Austin kicked at the trail dirt with his well-worn hiking boots, staring at the scuffed ground. “I don’t want to sound like a tattletale, but—”
“Too late.” Miranda laughed at his discomfort. Then she turned thoughtful. “I’m sorry. This is serious and I shouldn’t be kidding around. What is it?”
Austin took off his ranger hat, rubbed his hand through his hair and jammed it back on. “I know a little background about your uncle and Dan. It’s not pleasant and it’s probable that it could be just gossip.”
“Not likely if you know about it.” She looked up into his stressed eyes. “Please, just tell it straight out. You know, like it was one of your lectures.”
He nodded his head. “That will make it easier. Listen, I need to tell you—”
“Miss! I need some more orange,” said one of her clients.
Miranda rushed over to refill the client’s palette and gave out a few dollops to the other two as they were running low as well. She demonstrated the next few steps to be painted then returned to Austin.
“What a nice group,” she whispered. “I could get spoiled. You were saying?”
“Your uncle Gene had multiple visits from Dan. It was easy to spot his panel van with that huge Keystone Distillery overwrap. It stood out a mile. You could almost see it from the highway.” Then he fell silent. His lips were pressed closed.
Miranda recognized that he was overexplaining himself, but why? Was he nervous? She waited, mentally telling him, Come on. Get to the point. You’re stalling again.
Austin took a deep breath. “It was rumored that your uncle was a silent investor in Keystone Distillery. Silent partner in the traditional sense of a cash loan with nothing behind it but a handshake kind of investor.”
Miranda stepped back. “What?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“But Uncle Gene would have documented that somewhere. He was pretty good about keeping financial records. A loan should have been written down somewhere.”
Austin looked down at his boots. “There are a lot of folks around here who still don’t trust banks. Your uncle was one of them. Then, to make things worse for his type, we had that recession not too long ago. I think your uncle kept his extra cash hidden.”
“Hidden?” Miranda slapped her forehead with a fresh realization of how many places around the farmhouse could be used for hiding cash. “He could have hidden thousands with no trouble at all.” She thought for a moment. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“Most everyone would assume that he’d have an emergency stash. But one person absolutely knew because she told me.”
“Who?”
“Doris Ann.”
“Oh great. Another reason for her to hate me.”
“You haven’t found any cash?”
“A little. There was eighty dollars hidden in a coffee can in the kitchen. I found five hundred dollar bills in the toe of his dress-up go-to-meeting socks. That’s normal, right?”
“Maybe normal for city folk, but not especially the way country folk behave. There should be more, a lot more.”
“Why do you say that? How would he have gotten more money? He was living on Social Security.”
“He was also one of the county’s best small-batch moonshiners.”
“What? No one told me that he was running shine. You’re mistaken—that can’t be true.”
“Yes, it is true. His reputation was widely respected in the elite circles of rare and fine moonshine. His infrequent batches were sought after by fanatic connoisseurs of true backwoods corn whiskey.”
“I can’t believe that I didn’t know. I spent my summer vacations down here. Sometimes we were here for Easter and Christmas. How could he have kept that a secret?”
Austin pressed his lips tight. “He didn’t make shine in the summer. He claimed that it was too hot to work for the hours it takes standing over a still. I personally think he didn’t want his family to know what he was up to in the fall and the spring. That’s the only time he brewed and those small batches brought him a lot of money.”
“I had no idea.”
“None of the women in the family were let in on it.”
Miranda shook her head slowly. “I wonder why Dan hasn’t said anything about the loan. Would he keep it quiet, hoping he wouldn’t have to pay it back?”
“I think I know,” said Austin.
Just then, one of the clients knocked over her paint water and nearly toppled the easel with the wet painting, coming dangerously close to spoiling her canvas. Miranda dashed over and caught the painting by its edge. “Whoops-a-daisy! That was close.” She restored the easel’s position and refilled the client’s water. “You guys are doing great. Keep blobbing in the fall colors for the trees and then we’ll start on the chimney rock formations.”
She returned to Austin. “Sorry, where were we?”
“I think I know why Dan hasn’t talked to you. Doris Ann told me after your uncle died. She says it’s because Mrs. Childers knew about the loan and was going to tell you. There’s been a long-standing family feud between the Childers and the Keystone families for generations. No one around here would be surprised.”
“Has she told the sheriff about it?”
“The sheriff knows about the feud because it’s part of the local politics in this area, but the real question is whether or not he has told the Lexington detective.”
“But the Lexington detective is local as well.”
“Good point,” said Austin.
Miranda rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ll have to start looking as soon as this tour is over. If the amount is enough to murder Mrs. Childers over, then it’s bound to be enough to pay my taxes and save the farmhouse.”
“Good luck,” said Austin. “I think you’re going to need it because if the Keystones killed once for the money, they’ll kill again.”
Chapter 18
Sunday Afternoon, Miranda’s Farmhouse
While Miranda was loading her clients into the van for the trip down to the farmhouse, her cell phone pinged a text message. It was from Dan Keystone.
SORRY, CAN’T MAKE IT TODAY—DISASTER AT DISTILLERY. YOU CAN USE SUPPLIES I LEFT BEHIND YESTERDAY. SORRY.
“Darn!” She quickly texted back:
I’M SORRY, TOO. VERY DISAPPOINTED.
He must have found out that I know about the handshake loan. The only one I told was Austin. Why would Austin tell him? Heck! Nothing is simple and nothing stays private around here for very long.
Miranda pulled into her driveway and was delighted to see the Hobb sisters standing on the porch waiting for her little group. They dressed in designer jeans like modern girls, but each was wearing a T-shirt with a ring of her namesake flowers embroidered around the border of the V-neck. They appeared to have a foot in both camps—liking modern clothes but embracing their highlands heritage as well.
Fantastic—I adore them already.
The sisters were also wearing Miranda’s branded aprons. Each apron had a large Paint & Shine logo front and center on the bib. Thinking back, Mrs. Childers and Mrs. Hobb had been too full sized to wear them, which had embarrassed her, but the grand ladies probably wouldn’t have worn them anyway. They preferred their homemade floral aprons.
The aprons looked fantastic on Iris and Lily.
Iris, the older one by exactly one year, waved. “Your dinner’s ready for you, Miss Trent. Come on in.”
Miranda felt her shoulders relax. She had only met the girls for a few minutes before she left the farmhouse for Hemlock Lodge this morning. Her gut had been worrying about how many things could go wrong with the dinner preparation. Leaving a major part of her cultural event in the hands of two teens was bold indeed.
She reflected that it hadn’t been that long since she was in her teens. She had launched off into life as a working artist in New York City. That had certainly been an adventure. Working with Lily and Iris might be just the right thing for her. She liked the idea of mentoring the
m, as opposed to being criticized by the church ladies over her every decision.
Then she broke out in a sweat. What would I do if they didn’t show up? I can handle the moonshine tasting, but what would I do? She thought for a moment. Oh, no problem. I’d just have the clients help me cook. It would be a cooking lesson instead of a painting lesson. She smiled. That’s actually not a bad idea.
“I set out the moonshine fixings for you on the sideboard, Miss Trent,” said Lily. “The fried green tomatoes are warming in the oven and are just ready to put on the table.”
“Miranda. Please call me Miranda.”
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Miranda,” said Lily.
Miranda felt mildly frustrated. I’ll never get comfortable with all the nuances of country manners. This is the insider-outsider dilemma all over. Lily is perfectly correct to treat her employer with respect.
Her three clients washed up and sat around the large round table. They seemed to enjoy Miranda’s chatter about the history of moonshine and her plans for her own distillery in the barn. At least they didn’t seem bored.
More quickly and with more pleasure than she would have thought, the meal was done and she had driven her clients back to the lodge. By the time Miranda returned to the farmhouse, the Hobb sisters were finishing up with the task of clearing up in the kitchen.
“I hope we put everything back where you can find it,” said Lily as she slipped her apron off over her head.
“We did a little rearranging to make things a bit handier for the next time,” said Iris, who also took off her apron, grabbed Lily’s, and hung them on a hook by the refrigerator. “We moved the pots and pans over to the shelf that’s nearest the stove.”
“And we put the glasses in the cupboard by the sink so it’s easier to put them up after they’re washed and dried.”
“The plates were just fine up in the cupboard on the other side of the sink.” Lily looked at Miranda with a serious expression. “Will you have us back tomorrow? We really need the work.”
Miranda bobbed her head up and down like a robin. “Yes. Definitely yes. I’m so pleased with everything you’re doing—the cooking, the cleaning, and especially the fact that you have initiative. I just checked the signups. We only have four.”
“That’s one more than today, Miss Miranda,” said Lily.
“True. I need to keep putting on the cultural adventure tours even if only one person signs up. A canceled tour at this point might kill the momentum I’ve built. I’m not sure, because, well, nobody knows for sure. Social media is not an exact science. I’m also not sure if Doris Ann is helping or hurting.”
“No problem, Miss Miranda,” said Iris. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Miranda watched the girls drive away in their battered pickup. They were adorable, but she really couldn’t get a grip on who was who yet. They looked very much alike and she got the feeling that they were on company-best behavior. Hopefully, they would relax soon.
She did a quick inventory of food and art supplies and was relieved to find enough of each for the next few tours. There was enough venison from Uncle Gene’s hunting successes to carry on with the current menu for a few more weeks.
Now, the next most important thing—to look for hidden treasure.
She put Sandy on his leash and after he did his business, they examined the perimeter of the house. The foundation was as plainly basic as the rest of the farmhouse. Great big blocks of rough limestone served as footers over simple hard-packed dirt. None of the dirt seemed disturbed in any way that suggested a stash of buried cash.
On the other hand, maybe he didn’t access the money very often, but even every few months would leave a sign of some sort.
She and Sandy explored the outside perimeters of the coal shed, the well box, the barn, the woodshed, and finally the outhouse. No freshly turned dirt anywhere. Not even a sign of old digging anywhere that she could see. She didn’t think his hidey-hole would be too hard to get to—he was an elderly man in the end.
This wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but then again, she reasoned, if the location was obvious, she might have stumbled on it by now.
Shrugging off her disappointment, Miranda walked down the road to her second-best cell phone signal spot with Sandy in tow. It was closer than the turnout and only a little farther away from Roy and Elsie’s house. Definitely worth a try. She had brought along her investigation notebook and a small quilt to sit upon.
She spread out the quilt in a soft patch of grass and sat cross-legged with the notebook in her lap. Sandy jumped in and the notebook, cell phone, and pen went flying.
“Sandy!” She cuddled and gave him snuggles, then arranged everything back in its proper order.
She updated the Dan Keystone page with the information about the rumored cash loan from her uncle.
She also noted on the Austin page that she suspected that he had told Dan that she knew about the cash loan. Why would he do that? Maybe he canceled for a perfectly good reason.
Then she flipped to the back of the notebook and titled the page “Treasure Hunt.” She refined the diagram of the buildings on the property and noted the places she had searched. Her mother had told tales of a smaller cave hidden down the hill from the barn, but she had never searched it out. She had been content to play in the large one down by the pond. Maybe tomorrow she would search for it—or maybe when Austin could go with her. She wasn’t that good on unbroken trails.
Shoot! I should have gotten some background information from the sisters about Mrs. Childers. That’s yet another lost opportunity. What a lousy investigator I am. Then she dialed Austin’s sister in Lexington.
She answered right away.
“Tyler Morgan. I’m on deadline right now. Make it quick.”
“Oh.” Miranda nearly hung up in response to the terse voice. She cleared her throat and used her strong teaching voice. “Yes, my name is Miranda Trent. I’m calling because your brother said you might be able to give me some information.”
“Which brother?”
He has brothers? He didn’t say. “Austin.”
“Yeah, okay. Who are you, again?”
Miranda could hear paper rustling like she was searching for a pen.
“I’m Miranda Trent. My farmhouse was the site of the murder of Mrs. Childers.”
“Perfect! He told me you might call. Look. I’m up against a time crunch here. Can I call you back in—say, thirty minutes?”
“Well, I’ve—”
“Perfect.” The call ended.
“—got no cell reception.” Miranda looked at the phone and then down at Sandy. “Whew, that’s a busy woman.”
Sandy tilted his adorable head to the side trying to understand. Miranda picked up the puppy, notebook, and quilt and started back to the house. She’d call Tyler when she took Sandy back out here for his after-supper potty break.
When she opened the door to the farmhouse, Sandy barked a sharp yowl that Miranda had never heard from him before. She smelled an acrid burning odor coming from the kitchen. She put Sandy down and ran. All six burners were turned all the way up under pots burning some sort of sticky goo.
She turned off the burners and, using thick kitchen towels to hold them, she took the pans outside and threw them in the grass. The grass started to catch fire. She quickly threw a bucketful of water on the pans so that they steamed a plume higher than the house.
Ruined. Her good aluminum cookware was completely ruined. From the smell she surmised that someone filled each pot with molasses, then turned on the burners.
Now that she had gotten control of the situation, she felt her legs begin to tremble. Who could it be?
Sandy yipped and pawed at her legs. She lifted him up and they both stopped shaking. She didn’t see anyone when she scanned the area from the cell phone turnout. But she wasn’t really paying much attention either. No one locked their doors out here, so access was no problem.
“Well, Sandy, I’m going to lock my doors from now
on. I don’t care if the neighbors think I’m citified.” She put Sandy in his crate, locked the front and back doors, then drove down to the cell phone turnout to report the fire to Sheriff Larson.
He wanted to send someone out to investigate the arson, but she put him off. “I’ve destroyed every bit of evidence by putting out the fire, but if you want to investigate, it must be you and not anyone else. Specifically, I don’t want Gary over here at all.” He agreed to look things over when he got a chance tomorrow.
Then she called the sisters to ask if they would bring along some cookware for tomorrow’s event.
As soon as she ended the call, her cell rang.
“Hi, this is Tyler Morgan of the Lexington Herald-Leader. I’ve had a little chat with my editor about your situation and he’s given me approval to work up a lead story using your perspective of what happened to Mrs. Childers. Can I come out and get an interview?”
Miranda took her time to give an answer. Would this collaboration be a good idea? What if this made things worse? But things were already worse. “Absolutely, any time. I’m anxious to get things moving.”
“Fantastic. You’re living in the murder house, right?”
“Yuck! That’s terrible.”
“But that is where the murder occurred, right?”
“Yes. I’m at the Buchanan Farmhouse up in Pine Ridge just off Highway 15. I’m about an hour away. I’ll text you some directions to bring you to my place.”
“Perfect. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Miranda had time to go back to the farmhouse, stow the backpacks out of the way in the van, clear out the horrible odor from the kitchen, and light a fire. She threw a couple of resin knots in for good measure to combat the lingering smell of burnt sugar.
The sun had long gone down when Miranda heard a fast car spinning into her driveway. In seconds, Tyler slammed her car door, leapt up on the porch, and knocked on the front door.
Still Knife Painting Page 12