BAD PICK

by Linda Lovely

  “Not entirely.” My fingers traced the smooth curves of my coffee cup. “Only proves theophylline was added to the chocolate mousse. Not a shred of evidence about who added it, when or why. In all likelihood the True Believers will continue to insist I knocked off Karen and Harriett as revenge for the goat yoga protest. Not sure who could swallow that motive. It’s awfully thin.”

  “Oh,” Moll put up her fingers to signal she wanted to speak as soon as she finished chewing a hunk of pumpkin bread. “I have news, too. The Temple folks can’t blame Karen’s death on you any longer. The sheriff and Danny arrested her estranged husband today.”

  “Eureka,” Aunt Eva exclaimed. “Glad they nabbed him. Was he just getting his revenge because Karen kicked him to the curb?”

  “Maybe, but he was also after insurance money. Wanted to cash in before she changed the policy. What a creep! Bad enough he killed her, but it was really sick that he tried to make it look like some sexual fetish did her in.”

  Moll finished off her second piece of pumpkin bread and downed a third cup of coffee.

  “All’s forgiven by the way.” She dusted some crumbs off her ample bosom and stood. “Guess I get why you didn’t think to call your best friend last night.” She wagged her finger. “But don’t let it happen again.”

  After Moll left, I helped Eva package more out-of-town specialty orders for FedEx. Since it was Saturday, I technically had the day off though I’d agreed to drive to Jamieson Gorge for the afternoon goat rental meeting.

  On Saturdays, Tess, a retired school teacher, staffed the retail cabin and our part-timers gave tours to families who came for weekend visits. However, since I’d spent quite a bit of time away from Udderly lately, I felt I owed Eva a little extra. I moved stockpiled bales of hay into the horse barn, and groomed Lilly’s mule, Rita, and Eva’s horse, Hank. Since Rita and I had come to a meeting of the minds, I’d ceased to fear the mule nipping or kicking me when I invaded her space.

  Those sweaty chores mandated a long hot shower and shampoo before I drove to Jamieson Gorge. As I rinsed my hair, I swore it still smelled of smoke. I gave my scalp a second generous scrubbing and rinse. If it were only that easy to get rid of bad memories—and uneasy vibes. It would be a long time before I forgot the fire’s heat on my bare skin and the choking smoke in my lungs.

  Still dripping from the shower, I phoned Andy. “Mind if we stay in and spend the evening with Eva and Billy? Eva says they’re ready for a Hearts revenge match.”

  “Fine with me,” Andy said. “Can I talk you into a game of strip poker after they trundle off to bed?”

  “Nice try, but no,” I said. “Figure we can use a sedate evening after last night’s excitement. We won’t light a log in the fireplace, and I’ll keep Eva away from the grill and the stove.”

  FORTY

  Exiting Udderly, I gritted my teeth as I approached the gate. Looked like Harriett’s Friday visitation had only offered a brief ceasefire. The war would continue, though surely they’d clear out long before the afternoon funeral service.

  Four cars squatted across from our entrance. The milling occupants were making last-minute additions to picket signs. Were they waiting for Pastor or Jeannie Nickles to appear and tell them what to do?

  I executed a wheelie about face. Had to let Aunt Eva know idiots were massing at Udderly’s property line. Maybe I should call our potential Greenville County customer. Ask to reschedule our Jamieson Gorge meeting.

  I wanted to stay and make sure the protestors didn’t hassle Udderly’s visitors. Saturday was a big family day with “city” folk from Greenville, Anderson, and Clemson bringing their kids to see our kids. Parents often mentioned they wanted their children to realize milk, cheese, and eggs didn’t originate on refrigerated grocery shelves.

  Guilt tinged my anger. Udderly would never have attracted the True Believers’ attention if I hadn’t suggested goat yoga, and if Harriett, a member of their congregation, hadn’t died because I fed her lunch. Sometimes I wondered if my presence at Udderly was making things easier for my aunt or harder.

  I called to Eva as soon as I spotted her in the milk barn. “The whackos are back. Don’t know how long they’ll stay. Should I reschedule my meeting? Want me to call reinforcements—Andy, Paint, Mollye?”

  “Slow down. Your machine-gun delivery is giving me a headache.” Eva parked herself on a hay bale and motioned for me to sit, too. “I’m not some clueless old ninny, so don’t act like it. This is nothing compared to the ruckus my late husband’s kin raised when he went missing. Back then I feared they’d show up with a rope to lynch me. Nah, these folks are harmless. Go on. Git.”

  “What about our Saturday help?” I persisted. “They’ll be here soon. Shouldn’t we warn them?”

  “Don’t think they’ll upset Gerri none.” Eva laughed. “She’ll recommend a cold glass of goat’s milk to settle them right down, and Tess will lecture them on manners. Besides, Billy’s on his way over. He’ll do gate duty. Make sure paying customers aren’t bothered.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief knowing Billy would arrive soon. The farrier was a respected local. No doubt he provided valuable services to a number of the True Believers. They’d be reluctant to give Billy a hard time.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” I said. “But call if you need me. Andy and I are planning to stay in tonight. I’ll cook something special. I assume Billy’s planning an overnight.”

  I kissed Eva’s cheek and returned to my car. However, before I started the Prius, I texted an update to Mollye, Paint, and Andy, suggesting they might drop by Udderly. But don’t let Eva know it was my idea.

  No one near the gate tried to block my car. My windshield didn’t even gather a globule of spit as I vacated the premises. I prayed my departure would siphon off protestor enthusiasm. I was the one accused of devil worship and murder. Eva was only guilty of harboring a killer—well, and harboring devil goats.

  It was a quarter till eleven when I walked into my folks’ living room. I stopped by to say goodbye to Mom and Ursula since they might be gone before I finished my Jamieson Gorge and Ruth Toomey stalking assignments.

  My mother shushed me as I entered the room.

  “Just a minute, Brie. We want to hear this update. South Carolina has nice clear skies for our evening flight, but airports up north are reporting delays.” Mom unconsciously rubbed her chin as she sat glued to the tube.

  I sat down and waited for the Weather Channel’s on-the-ground meteorologist to make his report. Decked out in a yellow slicker, he swayed as wind gusts tore at his gear. Sheets of rain almost obliterated the man’s features.

  “This Nor’easter is turning into a monster,” he grunted between gusts. “Just got word all flights in and out of airports from D.C. to Boston are canceled. The weather isn’t expected to improve for at least twenty-four hours.”

  Ursula’s hands clamped together, her knuckles white from the pressure.

  “Not a chance in Hades we’ll get out of Greenville till late Sunday,” she said. “At least the weather won’t stop Amber from heading to Florida.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Amber announced as she walked into the room. “Not yet. I have a few things I want to do first. A Clemson police officer is putting me up. Says she has plenty of room.”

  “You’re what?” Ursula’s voice rose. “You could be in danger here, especially since I can’t leave town. I want you to go home.”

  The look Amber gave her mother wasn’t exactly loving.

  “I’m an adult. I did just fine my first thirty years when I’d never heard of Ursula Billings. I can and do make my own decisions.”

  Ursula shrunk away as if she’d been slugged in the gut. I suddenly wished I was somewhere else. Nerves had been rubbed raw. I feared Ursula and Amber might both say things they’d regret.

  “I don’t think Amber’s in danger,” I butted in. “Toomey’s no dummy.
By now he has to figure the Hookers know his secret and a tell-all document has been safely tucked away should Ursula and Amber mysteriously die or disappear.”

  The look on Ursula’s face told me I’d guessed right. She’d made sure an untimely death wouldn’t bury her story.

  I’d pretty much parroted Amber’s arguments. They made sense. Nonetheless, my mother’s narrowed eyes told me what she thought about my butting in.

  I ignored the look. “I have to go to Greenville this afternoon. Should be back to Udderly by five. Andy and Billy are joining Eva and me for dinner. The more the merrier. I started a big batch of vegetarian chili in the crockpot before I left. Since it doesn’t look like you’ll be leaving town tonight, come join us. Dad, too, of course. Just give me a buzz.”

  “Brie, can you give me a ride back to Jane’s house?” Amber asked.

  “Sure.”

  Amber walked over and kissed Ursula’s cheek—a nonverbal peace offering. “I’ll call you later today, Ursula. Sorry you’re stuck here. I know you want this finished.”

  “Goodbye,” I called as we left the house.

  Amber let out a huge sigh as she climbed into my car’s passenger seat.

  “I respect Ursula, and I do love her. But our relationship’s complicated. Sometimes my emotions get the better of me. She’s not my mother. I mean I know Ursula’s my birth mother, but my real mother is the woman who raised me. My adoptive father is the only dad I’ll ever know. This whole Toomey business will break their hearts if it gets ugly.”

  Amber directed me to Jane’s house, an older brick two blocks north of Highway 123, the busy thoroughfare that became clogged with traffic when the university was in session.

  “Will you come to Udderly for dinner tonight?” I asked. “You can invite Jane, too.”

  “Jane’s working tonight so I’ll be alone. Maybe I’ll make it. Call me as soon as you make contact with Ruth. Okay?”

  “I’ll call. Can’t promise I’ll even be able to talk with Ruth let alone set up a meeting.”

  “I understand.” She squeezed my hand before she opened the car door. “All I ask is that you try.”

  FORTY-ONE

  I reached Greenville County’s Jamieson Gorge Nature Park at 11:55, a few minutes before our scheduled meet-up. Udderly’s prospective client was waiting. Picking him out wasn’t exactly a head scratcher. For starters, he was leaning against the only car in the lot. His wrinkled suit and the cigarette he puffed suggested he hadn’t come to hike. As I walked toward him, I noticed the stunted corpses of three more cigarettes stubbed out at his feet. Okay, given his litterbug carelessness, I doubted he was any kind of park ranger.

  “Mr. Stuart? I’m Brie Hooker from Udderly Kidding Dairy. Glad to meet you.” I offered my hand in greeting.

  He threw down the cigarette he’d been smoking and ground it under his heel. His handshake was firm but hasty. Despite his fingers recent contact with burning tobacco, they felt like flexible icicles.

  “John Stuart,” he said. “Thanks for meeting me on a Saturday. We had a death in the family and I took a couple of personal days. So I agreed to handle this meeting on the weekend. The park people are in a real hurry to take care of that kudzu.”

  For a minute, my mind did a backflip. A death in the family. Could it be Harriett? No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t have arranged our meeting for the day they were burying her.

  Stuart looked askance at a path that led into deep woods. “Never been out here before. Not my usual beat. County maintenance turned in a whopper estimate of what it would cost to clear kudzu and poison ivy out of the gorge the park’s named for. No way. Can’t spend that kind of dough. Only a handful of people tramp around out here. But the park folks say doin’ nothing will cost us more long term if the danged kudzu invades the entire acreage.”

  “How big’s the gorge?” I asked.

  “About fifteen acres.” His nicotine fingers dived into a file folder he’d set on the trunk of his car. “Here are the forms to submit with your bid. Hope you can get us a bid in a week. Want this taken care of in February. Supposedly it gets busier here in March.”

  Stuart surveyed the forest beyond the parking lot. His grimace suggested he thought the notion this place ever got busy was a big fat fib.

  I took the offered forms. “I’ll put these in the car. Then we’ll look at the problem area so I can get a better handle on what’s required.”

  He backed away from me like I was a lunatic. “Un uh, there’s no ‘we.’ Take as much time as you need to see what you need to see. I have another appointment.”

  His rapid blinking and furtive glances to the left suggested his appointment was one honker of a lie. This simply wasn’t his idea of how to spend a Saturday.

  “No folks on duty today,” he added. “They rotate among parks during down times when attendance is next to nil. The rangers say you can’t miss the gorge. Just follow the main path till it dead ends at a big hole in the earth. When you get there, the path goes in a circle. Take the fork left or right, doesn’t matter. You’ll end up where you started.”

  “Is there a path to climb down?”

  “No. You don’t need to.”

  “Any other access?”

  His impatient look told me he was eager to leave.

  “The Smith farm borders the park to the south. The rangers occasionally complain about hunters using the farm to sneak into the park and poach. But hunting season’s over.”

  All righty. I hoped the hunters had consulted the calendars that decreed deer season ended January first. If these folks were flaunting the law to poach, did they really care if the season to shoot game was over?

  Thankfully the scarf wrapped around my neck and tucked into my windbreaker jacket was bright red. I pulled the ends free to make it more visible. Hoped that was a good idea and didn’t make me a better target.

  Aunt Eva would pay. She hadn’t told me my errand entailed a solo safari in a nature park frequented by poachers. That news also raised concern for our goats. Would they be safe or might poachers mistake our wethers for deer?

  I watched Stuart’s car leave. February’s return chill had discouraged any fellow explorers. I was totally alone.

  I’d googled the nature park earlier. The write-up claimed Jamieson Gorge was teeming with deer and other small mammals, reptiles, and amphibians. Hmm, what classified as a “small” mammal? Bears were smaller than, say, water buffalo.

  The mention of reptiles made my skin crawl. I didn’t mind Mable, our harmless black barn snake, but the idea of one of her distant cousins dropping on my head from a tree? No thank you. If you scream bloody murder in a forest and no one’s there to hear it, did you really make a sound?

  Okay, knock it off. You go running by your lonesome all the time. Start walking. Sooner you start, sooner you’ll finish.

  The dense woods blocked almost all of February’s watery sunshine. I could swear the temperature dropped ten degrees by the time I took ten steps into the forest. I wished I had on something more than a knit top, windbreaker, and scarf.

  Speed walking I quickly reached the rim of the gorge. Its steep sides—which I studiously avoided—would make mechanical underbrushing tough. Boulders erupted from the ground at weird angles and unpredictable intervals. I wondered what had forged this deep gash in the earth. The pines and hardwoods that fought gravity to survive on the sides of the gorge had a new enemy—the invading kudzu. It was tenaciously scaling the trees.

  I followed the rim path. At the south end, I saw the spur trail poachers probably used to enter the park. I walked faster to complete the circuit and come back to my starting point.

  Our goats would munch on every leaf they could reach and nibble the roots down to nubs. But the area would be impossible to fence. The goats we rented were wethers—castrated males. We never sent does as they could damage their udders ranging throu
gh rugged terrain. Wethers were docile, but they never lost their sense of adventure. We’d need at least two herd dogs and a human to keep the rental goats in check. I wasn’t volunteering. I used my cell phone to snap pictures, hoping they’d help Eva calculate how many goats and days would be needed to clear the property.

  Assessment complete, I jogged back to my car. I told myself I was hustling to stay warm. The truth? I was spooked. I was happy to see my car remained the parking lot’s only occupant. I wasn’t eager to encounter a hulking stranger in this desolate spot.

  Once I’d jumped in the car and locked the doors, the lot looked less forbidding. The secluded spot was tailor made for a private meeting. Maybe I’d suggest Ruth and Amber could meet here tomorrow—if I found a way to speak to Ruth today.

  Safely tucked into my Prius, I googled the urgent care facility where Ruth worked and put its street address in my GPS. A know-it-all voice promptly informed me my destination was twenty-two-and-one-half miles and the expected drive time was forty minutes. Traffic congestion, road work?

  Amber had shared what she knew about Ruth’s life based on their early conversations. The half-sister had recently become engaged to Jack Ford, a South Carolina State Senator with much higher political ambitions. Ruth lived in a downtown Greenville apartment and walked to and from her job. She worked Tuesday through Friday from eight a.m. to four p.m. Her shift ended at two p.m. on Saturdays.

  If my GPS wasn’t shining me on and I got lucky finding a downtown parking space, I could reach the medical facility before she left work. Maybe I’d lurk outside and strike up a sidewalk conversation as she left work. I hoped her fiancé wasn’t meeting her.

  I’d visited Ruth’s Facebook page. I’d only seen her once at the Madren Center restaurant, and I’d been focused on her father. Ruth had been little more than background wallpaper. I hadn’t even heard her speak. She’d nodded instead of saying hello. Would I even recognize her?