by Abigail Keam
“Is it an informal dinner, or shall I bathe?” I quipped.
Ignoring my sarcasm, Franklin said, “Wear your black funeral dress with a strand of pearls. Do you have time to wash your hair? Please make the time. It needs it.”
“I don’t have time to wash my hair, shave my armpits, or have a bikini wax. I’ll take a shower, put on clean underwear without holes, and slap on some lipstick. That’s the best I can do.”
Franklin gave me the once-over. “You should know Hunter has always gone out with the most beautiful women.”
“Well, kiss my granny fanny, Franklin. He called me. I didn’t ask him. Now scoot. I’ve got more work to finish before I can get cleaned up for this folderol.”
He pointed a finger at me before walking off. “Be nice to my brother, Jo.”
“He’s a middle-aged man who doesn’t need anyone’s protection!” I yelled. “He’d better be nice to me. And by the way, quit giving out the code to my gate.” I gave Franklin a raspberry before returning to work.
All my sympathy had faded.
What did Franklin think I was going to do to his brother–ravish him?
I barely had enough energy tonight to look for some pantyhose. Ah, jumping Jehoshaphat! It was too hot for hose. I’d go without them. Underwear would be enough, assuming I had any underwear.
Otherwise, au natural it would be, hoping my dress didn’t get caught in the universal crack.
Fuming, I watched Franklin walk out of the field.
What nerve!
Like his brother was such a catch!
Why was I thinking that?
14
I was about to leave the house when the doorbell rang. Before I could look at my monitors, Walter opened the front door. I heard a surprised “Hello? Is Josiah available?”
Hurrying into the foyer, I pushed Walter aside. “Hello, Hunter. You didn’t have to come to the Butterfly. I was supposed to meet you at Lady Elsmere’s.”
“Franklin explained that to me, but I’m the old-fashioned sort. You don’t mind, do you?”
I gathered my wrap lying on a wormwood table. “I don’t if you don’t.”
Walter whined, “You’re going out on a shindig, and I’m stuck here by my lonesome. What am I supposed to do for dinner?”
“There is a whole fridge full of food, plus a walk-in freezer. You’ll find something. And don’t eat anything Eunice has marked. Those are for her upcoming events.”
Baby and Georgie bounded into the foyer, realizing something was up.
I quickly stepped outside and shut the door. The last thing I wanted was Georgie’s fur and Baby’s slobber on my dress.
Hunter pointed to the red car parked in my driveway. “Whose Avanti?”
“That little gem belongs to Walter Neff.”
“The gentleman who opened the door?”
“He is, but he’s no gentleman.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I guffawed. “He’s more like the houseguest from hell.”
Hunter gave me an odd look.
“He’s an acquaintance who’s been ill and staying at my house until he recuperates.”
“He looks in perfectly good health to me.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” I sighed. “Enough about Walter. Speaking of cars, that’s quite a gem you drove here.”
I was looking at a 1980 Rolls-Royce Silver Spur with an off-white interior, which accented the real mahogany dash and sideboards. The coolness ended there.
The paint job was dull and scratched, with rust pushing through the metal. It didn’t help the finish that it now had a thin coat of dust from my gravel driveway and one of my peacocks was on the hood leaving a messy gift for Hunter. Oh, dear.
A side mirror was missing as well as the antenna, and two of the whitewall tires had been replaced with common black tires.
Admiring the sleek lines of the car, I said, “This poor baby needs to go to the car hospital.”
After shooing the peacock off his car, Hunter opened the passenger door for me. “It’s my father’s last grand gesture. He bought it for my mother. I don’t have the heart to sell it.”
“Is that an original Spirit of Ecstasy?” I was referring to the hood ornament gracing all Rolls-Royces, a woman leaning forward with her robes flying back in the wind, resembling wings.
In the early production of Rolls, they did not have a hood ornament, but one of the first purchasers, Britain’s Lord Montagu, wanted a custom-made one for his car. He commissioned the sculptor Charles Sykes to sculpt a personal mascot for the hood of his 1910 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost.
Sykes chose Lord Montagu’s mistress, Eleanor Thornton, as the model. Rolls-Royce later asked Sykes to produce an official ornament to be used on all Rolls-Royce cars. He modified his original design based on Eleanor Thornton, and thus the Spirit of Ecstasy was born and became an iconic adornment for all the Rolls-Royces.
As for Miss Thornton, she died when her ship, the SS Persia, was torpedoed in 1915, during WWI, off the coast of Crete. She was accompanying Lord Montagu to his new war assignment.
He survived.
I wonder what Lord Montagu thought later when he saw a Rolls-Royce pass him on the road with a hood ornament modeled on the great love of his life.
I caressed the ornament. Hmm, maybe caress was a bad choice of words, considering her history and name. “This one looks like an older model,” I mused.
“There have been several adaptations of her,” said Hunter, admiring his Spirit of Ecstasy. “Someone stole the original one decades ago. I found this one in a junk shop in England and brought it back with me.”
“Is she sterling silver?”
“Silver-plated.”
“Ah.” I moved about the car. “The bones are still good. Just needs a freshening here and there.”
“Like we all do from time to time.”
“I’ll say amen to that.” I sat in the passenger side, and the door made a creaking noise as Hunter closed it.
The car had a thick, musty odor. I supposed it had been sitting in a barn for years. I hoped mold hadn’t taken hold.
Hunter got in and, as if reading my thoughts, said, “I’ve had her thoroughly cleaned. Don’t worry about what you’re sitting on.”
“I think it’s too early in the evening to be mentioning where my posterior is resting. I hardly know you,” I teased.
He took a deep breath.
“You seem nervous.”
Hunter nodded. “Being summoned by Lady Elsmere makes me feel like I’m being sent for by the school principal. No matter what the reason, it’s always nerve-racking.” He started the Rolls-Royce, which coughed and sputtered. Finally, the engine roared to life. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s.” I couldn’t have agreed more.
15
It was one of those hot, humid days we have in Kentucky. I was sweating up a storm tending to my animals. I had sheep as well as peafowl, goats, a llama here and there, donkeys, cats, and my three retired Thoroughbreds, which I had saved from the glue factory. They mostly roamed free and foraged, but I liked to periodically count heads, making sure everyone was fine.
Then there were the wild animals, including turkeys, deer, skunks, possums, rabbits, squirrels, coyotes, groundhogs, and a multitude of birds plus my bees.
I also checked the pristine Bluegrass pastures where the boarded horses grazed. I wasn’t responsible for their daily care, but I liked to sneak them an apple or two, except for Comanche, Shaneika’s racehorse. He always tried to bite me.
Besides the task of feeding and watering my babies, I also cleaned up their messes–manure, in other words.
If I saw a pile in the driveway, I would stop my golf cart and shovel the pie (hopefully hardened) into buckets in the back, which would be taken to a compost pile.
Baby and Georgie tagged along, but were panting heavily. They needed to reduce their temperature.
“We could do with a break,” I said t
o them. Only Georgie looked at me when I spoke. Baby’s panting was heavy and labored. Worried that Baby might suffer a heat stroke if he didn’t cool off soon, I turned onto Lady Elsmere’s property and drove on the road that wound down to the river.
I parked the cart at the top of a knoll. “Come on,” I called as I climbed out of the cart.
The dogs followed me down the path to the water with Georgie yapping the entire way. I grabbed the key to the pontoon boat from its hiding place in the sycamore tree.
The air was already cooler by the river, and the dogs and I breathed easier.
“Everyone tinkle,” I advised. “We don’t want to have any accidents on Lady Elsmere’s boat, do we?”
The dogs did as bidden before joining me on the boat. I closed the gate and started the engine. “Here we go. Fasten your seatbelts.”
Neither dog thought I was funny. Baby lay down, while Georgie stood by the railing barking at anything that moved.
We turned left toward Fort Boonesborough near Winchester and slowly putt-putted up the river until we came to a little sandy beach. Stopping the boat, I opened the gate and attached a ramp.
Georgie, Baby, and I had no problem walking onto the sandy bank. The dogs immediately ran into the water, splashing happily.
Beaches are rare along the Kentucky River, but once in awhile you might find a sandbar. This was a favorite one of mine. The water was shallow, but still I didn’t want the dogs to wander into the deep part of the river and start floating with the current, because the river could be thirty feet deep or more in the center. (Before the locks were installed, a person could walk ankle-deep all the way across the river in certain areas during the summer.)
I waded into the water and, grabbing both their collars, towed the dogs closer to the shore.
Finding the ragged folding chair that I had left at the beach tied to a tree several years ago, I pulled it over to the edge of the water, sitting with my feet in the river.
Baby and Georgie lay near me, enjoying the cool water as well.
The river was quiet except for fish splashing and song birds twittering along the riverbanks. The lazy resonance of a tractor mowing hay in the distance echoed off the cliff walls, as an occasional breeze rustled through the leaves, creating a slight hissing sound. A hawk, riding the day’s heat, spiraled high in the sky.
The pleasant humming of insects as the river flowed along its ancient course, combined with the warm sun on my face, seduced me into drifting off.
I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I was jerked awake by almost falling out of the chair. “Goodness. I took a snooze,” I said to no one in particular.
As soon as I shook my head clear, I checked on the dogs.
Baby was lying in a shallow pool of water, contently snoring, but Georgie was nowhere to be seen.
“Georgie,” I yelled, scrambling out of my chair. “GEORGIE! GEORGIE!” Something caught my attention. I tapped on my hearing aid and listened, swiveling my head toward each new sound. I heard barking in the distance.
Deciding the barking was coming from my right, I began searching as far as I could on the riverbank. “Georgie! Georgie!” I kept calling.
Fallen trees blocked my way, so I waded in the shallow water, hoping a poisonous water moccasin wouldn’t clamp onto my ankle. I kept going until there was a yawning drop-off in the water. I had to stop. Debris and a steep, slippery bank prohibited me from climbing upward. With my bum leg, there was no way I could make it.
I had to find that mutt. She was my responsibility.
Jostling brush on the incline caught my attention. I called out and heard heavy panting.
I watched expectantly.
Georgie popped her head up above the weeds.
“Oh, Georgie. I thought I had lost you,” I admitted, almost crying from relief.
Making a clapping noise, I coaxed, “Come on, Georgie. Follow me. Follow me. That’s it. That’s it. Come on.” I started making my way back to the beach, turning every so often to make sure Georgie was following.
She trailed at a slow pace, seemingly preoccupied with something. I was able to glimpse that she was dragging an object almost as large as she was. The little canine was determined not to leave her treasure behind.
Finally, we both came to an otter slide. I stood at the bottom with my arms out wide. “Jump, Georgie. Jump!”
The tiny, furry dog dropped her object reluctantly, and jumped straight into my arms. I kissed her filthy head while wiping the mud off her paws. Carefully I made my way back to the beach, where I washed Georgie’s paws in the river.
Waking Baby (thanks for all your help, Baby), I put the two dogs back on the pontoon, locking the gate so they couldn’t get out and follow me.
I hurried back to the otter slide where Georgie’s prize had slipped half way down the muddy bank. Grabbing a long branch, I coaxed it down until I could lean over and grab it.
What was it?
Whatever it was, it had a horrible smell.
I picked up a smaller branch, wiping off the mud caked on it.
Lord. I could barely stand the stink.
The mud fell off in clumps, and I stared at something I knew well. I stumbled back into the river in horror, almost falling. The stinky object was a cowboy boot, and not just any boot. I immediately recognized it as one of Toby Sloan’s boots, the ones he wore to work every day.
Stifling a retch, I peered inside the boot. That’s when I lost it and vomited in the Kentucky River.
Inside the boot was a decomposing foot.
Toby Sloan’s foot!
16
After taking my statement, the police made me leave. They wouldn’t even let me observe at a distance from the pontoon boat.
I took the boat back to the dock, where Charles was waiting for me with the Land Rover. I wasn’t surprised to see him. Lady Elsmere knows everything that goes on.
I moored the boat and let the dogs off. They ran up to the car, sniffing the tires.
Charles met me on the dock.
I handed him the key to the pontoon. “Is she in the car?”
“Yes, Josiah. Lady Elsmere wanted to make sure you reached home safely.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Let me secure the boat, and I’ll drive you back.”
I nodded and then toddled up to the Land Rover. Opening the front passenger door, I called to the dogs, “Here babies. Here.” Both dogs jumped in the front seat.
Exhausted, I climbed in the back next to Lady Elsmere.
“Was it Toby’s?” asked June.
I clutched her arm. “I’m afraid so. It looked exactly like the boots he always wore.”
“And there was a foot inside?”
“It was horrible.” I held my stomach as though I might vomit again. “Georgie found it.”
“Poor Georgie.”
“What’s going on? The cops wouldn’t let me stay.”
“The police have closed down Tates Creek Road. They’re working upriver from the ferry landing, combing the riverbank for the rest of the body. Divers are coming first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Do you think it was a suicide?” I asked.
“I think anything is possible. Previously, the divers looked for Sandy west of her house, following the current. Now they’re investigating all the way up to the Boonesborough lock, since Toby was found east of here.”
“I’m worried they’re both dead.”
June asked, “Why do you say that?”
“It makes sense that Toby came home to find Sandy setting fire to the house and burning their life savings. He threw her off the cliff in a fit of rage, making it look like suicide. Then he killed himself in remorse,” I suggested.
“Possibly. Possibly not. Remember that Sandy’s clothes were neatly folded beside the cliff. If a woman thinks she’s going to be thrown off a cliff, she’s not going to neatly fold her clothes. She would have struggled, and there was no sign of that.”
“How do you know?�
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“I have my sources. When you went over to the house with Eunice, did you see any signs of a struggle?”
“I didn’t go near the edge of the cliff.”
“Well, there were none, and a man would have time to cool down if he’s making someone take off their clothes and allowing them to be neatly folded. Besides, where is Sandy’s minivan?”
“Toby hid it somewhere. Maybe Toby had been planning this a long time. Maybe he forced Sandy to take out their money, set the house on fire, and then killed her so he could be with his sweetie. After all, we don’t know how much money we’re talking about here. Maybe just a little of the money was burned in the fire, and the rest is of it is safely hidden away.”
“There’s one thing wrong with your theory, Josiah.”
“What’s that?”
“Toby’s dead, and no one has found Sandy, alive or dead.”
I slumped against the car seat.
“This has been a strange and shocking tale. That’s why you’ll find dinner ready at your house. All you need to do is eat and go to bed. You need rest. Charles will take the dogs for the night.”
“I’d rather have them with me,” I said. “They’re a comfort.”
“As you wish. At least let Charles hose them down before you take them into the house. They’re filthy.”
“That would be nice.” I spied my golf cart. “What about my cart?”
June reassured me. “I’ll have one of the grandsons drive it back to your house. Don’t worry.”
Charles squeezed into the driver’s seat, pushing Baby’s huge head out of his way. “The Butterfly, Lady Elsmere?”
June answered, “Yes, Charles. I think our Jo needs a nap.”
“Tell Bess thanks for the dinner, Charles. I was going to fix some toast and hot tea,” I said.
Charles glanced in the rearview mirror and grunted an acknowledgement while starting the Land Rover.
It wasn’t long before I was inside the Butterfly with two wet but ravenous dogs. I had helped Charles clean them with June giving backseat instructions on how to hose them properly. Before they left, Charles let in the Kitty Kaboodle before checking all the doors and windows, making sure they were locked. Satisfied I was safe for the night, Charles drove June back to the Big House.