“I haven’t gotten very far as yet. I looked him up and he’s an adjunct professor at the University of Alabama. His area of expertise in the catalogue is called “rural heritage,” whatever that means. Anyway, Mrs. Hobb said that he visited Mrs. Childers on the day of the murder and he appeared to upset her.”
“He’s a long way from home.”
“I know. This is not the most tolerant county in eastern Kentucky. He could be asking questions about race, income, or even religion in connection with his research. The kind of outsider questions that rile up suppressed feelings that folk feel need to stay private.”
“Sad, but accurate. Cultural changes here are painfully slow.”
“Anyway, I ran into him at the post office today and he’s obsessively focused on his research. According to the post office clerk, who is my newly discovered second cousin, he’s interviewing all of the older folks who will talk to him.”
“About what?”
“About what has happened to their children and grandchildren. You know, where they got educated, where they live, and what kind of jobs they have. I looked him up and his research credentials seem genuine. He has a ton of published papers on his specialist topic—the beginning of our nation’s cultural crisis regarding the demise of the American dream.”
“Where’s he staying?”
“According to the signup sheet, he’s staying at the Campton Inn just outside of town, but I’m more interested in catching the newlyweds before they fly out. I have their cell phone numbers, but honestly, I want to talk to them face to face.”
“At the Merrick Inn?”
“Yes.”
“All the way over in Lexington?”
“You make that sound like it’s a million miles away. It’s only sixty-five miles. Only a little over an hour’s drive.” She smiled, showing all her teeth.
“It’s a world-famous and upscale place.” He looked down at their very casual clothes. He was still wearing his khaki slacks and she was wearing jeans. They looked like they were about to go hiking, but not to visit a renowned inn. “We look like we live in the sticks. These duds won’t get us in the door, let alone an interview.”
“Good point. I’ll slip into my little black dress and you can borrow my uncle’s white button-down shirt. We can go anywhere in those.”
“Shouldn’t we call them first? The management might not even let us sit in the lobby.”
“I know it’s a risk, but I would rather just show up and take our chances. We can make up some goofy story.” She grabbed her keys, then stood still for a second. “Oh, I’m taking Sandy. I can’t stand the thought of leaving him.”
Austin raised his eyebrows. “Agreed.”
“I’ll worry less if he’s with us. Now, let’s go.
Chapter 27
Tuesday Evening, Merrick Inn, Lexington
Miranda and Austin stepped up onto the wide and welcoming veranda of the Merrick Inn. The plaque next to the doorbell indicated that the historic Ward House had been built in 1843 and was listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
Shifting her grip on Sandy, she rang the bell and they were welcomed into a hallway so opulent, the lush carpet looked like it might need to be mowed rather than swept.
A tall, slender woman dressed in an updated version of a Victorian dress led them into a reception room off to the right. The spacious parlor was over-the-top charming, with furnishings carefully staged to give the impression of casually worn old-money décor. The owner motioned for them to have a seat on the Victorian settee. “What an adorable puppy. Can I hold him? Is he a rescue?”
Miranda handed over Sandy and he tucked up under the owner’s chin and settled there like a sleepy kitten. “Yes, I’ve only had him about a week. I think maybe there’s been a mistake in his age. They said he was twelve weeks old, but I’m beginning to think he’s a big boy and probably only about eight weeks.”
“Aw, how adorable.” She scratched Sandy behind the ears. “Oh dear. I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Mrs. Welsh, the resident owner-manager. Would you like a cup of coffee or perhaps a glass of sweet tea? Although we’re newly pet-friendly, I manage a completely dry establishment here.”
“No, thank you,” said Miranda.
“Are you here to arrange for a special occasion? A wedding perhaps?”
Miranda thought for a moment, then gushed. “Oh, not us. We’re here to congratulate Laura and Brian Hoffman—the newlyweds.”
“Such a sweet couple. Of course, they’re here, but they haven’t said that they were receiving guests.”
Miranda smiled brightly as she took Austin’s hand into hers. “We’re friends of theirs. Don’t you remember us? We enjoyed a romantic meal here this spring, just like they’re doing. We recommended this place to them.”
Austin flinched, but he recovered quickly and placed his hand over hers. “Yes, we want to wish them well.” He gazed at Miranda with cow eyes.
She struggled to keep from bursting out in giggles. “We know they’re spending part of their honeymoon here at your historical guesthouse. We’re desperate to apologize personally for not making it to their wedding. An unavoidable tragedy prevented our attendance.”
Mrs. Welsh pursed her lips. “I’ve only been here a few months. The previous managers were very strict with visitors and they didn’t allow small pets.” She scratched Sandy’s tummy. “I’m more informal, but I don’t allow spirits.”
Just as Miranda thought she was going to have to spin more lies, the honeymooners came down the ornate stairway and walked hand in hand into the reception room.
Laura recovered first. “Oh, hi, Miranda. What a surprise. We didn’t expect to see you here.”
The owner handed the wriggling Sandy back to Miranda. “I’ll just leave you to your visitors.” Mrs. Welsh reached over to scratch Sandy behind the ears one last time. “If you decide to leave for a visit with your friends, I’m sure y’all remember that we strictly enforce a curfew of 11 p.m. You can’t get back in after that time.” She looked pointedly at the couple. “Also remember, no alcohol allowed in the house at all.”
“We remember,” said Brian. He watched as the owner left the room and went towards the back of the hallway, presumably into the kitchen. He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “What a ridiculous rule. I expect a smoking ban in these old places—no alcohol is something else.”
“I’ve been running into that quite a bit,” said Miranda. “This area isn’t as progressive as the travel brochures claim.”
“Anyway,” said Brian, “this has been a harsh lesson for me. I need to read the websites very carefully when making reservations. This place doesn’t give a refund if you cancel or leave early, so we’re stuck here.”
“I wouldn’t complain if I were you.” Laura looked at him with adoring eyes. “I know you’re a bit disappointed, but the bedroom is so romantic and this is a wonderful neighborhood. It’s perfect for long walks. We can have a cocktail at one of the little bistros nearby.”
Brian moved one of the single chairs closer to the one already across from the sofa. “I’m assuming you have some questions for us about the murder.” He sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside him for Laura. She sat and grabbed his hand like a life preserver. Miranda and Austin sat in the chairs.
“Have the Lexington police contacted you to collect your witness statements?” said Miranda.
Brian shook his head in the negative.
“What?” blurted Austin. “Really?”
Miranda shushed him by placing her hand over his mouth. She quickly withdrew it when she realized what she had done. “I’m sorry, but please keep quiet. We don’t want to bring the manager back into the room.”
“Please don’t,” said Laura. “I don’t think I can stand another complete recital of her rules.”
“We want you to tell us where you were when Mrs. Childers was killed.” Miranda noticed that Sandy had fallen into a deep sleep in her lap. “Your statement isn’t complete, is it?�
��
“How do you know?”
“Mrs. Hobb saw you going out to the barn. You stayed there until just before Dan arrived. Then you were sitting at the table when I walked in, so you must have slipped in from the barn through the kitchen. What did you see?”
“Mrs. Childers was fine when we sneaked in,” bleated Laura. “Her back was turned to us. She was reaching up into the far cupboard for something, so she didn’t see us.”
“No mystery, really.” Brian’s face began to flush a soft rose. “She just didn’t see us.”
“You didn’t want to be seen, did you?” asked Miranda. “What happened in the barn?”
“Nothing,” said Laura.
“No, really. What happened?”
Brian gritted his teeth and spoke between them at Laura. “Can you please just keep quiet? It’s none of anyone’s business.”
Laura eyed him sideways. “That was the problem. Nothing happened. He couldn’t, well, you know, um, perform.”
Brian flushed even pinker right up to his scalp. “The infamous roll in the hay wasn’t what I was expecting. There were bugs—lots and lots of bugs.”
“But that’s not a problem here.” Laura sounded triumphant. “This place is so romantic and so very, very indoors.” Laura sounded like a gleeful cheerleader. Brian blushed an even deeper shade of pink, but he snaked his arm around his bride and drew her close.
* * *
“That was awkward,” said Miranda when they returned to her van. “He’s awfully young for problems like that.”
“We don’t know anything about him. What if he had an illness as a child or has an allergy to hay? How would he even know about it? City folk are never exposed to nature in any quantity. There’s no hay in the city. Most likely he is simply terrified of bugs. He always looks nervous to me.”
Miranda handed Sandy over to Austin and started up the van. “Since we’re already in Lexington, what do you say about making a call on Dan at the distillery? He doesn’t expect me to drop by. We could have a conversation about where he was during the murder.”
“Wouldn’t that seem strange?”
“He is a principal part of my cultural adventure business and he didn’t show up for one of our agreed events. I have the perfect excuse.”
Dan’s business, the Keystone Branch Distillery, was part of the famous Bourbon Trail that wound in and around Lexington. The tours flourished right alongside the popularity of visiting racehorse farms.
In less than ten minutes, Miranda pulled up to the Keystone Branch Distillery. A tour bus pulled in right behind them. “Let’s tag along. I want to know more about Dan and how he runs his business before we start trying to figure out if he’s a killer.”
Austin raised his eyebrows. “That’s putting it bluntly. What happened to having a conversation?”
Miranda twisted her lip into a smirk. “That is a conversation.”
She tucked Sandy into his travel crate and they fell in behind the busload of tourists representing every size, color, and age of whiskey fan. This was evidence that everyone loved spirits.
Dan conducted the tour personally. He explained the entire process without making anyone feel like an idiot and answered each visitor’s questions patiently and with respect. Miranda was impressed with his confidence and ability to tell funny stories about his untraditional startup of this traditional business.
In the last part of the tour, Miranda and Austin tried to stay out of Dan’s line of sight, but they misjudged one of the turns and Dan spied them. He frowned and clenched his jaw for a moment before continuing his spiel. As the group came to the end of the tour, everyone was led into the tasting room for their free samples and purchases.
Miranda walked right up to Dan. “That was impressive. I should have made time to visit before opening my business. You’ve thought things through very carefully.” She waved a hand at the tourists crowded around the bar. A good number were buying multiple bottles of whiskey and also picking up the branded merchandise. “I’m going to have to rethink some of my distillery plans.”
“I’ve seen the architectural drawings that you have pinned up on the walls of the barn.” He folded his arms. “Your product line is strictly moonshine. I’m in this for a client who is a bourbon aficionado. They can be fanatical about small specialist runs—that’s where I’m putting my focus.”
“Isn’t that a bit like trying to speculate where the next lightning bolt will strike? Is that why you missed my event?”
Dan frowned. “That’s right. I’ve got a run that has a real chance at being outstanding. But it needs special attention. Besides, you only had a few clients.”
“Not the point, but anyway our agreement only runs for my first month—six days a week. You knew that.”
“I didn’t know that your clientele would drop down to absolutely nothing within the first week. Did you?”
Miranda reared back and started to reach for his throat. Austin grabbed her around the waist, lifted her up, turned his back to Dan and placed her back on her feet.
She was furious. Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed with two white spots in her cheeks. “What are you doing?” she yelled at Austin.
“What are you doing?” Austin yelled back.
Miranda stood tall and straightened her dress. She realized that his actions had calmed her down instantly. Why had she done that? She had never had a temper before. This reaction rose in a blinding flash, but also left as quickly as it blew up. It made her blind to her surroundings. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
She walked around Austin and spoke to Dan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. Irish tempers run in my family.” She lowered her head and then looked up. “I’m sorry. Believe it or not, this is the first time it has happened to me. Now that I know, it won’t happen again.”
Dan took in a deep breath. “Let’s try to get beyond this. We’re all upset by what happened to Mrs. Childers. I know I’m still freaked out.” He looked around the tasting room. The salesclerk was cashing out the last few tourists. “Things are under control here. Let’s go into my office.”
They followed Dan into a small office that overlooked the distillery warehouse. It was paneled with cheap plywood and he had hundreds of notes tacked to a bulletin board mounted behind his office chair. The desk was an old-fashioned rolled-top office desk with stacks of reports, invoices, bills and computer printouts stacked willy-nilly. Three plastic folding chairs faced the desk.
Dan motioned for them to use the chairs and he collapsed into his creaky metal chair. He opened the left-hand bottom drawer and pulled out three shot glasses and a flask of mahogany liquor. “This will explain my panic better than any words I might offer.”
He poured a half a shot for each of them and raised his towards them. They raised theirs. He said, “This bottle is the next to the last one of my supply of my Granddaddy’s bourbon. This is the bourbon I’m trying to re-create.”
Miranda sipped and the warm liquid slipped down her throat with not only a bold taste but also a soothing trail of pleasure that reminded her of the warmest memories of her childhood. She glanced at Austin, who returned her astonished look. Turning back to Dan, she said, “This is absolute bliss. Where did you find this? It’s magical.”
“This is almost the last of my grandfather’s special bourbon. He made it for himself and only rarely shared it with friends and family. I have only one more bottle left after this one is gone.”
Miranda scrunched her forehead. “I’m having the same issue with my uncle’s moonshine recipe. Something’s missing because the small samples I’ve tried don’t taste right. You don’t know exactly how this was made, do you?”
“I have the recipe, but like most old-timers, Grandad kept a secret ingredient to himself. He was planning to tell my dad what it was so the tradition could carry on. Sadly, Grandad died of a stroke before he could tell us what the recipe was or where it was written down. That’s if he wrote it down at all.”
Miranda twisted a strand of her hair. “My uncle told me last summer that everything necessary to make his brew was hidden in a safe place, a dark safe place.”
Austin took another sip and involuntarily groaned his pleasure. “I’m sure this is what heaven tastes like.”
She took yet another sip. “That’s simply ambrosia. I’ve never tasted a bourbon this good.”
Dan dropped his chin down to his chest. “I’ve come close, but I don’t have it yet. I thought this last batch was going to be it, but it went in the wrong direction completely. It’s undrinkable. That missing secret ingredient was one of the reasons I signed up for your cultural events.”
“What do you mean?”
“Apparently, Grandad did let out the secret ingredient to one of his sweethearts when he was a young man.”
“Who was it?”
“It took me a while to find out. Folks keep the strangest secrets. He had apparently found out that this girl had gotten pregnant and left for a time in disgrace. No one was willing to let me know who she was.”
“How did you find out?”
“By accident. When I moved this old desk into this office, a letter dropped out from behind a drawer.” Dan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It identified his sweetheart.”
Miranda and Austin leaned forward.
“And . . .” she prompted.
Dan looked sad. “It was Mrs. Childers.”
Chapter 28
Wednesday Afternoon, Miranda’s Farmhouse
Miranda sat at the dining room table and let her forehead plonk onto the surface. Again, only two clients had taken her cultural adventure tour today. Two. At this rate, she wouldn’t make it to the end of the month. She would run out of operating cash much sooner than her checking account could cover. She didn’t want to think about adding more debt to her already maxed-out credit card.
She propped her chin up with her fists and forced the anguish to leave her. She got up and went into the kitchen to clear her mind. She thought she would make a traditional candy, Peanut Butter Potato Pinwheels. It wasn’t a difficult recipe, very simple and luckily very cheap. It gave her something to do with her hands while her mind wrestled with her problems.
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