by Jessica Beck
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Pat
Chapter 3: Annie
Chapter 4: Pat
Chapter 5: Annie
Chapter 6: Pat
Chapter 7: Annie
Chapter 8: Pat
Chapter 9: Annie
Chapter 10: Pat
Chapter 11: Annie
Chapter 12: Pat
Chapter 13: Annie
Chapter 14: Pat
Chapter 15: Annie
Chapter 16: Pat
Chapter 17: Annie
Chapter 18: Pat
Chapter 19: Annie
Chapter 20: Pat
Chapter 21: Annie
Chapter 22: Pat
Chapter 23: Annie
Chapter 24: Pat
Chapter 25: Annie
Chapter 26: Pat
Recipes
JESSICA BECK
CAST IRON COVER-UP
THE THIRD CAST IRON COOKING MYSTERY
Cast Iron Cover-Up
Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Beck All rights reserved.
First Edition: October 2015
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Recipes included in this book are to be recreated at the reader’s own risk. The author is not responsible for any damage, medical or otherwise, created as a result of reproducing these recipes. It is the responsibility of the reader to ensure that none of the ingredients are detrimental to their health, and the author will not be held liable in any way for any problems that might arise from following the included recipes.
To P,
For always being there for me, and so very much more!
When a group of five college students visit the Cast Iron Store and Grill, Pat and Annie learn that they are in town searching for Jasper Blankenship’s long-lost fortune. Instead of finding buried treasure, though, one member of the group is murdered at the dig site. Did one of the students kill their companion, or did someone from town find out what they were up to and decide to go for the gold themselves?
CHAPTER 1
Five people came to Maple Crest looking for buried treasure.
What they found instead was murder.
CHAPTER 2: PAT
“Excuse me, sir. Do you have any picks?” a young man asked me as he approached the front counter of the Cast Iron Store and Grill—the Iron for short—the business I run with my twin sister, Annie. He looked to be in his early twenties and had broad shoulders and a mop of dark hair lightened by the sun.
“Toothpicks are beside the paper plates, guitar picks are by the kazoos, and our ice picks are in the hardware section.”
“Sorry, I should have been a little more specific. I mean pickaxes,” he said with a grin. “A toothpick or a guitar pick would be worthless for what we’re doing, and an ice pick wouldn’t be much better.”
“Thanks for clarifying that,” I said. “Come with me and I’ll show you what we’ve got.”
As I led him to the section in question, I noticed that the restaurant area of our store had a nice collection of customers at the moment, and Annie was busy feeding them all. Normally, I knew just about our entire clientele with the exception of a straggler every now and then or someone who lost their way from the Interstate, but most of this group was all new to me. Two girls and two boys were still eating, and they all looked to be in their late teens and early twenties. Two of them had well-worn backpacks, and from a bit of the conversations I’d overheard earlier, they were all more educated than most of the kids who usually hung around the Cast Iron. “Are you guys on some kind of field trip from college or something?” I asked him.
“I guess you could say that,” he replied, offering me a hand stained with red clay, some still stuck under his ragged fingernails. He might be a student, but it was clear that he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. “I’m Henry, by the way. I suppose the best way to put it is that we’re here performing a little practical application of our classwork.”
“Nice to meet you, Henry. I’m Patrick Marsh, but everybody calls me Pat. Are you all geologists, then?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he asked with a grin. “But that’s just about the only field we don’t have with us. I’m the historian of the group, Marty is our cartographer, Gretchen is a mining engineer, Peggy is an archeology major, and Bones is pre-med, at least this semester. He has a habit of changing majors every semester or two, which might explain why he’s a twenty-five-year-old sophomore.”
“Is he along to patch you up if you get into trouble?” I asked. Henry was easy to talk to, and I found his openness refreshing.
“No, Bones is financing this expedition, or at least his father is. Bones has more money than he knows what to do with, and just between us, I think his pop is just happy that he’s interested in doing something besides sliding through life.”
“I’ve had friends like that myself,” I said. We were at the tool section, and I showed him the pick I kept in stock.
Henry hefted it in his hands, and then he studied the wood grain of the handle and the markings on the metal section of the pick. “This looks like it’s pretty well made,” Henry said, clearly surprised to find it in my store.
“We believe in offering the best quality normal folks can afford,” I said. “I know you can buy better tools, but not nearby, and at nowhere near what we charge for them.”
“I believe it. Do you have any more of these in stock?”
I rarely sold more than a pickaxe a season, so his question surprised me. “I believe I might have one or two more in back.”
“We’ll take them, and these, too.” Henry said as he added two top-of-the-line shovels as well.
On a hunch, I grabbed a sluicing pan I kept on hand for tourists and asked, “How about one of these?” After all, his purchases weren’t exactly the norm for visiting college students, and besides, what else would his group need shovels and pickaxes for?
“Is that for gold panning?” he asked. “I’ve read about them, but I’ve never actually seen one.” He twirled it in his hands. “It’s just plastic, isn’t it?”
“True, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t do the job.”
“Is there really native raw gold around here?” It was pretty clear that Henry didn’t know, which dampened my original theory that they were in town prospecting. A small amount of gold had been found in our area not long after a real mother lode was discovered on the Reed Farm near Charlotte in 1799, but it had never been enough for even the slightest rush to Maple Crest.
“I guess you’re not looking for gold then, are you?” I asked him with a grin as I put the pan back on the pile of others.
“Not exactly,” he said with an odd smile.
“Emeralds?” I asked. Our part of North Carolina had produced some nice gemstones in the past, but to my knowledge, none of them had ever surfaced around Maple Crest.
“No.”
Henry had grown surprisingly reticent all of a sudden, and I wondered if I’d pushed him too far with my questions. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You didn’t,” Henry answered. “I’m just not supposed to talk about it,” he added as the young man he’d
identified as Bones approached us.
“What are you up to now, Henry?” the short and dark-haired young man of the group asked.
“Just picking out some new equipment, Bones,” Henry said, deferring to the financial backer of the trip.
Bones frowned for a moment before he spoke again. “I thought we agreed we were going to just get food and fuel in Maple Crest.”
“I know, but this is quality stuff,” Henry protested. “Take a look at it.”
“I’m sure it is,” Bones said, and then he replaced everything Henry had pulled off the rack, out of order. “We’re set, though.”
“Bones, I get that your dad is backing us, but we could really use these.”
“You know, if you aren’t happy with the arrangements, you can always head back to school early, Henry. No one will hold it against you,” Bones said. He spoke in a friendly manner, but there was no warmth in his voice or his words.
“No, thanks. I’m staying,” Henry said, casting his gaze down. “Sorry for the trouble, Pat.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” I said, trying to resist the urge to immediately put everything back into its proper place. “We’re here if you need us.”
“Thanks,” Henry said.
“Yes, thank you,” Bones added before turning back to his associate. I called him that because it was pretty clear that the two young men weren’t friends. “Henry, why don’t you go rejoin the group?”
The historian nodded, and I expected Bones to go as well, but he stayed right beside me. “I trust you’ll keep this to yourself, Pat.”
“What, the fact that you and your group aren’t here looking for gold, but that you’re obviously digging for something of value?” I asked with a grin. I hadn’t been able to help myself. This guy was using his father’s money like a club, and I didn’t like it, not one little bit.
“Henry told you that?” Bones asked, glancing back long enough to give the young man an icy stare before he looked back at me.
It was time to backpedal a little. “No, of course not. He was looking at picks and shovels, though, and he wouldn’t be the first customer we ever had around here interested in buried treasure of one sort or another. I doubt you’ll find any, but I still wish you all the best of luck. From what I’ve heard, just below the waterfall at Emerson’s Creek is the best place for sluicing if you change your mind and decide to go after gold after all.”
“Thank you for the tip,” Bones said.
He turned to go, and I felt bad about putting Henry in a precarious position. I’d only spoken with him a few minutes, but I’d liked his easygoing attitude from the start. “Henry didn’t breathe a word to me about what you were up to.”
“Apparently he didn’t have to,” Bones said.
One of the girls in the group, a tall, lithe redhead, handed something to Bones. “Here’s the bill for the food. The woman working at the lunch counter said that you should pay up front.”
“Thanks, Peg. Tell Marty and Gretchen that I’d like to get started soon,” Bones said as he watched the last two members of their party finishing their meals. Marty was heavyset, while Gretchen looked more like a hummingbird, small and petite, but very serious.
“I don’t know where Gretchen puts it,” Peggy answered with a grin.
“At least there’s no question where Marty does,” Bones said a little meanly.
“Bones, be nice,” Peggy said, trying to force a smile.
“Sorry,” Bones said, but there wasn’t much energy in it. He turned back to me. “Where do I pay this bill?”
“I can check you out up front,” I said.
The bill came to twenty-eight dollars and seven cents, and Bones handed me a hundred-dollar bill.
I got his change together and tried to hand it to him, but he grinned at me and said, “You can keep it.”
“That’s way too much for a tip,” I protested as I tried to give him the money again.
“It’s not just for the food. I’d be most appreciative if you didn’t share what you learned with anyone else.”
“I’m not exactly sure that I learned a blessed thing about what you’re doing in town, but even if I did, I don’t make it a habit of gossiping about my customers,” I said as I finally managed to force the money into his hands.
Bones shrugged, and then he jammed it all into the tip jar. “Much obliged.”
I wasn’t going to be stupid about it. If he wanted to leave us a massive tip, I was sure the Humane Society would appreciate it. That was where all of our tips went at the moment, into a direct donation to one of the causes my sister and I cared about. Bones hadn’t bought my silence, though. As soon as the first opportunity arose, I was going to tell Annie exactly what I’d seen and heard so I could see what she thought of it. I was curious to get my sister’s take on the situation, but it wasn’t until four hours later that I got the chance, when we were finally closing the Iron for the day.
CHAPTER 3: ANNIE
“Wow, I must have really impressed somebody with my culinary skills today,” I said as I counted out the money in the tip jar at the end of our workday. “Pat, what’s going on? I’m well aware of how good I am at running the grill, but even I don’t think I merit this much.”
My twin brother frowned as he looked at me. “Annie, if you don’t mind, I’ll wait and tell you all about it after Skip leaves for the day.”
Skip Lawson was our only other full-time employee, a young man who considered himself the next big entrepreneur. If asked, he’d tell anyone about his grand scheme, even as he restocked the dog food we sold in Pat’s section, an area that was part hardware and part grocery store. Edith Bost ran the post office and worked hours all her own, so she’d left for the day quite a bit earlier. As for me, I operated the grill in back, using cast iron whenever I could, doing my best to satisfy the appetites of folks in four counties with my offerings.
Skip must have heard his name mentioned. “What about me? Am I getting a raise, or are you firing me?” he asked with a grin. “Either way, I’m good.”
“Pat was just about to tell you that you could take off early for the day,” I told him with a grin.
“Seriously?” Skip asked as he looked expectantly at my twin brother.
“Sure. Why not?” Pat asked him, ever being the good sport. I couldn’t imagine a better brother, and I’d gotten pretty lucky in the big sister department, too. Kathleen was our local sheriff, and though she still tried to mother us both on occasion, normally she was a pretty neat lady to be around.
After Skip was gone for the day, I asked Pat, “Now will you explain why you’re being so cryptic?”
“Only if you help me restock the canned goods,” Pat replied. “I was going to have Skip do it, but he seems to have been relieved of his duties.”
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll work if you talk,” I told him. I helped Pat out occasionally up front, but mostly that part of the Iron was my brother’s domain. He could cook, at least a little, but he mostly left the grill to me. It was a perfect arrangement, and neither one of us had any desire to change a system that worked just fine the way it was.
“Sold,” he said. The boxes were already open, so it was simple to match the product with the label as I shelved green beans, peas, corn, and a variety of other canned goodies we carried.
“Pat, it feels as though I’m working, but you’re not talking,” I said.
“What were we discussing again?” he asked me, grinning.
“You’re not getting senile on me, are you?”
“How can I be, when you’re clearly so much older than I am?” Pat asked, still smiling.
I was in fact seven minutes older than my brother, enough to make our births occur in the a.m. and p.m. Our father had thought it would be cute to give us those initials, so I’m Annie while he’s Pat. Mom had indulged him whenever she could, and their relationship had been a strong one right up to the minute they’d both been killed by a drunk driver, dying side by side and, according to th
e police, almost simultaneously. I knew that neither one of them had been in any hurry to die, but if they could have picked their personal departure dates, I was certain that they would have chosen to go together. Seeing parents so much in love had made it hard for me and my siblings to find anything close to that ourselves, but there was hope at the moment, at least for Pat and me. But that was another story altogether, and I needed information at the moment. “Just tell me what’s going on, Pat.”
“The tip was not so much for your excellent food as it was to ensure my silence,” Pat said.
“That answer generates more questions than answers,” I said.
I’d momentarily stopped working, something that hadn’t escaped my brother’s attention. “Don’t stop now. Keep it up, Annie, and you’ll be finished in no time.”
“So will you if you don’t make this story dance.”
Pat could tell that he’d pushed me just about as far as he dared, something that had taken me years to teach him. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but that group of college kids you served lunch to earlier is here on a treasure hunt.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No, Bones was pretty serious about it. The brat even tried to bribe me with his change from a hundred. Can you believe that?”
“I’m not a bit surprised. The entire time he and his group were eating, he must have reminded them all half a dozen times that without his backing, none of them would be there.”
“Not a particularly nice kid, is he?”
“I’m not a fan,” I admitted. “Do they think they’re going to find a new vein of gold around here? Better folks than them have tried and failed.”
“I thought so at first, but now I’m not so sure,” Pat admitted.
“Why is that?” I asked, discarding one box and picking up another. I felt as though I was painting Tom Sawyer’s fence, but I really did want to know what that group was up to.
