Still Knife Painting

by Cheryl Hollon

  “First? Oh, you are an experienced fisherman.”

  Miranda smiled. It nearly always shocked grown men how much she adored fishing. It had been an informal test about any prospective boyfriend. You can’t hide your true self when you’re fishing. It always comes out.

  “Very experienced. Where are we going?”

  “I’ve heard from some of the local fishing guides that Mill Creek Lake is hopping right now. They’ve been consistently catching their brown trout limit of a single twenty-inch fish daily. That could change any minute, but we should give it a try.”

  “Fine by me.”

  They drove in peaceful silence for about fifteen minutes. The trees along the Rogers-Glencairn Road were bursting in vivid leaf. Austin pulled into the gravel parking lot and nabbed the last spot. There were several men standing along the shore staring at their float bobbers, each praying for a small-mouth bass to take the bait. The fishermen casually looked over to Austin and Miranda and gave them a welcoming nod.

  They unloaded, slipped on their waders, and moved down along the lake’s edge a few hundred yards. They paused at a shallow graveled spur.

  “Perfect. This part of the bank is good and hard.” Miranda stepped out into the lake to stand in water that was about knee deep. “This is where Uncle Gene and I fished the last time he was able.” She stood in the rippling water and blinked hard. A long minute passed without either one of them moving a muscle.

  “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have brought you here if I had known.”

  Miranda took a cleansing breath and released it slowly. “Of course, you couldn’t have known. But, honestly, I think this would tickle him pink. This was his favorite spot and now I’m here carrying on with what we used to do together.” She selected a black hand-tied fly called a Woolly Bugger. Miranda attached it to the leader, then made a long graceful cast out into the lake. She turned back to Austin. “I’m sure my uncle is laughing up a storm.”

  Austin moved about twenty yards further up the shore and followed suit. They fished for about ten minutes, casting out the line, retrieving the line in short pulls, then casting out again. Miranda relished the soothing breath of fresh air, the sound of the rippling waves, and the rustling of leaves falling and about to fall.

  Something tugged her line. She had a bite! Flicking her wrist, she set the hook and felt the battle begin.

  “I got one!” she shouted to Austin.

  Miranda played the ageless game of alternating slack and pulling her line until the fish broke the surface of the lake in a great heaving leap. In a few more minutes, the keeper-sized brown trout lay on the bank and Miranda sat down with a plop.

  Austin squatted down. “Perfect specimen.”

  “I had forgotten how much I love this. It really puts things into perspective. Life here is very good.”

  Austin wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I can’t just sit on the porch and wallow in a pool of self-pity. I’ve got to take more action to resolve this murder. I need to make a better plan for our investigation.”

  “Agreed, but first let’s get this baby fried up for supper. I’ll cook.”

  “No way! It’s my fish and my kitchen. I’m going to use my Uncle Gene’s recipe. This has been all about him.”

  They packed up and made their way back to the farmhouse.

  Miranda pointed. “Oh no, the door is open. I know I locked it before we left.”

  Austin reached into the glove box and pulled out a Smith and Wesson .38 special. He checked to make sure it was loaded. “Stay back until I look through the house. It’s unlikely anyone is still around, but just to be safe . . .” He mounted the porch steps shouting, “Is anyone there? Ranger Morgan here. Come on out.”

  Silence.

  Austin went into the farmhouse and in a few minutes waved a come-here signal. “Whoever was here has gone, but they—” He stepped back from a barging-at-full-speed Miranda.

  “Sandy!” she yelled at the open cage in her bedroom. “They took Sandy.”

  Miranda’s eye caught a flash of movement outside through the kitchen window over the sink. “Out back! He’s heading out back behind the barn.” She bolted out the back-porch door and sprinted down the lane to the barn in time to see someone hop onto a four-wheel all-terrain vehicle parked in the shadows of the barn.

  The intruder yelped through a camouflage hunting mask that covered his mouth and chin. A camo hoodie covered his hair. He yelped again and pulled a furiously growling Sandy away from his sleeve and dropped him on the ground. He floored the vehicle and sprayed gravel and dirt clods high behind him as he disappeared into the woods.

  Miranda yelled, “Sandy! Sandy!” at the little blond ball of fluff that was struggling in the grass to go after the retreating vehicle.

  Miranda scooped up the little trembling bundle. Sandy was still growling and shaking a scrap of fabric he had torn from the intruder.

  Austin plunged down the hill and entered the woods but he was no match for the high-powered all-terrain four-wheeler. He returned to the barn huffing and panting like a steam engine.

  Miranda fussed over Sandy. “Easy, easy now. You’re safe with us.”

  “What’s in his mouth?”

  “Part of the guy’s shirt.” Miranda pulled gently at the scrap, but Sandy growled and shook it with vigor. “Now, now. You have to give it up.” She put her fingers straight into Sandy’s mouth and gently teased the scrap from his sharp puppy teeth. It was part of a flannel shirt. There was blood on the scrap.

  “Wait. Be careful. That’s evidence.” Austin went into the kitchen and got a Ziploc baggie. Miranda dropped the scrap in. “I’ll go into town and give this to Sheriff Larson to process. There’s DNA here if we need it.”

  “Of course we need it,” said Miranda. “We want to know who broke into my house.”

  “And did what?” Austin looked at her with a wry look on his face. “Played with your puppy?”

  Miranda had to admit that he nailed the silliness of raising a ruckus when nothing had been taken or damaged. “But he tried to steal Sandy.”

  “Or Sandy attacked him. At least now we know it’s a man. A man who can run like lightning and that he’s from near here or he wouldn’t have been on a four-wheeler.”

  “Either that or he hauled it here on a truck. He seemed fairly tall, but it’s hard to tell from just a glance at him running full tilt. Let’s see if anything was stolen. I thought I locked the door.”

  “You did. But did you get rid of your Uncle Gene’s secret key?”

  “Uncle Gene’s what?”

  “His secret key. Yeah, not much of a secret since everyone knew about it.” Austin walked back to the front of the house and onto the porch. He reached up to the top of the corner post, felt along the ledge, and showed Miranda the key in his hand.

  “Great!” Miranda sighed. “How come I didn’t know about that? I’ve been here most summers of my life.”

  “He only put it out when he left the farm for a trip.” Austin placed the key in her hand. “He didn’t go anywhere very often. He didn’t return from his last trip.”

  Miranda felt the sadness creep up her throat again. Uncle Gene had gone to the Lexington Hospital for a simple overnight heart procedure. He never woke up.

  “He did visit family. He came up to Dayton at Christmas every other year.” Miranda looked Sandy over from tail to nose. “I don’t think Sandy’s hurt, but maybe I should take him over to the vet just to make sure.”

  “First, make sure that nothing is missing.”

  Miranda nodded. “Right.”

  Still holding Sandy against her check, Miranda looked in her room. Not only was the cage door open, but everything in her room had been opened, searched, rifled, and examined. She looked in her uncle’s bedroom and found things in the same state. Nothing appeared to be missing, but she really wasn’t sure. The dining room was unchanged and nothing was disturbed in the kitchen.

  “Nothing obvious is missing.
We must have interrupted him.” Miranda walked through the house one more time and stopped in the living room. “Wait. A picture is gone.”

  “A picture? Which one?”

  “It’s been there so long, it is almost invisible. I can barely see it in my mind.” Miranda closed her eyes. “I got it. It was a family lineup of one of the big reunions at Natural Bridge. More than fifty people were in it. Why would anyone want to steal an old photograph?”

  “No matter, we’ve got to report the break-in to Sheriff Larson. He may have a different view of what’s been going on out here.”

  “What do you mean?” Miranda could hear the high pitch of frustration in her voice.

  “This is possibly the third time someone has tried to either scare you out of here or deliberately burn the house down. I’m going to ask the sheriff to put someone on patrol duty out here.”

  “But . . .” Miranda started to speak.

  “No buts from you.” Austin frowned. “This is getting out of hand.”

  “I have a suggestion that I think will satisfy both you and Sheriff Larson.”

  “What?”

  “You can sleep in my Uncle Gene’s bedroom until we get this mess figured out.” She stood straighter and placed her hands on her hips awaiting his answer.

  After a staring match, he shrugged his shoulders. “Fine. I’ll grab some stuff over at my place and call the sheriff.”

  “Fine,” said Miranda. Then she smiled. “I need to call the sheriff, too.”

  “Why?” Austin wrinkled his brow in confusion.

  “I need to tell him that you are definitely not a suspect.”

  “Pffft. He knows that. I told him right after he arrived.”

  “It won’t hurt to give him more justification. Besides, I need the face-to-face time with both him and his wife. They need to know what’s going on out here from me—not from a neighbor—from me.”

  “Who is also a trained artist and observer of human behavior.”

  She paused. “Well, yes.”

  Chapter 24

  Tuesday Afternoon, Hemlock Lodge

  Miranda returned to Hemlock Lodge after finishing her cultural tour with today’s two clients. Two. Only two. Again, she had considered canceling, but thought that would be much worse than going ahead.

  Her clients were a husband and wife who were avid hikers with a great sense of fun. Their paintings were horrendous, but they spent the entire time at Lover’s Leap making fun of each other’s terrible paintings. Delightful. She couldn’t remember laughing quite so much during instruction. She dropped them off by their car and parked the van.

  On her way to the lobby to check in with Doris Ann, she narrowly avoided a head-on collision with Shefton Adams. He had bolted out the doorway of the gift shop.

  He skidded to a halt to avoid a certain collision. “Hey, Miranda. How was today’s class?”

  Miranda tilted her head and chuckled. “It was excellent. I only had just the two customers, but they were fantastic. So much fun. They had essentially private painting lessons and a relaxed and informal chat with Ranger Morgan.” She sighed. “But it was not profitable. What are you doing here?”

  Shefton cleared his throat. “I consign some of my CDs in the gift shop.” He nudged his head towards a display rack. “I pick up my money and restock them at least once a week.”

  “That’s a perfect way to publicize your music. Are you working on another CD?”

  “Sure, I usually get a chance to perform here at the weekly square dance on Hoedown Island. That’s where I rehearse my new tunes.”

  “You write your own? That’s awesome. Not everyone can be a songwriter.”

  He automatically glanced towards the dancing venue located down near the park’s camping site. “There’s dancing every Saturday night during the summer. But right now, the schedule’s changed to weather-permitting. It’ll stop altogether at the end of October and not open up again until Memorial Day.”

  “I haven’t been to one of those in years. Mom and I used to join in the square dancing when she dropped me off each summer.”

  “Yeah, I know the caller. He’s so good at prompting the dance steps that even the tourists are able to join in and enjoy themselves.”

  “What a dunce I am. I should have been attending them to advertise my cultural tours. Oh well, at least I can do that after this current crisis. How often do you sing?”

  “Once or twice a month. Really, it’s on any weekend that I don’t go over to Renfro Valley to perform there.”

  “Holy moly, that’s quite a distance to drive, isn’t it?”

  “It’s only about an hour and a half and I’m used to it. If I get too tired, I just sleep in the truck after the performance ends, then drive back home.”

  Miranda paused. “Did you know Mrs. Childers?”

  “My oh my, yes. Mrs. Childers was my Sunday school teacher from the time I was knee high to a grasshopper. My family’s attended Campton First Baptist Church since it was started way back in the forties. Then when I got older, Mrs. Childers took over the adult Bible study that met on Wednesdays just before the evening service.”

  “Great. Hey, I’m curious about her but I’m struggling to find anyone that has anything bad to say about her. Do you have a few minutes to tell me more?”

  “Sure, I’d be pleased.”

  She led him over to the lobby and they sat in front of the roaring fire. “In general, what kind of woman was she?”

  “Well, she was a fine upstanding Christian woman, much admired far and wide. We’ll have a traffic jam all up and down the main road for her funeral. I think Shackleford’s Funeral Home is already planning extra motorcade escorts from the neighboring counties.”

  “Oh, wait, you already know where the funeral will be held?”

  “Sure, her folks have always been handled by Shackleford’s. That’s how it goes here. Your funeral will either be by Shackleford Funeral Home or Porter & Son Funerals. I know them folks pretty well. I still work over at Shackleford’s part time even though I’m not going to be an embalmer.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, that didn’t work out. I did all the book learning before I found out that I faint dead away at the sight of blood.”

  “You what?”

  “Yeah, mighty inconvenient if your chosen career involves quite a bit of bloodletting. I’m fine as long as I stay out of the preparation room. Anyway, I’m trying to make music my career.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, sorry for rushing, but I really gotta go now.”

  He practically sprinted out the door.

  Miranda stood and wondered what kind of appointment he was keeping. She hadn’t heard if he had a girlfriend.

  “Only two customers today?” Doris Ann remarked from her desk. She sounded concerned and victorious in the same breath. “I’m convinced that your devil brew concoctions are the reason for such a low turnout.”

  Repressing a tart reply, Miranda wandered over and stood in front of the counter. She said, “There’s more to my business than just the moonshine, you know. It’s a cultural experience. The hike up the trails to create the paintings is the biggest part. Has anyone asked about signing up for tomorrow?”

  Doris Ann shook her head. “Nary a single one.”

  Miranda decided she needed to spend more focused time trying to clear things up with Doris Ann. Her business needed someone to help sell it and Doris Ann was in the perfect place to make that happen.

  “You know, I was chatting with Mrs. Hobb yesterday and she told me that your younger brother had some trouble with the authorities.”

  “That lady hasn’t ever had an unspoken thought. I wish she wouldn’t do that.”

  “What?”

  “She likes the attention that gossip brings. She stores gossip like a squirrel prepares for winter—acorn by acorn.”

  Miranda stepped back at the malicious tone. “Okay, but even if she hadn’t told me—I didn’t mean to upset you with the moonshine aspect of my cultural experien
ce tours.”

  “That’s sweet of you to apologize. Your momma raised you right.”

  Miranda smiled and waited for another lecture about the evils of drink.

  “Anyways,” said Doris Ann, “I know that making moonshine is legal now, but I’m still uncomfortable with the problems.”

  Miranda struggled to understand. “What do you mean?”

  “My whole family was torn apart by what happened to Johnny.”

  “I’m so sorry, can you tell what happened?”

  “First off, he was running shine back when it was still illegal. That wasn’t the bad part, ’cause he wasn’t smart enough not to drink it. He was driving drunk and he hit a car with a young mother and her two kids. They died.” She sniffed and dug a handkerchief out of her purse. “He was never the same after that. He was convicted of manslaughter and served jail time.”

  “Oh no!”

  “It gets worse. He refused to see family while he was in prison. It broke my mother’s heart, rest her soul. She and my daddy would go out to the prison every month and be turned away each time.”

  “But he was just a kid!”

  “The juvenile prison here in Kentucky was pretty rough. He was miserable and let everyone push him around. The warden finally kept him in solitary. Even after he came home, he rarely went anywhere. Even when his friends would come around to visit, he wouldn’t speak. Worse, he didn’t eat very much, claiming that he had no right to enjoy himself at all. We should have known that was an awful bad sign.”

  “Of what?”

  “It was depression. We just thought he was downhearted and after a while, he would get over his mistake.”

  “What happened?”

  “He never got over it.” Her voice trailed off into a breathy whisper. “He threw himself off Lover’s Leap not too long after he came home from prison.”

  “Oh no!” Miranda reached out and patted Doris Ann’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”