Finding Floyd

by Melinda Peters

  "Well, I miss your cooking. Don't get me wrong. Victoria's a great cook, but what are my chances of getting some of your famous chili? Or your onion rings? Wait a minute, Yankee pot roast!"

  Ralph laughed, "Hold on. I'll see what you got here and decide. Tomorrow I'll send you to the store. Now give me a hand with my gear."

  * * *

  Ralph studied the contents of the spacious pantry before investigating the large chest freezer against one wall. He felt a little funny rifling through a stranger's food supplies, but Vicky had assured him that it was fine with Diane, who was off somewhere. He shrugged off his reservations and lifted the freezer's lid, considering the possibilities. Deciding that chicken would be the quickest for the big group, he extracted several packages. Carrying them into the kitchen, he tumbled them onto a sheet pan to thaw and then noticed he wasn't alone.

  A beautiful woman was tying an apron around her waist and smiling his way. Younger than himself, she was very attractive with shoulder length blond hair and twinkling blue eyes set in a heart shaped face. Her peaches and cream complexion glowed, and for the briefest instant, Ralph felt a little like a tongue-tied teenager. He recovered quickly enough, cleared his throat and introduced himself.

  "Ralph Spangenberg. Just visiting. I'm a friend of Diane's. You know Diane. She's looking after the place here while the owner is on vacation."

  "Yes, Mr. Spangenberg. I'm pleased to meet you." She reached for his hand and pressed it. I'm Julia Blake. Diane and I met yesterday. She's a lovely person."

  Julia had none of the southern drawl he'd expected to hear. "Call me Ralph, everybody does. I take it you're not from around here?" He smiled and gestured toward the frozen chicken. "I was going to fix a little dinner for everyone."

  "How nice of you! Do you cook often? And no, I'm originally from Ohio," she said.

  "I've done some cooking in my day," he grinned at her.

  Her eyes twinkled. "Ralph, I imagine you know your way around a kitchen."

  "Well yeah, I do enjoy a little cooking now and again," he admitted.

  "That's wonderful! My Donald was absolutely helpless in the kitchen. He was in the Navy, and didn't get to spend much time at home."

  "I spent a few years at sea myself. That's where I learned to cook. For twenty years I fixed meals for hungry sailors on shipboard." He gestured to the table and pulled out a chair for her. "Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee or something cold to drink?"

  She laughed as she sank into the chair. Looking up at him she gave him her sweet smile and told him, "Actually, I work for Sandy, the owner of the B & B, on sort of a part-time basis. I came over to lend a hand."

  Ralph did a little fishing of his own, asking, "And your husband doesn't mind you leaving him to fend for himself?"

  "Oh, no. I lost Donald many years ago." Julia twisted her hands tightly, then purposely relaxed them and sighed. "It's just me now."

  "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

  She nodded, looked down at her lap then said earnestly, "That's why I enjoy working here. I get out of the house and meet so many nice people. Like yourself."

  Ralph actually blushed and stammered, "What, what sort of work do you do here, for Sandy?"

  "Oh, I do all the baking for the weekend breakfasts, and help out when she has guests. If she gets too busy I'll do a bit of cleaning as well. Little of this and a little of that."

  "Does she have many guests? Is the place usually busy?" he wanted to know.

  "Well not nearly so many as when her parents managed the inn. After Sandy's father passed and her mother left for Florida, things were just too much for her to handle. Besides the four guest rooms and the little guest cottage out back, they used to be open for breakfast from the middle of March until the end of October. All that baking kept me pretty busy," she said wistfully.

  "Baking!" he beamed. "That's great. Did you bake that pie there?" He nodded toward a pie dish on the counter.

  "That Ralph, is my own Bourbon Pecan Pie," she said chuckling. "I thought it would be a nice dessert for you all. I'll make some Bourbon whipped cream to top it with."

  He grinned from ear to ear. "To be honest with you, I used to own a tavern in upstate New York. Did most of the cooking myself, and I kind of miss it. Maybe you'd like to give me a hand with dinner"

  * * *

  The screen door slammed behind him, as Preston emerged with a tall tumbler of tea for the old man. Jeremiah grinned broadly, looking from Preston to Vicky and back. He took the proffered tea.

  "Thank you, young feller." He took a swig and set the glass down. "I do miss my jar come Sunday's, but it's the Lord's Day, and no denying that. Where was I? Oh yes. The Evans' folks, they rebuilt their homes after the earthquakes and things was pretty near back to normal.

  Vicky typed rapidly and Preston came closer to listen.

  "Then the war come along and all the young boys in Kentucky and Tennessee joined up with Andrew Jackson and marched down to New Orleans." He paused and stopped to drink. After a moment he cleared his throat and returned to his story. "That Battle of New Orleans was something. Yes indeed. You know about that young feller?" he asked Preston.

  "Yes sir, I do some. Didn't Andrew Jackson defeat the British?"

  "Defeat them? Hell! Them Tennessee boys whupped the bejesus out of them! Knocked those redcoats clear into next week," he declared enthusiastically. "Well now, I'm getting a tad too far from my story about Jeremiah. The way he told it, he and a few others, including a friendly Choctaw Indian, stumbled onto some of them British soldiers early one morning and several got themselves shot. Way he always told the tale, they was out scouting round in the swamps and there was a thick fog all round. Of a sudden, them redcoats come out of the fog and everybody commenced to shooting. When it was all over, some of them fellers lay dead. The Choctaw, quick and easy as you please, lifted the scalp from one of them English soldiers to keep as a souvenir."

  Vicky looked up from her laptop and gasped, "Oh dear! How awful!"

  Jeremiah shrugged, "That's what them Indians did. Some white fellers did a little scalp taking themselves back then, truth be told." He paused, grinning at them both. "While that Choctaw was at it, he picked the feller's pockets. Took his gold watch and a leather purse filled with gold. This he give to a feller named Willis, who was kin to Jeremiah. Them two shared the gold coins equal, later on. After that was the big fight and Old Hickory's boys won the battle and won the war. That's how Jeremiah come to have some cash money when he reached Virginia. He met a gal here, married her, and settled right here in the Blue Ridge. Never did go back to Tennessee. That's it, just as granddaddy told it to me. Far as I know, every word of it is the gospel truth. Matter of fact, this here town of Floyd used to be called Jacksonville, after Andrew Jackson, don't you know."

  Vicky's fingers flew over her keyboard. Then she took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. "Your story is remarkable, Mr. Evans."

  Jeremiah drank some tea and settled back into the rocker. "Well, most people don't know about the big earthquakes back then. Why, some folks don't know a darn about the Second War of Independence away back two hundred years. These old stories have been passed down through my family, so I'm honored to know you're taking down what I tell you."

  Vicky smiled and started to reply; when she saw Chris's black Suburban. Speeding down the drive, it came to a screeching halt. They all watched as Diane hopped out of the vehicle and Chris reversed and immediately zoomed off, leaving her standing alone.

  "Wonder what he's in such an all fired hurry about?" growled Jeremiah.

  "Uh oh. Looks like Chris and Diane might have had a disagreement." murmured Vicky. She shut her laptop and said, "Thank you so much for sharing your stories with me today, Mr. Evans. I'd like to get together with you soon to hear more about the earthquakes and the early frontier days."

  "Sure, young lady. That would be fine. Next time I'll tell you my granddaddy's account of the Shawnee Indian attack." He shook his gnarled head. "Them folks ha
d some hard times back then."

  They watched as Diane slowly rounded the corner at the far end of the porch and made her way to the back door. One hand on the knob, she turned, gave them a wan smile, and slipped inside.

  "The poor girl," whispered Vicky. "She looks upset."

  "Something's eatin' that gal, but I couldn't say what," said Jeremiah.

  "Might be something to do with Christopher. He took off like the very devil was after him," drawled Preston.

  * * *

  Ralph was at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, like an orchestra conductor waving his baton. He was explaining to the ladies, exactly how he produced his famous cream of mushroom soup in large batches. Aunt Julia slowly stirred a simmering pot, while Sarah Hardwick sat at the table taking notes on her iPad.

  "Tomorrow I'll send Jack out for groceries and he can pick up the mushrooms, sherry, and other things I need. How about fried chicken and maybe a corn bread for dinner tonight?" suggested Ralph. He poked around among the items on the counter. "Got both yellow and white corn meal here. Could make a cornbread."

  "Do we have any buttermilk, Mr. Spangenberg?" asked Julia.

  "Don't need buttermilk for fried chicken," he said. Then he smiled at her and said softly, "its Ralph, remember? Forget the Mr. Spangenberg. Call me Ralph."

  Julia blushed. Flustered she murmured, "Oh, but you do too need buttermilk, Ralph."

  "Buttermilk?" he asked, puzzled.

  "I always soak my chicken in buttermilk, usually overnight before flouring it, don't you Sarah?" asked Julia.

  "I surely do. Buttermilk, a splash of hot sauce, some spices, and refrigerate it."

  "That's interesting," said Ralph. "Must be a southern thing."

  "If you don't have any buttermilk which y'all would need for both the chicken and the cornbread, why don't you fix a Virginia spoon bread instead Julia?" asked Sarah.

  "Never heard of it," said Ralph.

  "I think you'll like it, Mr. Spangenberg, I mean, Ralph," offered Julia. "We could grill the chicken and use your barbeque sauce. Everybody loves barbecued chicken. I brought some green beans and a ham hock. Sarah, if you'll snap the beans, I'll get them started."

  Ralph looked perplexed. "But beans don't take that long to cook."

  The women laughed. "The way we fix the beans it takes a good while."

  The door opened and a pale, somewhat unsteady Diane entered and slumped into a chair.

  "Diane, how the hell are you?" said Ralph beaming at her. "Thanks for letting me visit. This is a great little place. I think John and Theresa should be here soon, so we've got a big crowd to feed. These two lovely ladies and I are planning a great dinner. I got to say, I've missed cooking." He halted and gave her a closer look. "Diane, you all right? You look funny."

  "I'm okay, Ralph. It's good to see you." She rubbed her forehead.

  "Oh Diane, sweetheart, I dropped by to talk to you about Sandy. I'm sure you know the cruise isn't turning out quite as they'd planned."

  At the mention of Sandy's name Diane blinked and tried to focus. Sandy will be back at the end of the week and I can go back home to peaceful Pippin's Grove. Why did I ever want to leave? In the last four days, I nearly froze to death, served breakfast to dozens of unexpected guests, and was just shot at by a criminal. Not to mention nearly falling in love with Chris. So not a good thing.

  "Sandy sent me a text," began Julia. "I'm sure you received one too."

  Diane quickly slipped her phone out. "I had mine muted. I forgot to reset it." She swiped the screen, quickly read the message, and sighed.

  "Oh no. Sandy says it's been the cruise from hell. The ship had to make an unscheduled stop in Tampa, because there's been an outbreak of horrible stomach flu and almost everybody on board is sick. They'll be stuck there indefinitely so Sandy doesn't know when she can get back. Her mom's in her seventies and hasn't been well. Getting sick like that could be dangerous for an older person."

  "Yes," said Julia. "She'll need to stay with her mother. That's why she asked me to come by and help you out. I work a bit for her from time to time. I bake for the breakfasts. Muffins, bread, and such. Now then, we're on our own for a while, but that's no problem, as I see it. Mr. Spangenberg and I are going to fix a nice dinner for everyone. Diane honey, you all right? You look a little funny."

  "I'm okay. Except somebody just tried to kill me and Chris. They were shooting at us."

  Bourbon Pecan Pie

  1 10" unbaked pie shell, well chilled. Butter crust is best.

  1 cup chopped pecans, plus halves to decorate

  4 large eggs

  1/2 cup white sugar

  1 cup dark Karo

  1/2 cup light Karo

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1/4 cup Bourbon

  Preheat oven to 350F.

  Whisk together eggs and sugar well.

  Add corn syrups, vanilla, and Bourbon.

  Fold in pecans and pour into shell.

  Decorate with halves.

  Bake one hour, covering with foil if pecans are browning too much.

  Cool before slicing.

  Serve with Bourbon whipped cream.

  Chapter 12

  Chris was apprehensive when he saw parked in his driveway, not the dark blue sedan usually driven by Agent Rodriguez, but two large BMW motorcycles. Where the hell is Rodriguez? And whose beamers are those?

  Cautiously, he parked on the road and waited in the Suburban, appraising the situation. His hand rested lightly on the 9mm automatic, holstered on his hip.

  So now my house is available to any passing thugs that need a place to hide out. How did Toricello know it was empty? I've got to get some security installed. Who would have thought I'd have a problem way out here? Keeping a wary eye on the house, he drew out his phone and called Rodriguez.

  "Where the hell are you, Owen?" Rodriguez barked. Impatience and irritation in her voice.

  "Nice to talk to you, too. Listen. I'm watching my house. Looks like I've got company. There's two beamers parked in the drive."

  The connection was dropped abruptly, and Agent Rodriguez emerged from behind the house. She slowly strode toward him. Her hair flowed over her shoulders as the breeze lifted the raven curls. Dressed in skin tight biker leathers, she wore polished knee-high boots that added a good three inches to her long slender legs.

  Okay...so she rode one of the bikes over, but who's with her?

  Just then a tall dark figure emerged from the shadows beneath the pines and stood with his arms crossed staring at them. Chris opened his door, slipped to the ground and waited. Rodriguez never failed to surprise him, usually unpleasantly, and this was no exception.

  "What's he doing here? You know better than to bring a civilian onto a crime scene!" His voice was cold with fury, as he berated her. "What were you thinking? You just decided to ride up here with that redneck private eye and compromise our situation? I ought to have you yanked from this investigation."

  Her cool agate eyes looked amused as she gave him a dismissive glance. "Who I brought with me doesn't concern you. Didn't you have your hot blondie girlfriend here with you a while ago?"

  "Don't start that. I had no idea Toricello was here when I brought Diane to see the house and I certainly didn't expect to be shot at." How does this bitch always get me on the defensive?

  "Didn't you?" Her cold eyes almost closed as she peered at him appraisingly through her dark lashes. "Maybe she wanted to introduce you to Mr. Toricello."

  "I swear Rodriguez; she doesn't know anything about Toricello. Leave her alone."

  Her sensuous red lips twisted into an unflattering smirk. "Of course not."

  "Can we get back to business?" he asked, frustrated by the lack of progress.

  She nodded. "Well. You were right. The Blowtorch was camping out in your basement."

  "That bastard. I can't wait to lock him up and throw away the key."

  "He ditched some food and other supplies when he took off. Left a lot of crap behind. He must have re
ally made himself comfortable. There are even cigar wrappers and some empty liquor bottles down there." She paused and looked towards the road that wound uphill. "There's a pickup truck pulled off on the side of the road up there with both right side tires shot out. Here," she said, holding out her hand. "You forgot to police your brass."

  Chagrined, he held out his hand and she dropped the shell casings into his palm.

  "I guess you were in a hurry, but I figured you might want them," she said with a smirk. "Let's keep our team members and the local sheriff's office on a need-to-know basis. I don't want to waste any time filing unnecessary reports on damages to private property."

  "Thanks," he muttered. Rodriguez was thorough, he'd give her that, but he sure didn't need her to chastise him. God knew how many times she'd stepped well over the line.

  "An evidence team will be out from Roanoke soon. People are going to ask why Toricello chose to hide in your house." She turned to face him and asked pointedly, "Who told him you had a place here that was unoccupied?"

  Her continued references to the suspect hiding out in his house irritated him. She obviously thought Diane or her friends had supplied the information. They glared at one another for a long moment.

  "Why didn't you hang around and nail him?" she hissed. "We could be wrapping this case up right now."

  "I wasn't alone. I couldn't risk something happening to..."

  "Yeah, let me guess. You had your girlfriend here and you didn't want her getting hurt. Right?" Rodriguez's dark eyebrows arched.

  "Yeah, that's right. Diane was with me," he said defiantly.

  "Some of her pals from that little town upstate are here too. You aware of that?"

  He nodded and sighed. "Yes, but they've got nothing to do with Toricello."

  She snorted. "Yeah, sure. What a coincidence. You know they're all connected somehow. Why would they all be down here where the Blowtorch is holed up?"

  "It's just a coincidence," he insisted, knowing this response would sound lame to anyone in law enforcement.