"How's Alex doing?" Sophie asked as she plopped the spent tea bag onto a napkin. An orangish-brown ring bloomed around it on the porous paper.
"Fine. Or at least that's what he says." Amy tugged on a strand of her straw-colored hair. "You know how you talk to people and can just feel they're leaving things out of the conversation? That's totally happening every time he calls. He's mastered the art of the un-detailed description."
"Oh boy. Are you worried?"
"A little. I know he's careful, but I also know he's an adrenalin junkie. Like he told me he was going to go on a zip line course. The next day he admitted that it was some sort of forest ninja challenge, so the zip lines connected to things like jumping out of the top of a tree onto a net and walking across a slack line twenty feet off the ground." She released the hair strand and switched to curling another strand around her index finger instead. "That kind of thing gives me the heebie-jeebies, so I've been occupying myself in the evenings with the blog. I'm doing a series of freezer recipes that people can make ahead then just thaw and heat. Killing two birds with one stone since I'm getting Carla's freezer stocked before the baby arrives and picking up new readers who are interested in those kinds of meals."
She had also been chatting by email with the graphic artist in Chicago who would be making the new logo and border art for Amy's Kitchen. The blog would look completely different, in a very good way. She was so happy Rori had convinced her to go to the blogging conference. Esther Mae's death had been the only bad thing about the experience.
The yoga teacher was also at the food pantry meeting, but she sat two tables away in the packed conference room. Rori had decided to help with the giveaway after Amy told her about it at the conference. The library's room was the biggest space the organization could find to hold the gathering as the event had picked up more and more volunteers wanting to help. At the front of the room, the director of the pantry, Liz, called the meeting to order. Charms on her bracelet glinted in the harsh overhead lights as she waved a notebook over her head to get the crowd's attention.
During the proceedings, Amy cycled between sipping her latte, taking notes, and doodling flowers and curlicues around the notes as she listened. Organizers had procured frozen turkeys and chickens for over 200 families, along with ingredients to make side dishes like green bean casserole and rice pilaf. Donors to the pantry had taken advantage of Thanksgiving sales to stock the shelves and freezers with food that would last for far more than a single holiday meal for a family in need. One of the tasks that Amy had worked on was making a recipe booklet, in case any of the families didn't know how to cook a whole turkey or what to do with canned yams. She and Sophie were to be roving cooking consultants during the giveaway to help answer any questions that recipients might have about preparing the foods they were receiving.
Rori's arm shot up when the director completed the list of food that had been collected. "What about meals for vegetarians or vegans?"
The director's cheerful smile flattened into a thin line as she peered over the top of her glasses to zero in on the objector. She flipped through a few pages in her notebook then said, "We should be able to add a few extra vegetables to take the place of the meat."
Rori shook her head. "There are products that mimic meat, like seitan or TVP. Those things should be available to people who want them for a main protein source instead of throwing in an extra can of creamed corn to replace a turkey. That isn't an acceptable trade off. People shouldn't have to give up their dietary preferences just because they've fallen on hard times."
"I agree with your sentiment. However, I'm not a vegetarian, so I have to admit I'm not familiar with the products you are suggesting for meat replacements. I haven't heard any complaints from anybody about the food we offer until now." The director, who owned a cleaning service, had been super-organized and unflappable through all of the planning meetings before then, but the newcomer's demands cracked her professional demeanor a bit. She tossed the notebook onto the table in front of her. "I don't know how we can come up with a decent supply of any of the foods you have suggested this close to the giveaway date, let alone where to get them."
"I can take care of that. The food will be the contribution from my business, Yoga For You."
Liz nodded at Rori. "Thank you. Food never goes to waste, so I appreciate you and your business's help."
The meeting continued after the tense discussion with Rori. People volunteered for roles from transporting the food from the pantry's warehouse to the library where it would be distributed, to traffic coordinators who would help keep the expected line of cars from blocking traffic. Soon the meeting adjourned, and the room filled with chatter. Amy had planned on talking with Rori, but the dedicated vegan rushed out the door. Maybe she had a class to teach soon at her studio. As Sophie was shrugging on her coat, she said, "I had never thought of offering protein options for people who don't eat meat. I'm sure there will be people looking for meals who will appreciate it. One of my friends is vegetarian ninety-five percent of the time, but she will give in to her cravings and have a steak once in a while. Rori is on a different plane than most of us with her dietary convictions. I'm sure her views go beyond eating a plant-based diet just for good health. The world needs more people who are passionate about things they believe in."
Amy looked at the door that the yoga instructor had exited through. Rori's dedication to her earth-friendly lifestyle was admirable. But that zeal had gotten her on a list that was a very dangerous place to be. Shepler was a fair detective who would cross murder suspects off his list when he determined they weren't guilty of committing the crime. Until he got to that point, though, he methodically looked at all information both incriminating and exonerating. Since Amy hadn't spoken with the daddy-to-be recently, she had no idea which way his suspicion scales for Rori were tipping.
* * *
Amy had worn the red-hooded coat because she thought the color was cheerful, but now the clothing choice seemed to have plunked her in the middle of a fairy tale. Little Red Riding Hood driving her Mini through the forest on her way to see the widower Bates. A section of washboard-style bumps rattled her teeth and made the aluminum pans in the Styrofoam cooler sound as though they had come alive and were trying to claw their way out. The previous day, she had stopped by Buck's booth after she worked her shift to check on him. He admitted that he hadn't been eating much. So she decided delivering some of the bounty of freezer meals she had been producing was a good thing to do. Since she was running out of space in her and Carla's freezers, giving some meals to the widower was a good thing in more ways than one.
After calling the phone number on his business card several times and getting no answer, she set out to visit the address listed for his workshop. Maybe he was working with a saw or lathe and couldn't hear the phone ringing. As Amy bounced along the frozen dirt roads, she began to regret her decision. The houses were getting much farther apart. The forest was so thick some residences were only indicated by a mailbox and rutted driveway cutting through the brush then quickly disappearing in what appeared to be the movie set for a haunted forest.
Amy jumped when her phone's GPS app announced that her destination was on the right in one hundred feet. Mimi the Mini Cooper thumped around a rutted corner that the little car might not have made it down had the muddy grooves in the road not been frozen in place. A mailbox that looked like a red wood barn came into sight. She stopped and checked the white numbers painted on its side.
"Destination reached," announced the monotone voice from her phone.
The smooth gravel in the driveway crunched under her tires as she maneuvered along the winding lane that twisted between massive, old trees. Suddenly the forest opened up into an expansive yard. A brick ranch-style house sat in the middle of the rectangle of brown, dead grass. A wooden wishing well near the front door was crowned with a sign that said Esther Mae and Buck Bates. She was definitely at the right place.
An unattached garage sat close to the left side
of the house. Behind that was a towering pole building with red metal siding—an almost exact match to the mailbox. A bow window filled with plants jutted out from the side of the house near the door closest to the driveway. There was a light on inside. Between the leaves, she could make out a white refrigerator. Maybe Buck had shut off the noisy equipment that had kept him from hearing his phone and stepped inside for lunch.
There was no doorbell button, so she knocked. White curtains covered the four pane window on the top of the door. She listened carefully as her breath formed little clouds in the still, cold air. There wasn't a sound from inside the house. The temperature was well below freezing, so the frozen spaghetti with meatballs and Chicken a la King casseroles would be fine if she left them by the door in the disposable cooler. But the house was in the middle of the woods. What kind of animals might raid the food stash for their own dinners? If she couldn't let Buck know she had delivered the meals, he probably wouldn't appreciate finding out when a pack of coyotes arrived at his back door looking for an easy dinner solution.
She hit redial on her phone. The same message—his voice mailbox was full and no more messages could be saved to it. A prolonged series of knocks on the door just made her knuckles sore. Her fingers brushed the door knob as her arm dropped. She didn't even try turning the brass knob, but the door clicked open. Amy obsessively locked her house doors and set the high-tech alarm system. Was something wrong that the lights were on, the door was unlocked, but nobody was responding to her knocks? Esther Mae had been murdered. Had her husband met the same fate?
"Hello…anybody home?" Amy called as she crept into the kitchen while clutching the small white cooler. Just as Buck had said, all of the cupboard doors were made of dark- and light-streaked hickory wood. Too late she realized that if the killer was still in the house, she had just announced herself to him.
Then again, maybe Buck was taking a nap. And she had just startled him awake by barging into his home. He could come charging into the kitchen at any moment to face off with an intruder—her. Hopefully he didn't sleep in the nude.
Through the doorway, she could make out a dark colored couch and a pink camouflage recliner in the next room. That was an interesting choice of upholstery fabric. The living room was gloomy and filled with shadows since all of the curtains were pulled shut. The pans inside the Styrofoam chest rattled and squeaked as though she was still bumping over the dirt road. The cooler turned to lead as she listened for a sound. Anything to indicate that another living person was in the home. The only sound was the humming of the nearby refrigerator's motor.
There was no sense toting the meals through the house. She set the cooler on the counter beside her. As she turned back to the living room, a set of glowing eyes in the shadows stared at her. She squealed and stumbled back against the door. The window glass rattled when the back of her head thumped it. She blinked as she held her hand against her chest. The dog-like form that the eyes belonged to didn't move…didn't make a sound. She took a step closer and could make out long grass sticking up around the canine's feet. Grass in a living room?
Slowly she advanced into the room, closer to the inert creature. Every muscle in her body vibrated with fear. She was in the middle of the tidy living room before she realized she was looking at a taxidermy mount of a coyote. Definitely not her idea of chic home decor. Not to mention, a stuffed predator would give her little dog Pogo anxiety attacks. Amy sighed out the breath she had been holding. The next breath she took caught in her throat again as a floorboard behind her groaned.
She spun around. Buck Bates stood in the hallway with a shotgun leveled at her head.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my house," he slurred as the end of the gun's barrel traced circles in the air. His plaid boxer shorts sagged under his potbelly which made him look like he had consumed an inflated basketball for breakfast. The scruffy whiskers he had sported earlier in the week had turned into a thick beard speckled with gray.
Amy shook her head. She had been pretty close when surmising that Buck could've been taking a nap in the nude. Thin underwear wasn't much of a step up. So why was she committing to memory the image of a half-naked man who was old enough to be her father, not to mention far less appealing than her husband, instead of answering his question? Oh…maybe because she was too scared to formulate an answer. Then again, why was Buck asking who she was? He knew her. In fact, he called her by name whenever she stopped by his booth. "It's me…Amy. I work at Riverbend Bake Shop at the market. I bought a paddle spoon from you earlier this week. I talked to you again yesterday."
He narrowed his bloodshot eyes at her. The gun barrel wavered as if he was aiming for a hyper fly. "Aaaa…meeee…"
The prolonged word carried the scent of liquor across the room with it. Poor man. Falling down drunk on a Sunday afternoon. He was obviously in pain from losing his beloved wife. Amy nodded. "Yes. Amy. You said you haven't been eating well, so I brought out some casseroles for your freezer." She pointed at the cooler on the counter in the kitchen. "I'm not trying to rob you or anything. I didn't want to leave the food outside in case any animals got into it, and your door was unlocked. So I just came in to put the meals in the freezer. I was going to leave a note, but then I freaked out when I saw the coyote in your living room." She sucked in a massive breath. "And here we are now."
A flicker of recognition finally crossed his face. He leaned the gun against the wall beside him. "I'm sorry. I thought you were another of Esther Mae's relatives nosing around for money or flat out trying to steal my stuff. They're crawling out of every hole from here to Louisiana, thinking she was some kind of millionaire, and they're entitled to a chunk of her fortune."
"I'm sorry. That has to be very difficult to deal with."
He dropped onto the couch next to the coyote and absent mindedly petted its head. "I moved her up here to get away from the pond scum she calls family. Never could get her completely out of their grasp. They're all a bunch of low-life schemers who wouldn't know real work if it bit them in the ass. That's why they're all scrapping for money that Esther Mae didn't leave to them."
"Oh, dear. If they're showing up here to harass you, have you contacted the police? Maybe filing trespassing charges or a restraining order would help."
Buck ran his finger through his oily, long hair then pointed at the gun. "That's the only kind of law her family respects."
Amy glanced over her shoulder. Would one of the greedy in-laws barge through the unlocked door just like she did? The only one of Esther Mae's relatives whom she knew was Rayshelle, whose personality was composed of various shades of unpleasantness. What were her cousins, aunts, and uncles like? The thought made her shiver, even though she was still wearing her wool Red Riding Hood coat inside the warm house.
Buck yawned. It was time for her to make an exit. He needed to sleep off his cocktail binge, and she wanted to leave before she got stuck in the middle of a Hatfield and McCoy-style battle. "I'm going to put the meals in your freezer and then let you go take a nap or get back to whatever you were doing. The directions for heating the meals are taped on top of the pans."
He nodded once. "Thank you, young lady. That was a very kind thing for you to do. I'm sorry I scared you." His gaze drifted to the pink and tree limb-patterned recliner positioned on the other side of the wild dog then bounced back to her. "Don't worry about bringing out any more food. LeighAnne is taking good care of me, just like Esther Mae took care of her."
That evening, Amy sipped minty chamomile tea while she adjusted the color on the photographs she took of the freezer meals before she had delivered them to Buck. The blog was far more interesting, and time consuming, than she had anticipated. Random strangers from around the world were commenting on posts about the recipes she invented, but almost every evening was spent tinkering in photo editing programs, writing recipes, and responding to questions. It was exciting and strange all stirred together into a happy stew.
But the blog work was just a backgroun
d to the thoughts that were bouncing around her brain. The purportedly sleep-inducing tea wasn't working at all to settle down her overactive mind. A homeopathic remedy fail. Or maybe it would work on people whose thoughts bubbled up at a normal pace. Ideas were foaming in her brain as though it was made of baking soda, and her blood was vinegar. An elementary school science experiment kind of thought process. Except most of the thoughts were clones of each other. She had almost been shot. She had almost been shot. She had almost been shot!
Obviously Buck was grieving. Unexpectedly losing a spouse was horrible. Finding out she was murdered…devastating. Even the strongest person could give in and drown their sorrow in a bottle of whiskey given those circumstances. Walking into a house of a stranger, one she knew was extremely stressed, had been stupid on her part. Grief stricken, drunk, and armed was a combination that almost got her killed. What had been the fatal mix of circumstances that got Esther Mae killed?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Riding in the car was a good lesson on what the baby would see in its car seat—basically treetops and roofs. Pretty boring stuff, especially in the winter when there weren't even any leaves. Carla made a mental note to buy plenty of toys to hang from the car seat handle.
Since she wasn't able to be transported on the couch, Amy had insisted Carla recline the Mini's seat to stay in a similar position. Her best friend might not be a mom, but she had the fierce protectiveness of one. Not only wouldn't she allow Carla to sit up like a normal person, a distinction she felt far away from, but Amy was also driving as if she was taking a driver's education test. Slow and steady would eventually get them to the doctor's office, if both of them didn't die of boredom before then.
"But you need a baby shower, now that you're on bed rest, more than ever. You can't get out yourself and buy the things you need."
So the view wasn't entertaining, but Amy's typical overreaction was very amusing. With her best friend, everything was served with a dose of drama. Not that Amy was an annoying drama queen. She simply tended to get very excited about some things. Her current focus was on engineering a baby shower. It wasn't that Carla necessarily didn't want one. She just didn't feel it was mandatory, especially since her immobile state often made her resemble a walrus hanging out on shore. Or at least that's how she imagined she looked. Amy said she was glowing. Bruce said she was gorgeous. Liars. Spending twenty-three hours a day sprawled on the couch sporting a permanent case of bed head was not pretty in any way.
Fudge Brownies & Murder Page 5
