by Linda Lovely
“We need to add Eli Watson to the murder list.” I explained all the reasons I doubted he committed suicide. Paint and Dad nodded their agreement.
For a few minutes, we all sat quietly. In my case, my brain wasn’t quiet. It was scrambling to find some way to fit all the puzzle pieces together.
We passed a mountain stream that had overflowed its banks to create an impromptu waterfall near the road. Miniature rainbows winked from the wet rocks surrounding the gurgling water. I buzzed down my window and sucked in a lungful of pine-scented air, hoping it would clear my mind.
“Beautiful,” I said. “This is such a pretty drive.”
“Doesn’t take long to get into high country,” Dad commented.
“That’s what I love about Ardon County,” Paint said. “We cozy right up to the mountains. Best place in the world to hunt and fish.”
“What do you hunt?” Dad asked.
“Deer mostly, occasionally bear. I like the bow and arrow season best, though I have better luck with my .30-06. I like to fly fish, too. Know some great trout streams. Want to join me sometime?”
“Love to,” Dad answered. “Haven’t had my .22 out in ages. The deer won’t be in much danger. Doubt I’d have any better luck fly fishing. Not how I used to pull catfish out of the river. But it would be fun to try.”
Dad’s response surprised me. I knew he’d gone pheasant and rabbit hunting when he was growing up in Iowa. Just didn’t realize he still owned a gun or had any inclination to use one.
Paint twisted in his seat to draw me into the conversation. “Hey, you’re invited, too. Don’t want you to think I’m sexist. Have no problem with gun-toting ladies, unless they’re mad at me.”
I laughed. “Eva’s giving me shooting lessons, so you’d better be nice.”
Dad’s head whipped around. “Eva’s teaching you to shoot? Why?”
“Coyotes, Dad. Relax. I’m not chomping at the bit to get a concealed carry permit. I plan to restrict my mountain hunting to wild mushrooms and berries.”
A horn blasted, and I looked behind us. A beat-up truck flying a large Confederate flag was practically kissing our bumper.
“Idiot,” Dad muttered as he swung into one of the twisting road’s scenic pull-offs to let the redneck shoot by.
“Plenty of idiots to go around,” Paint said.
Five minutes later Dad pulled up to a guard hut. It looked like an overgrown Barbie dollhouse and sat a few feet ahead of scrolled wrought-iron gates. A uniformed guard stepped out of the playhouse as Dad rolled down his window. Paint leaned across the front seat to put his mug in view.
“Hi, Cuz,” Paint said. “Gonna let the riffraff through?”
The moonshiner’s cousin, a fresh-faced, innocent-looking representative of the Paynter gene pool, chuckled. “I see one riffraff and two potential buyers. Put this visitor card on your dashboard and don’t get in any trouble. No speeding, no spitting, no bare butts pressed against windows. The Tisnomi folks from Japan are visiting today. Hope they’ll be my new employers, so be on your best behavior.”
“Got it,” Paint said. “Thanks.”
With our visitor permit properly displayed, we rolled through the slowly opening iron gates. Dad nodded at the posted speed limit—twenty-five miles per hour. “Not sure I can coast that slowly on the downhills. Looks like there are some pretty steep grades.”
Indeed. We’d entered the development at a high point near the peak of the mountain. The mountain vistas, speckled with impressive mansions, were spectacular. But the roads crisscrossing Sunrise Ridge rose and fell like the framework of some giant roller coaster. The next sharp turn put us beside a sparkling lake.
“Hope your brakes work,” I mumbled. “What do these folks do in winter if there’s an ice storm and someone has an emergency? It would take an ambulance forever to skate its way up here.”
“Sunrise has its own helicopter and helipad,” Paint answered. “That’s how the rich folks arrive. Helicopter picks ’em up at the Greenville airport. They leave a spare SUV or two here plus a golf cart to tool around the neighborhood. Their lackeys stock the houses in advance with whatever they want. Quite the pampered life.”
“Wonder if there are any vegans looking for a live-in chef?”
Dad laughed. “You’d go nuts. Bet there aren’t many people under fifty.”
“Yeah, but it is beautiful.”
My opinion didn’t change as we slalomed up and down the hills. There weren’t a lot of houses, but the ones that had been built were stone-and-glass masterworks. Each home commanded its own acre or two of manicured grounds. Yet, after twenty minutes of driving, the custom mansions began to look sterile and cookie cutter despite the variety of quarried stone and the addition or subtraction of add-on towers and porches to change the profiles.
“Maybe it’s just me, but this looks like a movie set. I’m beginning to wonder what’s behind the facades.”
“The landscaping screams Stepford Wives,” Dad said, adding his horticultural critique. “It’s as if each owner’s given a list of plants they can install. Did someone tell these folks ‘natural’ and ‘nature’ were dirty words? I haven’t seen a single native plant. For that matter, it’s a gorgeous day, and I haven’t seen a single homeowner puttering in a yard. Just hired help.”
“Right on the money on all counts.” Paint smiled. “The Sunrise covenants not only specify what you can plant but call out sizes. Every landscape plan has to be approved by committee. Me, I want to decide what I want on my land—trees, plants, chickens, dogs—”
“And a wolf, right?” I chuckled, then noticed Dad’s puzzled look in the rearview mirror.
“Brie’s talking about my pet wolf, Lunar. Adopted him as an orphaned pup.”
The road we’d been following dead-ended at another elaborate gate. It barred the entrance to the dirt lane that lay beyond. A sign read: Sunrise Ridge Phase III. A limo sat just inside the gate where a gaggle of short, raven-haired gentlemen in business suits were studying what looked like a large plat map.
“Got to be the Tisnomi folks,” Paint said.
“No doubt,” Dad added. “The Sunrise Ridge investors must be relieved they finally settled the conservation lawsuit blocking development. Wonder how Sunrise promised to protect the fragile hillside. The lawsuit claimed erosion would contaminate a creek and pollute public land downstream.”
“Even with the settlement, the scuttlebutt predicts the current owners will be forced to file for bankruptcy if this sale falls through,” Paint added. “That Taj Mahal clubhouse, the riding stables, the fitness center, swimming complex—all were cost-justified using optimistic arithmetic that assumed a quick sale of all lots in Phases I, II, and III. The environmental lawsuit stalled Phase III for a decade and cut off Sunrise Ridge’s main revenue stream. The project’s been bleeding greenbacks ever since, trying to keep up the spiffy amenities with too few owners to fork over monthly dues.”
“Ouch,” I said. “No wonder they want this Tisnomi sale.”
Dad turned the SUV around and we headed down the mountain. Sunrise Ridge offered nifty views. But…would I really want to live in a house with six bathrooms I had to clean? And covenants that dictated what posies I could plant? Wonder if they’d even let me grow my own veggies? Aunt Eva’s log cabin was looking mighty attractive—even if the yard art snorted and barked and the doggie deposits were plentiful.
We were halfway home when an Ardon County Sheriff’s cruiser zipped by, headed up the mountain. I spotted Sheriff Jones at the wheel with fellow investor Deputy West riding shotgun. Were they checking on their investment? Taking a course in Japanese?
Of course, Sunrise Ridge did reside in Ardon County. They could be answering a complaint. Maybe an owner reported some riffraff had snuck inside the gates on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Did the lawmen notice said riffraff as they whizzed
by in the opposite direction?
TWENTY-SIX
It was after four o’clock when Dad pulled into the parking apron at the end of Udderly’s drive. Judging by the number of cars parked catawampus in the crowded space, Eva was having a terrific sales day. I scanned the lot for hearses, ambulances, and cop cars. Automatic reflex. Kind of depressing it had come to that. Still, I was thrilled all vehicles looked like they’d be suitable rides for soccer moms.
Dad turned to Paint as we exited the SUV. “Want to join us for supper? I’m an uninvited guest, so I figured I’d spring for dinner—either takeout or a restaurant.”
“Believe me, wish I could.” Paint cast a lingering glance my way. “But Saturday evenings are mighty busy at Magic Moonshine, and I’m short-staffed. I have just enough time to pick up some fried chicken—sorry Brie—and head to work. Won’t get off until I close ’er up at nine.”
“Gee, what a shame,” a male voice interjected.
Paint jumped. “Andy, what’ya doing here? Didn’t see your truck.”
“Working, what d’ya think?” the lanky vet replied. “Checking on new kids. Quite a crop this week. Pulled behind the barn to leave room for customers.”
“Oh.” Paint flicked another glance my way. His eyes narrowed as he nodded at Andy. “Well, as I said, got to run. See y’all soon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Andy laughed. “You’re kind of leaving the door wide open.”
Sometimes Dad could be pretty slow to pick up on undercurrents, but his grin said he realized two bulls were pawing the ground to impress his little heifer. I felt flustered and flattered.
Andy waited until Paint climbed in his truck to tell us Eva had invited him to dinner. “She mentioned burgers—guess the black bean variety for you, Brie. Billy’s bringing dessert—an apple crisp he promises is one hundred percent vegan. Now there’s a man who knows how to cook. Me, I’m useless in the kitchen.”
“Maybe Brie can give you lessons.” Dad’s twinkling eyes said he was enjoying himself.
“Sounds great. I’ll be back soon as I shower and change clothes. Essential if I want anyone to sit by me.”
The burgers were good. Well, my black bean version was scrumptious. Cooking on a grill made everything taste better. I assembled veggie shish kebabs to go with the burgers.
Billy’s whiskered face sported a big grin as he served his apple crisp. “Eva told me you might not eat it if I used butter. Broke my heart to tinker with my ma’s fail-safe recipe, but it looks like that coconut oil didn’t hurt it none.”
“I’m having mine a la mode,” Eva said. “Who else wants ice cream? This pandering to vegans can only go so far.”
I arched my eyebrows. “Like you ever ‘pander’ to me. Sure you don’t want melted cheese on your crisp?”
Eva laughed. “Nah, ice cream will suffice.”
One bite and we all certified the crisp as delicious. Of course, mine was the only pure vote since it wasn’t contaminated with dairy.
After clearing the table, we broke out the cards for a game of hearts. Aunt Eva and Dad were demons at the game. Billy, Andy, and I competed fiercely for last place.
We were on a third game when the barking began. One of the Great Pyrenees raising a ruckus.
“Coyotes?” Billy suggested. “Old Mark seems to know whenever tasty little kids arrive. He might have brought along a girlfriend. The old coot has a knack for recruiting a coyote honey to help distract the dogs.”
Aunt Eva jumped up. “Let’s go. I’ll grab my shotgun.”
“My gun’s in the truck,” Andy and Billy said in perfect unison.
Both men hustled toward the door. “Can’t let that coyote harm another of your dogs,” Andy added. “Love those big shaggy mutts.”
Dad and I stood, ready to keep the gun-toters company. The coyotes only posed a danger for goats and dogs. They didn’t tangle with humans, at least according to Aunt Eva’s past lectures on the varmints. And, even though I trusted her completely, I confirmed her facts with a Google search.
Coyotes are smart, secretive, and adaptable. No wonder the cartoon version’s named “Wile E.” Their numbers and range keep growing. Humans rarely see them. When they do come in contact with people, they run. Eva claims they’re good for forty-mile-an-hour sprints. Not much danger of humans catching them. Unlike wolves, they typically hunt alone or in pairs. Only form packs when food is in short supply.
Eva spotted Dad and me waiting for her by the door. “Keep your butts behind our guns. I’m already accused of killing my husband. Don’t want to add notches for any kin I actually like.”
Eva and Dad grabbed two flashlights stored on the windowsill. Without my own light, I was determined to stay on Dad’s heels to avoid breaking an ankle.
The barking continued at full throttle as Billy and Andy, both toting rifles, caught up with us in the front yard. Eva and Dad led us toward the commotion. A shot rang out, followed by a horrible yelp.
What the Feta? None of our shooters had pulled a trigger.
“Damn!” Eva yelled. “Someone shot one of my dogs.”
She ran and we stumbled after her at breakneck speed. A broken ankle had become the last thing on my mind. A tiny niggle in the back of my brain argued, “You’re running in the dark. Toward gunfire. Are you nuts?”
I didn’t listen. One of Eva’s Great Pyrenees was in pain.
As we crested a hill, headlights flared on the dirt road running parallel to Udderly’s northern boundary. An engine growled and the lights vanished. Total silence, except for a dog’s whimper.
Andy was the first to reach the Great Pyrenees, who lay on her side whining. Eva positioned a flashlight so the veterinarian could see to probe a patch of bloody fur on the dog’s chest.
“The bullet grazed her, didn’t enter,” he said. “She’ll be fine. She’s just in shock.”
“Thank heaven,” Eva murmured, stroking Socks’ furry head. “Billy, will you go back and get the ATV? Socks weighs over one hundred pounds—awful heavy and awkward to carry. Besides jostling might hurt her more. I want to stay with my girl.”
“I’ll be right back.” Billy took off at a fast trot.
“Someone was messing around on your property,” Dad said. “They shot your dog. We should call the sheriff.”
Eva snorted. “Normal times, I might agree. Not now. Ol’ Sheriff Jones wouldn’t walk across the street to figure out which of his damn relatives is taking potshots. Unless he wanted to buy the shooter dinner. I refuse to invite that man on my property for any reason. Let’s just take care of Socks.”
I shivered. Hadn’t thought of putting on a jacket when we ran out of the cabin. A chilly wind made it feel like we’d rolled the calendar back to February. As we waited for Billy, Eva murmured soothingly to her injured dog.
When Socks tried to lever herself up, Eva gently pushed her back down. “Just a few more minutes, girl. We’ll take you to the house. Andy’ll fix you right up. You’ll sleep inside with me tonight.”
I was spitting mad. Who did this? I was pretty sure it wasn’t poachers. But why did they have to shoot Socks?
I stamped my feet to rev up my circulation and fight off the cold. The moon was nearly full, and my night vision was steadily improving. As my gaze raked the area, I spotted boot prints and followed the tracks. I’d only gone a few yards when I almost fell in a hole that was maybe four feet deep and a couple feet across. A mounded pile of fresh dirt and the dig’s squarish edges shouted animals weren’t to blame. I squatted and squinted, trying to see anything besides dirt in the pit. Moonlight glittered on a narrow strip of white.
“Andy, Dad, could one of you bring a flashlight over?” I asked.
Both walked over and probed the hole with their beams.
“Good God, is that a bone?” Dad muttered. “Another damn skeleton?”
“What the h
ell?” Eva exclaimed. “Are you telling me somebody was burying another body? Are they trying to turn my farm into a damn cemetery?”
Billy pulled up in the ATV just in time to hear Eva cursing. “Was Socks digging up some animal carcass?” he asked.
“No.” Andy lay on his stomach and reached down to extract a long, thin bone. “Looks like a tibia—the larger of the leg bones below the kneecap.”
“As in human kneecap?” I asked.
“’Fraid so,” he answered.
“Hell’s bells,” Aunt Eva said. “Put that back where you found it. Daylight’s soon enough to scout for more bones. Right now, it’s time to get Socks fixed up. And for me to fix one tall bourbon. Maybe two.”
Back at the cabin, Andy cut away a patch of Socks’ fur, cleaned the wound, applied some sort of medical goo and a bandage. Then we all had a stiff drink.
Dad turned to Andy. “You really think we have another human skeleton out there?”
Andy nodded. “Animals can scavenge and carry bones a long way. But someone dug that hole, and I’m guessing they knew there was a skeleton down there.”
“I agree,” Dad said. “They must have put it there in the first place. That’s the only way they’d know where to dig.”
My head was spinning. “Why would people dig up a skeleton they’d taken the trouble to bury?”
Then I thought of an explanation.
“Maybe the discovery of Jed’s bones made our grave robbers worry the other body they dumped would surface, too. I’ll bet they were planning to relocate their victim where animals wouldn’t uncover the corpse. If Socks hadn’t scared them, we might never have known they’d been here.”
Dad nodded. “Possible. But it still begs the question: Why dig up a body that’s been in the ground so long there’s no flesh left on the bones? It would be next to impossible to prove who was responsible for the murder.”
“True,” I answered. “But another body might direct suspicion away from Eva—especially if the body turned out to be someone she had no reason to kill.”
