Josiah Reynolds Box Set 4

by Abigail Keam

  Looking around my home, I felt safe.

  But was I really?

  Toby Sloan hadn’t been safe in his home.

  Neither had Sandy.

  Was she dead too?

  Would the divers find her snagged under a tree along the river as Kelly suggested?

  My mind raced through different scenarios.

  Why would Sandy take out money only to burn it?

  Why would anyone burn their life savings?

  That was crazy.

  Was Sandy crazy? Is Sandy crazy?

  Maybe she had attacked Toby and killed him, using the fire to hide her crime. Then why was Toby’s body found miles upriver? The current ran in the opposite direction. He wouldn’t have drifted east. And where was Toby’s pickup truck?

  The divers had already searched the river around Sandy’s house and found nothing.

  Maybe she tried to stab Toby again with a butcher knife, and Toby killed Sandy in self-defense, hiding her body in the river near Fort Boonesborough. Then he had killed himself in remorse.

  Thinking of all the possibilities made my head ache.

  I put Georgie on my bed so we could huddle together. The cats soon joined us, with one making a nest at the top of my head. The rest fell asleep at the foot of the bed near my feet.

  Baby stretched out alongside my bed, while Georgie settled on the pillow next to me with her nose close to my ear. I listened to her breathing. I didn’t need a hearing aid to hear every inhale and exhale.

  It had been a stressful day for all three of us. It was time to go to sleep.

  Thank goodness.

  17

  I rose early the next morning. Eunice was having a small reception on the patio around the pool, so I needed to help. I dressed in respectable black, pinned my red hair back (looked to see if it needed a touch-up–not yet), and put on some makeup.

  As usual, both dogs sat in the bathroom doorway watching my every movement. I have no privacy, but I’m not complaining. After yesterday, the presence of others was a comfort.

  Hearing noise outside my bedroom, I knew Eunice was already here and giving instructions to the workmen. To be sure, I looked through the peephole on my steel bedroom door and saw her moving about.

  Safe.

  As soon as I opened the door, the dogs made a beeline to the kitchen, where breakfast awaited. I hobbled after them.

  “Josiah, what are you going to do with these dogs?” yelled Eunice, seemingly exasperated, which wasn’t like her at all.

  Opening several cans of dog food, I replied, “You know the drill. After they’ve eaten, I will take them to Charles, who will put them in a horse stall with the meanest, most vicious stallion on the farm.”

  “Ha, ha. Not funny.”

  I put two bowls down, and hopped out of the way in a hurry before I was run over by Baby. “I’ll take them to Charles like I always do, Eunice. They have to eat first.”

  “Why can’t Charles feed them?”

  I pointed to Baby. “Look, he’s already finished. It just takes a minute. Why are you so jumpy?”

  “The police have blocked off the road, and some of the workers are late, as well as the rental tables and chairs. The tables should have been set up by now.”

  She directed a stern look at Georgie who was looking up at her, wagging her tail. “I wouldn’t have this problem if this dog hadn’t found–oh, it’s so disgusting, I can hardly think about it.”

  Wow! News gets around fast. I guess the police told Eunice about the decomposed foot when she passed the blockade coming to work. No wonder she was agitated.

  I put my hand on Eunice’s shoulder, trying to reassure her. Can you believe I’m the voice of reason here? “I’m taking them now. As soon as I drop them off, I will be back to help.”

  Eunice gave me the look–you know, the look people give which indicates you are less than useful.

  “Well, I declare. That’s insulting,” I protested.

  “You can help by going to where the police have cordoned off the road, and tell them which trucks are to be let through.”

  “I can do that.”

  “But don’t take the golf cart. I need it.”

  Apparently, June had the grandsons deliver the cart early this morning. She always had my back.

  “Okay. We’re going now.”

  “Don’t come back till three-thirty.”

  I snapped my heels together and gave the Roman salute. “Yes, Caesar.”

  “GO!”

  I was being thrown out of my own house, but since my cut of today’s reception would allow me to start work on installing water to a field needed for pasture, I capitulated. Without Eunice, I would be in the red every year.

  Most of my private income went to pay medical bills.

  The money I made with Eunice allowed me to get my hair done, have a pedicure every now and then, and keep up the farm.

  So when Eunice told me to get out, I vamoosed. “Come on, little doggies.” The three of us headed out the side door to my Prius.

  I took the shortcut over to June’s farm, and found Charles in the tractor shed giving instructions to his grandsons about cutting hay.

  As soon as the boys finished cutting and baling hay for June, they would scamper over to my farm and cut hay as well, for which I pay a nominal rental fee for the use of the tractor, gas money, and the boys’ wages.

  It was a win-win. This arrangement gave the grandsons extra money, and saved me the wear and tear on my own tractor.

  I would need the hay for the boarded horses and my animals come winter. It was essential that only certain fields were mowed, as I left other fields fallow so the bees could forage wild flowers. Those fields wouldn’t be cut until later. Ya gotta work with nature, folks.

  The boys were careful to look for fawns which might be hiding in the thick grass. If they spotted one, they moved away from its hiding place. They also looked for turkey nests. These boys were good spotters.

  I always felt confident the wild animals on my farm would be protected with the Dupuy boys driving the tractors.

  Charles and I chatted for a few moments, and then I attempted to leave the dogs with him.

  Baby was apt to get into trouble on June’s farm, and the farm hands were afraid of him, so Charles always put Baby in a stall with plenty of water and chew toys.

  Baby didn’t mind. He took the time to catch up on his snoozing, and as long as he had some “chewies,” he was fine with the world until I came to collect him.

  This was not the case with Georgie. She whined and clawed the stall door as soon as it was shut.

  “Charles, I’ll take her with me.”

  “You sure? She’ll calm down soon.”

  “I don’t think she will. I’ll take her. Georgie won’t be a bother. I’m just going up to the spot where the police have blocked off the road.”

  Looking doubtful, Charles opened the stall door and put a leash on Georgie before letting her out.

  Baby was already asleep.

  My heart melted. I love big, lazy dogs.

  “Thanks, Charles. You don’t need to worry about Baby. I’ll come by from time to time and check on him.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, you go about your business. We’ll be fine.”

  Charles looked doubtful. “Okay, but call me if you need something. I’ll be in the office at Barn Three until the early afternoon.”

  “Scoot.”

  Charles left grudgingly. His reluctance gave me pause. I guess everyone was on edge since Georgie found Toby’s foot.

  Georgie and I rushed to where the police had their blockade set up. Just in time, too. The driver of a large delivery van and a policeman were in a heated discussion. I parked the car and hurried over. It took a few moments before it was straightened out, but Eunice’s tables were finally on their way.

  I went back to my car, and must have dozed off when someone tapped me on the shoulder. Startled, I began fending off the “intruder.”

 
“Hey, watch it!”

  I straightened up in the seat, only to have Georgie jump in my lap, sticking her head out the window, pounding my chest with her happy tail. “What are you doing here?” I asked Hunter Wickliffe.

  “I got a call. Sounds like someone found a decomposed body.”

  “A foot in a boot.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m the someone who found it, or rather Georgie did.”

  “Hmm, bet that was rather nasty.”

  “Rather.” I put on my sunglasses. “I thought you were off the case.”

  “I am, officially. I was asked to come unofficially.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sometimes.” Hunter peered into the backseat. “Where’s the big dog?”

  “Baby.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Baby is the name of my dog.”

  “I remember.”

  I shot Hunter a doubtful look. “He’s in prison.”

  Hunter frowned.

  I added, “Baby doesn’t do well with a lot of strange people. He likes to terrorize them by sticking his snoot in their cahoots. The men are especially prone to high-pitched indignation when it happens.”

  “He takes after you then.”

  “I beg your pardon. I don’t put my snoot in other people’s cahoots.”

  “No, but you like catching people off guard.”

  “Like when?”

  “Like that dreadful dinner with Lady Elsmere.”

  “I had nothing to do with it. I was as surprised as you.”

  “There I was in my best suit and you in . . . what was that . . . your official cocktail dress or something?”

  I nodded sheepishly. “My funeral dress.”

  “I had a haircut for the occasion and even put on cologne.”

  “You did smell good.”

  “That’s not the point. I had no idea dinner was going to be a casual affair, and we were going to be served on chipped plates and drink out of mason jars. Was Lady Elsmere trying to insult me?”

  “Oh, goodness, no. Is that what you thought? She was trying to make you feel like part of the family. We should blame Franklin for the folly that night. He told me to wear my black dress, so I thought it was going to be a formal dinner.”

  “The little snake. He told me to get ‘duded’ up too.”

  We both laughed.

  “It’s Franklin’s little joke on us,” I chuckled. “Didn’t you find the food tasty, at least?”

  Hunter nodded. “I have to admit the dinner was good indeed. Very Southern.” Hunter ticked off his fingers. “Pulled pork barbeque, stewed tomatoes and okra, fresh peas, baked potatoes, sliced peaches in syrup, homemade coleslaw, johnny cakes, orange pound cake with homemade vanilla ice cream. Very good, but I’m not used to the servants eating with the employer. When did that start to be a thing?”

  “Let me explain something. The servants are not servants. Charles Dupuy and his family are to inherit June’s estate. They’re family.”

  Hunter’s face fell. “I remember now you told me that before. I didn’t make the connection. You must think me a jerk.”

  “You lived in England for a very long time where there is a more rigid class system.”

  “I thought they were employees taking advantage of an old woman.”

  “If anyone is being taken advantage of, it’s Charles. June drives him nuts.” I could tell Hunter was distressed and going over the evening in his mind. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Hunter.”

  “Was I rude? I feel like a horse’s ass now.”

  Trying to assure him, I said, “You were stiff, that’s all.”

  “Maybe I could ask everyone over to my house for a picnic?”

  “I think Charles would be very interested to see your house, and I know June would be ecstatic.” I changed the subject. “Did you learn anything about your mother from June?”

  Without notice, Hunter segued to another subject. It caught me off guard. I wondered if it was because I had mentioned his mother.

  “I have to go to a banquet next Thursday. An old acquaintance of mine is getting some sort of an award. I was wondering if you would like to join me?”

  “No.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Okay. No, thank you.”

  “Is it because of that Walter Neff guy?”

  “Yes, it is. We are hot and heavy. He’s fire between the sheets.”

  Hunter was completely taken aback. He quickly regained his composure. “You’re teasing.”

  “I’m sure you’re a nice man, but I’m not interested in dating anyone now or ever. I’m done with that part of my life.”

  “I’m not asking you to go steady. I’m new in town. I don’t know anyone but you, Franklin, June, and now June’s heirs.”

  “You grew up here. You don’t need anyone to show you around.”

  “When I left, Lexington was a tiny Southern town.

  Now it’s a cosmopolitan city. I heard four languages when I went to the hardware store yesterday.”

  I shrugged.

  “I’m asking you to be my escort for the evening.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. You used the word ‘escort.’”

  “What’s wrong with the word ‘escort?’”

  “It sounds too sexy. I don’t do sex. In fact, I can’t ever have sex. I think my hoohoo has been absorbed into my body. It’s no longer there.”

  “Have you checked recently?”

  “Every damn day.”

  “You must be a very repressed woman if you can’t even use the words escort or vagina.”

  “There you go again. Using words that are too sex-oriented.”

  “I’m a psychiatrist. I am not going to use the word, hoohoo in reference to a woman’s private parts. How old are you? You talk like a child.”

  “Hmm.” I crossed my arms.

  “I need an escort–excuse me, a friend–to accompany me to this award ceremony, and I’m not taking Franklin. He’d show up dressed as Roy Rogers or in a clown suit. I need a lady who has a respectable black dress and a decent strand of pearls she can wear.”

  “I’ll go on one condition.”

  “Oh, boy, this is going to be interesting. Shoot.”

  “Give me information about Toby and Sandy Sloan. I want to know what was in your report.”

  “You little blackmailer.”

  “No information. No black dress with pearls.”

  “I can’t tell you what was in my report. That’s confidential.”

  “Have fun going by yourself.”

  “But I can tell you things I hear through the rumor mill.”

  I gave Hunter a lopsided smile and batted my eyelashes.

  A police cruiser pulled up and honked at Hunter. He turned and waved. “Coming. Coming.”

  “Pick me up at six. I’ll have my hair combed and wear my black funeral dress.”

  “Don’t forget the pearls. It reminds me of Donna Reed and gets me all stirred up. Grrrrrr. Sexy!” Hunter winked.

  “Pervert.”

  He petted Georgie, still in my lap, who was so excited she tinkled some drops on me. Ignoring my damp lap like a gentleman, Hunter bid goodbye and left in the police cruiser.

  I didn’t think of Hunter Wickliffe again for the rest of the day.

  Other things intervened. I spent the next hour chatting up the cop manning the roadblock. He told me lots of tidbits, which I’ll tell you later. We both were leaning on the police cruiser gossiping away when the chatter started on the police radio.

  Apparently the divers had found the rest of Toby’s decomposing body in the river near Winchester.

  He had been shot.

  I looked at Georgie who was leaning halfway out my car window, wagging her tail.

  Poor Georgie.

  Oh, poor Toby!

  18

  The house had been put to rights and the guests had left, as had Eunice and her crew.

  I really di
dn’t like having my house rented out for social events, but it paid the bills.

  One has to do what one has to do in order to survive.

  I went through each room to make sure nothing had been broken or stolen.

  I know Eunice had already taken stock before she left, but I felt better after I counted my paintings and touched my glass art, especially my Stephen Powell and Brook White pieces.

  I could feel my blood pressure go down as I walked through the Butterfly where the pictures were upright on the concrete walls, the furniture gleaming, and the windows were streak-free. These things might not seem important to you, but they are everything to me. A clean house put right meant the world was safe, thus I was safe.

  I checked on Baby and Georgie. Baby was sleeping in my room. Georgie had jumped up on my bed and made herself a little nest from my pillows. Both looked content.

  I kept walking around the house. I was restless after hearing about Toby.

  When death raises its nasty head, it’s so often a surprise, isn’t it? Even when you’re expecting it, it’s a shock to the system.

  I felt fidgety. I had to do something. I looked at Sandy’s landscape on my wall. I loved her serene depictions of our beautiful Bluegrass region and river. Then it hit me.

  Jumping Jehoshaphat! Where were all the paintings Sandy had stored at her house? Had they burned in the fire? They were worth a small fortune.

  I grabbed my wolf’s head cane and hurried out of the house to my golf cart.

  In the golf cart, it only took me minutes to take the back path to Sandy and Toby’s house. The air surrounding the ruined house still reeked of fumes, scorched lumber, and dashed hopes.

  I climbed out and pulled the crime scene tape down. I stood for a while, studying the husk which used to be Sandy’s home.

  The house was built around 1910. A lot of houses at that time had a back porch off the kitchen, usually screened, which was used as a laundry room as well as for storage. Many a freezer was kept on the back porch.

  Sandy had converted hers into a studio. It’s also where she stored her paintings.