by Mary Ellis
Unsure whether or not she was joking, Michael wrapped the rest of his sandwich too and cleaned up the table. They were out the door and on their way to Sweet Dreams within five minutes flat.
ELEVEN
Tuesday evening
Now that Roger’s funeral was over with, it felt as though a great weight had lifted from her shoulders. She and Aunt Dot talked to Michelle and William Clark long into the night. Justin had fallen asleep on the library couch soon after supper. And Gordon and Billy Clark? Jill never saw either of them after the luncheon in the church hall. And she didn’t ask their whereabouts. It was much nicer not having either the multi-pierced thug or the cold-as-ice zombie glaring at her from across the room.
Sipping a snifter of bourbon, William told them stories about growing up with Roger near the banks of Knob Creek, the same creek that had caused so much trouble for Isaiah Shelby and Tobias Cook. During the summer the boys had fished for trout and pickerel, netted crawdads in the weedy shallows, and swung from a rope out to the one deep pool that according to their father had been formed by a sharp cut in the glacial rock beds. They hunted for squirrels and rabbits in the fall, ice skated on a nearby pond in the winter, and often skipped school in the spring. Will’s favorite memory involved hopping a freight train to a thoroughbred farm near Lexington, where the brothers had watched newborn colts kicking up their heels for the first time. They had slept in someone’s hay barn that night and caught a westbound train the following morning. Their excursion cost the boys a trip to the woodshed where the rod had not been spared. Years later, Roger and William still joked that the Lexington adventure had been worth it.
Aunt Dot shared tales about her early years with Roger – how they met, where they had gone on dates, and their July wedding at the smallest Baptist church in Kentucky. She described their cramped first apartment in Louisville when Roger worked on the Jim Beam production line. Listening to Dot describe their life with such joy on her face lifted Jill’s spirits. Roger and Dot had been happy once, and maybe still were when he died. One argument didn’t mean much when a couple had been married so many years.
Encouraged by her aunt, Michelle shared memories of her mother, a woman Dot hadn’t known very well. When Michelle described how Wilma Clark taught her to cook, can, and preserve food the old-fashioned way, William’s eyes filled with tears for the second time that day.
For the most part, Jill and Michael simply listened and kept quiet. Jill had no stories to share with people she’d only recently met, and Michael wasn’t much of a storyteller no matter who he was with. Finally well past midnight, everyone was ready for bed. Michael took William and Justin to the only room with twin beds on the third floor, while Aunt Dot showed Michelle to the last room on the left in her wing.
Jill took Jack out to the backyard one last time, hoping to find a gray-eyed man nursing a glass of drug store wine. But the picnic table was empty of occupants. If Nick had been waiting for her, he wasn’t anymore. Jill turned off the kitchen lights and crept up the steps. Leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor, she crawled between the sheets and slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the very young and the very lucky.
Wednesday morning
When she woke, Jill pulled on her last clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt and took the back stairs to the kitchen. Jack the beagle wagged his tail, ready for his walk, but no one else appeared to be up yet. She snapped on his leash and headed out the door. But when she reached the street, she saw William’s beat-up old truck was gone. The Clark family had departed Sweet Dreams B&B without a final goodbye, at least not to her. Nick Harris’s sedan was also missing from its usual parking sport.
Unfortunately, Nick’s was the last vehicle Jill checked the whereabouts of before she and her companion broke into a jog towards downtown. The two of them passed every shop, restaurant, bar and municipal building before they ducked into the coffee shop for a latte and a complimentary dog biscuit. In no particular hurry, the two took the long, roundabout way home.
Jack noticed the commotion on the street the moment they turned the corner. Jill had been admiring a neighbor’s garden when the red and blue rotating lights of a police vehicle caught her attention in Aunt Dot’s driveway.
‘What now?’ she muttered. Jack merely strained against his collar and barked.
‘Where have you been?’ Michael demanded when they were still forty feet away. He stood next to his car, which was on the street in front of the neighbor’s house.
‘What does it look like?’ Jill said, closing the distance between them. ‘I took Jack for a walk.’
Michael’s normally rugged face was completely drained of color. ‘Look at my car!’ He pointed an accusing finger at his SUV.
Jill had no idea what he was talking about. Then she noticed Sheriff Adkins talking to Aunt Dot in the driveway and Nick Harris standing by the trunk of the Ford, jotting notes in his little book. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
Once she reached Michael’s side, his agitation was all too apparent. Someone had smashed both passenger side windows with most likely a baseball bat. Shattered glass was scattered across the front and back seats and across the dashboard.
‘This is so not good,’ he moaned.
‘Is anything missing?’ Jill tightened her grip on Jack’s leash since the dog’s agitation had also ratcheted up.
‘Yes, Jill, everything is missing.’ Spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. ‘Whoever broke into my car took the video camera and all my equipment, including my light stands. They even stole the blank tapes and supplies I had stored in the trunk.’
Jill shook her head, confused. ‘But you never leave your video camera in the car. I thought you slept with it every night.’
‘I know, I know.’ Michael sounded close to tears. ‘I was so tired yesterday after the funeral that I didn’t carry in my gear. Then we stayed up late listening to Mrs Clark and William’s family. I meant to grab the camera before going to bed. But I forgot once everyone headed upstairs.’
Nick left his post at the trunk. ‘I don’t think this was a coincidence,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’ Jill asked.
Michael locked eyes with Nick. ‘He means someone saw me videoing everyone who came to the funeral,’ he stated flatly.
‘Someone who didn’t want law enforcement seeing the video and knew where you were staying.’ Nick filled in the obvious details.
Jill pulled the beagle away from the vehicle. ‘Most likely that person is the murderer. Have you dusted for fingerprints, Nick? Gathered any trace evidence they might have left behind?’
‘Yes, Nancy Drew, those things occurred to me too. A deputy is on the way with the kit. I’m making sure no one gets close to the car and compromises any evidence left behind.’ Nick bent down to scratch Jack behind the ears, then peered up at Jill. ‘Looks like your exercise partner could use a drink of water. Why don’t you and Michael wait for me inside the house? I’ll join you in the kitchen once I’m no longer needed to secure the scene.’
Michael grabbed Jill’s arm. ‘He’s right. We can’t do anything out here. Let’s get some coffee.’
As Jill and Michael walked up the driveway, Sheriff Adkins stopped talking to Aunt Dot as they passed. ‘Morning, Miss Curtis.’ Adkins tipped his hat.
‘Good morning,’ Jill gritted the words through clenched teeth.
When they reached the house, Michael held open the door for her. ‘Did you happen to notice William, Michelle and Justin were gone before anyone else was up this morning? I believe they left while it was still dark, when nobody else was on the street.’
Jill shot him a glare on her way to the coffee maker. ‘I think we would’ve heard if Justin took a baseball bat to your windows.’
‘Not necessarily.’ Michael slumped into a kitchen chair. ‘We were sleeping in the back of the house with the windows closed and the air-conditioning on.’
She delivered two steaming cups of coffee to the table, along with the pitcher of milk. �
�Why on earth would Justin or any of his family do that? You heard the detective – most likely it was someone who didn’t want his face recognized at the funeral. Everyone saw William and Michelle at the funeral. Gordy got up in front of the congregation and gave the eulogy, for crying out loud.’
Michael blew on the surface of his mug. ‘I’m not ruling out anyone. William and Michelle had no reason to leave so early.’
‘It wasn’t a member of the Clark family.’ Jill kept her voice low but imbued her declaration with so much conviction Michael said nothing for several minutes. Instead, they sipped coffee and listened to the wall clock tick off the seconds and minutes.
‘You’re probably right,’ he said at long last. ‘Motive is important and the Clarks don’t seem to have any.’
Jill didn’t move a muscle, knowing more was coming.
‘Nevertheless, as soon as the police release my car, I’m heading back to Chicago. Hopefully, tomorrow. I already called our boss while you were out with the dog.’
Jill’s head snapped up. ‘You already told Mr Fleming about the vandalism and theft?’
‘Yeah, why not? That stolen equipment belonged to the news service. It wasn’t mine.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Let’s see …’ Michael focused on the ceiling. ‘He said it was a good thing I’d already sent in the first two segments, or our time here would have been a total waste. And he said to get back to Chicago as soon as possible with a copy of the police report, so he can file a claim with the company’s insurance carrier.’ He scraped his hands down his face.
‘You’re going home?’ Jill studied the contents of her mug.
‘Ah, yeah. Considering Fleming signs my paycheck and I can’t finish the assignment with my iPhone. I think it’s time for us both to head back to Chicago.’
‘No way,’ she snapped. ‘I’m staying until Roger’s killer is caught. Besides, there’s a bigger story here in Spencer County.’
‘Are we still talking about the same story – the popularity of bourbon tours?’
She squared her shoulders. ‘Yes, that’s one of the stories.’
‘Jill, you’re a travel writer, not an investigative reporter. And if you stop taking orders from headquarters, you might find yourself out of a job.’
‘I realize that.’ Jill released an exasperated sigh but refused to meet his eye. ‘I’m hoping you can buy me some extra time.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he said after a few uncomfortable moments. ‘At least Mr Fleming liked what we’ve sent him so far. I’ll tell him you’re here working a fresh angle. And that I need to return with new equipment.’
‘So you’ll come back?’ she asked.
‘I will try, but I’m not losing my job.’
‘Thanks, Michael.’ Jill took hold of his arm.
With a snort, he shrugged off her grip. ‘You realize that if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, I would have broken up with you long ago.’
Jill smiled. ‘Yeah, I know. Partners are so much harder to get rid of.’
As he finished his coffee, his expression sobered. ‘Just make sure no one takes a bat to your head, Curtis. I think you’re underestimating what’s going on here.’
‘I found Roger’s body, remember? I’m not underestimating anyone or anything.’
Jill carried her second cup of coffee to the living room where she could watch the street in comfort … and watch the man in charge in secret.
Unfortunately, the action at Michael’s car was soon over. Lieutenant Harris barked orders to the deputies with an evidence kit and pointed out the radius he wanted searched. Then he marched back to his car and drove away. No stopping in for a cup of coffee. No updating his new off-the-books assistant on the case. And no invitation for a romantic dinner that evening.
Jill had nothing to do but strip the beds used by the Clarks and start the laundry. Then she would figure out what to do with four cakes left over from the funeral.
Nick knew better than to connect potentially unrelated events into one grand conspiracy. Especially since acts of vandalism happened all the time in small towns – mailboxes smashed along a certain road or in a particular development, mustaches painted on posters of political candidates, and everyone’s favorite, the town square decorated with streamers in a rival football team’s colors. But the timing of Michael’s vandalized car didn’t fit within Nick’s parameters for random.
Most likely the deputies would find no fingerprints, no swatches of cloth ripped from a unique shirt, and no discarded cigarette butts beside the vehicle. Breaks like that only happened on TV shows with a sixty-minute window to bring the culprit to justice. Unfortunately, Erickson hadn’t had time to download the video to his computer or upload it to the news agency’s server before his car was ransacked. Nick’s opportunity to view the faces of those at the funeral had been destroyed along with the windows.
On his way back to the station, Nick considered the recent vandalism at Founder’s Reserve. Were overturned plants the handiwork of an inebriated wedding guest or someone with a darker agenda for the Shelbys? And which Shelby were they referring to in the epithet, you ain’t getting away with murder this time?
All part of a grand conspiracy or random, unconnected events?
As Nick entered his temporary office, one of the officers who’d answered the malicious mischief complaint at Founder’s Reserve was on his way out.
‘Hey, Lieutenant Harris, I just put that report about the graffiti on your desk.’ The deputy produced a cordial smile.
If they’d been back in Louisville, that officer wouldn’t have been smiling. The deputy had answered the call at Founder’s Reserve on Monday and now this was Wednesday. But Roseville wasn’t Louisville and Nick wasn’t his boss.
‘Thanks, I’ll take a look at it right now.’ Nick was already seated with report in hand when he noticed Morris still lingering in the doorway.
‘Was there something else, Deputy?’ Nick peered over his reading glasses. ‘Something that’s not in the report?’
Morris slinked into the office and closed the door. ‘Yes, actually. I grew up in this county and went to school with some of the guys who work for the Shelbys. The spray-painted graffiti wasn’t the only trouble out at the distillery.’
‘Have a seat.’ Nick pointed at one of the padded chairs in front of his desk. ‘I heard somebody tipped over the giant potted plants and made a mess on the patio. Is that what you’re referring to?’
Morris checked over his shoulder before sitting down. ‘Yeah, that’s one of them. But there’s been a string of incidents over a period of weeks. Usually when an employee discovers trouble they’re told to clean up the mess or fix the problem but not call the police. Sometimes Mr Shelby calls his insurance agent, who takes pictures and files a claim. But sometimes the agent refuses to file a claim without a police report. Then the Shelbys have to eat the cost of the repair on their own.’ Morris kept his voice barely above a whisper.
‘Which Mr Shelby are you referring to?’ Nick asked.
‘Owen Shelby, the father. He’s still the master distiller and in charge at Founder’s Reserve.’
‘Who told you this?’ He pulled out his notepad.
Morris shook his head. ‘One of the production employees spoke under the condition of anonymity.’
Nick rolled his eyes. ‘So if I talk to Owen or Jamie Shelby, they’ll deny all knowledge of these acts of vandalism?’
‘That’s just it, sir. My friend thinks that if you question Owen Shelby directly, he won’t deny anything. Owen attends the same church as my friend and considers honesty his sacred duty.’
Nick considered the moral implication of omission of the truth versus commission of a falsehood but decided against questioning the man. ‘Thank you, Deputy Morris. I think I’ll drive out there right after I read your report. I appreciate your insight.’
Morris grinned and fled the office like a scared rabbit, his courage lasting only so long.
The i
ncident report contained little information that could connect this to a larger crime, so Nick filled his travel mug and took the thirty-minute drive to Founder’s Reserve. As he drove up the pristine tree-lined driveway, he contemplated a generational business: Owen had assumed responsibility from his father and grandfather before him, in hopes of one day passing the reins onto his son. But so much could happen to a corporate bottom line in the twenty-first century. The public’s collective taste could change, while factors in a world economy could exert undue influence. Nick was glad he’d decided to pursue law enforcement and that his decision had been supported by his father, a mechanic, and his grandfather, a tobacco farmer.
Nick avoided the turn-off to the public parking and distillery tours, opting instead for the entrance marked Corporate Headquarters and Employees Only. ‘Lieutenant Harris of the Kentucky State Police. I’m here to see Owen Shelby.’ He passed his ID through the window of the security booth.
The guard studied his badge for a long moment. ‘Is Mr Shelby expecting you, sir?’
‘No, he is not, but I’m quite sure he’ll make time for me.’
Actually, Nick wasn’t sure of anything, but assumptions usually opened more doors than indecisiveness.
Picking up the phone, the guard turned his back on Nick. A few minutes later, he handed Nick back his ID with a friendly smile. ‘Follow this driveway to the end and park in any of the reserved spots. Enter the stone building through the double oak doors where Mr Shelby’s assistant will be waiting for you.’ Tipping his cap, the guard pushed a button to open the gate.
Nick followed the directions and was soon met by a well-dressed, middle-aged woman with a warm smile.
‘Lieutenant Harris? I’m Deanne Orton. Will you follow me, please?’ She led him down a long corridor of offices, all with their doors open, to the last office, this one with its door closed. With a well-manicured hand, she opened the door and gestured him in. ‘Mr Shelby, this is Lieutenant Harris of the Kentucky State Police.’
Since Nick hadn’t identified himself to her, Ms Orton must have paid good attention to the guard.