Peppermint Breath & an Untimely Death

by Willow Monroe

  He nodded in agreement.

  “Adam, we’re sure sorry about your dad. Losing him was one thing but the way he went...”

  “He had a good long life, Starla. He loved delivering the mail and he had lots of people who cared about him,” Adam reminded me.

  “I know but...” Why was I so close to tears all of a sudden? I shrugged and it was my turn to look out the window.

  “And the police will get to the bottom of his murder. It’s sad and unfortunate but these things happen,” he added.

  “Maybe in Atlanta,” I said, wondering how he could speak so calmly of his father’s murder. “But not here in Sugar Hill.”

  “It can happen anywhere,” he said. “The world is not a happy, friendly place any more.”

  I collected myself after a few minutes and another thought struck me. “Does the name Helen mean anything to you?”

  “You’re talking about the note they found in his pocket,” he said. “Not a clue what that was about. I didn’t visit Dad much after mom died but we talked on the phone pretty regularly. I think if there had been a woman in his life named Helen, he would have told me.”

  I thought about that for a moment. The rest of us would have known as well. And then another thought struck me.

  “I hope he didn’t leave you too much of a financial mess,” I said, remembering how I’d spent what felt like years trying to straighten out my grandmother’s estate.

  “Actually, from what I can tell, everything is in perfect order,” he said, spooning up the last of his soup. “He had already changed his will to make me executor and all of his investments are well documented.”

  “Investments?”

  “You didn’t know?” he asked and then shook his head “I guess no one did, considering that he insisted on living in that little old house where I was raised. And I couldn’t get him to buy a new car.”

  “He didn’t drive often,” I said. “Know what?”

  “Dad was a millionaire. He’d been investing for years. And evidently pretty wisely, too.”

  Stunned is not the word I would have used to describe my emotions at this point but pretty close. And then something else came to mind.

  “Insurance?”

  “Oh, yes, he was a firm believer in life insurance,” Adam said.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy,” I said, suddenly realizing where our conversation was headed.

  Adam waved off the apology. “I have to get back to dad’s place, make some phone calls and some arrangements.”

  “Let me know about the services,” I said, as he put on his big coat.

  “Oh, there won’t be services,” he said. “Dad wanted to be cremated and, really, I’m the only family.”

  “But his friends here in town...”

  Adam was shaking his head. “He wouldn’t want any fuss. Probably would want everyone to remember him just like he was the last time they saw him.”

  “The grandchildren?”

  “The older ones are busy with their own lives and the two little ones have only met him once,” he explained.

  I followed him to the door in silence, my heart aching for Mr. Nettle.

  “Thanks for dinner. I’ll stop in to say good-bye before I leave town,” he said and stepped out into the cold evening air.

  The tears came then. Tears I hadn’t shed the day before for Mr. Nettle but mostly because he had been a lonely old man completely forgotten by his only son, never having known his grandchildren or even great-grandchildren. And now he was going to be cremated without giving us a chance to say good-bye.

  And that’s how Tucker found me sitting in a booth in my empty diner, sobbing into my apron.

  “Starla, honey, what is wrong?” he asked, his handsome face full of concern as he squatted on the floor at my feet.

  “Oh, Tucker, it’s so sad,” I wailed, not caring that he’d found me like this.

  I’m not one of those women who are pretty when they cry. Mascara was probably running down my cheeks and I knew my eyes were puffy, my nose red. It wouldn’t be the first time Tucker had seen me like this.

  “I know, baby, I know,” Tucker whispered, taking me into his arms.

  I whimpered for a while longer, clinging to him, the coarse fabric of his coat against my cheek.

  “Now, what’s wrong?” he asked, sliding into the booth beside me and resting his chin on top of my head. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to let me go and I had to admit, I liked being so close to him.

  “Adam Nettle was just in here,” I hiccupped.

  “Okay.”

  “There won’t be any services for Mr. Nettle,” I said, that overwhelming sadness returning. “We won’t have the chance to even say goodbye.”

  “Things are different now, Starla. People don’t mourn the way they used to,” he explained as if talking to a child.

  “They’re not different here, Tucker. Not in Sugar Hill.”

  “I’m afraid so, baby. Listen, if it makes you feel better, why not have a memorial service for him after all of this is over,” he suggested.

  It felt so good to be snuggled there in that booth with Tucker and I didn’t want to move. I continued resting my head on his shoulder and listening to his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

  “I asked Adam about someone named Helen,” he said. “He said he didn’t know anything about a Helen.”

  “That’s what he told me, too. Of course, how would he even know? He hasn’t been here forever. And now he’s just busy counting money.”

  “Money,” Tucker said after a few moments. His voice quiet, the hand that had been stroking my shoulder grew still.

  “Yes, Mr. Nettle was a millionaire. He’d been investing for a long time. And Adam even said something about life insurance policies,” I reported.

  “Money,” Tucker repeated. “And Adam is the only heir.”

  “True,” I said.

  “What if he couldn’t wait for his dad to die to collect his inheritance? What if he needed it now?” Tucker mused.

  “He’s a big time lawyer in Atlanta. Why would he need money now?”

  “He has a brand new wife. Young. I’m sure she expects a certain lifestyle,” Tucker mused.

  “That doesn’t explain the Helen thing,” I said, getting the feeling that I knew where Tucker’s thoughts were headed.

  “What if there was no Helen,” Tucker suggested.

  “You mean what if it was a set up?” I asked, pulling away so I could see his face. Was he teasing me?

  He wasn’t.

  “No. No way that would happen,” I said, refusing to believe that Adam would be callous enough to have his own father killed for money.

  “What do you think happened?” he asked.

  “I think there is a Helen and somehow she is involved in Mr. Nettle’s death whether she knew it or not,” I said.

  “Well, I’m going to follow the money and see where that takes me,” Tucker said, easing out of the booth and standing up.

  I followed. “I’m going to visit Helen.”

  “Which one?” he countered.

  “All three of them,” I said, lifting my chin defiantly.

  “Not without me, you’re not,” he said, his face growing stern.

  “Okay, then, tomorrow after the morning rush. We’ll go together,” I agreed.

  He chuckled and pulled me into his arms again. “You’re awfully pretty when you’re playing detective.”

  “I’m not playing...”

  His kiss stopped me. It was unexpected and totally out of line, but I felt myself melting into him, kissing him back, holding onto those broad shoulders like a drowning victim.

  “Excuse me.” That came from the man standing in the doorway.

  Joe Wheeler.

  Chapter Nine

  “Joe,” I said, pulling out of Tucker’s arms. “We were just...”

  Joe smiled and winked. “I saw Tucker’s vehicle outside and thought he might consent to an interview for the paper. Perhap
s tomorrow. I can see that you’re, um, busy.”

  “Joe, let me explain,” I said, starting after him.

  “Doll-face,” Joe said. “No need to explain. You’re a beautiful woman. How could he resist? I’m just going to have to work a little harder for your attention.”

  And then he was gone in a gust of wintry wind and a swirl of snow.

  “Uh oh,” Tucker said, not sounding the least bit like he was sorry about what had just happened.

  I stood there staring after him.

  “Listen, Doll-face,” Tucker said, catching my hand in his. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow when we go visit the Helens. Mom wants me to come out and have dinner with her and Romeo.”

  “Romeo?” I asked, finally looking up at him.

  “Her new boyfriend. I don’t know his real name, but that’s what I’m calling him.”

  “Tucker, listen, about that kiss...” Why did I feel the need to explain my reaction?

  And then he brazenly kissed me again. Somehow I managed to control myself this time...just barely.

  “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Doll-face, just like I knew you would. How could I resist?”

  “Stop calling me that.”Before I could punch him, he was gone.

  Turning off the lights and making sure everything was locked up tight, I made my way up to my cozy apartment. What in the world had just happened? Tucker and I had been friends forever. Did he want to take it a step further now that he was back in the area? Or was he just playing with me? And my relationship with Joe hadn’t gone any further than teasing each other, an occasional night out and a lingering good night kiss. His kisses had thrilled me, but Tucker’s had curled my toes.

  I crawled into bed still tasting Tucker’s kiss on my mouth. Both of them had told me I was beautiful. What was that all about? I lay there for another moment and then went into the bathroom, turned on the light and stared at myself in the mirror. The same old Starla stared right back at me. I turned this way and that, posing, smiling at my reflection trying to see what they saw.

  “Those guys are nuts,” I said, finally giving up. I flipped off the light and went back to bed.

  The next morning was still cold but at least the snow had stopped long enough for the VDOT crew to get most of the roads completely cleared. They came in for breakfast along with everyone else and we filled their thermoses just like we had the day before.

  “So, how are the roads?” I asked, thinking about the task I’d set for myself the evening before: visiting the Helens.

  “Not bad now,” Charlie told me. “Schools will probably be open tomorrow.”

  Joe came in, his normal, cheerful self, activing as if nothing in the world had happened the night before. He still called me Doll-face. He still teased me with those sexy eyes and a bold wink or two.

  “Where is our detective this morning?” he asked, when I placed his breakfast in front of him. “I still want to get an interview with him. He’s not sleeping in is he?” And then he glanced up toward the ceiling and grinned.

  “I don’t know where he is this morning,” I shot right back, feeling heat creeping up in my cheeks. “He’s certainly not upstairs.”

  Joe burst into hearty laughter, caught my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You’re even more beautiful when I make you blush.”

  Unfortunately, the Lord sisters and Tiffany witnessed this whole exchange from the cash register. And I was sure the rest of the customers in the diner hadn’t missed much of it. Mrs. Blake pretended to read the paper. The mayor made no remarks but I saw him smile for the first time in days. And Poppy was staring at me, hands on hips, like I knew a secret and hadn’t told her for once her attention off of Tom Brown.

  “Dinner. Saturday night at that fancy new place in Harrisonburg,” Joe said, as he paid for his breakfast.

  “We’ll see,” I teased. “I may have other plans.”

  He laughed. “Playing hard to get is sexy.”

  Before the door closed behind him, Poppy was dragging me back to the kitchen. “What in the world was that all about?” she demanded to know. “And why would he think Tucker was up in your apartment?”

  “Because he caught Tucker and I kissing last night,” I confessed.

  “Oh, my God!” Poppy squealed. “You’ve got two of the biggest hunks in town after you.”

  “They’re not after me,” I assured her.

  “Oh, yeah,” Gladys chimed in. “Tucker’s mama told me he was awfully distracted last night at dinner. I figured it was the investigation but now I know why.”

  “Don’t you dare tell her,” I warned, shaking my finger at Gladys. “She’ll be making wedding plans before the week is over.”

  Tucker’s mother may have been inconsistent with her own boyfriends after his dad died, but the one thing she insisted on was that one day Tucker and I would be married. I used to think that he joined the Army just to prove her wrong, just to get away from me. I know better now but if she got one hint that he had kissed me, we’d never hear the end of it.

  “Starla, you ready?” Tucker called from the other side of the counter.

  Poppy gave me an ‘I told you so’ look and hurried back out to her post by the register, her pony tail dancing a jig on her shoulders.

  “Let me grab my jacket,” I called out and bounded up the stairs to my apartment.

  Why I felt like I needed to touch up my make-up, I had no idea, but I did that, brushed my hair and slicked on some shimmery lip gloss. At the last minute, I dabbed on some perfume and then headed out the door. True, we were just going to interview potential suspects but I wanted to look good if one of them confessed and my picture was in the paper and...

  Okay, so maybe I was over thinking it a bit.

  “Let’s roll, Doll-face,” Tucker said, as I breezed past him and out the front door of the diner.

  Poppy’s laughter followed us out the door.

  “I thought it might be a good idea to use my personal vehicle instead of a police vehicle,” he explained, opening the door to his black Jeep Renegade. “Less conspicuous. We don’t want to spook anyone.”

  “Good idea,” I said, buckling myself in.

  “Where to first?” he asked, climbing behind the wheel.

  The clean scent of his cologne teased my nose and watching those big, strong hands skillfully steer the vehicle out onto the street made it difficult to think. I checked his notes. “Helen Means. She lives with her son over on West Beverly Street. She’s the closest.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled and we headed off the main drive into one of the older residential areas of Sugar Hill.

  I kept myself busy looking at the stately old Victorian homes lining the wide streets. Some of them looked a bit shabby and run down but it was easy to imagine what they might have looked like when they were built back in the early nineteen hundreds. I’d always wanted to go inside of one and now it looked like I was going to get my chance.

  A curtain shifted at one of the tall front windows when we stepped onto the wide porch.

  “I called ahead,” Tucker whispered and rang the doorbell. “Didn’t want to frighten anyone.”

  I had been hoping for more of a surprise visit but didn’t say anything.

  The door opened almost immediately and Helen Means greeted us. She looked like Mrs. Santa Claus with her snow white hair, her wire rimmed glasses and her round face. The rest of her was pretty round as well and she wore an apron covered with flour.

  “Land sakes, look who showed up at my door,” she squealed. “Little Tucker Ashe, you’ve grown a foot since I last saw you.”

  “No, ma’am, I still only have two,” Tucker said, holding up one foot and then the other.

  Helen laughed and her whole body shook, well, like a bowl full of jelly.

  “And Starla Cupp, you are the spittin’ imagine of your grandma when she was your age.” She squished me against her bosom.

  “Are you two getting reacquainted?” she asked, leading us through a large living
room and dining room and into an even larger kitchen. “I know you were inseparable as kids.”

  “Something like that,” Tucker said with a grin.

  The ceilings were as high as I imagined they would be, the thick, dark mahogany woodwork gleamed and the hardwood floors were covered with beautiful, fringed rugs. All the walls were painted a soft gold color that brought out the warmth of the wood.

  “Well, I have a fresh batch of cookies just out of the oven and hot coffee,” she said, maneuvering us to a large island in the center of the room. “Once I get started baking for Christmas, it’s kind of hard for me to stop.”

  “I understand,” Tucker said.

  “Are you entering something in the Winter Festival baking contest?” I asked.

  “Thought I might enter that cupcake contest everyone is talking about. I’m pretty handy with a cake decorating bag and I taught myself to make sugar flowers,” she said, clapping her hands together. “I should be able to handle cupcakes.

  Great, more competition.

  “Miss Helen, we don’t want to keep you,” Tucker said, taking a sip of the coffee she’d poured for both of us. “But we’d like to ask you a couple of questions about Mr. Nettle.”

  At the mention of his name, her face dropped and tears gathered in her eyes.

  “That poor, poor man,” she said softly. “He was such a sweetheart. Who would want to do something like that to him?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out,” Tucker assured her.

  “Well, if I can help in any way...”

  “Actually, we found this note in his pocket and we were wondering if you knew something about it?” I said, motioning toward the plastic bag Tucker was pulling out of his jacket pocket.

  “A note?” she said softly. “Like in one of those detective novels. Oh, I just love reading those things, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, smoothing the note out on the island in front of her so she could read it better.

  She gazed at it for a split second and then the timer on the stove buzzed. Tucker and I munched cookies and watched as she pulled more cookies out of the oven, popped a second cookie sheet in and reset the timer.

  “Now, let me look at this note,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, picking up the plastic bag and carrying it to the window.