She was a bit concerned about how her passengers might react to seemingly casual questions from her after their experience with the local law enforcement officers. Also, addressing the issues concerning a murder while driving might interfere with her ability to navigate the twisty country roads. No matter—Miranda plunged right into her new role as amateur sleuth.
She looked into the rearview mirror at the group. They didn’t seem upset. They looked excited and a bit relieved.
“Hey guys. Did any of you hear anything from the kitchen to indicate at what time there might have been an accident?”
Her question abruptly stopped all conversation.
She rolled her eyes. So much for how easy this would be. She tried another approach. “Really, I mean, how could all that silverware dump out onto the floor without at least one of you hearing?”
In another quick glance in the rearview mirror, she saw Linda and Kelly look at each other. Linda had turned pale and Kelly was flushed up to her ears.
Kelly looked into the mirror. “We came in a little late for the lunch. I didn’t hear anything from the kitchen.”
Kelly turned to Linda. “What about you? Did you hear anything?”
Linda sighed heavily and pressed her lips together. Finally, she spoke up. “I heard lots of things from the kitchen. There was some banging of pots on the stove, also a good bit of dishes clattering, so I didn’t think anything about someone dropping forks and spoons. I just figured that Mrs. Childers was angry about something and taking it out on her cookware.”
Joe Creech piped up, “You know, there did seem to be a lot of noise coming out of the kitchen. Mrs. Childers seemed upset. I think everyone decided the best thing to do was stay well out of her way.” He paused. “You were out front trying to figure out where the distillery guy was.”
“You’re right. I was certainly irritated with Dan for being late to my first event. Without his moonshine, there would be no tasting. What about you?” Miranda looked back at Joe. “Did you hear anything?”
“Me? No, I was too interested in the birds and squirrels. An army could have marched through the kitchen and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
“What about you, Shefton?”
“I agree with the others. The noise seemed like normal angry kitchen stuff. I just stayed away like everyone else.”
After dropping off her clients, Miranda stopped by the lobby to talk to Doris Ann. The receptionist was ready with an assault of questions about the incident. Miranda instinctively wanted to avoid her nosiness, but if her business was ever going to be successful, she needed Doris Ann on her side to talk it up with the guests.
“Miranda, honey. Bless your heart. Is it true what I hear? What happened at your farmhouse? Did Mrs. Childers get murdered? Did Mrs. Hobb break her leg when she slipped on the blood? Who is going to clean up your kitchen?”
“That’s a lot of questions.” She fell silent as a group of hikers passed them on their way to the dining room. “Can you take a break?”
Doris Ann stood up and called out in the direction of the restaurant down the hallway, “I’m taking my break now.” She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a steepled sign:
ON BREAK, SEE DINING ROOM STAFF
Grabbing her jacket, Doris Ann pulled Miranda by the arm outside onto the lower deck of Hemlock Lodge, which faced out over the cliff with a view of the lake below. It was deserted. Apparently, folks who visited the Natural Bridge State Park for fresh mountain air didn’t smoke.
Doris Ann pulled a lighter and a cigarette packet from the pocket of her jacket. She leaned against the railing with her back to the view and lit up. She drew in a deep lungful of unfiltered Camel. Noticing Miranda’s open jaw, she said, “Now, don’t get your panties in a twist. I only have one smoke a day. I know it’s awful, but I can’t stop altogether and I’m already ten years older than both of my parents when they died. So, shush up.”
Miranda drew back a little distance away from the smoke. “Fine.”
“What happened out at your place? Is Mrs. Childers dead? I knew that bringing in shine would bring disaster. Moonshine has always been a curse as well as a blessing around these parts. I told you that.”
“Yes, you warned me, but I didn’t believe you. I mean, why would I? I don’t think her death has anything to do with shine. Anyway, you’re right on one point. Mrs. Childers was killed. That rumor is true. Both the Wolfe County Sheriff and the Lexington Police came to try to figure out what happened.”
“What did happen?”
“Well, opinions vary at the moment. Coroner Larson believes it was murder, but Sheriff Larson would like to think it was an unlucky accident. I don’t know what the Lexington Police think. They didn’t share their opinions with me.”
“That’s no help. You’re all over the place.”
“Sorry, it was so baffling. The local sheriff and the Lexington detective acted like sworn enemies and it wasn’t a pleasant time. There was more commotion, confusion, and quarrels than I’ve seen on any of those British TV murder shows I enjoy so much.”
Doris Ann tsk-tsked. “Oh, that’s right. Those two boys have been feuding since high school. That’s too bad.”
“One thing I do know for sure is that Mrs. Hobb didn’t break a leg. She fainted. She was taken over to her doctor’s office in Campton.” Miranda rubbed the back of her neck. “That reminds me, I need to call in over there and see how she’s doing.”
“What did the sheriff say?” Doris Ann stubbed out her cigarette in the sand-filled outdoor ashtray. “Why does he think it was an accident?”
“That’s difficult to tell. We had both the Wolfe County Sheriff and the Lexington Police at the farmhouse. There was a huge difference in the way that Sheriff Larson handled the situation compared to what the Lexington detective, Peterson, did.”
Doris Ann shrugged. “That’s not surprising.”
“Why? They’re both police.”
“They’re both police, but those Lexington fellows may as well be from Mars. They don’t care about us small communities.”
“I think the Lexington group was just running through a minimal investigation with no real expectation that they would catch the culprit. I didn’t see the kind of professionalism that will result in the capture of a murderer.” Miranda rubbed the furrows on her forehead until she relaxed. “But then again, I don’t know anything about police procedures.”
“So, the rumors are true? It is a murder.”
“I absolutely believe that. I think if it had been an accident, the alarm would have been raised when it happened and Mrs. Childers wouldn’t have been left there for poor Mrs. Hobb to find and then faint over her friend’s body.”
“That makes sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense is why anyone would want to kill a little old church lady cooking a traditional meal in a remote farmhouse kitchen. I just don’t understand what kind of situation would drive someone to do such a horrible thing.”
Doris Ann reached into her jacket and lit a second cigarette. She gave Miranda a “don’t mess with me” look. “We all have secrets.” She pulled a long drag. “Most of us don’t have the kind that could lead to violence.”
“I’m bothered at the spite I saw between the local sheriff’s office and the Lexington Police Department. I think an investigation will suffer because of their behavior. What if the case gets shelved and no one is caught at all? Has this feud been going on for a while? Is there a root cause?”
“There’s always some tension between city and county law. This time, it’s grown from a personal rivalry between the two men. They both went to the University of Kentucky on basketball scholarships based on their winning team at Wolfe County High School. Detective Peterson was team captain until a knee injury sidelined him permanently.”
“He didn’t look permanently injured. He didn’t limp.”
“It wasn’t permanent, but it took a long time to heal. So long that he was dropped from his scholarship program and
transferred to Georgia Southern. The injury took place on the court during a championship game, and he always claimed that Larson caused it. It became even more caustic when Larson took over as captain and led the team to four straight championships. Peterson will never forgive him no matter how much time passes.”
“This isn’t right. I believe that someone killed Mrs. Childers and whoever did it is running around scot-free.”
Doris Ann took the last deep puff of her cigarette and stubbed it out next to her other one. They were the only stubs in the sand-filled ashtray. “I’ve got to get back to my desk. But before I go, have you given a thought to your safety?”
“My safety?”
“Yes, missy. Are you sure you want to stay out there by yourself?”
Miranda raised her eyebrows. “I haven’t thought about it. I should be safe out there. I have my little dog for an alarm.”
“Your puppy? Really?”
“Well, I heard Coroner Larson say something about a serial killer, but that appeared to be just a crazy argument she was having with the sheriff.”
“Hmm. They do sometimes have some interesting discussions. I’ve got to go. You call me if feel frightened out there.” Doris Ann returned to the lodge.
Miranda stood looking down at the view. Maybe Doris Ann had a point. What if someone was lurking in the woods nearby? She pushed the thought away. Miranda didn’t really have a strong presence in the community. She was considered an outsider by most locals and an insider only by those who knew her family connection with the farmhouse.
She still felt concerned about the caustic situation between Sheriff Larson and Lieutenant Peterson. It was an awful thought that an old university rivalry could redefine what was possibly a vicious murder into a ruling of a regrettable kitchen accident.
She reckoned that Sheriff Larson was at least open to the idea that it was a murder but might be powerless to change the mind of the Lexington detective. It was a bad state of affairs for this investigation to be caught between the two forces.
She needed to do something. But, what could she do? She was just an ordinary starving artist from New York City.
She narrowed her eyes and steeled her nerve. She could do plenty.
Chapter 15
Late Saturday Afternoon, Miranda’s Farmhouse
Miranda drove back to the farmhouse, her mind distracted by mulling over the fact that a woman had been murdered in her kitchen.
Austin’s official ranger truck was parked next to the outhouse, leaving her plenty of room to pull in the driveway. He was sitting on the porch swing cuddling Sandy. She gently sat next to Austin and motioned for him to give up Sandy. The puppy was so deeply asleep that he didn’t even wake up when Austin transferred him to Miranda.
She whispered, “What happened?”
Austin whispered as well. “I got back to my house and then turned the truck back around to tell you something important. On the way, I found Sandy in the middle of the road and headed toward Roy and Elsie’s house.”
Miranda sighed. “That’s a long way for these little legs. It looks like he’s figured out how to unlatch the crate. This is the second time he’s escaped. The first time I thought I hadn’t closed the latch, but I’ve been extra careful so I’m sure I latched it. I think I’m just going to get a combination lock. There are so many poisonous snakes here—I can’t bear to think of him running into one.” Miranda nodded for Austin to follow her into the house.
She took the sleeping puppy into her bedroom and placed him on the soft blankets in the crate. She hooked the latch but just to make double sure, she got a hair ribbon from her dresser and tied that on as well. She shrugged and softly closed the bedroom door.
“Would you like a soda pop? I’ve—” Miranda stopped mid-sentence. The kitchen door was closed on the terrible mess that lay inside. She imagined the blood and a shudder ran up her spine.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She looked back at Austin. If the killer could be anyone, could it be Austin? For some reason, her gut was completely calm on the topic of Austin. If he’s the killer and I’m still a threat, he’s had oodles of chances to act. Nope—it’s not him.
“I can’t face the kitchen.” She formed a little lopsided grin. “There’s still some water from the well in the dining room. Would you like a glass?”
“More to the point, would you like some help cleaning up? I’m fairly experienced, what with butchering roadkill and all.”
“What do you mean?”
Austin bobbed his head in the direction of the highway. “We get a lot of deer killed or wounded out on the roads. When I get called out quick enough, I take the carcass over to the orphanage. That’s after I’ve rough-butchered it into manageable portions for the cooks.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s a long-standing tradition in these parts.”
Miranda noted that he seemed awkward talking about this kindness. She liked that. “That’s a good tradition.”
“For right now, I could do with a glass of water.”
Miranda found two clean glasses in the dining room. The police had limited their forensic tasks to the kitchen so that room was still in reasonable order. She brought Austin his drink. After he downed the entire glass, he handed it back to her.
She sipped a bit from her glass, then she squinted at him. “I don’t remember how bad it was in the kitchen, but I’ve never dealt with a murder scene before.”
Austin raised his eyebrows. “I think that’s a point in your favor. Not many people outside of the law get that chance. As a matter of fact, most people inside the law don’t get that chance either.”
Miranda stood a bit taller. “Listen, I’m not good with asking for help, but I’m at a loss here for dealing with that kind of mess.”
“It’s not like television where the camera just flips to the next scene, is it?”
“No, but if I was still in New York, there would have been a hazardous material specialist company that I could call or my landlord might have done that.” She tilted her head slightly towards the closed door.
“Out here, we tend to clean up our own messes.”
“I’m catching on.” She looked back. “I accept your very kind offer to help me with the kitchen.”
“Wise woman.” Austin put his glass on the dining room table. “You go ahead and start with the dining room and I’ll get going on the worst of the mess in the kitchen. I’ll let you know when I’ve cleaned up enough so’s you won’t get sick.”
“It’s a deal.”
Miranda took the serving tray that Dan had used for his moonshine cocktails and stacked the plates, cutlery, water glasses, and mason jars on it. She pulled the linens off the table and piled them in a chair. Finally, she wiped off the table and would have started sweeping the floor, except that the broom and dustpan were in the kitchen.
“Wow, that was grim.” Austin opened the kitchen door and stepped inside the dining room. “It was difficult knowing how upset she would have been with the mess I was wiping up.”
“That’s my problem, too.”
“This is as good as I can do for now.” He held the kitchen door open for her.
Miranda lifted the tray of dirty dishes and walked into the kitchen. Austin was as good as his word. No sign of blood, or food, or broken glass anywhere on the floor. “Thanks so much. The kitchen is still a mess, but it’s a perfectly ordinary mess. I can manage.”
“I used almost a whole roll of paper towels and the dish towels that were already beyond saving to clean up everything. Then I wrapped it all up in a paper grocery bag so you can burn it with the rest of your trash, okay?”
“Thanks, I’ve never been good with blood. I get lightheaded with a paper cut.” Miranda smiled and stood at the sink as she filled up the metal dishpan with hot soapy water.
How on earth could she investigate a murder if she reacted so badly to blood? The trick would be to avoid conflict. Investigation didn’t necessarily lead to violence. S
he hoped so anyway.
The two of them together made quick work of washing, drying, and storing all the plates, glasses, pots, pans, and baking dishes.
Miranda folded her arms across her chest and scanned the tidy kitchen. “That looks so much better.” Her shoulders dropped, releasing the tension that had found an unwelcome home. “Whew, I’m bushed. Would you like a soda pop? No? How about a cup of hot cider with cinnamon?”
“Hot cider will do for me.”
“Great, I’ll bring them out to the front porch.”
Miranda prepared the drinks and placed them on a tray with two warmed servings of the untouched Dutch apple cobbler topped with fresh-made vanilla ice cream.
She peeked into Sandy’s crate on her way out to the porch. He was fast asleep, snuffling a puppy snore. She smiled and continued out the door.
My favorite,” said Austin. “I love any kind of cobbler.” After the first bite he continued, “Wow, this is mighty fine. Wait. Which of the church ladies made it? Mrs. Childers or Mrs. Hobb?” He looked a little concerned that he might be eating a dead woman’s cooking.
“It’s mine—all mine. I used dried apples from my uncle’s supply.” She paused. “Church ladies? Why do you call them that?”
“That’s what everyone calls them. They’re steadfast members of the Campton Baptist Church. In fact, they’re the backbone of the fundraising committee. It’s a big loss.”
“You know they were going to donate all their earnings to fix the roof?” Miranda smiled as Austin ignored her until he had wolfed down the last bit.
He made a show of displaying his empty plate. “I’ll bet this is better than any of the church ladies’ pies.”
Miranda tilted her head and offered a tiny grin. “Thanks. I make it myself to save money. I plan to cut down on the expenses for this business by preserving my own apples and preparing the cobblers myself. Yesterday I made two and froze one. You’re tasting a preview.”
“Mmm,” said Austin.
Still Knife Painting Page 10
