Greed & Deadly Deceit

by Ruby Blaylock

  Annie watched her guests leave the dining room. She let out a long, slow breath.

  That was beyond awkward, don’t you think? I mean, I definitely sensed some tension between those two.

  Bobby and Melody? Rory asked. Pass me some cobbler, please, Annie. He held out his plate, stretching across the table to receive his dessert.

  Bobby and Bo, she corrected him, and dumped a heaping spoonful of the cobbler onto his plate. The juice from the filling spilled over onto her finger, and she licked it off after passing the plate back to Rory. Mmm, this is good, Mama.

  Those two definitely seemed to have some tension, Emmett agreed. Bessie, could I get some more sweet tea?

  Bessie grabbed the pitcher and walked around the table to where Emmett was sitting. Here you go, dear, she said, pouring heartily. Now, can I get you some blueberry cobbler or would you prefer a slice of apple pie?

  Yes, he said simply, then smiled. I’m going to have to put a new hole in this belt if I keep eating over here, he told her with a grin. And it’s not because my pants are getting too loose.

  You can eat at my table any day, Emmett Barnes, she replied coyly. As she turned to return to her own chair, she clucked her tongue. That Joshua hardly touched his food. And would you look at all these dishes! Mr. LaRue had three different plates here, one for his food, one for his biscuits, and one for his chicken bones. What an odd man!

  Emmett cleared his throat. Don’t touch those, will you Bessie? Rory and I will be happy to tackle these dishes for you, since you two did all the cooking. Why don’t you just go and put your feet up for a little bit? Maybe I’ll join you in the sitting room for a spell before I have to leave.

  Well, I won’t say no to free dishwashing, she replied with a grin. I’ve got an Agatha Christie book waiting for me and my feet could definitely use a rest. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned towards Annie. I think I’ve found a keeper, eh, Annie?

  Bessie filled an empty plate with a thick slice of apple pie, its filling spilling out in a warm, fragrant puddle around the flaky crust. Then she scooped up a spoonful of blueberry cobbler and piled it beside the pie, where it cuddled its dessert cousin closely. She passed him the plate with a smile, then left Annie, Rory, and Emmett in the dining room.

  You’re going to have to marry that woman, Rory teased Emmett. "I mean, for goodness sake, she makes you

  pie and cobbler."

  Emmett didn’t say anything, but Annie thought his cheeks might have flushed ever so slightly. Before he picked up his fork, Emmett reached for a napkin and opened it fully. Then he pulled out two plastic bags from his pocket.

  Annie and Rory watched as he took Bobby’s glass in the napkin, then he transferred it carefully to one of the plastic bags. He repeated the process with Bo’s glass, then marked each bag with a name.

  I’m guessing that’s evidence, Annie asked, but can I ask why you’d take Bo Michaels’ glass? He has nothing to do with that family.

  Emmett sat back down and picked up his fork. I told you we found fingerprints in the LaRue house, and I still need to rule out suspects. I can’t say more than that right this minute, Annie, but I promise you that as soon as I can say more, I will.

  Annie didn’t push the matter, but she wasn’t stupid. If Emmett was taking fingerprints off of Bobby and Bo’s glasses, he must know something about one or both of them that made them potential suspects. It chilled her to think that one of them might have had something to do with Frances LaRue’s death. She sincerely hoped that whoever killed the old man, it wouldn’t turn out to be someone she’d just sat down to dinner with.

  18

  Trying To Figure Things Out

  What would Bo Michaels be doing in our secret tunnel? Annie’s voice rose a little higher than she’d intended it to. She glanced around, certain that the man she was talking about would hear her and be furious to find that she was discussing him with Rory.

  I haven’t a clue why he’d be in there, but the more I think about it, the more I think I’m right. Rory had joined Annie on the long, covered porch that ran down the length of the north side of the house. They sat in rocking chairs, sipping coffee and chatting, which was their favorite way to end the day at Rosewood Place.

  Sometimes they invited guests to join them, which helped give the plantation-turned-inn its reputation for being such a hospitable, welcoming place. More often than not, they sat alone, or with Bessie, and sometimes Devon, enjoying the peaceful glow of the setting sun while they looked back on the day and planned for the ones to come.

  Rory had brought up the receipt once again after all the guests had retired to their rooms and Emmett had bid them goodbye. He’d promised to call Annie first thing in the morning to discuss his hunch about the fingerprints that he’d found in Frances LaRue’s house, though he knew good and well that she would call him if he delayed getting in touch first.

  Annie made it clear from her very first days at Rosewood Place that she would not tolerate her family being in any sort of danger. If Emmett thought that a murderer was sleeping under her roof, he’d better share his suspicions before Annie decided to sniff them out herself. Finding France LaRue’s dead body wasn’t her first rodeo--she’d come face to face with more corpses than she’d care to admit since taking on the old plantation--and she was more than happy to add the role of detective to her job description if it meant keeping her family safe.

  I’ve been thinking about what Joshua told me, she admitted finally. About seeing a ghost that first night he was here. Then that ratty old teddy bear turned up, and we all just assumed he’d found it here somehow. But, Rory, I’d never seen the thing before in my life. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of some sort of explanation, but the only conclusion I can come to still doesn’t make any sense.

  And this conclusion is?

  Someone from this house snuck out in the middle of the night, crept through the woods, and brought that bear back from somewhere.

  And by somewhere, you really mean Frances LaRue’s place.

  Annie shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, you saw the state of that place--it was full of junk. I’m sure I saw some things that could have been toys over there.

  Rory nodded. Annie, I hate to say this, but you know who it had to be. He paused, waiting for her to admit that she agreed. You and I know that it wasn’t us, and it probably wasn’t your mother. Devon would never do that, and if he tried, Karma wouldn’t let him. That dog follows that boy like stink on a skunk and he wouldn’t just let him wander around the property at night by himself.

  Annie took a deep breath. And I know you’re going to say that Bo Michaels is the only other person it could be, but I just can’t see why he would do that. She sat her cup down on the little table between them. Coffee sloshed out over the side of the cup, and she wiped at it without thinking.

  I think it’s weird, but look at the evidence. The receipt I found is for a music store in Nashville, one that has a photo of him on their website. Now, that would be the mother of all coincidences, don’t you think? And he told you himself that he used to play in the house as a child. It’s not a stretch to think that he discovered the door to the tunnel while he was here before.

  Annie picked up her cup again. The spilled coffee had left a ring around the cup’s bottom, so she pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped it away, trying to make sense of what Rory was saying, which she knew in her own mind was probably true. She just wished her head would tell her heart these same facts because she really liked Bo Michaels and didn’t want to think sinister things about him.

  Why, though? I mean, why would Bo go traipsing through the woods in the middle of the night just to steal a toy from a bitter old man?

  He said he grew up around here, maybe he knew Frances LaRue, Rory suggested. "Maybe he was reliving his

  childhood, visiting the ghosts of his past, so to speak."

  Annie shook her head. Would you visit that creepy old man in the middle of the night?

&nbs
p; Rory rolled his eyes. We really don’t know what time of the night it was. It could have been late evening. It’s not like Joshua can tell time, and it gets dark early still.

  How do you think he knew old man LaRue? she asked after a minute. I mean, if he knew him at all.

  What, do you think Bo Michaels is really some creep who likes to sneak around killing old guys and stealing their toys? Rory laughed at his own question, but Annie could tell his suspicion of Bo was more than a joke.

  I just can’t see Bo being a killer, she admitted, but something's definitely fishy there. Did Emmett share any more details while you were fishing? You know, his cop’s intuition, that sort of thing?

  He did. He said the same thing I did, that it’s weird and we can’t rule anything out. I guess we’ll have to see what his fingerprint specialists turn up and then we’ll know more.

  Annie didn’t like uncertainties. She couldn’t just settle for ‘wait and see,’ but she wasn’t entirely sure how she could get the information that she wanted out of Bo Michaels.

  What if we just asked Bo about it?

  She supposed that she could just come out and ask him, though she doubted that would work. Did you sneak out of my house to go murder my cranky old neighbor, then steal a teddy bear and give it to another guest’s child? No, it didn’t sound very sane inside her head, and she was pretty sure it would sound less so coming out of her mouth.

  Sure, you could ask him, but if he killed Mr. LaRue, don’t you think he’d just lie about it?

  Well, what if he didn’t kill him? There could still be a good explanation for what he did. Annie still wasn’t ready to admit that Bo could have done anything sinister.

  For crying out loud, Annie--what do you really know about this guy? He could be hiding something really bad, and you’re still trying to making him sound all innocent. What would it take to convince you that Bo Michaels just isn’t what he says he is? A vein in Rory’s temple throbbed under the porch light. His face was tense, clenched, and he ran a palm over it, trying to will it to relax.

  Annie, I really, really care about you. And I don’t want to argue, but I don’t know how else I can convince you that something’s not quite right about Bo Michaels. He paused, waiting for her to argue, but she didn’t.

  I...I don’t know how you feel about me, Annie, but if anything were to happen to you, well, I don’t think I could handle it.

  Annie still didn’t speak for a minute. She didn’t really know what to say. Part of her wanted to continue to fight for Bo’s innocence, but another, bigger part of her needed to respond to Rory’s last statement. How did she feel? Could she live without him, like he claimed he couldn’t? Her head was screaming at her mouth to just say something, anything, but her heart still wasn’t sure of what would actually come out of her mouth if she did.

  She felt the silence pressing in on her, as loud as a gun ringing in her ears. Her mouth got tired of waiting for her heart and head to get on the same page.

  Rory, I--

  Whatever her mouth had to say about the matter, it was silenced quickly by Rory’s own. He leaned over, coming out of his chair and hovering above her so quickly, it was catlike in its grace. A look of gentle determination filled his eyes as his lips pressed ever so gently against Annie’s own, cutting off her words with a flutter of lips and pounding of heartbeats.

  The kiss stopped Annie in her tracks. If her brain had a jaw, it certainly fell open in shock, but her heart, well, that tricky devil was surely grinning. For a tiny moment, the world fell away, lost to the stars in the blackened sky. There was nothing at all but Rory Jenkins and a rush of memories from more than two decades ago.

  She pushed forward to kiss him back, but he was already retreating. It was a short, simple, perfect kiss, and it was over.

  On that note, Miss Purdy, I think I will turn in for the evening. Rory’s face was a mask of calm. If his heart was pounding as fast as Annie’s, she couldn’t tell. Goodnight, Annie, he said, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle peck before releasing it again.

  Rory was already disappearing into the darkness when Annie found her voice again. ‘Night, Rory, she called out, but he was already out of sight.

  19

  Family Connections

  Annie didn’t sleep well after her conversation with Rory. Too many thoughts and emotions battled for her attention, her nerves jangled, on edge, like some sort of junkie who needed a fix. She couldn’t settle, couldn’t turn off her mind’s racing thoughts, and couldn’t get comfortable in her own skin. Of course, by the time she did fall asleep, nightmares had already begun to form in her head. Terrifying dreams of being chased by someone that she knew and ought to be able to trust, running from hideous versions of herself and some stranger that she couldn’t recognize, but who she knew that she ought to.

  By morning light, all the coffee in the world couldn’t make her perky, but a strong cup would at least prop her eyelids open. She had just finished her first cup and was on her way to starting a second when a voice appeared behind her.

  Mind if I get one of those?

  Bo Michaels looked as though he’d slept well enough. He wore a crisp button-up shirt, light blue, and a pair of jeans that looked brand new and stiff as cardboard. Only his eyes looked weary, slightly puffy with sleep, and beginning to show the first signs of what would surely become some serious worry lines if he wasn’t careful. He smiled brightly, obviously a morning person.

  Of course not. I hope you slept alright last night. She passed him an empty mug and stepped aside. Normally I’d wait for the guests to wake up, but I needed this pretty badly this morning. The coffee pot was half-empty. Oh, and Rory was up, so I… She let her thought trail away.

  Bo smiled at her again and poured his own coffee, then accepted the half’n’half Annie offered. He sugared the coffee and invited Annie to sit with him on the veranda while they drank. If you’re not busy, he added.

  Annie had a brief flash of hesitation. Did she really want to sit and make small talk with Bo if she couldn’t be sure what his motives were? And would Rory think that she was flirting with the musician? She recalled the events of the previous evening. She forced herself to not linger on the memory of the kiss. She was afraid that if she opened that door, gave into those feelings, something might change between her and Rory, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

  Sure, she replied finally. I think I can pull myself away from the glorious to-do list that I’ve got, she added. I’d much rather drink coffee than do laundry at this time of the day anyway.

  They sat in two of the white wicker chairs on the screened-in veranda. Annie had picked them up at a church yard sale fundraiser back in the fall for ten dollars apiece. They’d been dirty and worn, but after Rory cleaned and painted them, and Bessie had sewn some cushions for them, they looked like brand new chairs. They were the perfect combination of comfort and practicality, and the ideal place to have a conversation that didn’t involve the questioning of someone’s motives.

  Annie, I have really enjoyed my stay here at Rosewood Place, Bo told her. He smiled when he said it, but Annie couldn’t help but feel there was a ‘but’ coming.

  I’m really glad, she replied, hoping she was wrong.

  I guess I’m probably going to check out tomorrow, as I originally planned, he added. I had some things to take care of here in town, but they’re pretty much done now.

  Annie nodded. I’ll get your bill drawn up for you. I believe Melody is leaving soon, too. I’m going to have a quiet house for a few days, she noted.

  Bo grinned. I bet you’ll miss cleaning up after little Joshua, he teased. That kid’s a firecracker.

  Oh, that’s the best part about having guests with children, she replied. I get to send them home at the end of their stay. Aw, but truthfully, he’s not a bad kid. I mean, you certainly seem to have taken a shine to him. For what it’s worth, I think it’s really nice that you’ve spent so much time with him, I mean, before his father arrived.
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  Bo’s smile faded. Yeah, I’m not sure how the kid’s going to fare with that setup.

  Annie looked surprised. You don’t like Bobby LaRue? To be fair, you don’t really know him, though.

  I know his type. Controlling, bossy, mean-spirited.

  Well, maybe he has some redeeming qualities. After all, Melody doesn’t seem like the type to let anyone be mean to her son. Annie swirled her coffee in her cup. "I suppose you’re more sensitive to that sort of thing, you

  know, because of your past. I think people who have been hurt often want to look out for others in the same situation."

  Bo nodded. Are you sure you aren’t really a psychiatrist? he teased her. I mean, that could be a great gimmick for this place. Come for the hospitality, stay for the counseling sessions.

  Ha ha, Annie replied, slightly embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to sound preachy or like she claimed to know what was going on inside Bo’s head, but she supposed that’s exactly how it came across.

  So what’s next for Bo Michaels? Did your phone call with that country music singer go well? Should I be looking out for your name on any new albums coming out soon?

  Bo laughed. I’m not sure they make many vinyl albums of country music these days, but you should keep an eye on the digital music charts, he advised her. The call went very well. In fact, I’ve been asked to co-write some songs with the same artist. She’s quite a nice lady, or so I’m told. I’ve only spoken to her on the phone.

  Oh, so you’ll be working with a nice, talented female country music artist, she teased. Maybe you guys can have your wedding here and Mama can cook for you again.

  I appreciate your trying to fix me up with someone you’ve never met, but she’s married, Bo laughed. Ah, you are so easy to talk to, Annie. That’s what I miss about this place--everyone here in Coopersville is so laid back, so genuine. Everybody in the music industry is so fake, I can never tell what their motives are.

  Why don’t you move back here then? Not to be morbid, or anything, but the LaRue place will probably be up for sale soon. Since no one knows what happened to Frances LaRue’s son, I’m sure his brother will take ownership of the property, and if you buy it from him, Bobby can’t build his poultry empire right in my backyard, she added.