Death By Chocolate 6 (Mystery and Women Sleuths) (Josiah Reynolds Mysteries)

by Abigail Keam

  “No good deed goes unpunished,” murmured Charles.

  “Thank you, Charles,” I said, reaching for a Bourbon neat being offered on a silver tray. “How was Thanksgiving?”

  “Just fine. We have a wonderful time with all the family together. I’d take it that Lady Elsmere was not too much of a burden,” chatted Charles.

  “I’m sitting right here, Charles,” rebuked Lady Elsmere. “I’m old, but I can hear fine.”

  “I know,” Charles replied before leaving the room with a smile on his face. He loved to tease June.

  “He thinks just because he’s my heir that he can torment me.”

  “You mean by not kowtowing to your every whim? If you don’t want Charles, I’ll take him. I simply adore him.”

  June waved her hand in dismissal at me. “You couldn’t afford him for a week, let alone full time. Let’s get back to Ginny Wheelwright. Now that’s juicy. What did you say when she told you to piss off?”

  “Nothing. I’m not going to get into a catfight with a grieving mother. I picked up my cane and left, hoping that she’ll come to her senses sooner or later.”

  “So you think Dwight Wheelwright died in a fishing accident and is lying at the bottom of the Cumberland Falls?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said that I thought Selena’s grief was real.”

  “But you think that Dwight is dead?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know what to think. None of this makes any sense.”

  “What about the chocolate horse? Doesn’t it seem strange that it had blood on it and that Selena threw it in the garbage on the day Dwight went missing?”

  “That has bothered me as well as Dwight’s cap being found in the water six weeks after he went missing and that it looked new.”

  “How do you know that it was Dwight’s cap?”

  “His name was written on the underside with a permanent marker.”

  “I think he ran off with another woman.”

  “You always think things have to do with sex.”

  “Well, don’t they?” replied June, looking snide.

  “I’m just going to ignore that. If your bones weren’t so brittle, you’d still be bouncing on the sheets.”

  “You really need to get a checkup, Josiah. A woman your age is not ready to ‘give it all up.’ You’re only fifty-one.”

  I chuckled. “The last thing I need is a man.”

  “You’re not bad looking since your friend Irene cleaned you up and Franklin took over buying your clothes.”

  “If any man saw me naked, he’d go blind.”

  “That nice-looking Choctaw from Oklahoma seemed to be interested.”

  “And he ran home to his ex-wife the first chance he got.”

  Lady Elsmere sighed. “At least you got some before he left town.”

  “Can we stay on point?”

  “If you aren’t going to give me any juicy details, then we need to hurry. I might fall asleep any moment from the sheer dullness of that thing you call your life.”

  “Well, now I’ve forgotten why I came to talk to you,” I muttered.

  It didn’t matter, for Lady Elsmere was nodding off in her chair.

  Sighing with frustration, I tiptoed to the library door.

  “Love you,” whispered the wizened old lady.

  “Love you too, you old bat,” I returned, looking affectionately at June.

  She was fast asleep.

  17

  It was an unusually warm day in December. Since the temperature was hovering around sixty degrees, I checked on the bees.

  Lighting my smoker, I quietly lifted the outer cover of the hive, smoking the hole of the inner cover before putting the lid down. After waiting a minute, I took the outer cover off and poured more smoke down the hole of the inner cover again.

  Since there was no one to help me, I had to put down my smoker and take off the inner cover with my hive tool.

  It didn’t get any better than this. The bees were calm and regarded me with benign indifference.

  With the hive tool, I scraped off some burr comb before pulling out a frame and inspecting it. The bees looked fat and happy clinging to the frame that held honey, pollen and baby bees. There was no sign of disease . . . or the Queen for that matter. But Queens are rarely seen, as they like to hide.

  Lowering my face close to the bees, I took a deep breath, trying to sniff out any bad odors, which signal something foul. Nothing amiss.

  Before closing the hive, I put patties of bee pollen on top of the nine frames as a little added precaution in case the bees ran out of food during the winter. I’d rather be safe than sorry when it comes to my bees’ health.

  As a final inspection, I tried to move the hive with my knee. If it didn’t move, the bees had plenty of honey. If the hive shifted, then the bees needed to be fed sugar water, as they would starve without it. (I refuse to use corn syrup.) Most beekeepers lose hives in February due to starvation more than any other cause. That’s why I always put in extra pollen patties . . . just in case.

  I had worked fifteen hives when I felt my cell phone vibrate. (Honeybees do not take kindly to noise.) Since I couldn’t use it while wearing my bee suit, I jumped in my little golf cart and moved some distance away from the bee yard, and removed my veil.

  “Hello? Hello? Darn it.” I had missed the call. I then struggled to remember how to get a voice message. Finally I punched in the right code and listened to the message. Immediately, I returned the call.

  “Selena?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Reynolds! Thank goodness you returned my call. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Ginny was over here making all sorts of threats. She’s totally off her rocker. I told her if she didn’t stop with this nonsense about Dwight, I wasn’t going to let her see the baby. I thought she was going to hit me. You should have seen Ginny’s face.

  “Mrs. Reynolds, can you talk to her? If she doesn’t calm down, I’m going to have to issue a restraining order. I’m beginning to fear for my safety.”

  “Did you call the police?” I inquired.

  “No, but I will if she comes back. I really will.”

  “Selena, lock your doors. Then sit down and have a nice cup of hot tea. That will do wonders to calm your nerves,” I advised.

  “I can’t talk to Ginny today. I’m working my bees, but I will see what I can do. But I’m not promising anything, you understand.”

  “I would be so grateful if you can do anything with her. I don’t want to hurt Ginny, but she has got to stop or I am going to lose my mind!” Selena pleaded.

  “I understand. I know her pastor. Maybe he can talk to her.”

  “That would be wonderful. Just any help at all would be great. I don’t want to cause trouble with Ginny. I’m very fond of her and wouldn’t like to see her get into trouble. Thanks so much, Mrs. Reynolds. I knew I could count on you.”

  The phone went silent. So Selena could count on me, eh. Well, I would see about that.

  18

  “I didn’t threaten her. Not really threaten, I mean,” justified Ginny, standing defiantly in the middle of her living room.

  “You must have done something to make her mad.”

  “It’s none of your beeswax.”

  “Very funny. Look, I’m trying to help you, Ginny, but I getting tired of you being a bitch. You asked me to help you and that’s what I’ve been trying to do, but you are being as difficult as difficult can be. I’m done with you if you don’t straighten up. I mean it,” I threatened.

  Ginny looked at me with undisguised hatred before exploding into tears. She looked like a fountain with all that water and her glass eye flipping in her eye socket for effect.

  I had the sudden urge to laugh, but knew it would be in poor taste. Biting my lip, I tried to stifle the mirth I felt sliding up my esophagus threatening to escape my mouth. She just looked so pitiful.

  As if to add to this comic scene, the
glass eye kept flipping so fast that it finally popped out and hit me in the face.

  Suddenly Ginny was gasping for breath and grabbing at her chest.

  Now – that wasn’t funny. I helped her into a chair.

  “Ginny! Ginny! What’s wrong? Are you having a heart attack?”

  “Don’t know. Jo, find my eye for me.”

  I looked about and spied it under a chair. With my cane, I fished it out and handed it to her.

  Sucking the eye clean, Ginny then put it back in her eye socket. Blinking, she got the eye side to flip up.

  “I’m going to call 911,” I uttered, looking around for a phone.

  Ginny grabbed my arm. “Don’t. I feel better now. I don’t think it was a heart attack. Just stress.”

  “I think a doctor should see you.”

  “I promise to go tomorrow. Just sit with me for a while, will ya, Jo?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied wearily. “I really think you should see someone today.”

  “Get me a glass of water, hon, and I’ll tell you why I’m so angry with Selena.”

  I hurried into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water for her. Pulling up a chair, I sat next to Ginny and felt her pulse. It seemed to be normal, as did her color, and she wasn’t breathing hard any more.

  After taking several sips, she handed the glass back to me. “I know I’m being a bother.” She grabbed my hand. “Jo, you gotta believe me. A mother knows. Something is very wrong and it starts in my son’s house. I know it has something to do with Selena. I bet my life on it.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t agree, Ginny. I’m sorry, but there it is.”

  Ginny pulled away and was lost in thought.

  I was tired of all the drama, but I didn’t want to leave her in this state. I was racking my brains for someone to call to take over. I had done my part.

  “Jo? Let’s say you’re right that Selena had nothing to do with Dwight’s disappearance.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Would you look at the police file and tell me what you think?”

  “You should really talk to the detectives working the case, or hire a private investigator.”

  “Their minds don’t work like yours.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They follow rules. You ain’t got no rules.”

  19

  “You really gotta refine that interrogation technique of yours,” laughed Detective Goetz. “This makes how many people who have needed medical attention after talking with you?

  “First there was your husband, who after a fight with you, has a heart attack and dies.”

  “That’s a low blow. His death wasn’t my fault,” I protested.

  “Then there was a guy named Ison Taggert who didn’t even wait until you left, but has a heart attack in front of you,” Goetz countered.

  “He had a panic attack. How do you know about him anyway?”

  “I have connections with the Richmond police. He needed to go to the hospital . . . right? Now your friend, Ginny Wheelwright. Remind me not to get into a heated discussion with you.”

  “Her doctor said it was due to stress and high blood pressure. Ginny’s a ticking time bomb unless she slows down.”

  “Again, while talking with you. That’s the point. You’re a walking dip stick of misery.”

  “A dip stick of misery. Let me write that down. That’s sheer poetry. Are you going to look into Dwight Wheelwright’s disappearance or not?” I demanded.

  “No. We did our part. It’s up to the boys at the State Police and Whitley County to do theirs. But I can tell you that they did their job. There is nothing more to do until a body is found or Dwight Wheelwright pops up alive somewhere.”

  “Let’s say he is murdered for a reason and not due to a botched robbery. Whom would you suspect?”

  “His mother. She had the motive of the life insurance policy.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Ginny couldn’t harm a fly let alone her own flesh and blood,” I hissed.

  “You’d be surprised what people will do for money, regardless of blood ties.”

  “What about his wife, Selena?”

  “No motive. His daughter gets the money, which is held in trust until she is eighteen. But I really don’t think his relatives killed him. You know that. He was killed by a stranger in Whitley County and is buried in the forest. He may have stumbled upon a marijuana patch in the woods and was killed over that . . . or a robbery that went down bad. He was driving a sweet pickup. Maybe someone wanted his ride, then got scared and ran off.”

  “And you think that because Dwight’s hat was found weeks after his disappearance?”

  “Why the rehash? I’ve told you all this before. You must be fishing for something. Let’s change the subject. I shouldn’t be talking with you about the case anyway.” Goetz eyed the cake carrier I was holding in my lap. “Is that my lemon pound cake?”

  “Yes,” I replied in a deflated voice as I handed the cake carrier to him.

  “Explain to Ginny Wheelwright that everything that could be done has been done. Until we get a break, it remains a cold case.”

  I got up to leave. “Goetz. You don’t think I was really responsible for my husband’s death, do you?”

  Goetz lifted his weary hound-dog face.

  I had never noticed before what an intense blue his eyes were.

  “I think you were so in love with your husband that you didn’t recognize him for the jerk that he was. He got himself into a jam with a younger woman and couldn’t find a way out, so he just took himself out of the game. That’s all there was to it.”

  “You sound like you knew him.”

  “As a matter of fact, Josiah, I did know him.” Goetz was quiet for a moment, and then he added, “I didn’t like him.”

  20

  After the meeting with Goetz, I still had enough energy to pick up a few things from the grocery store.

  Maybe it was fate, kismet or whatever you want to call it, but I ran into the lab technician who had run the tests on Dwight’s chocolate centerpiece.

  “Oh, hi. Do you remember me? I did the tests on the chocolate horse centerpiece.” She blocked my path to the fresh produce.

  “Yes. Funny running into you. Do you live near here?” I’m always suspicious when I just bump into people.

  She gave me a big smile. “I live at the apartments across the street. It’s Mrs. Reynolds, right?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry but I don’t remember your name.”

  “It’s Charlotte. I’m glad I ran into you. I was going to give you a call.”

  “My check didn’t bounce, did it?”

  Charlotte gave a short laugh that sounded like little silver bells tinkling. I don’t know why they had to be silver, but the color seemed appropriate.

  “I forgot to give you something along with the report.”

  “What is it?” I asked, intrigued.

  “I found human hair on the chocolate caked in the blood. I put the hairs in a vial and meant to put it in the return container, but it was a busy day and I forgot. So I was going to mail it to you. I’m very sorry for the mix-up. I hope you don’t report me to my boss.”

  “No, I won’t report you. Do you remember if the hair was from the same person or different people?”

  Charlotte put her finger to her mouth, remembering. “There were only four hairs, short, brown.”

  “Did you do a DNA profile on them?”

  “No, that wasn’t asked for. There was nothing on the application that requested hair sampling.”

  “Can you do an DNA profile on them?”

  “Of course,” Charlotte responded cheerfully.

  “Can you compare DNA from another strand of hair if provided?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Do me a favor, will ya, Charlotte?” I asked.

  “If it’s not illegal,” she answered, grinning.

  “Keep the hair. I’m going to find another sample and have a complete DNA ana
lysis done.”

  “Super.” Charlotte gave a quizzical look.

  “This could be the answer to the disappearance of a friend of mine.”

  “Cool. Just like CSI. Just ask for me to do the sampling. It’s Charlotte. Can you remember that?”

  I repeated her name. “Yes. Thank you, Charlotte.”

  “Bye.”

  I hurried to my car, but by the time I found a piece of paper, I had forgotten her name.

  Jumping Jehosaphat!

  21

  After racking my brain trying to remember the technician’s name, I remembered that I had not gotten any groceries. So into the store I marched again with a list that Eunice had written for me. She was cooking for me once a week and storing the dinners in the walk-in freezer. So all I had to do was nuke them.

  This was on top of her duties planning and executing the tours and receptions now held at the Butterfly.

  I don’t really see how she did it all.

  But her cooking saved me from a lot of stress as I couldn’t stand very long, and it was too frustrating to cook. Besides, with my short-term memory loss, I couldn’t recall recipes any more.

  After my fall, nothing with my body was the same as before. One never appreciates good health until it fails. Well, let’s not dwell on that. It’s too depressing.

  Putting the groceries in the front passenger’s seat (so I wouldn’t forget them), I looked up and noticed a dark blue sedan with tinted windows parked not too far from me. It looked like the same blue sedan that I had seen on other occasions.

  Was someone following me?

  Were there two cars that looked alike?

  Was it coincidence?

  Was I losing my mind?

  It was time I found out for sure.

  Gathering a pad and pencil which I slid into my coat pocket, I walked my grocery cart, presumably over to its collection bin. Somehow the cart slipped out of my hands and rolled toward the blue sedan, hitting it square on its bumper. It made a little dent. (Funny how that happened as the cart had to roll uphill. Maybe it had been pushed a little bit.) No one jumped out of the car in outrage to inspect the damage. Assured that no one was in the car, I retrieved the cart and sidled my way to the back of the sedan where I quickly wrote down the license plate number.