by Linda Lovely
TWENTY-FOUR
The winking green digits on my clock confirmed the time: 5:37 a.m. I felt groggy, but, surprisingly, not grumpy. Maybe Eva was right. A little lovin’—even just a sweet kiss—was a definite mood booster. I threw on the clothes I’d laid out when I got home and hummed as I walked to the dairy.
“Morning,” I greeted Eva.
“You’re chipper this morning. So, who’s it going to be—Andy or Paint? Or are you thinking ménage à trois?” Eva tilted her head back, and I think the correct term is “guffawed.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Nope, can’t see those boys sharing, even though they are best friends.” My aunt was a champ at yanking my chain.
“I’m sure there’s no scarcity of women who’d love a shot at Andy or Paint. Neither one would be devastated if I disappeared tomorrow.”
“Don’t kid yourself. They’re both smitten. I can tell.”
I had no desire to discuss my love life with Eva. Especially since I wasn’t sure what I’d do if either man asked for a second date. I only felt certain about one thing. I wanted to keep Andy and Paint as friends.
Well, I knew one more thing. I was over Jack and ready to open a new chapter. I’d stayed with my cheating fiancé much longer than I should have. From the get-go, there’d been plenty of clues about his true character. I ignored them. Why? Did I mention Jack was a charming, sexy hunk? I’d taken a relationship sabbatical partially in hopes of curing my susceptibility to handsome—but deceptive—male packaging.
And it had. Granted, Paint’s and Andy’s exteriors were exceptionally fine. Yet I felt confident their good looks wouldn’t stop me from noticing major character flaws—if they had any. So far so good. Too good.
Time to change the subject. “When is FedEx coming, and what can I do to help get the orders ready?”
Eva gave me my cheese-packing instructions, and then switched the radio to an old timey rock-and-roll station. She sang along as we worked. Eva knew all the lyrics, and she had a great singing voice. Deep, throaty. Her periodic gyrations—I assumed they were meant to be dance moves—were less impressive.
The music proved another mood lifter. I almost forgot someone out there with a monster truck had no qualms about forcing me to play demolition derby. Or that the sheriff wanted to seat my aunt—and, yes, me too—in state-provided electric chairs.
We packed the cheese in special Styrofoam shipping containers with little freezer bricks to keep the contents cold a minimum of forty-eight hours. Plenty of time for FedEx delivery.
“Glad we’re done. I need to round up my show goats,” Eva said. “We have students arriving at ten. They’re enrolled in Tri Tech’s program for veterinary assistants. Andy arranged the visit. Wonder if he’ll sit in?”
“No, he told me he couldn’t make it. Has to spend the morning at Gage’s horse farm.”
My father arrived just ahead of two van loads of vet assistant students.
“Dad, I didn’t expect to see you until afternoon.”
“Figured I might as well come over early. Your mother left for Columbia at six this morning for her law conference. She considered canceling, what with all the goings-on at Udderly, but she’s a presenter. Not politic to cancel last minute, especially with a bunch of lawyers in the audience. They’d probably sue her for breach of contract.”
“So you’re going to spend the day with us?”
“Yep, and the night. Your mom won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. Since you refuse to come home, I’ll bunk on Eva’s couch. I know, I know. You two ladies don’t think it’s necessary, but it’ll make me feel better.”
I gave Dad another hug. “It’s fine by me. Gotta run though. I want to hear Eva’s spiel on goat breeds. I felt so dumb selling goat cheese and not knowing how to answer questions about Udderly’s herd.”
Dad nodded. “Eva makes learning fun. She’d be great in a classroom. Too bad she can’t stand to spend more than thirty minutes indoors if the sun’s shining. I’ll join you soon as I stash my overnight bag.”
I slid into an empty spot on the back bench. After Eva and Lilly started doing presentations for 4-H, scouting, and school groups, they set up an outdoor theater with rough-hewn benches clustered in a “V” around a huge oak stump. Eva was now perched on the stump, petting Kai, and telling all about the breed represented by Udderly’s super-spoiled pet goat.
The Clemson part-timers, Orville and Frank, served as stagehands. As soon as Eva finished describing one breed, Frank led the model goat over to the benches so students could pet its coat and take a closer look at its distinctive features. Meanwhile, Orville ushered in the show goat for the next breed.
Halfway through the hands-on lecture, Dad settled beside me. “Learning anything?”
“Lots. I knew Udderly goats came in assorted sizes and colors, but I had no idea where the various breeds originated or anything about their history.”
By the time Eva invited the group to the dairy barn, I’d learned Udderly kept five distinct breeds—Nigerian Dwarf, Pyrenean, Alpine, Anglo-Nubian, and La Mancha.
While the students toured the dairy, Dad and I set out cheese samples in the outdoor picnic area. As he unloaded a tray of crackers, plates, and napkins, he stopped and stared toward the spot where Tammy the potbellied pig had dug up Jed’s skeleton. Worry lines crisscrossed his forehead. I felt awful that my stay at Udderly was adding to his grief for Lilly.
But I knew he’d make the same choice. I made a commitment to my aunt, and I’d honor it. Surely all the craziness would end soon. No matter how hard the sheriff tried, he couldn’t railroad Aunt Eva. Mom would never let him frame her for Jed’s murder. This was one time Eva wouldn’t give Mom a hard time about her profession.
At lunch, Eva informed Dad and me that Frank and Orville were scheduled to work all day, and Shirley, a retired schoolteacher, would take her usual Saturday shift in the retail cabin. “Translation: I don’t need you two. Find another way to amuse yourselves this afternoon. And Howard, you’re welcome to sleep on the couch tonight, but I already made arrangements for a man on the premises. Billy will be spending the night.”
Dad chewed his lip. He wasn’t a prude, but the idea of his sister sleeping with a man she wasn’t married to triggered a blush. “I’d still like to stay if that’s okay.”
“Fine. Guess everything’s settled.” A slight smile played on Eva’s lips. I sensed she liked to prod her little brother occasionally just to watch him wriggle.
Seemed like a good time to jump in with my project. “Dad, will you help me go through the documents I copied at the courthouse?”
He’d barely gotten “sure” out of his mouth before I plunked a pile of papers in front of him. I put a second stack by my chair, while the floor received a pile of rejects Eva and I determined shed no light on Jed’s mysterious disappearance and murder.
Dad tapped his pencil on the table as he eyed his homework. “Maybe we should treat this like we’re plotting a murder mystery. You read through all the old newspaper stories, right? What did they report about Jed’s disappearance? When? Where did they search for him? How long before they began to suspect foul play?”
I organized my thoughts. “Jed took off midday on a Friday. Within the hour, Eva packed up her dog and made her own getaway. She stayed out overnight, slept in her car, and returned Saturday afternoon. It was Monday night before she called any of Jed’s friends or family to ask if they’d seen him or knew where he might be. She didn’t report him missing until Wednesday.”
“Did anyone find that strange?” Dad’s eyebrows practically shook hands in the center of his forehead as he processed the data. “When did folks start searching for Jed?”
“The newspaper first reported him missing on Friday, exactly one week after he left. No one really worried or started looking for Jed in earnest until then,” I answered. “Even his relatives shru
gged off a week-long disappearance. Watson males often went on extended benders. Jed’s buddies checked out his favorite fishing spots. Imagine they also visited red-light districts and gambling joints. Of course the newspaper makes no mention of that part of the search.”
Dad tapped his pencil a little faster. “So no one actually poked around Udderly that first week. If Jed was killed and buried the day he disappeared, I wonder why someone didn’t notice the freshly turned dirt and investigate.”
I shook my head. “Jed’s truck was gone. Probably didn’t occur to Eva or anyone else that he might still be on the farm—dead or alive. His truck was never found. I looked at weather reports for that week. A ton of rain. The area where he was buried wasn’t developed back then, and mud would have made it hard to spot any sign of a grave.”
Dad nodded. “I’m leaning toward Jed being murdered the day he supposedly left to go fishing. But if we rule out Eva as the killer—and she’s the heroine in my book—why would someone bury Jed on his own farm? To frame Eva? If not, what’s the motive?”
I thought about Eva and Jed’s troubled marriage, his physical abuse, and how things might have turned out for my aunt if he’d discovered her plan to divorce him. Usually fleeing wives were the ones who ended up with toe tags, not their bullying husbands.
“Dad, what if the killer planned to stage a murder-suicide? Make it look like Jed killed Eva because she had the gall to leave him, then regretted it, and took his own life? Or the flip, make it appear that Eva killed Jed and committed suicide. Either would have played in Ardon County four decades ago. Who’d question a murder-suicide if the bodies of a quarreling husband and wife were found together?”
Dad nodded. “If I buy your theory, what went wrong?”
I thought I knew.
“Eva wasn’t here. Her car was gone. So was her dog. Night fell and she didn’t return. The killer couldn’t know if Eva ever planned to come back. Plus she might well have an airtight alibi if she did. If the killer couldn’t finagle a murder-suicide, what was the next best thing?”
Dad smiled. “Maybe you should be the mystery writer. I like it. You’re thinking he scrapped his original plan and buried Jed. Didn’t want to tool around the countryside with a corpse riding shotgun. When the body was eventually found, Eva would remain the prime suspect. If enough time passed, time of death would be uncertain and any alibi irrelevant. Unfortunately, the murdering SOB was right.”
“Too bad we don’t have a motive or a single candidate for the killer,” I added. “When Mom’s wearing her prosecutor’s hat, she complains about the defense confusing the jury by parading a dozen potential suspects in front of them. We’ve yet to come up with anyone besides Eva who had a motive to murder Jed.”
“Guess we should ask the old question: who profits?” Dad rifled through his stack of papers. “Let’s read some more. Maybe the answer’s buried in here. The body’s been hidden for decades. The motive’s been buried just as long.”
Less than an hour later, I found a possibility.
“Dad, listen to this. Nancy was right about something. The day before Jed went missing he supposedly signed over his rights to a piece of property. Says here he did it in consideration of one dollar and some shares of this Kaiser guy’s gold mine. According to Nancy, Jed knew Kaiser was a crook. That makes this sale mighty suspicious. Let’s search for property transfers related to the parcel Jed sold.”
We sifted through the property-related documents I’d copied—deeds, title transfers, liens, quit claims. In no time we’d pieced together part of the sales history for a large tract of mountain timberland. Eons ago it belonged to Jed’s grandfather, Benjamin Watson. His two sons inherited. One son was Jed’s father, the other was Willard Watson, whose only surviving child, Abigail, married Sheriff Robbie Jones.
“So when the sheriff said Jed was his cousin, he meant by marriage?” I wondered aloud.
“Yes.” The affirmative came from the doorway. Paint smiled at me and nodded at Dad. “Hey, Howard. Good to see you. Looks like you transplants could use a little help with local genealogy.”
“Definitely,” I answered. “Have a seat. Do you know anything about some timberland Benjamin Watson, Jed’s granddaddy, bought in the 1950s?”
Paint walked over and took my hand. “Seek and you shall find.” He pulled me to my feet and led me toward an antique map mounted on the cabin wall. Dad walked over to join us in front of the drawing.
While not drawn to scale, the key mountains and passes carried the same labels today as they did when the map was created in the late 1800s. Only a few spellings had changed.
“That parcel is right about here.” Paint’s finger stabbed at a patch of green not far from a mountain peak.
“Isn’t that near Sunrise Ridge?” Dad asked.
Paint laughed. “You get the prize. It is Sunrise Ridge, the same fancy resort that counts our very own sheriff, deputy, and local banker as investors.”
“Wait a minute,” I muttered. “We just learned the sheriff’s wife, Abigail Watson-Jones, and Jed Watson sold that land to a Blue Ridge Consortium for a dollar each.”
“That’s the story,” Paint agreed. “A dollar plus several thousand shares of Blue Ridge. Only the consortium was a big scam that fleeced lots of folks in these parts. My grandparents included.
“Would you two like to see Sunrise Ridge?” Paint asked. “It’s a ritzy gated community. My cousin works security part-time on weekends. I can call. If he’s working, he’ll wave us through. If not, maybe he can call in a pass at the gate. It’s a nice drive, not even an hour away.” Paint’s smile was a tease. “I promise to tell you all about the Blue Ridge Consortium swindle on the ride. How about it?”
I looked at my father, and he nodded.
“It’s a deal,” I said.
“Sounds like a humdinger of a story,” Dad added.
Paint had certainly whetted my appetite. Had Jed really sold property rights to someone he’d pegged as a swindler? How had Sheriff Jones and Deputy West managed to climb into bed with Sunrise’s developer?
Paint’s version promised to be fascinating.
TWENTY-FIVE
Dad drove. His hybrid SUV, a black Toyota Highlander, was a lot roomier for our detective trio and less of a gas guzzler than Paint’s truck. Plus we didn’t want our visit to Sunrise Ridge to attract attention. Dad’s ride was less conspicuous especially given Paint’s Magic Moonshine signage.
I claimed the backseat, noting I needed less legroom than Paint. And Dad, who refused to admit to a slight hearing loss, would be better off sitting beside our local history docent.
Paint started talking as soon as Dad exited the Udderly Kidding driveway. “The other night I asked Dad what he remembered about Jed. He brought up all the hoopla about Kaiser’s gold mine scam.”
According to Paint’s colorful synopsis, the glib, fast-talking Claude Kaiser introduced himself as a geologist/prospector upon his arrival in the county. The man claimed he’d discovered a rich gold deposit in the mountains. He showed off a big chunk of gold and said he just needed investors to finance the mining operation.
“The fraudster hooked investors left and right, had ’em lining up to plunk down money for shares in the mine,” Paint said.
“So Kaiser was a complete scam artist?” I asked.
Paint grinned. “Yep. A Yankee, of course. He snuck out of town with all the cash before the bubble burst. Disappeared about the same time as Jed. Nobody ever saw hide nor hair of him—or their money—again.”
I shivered. Disappeared, huh? Could there be another skeleton buried on Udderly?
“How does the Watson timberland fit in?” I asked.
“Ah, you Yankees don’t appreciate Southern storytelling; always want to cut to the chase. I’m getting there. Relax. The sheriff’s wife, Abigail, convinced her husband it was the chance of a lifetime, but—as my
granny would say—the couple didn’t have a pot to pee in. That’s when Kaiser offered to take the Watson timberland in lieu of cash. Problem was Abigail and her hubby couldn’t transfer the title to Kaiser without Jed agreeing to it. And my dad recalls that Jed balked.”
“Whoa.” I interrupted. “Jed also told Nancy the gold mine was bogus. Did the sheriff try to force his brother-in-law to sign over his rights?” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
“Excellent question.” Paint swiveled in his seat and grinned at me. “Won’t try to sell you any bridges.”
“Come on; let’s hear the rest of it. Don’t be a tease.” Paint’s land scam history lesson seemed to promise a boatload of murder motives.
“Who knows if Jed actually signed,” he continued. “Once he disappeared, no one questioned his signature.”
Dad looked in the rearview mirror and caught my eye. “Victor’s name was on that deed transfer as a witness. The banker’s signature would have kept Sis from questioning the sale. She already had the Watson clan accusing her of foul play. An added fight with Jed’s cousin, Abigail, and her sheriff husband would have made matters worse. Besides, I don’t imagine folks thought that land was worth much back then. Few roads. Remote. Plenty of timber closer and easier to harvest. Who’d have dreamed it would become a retreat for multimillionaires a few decades later?”
I nodded. “I wonder if Aunt Eva even knew Jed had a half-interest in that timberland. I doubt he was the type to tell his wife anything he considered his business.”
“You have him pegged,” Dad replied.
“At least we have some possible motives,” I said. “Maybe Abigail and the sheriff killed Jed and paid Victor to lie and say he witnessed Jed’s signature.”
Paint laughed. “What a devious mind. I like it. Trouble is I don’t see any link between Jed’s murder decades ago and Nancy Watson’s murder in the here and now.”
He had me there. I hadn’t a clue.
