If Catfish Had Nine Lives (Country Cooking School Mystery)

by Paige Shelton

  I knew there were restrictions on the placement and the number of campfires that could be active at the campsite. Only two fires were allowed, and they had to be placed on opposite sides of the site, as well as a certain distance from any of the camping structures—the tents and trailers. We’d be able to do the fish fry at the campsite, but the number of fires needed for the Dutch oven demonstrations dictated that we do those somewhere else. We decided the cooking school parking lot would be perfect. It was a place that could safely handle the fire and heat of a number of cooking stations without much concern for a spark hitting the neighboring woods or school structure. Evan, the fire marshal, had assured us that representatives from the fire department would be on-site to monitor and help with any issues. The fire restrictions were obviously being respected, but I wondered if there was a law regarding restrictions on the number of campers allowed on an open field behind a high school. Even if there wasn’t a law, it was clear that there were just too many people in one space, too many tents, and campers, too. I didn’t know the exact dangers that went along with poor crowd management, but I was sure that Jim was losing his mind regarding the campsite, and even more so with a murder. I suspected he hadn’t just shut everything down because he still wanted to investigate, and if the convention were shut down, people would just leave. He didn’t want anyone to leave yet. I didn’t envy the position he’d been put in.

  Orly steered the truck to the far end of the field, to the back corner that was almost directly across the old stagecoach tracks from the Express station. He’d set up his tent on a corner patch, where anyone who might need him could find him easily.

  He parked and said, “In my tent.”

  “Orly, you need to tell me what’s in there. I’m concerned, and I don’t know if I want to see what you think I need to see.”

  He chewed on the inside of his cheek a second and then said, “Well, I got you this far, so I guess it’s okay to tell you now that there’s a fella inside my tent. He asked me specifically to come find you and get you out here without telling you what was going on first. He thought you’d be so upset or concerned that you wouldn’t come alone, and he didn’t want anyone but you here.”

  “What fella? Who?”

  “Claims to be your brother. I already told him that I’d shoot him if he’s lying or tries anything funny.”

  I was suddenly wedged in between shock and humor; shocked that Teddy might be in Orly’s tent, humor because of Orly’s dry delivery of his threat; but then I realized he meant what he was saying. Teddy really was in his tent, and Orly probably truly would shoot him if he deemed it necessary.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “What’d he get himself into this time?”

  “Your question makes me think he’s exactly the type of young man I suspected him to be. Should we go see?”

  I hopped out of the truck and trudged over and around camping accessories to get to Orly’s tent. I was concerned about what might be going on, but I did experience a small sense of reluctant déjà vu. I’d been summoned a few times to surprising and sometimes mysterious places at often unusual hours to retrieve my brother. He was an adorable, sweet man who attracted women simply by existing, and his judgment when it came to his love life hadn’t been good. Recently, the woman I thought might actually make an honest man out of him dumped him. Ophelia Buford, Opie, a lifelong thorn in my side, had claimed to be head over heels for my untamed brother and, much to my disappointment, he claimed the same for her. And then one day, she just decided that she no longer wanted to be a couple. It had broken his heart, and I’d expected his ways of coping would result in bad behavior, but so far I’d been pleasantly surprised.

  Of course, our quiet and peaceful existence wasn’t destined to last. It was probably almost over; it would probably end when I stepped into the tent.

  Orly reached for the front flap of his very modern tent. “If he’s not who he says he is or if he acts squirrelly, just give me the signal. I’ll take care of him.”

  I nodded and he pulled back the flap.

  “Teddy!” I exclaimed when I saw him. Any irritation I felt was replaced with fear and concern. I knew the man in the tent was my brother, despite the fact that he didn’t much look like him at the moment.

  “Betts, thanks for coming out here,” he said.

  He was sitting on the ground against one of the back tent poles. I couldn’t tell exactly where he was injured, but he was covered in blood. Red and brown camouflaged most of what was supposed to be a white T-shirt. His jeans weren’t as bloody, but they looked too dirty and were ripped in the wrong places. He was holding a small slab of meat over half of his face; the other half was swollen and misshapen. His nose was huge, and his eye sagged. When he pulled away the meat, I saw that the other eye was swollen completely shut.

  “What the hell happened, Teddy?” I said as I went down on my knees next to him.

  “Don’t remember, but I think I got into a fight.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “We found him,” Orly said. He nodded toward the woods that were across the trail and behind the station. “He was unconscious.”

  I swallowed a sudden surge of anger—why did no one think to call an ambulance or get Teddy some quick medical attention?

  “Okay, I’ll get the full story later, but right now I need to get you to a doctor,” I said.

  “No, Betts, not yet,” Teddy said.

  “What?”

  “I wanted to take him to a doctor,” Orly said, “but he wouldn’t let me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We found him earlier and got him awake quickly. Just like now, he didn’t remember much, but one of our cowgirls did—the cowgirl that found him in the woods, in fact. She said she’d seen him late yesterday evening in an argument with someone who’d been hanging around us and asking us all kinds of writing questions. I put all the pieces together and realized that the person your brother was arguing with was Norman Bytheway.”

  “Oh . . . he was the one who was . . .” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am, he was the one killed this morning. When your brother and I got to talking, I thought maybe I should do as he asked and bring you out here before we did anything else.”

  I nodded at Orly and then squinted at my beaten brother. My anger and fear weren’t mellowing, exactly, but I knew I needed to get a clear head, and quick.

  “Oh, Teddy,” I said.

  “I know—what the hell happened?” he said, quoting the words I’d spoken only moments ago, and a million times before.

  Chapter 8

  “I was just hanging out, Betts, I promise,” Teddy said as I inspected his face.

  I looked at Orly; he shrugged. “Dunno. I didn’t see him and Norman arguing. I don’t know if anyone other than the cowgirl saw them. I can try to round up some people if you’d like me to, but I didn’t want anyone to feel compelled to come forward, or worry that they should run to the police too quickly.”

  “Were you arguing with Norman Bytheway?” I asked Teddy.

  “I don’t know,” he said, with hesitation. “I remember him, but I don’t remember arguing.”

  “You said you don’t remember everything clearly,” Orly said.

  Teddy looked at me through his one barely open eye. “That’s true.”

  I was torn by Orly’s seemingly fast loyalty to me and his protecting Teddy; I was both relieved and uncomfortable. Sure, he and I had bonded, but what he’d done could get him in trouble. Of course, I’d do what I could to make sure that didn’t happen, but I knew what we should be doing. We should be—as Orly would probably put it—hightailing it to a doctor, calling the police on the way so they could meet us and get a statement from Teddy.

  However, here I was, still in the tent, still trying to understand what happened before I took any steps to do what I was supposed to do.

  “Teddy, who was the girl?” I asked. No one had mentioned a girl in that context yet, but when Teddy was involved, there was
always a girl. “Was it the”—I looked at Orly—“cowgirl?”

  Teddy sighed and looked away from me and to the floor of the tent.

  “I’m not sure if she’s the same girl that Orly is talking about, but I think I remember someone named Esther.”

  I looked at Orly, who shook his head. I said, “The girl who found him wasn’t Esther?”

  “No, ma’am,” Orly said.

  “Go on, Teddy,” I said. I wondered how many Esthers were at the convention. I hoped that Teddy wasn’t talking about the same one I’d just seen ask Jake out on a dinner date, but I was sure he was.

  “I don’t remember much else about her at this point. I wasn’t here to meet girls, Betts, I promise. And I was minding my own business. She came on to me. I’m pretty sure. And I don’t think Norman was upset by that at all, but I kind of remember him being there at the same time. I think. Shoot, I’m just not sure.”

  It was my turn to sigh. If he was remembering anything correctly, I doubted he was lying about the bits and pieces. He wasn’t adept at lying, which was mostly a good thing.

  “And you just went along with it, with her?” I said.

  “Not really. I’m not . . . I’m not looking for a girl, Betts. I’m still trying to get over Opie, you know that.”

  In fact, I did know that, though Teddy had never needed to spend much time working to get over anyone before. He typically bounced back quickly; the fact that he hadn’t this time broke my heart a little, as well as got under my skin. How could anyone ever care that much for Opie?

  Nevertheless.

  “Word has it that Norman was sweet on a couple girls,” Orly said. “But he and Esther had been flirting, or perhaps more; at least they were seen together a lot these past couple of days. These events seem to bring that sort of thing out in some people—outside, camping, away from home, romantic poetry and singing. Well, it happens. I tend not to give much attention to those who are of age and who aren’t being obnoxious.”

  I kept to myself that I’d met Esther—well, an Esther anyway. She and Vivienne had both mentioned that they had talked to the murder victim but not much more. However, she hadn’t seemed particularly affected by Norman’s murder, not needing extra recovery time in Stuart’s shop like Vivienne had. I’d save that information for the police if I thought they needed it.

  “What else do you remember?” I asked Teddy.

  “I remember sitting around the fire last night. I remember a girl coming over to me. I even remember trying to let her know I wasn’t interested, Betts.”

  “I believe you.”

  “Good. Then, later, I’m pretty sure it was Norman who asked me to help him with some firewood. I thought it was strange that he wanted to go into the woods for the wood. There were two big stacks that I helped chop last week on the edge of the field, but he said that someone had carried some logs out to the woods and someone had told them they weren’t allowed to light a fire out there, which was true—fires aren’t supposed to be lit out there. He wanted me to help him bring the wood back to the piles. At the time that must have made sense,” Teddy said doubtfully. It didn’t make any sense at all, actually, but I didn’t point that out.

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t remember anything else after that.”

  “Not one thing?”

  “Not one thing.”

  “You don’t remember being hit?”

  “No.”

  He’d been hit more than once, that much was clear.

  The fact that my brother had been accosted—at least according to his shaky side of the story—boiled my stomach. From what I could see, it looked like he might have easily been killed. Had he been only one more blow from death? I hadn’t seen Norman this morning, but had he looked beaten up? Had it been a fair fight? Had Norman even been involved at all?

  Teddy’s story was outrageous, but fathomable in a muddled-up-facts way, I supposed. The motivations behind the violent behavior couldn’t simply have been because of a woman, though. There had to be more. I wanted to push Teddy to try to remember better, but the responsible side of me was taking over again, and he needed to see a doctor more than he needed to be pushed. Besides, maybe his memories would come back a little more as he healed.

  “Orly, do you mind driving us back into town?” I said.

  “Right away.”

  “I think I have my truck. I must have driven it here last night. And I have my keys,” Teddy said as he winced and reached into his pocket.

  “I think it’s parked on the other side of the campsite. I’ll take you two over there,” Orly said.

  “Thanks, Orly. I’ll drive your truck, Teddy,” I said as I took the keys. Orly and I helped Teddy stand. He wasn’t too wobbly, and it appeared that his injuries were only on the top part of his body. His legs, ankles, and feet seemed unharmed, despite the rips in his jeans.

  Instead of loading us into his truck, Orly sent a man he called Gary over to fetch Teddy’s. Gary was an old, short guy with a pronounced limp, but Orly seemed to think he could handle driving. For some strange reason—perhaps because I needed something positive to think about—my mind zoned in on the fact that if Teddy had been lying unconscious in the woods last night and then some of this morning, he couldn’t possibly have pulled the trigger on the gun that killed Norman Bytheway. Had Orly not put that together? He might have, but I guessed I could understand why a beaten-up guy who’d been seen arguing with a murder victim should maybe not broadcast his injuries for the world to see. However, the logistics of getting his beaten self back out into the woods to be found there after killing someone just didn’t jibe.

  I wished I had time to walk around the entire campsite. I wasn’t sure what to look for or what questions to ask anyone, but I sensed I could figure it out as I went. Maybe I could learn something, maybe not. But, again, medical attention for Teddy was the priority.

  We hoisted him up and loaded him into the passenger side of his truck. Orly shut the door with a solid thud and then tapped the door with his fingers.

  “I’ll ask around, Betts,” he said after he perhaps read my mind about wanting to search for answers. “I’ll try to get some details.”

  “Thank you.” I looked at him a long moment. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I mean, let me know that Teddy was here.”

  Orly shrugged, which I’d already noticed a few times was an interesting maneuver for someone who was so thick in the chest. His whole torso lifted, not just his shoulders.

  “He thought you might panic, or something. I understood. I know your brother needed to be checked over by a doctor, but his life was no longer in jeopardy, and it’s my experience that if danger or death isn’t imminent, most situations need a little time and a little thought before people such as doctors or police officers are contacted. Just the way it is.”

  “Makes sense,” I said, and it did, to a point. “Thank you again.”

  “Not to worry. Drive carefully.”

  • • •

  Doc Callahan was in his examination office and available, fully clothed, not dressed in his robe as he was when he was awakened or pulled from his house for a medical emergency. He shooed me out of the examining room, and I walked through the reception area and out the front doors. I pulled out my phone and called Cliff on his cell.

  “Hey, Betts.”

  “Hi, Cliff, I know you’re probably crazy busy.” The jail wasn’t far away, but I didn’t want to make a big production out of what I was doing by going there to talk to him.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Everyone’s fine, but can you meet me at Doc Callahan’s?”

  “Uh. Sure. Betts, are you hurt, sick?”

  “No, I promise it’s not serious.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  From where I stood, I could watch him exit the jail and then break into a jog as he hurried toward me.

  “It’s Teddy,” I said as he came to a stop in front of me. “He was in a fight, or just beaten. He’s conscious and
going to be fine. He’s being looked at by Doc Callahan. The . . . incident was last night, as far as anyone can tell.”

  Cliff’s eyebrows came together. He was in great shape but the jog, and perhaps the request to meet at a doctor’s office, had sped up his breathing slightly. “You want me to arrest the person he was fighting with?”

  “You can’t. At least we don’t think you can.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “If there was a fight, chances are the other person was the same person who was killed this morning. Norman Bytheway.”

  “I see,” Cliff said after a beat. “I need to talk to him, Betts.”

  “I know, but can you just talk to him without Jim knowing, at least for a little while?”

  “Yes.”

  I liked his quick response.

  “Thank you. Come on.”

  Doc Callahan didn’t question or complain about Cliff and Teddy taking up an examining room for “official” purposes. If someone had seriously needed medical attention, Doc Callahan would have kicked them out with no hesitation.

  I was disappointed, however, when Cliff was firm in telling me to leave.

  “Betts, we need to find a killer. I’ll give every benefit of every doubt to Teddy, but he might have some answers. Go home. I’ll see you later.”

  I left the doctor’s office unwillingly, but Cliff did have a point—finding a killer was more important than my sense of big-sisterness.

  As I stood outside the doctor’s office and looked around Broken Rope’s now-spooky, quiet downtown, I remembered everyone else I wanted to find—a couple ghosts and Gram. The Nova wasn’t far away. As I climbed into the car, I pulled out my phone to call Gram but noticed that I’d missed a text from her that said: Joe and I will be at the school for a while. Stop by if you want to.

  I was drained, but still wired with adrenaline. I had some questions for Joe, and Gram, for that matter. Maybe putting my focus on them would help me worry less about Teddy.