Still Knife Painting

by Cheryl Hollon

  Oh great, they know each other. Miranda wondered if this would make the situation better or worse.

  Chapter 12

  Saturday Afternoon

  Sheriff Larson groaned in disappointment. He knew at some point in his career, he would be called upon to work with his high school rival. Wolfe County wasn’t that far from Lexington in distance, but culturally it was practically another continent. A questionable case was not the ideal starting point to address their personal issues.

  Detective Peterson stopped in his tracks and looked up at the sheriff. “Good afternoon, Sheriff Richard J. Larson.”

  Making a show of checking his watch, the sheriff replied, “Did you get lost? That can’t be. You were raised up in this part of the country.” He hitched his thumbs in his waistband and stood with legs wide.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been back to Wolfe County. The last time I can recall was for high school graduation.”

  “Those were some interesting times back then. Hopefully all is forgiven if not forgotten.” Sheriff Larson tilted his head as a question.

  “Yesiree, the times were as you say—interesting.”

  Rocking back on his heels, Sheriff Larson asked, “Didn’t I hear that you transferred to an out-of-state university after we both started out at the University of Kentucky? Georgia Southern, wasn’t it? Last I heard, they tied for last place in football. If you follow that kind of thing, of course.”

  Sheriff Larson regretted that barb as soon as it left his mouth. That was a mean and petty thing to say. What is it about this guy that brings out the absolute worst side of me? He felt ashamed for losing focus on what was really important. Finding the killer should be his primary concern. Rivalries that interfere with duty were a waste.

  Detective Peterson narrowed his eyes. “Have you been meddling in my investigation? I heard from dispatch that you think this is a murder case. A case that you’re about to hand over for me to solve. Right?”

  Sheriff Larson removed his thumbs from his waistband and let his arms hang relaxed by his sides. “I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, myself. The body is in the kitchen. Fatal accidents happen in the kitchen. I prefer to thoroughly examine the evidence and interview the witnesses before I declare a case of murder. But then I’m just a county sheriff, not a decorated detective from the horse and bourbon capital of the world.”

  Damn, that didn’t last long—why can’t I keep my big mouth shut?

  Detective Peterson displayed a thin, stingy grin and made his way up the cinder block steps to stand on the weathered porch. “We’re here to investigate this incident with or without your assistance. In fact, as I think about it, it will help speed things along if you and your staff return to your little office in Campton.”

  “Assistance? You can’t mean—” Sheriff Larson snapped his mouth shut. This was dangerous ground. In the end, the Lexington force had the proper resources and facilities to discover what had happened to Mrs. Childers.

  The detective deliberately edged forward so that Sheriff Larson had to move to the side. Without a glance at the sheriff, he opened the screen door and went into the farmhouse. The Lexington team trooped after him in silence.

  Sheriff Larson rolled his eyes and cringed at his juvenile behavior. I’ve got to do better, but even his name raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

  “Well, that didn’t go as well as I wanted. I’m off the case,” Sheriff Larson told Miranda. “I’m going to take my deputy and hightail it back to the station.” He opened the screen door and yelled, “Deputy Spenser, come on out here. We’re going to get out of their way and leave them to it.”

  Deputy Spenser followed the sheriff’s lead and got in the patrol car. After a three-point turn, they edged their way back onto the gravel road, then stopped in front of the farmhouse. Sherriff Larson rolled down his window to shout out to Miranda. “If things don’t feel right to you about how this outfit is conducting themselves, you call me. Our Mrs. Childers deserves the best investigation possible—the very best.”

  He pressed his lips together in a scowl, looked forward, and then drove away at a gentle speed, as if reluctant to leave the job in the hands of a detective he obviously didn’t respect.

  Chapter 13

  Saturday Afternoon

  Miranda waved goodbye and stepped back into the house. It was packed to the gills with almost as many people as had been there since her uncle’s funeral supper. The clients had been shuttled into the front room. They looked wide-eyed and uncomfortable. Miranda felt she had failed them somehow.

  The Lexington contingent was crawling all over the kitchen with cameras and measuring lasers. They were using the dining room table for sorting out the sealed evidence bags. Their open forensic cases lay around the floor wherever there was a bit of space.

  One of them had been raised properly and had removed everything that had been left on the table. That was probably after they had all been photographed for future social media posts, of course. Her clients had already stacked their dirty dishes and pizza boxes on the wide sideboard along the wall.

  The newlyweds approached Miranda. Laura had been crying and Brian spoke in a hoarse whisper. “We’re going to miss our special dinner unless we leave right now. Can someone please drive us up to Hemlock Lodge so we can get to our rental car?”

  “You booked a reservation for tonight?” she asked then shook her head. “Oh, of course you did. This is your honeymoon. A special dinner would be the perfect way to spend this evening. Where is it?”

  “Our dinner is at the Merrick Inn. Reservations have to be booked months in advance. Also, this excursion wasn’t supposed to take very long. The pamphlet said that it would be over by one o’clock, which would have given us plenty of time. It’s been hours and hours already.”

  “Absolutely right, and I am so very sorry. I had our meal scheduled for not more than forty-five minutes, an hour at most. Even accounting for the late arrival of Dan and his moonshine samples, you would have been fine.”

  “Well, to be fair, no one could have predicted this,” said Brian. “It’s not your fault.”

  That’s not how it feels. “Did any of the officials ask you to stay here at the farmhouse?”

  “No, we just assumed they would want another interview,” said Laura, reaching for her husband’s hand.

  “Actually, our statements have already been taken by Sheriff Larson. That’s official.” Brian looked sternly at Miranda. “It’s not your responsibility to worry about the investigation. You’re an artist, not Miss Marple.”

  “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have something to contribute. I’m an artist with significant observation skills. I’m a local insider from my summers here, but also an outsider from my years in New York City. These things could be useful. Let me see check in and see if they want additional statements. If they do, I’ll see if I can get you an early interview from the Lexington officers so that you can scoot away to your dinner. I’ll be right back.”

  Miranda stepped into the dining room and tapped the youngest-looking officer on the shoulder. “Sir, are you going to start interviewing my clients soon?”

  He turned and cut her off. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay out in the front room. You need to keep out of our way.”

  Miranda raised her eyebrows. “Certainly. Sorry to be a bother.” She returned to the anxious couple. “I don’t see why you can’t continue with your plans. Just because they haven’t got their act together, you shouldn’t have to lose out. I’ve got your cell numbers, but do you mind telling me where you’ll be after the dinner?”

  “We would really appreciate it.” Brian grinned at Laura. “You can absolutely contact us at dinner if you need to. We’re staying at the Merrick Inn for two nights. We had hoped to be checked in by now.”

  Miranda peeked into the dining room. The officers were standing around. It looked like they were awaiting more instructions from the detective before doing anything. She made u
p her mind. “Let’s get you up to the lodge before they even count how many of us there are.” She tapped Dan on the shoulder and pressed her index finger to her mouth for silence. She waved him and the newlyweds out onto the porch.

  “Dan, would you mind taking Laura and Brian up to the lodge so they can drive into Lexington for their fancy dinner at the Merrick Inn?”

  “That’s a great place.” He looked at the newlyweds. “Wonderful food and atmosphere. Good choice.”

  “But what about—” Brian nodded towards the chaos in the house.

  Miranda stood tall. “I’ll take the blame. They should have accounted for everyone first. Before you leave, write down your phone numbers again so that I’m sure I have you. I know I have them on your paperwork, but mistakes happen. Anyway, they might want to follow up and you won’t be at Hemlock Lodge.”

  The Lexington officials might get annoyed, but she was helping them by making sure that her clients could be contacted as quickly as possible.

  Dan bustled them into his truck and leaned out the window. “After I drop them off, I’ll just keep on going back to my distillery. I’m proofing a new flavor and need to attend to it within the next few hours or I may have to dump the whole batch and start over. As far as I’m concerned, Sheriff Larson took down everything that I had to say.” He waved a hand. “Tell them it was my idea if you like. As a police force, they’re not really looked on with much favor back in Lexington.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There have been several political shake-ups due to corruption at the highest levels of the police department. There are accusations that involve senior officers. I don’t know the details, but it has tainted the whole organization.”

  “I may need your help in getting the insider information from Lexington. Could you help me with a contact of some sort?

  “Sorry, but I just hear rumors from the other distillers on the Bourbon Trail. But, sure, if I can answer a question about Lexington politics, just call.” He grinned like the disappearing cat in Alice in Wonderland. “You have my number.”

  Miranda smiled, then glanced at her watch. It was well after three o’clock and with the Lexington officials just getting started. This was going to be a very long day.

  One of the young officers joined her. “Ma’am, are you the owner of this place?”

  Miranda turned to face him with a rueful grin. “So far, I am.” She held out her hand to shake his clammy grip. She could see the tension he was feeling in the tightness of his jaw. She glanced at his name tag, which said Officer Young.

  That was certainly a fair description; he looked like a teenager. But since he had graduated from the police academy, he had to be at least twenty-five. The underlying green tone of his blotchy skin indicated that he didn’t feel at all well. No wonder—anyone could get queasy after a glance at the scene in the kitchen.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m worried about the death of Mrs. Childers in my kitchen. It looks like a horrible accident, but it might be something else. She wasn’t clumsy. Far from it.”

  He nodded but she could tell he wasn’t listening to what she was saying. He plodded on anyway. “Please spell your name.”

  Miranda tilted her head and complied. He wrote that in a small notepad.

  “Can you tell me where you were when the accident occurred?”

  “I don’t know when the accident occurred—if it was an accident. No one has said when they believe she was killed.”

  “Oh,” he stuttered. “I mean, when the alarm was raised.”

  “I was out here on the porch yelling for everyone to come to lunch and right after that I was in the dining room when I heard Mrs. Hobb come in the back door.”

  He wrote down a few more lines.

  “If Detective Peterson needs to talk to you, do you have a phone number where we can reach you?”

  “I have a cell phone, but it doesn’t get reception here.” She rattled off her cell number. “I’m getting a land line hooked up early on Monday morning. Shall I call you with the new number as soon as it gets installed?”

  “Fine. Yes, that would be great. Oh, Detective Peterson wants a word, miss.” He pointed his pencil towards the house. “He’s going to interview everyone.”

  “But Sheriff Larson already did that.” She figured they would want another interview but hope springs eternal—or maybe not.

  “Any action taken by the Wolfe County Sheriff’s Office doesn’t count with us.”

  Hope dashed, Miranda followed him. He led her to the mustachioed detective, who was standing in the doorway to her uncle’s bedroom. “Did the sheriff hold interviews in this room?”

  “Yes, sir. He interviewed everyone while you were on your way out here. He said he didn’t want to lose any details. He asked about everything that happened.”

  The detective huffed through his waxed mustache. The black color contrasted with the thin sandy wisps of hair escaping from under his black Stetson. She looked down and wasn’t surprised to see black embellished cowboy boots.

  He is from Lexington. Lots of people own horses and like to dress in a Western style. I wonder if he actually rides or could he be one of those “all hat, no horse” types.

  His mustache twitched as if he was having great difficulty suppressing his opinion of Sheriff Larson’s actions. He lost that battle. “There was no need for that. It’s duplicated effort. My officers will take everyone’s statements where they stand. What. A. Waste.”

  Miranda watched his mustache puff out with each word. She frowned. She didn’t particularly like or dislike this guy, but she had counted on a competent investigation. “But, what about—”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, miss.” He dismissed her with a finger salute to the brim of his Stetson and stood in the kitchen doorway with his broad back to her, effectively hiding the activity going on in there.

  In the dining room, everyone was being asked the same short list of questions by the two youngest officers.

  She inhaled a great breath and straightened her shoulders. “Excuse me, but there are a few more witnesses you haven’t interviewed.” She stood calmly and waited for their reaction.

  “Really?” said one of the officers. “Who are they?”

  Miranda frowned. “There is a newlywed couple, Brian and Laura Hoffman. They’re on their way to a fancy dinner at the Merrick Inn. I can answer your short list of questions for them. I’ve also got their cell numbers here for you from my client list.” She rattled them off and he wrote it down in his notebook.

  “Thanks, miss.”

  “In fact—” She waved her printout. “Would you like a copy of my client list for today? It has a good amount of information.”

  The officer looked doe-eyed grateful so Miranda went into her bedroom and printed off the contact list for today’s cultural adventure. Since each client had given Sheriff Larson far more information than she had on the list, she was comfortable helping out the young officer.

  “Also, Dan Keystone, the owner of the Keystone Distillery, was here, but he returned to Lexington to tend to some sort of time-sensitive mixture he was fermenting. I’m sure he’s available to your local officers. You’ve questioned everyone else.”

  He wrote down the name of Dan’s distillery and turned his back to her.

  She shrugged, not really sure he meant to be rude. She had done her best to be helpful. Then she overheard one of the technicians from inside the kitchen talking to the detective. “Sir, we’ve completed our work.”

  “Fine.” Detective Peterson turned to Officer Young. “I want you to oversee the arrangements for the body to be transported. Call the Campton coroner to take the body to the local morgue. When I called our morgue, they told me that they’re completely overrun. Coroner Larson will have to perform the autopsy.”

  Officer Young nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  In about ten minutes, the black Shackleford hearse arrived. Miranda reckoned that the sheriff must have forewarned them to
be ready to pick up Mrs. Childers.

  The funeral home was a multigenerational family-run business that had handled her uncle’s funeral. On rare occasions, they supplied facilities to the coroner’s office. Mr. Shackleford and his son parked the heavy vehicle in the road and unloaded the gurney.

  In a mere few minutes, the undertakers had smoothly maneuvered their way through the gravel driveway, over the grassy side yard, and into the awkward kitchen. They respectfully loaded the body bag that contained Mrs. Childers onto their gurney to take it to their facility in Campton.

  By the time the hearse left, the Lexington officials were packing up their gear and loading the evidence bags into both vehicles. They ignored Miranda completely.

  Finally, they had all gone with no goodbyes and Miranda was standing on the porch with her remaining four clients and Austin. They stood in silence, trying to process what had just happened.

  Miranda finally broke the somber mood. “Get your stuff. I’m taking you guys back to Hemlock Lodge.” There was a bustling of activity as they got bags, backpacks, purses, cameras, and their paintings.

  “I’ll shove off, too,” said Austin.

  “Thanks for all your help today. I don’t think I could have coped without you.”

  He smiled. “This isn’t the end of it.”

  She rubbed the corners of her eyes and looked up at him. “I know. It’s just the beginning.”

  Chapter 14

  Saturday Afternoon, Hemlock Lodge

  The four clients chattered like excited schoolchildren in the van on the way back to Hemlock Lodge. Miranda considered it likely that they might be in the perfect mood to reveal more information about what had happened than they had told the officials.