take care of my house? I don’t want anyone in my house.”