by Tonya Kappes
Mrs. Brown, my neighbor, was more than happy to take care of Duke while I was gone for the night. I wasn’t going to be gone long, but I hated to leave him alone when he could enjoy Mrs. Brown as much as she enjoyed him. Of course, Finn had offered, but I couldn’t do that to Mrs. Brown.
Lulu’s Boutique, owned by Mama’s best friend Lulu McClain, was located on the far end of the north side of town. Lulu had purchased the old run-down clapboard cottage-style house and brought it back to life by giving it a new paint job and refinished hardwood floors. She’d even made the upstairs into an efficiency apartment. The boutique was a little knick-knack shop that sold Kentucky branded items, jewelry, and anything that could have a monogram. We Southerners loved our initials. We even printed them on our cars and bath towels.
There was a line of cars pulled up to the curb outside of Lulu’s. Some I knew and some I didn’t. Before I went in, I swiped some lipstick on and grabbed my cell, sticking it in my back pocket. At least Mama would be happy to see I’d attempted some makeup, and that should keep her satisfied.
When I walked by her car, I looked in to see if the handicap tag was dangling from the arm of the rearview, but it wasn’t. I made a mental note to ask Mama about that right off.
Lulu’s held different classes for the community. I especially loved the craft classes. Generally they were attended by the same old gossipy women I spent one night a week with at our Euchre game. Even though they drove me crazy, they’d showed up tonight for Mama. That’s the way it was around Cottonwood. No matter how cotton-pickin’ mad someone got at you, they’d be right by your side in your hour of need.
It warmed my heart to see them gathered around Mama with a big smile on her face when I walked in.
“Your mama sure can tell a story.” Jolee walked up and handed me a glass of Mama’s sweet tea. “She’s got everyone in stitches about her meeting with Frank and his hearty appetite.”
“Oh brother.” I shook my head and wet my whistle. “She’s got you calling him Frank too?”
“She makes it sound like they’ve been friends for years.” Jolee laughed. “I’m excited to see exactly what she puts in her pot pie to make it so good. That’s why I’m here. I could just smack myself for letting her be on Ben’s team.”
She was referring to the cook-off. Jolee got to handpick her contestants to go up against Ben’s. Trust me when I say that we were all in shock when Mama came out the winner. And now here we were today.
“That barbeque don’t have a leg to stand on compared to my pot pie, right, Kenni?” Mama dragged me into her sordid tale.
Lulu, Myrna, Toots, Ruby, and Viola all turned to look at me, their eyes wide open, waiting on my response.
“I don’t know anything about that, Mama.” I waved the ladies off. Idle gossip wasn’t my glass of sweet tea. “Mama, I wouldn’t be going around telling people about our little adventure today,” I warned as a bad feeling suddenly washed over me. “It’s not very becoming of either of us.”
Mama didn’t realize that I’d thrown my badge around. Though it wasn’t really against the law to remind the tow truck driver how un-businesslike his boss was, it still wasn’t the most ethical thing to do. Citizens of Cottonwood held morality in high regard, often forgetting their own mistakes. They’d be quick with their tongues and finger wagging when it came to election time. Though I was currently unopposed, you just never could be too sure.
“Well, we can all take our places.” Mama clasped her hands together.
The tables in the back of Lulu’s were set up with three workstations each. Mama had already put all the ingredients we needed in little bowls. All except her special ingredient. She said that would be distributed last. Just like Mama to build up the anticipation. She loved that. And loved that it was centered on her.
We all went to our stations. “And lastly,” Mama stood up with pride and held the canister with no markings up in the air, “everyone needs to get their tablespoon ready because this is my very special secret.”
Mama had made up the cutest four-in-one country blue measuring spoons with her name printed on them. This entire television thing had made her head swell more than usual.
Jolee scooted to the edge of her seat and eagerly grabbed her tablespoon, holding it way out in front of her. Knowing Jolee, she’d figure out the ingredients and try to duplicate them in her own On The Run recipe. That would send Mama off if she did.
“These are cute.” Jolee’s brows rose to high heaven. “I should probably get something cute like this for the truck,” she whispered after Mama gave her the wonky eye.
My phone rang. I gulped and looked up. Mama’s glare had turned from Jolee to me. Her moment was stolen by the sound of my phone and it didn’t sit well with her.
“Kendrick,” Mama shamed me. “That’s rude.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to take this.” I answered when I saw it was the late-night dispatch. Were they calling about Mama’s charade from today?
We shared the service with Clay’s Ferry dispatch. Neither of our departments needed to be open twenty-four hours a day, so we chipped in and used someone from seven p.m. until eight a.m. to field the calls.
“Sheriff Lowry,” I answered.
“Sheriff, there’s been an ambulance dispatched to The Tattered Cover Books and Inn. A Dr. Camille Shively called it in,” the dispatcher said over the phone. “It’s concerning an unresponsive male.”
“I’m on my way.” The chair clattered to the ground when I stood up in haste. I looked up at Mama, but it wasn’t her gaze I met. It was Poppa’s. Fear struck the very center of my body. Chills zoomed up my spine like a roller coaster.
“Frank Von Lee is dead.” Poppa’s words pierced my ears.
“Frank is dead?” The words fell from my mouth.
Chapter Eight
“Wait.” Mama ran beside me, the can of her secret ingredient in her hand. “Did you say ‘dead’ and ‘Frank’ in the same sentence?”
“Nope. Didn’t say a word.” I ran faster to my Wagoneer. The less Mama knew, the better off I was.
“Kendrick Lowry. You said Frank is dead. I might be old, but I’m not hard-of-hearing old.” Mama stood at the door of the Wagoneer.
“Gotta go, Mama.” I grabbed the old beacon siren from underneath my seat and licked the suction cup, sticking it to the roof of the Jeep. I slid my finger down the side and caught the switch for the siren.
I threw the Jeep in gear, did a U-turn, and put the pedal to the metal. Immediately I dialed Finn and left no room for chitchat. Nothing but, “Meet me at the inn. Frank Von Lee is dead,” then I hung up. Within minutes, I was standing with my sheriff’s bag tight in my grip in Frank Von Lee’s room, where Camille Shively looked a bit disheveled and Poppa was standing next to her over Frank’s body, surrounded by EMTs. Finn arrived soon after.
“I’ve been doing CPR, but he’s not coming back.” Camille gasped for breath before she went back down to give Frank more CPR while the EMTs were doing chest compressions. “You keep doing compressions and I’ll keep breathing.”
Her long black hair that was normally neatly parted to the side and hung down to her collarbones in a flawless cascade was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Something she’d obviously done to get it out of the way. She wasn’t going to step back and let the EMTs do their job.
“Doctor.” One of the EMTs stopped doing the compressions and patted the other to stop too. “Ma’am, I don’t think we’re going to bring him back.”
“Nope. Nope. They aren’t.” Poppa put his hands in his pants pockets. “This whole situations smells bad enough to knock a dog off a gut wagon.”
That was bad, and he didn’t mean the smell in the room.
“He’s dead. I think you need to call it.” I tapped Camille on the shoulder. “Camille.” I tapped harder.
“Not on my dime, Kenni,” she said through gritted teeth. By the crac
k in her voice, I knew that she knew he was gone. She glanced at the EMTs. Her pale skin was even whiter. The whites of her eyes were tinted red. “What are you doing? Don’t stop.”
They stood up, but she was relentless for about three more minutes, going back and forth between doing the compressions and the breathing herself. Finally, she sat back on her heels and put her head in her hands, sobbing.
“Oh, no.” A gasp came from the door of the room Frank Von Lee had rented. “Well, this just butters my biscuit.”
“Mama.” I looked at Finn. “Please take her out of here and call Max Bogus for me.”
Finn rushed over and grabbed Mama. Mama didn’t like it one bit.
Max Bogus had a dual job as our county coroner and the undertaker of Cottonwood’s only funeral home. He’d come and make an initial report before taking the body to do a final autopsy.
“Kenni.”
I looked at Poppa when he said my name. He was pointing to the small brown desk that sat in front of the window.
I walked over to the desk and let Camille collect herself.
“This is why you’re here,” I muttered.
“That pot pie looks familiar.” Poppa pointed to the plate. Next to it was an empty glass. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s a plate from Ben’s Diner.”
“Sheriff,” one of the EMTs called. “Is there anything else you need us for?”
I turned around, shaking my head.
“No. Thank you for all you’ve done. I got it from here.” I turned back to the window and peeled the curtain away from the glass. “My deputy called the coroner so he should be here any minute.”
“We’ll get our report to you,” the EMT said before they gathered their equipment and left.
The window looked out over Main Street and I could see news had spread fast. There was already a crowd lined up around the ambulance and the Jeep.
“This is the first patient I’ve ever lost.” Camille’s voice broke the silence and the stillness that death always seemed to bring.
“And to be a famous man to boot.” Poppa shrugged. “This doesn’t look good.” He ghosted himself over to Frank’s body. “There’s a bit of the pot pie stuck on the front of his shirt.”
“I’m sorry, Camille.” I didn’t have the words to comfort her. Dealing with the emotions following death was never easy for me. Though I wanted to cry out and beg that this hadn’t happened again on my watch, as sheriff, I had to hide those emotions and do my job. “I am going to need a statement from you.”
I placed my bag on the floor and took out the small tape recorder. I felt it was best to have a general conversation with her while I made her more at ease by taking photos of the crime scene after putting the yellow crime-scene tape along the door. I pressed record and got to work.
“I got a phone call on the emergency line. The operator said there was a call from room number three. He’d not given his name to the operator. They said he was slurring his words.” Her eyes slid over to look at Frank. She fidgeted.
“Try not to touch anything.” I knew it was a strong statement.
“You think this is a murder scene?” She jerked her hand off his body. Frank was getting bluer by the minute.
“I haven’t ruled anything out. Do you have any suspicion on a cause of death?” I asked.
“Well, I came in and he was on the bed. Alive.” Her words faded into the space around us.
“Kenni, this doesn’t look good for your mama. My daughter.” There was a sudden fear in Poppa’s voice I’d yet to hear since he’d come back as a ghost. “I’m telling you there is something wrong with this pot pie.”
What was Frank doing with some of Mama’s pot pie? Where’d he get it from? Mama had mentioned that she’d planned on making the pot pie Frank was going to be critiquing in the morning. “Let it sit for a spell. Thickens up the liquid.” Mama claimed that was part of her special recipe.
I snapped a few photos of the pot pie as Camille continued to talk into the tape recorder.
“He was alive. Talking. I asked him where he felt sick. He said that he’d been working and felt an onset of nausea. He went to lay down for a bit because of some pain in his stomach. He called 911 when the abdominal pain didn’t go away after an hour.” She continued to gnaw on the edge of her lip.
I put on a pair of gloves from my bag and used my finger to move around the papers on the desk next to the plate. When I saw one had Mama’s name on it, I picked it up.
“He started to sweat and got really confused.” Camille’s voice was in the background. I wasn’t really listening, which was awful to admit, but Frank’s written words had caught my attention.
Mrs. Vivian Lowry, though tall in the charming southern way, fell short in my expectations of the chicken pot pie that’s staked her claim to fame in her small town of Cottonwood. The chicken was tough. For a pot pie, the number one rule is to pre-cook the chicken barely pale so the baking process will tenderize it to a juicy goodness. Mrs. Lowry claims the crust is where her secret ingredient is hidden away. All I know that’s hidden is the big secret she’s keeping from patrons of Ben’s Diner: using a readymade flour mix from a box. There was nothing special about it. The only part of the pot pie that was even remotely tasty was the larger-than-normal sized vegetables used.
“I continued to tell him who I was and where he was. He got confused and agitated.” Camille’s voice grew stronger and louder. “That’s when he stood up, grabbed his chest, and fell to the ground.” She huffed a few times through her nose. “I think I’m going to be sick.” She stumbled to the bathroom and let go of anything she’d had in her stomach.
I folded the paper in half and stuck it in my pocket.
“You know it too.” Poppa appeared. “Get rid of the evidence.”
“There is nothing here that says Mama did him in.” I ran my hand down the front pocket of my pants where I’d put the note.
“Kenni, if your mama walked in here and saw that review he was working on, she’d have lost her marbles.” Poppa paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. “She’s been driving herself nuts since she got word he was coming. I’ve been with her. She’s not slept. She did that thing to her face.”
Poppa was right. Mama had been acting out of the ordinary, beyond her usual crazy antics.
“I shouldn’t’ve ignored her behavior like I did.” The thought of it made me want to grab the pot pie and throw it in my bag. I reached my hand out to take it.
“Go on. If she did it, there’ll be more evidence. This buys us time to think.” For the first time, Poppa made me question his honesty in his time as sheriff. But family deserved loyalty.
“I can keep the review and shred it. I can flush the pot pie or throw it in my bag. No one will immediately know he was eating it. Though Max will find it in his belly.” I put my fingers on the rim of the plate.
“And it will buy us time,” Poppa repeated.
“It’ll buy us time to get her a lawyer. A real lawyer, not Wally Lamb.” The thought that this town that Mama loved so much was going to turn their backs on her broke me to my core.
“Kenni.” Finn rushed into the room.
I jerked my hand away from the pot pie. What on earth had gotten into me? I knew. Poppa had gotten to me.
“Dagnabit!” Poppa ghosted himself away.
“What happened?” He was quickly followed in by Max Bogus. Camille walked out of the bathroom with a washcloth on her head. Finn greeted her with a nod.
My moral compass took over and I slipped the review out of my pocket and underneath the plate. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I sucked in a deep breath, and the smell of death hung in my nostrils.
“Please, can we do this later?” Camille asked. “I’m not feeling well and there’s really no more I can do about this situation.”
“Kenni, do you care if Dr. Shively le
aves?” Finn wasn’t going to let her go without my consent since he didn’t know what’d taken place before he’d gotten here.
“Sure, I’m fine with it. Please come by the station tomorrow to give a formal statement.” I offered a smile. “Camille…” Though we both grew up in Cottonwood, we weren’t what I considered good friends, but I cared about her. “I’m really sorry you had to go through this. You did all you could do to help him.”
She pursed her lips as if she were holding back tears and nodded a couple of times before she rushed out of the hotel room.
Chapter Nine
“Thoughts?” I asked Max Bogus after he’d stepped back out of the room into the hallway.
“I won’t know anything for sure until I do an autopsy, but from the sound of Camille’s statement, he probably had a heart attack. Given his lifestyle of eating all sorts of fatty foods, not to mention not being in the best shape, it’s all the classic signs.” Max took a deep inhale.
“Kenni, can I see you?” Finn stuck his head out of the door. His eyes bore into me.
“Kenni! Kenni!” Katy Lee Hart trilled from down the end of the hallway.
“What on earth is she doing here?” I asked and gave Finn the hold-on-a-second gesture.
I met Katy Lee halfway down the hall. How did she do it? I wondered how day in and day out Katy Lee looked fresh as a daisy. For a thicker gal, she walked with more grace and dignity than any thin girl I ever saw. Her silk shirt dress had the sweetest beautiful botanicals with a simple sweet lace collar. She even had a piece of grosgrain ribbon neatly tied as a waist-defining accent. Her cowboy boots made it even cuter.
“Kenni.” Katy Lee’s eyes dipped in sadness. “I just heard what happened. This is awful.”
“Yeah. Say, what are you doing here?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Kenni?” Her face contorted. “Frank Von Lee is dead and you want to know why I’m here?”
“You know I can’t say anything, so I want to hear something good.” I shrugged. “Like what’s going on with you?”
