by Maddie Day
“I’m surprised she didn’t get it out before you bought the building.”
I nodded slowly. “On Saturday morning she came for breakfast with her mother, Jo Schultz. Maude mentioned she’d been away on sabbatical with Charles when the store sold. Until she heard I was renovating up there, maybe she thought the diary would be safe in the wall. Since she’d just used the same method to kill Charles, she had even more reason to want the diary back.”
“Sounds plausible.”
“She tried to retrieve it last night sometime after I left at six-thirty. Danna said a window was broken in the store this morning. Maude found the diary gone, and came over here to get it back.”
“So she threatened to kill you and Mr. O’Neill, too.”
“Yes. She shot out half the windows in the front of the house. The path was so icy she stayed standing in the open door to her car.”
“Then what happened?” Octavia asked.
“Hang on a minute. I think our turn is coming up.” I peered at the side of the road. Abe had found it in the dark, but I wasn’t sure I could locate it even in daylight. “There it is. Go slow, now.” Last night in the downpour I hadn’t seen the rustic pointing hand made of wood with the words O’Neill Paradise carved into it.
After she made the turn, I said, “Abe snuck out the back door. He’s an experienced bow hunter. I told Maude he wasn’t there and that I hadn’t read the diary. She kept demanding I throw it to her.”
“Did you?”
“Wait. Stop here.” I caught sight of Maude and swallowed hard. I pointed. “There she is.” I glanced at her still awkwardly positioned body and then looked away. I didn’t need to see any more. I gestured toward the house. “There are all the shot out windows.”
“You weren’t kidding about that,” Octavia said. “I’m guessing you kept Maude talking while O’Neill approached from the woods?”
“Right.”
Sliding a bit, the vehicle stopped in time to not run over Maude’s body.
Octavia faced me. “Go ahead and finish your story.”
“I was about to throw the diary when Abe got Maude with an arrow, but he cracked a branch right before he did and she managed to hit him in the leg.”
“How did you get him out, wounded as he is?”
“It wasn’t easy, but I needed to. So I just did.”
“The diary still inside?”
“Yes, and a voodoo-type doll that looks like the girl, whose name was Lovey.”
Octavia nodded slowly. “The presumed suicide that recently came into question. Interesting. Thank you for those details. Officer Bird will take you home.”
“Can I at least get my bag out of the house? Maude was never in there.”
Octavia thought for a moment. “Okay.”
“Thanks.” I opened the car door.
“One more thing. Did you touch the body, move it at all?”
I shivered. “I had to move her legs. Her feet were on the car door opening. I didn’t want to run her over.”
“Got it. Nice work, Robbie. You did a couple brave strong things here, both of you.”
I sat in silence for a moment reliving what had happened less than an hour earlier. The glass flying. The gunshots. Abe’s bravery. His marksmanship. My anguish at his bleeding. My desperation to get him help. “We just did what we had to do.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to Ms. Stilton before you did. She was up there on our suspect list, certainly. Not a scrap of alibi. Lying about her son didn’t help, either.”
“Where did Maude say Charles had been that night?” I asked.
“She told us he’d gone to his new mistress’s house, that she didn’t know who it was this time.”
“All fabrication on her part?”
“Yes. Convincing her son to lie about seeing Ms. Perlman on the lake just topped it off. I’m only sorry Ms. Stilton can’t be fully prosecuted for both murders, and a couple attempted ones, too.”
Despite the lack of prosecution, it seemed to me Maude had received the ultimate punishment.
Chapter 62
I sat by the window in Abe’s hospital room. He hadn’t gotten out of surgery and recovery until about one o’clock. Buck had taken me home from the cabin. He’d taken one glance at me and patted my knee, then drove in blessed silence. I was all talked out.
Once we’d arrived at my store I’d asked Buck who would tell Jo and Ron about Maude’s death, and he said he’d do it personally. He also said he would contact Abe’s parents.
I’d briefly checked in with Danna and Phil. Phil had boarded up the broken window and the restaurant was full of locals who could walk there.
Then I’d slowly driven my van to Bloomington, grateful for the salt and sand trucks, which were out everywhere.
I watched Abe sleep. His injured leg was elevated and an IV trailed out of his arm, but he was otherwise unencumbered by machines. Color had blessedly returned to his face and his hair was tousled like it had been last night. Only last night. The morning had felt like it had lasted a week.
But he was all right. I was all right. And Maude would never kill again.
He opened his eyes. When he caught sight of me, a shadow of his dimple dented his cheek. He patted the bed next to him. I walked over and gently kissed his lips, then perched at his side, taking his hand.
“You did awesome, Robbie. Keeping her distracted like that, rescuing me. You must have medic training. And braveness training, too.”
“Girl Scouts. I always loved wrapping up wounds, both real and imagined. You were the brave one, though.”
“Stupid, more like it. Didn’t see that branch. I’d have an intact leg if I had. I spent my childhood trying to walk ‘like an Indian.’” He surrounded the last words with finger quotes. “Probably not supposed to say things like that any more, but you know, walking without rustling leaves or stepping on noisy branches. Guess I’m out of practice.”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
He gazed at the window. When he looked back at me, the lines at the edges of his eyes had deepened. “I killed her, didn’t I?”
I stroked the back of his hand. “Yes. I don’t know how you shot so accurately, but you did.”
He let out a sigh. “I know it was self-defense. More important, it was defending you. But it’s a tough thing to live with.”
“You’re going to be okay.” We could get him counseling if he wanted. Later.
I heard my phone vibrate in my bag and retrieved it. “It’s Jo,” I told him.
His mouth turned down. “You should talk to her.”
“I know.” I waited another ring before connecting. This was going to be hard. Abe had killed her daughter.
“Robbie, Buck came over with the news,” Jo said. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for Maude’s actions. I feel responsible.”
“Please don’t, Jo. Hey, okay if I put you on speaker? I’m in the hospital with Abe.”
After a moment of not speaking, she said it was fine and greeted Abe, who said hello back.
“Anyway, Maude was responsible for herself,” I said. “But I’m sorry you lost her.”
She sniffed. “I’m sorry, too, more than you know. The poor dear always was troubled and I never figured out how to fix it for her.”
I flashed on that brief look of panic on Jo’s face when I said I was demolishing the upstairs. “Did you know what Maude did as a teenager?” I asked.
What followed was a silence so full I thought it might burst.
“Buck told me about the diary. I knew Maude and that girl were friends, and then they weren’t. When I heard about the suicide, I asked Maude about it over and over. She insisted she didn’t know anything about the matter. She’d been at another friend’s house—or so she said—and I let it go.” Jo cleared her throat. “The police never came asking. Now I know I was somehow complicit in Lovey’s death by not going to them. I never saw the diary, though, and I didn’t have any proof. It was just a sense I had.”
I glanced at Abe. He shook his head slowly, sadly.
“Maude had a tough time with all kinds of things as a teenager,” Jo went on.
“It must be hard to raise a teen,” I said.
“I can vouch for that,” Abe added.
“Joining the military seemed to straighten her out, give her a purpose,” Jo said.
“So you didn’t know about the diary in the wall upstairs at my place?” I asked Jo.
“No. I’ll tell you, though, Maude was upset when I sold the building during the time she and Chuck were away. Anyway, that’s all done now. I’m going to miss my girl terribly, as difficult as she was. But at least I have Ronnie, and I’m glad for that.”
“I’m glad he has you,” I said.
“Yes.” Jo sniffed again. “I wanted to tell you that Zenobia and I had a brief reunion last night. It was awkward, but I think we might find our way to getting to know each other at last.”
“I hope so.” Too bad Zen and Maude wouldn’t get a half sister reunion. Given what happened with mine, and what kind of person Maude was, it might not have been so wonderful. Actually, they weren’t blood half sisters after all, I thought, because Maude was adopted. Water under the bridge, anyway.
I glanced at Abe, who was pointing at his chest. I nodded.
“Jo, may I say how terrible I feel that things played out the way they did?” Abe said.
“You poor thing, Abe. To be threatened like that.”
“I never wanted to kill Maude. But she gave us no choice.”
“I know. I know that better than anyone. And if it means anything, I forgive you.” Jo fell silent
“I appreciate that,” Abe said softly.
Jo cleared her throat. “I’ll let you two visit now. I need to go find my grandson.”
We all said good-bye and I disconnected the call. After a moment of quiet, I said, “She forgave you before you even asked.”
“She’s got a big heart.” He shifted in bed and winced.
The door flew open, and Sean hurried in. “Dad!” He reached the other side of the bed in two loping teenage steps and threw his arms around Abe’s neck.
I let go of Abe’s hand and stood.
Abe grinned at me even as his eyes filled. “Hey, buddy.” He stroked Sean’s back like he was a toddler.
Sean finally straightened, wiping the corners of his eyes. “They called to say you were shot. And that you were awesome brave.”
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Abe said. “How’d you get here, anyway?”
“Grandma brought me. She’s parking the car. So you shot that person?” Sean’s eyes were wide in his skinny acned face. “With the longbow?”
“You do what you have to do, son. Right, Robbie?” Abe’s dimple was back in full force.
I smiled at both of them. “Right.”
Recipes
Warm up Your Tootsies Omelet
Serves four.
Ingredients
4 corn tortillas
1 tablespoon butter
4 eggs, beaten
½ cup pepper jack cheese, grated
2 tablespoons roasted red peppers, drained and chopped
Sour cream, to taste
Salt and pepper, to taste
Jalapeno salsa, to taste
Directions
Wrap tortillas in foil and warm in oven.
Melt butter in a non-stick skillet on medium low heat. Pour in eggs and swirl around to coat pan. When it starts to set, gently lift the edges and swirl uncooked egg underneath. Sprinkle on cheese and red peppers.
When set, fold in half and remove to a plate. Spread two tortillas on two other plates and top each with a quarter of the omelet. Add a dollop of sour cream, salt and pepper, and salsa to taste.
Sullo Scio
Serves four.
Ingredients
4 fat cloves garlic, peeled and minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon minced fresh rosemary
1 large can whole tomatoes, rough chopped in the can
1 15-ounce can chick peas (garbanzo beans)
1 quart chicken stock
1 package tagliatelle
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Black pepper to taste
Parmesan cheese, freshly grated
Directions
In a medium saucepan, sauté the garlic in the olive oil until soft. Do not brown. Add the rosemary, tomatoes, salt and pepper to taste, and chick peas.
Add the stock and bring to a boil. Add the tagliatelle and cook until al dente according to the directions on the package.
Serve hot with fresh grated Parmesan.
Grits with Cheese
(Used by permission from the Grit Girl, Georgeanne Ross)
Serves six.
Ingredients
2 cups chicken broth
½ cup whipping cream
1 cup Original Grit Girl Stone Ground yellow grits
2 cups grated white cheddar cheese
Directions
Combine broth and cream in a large sauce pan; bring to a boil.
Stir in the grits, stirring constantly. Cover the pan and reduce the heat. Simmer ten to twenty minutes, stirring as needed. Stir in cheese.
Serve with shrimp, eggs, sausage, or whatever you like.
Pork Chops with Sorghrum Sauce
(With inspiration from NYT bestselling author Sheila Connolly, used by permission)
Serves two to four.
Ingredients
2 boneless pork chops
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoon olive oil
2 tablespoon butter
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 tablespoon flour
½ cup Sorghrum (a liquor distilled from sorghum, or bourbon if you can’t find it)
1 cup chicken broth
1½ teaspoon finely grated lemon rind
1 teaspoon thyme, dried or fresh
1 tablespoon lemon juice
Directions
Dry the meat with paper towels and sprinkle with salt and pepper.
In a large skillet over medium-high heat, heat one tablespoon of oil until it shimmers. Add the pork chops and cook until they are browned on the bottom and are slightly springy when you touch them, not stiff. Turn and brown the second side.
Transfer to a plate, cover and keep warm.
Swirl one tablespoon of butter and one of oil in the skillet. Lower the heat to medium-low, add the mushrooms, and sauté until they begin to exude juices.
Add the garlic and a bit more salt and cook until the garlic softens (about one minute). Add the flour and cook, stirring, for another minute (to cook the flour).
Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the alcohol. Return to the heat, raise it to medium and simmer, stirring to incorporate the tasty stuff in the pan. This is where you burn off the alcohol in the whiskey, in case you’re worried.
After about a minute, add the chicken broth and whisk. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the liquid is reduced to about ½ cup (it should thicken slightly).
Add the lemon juice, lemon rind, and thyme, and heat through over medium-low heat.
Add one more tablespoon of butter, then taste for seasoning. Add salt and pepper if desired.
When you serve the dish, spoon the sauce on the meat and serve immediately. Spoon extra sauce on noodles, rice, or potatoes as a side dish if desired.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Maddie Day’s next Country Store Mystery
BISCUITS AND SLASHED BROWNS
coming soon wherever print and e-books are sold!
Chapter 1
The banner outside Pans ‘N Pancakes read, “Join Maple Mania!” The Brown County Maple Festival’s logo of a grinning bottle of syrup beamed its invitation, but the look on Professor Elissa Genest’s face would have frozen butter on a tall stack of hot flapjacks.
I’d hung the banner across the wide covered porch of my count
ry store restaurant and had stepped into the road to check the level. Instead, I watched as the middle-aged scholar glued her fists to her hips and glared at a portly man in a perfectly tailored suit with sharply creased trousers. He’d just climbed out of a silver Lexus and hadn’t said a word so far.
“How dare you?” she snarled, not trying to keep her voice down. Elissa, a long-time resident of our little town of South Lick, Indiana, and a regular at Pans ‘N Pancake, had just finished a full breakfast inside.
The man clasped his hands in front of him and sort of smiled, but his top lip curled, making him look like he’d tasted curdled milk. “My dear, can I help it if my grant proposal was funded and yours wasn’t?”
“I’m not your dear.” She spoke each scorn-laced word distinctly.
They must be continuing a prior disagreement. I abandoned my banner examination and approached the pair. “Good morning, sir. I’m Robbie Jordan, owner and chef here.” I extended my hand.
“Ah, Ms. Jordan. I was just coming to sample your menu. Your restaurant is quite the talk of the conference.” He patted his expansive stomach and talked through his smile, his tiny eyes almost disappearing in the flesh of his cheeks. “I’m Warren Connolly.”
