by Sandi Scott
Every Saturday, meat smoking started early in the morning and went late into the night. Eventually, locals developed the tradition of setting up camp to eat all day, killing time between each meal napping, fishing the river and playing horseshoes. If that wasn’t gluttonous enough, some campers set up shop on Friday for the Smokeground Eve Cookout, where Bertrand and Lee cooked over an open campfire.
Camping spots for Lee’s free birthday Smokeground Campout were so coveted that he held a raffle, which required a chopped wood donation for entry. Everyone always knew what time of year it was when you could hear the echoes of axes thumping all throughout the area.
So, it was obvious why it was such a big deal when Lee didn’t cancel his monster order of Ashley’s treats.
“Either they don’t realize that I made the desserts or our plastic distraction ploy is working,” Ashley stated, noticing the crowded dessert table.
They’d bought a bunch of the plastic containers used by supermarket bakeries, “sealing” them with a piece of clear tape around the rim. Patty had tried to argue that it would protect against Dizzy’s shedding and “dirty camping germs” before admitting that it would make people feel more “comfortable.”
As someone who didn’t bake with poisoning in mind, Ashley thought that it looked a little defensive.
“It probably has more to do with Lee’s taste-making skills than anything. He’s like a hillbilly hipster,” Patty laughed.
Lee was working the grill, his recently-budded bald spot glistening with sweat under the glow of the string lights, with a spatula in one hand and a maple-bacon, bourbon cupcake in the other. Throughout the day, he’d amassed a pile of cupcake containers on the nearby hammock, otherwise known as the “Smoker’s Throne.” His grey, breast-pocketed t-shirt, the only style of shirt he owned, was smeared with a rainbow of Ashley’s cupcake frosting. It was probably going to be the next hot new look for the men of Seagrass in their early forties.
Ashley heard a familiar voice behind her. “Wow, this triple chocolate cupcake’s plastic box makes me feel so safe and secure. It is definitely uncontaminated.” A sunburned, bedraggled Ryan fell onto the bench next to her.
“Shush. We’re doing so well.” Patty waved a rib bone at him threateningly. “It’s good to see you’re alive, though. After you disappeared, I worried the Cult of Barbeque used you as a human sacrifice.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” he said, wincing. “I got drowsy after eating too much brisket and accidentally fell asleep in the sun.”
“Oh, that’s actually my fault,” Ashley quipped. “Back at the kitchen, Lee let me inject the meat marinade. Probably why it was so delicious.”
The Smokeground went through far too much meat to store in its food truck, so Lee also rented space in Fresh Start Kitchens.
Dizzy ducked under the table, sniffing at Ryan’s front pocket.
“Hey, girl, you found the drives.” He greeted Dizzy with a pat.
Back in the IT basement, they’d trained Dizzy to find things that they regularly misplaced, like their keys and flash drives. Now that she didn’t get to play as much, she “found” similar items without prompting.
“Thanks for reminding me. I’m not sure how long it will be before my mind and body give out. So, we have some ‘technology’ to talk about.”
“Oh, that sounds serious.” Patty gave Ashley a cheeky look, like she was a tween with her first-ever date to the dance. “I need to go practice this whole networking thing again, anyway.” She pulled her cheat-sheet of names she’d been memorizing from her pocket and headed towards the campground. Then, she twitched her shoulders, shifted her head, opened her palm, raised both eyebrows and made an audible raspberry. Ashley could hear the “je ne sais pas” in her mind that almost always follwed this Gallic shrug.
Ryan raised his eyebrows, which made him wince again due to his sunburn.
“You’re sending her out to win over the townsfolk?”
Ashley shrugged. “When we were abroad, she could really turn up the charm if she had to. The social dynamics are practically inversed. Americans use a lot of words to say hardly anything at all, and they find French bluntness rude. The French speak more precisely, getting right to the point and find American rambling exhausting. Even I struggled to readjust here.”
“At least her English is amazing. She doesn’t even have an accent.”
She started laughing mid-sip and choked on her soda, making a frantic grab for napkins as she felt it coming up her nose. She knew that it had been suspiciously long since she’d made a fool of herself. At least she managed to smother the situation before things became airborne.
Ryan grinned. “You need some air, Ash?”
“Nope, found it.” Her face felt redder than his looked. “The thing is, I’d hoped that she’d be good with English, seeing how she was born and raised in New York. Americans tend to assume she’s French, though.”
“Huh?” He looked puzzled. “French way of carrying herself, I guess.”
“Yeah, but it sounds like she’s always been that way, and Europe just suited Patty. I did warn her that Southerners can find people who don’t want to express their every thought and emotion as rude, but she’s a homebody anyway, so it doesn’t seem to bother her much.”
His face grew a little more serious. “You think she’s happy here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t hear about her hanging around anyone outside of work, but she likes the country tranquility compared to the city, although she values her privacy and alone-time, so it’s not crazy to think she’d like it here. Why?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking how big of a risk she took, giving up everything to move somewhere she’d never been.”
“Just because she’s socially reserved doesn’t mean she’s not brave. Besides, she’s a world-famous chef. It’s not like she can’t pick up where she left off. I’m the one getting my big break.”
Ryan smiled. “Speaking of business, let’s get down to it.” He pulled a memory card storage case from his pocket, sliding it across the table like it was a back alley deal. “Your copy.”
“Have you gotten anything from them yet?”
“Yeah, actually, there were two files downloaded from an email two days before Colleen died, and I’ve been able to recover one of them so far.” He paused and gazed downriver. “The file contained the results of a geological survey for the McCays’ property, the kind you would do before selling.”
Ashley sighed. “So the McCays are selling off part of their huge property. Why is that so scandalous?”
“Maybe the McCays wanted to keep it a secret for the sake of negotiations, and the man was trying to protect Bobby’s interest in the deal?”
“Or maybe it was about who they were selling to. Monty Gahn was looking to buy a piece of property on the marshland—maybe they were making a deal. And my kitchen gossips told me he and Colleen had an argument the night of her death.”
“Gahn,” said Ryan. “He’s that guy who wants to mine natural gas deposits all over town, right? That can’t be a coincidence.”
“C’mon, don’t make me ask,” Ashley said. “OK, fine—what can’t be a coincidence?”
“The survey was different than most. It covered the whole property, but the focus was the location of shale gas deposits lying underneath it.”
“Well, that in itself is not that surprising. Most of the surrounding lands have those gas deposits underneath them. That’s what brings guys like Monty Gahn to town.”
“Yes, but no one has ever sold land to be mined, so most land purchase deals wouldn’t even have such a survey done. People are too afraid to be the first to allow such mining in Seagrass—fracking is still very much a curse word here. The fact that someone conducted the survey recently means that it’s suddenly become relevant, maybe because Bobby is considering selling.”
Ashley shook her head. “Bobby’s put his heart and soul into that land. I just can’t see him selling land to anyone who wasn
’t interested in preserving it. Like you said, not one person in Seagrass has ever allowed gas deposits on their property to be extracted. Unless…”
She hesitated to tell Ryan about Bobby’s illness because Hope was a friend, and it felt like betrayal to share her secret. “Unless Gahn is trying to take advantage of Bobby now that he has Alzheimer’s.”
“Could be,” Ryan said so nonchalantly that Ashley was confused.
“You know about Bobby?”
“Well, you know this town. Secrets don’t last long.”
Even though she had grown up here, she had been away long enough that she sometimes forgot just how tight a community it was.
“Maybe Gahn found out about Bobby and was trying to get him to agree to a deal that he normally wouldn’t have,” Ryan said, “and Colleen was getting in the way.”
“But, then, why Colleen?” Ashley asked. “I’d certainly like to know what she and Monty were arguing about at the banquet, but I’m not convinced that file is anything more than a work-related document and we might be chasing down the wrong path. Let’s see what that second file is before we jump to any conclusions about Gahn. In the meantime, I need to think of a way to learn more about Emma Phee. She was giving Colleen dirty looks at the banquet. I just ran into her on the way over here, and she was acting really suspiciously.”
CHAPTER 7
AFTER A DAY of introspection and cleaning up her finances, which were showing the effects of the repercussions from Colleen’s death, Ashley was relieved to be spending the evening with family. Even though there was no immediate danger of financial ruin, she was concerned about how things would turn out if business continued to slide into a slump. Her brother Michael was a great cook and listener; she could always count on him to cheer her up and talk some sense into her.
In order to curtail the throbbing headache which loomed on the horizon, she’d drawn a bath complete with essential oils and candles, after having a cup of chamomile tea and making a batch of cinnamon pecan cookies. She sighed as she pulled into her brother’s driveway and wondered how she was going to solve the case and pick up the pieces.
Once she parked and let Dizzy out, Michael appeared on the doorstep, laughing when Dizzy suddenly stopped her inspection of the azaleas and barked excitedly before racing up the steps and leaping into his arms. Ashley had noticed more than once how her dog seemed to appreciate males far more than females. Even though Michael was a big guy, he struggled to contain Dizzy’s exuberant bulk. He finally put the dog down, rushing over to Ashley and giving her a huge hug.
“Hey, Sis. You smell purdy.” he teased.
She laughed and pushed him back as she passed the tub of cookies to him. “Here, silly-pants.”
He didn’t wait to crack the container open and take a deep sniff. “Oh, my favorite!”
Ashley followed Michael and Dizzy into his rustic house. Her brother had already started scarfing down a cookie, rolling his eyes in a comical show of pleasure.
“Mmmm—oh my God!” he exclaimed, “what a perfect marriage—pecans and cinnamon.”
Ashley laughed and shook her head. She’d always enjoyed his skills with amateur dramatics and his ability to describe her cooking in such an enthusiastic way. She sat down on the overstuffed sofa while Dizzy went from room to room on her usual inspection route. Michael brought a glass of lemonade for her and sat on the other end of the sofa with the tub of cookies on his lap.
“I hope you don’t expect me to share these with you,” he said with mock seriousness.
“No, big brother, they’re all for you. I wouldn’t dream of depriving you.”
“I don’t even care if I spoil my appetite for dinner, which I’m sure you’ll find boring in comparison to your culinary superiority.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” She sniffed the air with a grin. “What is that? Roast chicken?”
He sighed in defeat and hung his head sheepishly. “You know me so well. It’s the only thing I can make that could be considered half decent.”
She nudged him playfully with her foot. “Come on, Mikey, you’re a great cook.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re my sister, you have to say that.” He winked as he took a huge bite from yet another cookie.
“And I mean it,” she responded as she began twirling her hair around a finger.
Michael watched her for a moment. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why?”
He gave her his signature look when confronted with one of her vague attempts at covering up her true feelings, his hazel eyes wide open while his eyebrows hitched upwards and his head tilted to the right. She smiled through gritted teeth before slumping in her seat and sighing loudly. She’d never been able to pull anything over her brother.
“Oh, just the whole poisoning affair, Colleen’s death and my business being on the brink.” She knew that it sounded melodramatic.
Michael put the lid on the tub and placed it on the coffee table. As he brushed the crumbs off his sweater, he gave his sister a steady look.
“Sounds pretty bad, but that’s not the sister I know.”
“Really? What sister are you talking about? Because that girl sounds like someone from a long time ago.”
“Actually, she sounds like a few other female relatives who are always down in the dumps and blaming everyone else but themselves.”
Ashley pouted and crossed her arms. “I’m not like them.”
She did not like being compared to their mother or their aunt, who had always been quite depressing and negative.
“I know. I remember someone more like Nancy Drew than Negative Nelly,” he quipped with a wink.
“Who’s Negative Nelly?” she asked, smiling in spite of herself.
“At the moment—you.” He laughed and got up from the sofa, motioning for her to follow him to the kitchen. “Come on, let’s eat.”
They continued talking while setting the table and plating up.
“I have been doing my own little investigation,” she confessed.
“Thatta girl. Tell me more.”
She told him all about the argument she overheard, finding the geological survey with Ryan’s help and rumors of Colleen and Bobby’s affair.
“What do you know about mining shale gas deposits?” She could always rely on her brother’s encyclopedic knowledge on just about anything.
“What, fracking? Well, it’s a contested topic here in Seagrass, that’s for sure. Basically, we’re sitting on a gold mine of natural gas that is really hard to access. One way to get to it is hydraulic fracturing—or fracking—where they shoot high-pressure fluid into the earth, causing breaks in the rock bed that the gas can flow through. When they can get to that gas, well—ca-ching!”
He took a bite, chewed and continued. “On one hand, fracking brings jobs and money to the local economy. But, on the other hand, there are a lot of environmental impacts. Scientists at UT-Austin say that most of the earthquakes we feel here are because of fracking. Plus, there’s all the industrial infrastructure they have to build. I have a buddy who lives up near Cotulla—he says the lights from the wells and mining equipment make it hard to see the stars anymore at night.”
“I was gone when this became such a hot-button issue,” she said. “What do most people here in Seagrass think?”
“Depends who you ask. Lot of folks who’ve been looking for work would love to see it come to Seagrass but most are fiercely against it. The damage it would cause puts at risk the tranquility and natural habitats that draw in the tourists. I reckon the biggest deposits are in the marshlands; that’s a pretty fragile area.”
“Yes, the McCays’ marshlands, right? I suppose they are not too tempted by the money, given they’re one of the more well-off families here in town.”
“If they were, the Localists certainly would make it difficult for them to give in to temptation.”
“Yeah, Hope was telling me about these Localists—she says they’ve been vandalizing her property. Who are they
?” Ashley asked.
“Oh, it’s a bunch of guys around town who are trying to keep Seagrass from changing. Standing against progress, if you ask me. I heard the McCays’ trouble with them doesn’t even stem for fracking, just for considering a sale of land near the Mouth to a hotel developer. I respect a person for taking a stand, but these Localists are too cowardly to reveal who they are, and they go around destroying property of hard-working people. It just makes me mad.”
“Do you know anything about a Monty Gahn?”
“Gahn, yeah, I’ve heard the name. He arrived a few months back, trying to get people with property to let him mine on it. But like I said, no one has yet. In fact, I think he’s earned himself the nickname Mother Fracker, which tells you how people feel about him.”
“Well, Gahn was seen arguing with Colleen the night she died. One of my theories is that he was trying to take advantage of Bobby’s declining health and manipulate him into selling. Maybe Colleen got in the way?”
“Could be, Ash,” said Michael. “You know, I hope you’re being careful. These Localists are hooligans, and nobody knows much about Gahn. I hate to think you’re putting yourself in danger.”
“Awww, my brother,” she teased, “just like on the playground as kids when you’d beat up anyone who bullied me.”
“Still, it’s not the same as when we were kids.” He smiled reassuringly. “Well, your detective instincts might be the same.”
Ashley laughed and nodded. “Oh my God—remember that time we tried to solve the case of the chicken heart?”
He pretended to shudder. “How could I forget? When Mrs. Jackson came running into our yard and showed it to me, I was disgusted.”
“She was always a strange old woman, but showing that heart—with the thorns sticking out—to two teenagers while screaming like a banshee? Too much.”
“I couldn’t get over the fact that she was trying to blame it on Mom. What a nut.”
Ashley shrugged. “Well, they never got along, but she didn’t get along with anyone.”
