Josiah Reynolds Box Set 4

by Abigail Keam

  “No. I did not. I was looking for Rosie. Gage was the last person I wanted to see. Why do you ask?”

  “Because a witness has stepped forward saying you followed Gage into the auction room.”

  “I did not at any time follow Gage anywhere. I was looking for Rosie. I had no idea that Gage was behind the stage. Who said I followed him?”

  “Let’s move on. What happened next?”

  “I want to know who accused me.”

  Asa gently touched my arm. “Mom, answer the question.”

  My stomach started to rumble, and the taste of those awful canapés rose in my throat. Talk about heartburn. “I went into the auction room where I heard a noise.”

  “Did you hear a cry?”

  “It could have been a cry, but I remember it more like a thump.”

  “Would you characterize the thump as a body falling onto the floor?”

  “Shaneika, it could have been. I really don’t know. I heard a noise. It alarmed me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It was a noise that didn’t belong.”

  “Go on.”

  “I ran up the steps to the stage and went behind the curtain.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw Rosie.”

  “You saw Ms. Rose’s face?”

  “Not exactly. I saw her dress. I mean, I saw a yellow flash from behind some furniture.”

  “You saw the color yellow?”

  “Yeah, but I knew it was Rosie because of the yellow. It was a distinctive color.”

  “Was she sitting or standing up?”

  “Standing.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I went around some furniture to where she stood, saying something like ‘June wants to go home.’ I was trying to let Rosie know her ride was leaving.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Rosie turned around. There was blood all over the front of her dress, and she was holding a knife. She seemed frozen at first, as if in a daze, before she said, ‘I didn’t do this.’”

  “Okay,” Shaneika said, furiously taking notes.

  “That’s when I saw Gage on the floor and rushed over to him. He was still alive, and I yelled at Rosie to get help.”

  “You said you passed by her. Did you push her out of the way or have any contact with her person at all?”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t remember. It happened so fast.”

  Shaneika looked up from her legal pad. “You told Ms. Rose to go for help. What happened?”

  “I gathered packing material from the floor to use as a compress on Gage’s wound. I looked up and saw Rosie fleeing.”

  “What made you think Ms. Rose was running away? You did tell her to go for help.”

  “Because she was going in the wrong direction. She went through an exit door on the right, which leads out to the parking lot.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “I kept putting pressure on Gage’s wounds and yelled for help until someone found me.”

  “Who found you?”

  “Agnes Bledsoe.”

  Shaneika smirked. “Your good friend, Agnes Bledsoe?”

  “Yeah, isn’t that crazy!”

  “The blood on Ms. Rose’s dress—was it smeared or splattered?”

  I had to think for a moment. “Smeared.”

  “Do you believe Ms. Rose stabbed Gage Cagle?”

  “If a man ever needed killing, it was he.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I don’t know, Shaneika. I didn’t see anyone else.”

  “Do you think Ms. Rose has the capacity to kill?”

  “It is not in Rosie’s nature, but anyone can kill if pushed hard enough. Gage had been brutal with her for years.”

  “Give me some examples.”

  “He poisoned two of her dogs, cut her waterline several times, put three-penny nails on the road to puncture her car tires, called her place of employment and told her supervisors that she was a drug addict and selling to teenagers.”

  Shaneika said, “Wow. I think I might be tempted to kill someone if they did that to me.”

  “Mom, didn’t he shoot into her house one time?”

  “Almost got her, too. The bullet buzzed right by her head, but Rosie couldn’t prove it was Gage.”

  “Why didn’t the police stop the harassment?”

  “His family has been in Jessamine County since the first settlers came. They have a lot of influence in the county.”

  “I get it.”

  “After years of trying, Rosie did get a lady DA who was sympathetic to her case and took it to court. A Protective Order was put on Gage, stating that he was not allowed any contact with Rosie, but you saw how that turned out. He ignored the PO, got hauled back into court, and a judge who knew his family threw the PO out.”

  “Did Gage threaten Rosie at the auction?”

  Asa said, “Yes, he threatened to kill Mother and Rosie.”

  “How so?”

  Asa replied, “Hunter Wickliffe, Mom, Rosie, Lady Elsmere, and I were talking when Gage approached us and bragged he was going to bid on the Windsor chairs. Then he started ranting about shooting Mother’s dog if Baby, or any dog for that matter, came back on his property, and how he might miss, accidentally striking Rosie or Mom. It was bizarre.”

  I noticed Asa didn’t mention that Boris was a witness as well.

  “Unfortunately, his threats give both Ms. Rose and Josiah a motive for murder.”

  I took a sip of water, not knowing how to respond. I knew Shaneika was right.

  Shaneika continued, “You say he killed two of Ms. Rose’s dogs, and he threatened to kill Baby. Did Gage Cagle fear dogs?”

  “June told me he feared big dogs,” I answered.

  “Did you see any evidence of that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Shaneika looked up from her notes.

  “June and I rushed over to Rosie’s place when Gage chained her farm gate shut. Baby chased Gage onto the hood of a police car, and Gage soiled himself.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “You know Baby wouldn’t have hurt him.”

  “Baby weighs two hundred pounds. He’s all muscle and built like a small tank. I would jump on a car if he rushed me.”

  “Mastiffs don’t usually bite.”

  “But Baby can easily knock a grown man to the ground, causing a great deal of damage, especially to an older person. You need to keep closer control over him.”

  I don’t like it when anyone criticizes my precious Baby, but I kept my mouth shut.

  Asa asked, “What’s your advice at this point, Shaneika?”

  “I think you both should go home and get some rest. I will call the police to set up an appointment. Josiah, you will answer their questions to the best of your ability. After that, you are to have no contact with them. Everything has to go through me.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “I don’t think Detective Drake is seriously considering the witness’ claim that you followed Gage, but I’ll sound him out. We could have finished the interview this evening, but I’m not in the habit of having a client give a formal statement to the police with her derriere hanging out of her pants. It puts my client on the defensive.”

  I chuckled. “Does it ever!”

  “When this is all over, you might want to give Agnes Bledsoe a call.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “She vouched for you. Agnes told the police that you were struggling to save Gage’s life when she found you. And that you were many things, most of them irritating, but if you were going to murder someone, you would do it in such a manner as not to get caught.”

  “That’s so sweet. I think I’m tearing up.”

  “Can you tell us who put the whammy on Mom?”

  “I bet it was Ellen Boudreaux,” I said. “She hates my guts.”

  “I don’t know, but again, I’ll find out what’s going on. Just one more thing before you
go. Could you identify the knife if you had to?”

  I shook my head. “I saw something sharp and covered with blood. Other than that, I couldn’t tell you anything about the knife.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Why?” Asa asked.

  “Because Mr. Cagle wasn’t stabbed with a knife.”

  I was flabbergasted. “What was it then?”

  Shaneika put her pad and pen in her briefcase, saluted, and walked out of the bar, passing our waitress who was delivering two plates of food to our table.

  I turned to Asa, who was biting into a cheeseburger. “I hate it when she does that.”

  Asa bobbed her head in agreement while wiping ketchup off her mouth with a paper napkin.

  It bothered me that Shaneika knew something I didn’t. In fact, it kept me up all night wondering.

  What had Rosie been holding?

  And where was she?

  16

  It was one o’clock in the morning when Asa directed Boris to park the black SUV off the side of the road. If anyone should stop and ask what he was doing, Boris had instructions to say that he had pulled over to make a call.

  The full moon was bright, so Asa didn’t need a flashlight to climb over the dry limestone walls crisscrossing the landscape. She was able to wind her way past curious bovine raising their heads to watch a human trotting through their pasture.

  Asa didn’t worry about stumbling upon horses because most farms brought them in at night, which was good because encountering a startled stallion would be dangerous.

  It was over a mile to the building complex near the Kentucky Horse Park where the antique auction had taken place. Sprinting over the land, Asa could hear the distant yips of dogs alerted to an interloper.

  The barking caused one sleepy person to turn on her outdoor lights and peek out from behind her curtain before stepping out onto the porch, forcing Asa to hide behind a massive old-growth, bur oak tree. The lady scanned the pasture behind her house, and satisfied all was well, praised the dog for protecting the homestead and went back inside, turning off the lights.

  Asa doubled down and ran even faster.

  At last, she reached the compound, which sat off the road, easily scaling the twelve-foot-high chain link fence surrounding it and landing cat-like on the soft earth. The outbuildings of the old Thoroughbred training center provided needed cover, enabling Asa to quickly approach the main building.

  Thank goodness she had the forethought to have Deliah surreptitiously photograph the keypad for the security system, which still operated from a telephone landline, when she photographed the rest of the building. From Deliah’s pictures, Asa was able to memorize the layout of the compound.

  Giving the place a quick perusal, Asa made her way to the back of the building. Disconnecting the security system was child’s play. Taking a small black case from her pocket, she extracted several small tools and unlocked the back door. It creaked ever so slightly as she opened it just enough to squeeze through before slowly easing it shut behind her.

  She needed a light. Reaching up, she switched on a headlamp attached to her mask, quickly making her way through the mass of furniture in the storage area behind the auction stage. It took several minutes to find the two Porter Clay comb-back Windsor chairs.

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Settling gently into one of the chairs, she removed the top quill drawer. With quiet proficiency, Asa extracted the screws holding the lock in place. Laying them on a white cloth she had brought with her, she used her state-of-the-art phone to photograph the screws from different angles and took close-ups.

  Pulling back the cuff of her black sleeve, Asa peeked at her luminous watch. Time was running out. She hurriedly took more pictures of the drawer and the chair.

  As she slid the phone into a pocket, she heard a door slam in the distance. She immediately extinguished her light and hunkered down.

  The night watchman was making his rounds earlier than usual. Now would be a good time to leave, but the lock had to be screwed back and the drawer replaced in its chamber. She would have to accomplish this in the dark.

  Taking off her gloves, she gingerly felt around for the drawer, and once she found it, she lowered it toward herself. So far, so good.

  She felt inside the drawer, finding the lock. Holding her breath, she reached up, carefully searching for the screws. Finding one, Asa pressed the screw into her index finger, hoping the moisture on her skin would hold the metal until she could drop the screw into the drawer.

  It worked!

  Using the same procedure, she lowered two more screws into the drawer.

  The door to the auction room opened!

  Asa froze.

  The room was suddenly bathed in fluorescent light from the guard turning on the lights.

  Asa blinked and tried to adjust her eyes quickly. She needed a place to hide or the guard would find her. Oh boy, would she have a hard time explaining her presence. She would be arrested for breaking and entering for sure.

  Putting a hand over her eyes, Asa spotted a large armoire. She crawled to the armoire and squeezed inside, clutching the quill drawer to her chest.

  Oh no!

  She had forgotten the white cloth and the last screw! There was nothing she could do about that now as the guard was climbing the stage steps.

  Asa left the armoire door open just a tad to observe him make his rounds. If he discovered the white cloth and the missing quill drawer, she would have to create a diversion, allowing her to escape and make her way back to the SUV before the police came. That plan was iffy.

  Or she could sneak up and hit the guard on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

  Either scenario caused concern and had its drawbacks.

  The guard pushed aside the thick curtain and wandered to the storage area. Asa could see him clearly now. He was a slightly-built older gentleman, probably a retiree who needed to keep busy.

  Asa watched him pick up Waterford goblets from a dining table and examine the tags with the winning auction bids and names of the new owners. The guard shook his head at the prices before giving a sharp whistle, and gently placed the goblets down.

  Asa smiled at the guard’s astonishment. He was right. Spending outrageous amounts of money on these old things was ridiculous when that money could be spent on helping others, but Asa was like her mother in this respect. The past needed to be preserved, lest we forget it.

  The guard passed out of Asa’s view. She opened the armoire door slightly wider so she could hear the guard. To Asa’s surprise, she heard yawning, squeaking and rustling, and the sounds of shoes dropping to the floor.

  The night watchman was taking a nap!

  Now what?

  Asa tried remembering the layout of the room. She closed her eyes, trying to visualize it. There were three couches by the back door. That’s probably where the guard was.

  Closing the door of the armoire, Asa turned on her headlight and put the lock back into place. Inspecting her work, Asa was satisfied no one would be able to tell the lock had been removed.

  She just needed to replace that last screw. Taking a deep breath, Asa turned off her light and slid out of the armoire on her belly while holding the quill drawer. Slowly, she wiggled over to the Windsor chair, stopping every now and then, listening for the guard.

  He was snoring.

  That’s a good boy, Asa thought as she reached up, retrieving the last screw. She quickly twisted it in place. Putting on her gloves, she wiped down the drawer before replacing it back in the chair and grabbing the white cloth. Asa crawled over to the stage curtain, slipped under, and let herself out the front door.

  She made her way back to the SUV in record time.

  Boris looked at his watch. “You’re late, Boss. I was getting worried. You run into some trouble?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Asa said, peeling off her balaclava mask.

  “You got what you needed?”

  “Hope
so, but if my hunch is correct, it’s a motive for murder!”

  17

  “There are lies, damned lies . . . and statistics.” That’s a quote from Mark Twain, but it certainly resonated with me.

  The fact someone went out of their way to lie about me to the police had me in a dither, but that took second place to having Detective Drake accuse me of lying about Rosie. I may be nosy and I may be sneaky, but I’m not a liar.

  You—stop laughing.

  I do lie, but not for the important stuff.

  He hauled me to the police station several times, and each time, I clammed up and waited for Shaneika to come to my rescue.

  Was it my fault they couldn’t find Rosie? I hadn’t seen her since she got out of Dodge, so to speak. I didn’t think it was a neighborly thing to do, not that Gage didn’t deserve it. He did, but I certainly didn’t deserve all the hassle coming my way.

  The cosmic question was—if I did know where Rosie was hiding, would I tell the police? I’m not sure.

  Gage had harassed Rosie for years. How much grief can a human being take before they finally lash out at their tormentor? How much should someone be expected to take? I know I would have killed my own stalker if I thought I could have gotten away with it. Fortunately, someone killed him for me, but I can’t deny I wanted him dead. Real dead.

  So, what are the lies and then the damned lies Twain was talking about? They are the little lies we tell ourselves so we can sleep at night.

  I’m a good person. Very few humans are good. Most of us just haven’t gotten caught being bad, that’s all.

  I’m sorry. The only thing most people are sorry about is that they did get caught . . . being bad.

  I could never murder. Anyone is capable of murder. Hate and fear are powerful motivators for wanting someone out of the way. Did I mention money and lust as motivators, too?

  The good news is that most of us don’t kill, but we do ruminate on it from time to time.

  Come on now, don’t we?

  The question is, did Rosie do it?

  I don’t know, but she wasn’t helping her case by disappearing. Wherever Rosie was, the police would catch up with her sooner or later.

  And as it turned out, they did.