Added to that was the actual work involved in the cultural tours. She needed fresh and traditional cooking ingredients that were not always available. Her cooks were excellent but young. Her painting supplies were running low. Her tour backlog never built up to more than three days.
She sighed. That’s a lot.
When she walked into the barn, a feeling of cool calm washed over her as it always did as soon as she passed through its door. As far back as she could remember, she associated the smell of stale hay, wormy wood, fresh sawdust, and cold dirt with Uncle Gene in the barn, whistling something tuneless while he worked. He had been born in the farmhouse and took over when his parents died. But she associated him with the barn—his true home.
Miranda heard a strange noise. She looked up to the ceiling and saw a blue tarp snaking its way down to the dirt floor through a hole in the roof. The flapping sound turned into a crinkly plop on top of her ruined moonshine ingredients. She had forgotten to unload them onto her garden compost pile. She could add that to Ron’s list, but wouldn’t say anything until he had the roof done.
“Hey, Ron. Watch what you’re doing up there. You could have dropped that on my head.”
A tussled shock of hair preceded a tanned face that appeared in the opening. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was down there. Are you okay?”
“Sure. How’s the repair going?”
“Good.” Ron’s head disappeared and she was left staring up at the sky through the hole.
“Ron?”
No answer.
“Ron, I need to know how much longer it will take to complete the repair.”
Still no answer.
“I’m going to the bank and need to know how much cash to get.”
That got his attention. Ron’s head popped into view. “I should be done by the end of today.”
“Are you sure? There’s still a lot of cleanup to do.”
“The patch will be done today. All the clearing up will take most of tomorrow.”
“That’s fine. I’ll get enough for your time until noon tomorrow, and when I give that to you tonight, we can take another estimate. Okay?”
“When will you be back with the cash?”
“Not until after five.”
“The bank closes at five.” His voice sounded high-pitched and raspy.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Ron’s head disappeared, then she heard the staccato of the nail gun again. Miranda was convinced that he was dragging out this project, but the quality of his work was superb and a good roof was critical to her distillery. Uncle Gene had told her that a good manager didn’t blame her tools—she brought out the best in them. Ron was certainly testing her fledgling management skills.
Miranda returned to the farmhouse and called the company where she had ordered her distillery equipment. She had added consultation fees to the purchase order. She knew the basics about brewing moonshine, but she needed a crash course to get all the permits and licenses she would need to sell her product.
She had an advantage over most new distillers. She had her uncle’s famous secret recipes. He had been known far and wide as the best source of dew in the area. She was determined to continue his legacy.
Taking a leap of faith, she scheduled her training to begin on Monday and continue through to the end of the week. If she started her mash tomorrow, everything would be ready for the training.
As soon as she placed the phone back in its cradle, it rang. She picked it up.
“Miranda. It’s Aunt Ora.”
“Hi. Do you want to talk to Mom? Hang on. I’ll get her.”
“No, it’s you I want. Sheriff Larson called me and said that Dr. DuPont found some new information about Howard’s injuries. I think I have the gist of it, but I want you to make sure that I understood what he said.”
“Sure, Aunt Ora. Anything.”
“He said that the an—, anthr—, you know, that expert over in Lexington, said that Howard’s broken leg had begun to heal before he died.”
Miranda frowned and the phone slipped out of her hand. She grabbed it up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Do you know what that means? I was too embarrassed to ask.”
“I’m sad to say that it means Howard was alive long enough after the injury for his bones to begin to repair themselves. In time, they will know how long.”
“Sheriff Larson said that it meant that the case now indicated foul play.” Miranda heard her aunt break down and begin to sob. “I’m so confused. Will you and Austin please get to the bottom of this for me? I need your help to see that Howard’s killer is brought to justice.”
“But, Aunt Ora, I’m not a law officer or even a private investigator.”
“No, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You and Austin have already solved one mysterious death. You can do it again.”
“Of course, I’d be pleased to look into the case for you, but I’ll need to ask Austin about joining me. He’s off duty in order to attend a training session with the local Fire and Rescue organization. It was something about rappelling down cliffs with an injured hiker.”
“He’s quite a busy young man. Do you need his help?”
Miranda raised her eyebrows. She considered it to be an unusual question given her aunt’s strict Southern background.
“I don’t particularly need his assistance, but I think it would be a good move to include him because the death happened in his jurisdiction. We’ll do what we can, I promise.”
“Thank you. I trust you. The word of a Trent is an honorable promise.”
Miranda ended the call and dialed Austin. She told him the new development in Howard’s case, and he said he’d be right over.
“Oops, I’ve got to get to the bank and pick up some groceries for tomorrow’s tour. Can you stop by for dinner instead? Mom’s making her famous chicken and dumplings.”
“I’d walk five miles for that,” said Austin. “See you around six?”
“Six is great.”
Miranda hustled into Campton’s Farmers and Traders Bank and withdrew Ron’s cash. Her next stop was Halsey’s Country Store for a quart of buttermilk. Tomorrow’s meal was more country-fried chicken, and that was a key ingredient for the coating. She also picked up a couple of garden-grown beefsteak tomatoes.
When she returned to the farmhouse, she dropped off the groceries and took Sandy with her out the back door to pay Ron.
He hobbled up to her with a huge grin, reminding her of an overfriendly Labrador retriever. The black boot barely slowed him down. “Payday! I love getting paid.”
She turned over the bank envelope. “This pays for your hours up through noon. Do you think you can finish by then? I’d really like to show the barn to my tour tomorrow.”
Ron slipped the packet into his back pocket. “Sure. No problem.” He smiled wide and went back to the barn.
Miranda watched with a deep furrow in her brow. She had a bad feeling, but she ignored it, then went into the kitchen. She pulled out the ingredients and mixed one of her newest cocktails, which she called A Cola Moon. It would pair up nicely with the classic chicken-and-dumplings meal that her mother was preparing.
Her mom took the cast-iron Dutch oven from the oven. The biscuits on top were browned to perfection. “Let’s eat in the dining room. Do you mind if I invite Ron in or should I take out a basket?”
“Make him a basket. Austin and I are going to discuss our strategy for investigating Howard’s death. We need some privacy.”
“Do you want me to eat in the kitchen?”
“Nope. You’re going to help us plan.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow in a sign of misgiving.
Chapter 22
Thursday Evening, Aunt Ora’s House
Miranda and Austin were on the road to Aunt Ora’s farm. They had discussed the disturbing discovery of Howard’s leg injury through dinner. They disagreed on how to proceed.
“She needs to know what happe
ned.” Miranda took the curve at top speed. “I can’t imagine not wanting to know.”
Austin touched the dashboard as a subtle hint for Miranda to pay more attention to her driving. She noticed and slowed down.
He sighed. “You haven’t lived here full-time until these last few months. Your aunt is fragile. This could plunge her into a deep depression. It took months for her to even go out onto the front porch after Howard disappeared. Months of isolation. She wouldn’t open the blinds, get dressed, fix meals. Nothing but bleak depression.”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t see any of that reaction. How did she come out of it?”
Austin shifted the large bowl of chicken and dumplings to rest closer to his knees. Dorothy had packed up supper for her sister. It was piping hot, and the heat was radiating through the kitchen towel that was supposed to protect him.
“All her friends gathered and simply took charge. They barged into her house. Spring-cleaned it from top to bottom. Gave her a bath, shampoo, manicure, and dressed her in a Sunday dress. They refused to leave until she was sitting on the porch with a clean house, a full refrigerator, and a smile on her face. They took turns for months keeping her on track. It worked.” He shifted the bowl again.
“Wow . . . I’m impressed.”
“Small communities look after themselves.” He finally lifted the bowl off his lap altogether. They were only a few twisting turns away from Aunt Ora’s house.
They pulled into the driveway and were greeted by Aunt Ora, wearing a floral housedress and twisting her apron in her nervous hands. “Thank you for coming. I’ve got some cocoa on the stove and I’ve made some shortbread. Come on in and sit a spell.”
They presented her with the still-steaming bowl of chicken and dumplings. “My sister is a great cook. She knows this is my favorite.” Aunt Ora looked down at the dish and then back up at Miranda. “This news must be bad.”
After helping her aunt put away the bowl and refusing any refreshment, Miranda made sure her aunt was settled into her favorite chair before Miranda said a word about Howard. Austin sat on the soft couch with his elbows planted on his knees, looking dreadful.
Miranda looked into her aunt’s eyes and spoke low and carefully. “Aunt Ora, the injury that Howard suffered up on the bluff above the Indian Staircase indicates that he lived for some period of time afterwards. It means that he was alive for at least several days.”
Aunt Ora inhaled a deep breath. “Oh, no!” She covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, dear Lord, no.” She began to weep. “He was all alone.” She dug out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes, then her eyes crinkled into a questioning look. “Why didn’t he call out? Someone must have passed by in that time.”
“That’s the same question that Austin and I have, too. If he couldn’t move his injured leg, why couldn’t he yell?”
Austin cleared his throat. “As we’re here and trying to make sense of this, I want to add a few explanations. One is that he could have been completely unconscious during the few days after his injury. Healing would have started, but he couldn’t move or call out.”
Miranda grabbed her aunt’s hand. “The worst-case scenario is that he was restrained in some way so that he couldn’t speak or move in order to attract attention.” Miranda glanced at Austin, and he gave her a slight nod. “We think it is more likely that a man as fit as Howard was probably restrained. It answers all our questions.”
Aunt Ora threw her head back and released a keening howl. Both Miranda and Austin leaned back and looked at each other not knowing what to do.
The single burst of grief swept through quickly and left behind a look of cold steel in Aunt Ora’s eyes. “This monster must be caught.” She reached out and grabbed both Miranda’s and Austin’s hands in each of hers. “You must find out what happened. I will not rest until I know that this foul beast has been caught and made to pay for my baby boy’s suffering.” She took in a full breath. “Promise me.”
They both sat silent.
“Promise me on the bones of my baby boy.”
Miranda swallowed hard. Her throat threatened to close up. The words “my baby boy” punched her in the gut. “I promise.” She looked over to Austin.
He nodded. “I promise.”
The drive back to Miranda’s seemed both long and short. Austin took his turn driving, and she didn’t feel like protesting. Every little thing wasn’t about power. They arrived so late that her mother had already retreated to the attic. Sandy was ready for his last visit outside.
Miranda stood next to Austin in the front yard. They watched the frisky puppy piddle on every leaf, blade of grass, and twig. She could feel the tension in Austin’s posture and see his clenched jaw by the light of the front-porch light.
“We need to go back up the Indian Staircase and look at the area,” he said. “When will you have time? You see things that no one else picks out.”
She twisted her lip and rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve been thinking about that.” She picked Sandy up and snuggled him into the crook of her neck. “I haven’t told tomorrow’s class where we’ll be painting. I can take them up the Indian Staircase. They’re members of a homeschooling co-op over in Jackson. They asked for a physical challenge as well as a way to fulfill their liberal arts credits. I think they’ll be delighted.”
“I can lecture on the history of the Daniel Boone National Forest and also the basic geology of the Red River Gorge.”
“That should make their counselor happy.”
“What about lunch?” asked Austin.
“It’s too late to change that. I’ve got a nonalcoholic meal all planned out for them. I’ll tell Lily and Iris that it will be later than normal. I’ll pack a lot of snacks to tide them over.”
Austin gave Sandy a good scratching behind his ears. “I’ll see you up on the bluff tomorrow.” He leaned in and gave her a tender kiss on the cheek. “Be careful. Wait until I get there before you take them up.”
She smiled. “I certainly will. The first step in safety is to respect the danger of the woods.”
Chapter 23
Friday Morning, the Farmhouse
Miranda was up and about earlier than normal and trying to be quiet. Her mother had come back downstairs after Austin had gone. Miranda and her mother had talked late into the night about Aunt Ora, Howard’s partially healed injury, and that Jennifer O’Rourke was his sole beneficiary. Miranda told her mom about the change in the tour plans.
Miranda was packing her supplies into the van when her mom appeared on the front porch still in her nightgown and robe. “I still don’t understand why Jennifer didn’t tell anyone. Howard had a mother and sisters to support. He should have told them.”
“Maybe he wanted to make sure Jennifer wanted to marry him before he risked the information on his mother. Then, of course, he didn’t get a chance. Don’t worry about things here. I’ll handle everything.”
Miranda hugged and kissed her mother. “Thanks. You’re being such a great help.”
Dorothy grinned. “I love working with Lily and Iris, they’re such good girls. Ron is coming along very nicely, too. I think you’ve misjudged him, but you need to handle Ron all on your own.”
“He doesn’t like women in charge. I’ve met quite a few like him, and he’s not changing. He certainly responds well to simple orders repeated often.” Miranda looked over to the barn. “I didn’t check up on him last night after I handed over the cash. Could you check in and see that he’s at least attempting to finish the roof today? Please?”
“Sure. I’ll take him a plate of buckwheat pancakes with real maple syrup as a peace offering.”
“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate the help.”
On the drive to Hemlock Lodge, Miranda wondered if having her mom stay would be such a bad thing. It certainly helped to have her in the kitchen making sure that Lily and Iris kept their cooking authentic. It was nice to have someone around to help with Sandy and picking up organic foods from the nearby farms. Her mom was
better at knowing who grew the best tomatoes and who had just shot a deer.
She walked into Hemlock Lodge and was greeted by Doris Ann Norris. “Hi, Miranda. You’re a mite early. Your group isn’t down yet.”
“I wanted to have a few words with you first. My clients have been keeping me so busy, I haven’t had a chance to say more than two words to you. What did you want to tell me about the group I took to draw Battleship Rock?”
Doris Ann rested her forehead in her palm. “Now, what was it I wanted to tell you?” She paused for a moment. “I got it. That Ben lawyer fellow was here the week your cousin disappeared. I thought you ought to know that.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure how that helps, but thanks. What is the local gossip about Howard’s discovery?”
“Most folks have been trying to figure out how he didn’t rescue himself. He had been wandering these hills searching for oil fields and silver mines for a long time.”
“You knew he was searching for silver?”
“He didn’t come right out and say so, but he was interested in the legends and family stories about the lost Jonathan Swift mines.”
The myth of the lost silver mines had been a tale told around evening fires for years in the area. Miranda remembered the first time Uncle Gene told her about them; she was probably only about four. They inspired a lifelong interest in lost treasure. She read any book with treasure as a theme.
“Mines? I thought it was only one.” Miranda frowned.
“No. They say that Swift found more than a dozen silver mines in this area alone. Secrecy was an absolute fixation, and he rarely excavated ore from just a single mine in any trip. He was obsessed with leaving dozens of false trails. Otherwise, I think the mines should have been discovered by now.” Doris Ann’s eyes softened into a gentle look. “If Howard was on the track of the mines, maybe he had uncovered the meaning to some of the pictograms while he was searching for silver. If he was about to make a breakthrough about the mystery of the images up there above the Indian Staircase, he could have tried to hide it.”
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