Josiah Reynolds Box Set 4

by Abigail Keam

  “I searched your room.”

  “You had no right.”

  “This from a woman who begged me to buy addictive pain medication off the streets and smuggle it home.”

  “I never asked you to do such a thing, but I thank you for it. I would not have made it after my fall without that medication.”

  “I could have gone to prison if caught, Mother.”

  “You did it on your own, but I was grateful. The thought you could be arrested didn’t cross my mind, Asa. I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t regret it, Mother. I will do it again if you’re in need of such strong medication. I know how much pain you were in. I also know Kentucky is royally screwed up regarding pain medication.”

  “Is this what you’re mad about?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Something is going on with you, and you are not telling me.”

  “My darling girl, I know we don’t see eye to eye on many things, but you don’t need to look out for me. I’m fine. Yes, I’ll admit since Matt has been gone, things have been a little rocky for me, but I’m finding my footing again, and I will be okay. Please don’t worry about me. Live your life. Have fun. Catch bad guys. Have a romantic encounter with Mr. Boris Whatshisface.”

  “And get sued for sexual harassment? You know he’s my employee.”

  “I somehow don’t think Boris would mind canoodling with you.”

  “Bad idea.”

  “I’m full of bad ideas. They are what makes life so enjoyable.”

  Asa sighed. “It’s at times like this I wish I smoked crack or drank myself stupid or took candy away from small children or—”

  I cut in, “I get the picture.”

  “You are so frustrating.”

  “I’m frustrating?”

  “I can see I’m not getting anywhere with you, so I’m going to walk to the horse barns.”

  “Shaneika is training Comanche at the track here. You might run into her.”

  Asa wrapped her arm around mine as we stepped over Baby and went out the kitchen door. She held the door open for Baby. “Baby, come!”

  Baby yawned and sleepily got up, leaving a hairy outline of his body. He had shed fur on the kitchen floor. Oh dear! Bess would have a fit.

  I suggested, “Take my cart and take Baby with you. I’m going to clean this mess up. I can’t leave the floor looking like this. Bess would skin me alive.”

  “Don’t you dare steal all of those cinnamon rolls. I want some more.”

  “Me, steal?” I said, grinning. I was already wondering how many rolls I could stuff in my pocket.

  My daughter knew me too well.

  8

  Lady Elsmere, Rosie, Asa, and I squeezed into the back of June’s Bentley. Boris and Charles sat up front. Amelia followed in another car.

  June was dressed in a 1960s satin pale green gown with a sequined full-length green paisley coat of the same material. She was wearing her emerald ring and necklace—worth a king’s ransom. Her wrists sparkled with multiple emerald bracelets accented with diamonds along with Burmese ruby bracelets.

  Rosie wore a yellow and pink knee-length gown with pointed high heels that matched, complemented by a single strand pearl necklace. She told us it had been her high school prom dress. I was amazed she could still get into it—or was I jealous? Maybe a little of both. Lord knows I’ve struggled with my weight.

  Asa was poured into her strapless black velvet gown with a sweetheart neckline. Her dark hair was swept up into a French bun, held together with diamond and platinum hairpins June had loaned her.

  I wore my usual Grecian blue chiffon Dior dress but with shoes this time instead of house slippers. My hair was styled and my makeup applied. We were a gaggle of good-looking gals for a night on the town, heading for the prestigious Bluegrass Antique Auction and Ball.

  “Where’s Miss Josephine? Isn’t she coming?” I asked Charles concerning his wife.

  “She’s not up to it. She’s still afraid she might fall, so I’m going stag,” replied Charles, referring to his wife’s recent fall in a horse barn. She had tripped over a rein from a bridle that had not been secured in the tack room.

  “What am I?” June snarled. “Chopped liver?”

  Asa chided June. “You know what he means. You’re being ornery.” Asa leaned forward and patted Charles on the shoulder. “Tell Miss Josephine we miss her and wish her a speedy recovery.”

  June waved her hand and barked, “Enough of this chitter-chatter.”

  I knew June had her eye on several eighteenth-century chairs made by a notable Kentucky furniture maker and was determined to get them by any means necessary. That’s an overstatement, I’m sure, but she was bound and determined to get her way even though Asa was cautioning her.

  “Miss June, it is rare that a signed piece of eighteenth-century furniture by a Kentucky cabinetmaker comes up for sale, let alone several chairs at once. I would be very cautious.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but these chairs are being sold by a reputable dealer.”

  Asa said, “Um, I deal with experts all the time and consistently find they’re bamboozled by con artists more often than they would want you to know.”

  “June, would it hurt to have Asa check them out before you bid?” I asked.

  “I think it is a good idea,” Rosie chimed in.

  June rattled her bracelets, capitulating. “If you insist.”

  Asa sat back. “Good. What are you going to do with those chairs anyway? You don’t need them.”

  “That’s not the point, Asa. Kentucky has a proud heritage, and I want to help preserve it. I’m going to donate them to a museum I’m thinking of opening in Lexington.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of such a museum. Charles, did you know about this?” I butted in.

  Charles talked over his shoulder. “Lady Elsmere has had this on her mind for some time.”

  Rosie asked, “What will be the name of this museum?”

  “The Charles Dupuy Museum of Kentucky.”

  Charles slammed the brakes, causing all of us to jerk forward.

  I put my arm out to safeguard June as I heard Amelia screech her car to a halt behind us.

  Charles turned around in his seat. “No, you don’t, June. If you do, my life won’t be my own. I’ll be pestered from dawn to dusk from folks wanting stuff in their attics to be appraised, and then they’ll get mad when they’re told their great grandma’s sauerkraut crock ain’t worth nothing. No siree, you put that museum in your own name.”

  June pursed her lips.

  Charles started driving the car again, muttering under his breath, “The woman will be the death of me. She comes up with the craziest ideas.”

  As June seethed, Asa bit her lip to avoid smiling.

  “Well, I never,” June said. “You try to do something nice for someone, and they give you grief over it.”

  “Charles does have a point, June. I don’t think he’s ready to be thrust into the limelight like that yet, and he does have a lot on his plate right now,” I said.

  Charles was still learning how to manage June’s estate since he was her heir. It involved taking management courses and meeting with her lawyers along with the day-to-day running of her properties. It was a massive undertaking.

  Rosie looked embarrassed. Her chest flashed red, and I watched the color rise up her neck and onto her cheeks.

  Trying to reassure her, I said, “It’s okay, Rosie. They fuss like this all the time. It’s nothing. This disagreement will be forgotten in five minutes because they’ll be arguing about something new.”

  “Oh,” Rosie said to June. “I didn’t know you and Charles were so close.”

  “He’s my right hand. I don’t know what I would do without Charles,” June replied and then leaned forward to make sure Charles heard her. “Except he’s a stubborn mule. Yes, you are, Charles. I see you eyeballin’ me in the rearview mirror. You don’t scare
me none.”

  Asa broke out into peals of laughter.

  Boris and I both joined her.

  Even June broke into a smile. She loved jousting with Charles, and everyone knew he would come around to her way of thinking. Charles realized that when he did inherit June’s estate, he would become a public figure in the Bluegrass. He just had to wrap his mind around the idea of a museum before he cottoned to it.

  Our merriment for the night would soon end, though we didn’t know it at the time.

  9

  Our little retinue made a splendid entrance to the Bluegrass Antique Auction and Ball, which had been a horse training facility before it was transformed into an auction house located on the north side of town. One could still smell the faint odor of horse sweat and manure after a heavy rain.

  Asa, Rosie, and I entered first. Then Her Ladyship entered on the arms of both Charles and Boris. Talk about June being an attention hog.

  Everyone stopped talking and turned around to gawk.

  June smiled her royal smile, nodded, and said hello to friends as she entered. I swear some women even curtsied. They were small curtseys to be sure, but a curtsey is still a curtsey. Thank goodness they weren’t doing the Texas Dip.

  A Texas Dip is when a lady lowers her forehead to the floor by crossing her ankles, then bending her knees and sinking. As the woman’s head nears the floor, she turns her head so she won’t spoil her dress with lipstick. You’d have to be an acrobat to perform that curtsey.

  After everyone said hello to June, they began milling about perusing items intended for the auction, including Asa who drifted away to evaluate the two chairs June intended to bid on.

  I sauntered around talking to people I knew, glancing over occasionally to check on June.

  Boris was standing behind her with his hands clasped in front of him, but I could see he was scanning the crowd.

  Why had Asa ordered Boris to stand guard?

  I looked for Charles, finally spotting him registering June so she could bid. Afterward, he ran into people he knew from the Animal Humane Society’s Board, of which he was a member, and stopped to chat.

  For some reason I was nervous, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. I just had a sense the evening would not end well. You know, don’t you, when you get a certain foreboding that something dark is nipping at your heels? You can’t see it. You can’t hear it, but you know it’s near and closing in. That’s the feeling I had.

  Someone gently tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to see Deliah Webster standing in front of me beaming. She was wearing a red ’80s sequined dress with a neckline plunging down to her navel showing off her obvious asset—two of them, in fact. I guess the ample cleavage was to take one’s mind off the extensive shoulder pads rising from either side of her lovely neck.

  “Deliah, my, my, my. What a dress!”

  “Thank you. I thought it was you, Josiah. I haven’t seen you since the trial.”

  Deliah was referring to Peter Russell’s trial for the murder of Madison Smythe. Deliah, Madison, and I had participated in an amateur theater group and were rehearsing The Murder Trap by Abigail Keam when the husband of one of the other players tried to murder his wife by putting ethylene glycol into the thermos she took to rehearsals. The only problem was he killed the wrong person, Madison, who was our lead actress. Deliah and I testified for the prosecution.

  Deliah sniffed. “It’s a shame our little drama group is no longer meeting.”

  “I think the murder cast a pall. Who can enjoy putting on a play when so many lives were ruined by Peter?”

  “It’s a shame he didn’t get the death penalty.”

  I didn’t want to talk about Peter, but said, “He did get life without parole.”

  “Did you hear about Ashley?” Ashley was a young man in our group who helped Peter—unwittingly, he says.

  I shook my head.

  “He got fifteen years. The jury rejected his story that he didn’t realize Peter was trying to murder his wife.”

  I didn’t reply, as Madison Smythe’s death was a terrible blow to many people, so I tried to change the subject. “Are you interested in antiques, Deliah?”

  “I’m not. Asa told me to be here. I work for her now. Didn’t you know?”

  I lied. “Yes, of course, but what are you doing at this particular event?”

  Deliah held up a camera. “I’m to take pictures of all items for sale and everyone who bids on them.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Do you? I don’t see the purpose of it, but I do what I’m told because I’m making good money working for Asa, plus it’s exciting, and I meet all sorts of interesting people.”

  “Did Asa instruct you to wear a low-cut dress?”

  “The lower, the better, she said.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m supposed to be a distraction.”

  “And that you are, my dear.”

  “I just saw Asa give me the evil eye, so I’m off. You have a good night, Josiah.”

  “I’ll do my best. Keep your chin up and chest forward, Deliah.”

  Deliah flashed her pearly whites before heading toward the open bar, snapping pictures along the way.

  Thinking Deliah had a good idea about heading for the bar, I decided to follow. On the way, I was detained by several people I knew, having to make small talk. Hello. How are you? How are the children? Oh, your daughter quit college, is pregnant, and living with a drug addict. I see. Yes, I can understand why you are in therapy. Maybe your daughter should go with you. How’s your mother? Oh, she died last month. So sorry. I’m doing great. Yes, let’s do lunch sometime. Toodles.

  “You have such lovely friends, Josiah.”

  Recognizing the voice, I turned to meet the “she-dragon” as I uttered, “Agnes Bledsoe. Aren’t you dead yet?”

  Agnes smiled. “And give you the pleasure? I should say not.”

  Agnes is the ex-wife of Richard Pidgeon who was found dead in one of my beehives. Richard’s second wife, Tellie, tried to frame me for the murder. I guess she didn’t like me.

  “I see you got a new rug,” I said, referring to her short black haircut.

  Agnes reached up and tugged on her bangs. “This is my hair. The cancer is in remission. So sorry to disappoint, but I’ll be dancing on your grave, Josiah.” Agnes didn’t like me either.

  “No doubt. I hope that’s all you do on my grave.”

  “What are you doing here? You don’t like antiques. You collect mid-century crap.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I took a tour of the Butterfly. I had to see for myself what all the fuss was about.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll have the house fumigated.”

  Agnes smiled sweetly at me. Was I losing my touch to irritate her?

  “Why are you here, Agnes?”

  “There’s a sweet little sugar chest I’ve got my eye on.”

  “Do you know anything about those eighteenth-century comb-back writing chairs by Porter Clay?”

  “I looked at them.”

  “And?”

  “My interest lies in American neoclassical furniture 1800 to 1820.”

  “Agnes, those chairs were made in 1799, only a year earlier.”

  “So?”

  “So, I know you collect very early American furniture. I remember seeing a Duncan Phyfe piece in your office.”

  “But only after 1800. Sorry, can’t help you.”

  “Won’t help, you mean.”

  “What is it you want to ask, Josiah?”

  “Would you buy those chairs if you were interested?”

  Agnes thought for a moment. “You’re asking for your pal Lady Elsmere, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, she plans to bid on them.”

  “I’ll give you a straight answer since Lady Elsmere is one of my clients.”

  That was news to me!

  “I would steer clear of them.”

  “Why?”

  “They look too
crisp. You know that saying—if it’s too good to be true, it probably is. Writing chairs would be one piece of furniture to have been heavily used for anything from writing a letter to stringing green beans. The chairs are worn where they are supposed to be, but I don’t know. Something is off.”

  “Like a boy carving his initials into the wood with a new penknife he got for Christmas?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That could explain the date 1799 and the initials P C carved under the seat drawer.”

  Agnes waved to someone behind me. “Look, I’ve got to go, but those initials were carved by an adult, not a child.”

  Suddenly, Agnes’ eyes dilated as she looked past me. “Josiah, be cool now. Don’t cause a scene. Ciao.” She hurried off and greeted a man by kissing him on the cheek. He was good-looking and young—too young.

  I watched Agnes and her fancy man before I lost interest. So, Agnes was officially a cougar. Good for her. Why should only old men have young dates? Not fair, is it?

  Don’t cause a scene? What could Agnes have meant?

  There was a slight hush amongst the crowd as I turned to see Ellen Boudreaux. I had to admit she looked lovely holding onto the arm of her new beau.

  Ellen was my late husband’s mistress and bore him a child while he and I were still married. I’ll not tire you with the gory details of my marriage’s demise, but it was a mess. I lost my job as an art history professor and came close to losing the Butterfly and the farm due to Brannon’s financial shenanigans.

  Even though my husband’s betrayal devastated me, I eventually made peace with it, but Asa hadn’t. She could not forgive her father for leaving us destitute, and she hated Ellen for not letting her visit her half-brother.

  Oh dear! Had she seen Ellen?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Asa spot Ellen and rise from her chair only to have June reach up and pull her back down. It was clear no one was going to disrupt the auction if June could help it.

  Now I really needed a drink—a big stiff drink with lots of bourbon in it. A Kentucky Mule sounded fine and dandy. I made my way to the bar, hoping to get a drink and find a corner to hide in before someone else spied me and started talking to me. By the time I got there, my rotten demeanor was further marred by people stepping on my toes or drunkenly bumping into me. People were already three sheets to the wind, and the bidding hadn’t even started. I’m sure the event organizers deliberately allowed the attendees to become well lubricated with alcohol before the bidding commenced.