One for the Road

by Mary Ellis

  ‘Who do you think, Erickson? Aunt Dot’s friends in town. And stop sneaking up on people!’

  ‘Who else could it have been? Either me or that state cop.’ Michael reached for another muffin. ‘Where is Lieutenant Harris this morning – sleeping in?’

  Jill handed him a mug of coffee. ‘Don’t be silly. Harris was already gone before I came downstairs. He’s got a killer to catch.’

  ‘Yes, and his prime suspect sleeps down the hall.’ This time Michael took two bites to finish the muffin.

  Jill peered through the doorway to make sure their hostess was still surrounded by friends. ‘Don’t say those things where Aunt Dot could overhear you.’

  ‘What’s with the “aunt” stuff? You said she might be a long-lost relative – I thought you two were distant cousins at best.’ He cut a large slice of coffee cake, which he proceeded to eat while leaning against the fridge.

  ‘That’s what she asked me to call her.’ Jill pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down and eat human-style. I don’t want crumbs all over the floor.’

  ‘Listen to you – a real mom-in-training.’ Michael sat but didn’t bother with the plate and fork Jill provided. ‘So, can we go back to Black Creek Distillery today? I didn’t have a chance to finish getting footage when I heard blood-curdling screams and had to take off running.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Roger Clark was just killed yesterday. I doubt the police have released the crime scene. And I’m sure they haven’t started giving tours again. Remember, Uncle Roger had been one of the tour guides. Use your head.’

  ‘I thought since you were blood-kin, Black Creek might cut us a little slack.’ Michael licked his fingertips.

  ‘I’ll get you special permission from Dot, or perhaps you should charm adorable Lindy again. I’m on my way to the county library as soon as I’m no longer needed here.’ Jill filled a carafe with fresh coffee.

  ‘What on earth for? We’ve already got loads of story, especially if we throw in the murder of a master distiller. What we need is video.’

  ‘We won’t be saying a word about Roger Clark until the killer is found. I won’t be a party to conjecture, innuendo and false news.’

  Michael slumped into a chair. ‘And I thought this assignment would be fun and easy. You’re turning into a hometown bore instead of a journalist.’

  ‘And you’ve turned into a …’ Jill almost unleashed a word that would have earned her a mouth-washing from Granny. So instead she mentally counted to five. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Michael. I want to research the two-hundred-year-old feud that Jamie Shelby told us about. Perhaps this murder is somehow related. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll check to see if the ladies need more coffee.’ She set the carafe on a tray, along with the plate of muffins, and headed to the door.

  ‘If you get a chance, pick up a pink housedress with roses and a pair of sensible pumps at Walmart.’ Michael’s laughter carried all the way to the porch, but Jill pretended not to hear. She had a job to do and a responsibility to Aunt Dot. The clothes she had on would do just fine.

  After the group of ladies on the porch finished nibbling pastries and had had enough caffeine, they marched into the house. Two headed upstairs armed with buckets, sponges, and spray cleaner. Two marched into the kitchen where they began Swiffering and sanitizing countertops, while a buxom blonde headed for the formal parlor and library with a feather duster, despite Jill’s loud protestations.

  ‘Save your breath, Jill,’ whispered Aunt Dot next to her ear. ‘I already told them it wasn’t necessary, but my friends listen worse than Jack.’

  Jack. In all the excitement, she hadn’t seen the dog since he’d crawled out from beneath the aging rack. ‘Where is your dog?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s moping on the loveseat in our bedroom, watching for Roger to come home. I tried coaxing him down with both kibble and biscuits, but he won’t budge from his post. He always was Roger’s buddy.’

  ‘Mind if I try?’ Jill asked. ‘Jack seemed to take a liking to me.’

  ‘I’d love it if you tried. There’s his food bowl, still full from yesterday.’ Dorothy pointed at the corner, then shrugged with despair. ‘You might add a teaspoon of peanut butter. That’s how we administer his heartworm pill.’

  Jill picked up the bowl, stirred in a glob of peanut butter from the pantry, and climbed the steps to the master bedroom. As predicted, the beagle was on the loveseat with his head on the windowsill. From that spot he had a dog’s-eye view of the driveway.

  ‘Hi, Jack,’ she greeted idiotically. ‘It’s me, Jill, from Tuesday night.’ She sat down next to the beagle who thus far, hadn’t acknowledged her presence. ‘Don’t you remember me?’ Tentatively, she offered her hand for him to sniff.

  After a few moments, Jack sniffed her fingers, then licked the finger she used to dispense the peanut butter. ‘Do you like that, old boy?’ His only response was to continue licking long after the sweetness was gone. ‘I bet you miss your master.’

  Incomprehensibly, Jack gazed up with his large brown eyes.

  ‘Well, Uncle Roger put me in charge when he had to leave. And it’s time for supper, young man.’ Jill put the bowl of sweetened kibble under his nose.

  Jack looked her in the eye and then began to eat. Perhaps it was pity for a masterless dog or pity for a husbandless wife, but Jill sobbed until the bowl was empty. Then she dried her eyes on her T-shirt and announced, ‘Good boy, Jack. Now let’s go for a walk.’ To which the beagle trotted out the door and down the steps.

  The walk around the block concluded her duties at the B&B that morning. Aunt Dot rejoiced that Jack wouldn’t expire on her bedroom sofa. And Jill headed to the county library feeling downright useful.

  At the library, she had no trouble finding the correct person to talk to. On this sunny Friday morning, Roseville had only one librarian on duty.

  ‘Hi, you look a tad lost,’ said a tall brunette when Jill walked in. ‘I’m Amanda Posey. Can I help you?’ Smiles didn’t come any bigger than the one on this woman.

  ‘Jill Curtis, and I’m new to the area. Do you have any books with local history? I’m interested in a feud from two hundred years ago that involves bourbon.’

  ‘That’s an easy request. We have three books of local history and all three cover that feud. To my knowledge, all three are in the stacks. Shall I find them for you?’

  ‘If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, yes.’ Jill grinned. ‘When I took the tour at Founder’s Reserve, Jamie Shelby spoke of a romantic feud that continues to this day.’

  ‘Well, if anyone ought to know, it would be the town Romeo!’ A look of shock crossed the librarian’s face, as though the words had left her mouth without consent. ‘Sorry, that didn’t sound very professional. I’ll get those books. In the meantime, please forget my biased opinion.’ Amanda hurried to the non-fiction section and returned a few minutes later with three paperbacks. ‘These were published by the University of Kentucky Press. They are the best source for Kentucky’s colorful history on the regional level. I’ve read all three so I know the story by heart.’

  Jill took the books from Amanda’s hand. ‘Thanks so much. I want to read everything about the bourbon industry.’ She glanced around the sparsely populated room. ‘In the meantime, do you have time to give me a quick overview of the feud?’

  ‘I’d be happy to. Let’s sit over there.’ She pointed at an overstuffed sofa in a sunny nook.

  Jill took one end of the sofa, while Amanda sat at the other, then flipped through the first book until she found a topographical sketch. ‘This is the infamous Black Creek, which is at the heart of the feud. Back in the late 1700s, Isaiah Shelby grew corn on the north side of the creek, while Tobias Cook grew rye on the south side. The creek had marked the property line between the two farms for decades. Then one summer it rained hard for five straight days and the flooded creek changed its natural riverbed. Isaiah Shelby claimed the additional sixty acres of fertile land as his own, claiming they were a gift from God. To
bias Cook, whose farm was much smaller to start with, claimed that God did no such thing. There were large boulders marking the original land grants which had stayed in place during the flood. So Tobias and his sons continued to cross the creek to work their land. All through the harvest, the Shelby sons harassed the Cooks until the Cooks had had enough. One weekend around Christmas, a terrible fight broke out in town between the sons of both families. Unfortunately, Tobias’s oldest and favorite son ended up dead. After that Tobias Cook lost interest in farming. His other sons took up thieving and cattle-rustling to put food on the table, but they never left the area. Instead, they built their stills up in the hills where the law had a hard time catching them.

  ‘By that time, Isaiah Shelby’s grandsons were grown and had inherited the bourbon-making operation. The family plowed every dime of profit into buying up any available land in the area, including what had formerly belonged to the Cooks. Keep in mind, Isaiah and Tobias were long in their graves, but it must have looked suspicious when the Shelby homestead burned to the ground on Christmas Eve, killing the current Mrs Shelby.’

  ‘Holy guacamole!’ exclaimed Jill. ‘I sure didn’t hear all that from Jamie Shelby.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Both families pick and choose which parts they want to tell.’ The librarian handed Jill the book with the map. ‘That’s the gist of it. By the twentieth century, the feud had pretty much been forgotten. But the bourbon tours at both Black Creek Distillery and Founder’s Reserve have stirred up old hatreds.’ Amanda shook her head. ‘In my opinion, not exactly a good thing for the current generation who would rather forget the past.’

  ‘So the Jamie Shelby I met on the tour is a descendant of Isaiah who claimed the sixty acres of land?’

  ‘One and the same. Although I don’t think much of Jamie, I must admit his family has worked long and hard to build Founder’s Reserve into what it is today. And they came by every other acre through legal means.’

  ‘Thanks, Amanda. That was one great story, but I had hoped the old feud might have something to do with Roger Clark’s death at Black Creek. What’s the connection between the Cooks and the Clarks?’

  ‘Please call me Mandy, like the rest of my friends. Who’s to say it doesn’t? Roger Clark’s great-grandmother was Henrietta Cook, the matriarch of the clan up in the hills. It was his father who brought their bourbon operation back into the legal realm.’ Mandy jumped to her feet. ‘I need to check the teenagers in the computer room. But these books should answer most of your questions. Nice meeting you, Jill. Stop in anytime to chew the fat.’

  Jill knew she had only one shot at this and had to be quick. ‘May I ask how you formed your low opinion of Jamie Shelby?’

  Mandy glanced back over her shoulder with an expression indicating a line had been crossed. ‘Sorry, history is one thing, but I don’t want to gossip.’

  ‘No, I’m the one who should apologize. I ask only because Jamie asked me out after my tour of Founder’s Reserve. I was planning on going unless …’ Jill left her sentence hanging in the air.

  Mandy closed the distance between them. ‘One of these days my big mouth will get me sued for slander!’

  ‘Not because of me – you have my word.’

  She perused Jill from head to toe. ‘OK, I’ll try to be fair and start with his good characteristics: Jamie is well-mannered, obviously attractive, spends plenty of money on his lady friends. The man would treat you very well.’

  Jill pondered before asking, ‘And his downside?’

  ‘Notice I said friends, plural. Jamie will never be true to just one woman. While he was dating me – and we’re talking for eight months while I fell head-over-heels – he was also dating Michelle Clark.’

  ‘Clark! Is Michelle related to Roger?’ Jill demanded.

  ‘Come to think of it, I don’t know. There are lots of Clarks and Cooks in this county. Uh-oh, I hear those teenagers in the computer room. Gotta go.’

  As the librarian scurried to rein-in some youthful patrons, Jill called her thanks and carried the books to the check-out desk. Since she didn’t have a library card, she left a photocopy of her driver’s license, the titles of the books, and her cell phone number. She had no desire to take up anymore of her new friend’s time. Plus she couldn’t wait to get back to Sweet Dreams B&B.

  She found Aunt Dot in the living room, sipping tea next to a cold fire with Jack at her feet. The dog jumped up and wagged his tail when Jill entered the room.

  ‘There you are, dear cousin. I brewed a full pot of tea, hoping you’d be back soon.’

  Jill took the opposite chair and accepted a cup filled to the rim. ‘Thanks, I could use this.’ She drank half the contents.

  ‘Have you eaten lunch yet? My friend fixed me a ham sandwich, but I could only eat half. I saved the other half for you. It’s in the fridge.’

  At the thought of food Jill’s stomach rumbled since she wasn’t used to skipping meals. ‘Thanks, but you might want it later.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Someone brought over an entire party tray of cold cuts and cheese. Eat my other half so it doesn’t go to waste.’ Aunt Dot sounded like she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Jill’s stomach didn’t want to hear no either. She found the sandwich, added a handful of potato chips and some carrot sticks from the tray and returned to the library with a mounded plate.

  ‘So, you were hungry.’ Aunt Dot shook her head. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony in the house, young lady! Now that we’re family I expect you to stop being so shy.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Jill devoured the ham and Swiss in four bites. ‘Was there any news this morning about Uncle Roger?’

  ‘Only that the coroner finished the autopsy. But until the medical examiner in Frankfort issues his findings, we can’t schedule a funeral.’ She set her cup in the saucer with a sigh. ‘It still could be several days. I thought I might inquire of that nice Lieutenant Harris, but I haven’t seen him all day. He must be taking his meals out, which is truly a shame. All that food in the fridge will go to waste if it’s just you and me eating it.’

  ‘I’ll tell both Michael and the cop to start eating … or suffer the consequences.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Dot clasped Jill’s hand and squeezed.

  The gesture felt warm and comforting, yet it also filled her with regret. Jill hadn’t seen her parents since Christmas and neither of them were the touchy-feely type. ‘By the way, I met a nice librarian today,’ Jill said in between potato chips. ‘Amanda Posey loaned me three books and filled me in on the Shelby–Cook two-hundred-year-old feud.’

  Dot shook her head. ‘I told Roger that story would be better off forgotten. But he insisted it helped drive bourbon sales at Black Creek, especially since his specialty was rye bourbon. And liquor sales help maintain this white elephant of a house.’ She flourished her hand through the air.

  ‘Did your husband like Sweet Dreams B and B?’

  ‘He did in his own way. But Roger loved to grouse about something – if it wasn’t repairs on this place, it was equipment breaking down at the distillery.’

  ‘Mandy the librarian also mentioned that Jamie Shelby used to date Michelle Clark.’

  Dot shrugged. ‘I don’t keep up with who’s dating whom in Roseville.’

  ‘Was Uncle Roger related to this Michelle Clark?’

  Her cousin studied her. ‘Roger does have a niece named Michelle. She’s his brother William’s daughter. Of course, Michelle is a rather common name.’

  ‘Do the brother and his family live up in the hills?’

  ‘They do. What’s this about?’ Dot’s forehead creased in confusion.

  ‘Maybe Uncle Roger’s death is tied to the old feud between the Shelbys and the Cooks.’

  ‘There’s a better chance it’s related to aliens from space wanting Roger’s proprietary recipes.’ Dot reached down to scratch Jack’s head. ‘Need to go outside, old boy?’

  ‘I’ll be happy to take him for another walk.’ Jill set her plate
on the table.

  ‘Thank you, dear. While you two are gone, I think I’ll take a nap. One thing about doting friends … they sure can wear a person out.’ Dot shuffled from the room, while Jill carried her plate to the sink with Jack by her side. The words ‘another walk’ hadn’t gone unnoticed by the dog.

  Jill loved walking in Roseville, especially through the downtown area. There were so many cute shops and restaurants to check out when she got a chance. Right now her determination to find a true killer wasn’t allowing time to work on her travel feature, let alone go sightseeing.

  Stopping at a coffee house with an outdoor patio, she ordered a double caramel latte for her and a bowl of cold water for her pal. Both libations were thoroughly enjoyed. On the way back, Jill found herself walking slower and slower, as though she didn’t want her time with the droopy-eared beagle to end. How fair was that to Aunt Dot, whom she promised to help during these difficult days? Moreover, how fair was she being to Michael? This whole assignment, including staying at the home of an estranged relative, had been her idea. Not to mention she had found the distiller’s body, making her suspect number one in his murder.

  ‘Let’s get some real exercise, Jack.’ Jill and woman’s best friend broke into a trot, covering the remaining blocks within ten minutes. Upon their arrival, she didn’t have to hunt for her partner. Michael Erickson was sitting on the porch steps with a snifter of bourbon and a half-empty bottle. And he wasn’t smiling.

  FIVE

  ‘Care to enlighten me as to where you’ve been all day?’ Michael snarled. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. The whole house appears to be empty.’

  Jill sat down on the steps with the bottle between them and Jack by her feet. ‘Did you drink all that?’ she asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

  ‘No, this is only my second drink. Don’t try to change the subject. Answer my question.’

  ‘Let’s see.’ Jill stretched out her legs. ‘First, I served Aunt Dot’s guests on the porch and helped her friends clean the house. It was two hours before the ladies put away their buckets and sponges and left. Then Aunt Dot mentioned Roger’s dog hadn’t eaten since the sheriff brought him home from the distillery. Jack keeps staring down the driveway, waiting for his master to come home. Sad, no?’