Death By Drowning

by Abigail Keam

  “Bette Ann, when did you start hating me so much?”

  Bette Ann drew herself up. “Hate you? I am looking out for your interests. Now listen to me. I’ve heard through the grapevine that the city is going to settle and how much. It sounds like a lot, but my dear, let me be frank. In the end, it is not going to cover all your expenses, especially if you have to pay bodyguards.” She made a gesture towards Jake. “And please don’t insult my intelligence that he is your nephew. I mean really, Josiah, don’t take me for a fool. He’s got ex-Marine written all over him. Just look at the way he stands – like he’s squeezing an orange between his butt cheeks. There are tight buns . . . but his are . . . well – incredible.”

  The three of us leaned over and checked out Jake’s fanny.

  “And, of course, that tattoo of Semper Fi seals it,” Meriah said.

  How Meriah knew that Jake had that tattoo stumped me. It could only be seen when he was swimming or otherwise undressed. Hmmm? The three of us turned again to admire Jake. He looked up from his magazine and gave us a curious look when he caught the three of us staring.

  Bette Ann swiveled her chair to get a better look. “Who is he really? What is he really? How much does he charge by the hour?”

  “Don’t be rude, Bette Ann,” I admonished.

  “Don’t interrupt me. I’m on a roll,” continued Bette Ann. “You need to write a book. I know you can’t write about what happened to you according to the lawsuit stipulations, but it doesn’t make any difference what kind of book you write. It can be that book on Kentucky art you always wanted to do. But if you wrote a Southern cookbook, it would sell like gangbusters around here. You would make a small fortune. And you need to have it released together when Meriah has the second of the trilogy released.”

  “Two more books about this horsewoman,” I sputtered. “Hell’s bells!”

  “Well, you see,” said Meriah nervously. “The cop doesn’t die, but continues to harass our heroine from a distance, constantly putting her life in peril. I figure I can get at least three books out of this theme before the readers tire of it.”

  Bette Ann’s eyes brightened. “I know. We can have a fundraising dinner at June’s house celebrating your mystery and Josiah’s new cookbook. Do you think she’d let us?”

  “If it means getting her name in the paper, then I would say yes,” I said.

  “Then you’ll do it. I can use the cookbook as a premium gift for my station’s fundraiser. It will be great.” Bette Ann clapped her hands together. “Please say yes, Josiah. I’ll never say another rude thing to you again.”

  “Yes, you will,” I laughed. “But I will give the cookbook some serious thought.”

  “I knew I could talk you into it,” said Bette Ann smugly.

  “Yes, yes, you’ve got the touch,” Meriah said, pouting her lips. “Let’s go. I’m late for my other appointment and you’re driving.” She pulled Bette Ann up from her chair. “Sorry to run,” said Meriah, “but I’ve got to go.” She gave an annoying look at Bette Ann. “Move it.”

  Bette Ann mouthed “call me” as she was being pushed out the door.

  “I wonder where those two are going and what they’re up to?” I said to myself.

  Jake wandered over. “Get what you need and let’s go. We’ve made ourselves very conspicuous.” By that he meant I had made us conspicuous. It made his job harder. I could tell that the stress of being bodyguard, doctor, cook and bottle-washer was starting to get to Jake. He had asked my daughter for more help besides Cody, but she couldn’t afford it. Jake was stuck.

  I quickly picked out books on local wineries and a book with detailed maps of the Kentucky River. Jake paid for them and hurried me out the door before I could talk with Wyn Morris, the owner.

  For once I didn’t argue. Jake had gone out on a limb for me and I was not going to repay him back by being difficult. I knew what he was thinking. Was O’nan alive? Was he watching us now? Were the both of us going to get a bullet in the back? That would put anybody on edge. O’nan was an excellent marksman. He had won many awards for his shooting ability. A headshot was not out of the question.

  Maybe I should just go away on my own. I was risking people’s lives. Jake and Cody were paid to take risks, but not Franklin, Matt or Shaneika. Shaneika had already had the good sense to leave. I knew I could talk Franklin into not coming around, but not Matt. Matt would stay with me through thick and thin, no matter what. Maybe when my daughter came home, she could talk Matt into leaving until this thing with O’nan was over. Matt could stay in town with Franklin. I sank back into my car seat. I felt better. When my daughter came home, she would rework the scenario. She would get O’nan for me, if he had survived.

  19

  Regardless of what was going on in our personal lives, the animals needed tending to, and that also meant the bees. The nectar flow was so heavy I was afraid that the hives were becoming honey bound, which meant that the frames were filled with honey where the queen needed to lay eggs. It was tedious to go through the hives to switch out the nectar-filled frames or move them about in the hive. It took a long time and I couldn’t handle the strain of working the hives anymore.

  Jake absolutely refused to let me teach him. He wouldn’t admit it but he was afraid of the bees and Matt simply didn’t have the time anymore. So I had to call Larry and ask for help. Being the guy that Larry was – he came the next day.

  I put on my bee veil over a sweatshirt and followed Larry into the different bee yards in my electric golf cart where I got as close as I could to the hives.

  “You want me to kill the queen cells?” asked Larry taking his hive tool to a peanut-size queen cell.

  “No, I never kill the young queens,” I cautioned. “I just let nature take its course.”

  “Gonna cost you bees in swarming.”

  “That’s why I’ve got swarm boxes all over the farm.”

  “Those things never work,” scoffed Larry. He gently pulled out a frame heavy with brood and honey, bringing it over for my inspection. The queen was laying a good brood pattern. We both grunted our approval.

  He pulled out another frame, which was nearly capped with beeswax. “Looks like you are going to have to harvest soon, Josiah,” he said inspecting the hive body frame. “I bet there’s three pounds of honey on this frame alone.”

  “Can you help me with the harvesting, Larry? I’ll give you an eighth of my honey if you will.”

  “Skinflint. I’ll take a third.”

  “No doing. Instead of robbing the hives, you’re robbing me.”

  “Okay. Okay. A fourth of the total harvest.”

  “Done.”

  Larry got in the golf cart and pulled off his bee veil fishing for something to drink, while I drove over to Lady Elsmere’s farm where I kept more hives. I parked on a small ridge overlooking her estate so we could admire her antebellum house and Thoroughbred mares and their colts munching contently on the bluegrass.

  “Those look like Standards over there,” remarked Larry.

  “June is getting into show horses now as well.”

  He whistled. “She must have shitloads of money.”

  “She lost a lot of money when the stock market went south. I think she’s only worth about twenty-five million now and most of that is tied up in property.”

  “Ahhh, I feel sorry for June,” grinned Larry, bringing up a water bottle to his mouth. “Just a couple of mill in the old checking account?”

  “Larry, have you heard anything in the spook gossip world about what happened here?”

  He sighed. “I was never a spook. A spook is a spy like a CIA field operative. I was a FBI agent. ‘Was’ is the key word – now being retired.”

  I nudged his arm. “Aw come on. Shell out,” I said knowing that he liked 40’s slang.

  Larry was silent for a long time and then spoke in his serious low voice. “Josiah, I am very fond of you, but you always pitch a curve at me. Okay, here’s the skinny. After what happened at the bar
n, I ameched a buddy of mine still working the Bureau. I wanted a profile on O’nan. Some strings were pulled and O’nan’s files were sent to him. It was astonishing.” He turned to look at me. “None of this was your fault. If it hadn’t been you, something else would have surely triggered O’nan to climb in your pocket. O’nan was a bad egg from the beginning. He should have never been allowed into any type of law enforcement. O’nan was obsessive compulsive with a narcissistic attitude accompanied by a nice strain of paranoia. Add a nasty temper to that and you’ve got a bad ass on your hands if you ruffle his feathers. He was smart, attentive to details, and he turned to the dark. You’ve got a real problem on your hands if he is still alive. The only way for this to be resolved is if one of you is dead.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “What’s the daughter doing about this?”

  “She’s got people looking for him 24/7, but that didn’t stop someone from paying George Frank to make my life miserable. Shaneika has pulled out.”

  “I think that’s smart. You’re a walking bull’s-eye.”

  “Thanks. Larry, would leaving town help?”

  “He’d just shag you. Nope. You’ve got to be smart. If he’s alive, make him come to you.” Larry pointed a finger at me. “Now I’ve come clean as a peeled egg. That’s all I can say. Trap him and make it stick with the law.”

  It’s no easy thing to be told you have to kill a man and that’s what Larry was telling me. I didn’t think O’nan had died and he was not going to tire of chasing me. I was his obsession now and the only way to get rid of him was to put him in the ground. I didn’t know if I could live with the guilt of trapping and killing a man. Maybe I would just let him kill me. What was moral? What was right? What was doable? I would think about that tomorrow. But then things changed later. They usually do.

  I answered the phone at 10 p.m. as I usually did.

  “I’ve got some good news.”

  “Can’t you say ‘Hello Mother, how was your day?’ ”

  As usual she ignored me. “I had a buddy of mine at Homeland Security put O’nan’s picture in the facial recognition software and they got a positive hit. It seems like the heat was too much for O’nan since his friend squealed on him, and he boarded a plane for Brazil.”

  “So he’s alive.”

  “Maybe. That software is not 100% accurate.”

  “No extradition in Brazil still?”

  “We have a treaty with Brazil, but they are very lax about it unless it suits their agenda. I’m sending a guy down to confirm it, but I’d say things can ease up a little bit. We’re very close to confirming that O’nan’s alive.”

  “Where’s he getting his money?”

  “I haven’t discovered that yet, but I’m working on it.”

  “Coming home soon?”

  “I’ll be home before you know it.”

  Then that awful click.

  “Gotta go. Love you.” And then silence.

  20

  My daughter reported that no trace of O’nan could be found and the Bluegrass area was scoped again. Nothing. Since we had reason to believe that the immediate danger was over for a short while, Jake took a few needed days off. But I felt encouraged when he left. I could not become dependent on a bodyguard nor anyone else. I was going to become as self-reliant as possible. Besides, I couldn’t think when Jake was around. He seemed to fill the house with his voice, his smell and his physical presence. I found myself doing what he wanted just to please him. Now, really – does that sound like me?

  Cody had come back and settled in, much to his chagrin. He was much easier to manage than Jake. Needing to take more control, I talked Cody into letting me drive to the mall. I gave him the doctor’s written notification that I could drive within certain parameters. The fear of my having seizures was over.

  Again, I had to check in every half hour. I had to be home within two hours. I had to stay where there were people around. Blah, blah, blah.

  It’s not that I had any intention of being bad. It’s not that I had the intention of making either Jake or Cody angry. It’s not that I had any intention of lying. It’s that I had the intention of taking those steps towards liberty without anyone’s permission. I felt it was my duty to be independent, to be self-reliant if I could. I knew the past year had been a strain on my daughter – both emotionally and financially. Matt had driven himself into depression with countless hours of work and worry. My problems had become a wedge between him and Franklin. I was becoming emotionally attached to Jake, which I’m sure was unwelcomed. Don’t all women become besotted with their protectors? I needed to speed up the recovery process so I could set everyone free. And I needed to find out what had happened to Jamie. Something drove that 15-year-old boy out on the river in the middle of the night. What was it?

  I pulled carefully out of the driveway, but instead of heading for town, I turned the other way and headed for the ferry. Within fifteen minutes, I was safely across the river and speeding towards Richmond. Once in Richmond, I looked at the sweaty piece of paper that Sarah had given me. I took out a map and checked for the street. Assured that I knew where I was going, I pulled out into the busy Richmond traffic on Main St. Seeing the street I needed, I turned sharply, much to the irritation of the gentleman behind, who gave me the single-finger dance. I traveled for another several miles before I came to my destination. I pulled the car up to the church, so close I touched its wall with my bumper. Oops! Still a little shaky at this driving.

  Grasping my city stick, I walked up the handicapped walkway and entered the church by the side door. The church secretary, who had heard the old-fashioned bell on top of the door, met me. Apparently the bell was their only security measure. I must have not looked threatening as she readily told me where to find Ison Taggert . . . but not before I had a long talk with her. Her name was Mrs. Bell and she was old as Methuselah. She told me some very interesting stuff when I related that the family had some questions about Jamie Dunne’s death. I love ancient nosy, talkative secretaries. They know everybody’s business. And if they are silly, shallow women, like Mrs. Bell, who felt the need to be important – why they will tell a stranger anything and everything. What luck for me. The telephone rang and she left me hardly breathing I was so excited about the information I had gleaned.

  My left leg was starting to give me fits so I hit it with my fist. That sometimes calmed the muscle twitches. Worked like a charm, so I hobbled down a few steps to the choir practice room. There I found Mr. Taggert putting new choir robes on hangers.

  “Mr. Taggert,” I said. “My name is Josiah Reynolds. I am a friend of Sarah Dunne’s.”

  Ison Taggert was a tall man wearing the thick glasses of someone who had serious sight issues. He lifted his bifocals up on his nose to peer at me. There was a deep crease across his bridge. Turning his back on me, he fumbled with some hangers. “Really? Her son passed away several months ago and I don’t remember you at the funeral,” he said in a high unpleasant voice.

  How dare he turn his back to me! This was odd behavior to a woman with a cane. Most Kentucky men would have offered a chair.

  “I was incognito,” I smarted off. “Irene Meckler, Jamie’s aunt, has some questions about how he died and wanted me to help her find some answers. If you don’t mind, my visit will only take a few moments of your time.” I looked around for a chair. “May I sit down, please?”

  “I don’t know how I can help you. I don’t even know that I should be speaking to you. Never seen you before. Is this Ms. Meckler a member of our church?” Taggert asked, pulling a robe out of its plastic packaging.

  “I thought that Mrs. Dunne had called and told you that I might be stopping by one day.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  I didn’t understand this guy’s hostility towards me and his need to intimidate. Maybe he just didn’t like women. Maybe he didn’t like me. Maybe he was trying to stall because he was afraid of questions being asked. Maybe he was guilty of so
mething.

  He started to say something else, but I interrupted him. “Let’s cut the crap, okay. I’m going to get right to the point. I understand that you gave Jamie a vintage Farrah Fawcett poster – the real thing, not a knock-off.”

  “What wrong with that?” Taggert said, hanging up another robe. He was avoiding eye contact.

  “I never said anything was wrong with that. Just stating a fact. I would appreciate it if you would turn and face me.”

  He turned with a sullen expression on his pasty face. The last guy who was hostile to me like this tried to kill me. I wasn’t taking my eyes of this s.o.b. for one second. If he took one step closer, I was going to crack his skull with my walking stick. I put my hand in my pocket and patted my taser before turning off the safety switch.

  “Did he ever talk to you about his plans?”

  “Like what?” He stood with his hand on his hip.

  “How about plans to burn down a vineyard.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what did the two of you talk about? I have been told by several people that the two of you spent a good deal of time together.”

  “Our conversations are confidential,” he smirked.

  “Actually, they’re not, Mr. Taggert. I gotta tell you that this looks odd. I’m a sick woman trying to tie some loose ends for the dead boy’s mother and you are giving me attitude for no reason. Not to mention that you are in your forties and have never been married. No current girlfriend and you spend a lot of time with boys from your church. Classic.”

  “Now see here,” he said, kicking a robe out his way. “I’m into girls. Don’t you start accusing me of something ’cause I’ll sue.”

  “I see a middle-aged man who is a youth minister of a very conservative church wearing expensive jewelry, with dyed hair and capped teeth. You come across as less than sincere. In fact you drink too much and play the ponies.”

  “How dare you make such accusations?”

  “I’m just repeating what I was told,” I said, lifting my eyes to the ceiling.