by Tonya Kappes
“How did her sister die?” I asked. It was the first I’d ever heard that there was another Stone sister.
“You know,” Poppa shrugged, “I really don’t know. We were teenagers and Beryle never really wanted to talk about it. The only thing she did say was that her sister was considered mentally slow. But I thought she seemed like a little sister.”
“That’s so sad.” I couldn’t imagine the pain the family had gone through losing someone so young.
“We had a lot of fun growing up.” Poppa’s eyes drew up to the large white brick house that was covered in crawling ivy. Most of the shingles were off the roof. The large water fountain in the middle of the circular driveway had pretty much deteriorated and was in shambles. The weeds and bushes next to the house had grown up past the front windows. The barn, a little distance away from the house, was literally caving in on itself.
It was a shame. I’d heard how beautiful it was in its time when it was kept up.
“Beryle left Cottonwood after we graduated. At her daddy’s funeral, I asked her about the estate. She said she’d keep it but wouldn’t be returning to live here because there were just too many memories. By that time, she’d gotten famous and there was really nothing left here for her. At least that’s what she said.” He tipped his chin my way. “Even though I never read anything she wrote, I loved listening to her stories. She knew how to tell some doozies. You never knew if she was telling you a fib or the truth.” He shook his bony finger at me. “Once she wrote to me telling me that her editor said there was a fine line Beryle had between reality and fiction that made a good writer. I guess that editor was right.”
I noticed a car parked in the front along with the box truck that Ruby Smith used to transport antiques to and from her shop. I parked the Wagoneer next to it.
Two burly men were coming out the front door carrying a chest of drawers and heading towards the truck.
“It sure doesn’t look like someone’s been living here.” I opened the door and got out. “Come on, Duke.”
Most times I didn’t take Duke into people’s houses if I didn’t know them or thought they’d mind, but with the condition this house was in, Duke was just fine to go in with me. Especially if Cecily really did sense some sort of danger, it was good to have Duke by my side.
I rested my hand on my holster and pushed the cracked front door open with the toe of my shoe. “Hello, Cecily?”
Duke stood next to me. The fur on the back of his neck stood up a little more than normal.
“I hear some voices.” Poppa ghosted himself through the door and into the house.
I waited for a minute and when he didn’t come back, I waited a moment longer in hope he’d warn me of any danger. We were still getting used to each other and how we worked as a team in the ghost deputy, human sheriff department. So far we were working out the kinks, but like any new working relationship, it was going to take some time and probably a lot more cases.
I took the first step over the threshold and Duke followed alongside. The dim chandelier hanging from the ceiling added some light and had a little help from the matching sconces dotting each side of the long narrow hallway. The wood floors creaked with each step we took. Poppa’s head stuck out from an opening down the hall a little, and he gestured for me to come there.
Surprisingly, the house was in great shape. In fact, much better shape than the outside. I looked into a couple of the rooms as I walked down the hallway and noticed the upgraded lighting and furniture. It did look like someone had been living there.
“I’m not going to say a word,” the familiar voice of Cecily Hoover came from the room where Poppa’s ghost had stuck his head out.
“You have to tell me where the manuscript is. I’m the executor and I want to get as much money for Beryle’s charities as possible. Nowhere in the paperwork is it stated that you are to have a job, so you can gather your belongings and get out,” Ruby Smith demanded.
I stood in the hallway to listen in before I made my presence known.
“Beryle Stone didn’t want it that way, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. The manuscript will go to the publisher.” Cecily’s voice hardened. “I’m going to stay until the end of the sale to make sure the editor gets it.”
“Let me tell you something, missy.” Fire was brewing in Ruby and making her ill-tempered. I knew that she was boiling inside because she didn’t call anyone missy unless she was about to blow. “Around these parts we take care of our people. I don’t know about that New York attitude you got, but it ain’t gonna fly around here.”
Ruby’s accent was coming out like it did when she was angry.
“If you think for one minute that I’m gonna let you and anyone else in this town disrespect Beryle’s legacy and what she wanted to do with that manuscript, then you have another thing coming. Do you understand me?” Cecily said.
Ruby threatened back, “I will stop this estate sale with one call to Wally Lamb. So get out of my way because I’m going to tear this house to shreds to find the manuscript with or without your help.”
My eyes rolled skyward. I should’ve known that Ruby would use Wally Lamb as her attorney. If it had anything to do with money, Wally Lamb was knee deep in it.
“You will find that manuscript over my dead body,” Cecily said, followed up with the sounds of a little shuffling.
“Alright, Duke. Let’s get into this one.” I gave Duke the go-ahead to enter. When there was an “over my dead body” threat being thrown out, I figured I might as well make my presence known. “Hi, ladies,” I greeted them just before the two of them put their hands on each other.
Both of them turned, wide-eyed with their mouths gaped open at the sight of me.
“I’m sorry if I startled y’all.” I smiled and walked into the room. “Oh.” I took a step back. “Did I walk in on a private conversation?”
“No, no.” Ruby shook her head. “I’m here to take inventory of some of the antiques since I’m the executor. I need to know what exactly is going to go up for sale and what is going to go to the antique shop for another fund Beryle had set up. I’ve got some of my workers here to take some items now so the buyers who are already in town can come down to the shop and look.”
“And I was helping her.” Cecily planted the fakest smile. Like those ones you see on the Miss America pageant contestants.
“It didn’t sound like either of you were helping each other.” I looked between them.
“We have an understanding.” Ruby nodded, her nose crunched when she smiled. “Cecily, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure you will enjoy your stay at the Inn.” The soles of Ruby’s flat shoes clicked across the hardwood floor. “Kenni.” She nodded on her way out of the door, but not without petting the top of Duke’s head first.
I sucked in a deep breath and waited until I heard Ruby’s shoes off a good distance. I couldn’t help but notice that Cecily looked fried.
“I thought you were staying here.” I recalled her telling me she was when we were at the ceremony.
“I am.” Her words were as flat as the look on her face. “I’m just glad you’re here so you can keep an eye on the place.” She brushed her hands together and took a few steps toward me as if she was going to walk out the door.
“Wait a second.” I put my hand out before she made it past me. “I’m not here to watch over anything. I’m here to take the secret manuscript and take it to my office for safekeeping. I don’t think anyone will try to come into the sheriff’s office to steal anything.”
“I told you earlier I don’t know where it is,” Cecily said. “I don’t know where Beryle put it.”
“I know I asked you earlier, but did you physically see the manuscript?” I asked, feeling as if I’d just wasted my time driving out here. “Are you sure it’s even real?”
“Yes, it’s real. She worked on it every day. I saw her
working on it.” Cecily drew her lips together. “She didn’t tell me what was in it, and she didn’t let me see it. She just said that she had to tell her story.”
“Did she tell you her story?” I asked.
“No.” Cecily didn’t seem to offer any information unless I dragged it out of her.
“You said you were her assistant. What exactly did you do for her?” I asked.
“I’ve been with her for five years now. I traveled with her. I lived with her, mainly to keep her company. I know what her wishes were, and I’m asking you to help me keep this place secure until we can find it,” Cecily said.
“Like I said earlier, there are only a couple of people in our department; I’m not sure if I can spare the resources. You can call in a security service. I’m trying to assess the danger.” I twisted around. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone here beating down the door. Ruby Smith is just doing her duties as executor.”
“Beryle never mentioned her. I was surprised when Mr. Lamb told me about her.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“A couple of months,” she said.
I took a seat next to her, but Duke stayed at the door. “You are asking for the sheriff’s help. You are trying to evade any questions I ask in order to make an informed decision on whether or not to send someone here because of a supposed manuscript. You’re going to have to give me something to make me believe someone is going to come here and steal it.”
“I told Beryle I’d keep her secret safe, but now that’s she gone…” Her voice broke. “From what I could tell, she was healthy and happy. She’d been working on a tell-all because she said that she needed money and this book would be her biggest yet. She had a meeting set up with her publisher in a week to discuss the book and her advance.”
“I thought she had plenty of money,” I said.
“I thought so too, but when she told me she needed money, I didn’t ask why. It wasn’t my place. My salary came from her publisher. She was a very private woman. And when she died in her sleep, I just couldn’t believe it. I called her lawyer, and he looked at all of the requests she’d put in her will and has carried them out. I’m just here until after the estate sale.” A tear trickled down her cheek.
“How did she act over the past week or so?” I asked.
“She was happy. Happy about living back here. She’d take long walks and disappear for hours. Happy about this book. That’s when she insisted on fixing up the house and changing things around. It was a lot of fun. We painted a few rooms and brought some of her old furniture back to life. I showed her Pinterest and we got some ideas from there. She didn’t want anyone to know she was here, so she sent me to get all the materials.”
“Why didn’t she want anyone to know? Her friends would’ve loved to see her.” It was a burning question, unless Beryle had put something really terrible in her tell-all that would prevent her from wanting to face her friends.
“I don’t think she had many friends.” Poppa appeared next to the window. “She wasn’t a busybody like the rest of the old women our age. She was a good person. I’m not sure what her big secret was about.”
I tried to keep my attention on Cecily as Poppa kept yammering on.
“She was in the early stages of doing a big book release here after it was published. She was going to announce her retirement and that she was moving back to Cottonwood full-time.” Cecily sat on the couch with her legs crossed. “She talked about how this house inspired her to write when she was a young adult. She loved Cottonwood so much that she wanted to come back and live the rest of her life here. She said she had a lot here, but from what I could tell, it’s just this house.”
She gulped. A tear fell from the corner of her right eye. She reached up and wiped it away.
“Even the small memorial service didn’t do her justice.” Her voice cracked.
“It was so hush-hush.” I said.
“Yes.” She nodded and pushed a tear to the side of her face. “It was her wish to just have Preacher Bing say a little eulogy.”
“It’s just like Beryle to want to go out peacefully and quietly. She was such a wonderful person.” Poppa ghosted himself into the room. “She never bothered anyone.”
“When did you say that Beryle died?” I needed to know for sure. I was definitely going to the church to see what they knew. I was sure Stella knew more than she was letting on.
“It’ll be a week tomorrow,” Cecily said.
She reached over to the end table next to the couch and took something out of the drawer. She handed me what looked to be a memorial card to honor Beryle’s life.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” she asked and stood up.
“That’d be great.” I looked down at the memorial card after she’d left the room. Poppa stood over me. “Would she really not want a funeral?” I whispered to him.
“She was pretty private. She never had a lot of friends, she never gossiped, and she never went to the school events. She just wanted to hang at her house.”
“Then what in the world is in her supposed tell-all that would need to be protected until it’s sold?” There was something that didn’t add up.
“I have no idea. We didn’t keep in touch that much. She would send me a postcard from here or there, but she rarely came back to Cottonwood, that I know of.” Poppa went to the opposite side of the room when Cecily came back in.
She was carrying a tray with two ceramic mugs and a carafe of coffee along with some creamer and sugar.
I handed her the memorial card in exchange for the coffee mug.
“Anyone else at the memorial that you might’ve forgotten?” I asked taking a sip of the black coffee.
“Cream? Sugar?” I waved her off. She fixed her coffee and answered, “It was me, the preacher, and her editor, who flew in and out for it.”
“And you really don’t know what she was writing?” I asked.
“I told you, no. In fact, her editor asked me if I knew where it was. She said that Beryle never let her read it either. They’d given her an advance based on her track record.”
“You didn’t find it?” I asked and took another drink, trying to read her body language to see if she was lying.
“Why do you keep asking me this? I told you earlier and just a few minutes ago that I have no clue where it’s at and that I need security.” Cecily was getting a little testy from my friendly interrogation.
“I have to make sure there’s a real need for me or my deputy to provide some sort of security.” My instinct told me that she wasn’t lying.
She curled her bottom lip under her front teeth. Her eyes darted between mine nervously. “I’m afraid that Beryle might’ve been murdered.”
“Murdered?” I asked, my voice high-pitched. She caught me off guard.
“Murdered?” Poppa stood in shock. “Who would want to murder her?”
“I just have a feeling.” Cecily put her hand flat on her stomach. “She was healthy, but she suddenly dies in her sleep?”
“Sheriff Lowry, you there?” Betty Murphy’s voice chirped through the walkie-talkie.
I held a finger up to Cecily and excused myself into the hall.
I pushed the button on the side of the walkie-talkie strapped to my shoulder. “Go ahead, Betty.”
“There is an emergency on Walnut Street.” Her voice escalated with each word.
“Can you tell Deputy Vincent to take care of it? I’m out at the Stone estate.” It was nice to be able to count on another deputy to help out.
“I’m sorry, Kenni. I already sent Finn to the Graves’ place where there was a trespasser,” Betty said. “I think you better hurry. It’s a gun-slingin’ from what I can get from the girl.”
“Gun slinging?” I asked. “I’m on my way.” I clicked off the walkie-talkie and poked my head back in the room. �
�Duke.” I patted my leg and Duke came. “Cecily, I’ll have to come back either tonight or tomorrow to figure out what we can do about this missing manuscript. And this accusation of Beryle Stone being murdered.”
There was no time to hear Cecily’s complaining. After rushing out of the house, Duke jumped in the Wagoneer before me. I rolled down the window.
I grabbed the old beacon police light from underneath my seat and licked the suction cup and stuck it to the roof off the Jeep.
“There’s a gun slinging going on in town.” I pulled the gearshift into drive and peeled out of the driveway, but not without looking in the rearview mirror, where there was a very unhappy Cecily Hoover staring back at me. Poppa was next to her, staring at her with his ghost eyes.
I shivered.
Chapter Seven
The rattle of the Wagoneer didn’t dislodge the image of Poppa’s eyes from my mind, nor did the blaring siren or the blue and white flashing lights that danced in the shadows of the fall-colored trees that lined the old country road on my way back into town. Heck, not even the thought of dueling neighbors had my blood stirred as much as Poppa’s stare.
Still, I had a job to do, and neither Cecily nor Poppa had committed any sort of crime. The feelings I was having were probably just unanswered questions that I left behind after Betty called me.
Just like a small town, the cars on the road in front of me pulled over to let me pass, but not without speeding behind me once I’d passed them so they could keep up and get to the scene to see exactly what was going on. It shouldn’t have annoyed me like it did because my dad used to do the same thing with me in the car. If a firetruck or Poppa passed with their lights on and the siren blaring, we followed right behind, anticipating what happened just so we could gossip about it later.
Instead of taking Main Street all the way into town—I knew all the downtown shops would be busy with the tourist and supper crowd—I took a right on Chestnut and a quick left on York until I made the right turn onto Walnut. I didn’t have to try and figure out exactly where the dueling neighbors were located since there was a small crowd gathered in the yard and right in the middle was my mama yapping in that dang bullhorn.
