Still Knife Painting

by Cheryl Hollon

  Miranda leaned over. “Now, Mrs. Hobb, you’ve passed out from shock and there may be other complications. You may have had a heart attack or a stroke. You simply have to get checked out by a doctor.”

  Shefton came out of the bathroom looking a bit pale, but in control of himself. He quickly assessed the situation and stepped in to bend down and artfully block Mrs. Hobb’s view of her friend’s body. “What do you think? Should we give her a wee dram for the shock? Should I get some from Dan?”

  Both Miranda and Austin nodded yes. Shefton grabbed a small jelly jar out of one of the open kitchen shelves and dashed into the front room. He returned in a moment with about an ounce of shine. “Try this. It’s the smoothest variety Dan brought.”

  He bent down and held the jar to the cook’s lips. She took a tentative sip. Her eyes widened, and she signaled for another taste.

  “Thank you, that’s very kind. I do take a nip now and again, and this brew is mighty fine, mighty fine, indeed.”

  The moonshine appeared to calm Mrs. Hobb until she glanced across the kitchen and moved her head around to see her friend’s motionless body. She sat up before any of them could stop her and began to cry. “Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear. She’s gone to be with our Lord, hasn’t she?”

  Miranda dropped the wet cloth on the floor and squeezed Mrs. Cobb’s hand in both of hers. “Yes. I’m afraid she’s passed away. We’ve called the police.”

  Another cry escaped from her pale lips and she began struggling to get up but stopped. “Who killed her?” She looked about fervently. “Are they still here?” Then she clutched at her chest. “Oh, my heart, my heart.”

  Miranda looked over to Austin and Shefton. “Let’s get her out of the kitchen, then somebody should take a look around the property. The killer could still be here. That thought might be affecting her heart. Strange that she doesn’t think it was an accident.” She paused. “We also don’t want her in the way when the officials arrive, if they ever arrive.”

  Austin and Shefton managed to pull their substantially heavy patient up from the floor. By supporting her one on each side, they walked her from the kitchen through the crowd of clients in the dining room to the couch in the front room.

  Miranda ran ahead into her bedroom and grabbed two pillows and a soft blanket. “Sorry, folks, shift yourselves out of the way. We’re going to put Mrs. Hobb here.” She spread the blanket on the couch just before Shefton and Austin helped the cook sit down.

  Miranda plumped the pillows and put them behind Mrs. Hobb’s head as they eased her back. As an attempt to stave off shock, she ran back into her bedroom and snatched a quilt from the foot of her bed, then unfolded it and tucked the quilt in around the groaning cook’s reclining figure.

  After they had made her as comfortable as they could, Miranda leaned over the pale woman. “How are you feeling now, Mrs. Hobb?”

  She looked into Miranda’s eyes and motioned for her to bend down.

  When Miranda put her ear close to Mrs. Hobb’s lips, she whispered, “My heart is doing flip-flops like a dying chicken. It hurts like the dickens.” Mrs. Hobb pressed her hand to her chest.

  Miranda straightened up and turned to Dan. “How long since Brian and Laura left to call for the police?”

  “It’s only been ten minutes, but it seems much longer,” said Dan.

  “Hmmm.” Miranda tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “It would take him about two minutes to start knocking on the door and another five minutes for Elsie to get out of bed, calm the dog, then answer the door.”

  Dan raised his eyebrows.

  “She raises chickens and goats.” Miranda confirmed her opinion of him as a big city boy.

  He looked at her with a crinkled brow.

  She huffed her impatience. “They have to be milked and fed at dawn, so she gets up early then takes a nap right after lunch.”

  He stared at her.

  “I mean a serious, take off your clothes, get back in bed, serious nap. Also, Roy might be out of town so she would make doubly sure she knew who it was. Brian would have had to explain it through a crack in the front door. It will help that he has Laura with him. Elsie is also a very old-fashioned country lady. She wouldn’t let them in the house without being properly decent. That means getting back into her clothes, lipstick, and running a comb through her hair.”

  “Still, they should have called and be on the way back by now.”

  “I wish I had a phone that worked.” Irritated, Miranda looked over to the kitchen door. The New York clients were standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Hey! You guys can’t be messing around in there.” She grabbed up a chair on her way through the dining room. “Get back! You might be used to hearing about this stuff every day on the news in the city, but this is rare out here. Now go on and sit in the front room, or better yet, out on the porch.”

  She placed one of the dining room chairs in the threshold to block the way to the kitchen. She sat down in it with her arms tightly crossed and one leg swung over the other. Her foot wriggled in extreme annoyance.

  Brian and Laura finally returned. They lurched into the house, glanced at Mrs. Hobb, Austin, and the others, then Brian stood wheezing in front of Miranda.

  “What in heaven’s name took you so long?”

  “The van wouldn’t start back up so we had Roy look at it. He fixed a loose battery cable, and then gave us a jump so we could get back here. I called everyone I could think of,” he gasped. “Ambulance, Fire, Sheriff, Highway Patrol. They should all be on their way pretty quick.” He glanced at Miranda. Another great gasp. “According to your neighbor, until you arrived, nothing like this ever happened here.”

  Miranda cringed. So, of course, it must happen now—at my new home.

  Chapter 6

  Saturday Afternoon

  “What on earth are you guys doing?” Miranda asked the group hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. “Get on back into the front room.” She picked out Dan. “We need to keep everyone of the way. Otherwise, we’ll never get out of here. Do you have more samples that could maybe distract them?”

  “Definitely.” Dan pointed to his sample box on the sideboard, then raised his voice. “Would y’all like to continue sampling my wares?”

  Like the chorus in a musical, they all nodded their readiness to taste more of Dan’s moonshine cocktails. Dan grabbed his box of distillery samples, the carryall bag, then he led everyone out onto the porch. They settled on the swing, the benches, and in the various rockers and chairs. They appeared very pleased to be distracted.

  Miranda considered their readiness to be entertained to be a bit indifferent, but then they didn’t know Mrs. Childers.

  The emergency vehicle from the Wolfe County Volunteer Fire Department arrived first and pulled up to stop in front of the farmhouse. The volunteers traveled from their fire station on Main Street in Campton, Kentucky, the nearest town of any size at all in the area. The vintage ambulance took up the entire width of the gravel road that ran by Miranda’s farmhouse. Because the driveway was already packed, one of the volunteers got out and guided the vehicle onto a small level turnout at the side of the road next to Miranda’s abandoned outhouse.

  Another burly, fresh-faced, uniformed fireman hopped out of the vehicle and they trotted up to the porch, each lugging a large black case. The tall one spoke in a calm but commanding voice. “Did you call the fire department for an emergency, miss?”

  Miranda stepped out onto the porch. “Yes. Mrs. Childers has been stabbed to death and Mrs. Hobb appears to be having a heart attack, but she might have just fainted. Do you have paramedic training? Not all fire responders do. Can you help?”

  “I would say so, miss. Most of us are ex-military,” said the second fireman, who sported a deep farmer’s tan. “Let’s see what we can do.”

  Miranda led them into the front room, where a wide-eyed and pale Mrs. Hobb stared at them from the couch. Her hand was pressed to her chest, and her breath was deep and quick beneath the quilt. Austin
knelt on the floor holding her hand but let go to stand back and give the firemen room to take care of her.

  Miranda followed them into the front room. They greeted Mrs. Hobb warmly—like long-lost boys addressing a beloved grandmother.

  “Howdy there, Mrs. Hobb. Are you having your palpitations again?” said the tall fireman as he bent over to look into her face. “It’s me, Little Jimmy, from down by Buchanan Fork.”

  “Oh yes, sweetie pie, I’m sufferin’ something terrible.” She looked beyond Little Jimmy. “Hi Mac, it’s so good of you to come and take care of me. I’m so glad they sent you.” She tilted her head and smiled sweetly.

  Little Jimmy turned back to Miranda. “You said there was another situation?”

  “Yes, in the kitchen. I don’t think you can help there.”

  “We’ll just make sure. Come on, Mac.” They moved the straight-backed chair, crossed the threshold, and returned in less than a minute.

  Little Jimmy nodded quietly to Miranda. “She’s definitely beyond our help.” Then he bent down to Mrs. Hobb. “How do you feel?”

  “This has been so awful. It’s especially nice to see you two again.”

  “Why’s that, Mrs. Hobb?” said Little Jimmy.

  She grabbed his arm in a surprisingly strong grip that turned his skin white. “I don’t want to go to that big hospital way over in Lexington again,” she pleaded, as fat tears began to roll down her pale cheeks. “It’s such a lot of trouble for everyone. They’ll only keep me long enough to run those horrible scans. Then my granddaughters will have to come and get me. They drive me everywhere. They’re so sweet, but it’s so much trouble.”

  “We’ll try to do that, but—”

  “Can’t you give me one of those wonderful pills that young Doctor Watson gives me so that my heart will settle and the pain will go away?”

  “We’ll see. Let’s just check out your little ol’ ticker, first.” Little Jimmy took a knee by the sofa and grabbed a stethoscope from his black case. He pressed it to her chest in several places, listened to her heart carefully, hung the stethoscope around his neck, and then took her hand in both of his. “Mrs. Hobb, you know we can’t give you those special pills. They have to come from your doctor over in Campton.”

  Austin pointed to Shefton and Dan and motioned for them to go out the front door. “We’re going to take a quick look around the farm just to make sure no one is still around who shouldn’t be here.”

  Mrs. Hobb looked up at the two firemen and her eyes reminded Miranda of a begging kitten. “Can you good fellows just take me over to his office? It’s much closer than Lexington. You know he’s the only one who can treat my palpitations. I don’t want to go to Lexington. Young Doctor Watson will fix me up all nice and proper.” She looked from Little Jimmy to Mac and then back to Little Jimmy. Another fat tear coursed down her cheek. “Please?”

  Mac’s gaze searched out Miranda. He took her gently by the elbow and led her over to the corner of the room speaking low. “I know Mrs. Hobb has had a shock, but her pulse is steady as a rock. This is a grab for attention. I think we’ll take her over to Campton and call up the young Doctor Watson. He’ll give her a sedative.” His voice dropped even lower. “That’s what Doc’s magic pills are. He dispenses maximum strength melatonin for her nervous condition. It’s quick and nonaddictive. Works a treat.”

  “I think that’s exactly what you should do. From her reaction, taking her to Lexington might actually give her a real heart attack.”

  Mac and Little Jimmy began preparing Mrs. Hobb for transportation. Mac went out to the ambulance, and brought the gurney into the tiny front room. He lowered it down to the floor to be level with the couch. They each grabbed the edge of the blanket that Mrs. Cobb was lying on and expertly transferred her without the tiniest peep from their patient.

  Little Jimmy deftly substituted a general issue medical blanket in place of Miranda’s quilt. He tossed the quilt to Miranda. “We’ll have your blanket down at the station whenever you want to pick it up.”

  “My purse!” screeched Mrs. Hobb. “You need to get my purse! It’s in the kitchen.”

  Miranda used a no-nonsense voice. “I’ll bring it out to you as soon as I can. I’m not going to move anything in that kitchen.”

  “But I need my identification,” wailed Mrs. Hobb.

  Little Jimmy chuckled as he started rolling the gurney out to the porch. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hobb. Everyone knows you.”

  Just then, they heard the wail of an emergency siren making its way up the gravel road. Miranda stepped out onto the porch. The vehicle was travelling at a fast-enough speed to leave a dust plume hanging in the air like a posse in a cowboy movie.

  Little Jimmy turned to Miranda. “You called the sheriff’s office, too?”

  “This is a remote area. I told Brian to call everyone.” She stood with her hands on her hips as the patrol car sped up the road—all lights still flashing. The driver didn’t turn off the siren until the vehicle slid to a stop at the precise point in the road to block absolutely everyone, including the ambulance, from both the driveway and the public road.

  Miranda frowned, hoping against hope that this responder wasn’t a Barney Fife.

  The siren whined off and driver’s side door opened. A tall, slim deputy wearing a traditional khaki uniform yelled over the roof of the patrol car. “Did you call in a murder?” His face was flushed, and he yelled in a tinny high-pitched voice.

  Oh, lordy, lordy. He IS Barney Fife!

  “Yes, we reported a death about a half an hour ago.” She pressed her lips together to avoid adding a comment about what took him so long.

  The color drained from his flushed face like pulling the plug out of a bathtub. He swallowed. “Okay, ma’am. I was really hoping it was just a prank call.” He looked at her. Then he looked down the road where the dust he had disturbed still hung above the road. “I guess I need to look at the body.”

  “I would think so.” Miranda turned and held open the screen door.

  The deputy made his way up the steps, took off his hat, and stood before Miranda. “My name is Deputy Gary Spenser, ma’am. I’m real new to this job and I just want you to know that if I faint—not that I will—just in case I do—it’s not because I don’t care about doing a good job. I’ve just never had good nerves. Being stricken with nerves runs in my family.” He put his hat back on and went through the door to the front room.

  Miranda followed and almost bumped into him when he stopped in front of Mrs. Hobb lying on the gurney.

  Deputy Spenser turned back around to Miranda. “She’s not dead,” he said in an accusing voice. “She hasn’t been murdered at all.” He puffed out his chest. “This is a serious offense. You have falsely reported a murder.”

  Little Jimmy turned from checking the straps securing Mrs. Hobb to the gurney. “This isn’t the victim. Mrs. Hobb is suffering from a possible heart attack after discovering the body of her friend, Mrs. Childers. The body is that way.” He pointed his long arm towards the kitchen.

  Deputy Spenser turned an even paler shade of pasty white. His gaze followed Little Jimmy’s pointed arm. Then he hitched up his utility belt and marched into the kitchen like a condemned man going to his execution. He stopped sharp at the threshold of the kitchen. He propped his hands on his hips in a superman pose.

  “Oh lordy, lordy, Mrs. Childers has been murdered,” said Deputy Spenser in an even higher voice yet. He turned around to say something to Miranda, but the words never made it to his lips.

  Miranda watched as his face went completely slack-jawed and he swayed back out of the kitchen. He knocked into the doorjamb and then slid down the wooden molding. He landed on his bottom and fell back onto the floor in a dead faint, with one long leg splayed in the kitchen and the rest of him in the dining room.

  Miranda dropped her chin to her chest. This is worse than Barney Fife. How on earth did he get a job as a deputy? Who is he related to?

  “Mac, can you look after the deputy?
” said Miranda. “I’m going out to use his patrol car radio to get some real help.” She patted Mrs. Hobb on her shoulder. “I’ll be as quick as I can. Try to stay calm while we get this cleared up. The patrol car is blocking the ambulance.”

  “Fainted, did he?” Mac looked at the downed deputy. “Not surprising. Can’t believe they sent him out here. In fact, I’ll bet the sheriff doesn’t know anything, yet. Deputy Spenser must have answered the emergency call and like an idiot decided to tackle this alone. Silly, but not surprising, as he’s been like that his whole life.”

  Mac opened his medical case and took out a small capsule. He stooped down next to the indisposed Deputy Spenser and snapped the container of smelling salts, then waved several passes under the deputy’s nose.

  Deputy Spenser’s head jerked back and wacked the side of the kitchen doorway with a loud thud. “What—”

  Mac waved the capsule under Deputy Spenser’s nose again and frowned when the deputy grabbed his hand. “Hey, stop it. You fainted.”

  “I’m so sorry. I absolutely swore to myself that I wouldn’t faint. I must have also hit my head.”

  Miranda left them to wrestle with their pride and went out to the patrol car blocking the road. She opened the door, feeling like this was a bad dream, and sat in the driver’s seat. She picked up the mic and pressed the push-to-talk button with her index finger. “Hello. Hello. Can anyone hear me?” She released the button.

  Silence.

  She waited a long moment and tried again. “Hello, hello. This is Miranda Trent up on Pine Ridge. I need help.”

  When she released the button this time, there was a rush of static, followed by a feminine drawl. “Who’s on this frequency? This is an official police channel.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know that. I’m trying to get help.”

  “Where’s Deputy Spenser? He’s the only one that’s allowed to use this channel.”

  “He is here, ma’am. But he’s passed out in the kitchen and I thought you guys should send more help.”