Josiah Reynolds Box Set 4

by Abigail Keam

  I shook my head wearily. “What is the point?”

  “What are you going to do about my brother?”

  “I’m not doing anything about your brother,” I replied.

  “He’s the injured party here.”

  “So you say.”

  Franklin fired back, “So he is.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I told you what my brother told me.”

  “Again, so what?”

  “Are you implying my brother lies or has bad intentions?”

  I shrugged.

  “My brother and I have many differences, but Hunter is a man of honor.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “You beat all, you know that, Josiah?” Franklin left my bedroom, slamming the door with such force a painting fell off the wall.

  Merde!

  24

  I put the entire unpleasant incident behind me. I was busy harvesting honey. It took me two days to harvest the honey and another day to extract the honey from the frames.

  I hate extracting honey from the honeycomb. It’s a messy, sticky business. Plus all the bees smell the honey, and are constantly banging against the windows of the honey house, trying to gain access to honey–their honey.

  To get bees away from the honey house, I put the empty frames out in a field for them to clean the honey residue and take it back to the hives. Worked like a charm.

  Now the honey was harvested, I needed to strain it, getting out all the bits of combs and other bee debris still in it. Some customers like bee debris left in the honey, thinking it makes the honey more beneficial, but I don’t.

  I like a clean-looking honey. I don’t mind microscopic bits of pollen and beeswax, but I don’t like seeing stuff with the naked eye, even though honey never goes bad because of the hydrogen peroxide in it. That’s right–hydrogen peroxide. The bees make it.

  Aren’t honeybees fabulous!

  Honey never goes bad, even when it crystallizes. Only Americans insist on eating honey in its liquid form. Other cultures eat honey in its crystallized state, or after it’s been whipped into a butter-like paste.

  After spending the entire day in the honey house, I made my way back to the Butterfly, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and something to eat.

  Low and behold, a red Avanti was in my driveway. Walter Neff was back in town.

  I had sent him to Charleston, South Carolina, where Sandy Sloan mentioned she had kinfolk.

  Walter must have something to report.

  I hurried to the house.

  25

  Walter was rummaging through my refrigerator with Baby and Georgie sitting patiently beside him, wagging their tails, hoping for a treat.

  “Walter, how did you get into the house?”

  Without missing a beat, Walter replied, “Picked the lock. You got any mustard to go with this roast beef? I like the spicy brown mustard.”

  I went into the pantry and retrieved mustard, potato chips, and Ale-8, a local soft drink, which Walter liked.

  Walter happily slapped his sandwich and dill pickles on a plate. “Put some mustard on my sandwich while I fix my drink, will ya, Toots?”

  I dutifully put mustard and mayo on his sandwich while Walter fussed around, putting ice in a glass for his soft drink.

  Since he looked tired, I didn’t pepper Walter with questions, but I was aching to know what he had found out in Charleston–if anything.

  We both realized it would be a long shot when Walter left, but maybe he had discovered something important.

  Leaving Walter in the great room eating with his two canine companions begging for a morsel of his sandwich, I went to shower and change my clothes.

  After cleaning myself up, I hurried to talk with Walter only to find him in the guest bedroom sleeping the sleep of the angels, with Baby and Georgie on the bed snoring alongside him. At least he had taken his shoes off before dropping into bed.

  Drat!

  Resigning myself to waiting, I retrieved Walter’s bag from the car and washed his dirty clothes. While he lived with me, I had washed Walter’s nasty underwear more times than I cared to remember. Besides, Walter didn’t have anything I hadn’t seen before, and I always used a disinfectant in the washer afterwards. You can’t be too careful with Walter.

  After I washed, dried, and folded his clothes, I went out and gave his Avanti a quick wash, knowing my gravel road always threw dust on his prized possession. Besides, I took the opportunity to snoop in his car.

  Nothing. Ah, shoot.

  Now I was exhausted and dirty again, but I went to bed filthy.

  I’d see Walter in the morning.

  Good night, y’all.

  26

  I awoke to the smell of bacon frying and Baby barking–not his warning bark, but the “I want bacon” bark.

  Sore from all the hard work I had done the past week, I took a hot shower, trying to work out the kinks in my back while planning my day. I still had to bottle honey and stick labels on the jars.

  But first I needed to find out what Walter had discovered.

  “Morning,” said Walter rather cheerfully. “I made breakfast for us.”

  “So I see.”

  “Sit down. Sit down. The eggs are ready.”

  I sat down while Walter served bacon and scrambled eggs. The table was already set with plates, silverware, orange juice, and butter for the toast.

  After serving, Walter joined me and began eating with relish.

  I hate to admit it, but the bacon was the way I liked it, and the eggs cooked soft. It was a good meal to start the day, but as I was eating I wondered how long this game of cat and mouse would last. Finally, I blurted, “Dang it, Walter. The suspense is killing me. What did you find out?”

  Grinning, Walter leaned over and chucked me under the chin. “You were right to send me to Charleston.”

  “Walter, I’m gonna stab you with my fork if you don’t spill.”

  “You’re always threatening me.”

  “WALTER!”

  Walter stood up and pulled a parcel from behind the couch. He handed it to me.

  It was a rectangular package. I looked at him expectantly. “It can’t be.”

  “It is.”

  I carefully unwrapped the package and studied the contents. It was a small painting of a lovely seascape with two S’s at the bottom–Sandy Sloan’s signature.

  Since I had helped Sandy catalogue all her paintings, I knew this painting had to be recent.

  Sandy Sloan was alive!

  27

  “Did you talk with Sandy?” I asked, staring at the painting in my hands.

  Walter leaned back, looking smug. “No, but I tailed her for a couple of days. The broad didn’t have a clue she was being followed. Here’s her address.” He tossed over a piece of paper with her address and phone.

  “Is she living under an assumed name?”

  He shook his head. “Mrs. Sloan is using her real name and walking around as free as you please.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I first contacted her kinfolk. She has an older half-brother living in the area. He said he didn’t know where Sandy was and hadn’t seen her for years. I’ve been in this business a long time. I know when folks are lying. I watched the brother’s house, but nothing. So I started hitting all the galleries in the area and found one that carried her paintings.

  “I acted like I really liked her work and wanted to meet the artist. Since I bought the painting, the gallery owner told me she had a little street kiosk near some sweetgrass basket artists on Saturday mornings for several hours during the tourist season.

  “I waited till Saturday and went to the location given. From my car, I made an identification from the picture you gave me. I followed her home. She lives in Folly Beach.” He pointed to the piece of paper he had given me. “That’s her address and phone. Now I’ve done what you asked. We’re even.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Walter. If you will give me your receip
ts, I will write you a check before you leave this morning.”

  Walter looked crestfallen, but I ignored it. I knew he wanted to stay, but I couldn’t have that. Instead, I asked, “Why didn’t you talk to her?”

  “I’m not going to confront a crazy woman who might have killed her husband. That wasn’t part of the deal. You asked me to see if Sandy Sloan was still alive and I did.”

  “So you know about Toby? They found his body after you left.”

  “Of course I do. I’m a professional.”

  “Did you contact the police about Sandy?”

  “Not part of the job description. You’re going to have to make that call,” Walter added.

  I was thankful. “I’m glad you didn’t call the police. I think I might go see Sandy and see what she has to say.

  She might not know her house has burned or that Toby is dead.”

  “Why can’t I stay? You have this big, empty house with all these bedrooms, and the dogs love me.”

  Ignoring Walter’s whining, I asked, “Where are your receipts?”

  Looking perturbed, Walter answered, “On your desk in a folder.”

  “If you wait, I’ll write you a check now. Thank you for breakfast. You cook up some mean eggs.” I rose and went into my study, finding the folder. Quickly calculating the receipts, I saw the total was a little more than expected, but every item seemed on the up-and-up. I wrote the check and took it to Walter, but he was not in the great room. I checked the guest bedroom. Not there either. I checked outside.

  His Avanti was gone.

  Walter must have been really upset, since he left without his check. He was all about money.

  Oh well, he’d get over it as soon as he cooled down. Walter would eventually see it was impossible for him to live at the Butterfly.

  I put the check in an envelope, and put it with the outgoing mail. Then I filed the entire matter in the back of my mind. I had more honey to bottle for my next stint at the Farmer’s Market.

  I would think about Sandy Sloan and Walter Neff later.

  Big mistake.

  28

  I was weeding my herb garden when I heard a rustling. Looking up, I saw Hunter meandering through the dirt pathway toward me.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello,” I replied, taking off my gloves.

  “Got a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s sit on the bench.”

  Hunter took my basket and laid it aside as we sat down. “I want to apologize for the other day. At the time, I didn’t understand why you had such a visceral reaction to seeing Ellen.”

  “You’re on a first-name basis with her?”

  “What should I call her?”

  “Witch would be a good word, if you began it with the letter b.”

  Hunter grinned. “I really didn’t know about the history between the two of you. If I had known, I never would have agreed to meet with her before our date.”

  “Thank you for the apology. I’m sorry too. I overreacted. I don’t know what happened. As soon as I saw her sitting with you, I lost my breath and my heart started pounding.”

  “It was a panic attack.”

  “You think so?”

  Hunter nodded as he put his hand over mine.

  I didn’t pull away.

  “It was a full-blown attack.”

  I didn’t reply, because I needed to think about what Hunter said. The mere sight of Ellen should not have caused such an extreme reaction. I had behaved childishly.

  Hunter continued, “Franklin filled me in on what happened between you and your late husband, Brannon. It sounded like a pretty nasty state of affairs.”

  “Brannon’s behavior was perfectly awful.”

  “And you blame Ellen for it?”

  “Yes and no. I’m sure she egged him on, but Brannon never did anything he didn’t want to do. He wanted to hurt me a great deal after he left–and he did.

  “Did you ever find out why?”

  “I tracked Brannon to Keeneland one day and confronted him. The only thing he would tell me was that he didn’t love me anymore, in fact, he hated me.”

  “That must have been hurtful to discover.”

  “I didn’t feel anything for days. I guess I was in shock or denial, but later, when I bounced back, I made the divorce brutal for him. Ellen claims the stress of the divorce proceedings ruined his health and caused his heart attack. She may be right.”

  “So the divorce was never finalized?”

  “No, I’m officially a widow, but I could never find our liquid assets. He hid them very well. I guess Ellen is enjoying the money I earned from thirty years of hard work. Brannon cleaned out our joint accounts and sold off our stock options before he left.”

  Inwardly, I winced. The entire mess of my divorce was embarrassing, so why was I telling Hunter? I decided to be more positive. “That’s old history. I didn’t have it as bad as some women who were cheated in a divorce. I had the farm, my bees, my daughter, and good friends who helped me through.”

  “I now see how I was played by her.”

  “I thought you knew about us.”

  “The only thing Franklin told me was that you were a widow.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  “I’ve never known Franklin to be so discreet.”

  Hunter chuckled. “Frightening, isn’t it?” He gave my hand a little squeeze. “I want to tell you something else.”

  I looked expectantly at him.

  “I didn’t buy a horse from Ellen’s stable. I bought a horse from another farm.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you for that.”

  “Which brings me to ask a favor of you. I don’t have time at the moment to take care of the horse. I was wondering if you have room to board her until the stables at Wickliffe Manor are repaired.”

  “I think so.”

  “That’s settled. I’ll bring her over in the next couple of days.”

  “No problem. I’m glad we set things right. Acrimony between us didn’t sit right with me.”

  “I have one more piece of jam to put on your bread.”

  Not liking the serious look on Hunter’s face, I braced myself.

  “I was at the police station this morning and overheard several officers talking. It seems someone tipped them off that Sandy Sloan is alive and living in South Carolina’s low country. They’re bringing her back as a person of interest in Toby Sloan’s death and the arson of their house.”

  “So Toby didn’t commit suicide.”

  “It appears not. Toby was shot by a shotgun on the left side of the face with the driver’s window three-fourths up. There was no way he could have maneuvered that type of big gun with the window closed. The police think he was shot with the window open and then the killer closed it, leaving enough space at the top to allow the truck to fill with water and sink when it went into the river. The killer kept the gun when he left the scene.”

  “Do you think Sandy did it?” I asked.

  “She is their number-one suspect in her husband’s death. I say, oh boy, watch out.”

  I turned my face away from Hunter, afraid my expression might betray my complicity concerning Sandy.

  Oh Walter, Walter. What have you done?

  29

  Three days later, I was sitting across from Sandy Sloan in the Fayette County Detention Center, which was built to look like a horse barn.

  “Josiah, it’s so good to see a friendly face,” said Sandy, looking haggard.

  “Did Shaneika Mary Todd come to see you?” I asked.

  “Yes, this morning. Thank you for recommending her.”

  “Are you going to retain her?”

  Sandy pursed her lips for a moment and then sucked on a finger before speaking. “It looks like I’ll have to. Ms. Todd said they might charge me for arson. I don’t see why. The house wasn’t insured.” Tears pooled in Sandy’s eyes.

  “You set the house on fire?”


  “Ms. Todd said I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  “Have the police talked to you about Toby?”

  She began to cry. “Josiah, I didn’t hurt Toby. I didn’t even know he was dead. I swear it on the Bible.” She heaved big sobs of misery. Tears fell at a copious rate and stained her inmate uniform.

  A guard warned that if she didn’t control herself, Sandy would have to go back to her cell.

  “Can I give her a handkerchief?” I asked the guard.

  He nodded yes.

  Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a hanky and gave it to Sandy while the guard watched closely.

  “Pull yourself together, or they’re going to make me leave.”

  Sandy blew her nose twice.

  The guard made her give the hanky back, so I put the nasty, wet thing in my pocket.

  “Sandy, I don’t have much time,” I said, glancing at the guard.

  Sandy also glanced at the guard while leaning toward me.

  The guard slapped his nightstick against the wall in a warning. “No touching.”

  We both sat up straight in our chairs.

  “How’s Georgie? You still have her?”

  Smiling, I nodded. “She’s fine, Sandy. I’ll keep her until you get out of this place. Georgie has missed you terribly.”

  “I wanted to take her with me, but how could I?

  I was afraid she’d get hurt somehow.”

  “So you did set the house on fire?”

  Sandy avoided eye contact by looking down at the table. “Josiah, did the police find Toby’s watch? It was my father’s old Omega Seamaster watch, and he set great store by it. I’d like to have it back.”

  “I don’t know if they found his watch, Sandy. Other things are more important than your father’s watch at the moment. I think you should concentrate on how you’re going to answer the police when they come calling. They will want to know why you would set the house on fire with your paintings and cash inside, and then why your husband shows up dead.”

  “If I did–and I’m not saying that I did–it was because I had to leave Toby, you see. I had made my mind up months previously that I was going to leave him. I found out he had been adulterating my medication, trying to make me look crazy.”