by Amy Lilly
"Okay. I think I will stick close to home today. Can you call me later and let me know what Doc said?"
"I will if I can. Just promise me that you'll leave the investigating to me." He gave me another quick kiss and left the bedroom. He whistled for Watson, and I heard the front door open. "Lock the door!" A moment later the door shut, and he was gone. Sighing, I got up and pulled on the discarded robe. The scent of Clint clung to the fabric and I inhaled deeply trying to recapture last night. I locked the front door and then headed to the kitchen with my cup. I poured a fresh cup of coffee from the still warm percolator and added cream and sugar. Clint had left the morning paper on the table. I glanced down and the headlines printed in large, bold letters, "Local Naturalist Shot Dead in Home!" I sat down to read the article. "Local naturalist and food activist, Duane Phillips, was gunned down outside of his trailer last night. Sheriff Dawes said that Phillips was shot at close range with what appears to be a .45 caliber handgun. Phillips was active in the community and was vocal in his opposition to new construction near the lake and forest. He had recently chained himself to a tree near a proposed subdivision claiming that the area was the home of the endangered New England Silt Snail. 'We are investigating Mr. Phillips movements over the past few weeks to determine if his recent activist campaigns might have contributed to his death,' said Sheriff Dawes. 'We are also interested in speaking with anyone who had contact with the victim yesterday.' Anyone with information is asked to contact the sheriff's department immediately." A photograph of Duane chained to a large oak tree accompanied the article.
I sighed and thought about how passionate Duane was about nature and foraging for food. His presentation at the library had been well-attended. He had brought several species of wild plants in and shown them during his talk. Slowly, it dawned on me. Duane had brought several species of mushrooms with him to the library as well. They had been on display on a large table. It would have been easy for someone to walk up and swipe one off the table after the demonstration. We had all milled around and chatted over the coffee and cookies the Friends of the Library ladies brought in. It would have been no problem to take one, and no one would have noticed. I sipped my coffee and tried to remember who had stayed after Duane's talk. But if the murderer had taken the mushroom without anyone noticing, why would they need to kill Duane? Maybe the murderer asked one too many questions and aroused Duane's suspicions.
"Ferdie, I might be trapped in the house, but I can still investigate." I scratched him between his ears, and he purred with pleasure. All was forgiven for allowing the evil little dog into the house his mews of pleasure said. I went and grabbed a notebook and pen from the desk in my small office, then sat back down at the table. I took another sip of coffee to jump start my memory. "Now, I just need to remember who came that day." I began to scribble down the names of potential suspects.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
“Word spread because word will spread. Stories and secrets fight, stories win, shed new secrets, which new stories fight, and on.”-China Miéville, Embassytown
Fifteen minutes later, I had ten names on my list. My mom had brought Shari Davis with her. I felt pretty safe eliminating them from my list of possible suspects. I also marked off two middle-school kids whose moms had dropped them off at the library to get them out of their hair for an hour. That left Charlie, Reverend Taylor and his wife, Patricia, Mike Johnson who owned the local pickle factory, Chris Karsen and Mrs. Grimes. Since Mrs. Grimes was approaching eighty and used a walker, I scratched her off the list, too. My list of possible suspects had narrowed considerably. Satisfied, I puttered around the house cleaning up. By eleven o'clock, I was going stir-crazy.
I had promised Clint I wouldn't go anywhere without Rick or Juliet. Rick worked in the city as an architect, so I couldn't ask him to come babysit me. Juliet was a freelance photographer, yoga instructor, tarot card reader and everything else that didn't require a 9-to-5 schedule. I decided to call her to come rescue me.
"Can you come pick me up?" I asked her when she finally answered her phone.
"What time is it?" Juliet asked me. Her voice was groggy with sleep.
"It is almost eleven o'clock in the morning, sleepy head. I came up with a list of possible suspects in the murder of Carla Karsen. Clint has me under house arrest unless you or Rick can babysit. Come break me out, and I'll buy you breakfast." Juliet had the metabolism of a shrew so I knew that the promise of food would get her up and out of bed.
"House arrest, huh? He's progressed to handcuffs with you already?"
"You are hilarious. You should give up yoga and go on tour with a troupe of clowns. Will you come get me? We can go by Nellie Jo's. She should be putting out all things pumpkin since it is fall. I know how much you love her pumpkin spice coffee. I'll even buy you a muffin to eat,” I cajoled.
"Alright. Give me a half an hour to get dressed. Do I need to bring handcuff keys?" Laughing, she hung up. I showered and dressed quickly. I pulled my hair up into a messy ponytail and was pulling on my favorite pair of vintage turquoise cowboy boots when I heard a honk from a car horn. I finished slipping the boots on, grabbed my favorite navy blue pea coat and headed to the door. Juliet waited for me in Ole Blue. I hopped in and we drove the short distance to Nellie Jo's Cup o' Joe.
Nellie Jo's was the hot spot in Miller's Cove. Everyone went there to get the latest gossip. It also served muffins the size of grapefruits. She called them moose muffins. Nellie and her husband, Mike, had moved to Miller's Cove from down south over twenty years ago to take over the failing pickle factory. Nellie hated working in the office of the factory, so Mike bought her the coffee shop to make her happy.
Juliet and I walked in and went to the counter area to give our order. It was decorated in twentieth century kitsch. Collectible glasses from the eighties were displayed in shelves along the back wall. Bobble heads decorated the counters and bobbed in unison whenever someone opened the door and let in even a hint of a breeze. A large wooden barrel filled with pickles from her husband's pickle factory sat in front of the counter. I kept waiting for Nellie to introduce a pickle-flavored muffin, but so far she had resisted. I loved coming here.
"Hey, Nellie!" I called out to her. Nellie was clearing coffee cups from a recently vacated table. Juliet and I took a seat at the counter.
"Hey there, Phee! I'll be with you in a minute. Let me just run these cups to the back." She bumped the swinging doors to the kitchen open and disappeared. A moment later she reappeared and wiping her hands on a bar towel said, "What can I get for you this morning?"
"I think I'll take one of those yummy pumpkin scones and a pumpkin spice coffee with cream. Juliet, what do you want?"
"I'll take a wild blueberry moose muffin and a pumpkin spice coffee, too. No cream for me though." Juliet stifled a yawn.
"You girls have a late night?" Nellie peered at us intently through her granny glasses. Her nose for gossip must be on high alert.
"Nothing much. Just worried about all these murders going on lately," I answered casually setting the bait and waiting to see if she would take it.
"Oh my gosh! I know! Can you believe it? Huey Long was strangled in his own home!" Her voice lowered to a confidential whisper. "I heard he was found naked." "Really?" I tried to appear surprised. "You know, I really didn't know him all that well. I just saw him when he came into the library, and he always was a little bit of a creep to me. He hit on me all the time."
"Well," Nellie continued, "he used to be all famous and had all sorts of women sniffing around him. It was probably ‘cause of all his money because he certainly wasn’t all that good looking. But once he got out of the business, his luck with the ladies dried up." She poured our coffee.
"If he was famous, how come I never heard of him?" Juliet asked skeptically. "Was he on television or something?"
"Nope. Better. He was a midget wrestler over in Burlington. I can't believe you never heard of him. Huey the Horrible?" Juliet and I both shook our heads. "Why, me and
Mike used to go watch them midget wrestlers every weekend. It was the better than that fake stuff you see on TV. I bet you anything one of his old rivals came and put the killer anaconda choke hold on him and tried to cover it up by strangling him with a belt. Poor little feller."
"Well, he wasn't that old, so how come he stopped wrestling?" I asked.
"He hurt his back real bad and had to stop fighting. Ivan the Terrible Two-Footer did a back breaker on him, and Huey got all tore up. Had to stop wrestling. He had blown most of the money he had made on cheap women and beer. He moved here to Miller's Cove and lived off what money he got from disability. It's a shame, really. He was really something fierce in the ring." Nellie smiled at the memory.
"But if Huey was killed by a rival, then why would they kill Carla, too?" I fished for additional gossip.
"That girl was faster than a cheetah on the African savannah. If it had pants, she tried to catch it!" Nellie harrumphed in disapproval.
"Really? Do tell." Juliet leaned forward encouragingly.
"I bet you anything her husband bumped her off for cheating on him. Either that or an angry wife. I heard that she was prowling around with that Grant Davis not two days after he moved back into town. I guarantee his mama was fit to be tied and put a stop to that real quick." Nellie said emphatically.
"Grant?" I was shocked. As far as I knew there was no love lost between Carla and Grant, but he'd been gone for several years. How well did I really know him anymore?
"Yep. Of course, I heard she was also stepping out with Sheriff Dawes. You let Sheila ever find out that Jaime cheated on her, and I guarantee you that Jaime will be waking up to find a shotgun aimed at his business!" Nellie declared as she pretended to aim a shotgun and shoot downward.
"Sheila won't hear it from me," I reassured her. "How did Mike like our nature class we had the other day at the library, by the way? I was glad to see him take a break from the factory."
"He said he really enjoyed it. You know he went to try to learn a little bit before going on our fall camping trip with our little grandson, Joey. Mike isn't really an outdoor kind of guy. He prefers sitting in front of the TV with a can of beer watching the game to enjoying the great outdoors. Of course, when I asked him what he'd learned, he said he couldn't remember much except to say that now he was scared to eat any kind of mushroom since Duane had shown them so many poisonous ones. Real sad what happened to that boy, too. I swear the crime from the big cities is coming here. Can't even be safe in your home at night anymore without someone trying to rob you. Why...I told Mike that we're gonna need to start locking all our doors and windows just to feel safe in our own homes. Crying shame if you ask me." Nellie shook her head in dismay.
I took a last bite of my scone and sipped my coffee. "How is your grandson, Nellie?"
"He's doing real good. Made straight A's this marking period. Smart as a whip. He's going to be running this town one day, mark my words." Her pride in her grandson was evident. "He loves going to the library to see you. Every week he says to me, 'Mamaw, take me to see Miss Phee at the library.' I think he has read every book in there."
"Just about! Well, you bring him by to see me this week. I have a new series he might like to read. We'd better get going." I stood up to leave. Juliet took a last swallow of her coffee and slipped off her stool to follow.
"You girls stay out of trouble and I'll see you later," Nellie said as we started out the door.
"See you later, Nellie. Thanks for the coffee," I said over my shoulder as we left.
Juliet and I walked to her car and got in. Juliet turned and looked at me and said, "Midget wrestling? Really?" She burst out laughing and I joined her. Minutes later we were still laughing with tears streaming down our faces as we headed towards home.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
“Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face. You really need to be certain it's what you want before you commit.” -Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love
Juliet steered Ole Blue down Main Street. The lone stoplight in town turned red, and she slowed to a stop. Our laughter had subsided to an occasional snort and giggle. I wiped the tears from my eyes and glanced out the passenger window. I spotted Clint walking into Maybe Baby, the new boutique baby store.
"Pull in to that parking spot up ahead," I said quickly.
"What's up?" Juliet pulled the car into the parking spot a few buildings down from the baby boutique.
"I just saw Clint walk into Maybe Baby Boutique. Doesn't seem like the type of store a guy like him goes to. I just want to see what's up," I said and peered through the windshield of the convertible trying to catch a glimpse of Clint inside the store.
"We could just get out of the car and go in there like normal people," Juliet suggested.
"No way!" I protested. "I don't want Clint to think I am following him or anything."
"Because sitting in a car trying to spy on him isn't following him? And you say that I’m the flake?" The sarcasm wasn't wasted on me. I shot her a look.
"I'm not spying on him. I just want to see what he's investigating," I said innocently. "I mean, how am I going to figure out who's committed the murder if I don't keep up with the investigation?"
Juliet snorted in disbelief. "Well, your chief investigator just walked out the door of the store and is heading back towards his car." Hurriedly, I sunk down in my seat so that he wouldn't spot me. I tried to tug Juliet down next to me, but she gave me a look that said she thought I was crazy.
"Is he gone?" I asked. Sliding back up, I peered down the street and watched Clint's patrol car pull out. "Let's go check out the store. Maybe we can figure out what he was up to."
"Well, I do need to get something for the twins," Juliet said. We hopped out of the car and headed into the store.
When I opened the door to the boutique, the chime rang out Brahms’s Lullaby. A slight hint of talcum powder and lavender scented the air. The walls were painted blue with fluffy clouds. Paintings of cherubic-faced infants holding balloons drifted among the clouds. A beautiful rocking chair with a hand-carved back in the shape of a cow jumping over the moon sat in the corner of the store and I gravitated towards it immediately. I touched the smooth, light wood and traced the design with my fingertips.
"This is gorgeous!" I exclaimed. "It would be perfect for the twins' nursery."
"It's one of a kind," a voice spoke from behind me. Turning, I faced an attractive woman with brunette hair cut into a modern bob and dark brown eyes. I recognized her. Valerie Clark. She was Clint's ex-girlfriend from back in high school.
"Ophelia Jefferson?" Valerie's eyes widened. "Oh my goodness! You haven't changed a bit since high school."
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes since high school was the most humiliating and awkward period of my life. Outwardly, I pasted on a fake smile and said sweetly, "Valerie Clark. I barely recognized you! How have you been?"
"It's Valerie Hill now. I'm doing well."
"Oh? You're married?" I tried to suppress the hope in my voice. Clint and Valerie had been the "it couple" in high school.
"Divorced. I just moved back here from New York and decided to open up this boutique to try to bring a little bit of the big city to this town." Valerie gave a smug smile.
"Well, I think it's great! I'm Phee's sister, Juliet. You probably don't remember me." Juliet smiled and held out her hand to Valerie. "Phee and I love this rocking chair. You remember our brother, Rick? He and his wife are expecting twins and this would be perfect for the nursery."
"How exciting! Rick was a great guy. I spent a lot of time with Clint and him. Oh, the trouble the three of us got up to!" She gave a throaty laugh. "Make sure you tell Rick that Val said hello and congratulations. If you'd like to purchase the rocker, I can have it delivered for you to their home if you would like," Valerie offered. Turning back to me, she said, “So, Phee, still single?"
"Yep. I'm still single." I gave a forced laugh.
"Well, sometimes you just have to wait for the right g
uy to come along. Or the right guy to come back," Valerie offered. My heart sank. She had to be talking about Clint. I suddenly felt like a second hand pair of loafers next to a pair of Manolo Blahnik's. There was no way I could compete against Valerie for Clint's affection. She was beautiful and sophisticated. I was just a small town girl who wore funny animal slippers and watched old movies by herself on a Friday night.
"Phee, let's go ahead and buy the rocker and have it shipped to Mom and Dad's for the baby shower next week,” Juliet suggested completely clueless to my inner turmoil.
"Can you take care of it and I'll meet you in the car?" I handed her my credit card.
"Sure." She gave me a look. Blindly, I headed out the door with tears stinging my eyes.
Ten minutes later, Juliet opened the car door and climbed into Ole Blue. She looked at my tear-stained face. "What in the world is wrong with you? One minute you are excited about the rocker and the next thing I know, I find you sitting in the car blubbering."
"Don't you remember? Valerie is Clint's high school sweetheart. They were homecoming king and queen. And she's single!" I wailed.
"Oh my goddess! So what? That was ages ago," Juliet gave me an exasperated look. She started Ole Blue and pulled away from the curb. "You are obviously overly tired and not thinking straight. Clint obviously cares about you. And I definitely don't think he is the type to hop out of your bed and straight into Valerie's. Give the guy a little bit of credit. Maybe he stopped in to just say hello to an old friend."
"But she's still pretty and didn't you hear what she said? Waiting for the right guy to come back?" I wailed again.
"And you are gorgeous. I don't know why you are always down on yourself. Why don't you ask Clint about seeing him downtown today? You might be surprised by the answer."
