Bones to Pick

by Linda Lovely

  “Leave Paint out of this,” I interrupted. “He did me a favor. I wanted to go. Hog Heaven is one of his customers. He’s friends with the owner and bouncer. He knew I’d be in no danger.”

  “Oh, and he stops bullets, too?” Mom sucked in a deep breath. “Tell me again what you thought you’d accomplish sashaying into Hog Heaven?”

  I slumped in my seat. Nothing I said would change Mom’s mind. “I thought we might talk to some of Eli’s drinking buddies, find out if he bought drugs or ever hinted about wanting an easy out of his marriage. I hoped we’d find a lead and get the sheriff to look at someone besides Eva and me as potential killers. Eli’s capable of murder. I know it. Far as I’m concerned, he’s at the top of the list as his wife’s killer.”

  Mom sighed. Her anger was winding down. “Well, that sure backfired. Now the sheriff thinks you’re the off-kilter bully. Brie, your dad and I are worried sick. I know you’re an adult and need to make your own decisions, but please reconsider. Move in with us until some of this craziness resolves itself. You can help Eva during daylight hours.”

  She looked at me, eyes pleading. I felt bad. The situation was costing her, but I couldn’t abandon Aunt Eva. And I wasn’t convinced I was truly in danger. Whoever rear-ended my Prius was interested in scaring not killing. He had to figure he’d accomplished that goal.

  Aunt Eva walked onto the porch the minute we stopped in front of her cabin. She froze when she saw me. “Did you duke it out with a prickly cactus and lose? What the heck happened to you, Brie?”

  I gave a synopsis of my roadside adventure, ending with my belief that Eli Watson was behind the wheel of the kamikaze truck.

  Eva shook her head. “You haven’t been listening to the radio. The news is all about Eli Watson.”

  Mom’s head shot up. “Did the sheriff take him into custody for running Brie off the road? Did he admit it?”

  “Hardly. Eli’s dead. Hanged himself. A friend he’d been drinking with the night before found him early afternoon. He’d been strung up for hours.”

  My skin felt icy. What in blazes? Eli didn’t seem the suicidal type—not unless he could take someone with him.

  Then it hit me. If he’d been dead for hours, he couldn’t have been the one ramming my Prius this morning. Could I have made another enemy? Someone else who held a grudge and felt justified turning a vehicle into a battering ram?

  We hurried inside. Eva had set out a nice lunch, and she hadn’t even attached a Post-it note to my leftover moatloaf. Didn’t matter. I’d lost my appetite. It looked as if the feeling was shared. Still, we all took seats at the small table, the best place for conversation.

  Mom pushed her plate away and stabbed at the numbers on her phone. “I’m calling my EMS friend. Try to get some details about Eli’s death.”

  Eva and I sat quietly, waiting for Mom to end her call’s one-sided conversation. Mostly Mom listened. After a minute or two, Eva went to the kitchen and returned with mugs of hot tea. My fingers gratefully closed around the warm mug. I held it to my cheek.

  “Thanks,” I mouthed. Eva nodded.

  Mom thanked her friend and put her cell phone on the table. Her frown and knitted eyebrows suggested grim news.

  “A buddy found the body about noon and called EMS. The friend said he dropped by to check on Eli since he’d been in bad shape when he left Hog Heaven. Claims he found Eli hanging from a beam, a chair kicked over nearby.”

  “Did they find a note?” Eva asked.

  “Yes. Eli admitted to killing his wife. Couldn’t live with the guilt. Said he bought the lethal drug, baked it into a brownie, and packed it in Nancy’s lunch. Told her a cousin was testing a new recipe.”

  Eva shook her head so violently she looked possessed. “No way, Jose. I’ve known Eli Watson forty years. He’s not that organized. And he’d never spend money buying drugs when he had bullets to spare. But what sticks in my craw is the note’s suggestion that a guilty conscience prompted him to commit suicide. That’s total bullshit.”

  I glanced at Mom. She looked pensive. “It’ll be treated as a suspicious death,” she said. “There’ll be an autopsy. If the note’s handwritten, they’ll compare it with other samples of Eli’s handwriting and check fingerprints.”

  Eva snorted. “That may be tough. Doubt the man ever picked up a pencil after high school. Guess I shouldn’t badmouth the dead, but those Watsons have been enemies a long, long time.”

  Mom suddenly looked over at me. “My God, if Eli was dead hours before they found his body, he couldn’t have driven the truck that rear-ended you. If it wasn’t Eli, who was it?” Her eyes pleaded as she looked from me to my aunt. “Brie’s not safe. Eva, maybe you can talk her into living with us for the time being.”

  “Eva, Mom, listen. Whoever drove that truck didn’t try to attack me on the farm, and he didn’t wait for nightfall. I’m as safe at Udderly as anywhere else. The real question is—who did I make this mad?”

  Mom nodded. “Yes, that’s the question. And you’re right. Maybe you’re not safe anywhere in Ardon County. You should go back to Asheville.”

  “Not happening. I quit my job. Someone else has moved into my apartment. And Eva needs me. We just have to get to the bottom of this. Maybe that truck incident doesn’t have a thing to do with Eva, the Watsons, or Udderly Kidding Dairy. Maybe it was just good old-fashioned road rage.”

  Too bad I couldn’t convince myself.

  TWENTY-THREE

  After Mom left for a plea bargain hearing, I helped Eva with chores until she shooed me inside to check internet orders and work on Udderly’s books. Cashew welcomed me like I’d been freed from a year in the hoosegow. A frantic lick for every second away. Nice to know someone loved me unconditionally. I gave her a hug and a well-deserved doggie treat. Cashew thought I was brilliant.

  Back to reality. I needed to understand Lilly’s accounting system before we switched banks. My digital exploration quickly convinced me my aunt’s accounts were straight forward. I wouldn’t screw up if I just followed her lead.

  While the accounting system revealed no surprises, the numbers did. Udderly processed one boatload of long-distance internet orders. I downloaded a sizeable rush order from a Napa Valley winery for Udderly’s soft cheeses. The vintner’s note said he learned of Udderly when one of its specialty cheeses won an international award. Impressive.

  I printed the rush order for the winery’s upcoming soiree plus half a dozen less urgent orders. Then I went searching for Eva. She was humming away as she performed her cheese magic in the dairy enclave. The woman’s optimism was impressive. Or else she was a fatalist. Que sera, sera. Enjoy it while you can.

  “Need some help filling these orders?” I asked.

  Eva glanced at her heavy-duty steel watch. “Too late for FedEx today. We’ll put the orders together tomorrow. I’ll schedule a pickup for the morning.”

  “Isn’t Andy supposed to be here in an hour?” she asked. “Go on. Get ready. You’re not headed anywhere dangerous tonight, are you? Snake-handling at the church in the woods? Busting up a cockfight ring? Your father will shoot me if you have another exciting evening.”

  “We’re going to an Indian restaurant in Greenville that caters to vegetarians. The most excitement may be pleas for pitchers of water if the food’s too spicy.”

  “Don’t assume your entrée is the only spicy option.” Eva winked. “That gold digger who divorced Andy was nuts. He’s a very nice fellow. But nice doesn’t equate to bland.”

  The cell phone in my pocket vibrated. Good, an excuse to avoid answering my aunt, who was way too enthusiastic about meddling in my love life—or lack thereof. I looked at the caller ID. Speak of the devilish angel.

  “Hi, Andy.”

  Eva tilted her head. She studied my expression as I listened to Andy’s rushed words. I put my phone back in my pocket.

  “Looks like I
have an extra half hour to get ready. Andy will be a little late. Deputy West called him to the Watson farm to pick up that pit bull Eli kept chained in his yard. With both Nancy and Eli gone, the deputy asked Andy to put the dog down. Said the county would pay.”

  Eva frowned. She couldn’t bear to have animals mistreated.

  “That’s a danged shame. That pit bull’s little more than a puppy. No chance for a real life. His bad luck that no-goodnicks bought him.” She sighed. “Guess if Andy puts him down at least he won’t suffer anymore.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t finish. Andy will be late because he’s taking the dog to his clinic. Wants to feed him and get him comfy. He’s going to contact a rescue group for abused pets. Hopes to find the Watson dog a foster home. Since Andy’s already calling the pit bull by name—Jethro—my hunch is our soft-hearted vet will wind up being Jethro’s foster dad.”

  The guardian dogs announced Andy’s arrival. Their excited, happy greetings said they welcomed a friend.

  Eva grinned. “That danged vet spoils my dogs. Always brings them treats.”

  I opened the front door before Andy reached the cabin stairs. Wow, handsome didn’t do him justice. His bronzed skin came courtesy of his job, not a tanning booth. It set off a smile any toothpaste advertiser would envy. Streaky blond curls kissed his forehead.

  Tonight he wore crisply pressed tan chinos. The collar of a starched white shirt peeked out of the neck of a Kelly-green V-neck sweater.

  “Get Jethro settled?” I asked.

  “Sure did. He’s really a sweet dog. Should be fine tonight. Hope I can find him a new home tomorrow.”

  Cashew, the shameless flirt, was dancing around Andy’s legs. He laughed, picked her up, and gave her one of the treats that seemed to fill his pockets.

  “Want to come in for a drink?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’ll just say howdy to Eva before we leave. We need to get on the road if we want to get to Greenville before the restaurant quits serving. I warned you. Swad isn’t fancy. It’s a family restaurant adjacent to a grocery store. One reviewer said it was like dining in someone’s living room. The owner’s a lifelong vegetarian.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Just what I need after my day.”

  Andy put Cashew down and looked up at me. Brows knitted, head cocked to the side. No wonder he looked puzzled. Andy had no clue I’d been run off the road or interrogated by a smirking Sheriff Jones. The odds were also good he was unaware that I’d stepped out with Paint last night. Hmm. I couldn’t very well catch him up on my run-in with the late Mr. Watson without mentioning I’d spent the evening with his very-much-alive best friend.

  Maybe his response would help me figure out if spending time with both men was a problem. I shook my head. Get over yourself. You’re not on some pick-a-bachelor TV show, and Andy more or less said he was simply looking for a dinner companion.

  Andy greeted Eva with a kiss on the cheek. He promised to bring me home safe and sound and said he’d drop by late tomorrow to give the newborns a once-over.

  As I climbed inside his truck, I noticed my passenger seat sported nary a fur ball. “Wow, I am getting the royal treatment. You vacuumed.”

  Andy laughed. “I keep my promises. Especially to pretty ladies.”

  No question. Andy and Paint had very different personalities. But it was easy to see why they were fast friends. How could anyone help but like both men? I couldn’t.

  As we drove to Greenville, I asked Andy for a full report on his visit to Eli Watson’s farm.

  “By the time I arrived, Eli’s body was gone,” he began. “And Sheriff Jones, Deputy West, and the County Solicitor were huddled in the living room. When I went inside to look for Jethro’s dog food, I walked in on a heated argument.”

  “The DA was there—at a suicide? That’s a surprise.”

  From what Mom told me, solicitors, South Carolina’s version of district attorneys, didn’t usually visit suicide scenes.

  “Imagine Nancy’s death and Eli’s confession obliged the solicitor to make a cameo appearance,” Andy answered. “He sure wasn’t happy.”

  “Was he mad at the sheriff?” Anyone who took issue with Sheriff Jones was A-OK in my book.

  “The solicitor wasn’t happy that Eli’s body was cut down before the scene was photographed. He also chastised the sheriff for not putting on gloves when he pulled Eli’s suicide note out of the computer printer tray.”

  “Computer? I assumed the note would be handwritten.”

  “No. Printed and not even signed.”

  “Wow, I can’t blame the solicitor for getting on West’s case. Don’t Ardon officers watch NCIS or Criminal Minds? Dad would immediately suspect the sheriff and deputy of trying to contaminate the crime scene.”

  “Your dad? I knew your mother was an attorney, but what’s your father’s tie to law enforcement?”

  I laughed. “Strictly fictional. Dad may teach horticulture, but he loves murder mysteries. He’s convinced he’ll write a best-seller someday. Spends a lot of time researching police procedures. He takes a week of vacation every year to attend the Writers’ Police Academy. Sounds like so much fun I plan to go with him one summer.”

  Andy bit his lip. “The fellow who found Eli said he cut him down because he couldn’t stand to see a friend strung up like an oversized piñata. Maybe. But something was off. The sheriff claimed he had no idea that paper in the printer had anything to do with Eli’s suicide. I didn’t buy Jones’ excuse. Don’t think the solicitor did either.

  “But that’s not the main reason I’m suspicious. I’m convinced someone else typed that suicide note. Eli was a ‘prepper’—do you know what that means?”

  I shook my head. I’d heard the term but couldn’t place it.

  “Preppers believe civilization is going to implode—soon—and they plan to be the only ones prepared to live through the end times. The ultimate survivors. Eli was rabid about computers. Said technology was destroying our society, turning children into zombies. I heard his rave firsthand when he brought Jethro in for shots. He was furious Nancy’d bought a computer. Said he’d never touch the thing. Hard to imagine him choosing to type his last words on a computer.”

  Yes, I was right to doubt suicide. It was totally out of character. Now murder felt like a certainty. Someone had killed Eli.

  Only one fact remained indisputable—a dead Eli couldn’t have run me off the road. The EMS crew—folks Mom trusted—confirmed he died long before a monster truck played bumper cars with my little Prius. Who was it?

  Swad, the restaurant, charmed me, as did my dinner companion. Andy put himself entirely in my hands, suggesting I order for both of us since he knew zip about Indian food. He promised to try anything. I hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. With all the questions I’d asked on our ride, Andy must have felt like he’d been locked in an interrogation room.

  The pressure to select foods Andy might like vanished when my date told Swad’s owner I was a vegan chef. We instantly became visiting royalty.

  “Some of our vegetarian dishes include dairy, but we have lots of vegan choices,” he said.

  When the man hurried to the back of the cozy establishment for our hot tea, a woman wearing an apron emerged from the kitchen to chat us up.

  “We’ve been here over twenty years,” she said proudly, her English only slightly accented and easy to understand. “We want to prepare a sampling of vegan dishes for you.”

  When I raved about one sample, Andy took a big bite before I could warn him it merited a nine on my hot pepper-meter. Two large glasses of water later Andy’s cheeks began to lose their fire-engine tint, and I could no longer count the beads of sweat on his forehead.

  Andy laughed it off. A good sport. As I learned more about him, I understood why. He was the oldest of six kids. With five little sisters, he had a big leg up on understanding women,
though it hadn’t made him immune to his ex-wife’s wiles. His family owned a farm and had the usual assortment of animals. He laughed when he admitted he sometimes hid out with the critters to escape his siblings for an hour or two of peace.

  Our dinner conversation was light and easy. He was a good listener. I told him about my visit to Hog Heaven. Said Paint volunteered to escort me when I told him I’d love to do a little snooping. Andy took my outing with his friend in stride. No hint of jealousy. Of course, I didn’t mention the end of the evening’s make-my-toes-curl kiss.

  After dinner, we drove to Greenville’s trendy West End and strolled across the artsy suspension bridge that spanned the Reedy River. Though it was a tad cool, lots of couples were out, spooning on benches, smooching by the river. Friday was definitely date night. We paused in the middle of the footbridge to enjoy the Reedy River’s spotlighted falls. Not Niagara, but pretty. The couple nearest us wasn’t sightseeing. They were engaged in an enthusiastic lip lock.

  “Guess tonight seems a little tame.” Andy’s arm snaked around my waist and pulled me closer. “If I’m going to compete with Paint, I’ll need to figure out more exciting destinations.”

  “Tame feels wonderful,” I answered. “This is exactly what I needed. Can’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed.”

  Andy reeled me into his arms and settled a gentle kiss on my lips. His fingers slid through my curls. “I’m out of dating practice. But I wanted to do something to make those little worry lines between your eyebrows take a vacation.”

  Tasting like the spices we’d shared, the unexpected kiss made me feel warm and tingly all over. Aunt Eva was right. Nice didn’t mean bland. Intuition told me Andy Green would be one incredible, caring lover.

  What the heck was I going to do? I really, really liked Paint, and I really, really liked Andy. Never in my life had I dated two men at once. It felt wicked and sneaky, even if both men knew what I was doing. My Girl Scout upbringing was killing me—and my potential love life.