by Tonya Kappes
“It’s just floors.” I smiled, hoping to make me feel better and her welcomed. “Here.” I used my foot to move the towel around to mop up the excess water. “See, it comes right up.” I turned and waved her in. “Get in here, and let’s pour a big glass of your tea.”
I wondered why she was here and figured it must be important because she’d never walk down here in a thunderstorm.
On our way into the kitchen, I reached down in the mail carrier bag I’d thrown on the couch in the front room of the small home. These homes were original to when Sugar Creek Gap was established, when settlers had decided to open it as a mill.
The houses were small, and it was perfect for single little me and two fur babies. Inside, all the houses on Little Creek Road looked the same, just as they did on the outside. There was a door in the middle of the porch that led into a small entryway. That opened directly into a small family room where I kept a couch, coffee table, an end table, and a TV. Sometimes Mac and I would hang out in there, but the kitchen was where everyone liked to gather.
After I’d received the home from Mr. Macum, Mac had come up with a new house plan where we tore down the wall between the kitchen and one of the two bedrooms. This opened the kitchen up and made it a nice size. There was a big island in the middle for my family to gather around.
Mac knew that if he was going to get me in town, the kitchen would be my main focus. Naturally, as an architect and someone who knew my tastes very well, he’d presented me with the most amazing modern farmhouse design where I could picture myself feeding my new grandbaby while everyone was there to eat something. I could even picture me and Iris baking up some new recipe she had in mind, because we did that often.
“I love what you’ve done with this place.” Harriette set the jar on the island. I put the box of cookies next to her. “For me?”
“Well, it was actually for Courtney because I needed to go see her about something.” The thought of her trying to swoop in on my Grady tore at me. “With the rain and all, I figured we’d just eat them. And I’m sure they’d pair nicely with that tea.”
I grabbed two glasses from the open shelving and filled them with ice.
“That’s why I’m here.” Harriette pulled out one of the tall bar chairs and hoisted herself up in it. She leaned back against the leather back, placed her elbows on the armrests, and clasped her fingers together. “I wanted to know what she said when you delivered all them packages today. I noticed Grady helped her with her landscape, and I didn’t care too much for it.”
“You? Me either.” I sighed and put the glass down in front of her along with a napkin. I opened the Pie in the Face Bakery box and pushed that in front of her too. “I know Grady has a heart of gold, but I’m not so sure Courtney does.”
I barely got my words out before a bloodcurdling scream came from outside, louder than the thunder.
“What was that?” Harriette jerked around and looked out the side window of the kitchen, which faced Courtney’s house.
“I think someone screamed.” Quickly I moved around the island and pulled the window blinds open to see if I could see through the blustery storm. “I think it’s Courtney.”
Without thinking, I hurried out the small back door off the kitchen and into the rain with nothing to cover me.
Courtney was standing at the side of the house. Her hair was matted down from the rain. She had her mulch shovel in her hand, and her body was trembling. The rain poured down, and only glimpses of her scared facial expression could be seen through the flicker of lightning.
“Courtney, are you okay?” I asked from across the chain-link fence. “Courtney,” I yelled louder a couple of times because she didn’t flinch.
After about the fifth time, her chin slowly rose, and through the darkness, I could see the whites of her eyes.
“Are you okay? I heard you scream.” I searched the darkness for any light.
The biggest clap of thunder was followed up by three or four lightning strikes, which lit up the sky just long enough for me to see a pair of shoes sticking out of the freshly laid mulch.
Chapter 6
Sheriff Angela Hafley sat at my kitchen counter with her notebook open and her pen ready to write down anything Courtney Gaines had to say about the body found in her mulch. The dead body of Florence Gaines, to be exact.
And Harriette sat right there, getting the scoop. Thank goodness the sheriff made us all stay until we gave our statements, because in no way, shape, or form was Harriette about to leave my house.
“Start from the beginning on how you found your aunt.” Angela had come inside to talk to us after I’d taken Courtney home with me and we’d called the sheriff’s dispatch to report the body.
Mac had showed up after Angela, and I told him that I’d call him later. There was no sense in him coming in the house when there was little room for all the people that were already in there.
“I. . .” Courtney played with the wet ring the glass of iced tea had left on the island. “I knew I’d left the shovel out from when I was doing the mulch, and I fell asleep on my couch. I woke up from the thunderstorm and realized I’d left out all the equipment. I ran out the door, and that’s when I saw the shoes. I think I screamed.”
My stomach lurched when I recalled the sound that had pierced through my walls and that had made me bolt out the door to see what was wrong.
“Is that where you pick up in all this?” Angela turned her questions to me.
“I came in and let Buster out. He did bark, which is unusual, but then Harriette knocked on the door so I thought he must’ve been barking at her.” I’d forgotten how Buster had barked. “Do you think Buster was barking at the killer?”
“Killer?” Courtney’s head jerked up.
“You certainly don’t think Florence came over to your house and lay down in the mulch, do you?” Harriette’s sarcasm was met with a glare from Angela.
Courtney’s jaw clamped closed. “My Aunt Florence didn’t like you. Why were you here? Why did you come down here in a storm? Did you kill my Aunt Florence?”
“Whoa, whoa.” Angela eased up from the bar chair and put her hands out, her pen curled in her finger. “No one is accusing no one of anything.” She slid her finger at me, making me squirm uncomfortably and letting me know that I knew better than to mention the K-word. . .as in killer. “We don’t know if Florence was murdered. But the coroner is here and will take her down to the morgue, where we’ll give her an exam to determine the cause of death.” She looked down at her notebook and tapped it with her pen. “Do you know why your aunt would’ve been over in a rainstorm to see you if you weren’t expecting her?”
“We’d had an argument earlier today.” Courtney dropped her hands in her lap and looked up toward the sky. “Oh my gosh. We didn’t even make up before she died. I’m going to have to live with that as our last exchange.”
I watched Courtney and her body language while she processed all that was happening in my kitchen.
“An argument about what?” Angela asked, her head tilted.
“She and Zeke Grey got married today. You need to question him.” Courtney was quick to tell Angela what to do.
“What?” Angela all of the sudden looked as wound up as a girdle at a Baptist potluck. “They got married?”
“Yes.” Courtney started to cry. This was what made her cry about her aunt’s death? I wondered since she’d been dry-eyed this whole time until now. “I just couldn’t believe it when they showed up here and told me. I. . .I was shocked and wondered if my family was right sending me here.”
“Your family sent you here to live?” Angela’s jaw loosened up.
I’d known Angela all our lives, and I’d also been able to help out on a few of her cases, during which I’d gotten to know some of her body language. Right now, Angela was very curious about Courtney. If Florence’s exam came back a homicide, which I suspected it would, I was sure Courtney would be first on Angela’s list of suspects.
Courtney gave a brief summary of what she’d told me about her family sending her here since Florence had made a few remarks about the fancy painting and maybe not giving it to the charity.
“They think she’s starting to get dementia.” Courtney jerked up. Her eyes dried as quickly as she spoke. “I bet Aunt Florence had a bout of forgetfulness today, married Zeke, and she wandered over here where she…” Her voice broke. She was unable to finish her sentence.
I reached over and rubbed her back. She tugged on my mother heartstrings. Poor girl didn’t have any family here. Now.
“Has Florence been diagnosed with dementia?” Angela asked as she wrote down a few things.
I got up when I noticed Courtney needed a tissue. I walked over to the counter, where I plucked a couple from the box.
“No. That’s why I was here. To report on how she was doing and to keep an eye on her.” Courtney picked up the glass of water and took a sip.
Angela flipped back through her little notebook. I couldn’t help but try to look at what she was writing when I passed behind her to hand Courtney the tissues. My old eyes didn’t let me see that far away.
“What about this painting?” Angela read from her notes then looked up.
“It’s a very rare painting Aunt Florence had promised to the family charity when she’d gotten possession of it. From what I recall, the painting was given to her upon the agreement she’d give it to the charity upon her death. But she was able to enjoy it while she was living.” Courtney’s jaw dropped. “We have to get the painting out of her house. What if Zeke does something with it?”
“There’s nothing coming or going out of her house.” Angela’s voice was stern, and she gave a steady look at Courtney. “I’ll send someone over to talk to Zeke. He’s a very reasonable man and a wonderful citizen. I’m sure he’ll be cooperative.”
“What if Zeke takes it? She said she was giving it to him and . . .” Courtney gulped when she noticed Angela had put down her pen and fully focused on her. “What if he does sell it?”
“I’ll send someone there now.” Angela straightened up and sucked in a deep breath. She called over one of the deputies and whispered in his ear. He quickly left the kitchen.
“Let me get this straight, for the record.” Angela was just as confused as every one of us. “Florence, as we all know, is very wealthy, and she has a few items that are worth money and in her will go to a family charity. Especially this particular painting.” Angela flipped back her notes.
“Yes, in a nutshell.” Courtney nodded. “So you see it’s very important we go over there right now and get the painting, because I have no idea if she’d given it to Zeke as she said she had.”
“And your argument was about the painting, in which she told you she gave it to Zeke. But now that your aunt is dead, you want the painting per the original agreement?” Angela had it down pat, and when she said it, it made complete sense to me.
One of the sheriff’s deputies popped his head into my kitchen back door and gestured for Angela.
“I’m going to need the name of the family charity and the contact person.” Angela flipped the notebook closed. “If you don’t mind bringing that down to the department in the morning, that’d be great.” Angela put on her big round sheriff’s hat and slid the notebook in the pocket of her sheriff’s coat before she put the clear poncho back on to head out into the rain. “Bernadette, I’d like to see you tomorrow too.” Our eyes met, then she shifted to look at Harriette. “Why don’t you stop by the station tomorrow too?”
“Yeah, I will.” Harriette picked up her tea and took a gulp.
“Can I go home now?” Courtney asked as Angela was leaving.
“Yes, but don’t leave town.” Angela headed out the door.
“You can go out the front door,” I told Courtney, figuring it was the best way to go so she didn’t have to walk directly next to the side of her house where she’d found. . .or murdered Florence.
Normally I’d tell someone in her situation that I was just a hop, skip, and jump away if she needed something, but I kept my lips tighter than the bark on a tree when she headed back out into the rain.
Angela met me at the door.
“Do you think she was murdered?” I asked Angela.
“There’s a couple of big head wounds and a shovel with hair and blood. I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.” She pointed to my door. “Lock your door.” She glanced over my shoulder when Harriette came into the room. “See you two tomorrow.”
The rain pelted the roof of the house. It didn’t look like it was going to lighten up anytime soon.
“Angela is positive Florence was murdered.” I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it. Another murder. “Courtney has a lot of reasons to have killed her.”
We both watched Angela walk down my walk and out the gate.
“Courtney’s a strange girl. You better keep your doors locked.” Harriette groaned.
Chapter 7
I took Harriette Pearl’s advice and locked my door, when I’ve not locked my door. . .well. . .ever. I couldn’t recall anyone who locked their doors in Sugar Creek Gap. It was a community where we didn’t bother knocking when visiting someone. And we visited unannounced.
Buster popped his head up from where he was curled in a ball at the end of the bed when he noticed I’d grabbed my phone off the bedside table to see the time. Rowena was curled up on the empty pillow next to me with not a single care in the world.
“Hi, Buster.” Buster’s tail wagged, and he jumped to attention when he heard my voice, making me smile. “I think it’s only sprinkling right now.” I moved my ear to get a good listen to the light tapping on the roof.
The rain had been heavy all night, and I wished I could say that it was what had kept me up, but it wasn’t. My tossing and turning was due to my pondering on Florence Gaines’s death.
Life must go on, and that included getting Buster out the door to do his business outside.
He had the routine down pat, and as soon as I tucked my feet into my house slippers, he’d jumped off the bed and scurried down to the front door. I continued with the ritual of opening the door, but when I went to jerk the handle, the door protested. I’d forgotten how I’d locked it.
Buster practically ran his little nose into the door when he haphazardly started his trot out and quickly looked up at me when he realized the door hadn’t opened.
“I’m sorry.” I sighed and didn’t like how off-sync it felt to lock the door. “I’m afraid this is our new normal.” I gave him a pat on his head before I unlocked it.
It was perfect timing. The rain was light, and Buster darted around sniffing his usual places, doing his normal thing. For a few minutes, I watched him, and once satisfied he was okay, I shut the door and locked it with a deep sadness before I went to the kitchen to start my pot of coffee.
While it brewed, I walked over to the window and peeled back the curtain. Immediately my eyes went to the fence, where just across the way, in Courtney’s yard, was the unsettled mulch where Florence Gaines had been buried. My back porch floodlight, which Mac insisted had to be installed when I moved in, brightly shined on half of Courtney’s yard, including the side of her shed.
I tilted my head to the side to figure out what the shadow leaning up against the shed could be. Was it a person? I moved a little closer to the window and squinted, relieved to see it was a shovel. Hmmhmmm…
Before I could come up with some sordid tale in my head, my phone rang, jolting me back to reality. I ran back to the bedroom to get it.
“Good morning,” I answered when I saw it was Mac. “I’m sorry about last night, but you’re going to the farm for supper tonight, right?”
“Honey, you couldn’t help last night.” His voice was sleepy, and it made me happy that he’d thought of me as soon as he got up. “I’ve been thinking about you all night and wanted to check on you.”
“I didn’t sleep well. I tossed and turned thinking about poor Florence.” I walk
ed back to the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the cabinet, set it next to the coffeepot, and waited for the coffeepot to finish its brewing cycle. “She might’ve been someone who loved to get recognition for the money she donated, but she still gave the money, and it has helped a lot of people. She didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
“Murdered?” He sounded wide awake now.
“I guess you’d not heard—or anyone for that matter.” Angela had just mentioned it to me when she was leaving last night. “I guess it’s not really confirmed, but Angela said Florence appeared to have died from a head wound by being hit in the head with a shovel.”
“That’s terrible.” Mac paused. “I don’t like you being alone with a murder so close to your house.”
“Buster is here, and he did bark last night. I only wish I’d checked on who he was barking at.” If there was one thing I wondered, it was if I’d have been able to scare off the killer if I had seen them.
“I still don’t like it. I’m going to go to church with you this morning. I want to make sure you’re not alone.” Mac was such a great protector.
I went to let Buster back in the house.
“I just kept picturing someone standing over Florence’s partially buried body with that shovel in their hands. Who on earth had that much strength to have done this to her?” I questioned.
“Do you think you should leave the questions up to Angela?” Mac didn’t sound happy that I’d begun to question anything about the murder.
“You know me. Curious.” I tried to tease so he wouldn’t get more upset than he already seemed to be. “Poor Courtney. I feel awful for her. And Zeke. Goodness, he was banking on Florence getting him out of his house debt.”
“Ah oh. You have been up all night.” A long sigh of unhappiness came out of him. “Do I dare ask about Zeke and how you know he’s in debt?”
“I was simply delivering his mail yesterday when I overheard him and Florence having what might’ve been their first marital fight.” My brow knitted with worry. A good cup of coffee was something I needed.
