A woman comes hurrying from the direction of the administration building higher on the hill. She arrives on the spot just in time to prevent the troop from storming up the stairs to the servants’ apartment in their game.
She pushes an errant blond curl back from her face. “Where are your parents?” she inquires as she physically blocks the doorway.
The Red Head glances toward the little girl then steps forward. “We want to go up.”
“I’m sure you do. But you can only go with adult supervision.”
“We don’t need supervision.” He puffs out his chest, the challenge clear in his eyes.
Dear, dear. The little ruffian is going all out to impress.
The blonde, obviously an employee of the museum, tries to hide her amusement.
The front door of the Little White House opens and Tammy Lynn steps out with her sorority sister, Amelia, in tow. She looks up the sloping hillside and sees the confrontation.
“Lila!”
The blonde turns, shades her eyes against the angle of the sun, and smiles. “Tammy! I didn’t know you had arrived.”
Tammy hurries up the walkway to the guest cottage and servants’ quarters. Amelia follows on her heels. They catch the blonde up in a three-way hug as they jump up and down and squeal like little kids.
Well, this is certainly a side of Tammy that I haven’t seen before.
“Oh, Lila! It’s so good to see you!”
“I’ve been looking forward to this week. Why didn’t you ask for me at the admissions office?” Lila’s cheeks are pink with enthusiasm and the smile on her face changes her attractive features into something altogether quite stunning.
“We knew you were working and didn’t want to disrupt your day. Besides, it’s been ages since I took the tour of the site.”
The little boys begin sword fighting on the bricked patio that connects the guest quarters and the servants’ quarters. Lila sighs. “Excuse me for a moment.”
She shushes the boys and with hands on hips, demands, again, to know where their parents are.
The gang of four look at each other and shrug.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait for them at the admissions office with me. Surely they’ll come looking for you at some point.” She takes her cell phone from her pocket and presses a button. “Oscar, could you join me at the guest house, please?” She puts the phone back in the pocket of her skirt. Stares the boys down and says, “Don’t move.”
The moment Lila turns back to her friends, the quartet sprint toward the guard houses further up the rise, over the bumper gates, and are last seen racing toward the avenue of the states’ stones.
Lila sighs and laughs. “I’ll have to send Oscar after them.”
“They’re just being boys,” Tammy says.
“I know and I hate to have to discipline them but this is a museum and it’s my job. It’s one thing to enjoy the outdoor elements but they were getting out of hand. And, as usual, the parents are nowhere to be found.” She gives a wave of her hand. “But forget about them. Come on and let’s do the exhibit.” As she links her arm with Tammy, she sees the little girl and the dog.
“Teagan, I didn’t know you were down here.” She motions for her to come forward. “You remember my friends, don’t you? Tammy and Amelia?”
Teagan smiles shyly but says nothing.
“We’re going to my office to have a cup of tea and make plans for our week-end. Want to help us?”
Teagan looks at Lila then up the tree where I’m perched.
“Ah,” says Tammy. “I see you’ve met Trouble.”
Upon hearing my name, Teagan gives Tammy a sharp, quick look to see if she’s teasing.
“Well,” Lila says, “you and Fergus can stay here with Trouble but don’t tease him.”
Fergus. What kind of name is that for a dog? Obviously, he doesn’t seem to mind as his ears perk up and he wags his short tail. Dogs are so easy.
I hope he and Teagan don’t think I’m here for their entertainment. In truth, I’m not sure why Tammy decided to bring me to Calloway Gardens on this annual gathering of her sorority sisters. I have no doubt that I’ll be bored stiff.
The female of the biped species is even more inexplicable than male humans. But they do have the advantage of opposable thumbs which can come in handy. And, I must say, the food at the Lodge has been splendid so I shall tolerate Tammy’s whimsical decision to bring me along.
Tammy and her friends head up the hill toward the main building of the museum complex, talking over each other in their excitement to be together. I climb a branch higher as Fergus barks. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly.
No sooner than Tammy and company are out of sight, the gang of pre-adolescent males reappear like a locust plague.
The Red Head has a look of purpose in his eyes. Denied the stairwell a few minutes earlier by the park ranger Tammy calls Lila, he has returned with his motley crew to storm the bastille of the servants’ cottage.
As the boys clatter up the wooden steps, the Scottish terrier rises to his feet, his body aquiver with indignation. Very admirable, I dare say, for a dog.
The little girl, Teagan, stands her ground for a moment longer until the cries of jubilation from the boys change to a note of surprise, then outrage.
“Hey, you!” It’s the voice of the Red Head. “You can’t do that!”
The words, “I’m telling,” ring out from another juvenile male and Teagan and the terrier run up the stairs as one of the boys scampers down. With a quick look over his shoulder, he races off in the direction of the main building of the museum.
A sharp bark from the terrier brings me down from my perch high in the dogwood tree as two more boys clamor down the steps. Obviously, it’s time for cool heads to prevail. Mine, of course.
The moment I cross the threshold of the doorway leading onto the stairs, I know something foul is afoot. Not only am I a sleuth of great renown, but one who possesses all the finely honed senses of my species. Yes, I am that cat, son of Familiar, disciple of Sherlock Holmes, and my sensitive nose tells me a body lies above.
On the small platform at the top of the stairs, Teagan, the Red Head, and Fergus stare through the plexiglass barrier that prohibits tourists from entering the display. From this vantage point, the living room with a pot-bellied stove, a small kitchen annex, and a bedroom with a single bed are clearly visible. Also visible is a man lying on the bed on his side, facing away from us to the far wall of the bedroom. A dark stain on the pillow tells the tale.
“He’s not supposed to be there. No one is supposed to be there,” the Red Head protests indignantly.
Teagan is quiet for a moment. Her gaze travels over the surface of the protective barrier. “How did he get in?”
I look up at her with a smidgen of admiration. Crikey, if she isn’t a cool one, and sharp. A budding junior detective, perhaps? She is correct in her observation. There is no discernable means of access into the preserved space of the living quarters. The barrier is floor to ceiling so not even I could slither over or under it. So, how did the killer get the body into the room?
I sniff along the base of the barrier. It’s a custom fit. Designed, no doubt, to not only keep foot traffic at bay, but to preserve the old furnishings from the elements of Georgia’s often muggy weather and varied vermin species. Surely there is some way for the rangers who staff the museum to gain access. I must discover how.
Adult voices signal the approach of Lila, Tammy, and a male. The intermingled chatter of high-pitched pre-pubescent males clamors for supremacy. The cavalry has arrived.
* * *
“How could this happen, Oscar? How did he get in there?” Lila Sanderson schooled her voice to hide the panic she felt. The man lying in the middle of a museum display was definitely dead. If the lack of movement from their attempts to get his attention wasn’t enough, the dark reddish stain on the pillow confirmed his status.
“Why are you asking me? I’m not in charge
of the displays.” Oscar was clearly distancing himself from any responsibility for a breach in the museum’s security. “All I do is keep an eye on the tourists when we’re open.”
Lila had her cell phone out and had already punched in the number for Warm Springs Police Department. Clay Bishop answered the phone and Lila mentally rolled her eyes. The patrolman had been trying to get her to go out with him for several months. He was good looking and knew it. Her refusals had only increased his determination.
“Hi, Clay, it’s Lila over at the museum.”
“Well, hello, Lila. Change your mind about the Memorial Day picnic?”
“We have a dead body at the museum.”
Clay chuckled.
“No, seriously, Clay. There’s a dead body on the bed in the servants’ quarters above the garage. I think there’s blood.”
She heard the change in his voice. “Are you sure?”
“Well, no. I mean he might be alive but he’s not moving. He doesn’t respond when we call out to him.”
“Have you checked for a pulse?”
“No, Clay. He’s behind the plexiglass barrier. We’re waiting for someone to bring the key down here.” She hesitated. “But I think he’s dead. There’s something about the stillness, you know? I can’t explain it.”
“Right. I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’ll have Patti call an ambulance. Don’t open the display until I get there.”
* * *
Scoop Jackson was at his desk in Atlanta, browsing through a brochure on deep sea fishing off the coast of Cancun, Mexico when he got the call. The Warm Springs Police Department had a dead body right smack dab in the middle of the FDR state museum. In a sealed room. A real Agatha Christie who dunnit.
His gaze dropped down to the bottom of the brochure and the deadline for cancellation. He had three days. Doable, he decided. How complicated could it be in a small town like Warm Springs, Georgia?
He lifted the receiver of his desk phone and dialed. Birdie answered on the second ring.
“Saddle up, Birdie. We’re off to Warm Springs.”
“Yeah? What’s the case? Accident? Poachers? Vandalism?”
“Colonel Parker in the pantry with the cleaver.”
“Murder?”
“In a locked room, no less.”
“Hot dog!”
“I’m glad you find your work so rewarding.”
“A locked room, Scoop. This is what every forensic scientist dreams of.”
“Well, stop dreaming and assemble the team. See what kind of accommodations are available in Warm Springs. We have to wrap this up in two days.”
“Ah. Fishing over the long week-end?”
“Better than that. Deep sea fishing off the coast of Cancun.”
The team consisted of Scoop, Birdie, and McFadden. As the lead on the case, Scoop felt the talents of the three of them would be sufficient to wrap things up quickly.
Accommodations were an issue in the small town. Since it was crucial to be as close to the museum as possible, Birdie booked them into the Warm Springs Bed and Breakfast in the heart of the small business district.
The hour and a half drive from Atlanta to Warm Springs took two hours. Late afternoon traffic on I-85 was a beast. Scoop drove straight through the crossroads of the town’s business district on Highway 27 to the turn-off onto Little White House Road.
Two patrol cars and a hearse sat in the parking lot at the end of the long, winding lane that led to the secluded complex that had been Franklin Roosevelt’s retreat. There were three additional cars parked together well away from the main museum building. One had a government issue tag. The staff, Scoop decided.
A patrolman stood at the top of the steps leading up from the parking lot to the entrance to the museum compound. A little girl sat one step up from the bottom of the stairs. A black scotty sat at her feet.
As he approached, the child looked up and squinted at him as she pushed a strand of long blond hair behind her ear.
“Are you the FBI?” she asked.
“No. I’m Scoop Jackson with the Georgia Department of Natural Resources Law Enforcement team.” He took his identification badge from his pocket and showed it to her. “You were expecting the FBI?”
“It’s a dead body. He was murdered.”
“Yeah? How do you know he was murdered?”
“The room can only be locked from the outside.”
“I see.”
The police officer made his way down the steps just as Birdie joined Scoop and the little girl.
“Who’s this?” Birdie set her heavy crime scene bag on the bottom step and put her hand out to the scotty to sniff.
“That’s Fergus.” The little girl stood.
“And what’s your name?”
“Teagan.”
The policeman broke in. “She’s the assistant director’s daughter.” He looked from Birdie to Scoop. “You’re the team sent to deal with the body?”
“That would be us. Scoop Jackson.” Scoop shook hands with the patrolman. “This is Birdie and bringing up the rear,” he glanced over his shoulder at the third member of their team crossing the parking lot, weighed down with various cases of equipment, “Is McFadden.”
“Clay Bishop,” the officer replied. “I was the first on the scene.”
“Who discovered the victim?”
“A bunch of kids.”
All eyes went to Teagan. The terrier stood and moved closer to her, his body aquiver from nose to tail.
Scoop crouched to bring himself down to Teagan’s level. “Well, now, I can see why you were expecting the FBI.” He glanced up at Clay Bishop then returned his attention to the little girl. “Where’s you dad?”
She buried her fingers in the dog’s hair. “He’s dead.”
“I thought—” He looked up at the patrolman.
“Her mother, Lila Sanderson, is the assistant director.”
Scoop felt the anger rising but he kept his voice calm as he spoke to the child. “How did you find the body?”
“It was the other kids. The tourists. They were playing at sword fighting and ran up the stairs to the servants’ quarters. They thought the man was sleeping.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No.”
“Why’s that?”
She thought about it a minute. “He didn’t move.” She kneaded the dog’s fur. “You could tell he wasn’t breathing.”
Scoop had received only the broad strokes of the scene with the initial phone call. Had there been blood? He had been afraid of what the child might have seen. But stillness, that was a very discerning observation.
Clay Bishop seemed to appreciate that he was losing ground with the investigative team. He cleared his throat. “We took statements from everyone who was in the park at the time. Got all their contact details. Shirley’s going through the receipts for the day, checking credit cards to identify folks who were in here earlier. So far, we’ve only found three who paid with cash.”
The door of the museum opened and a redhead stepped through with a black cat at her heels. “Teagan! Your mother is looking all over for you.” She hurried down the steps. “You were supposed to wait…” The redhead stopped as her gaze fell on Scoop. As she continued on down the steps, she said. “You were supposed to wait in the office with Shirley.”
“She was busy.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She hugged the child to her and turned to Scoop and his entourage. “Tammy,” she said. “Tammy Lynn. I’m a friend of Lila’s in town for the weekend.” She gestured toward the main building. “You’ll find her inside to the right. She’s expecting you.”
“Thanks.” Scoop started up the steps and Teagan tried to fall in step with him.
Tammy held her back. “No, sweetie. You need to stay with me.”
“But I found the body.”
“I know, but Oscar and your mother can show them where.”
“They need to take my statement.”
The look of disappointment in
her expression made Scoop stop for a moment. “Tell you what, Teagan. When we’ve had a chance to look things over, I’ll review your statement with you. I wouldn’t want to miss any important details.”
She sighed then reluctantly nodded her head.
As he continued up the steps, he could feel the gaze of the redhead boring into the back of his head. He looked over his shoulder and she quickly lowered her eyes to the child.
End of excerpt from Trouble on the Mountain
by Rebecca Barrett
Trouble Cat Mysteries #14
Trouble Cat Mysteries
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Familiar Trouble | Carolyn Haines
Trouble in Dixie | Rebecca Barrett
Trouble in Tallahassee | Claire Matturro
Trouble in Summer Valley | Susan Y. Tanner
Small Town Trouble | Laura Benedict
Trouble in Paradise | Rebecca Barrett
Turning for Trouble | Susan Y. Tanner
Trouble’s Wedding Caper | Jen Talty
Bone-a-fied Trouble | Carolyn Haines
Trouble in Action | Susan Y. Tanner
Trouble Most Faire | Jaden Terrell
A Whisper of Trouble | Susan Y. Tanner
Trouble Restored | Carolyn Haines
Trouble on the Mountain | Rebecca Barrett
Ghost of Trouble Past | Ritter Ames
The Trouble with Cupid: 10 Short Mysteries Spiced with Romance | Multiple Authors
Trouble Under the Mistletoe | e-novella | Rebecca Barrett
A Trouble’d Christmas | e-novella | Susan Y. Tanner
Year-Round Trouble: 14 Original Cozy Holiday Mysteries | Multiple Authors
Trouble Restored Page 24
