“I told you to ditch those things.” Bradford came around to the passenger side to take my bags. “I hope you packed better shoes. Preferably flats or boots.”
Scarlett peered over my shoulder. “You’re wasting your breath, detective. Jolene ain’t parting with her heels.”
“You talk too much,” Snow White complained from over Bradford’s left shoulder. “If you can’t shut up then leave, you scatterbrained nitwit.”
Scarlett gestured to the handcuffs dangling from her hand. “How would you like to try on my bracelets again? Don’t forget who’s in charge here, missy.”
“Both of you pipe down,” Bradford commanded. “We work together as a team, understand? The sooner we crack this mystery, the sooner everyone can go their separate ways. Until then, don’t be seen or heard, got it?”
Scarlett arched a brow, but remained silent, her features composed in deceptive acceptance. Snow White, as I continued to call her, fluttered her eyelashes like a besotted idiot, and nodded. Talk about a scatterbrained nitwit.
With ghosts in tow, we headed up the gravel path between jewel-colored perennial flowers, their delicate petals perfection in the early morning sunlight, and red ginger lilies reaching up to capture a buzzing bee’s interest. Somewhere close by in the lush forest, a pair of mockingbirds fussed over their nest, squirrels chirped, and the distinct serenade of cicadas concreted my earlier vision of country hell. Peace and quiet, my ass. It was louder than a two a.m. tornado siren.
Now once I stood on the shaded wraparound porch, with a row of oversized rocking chairs with colorful cushions and hanging ferns, my aversion shifted slightly, and I found myself reconsidering my earlier prejudice. The lodge offered respite from a busy lifestyle, and I could see how the artistically minded would flock here for privacy.
Passing through double log doors, my gaze was immediately drawn to a spectacular center staircase dominating the main lobby. A piece of art straight out of a brilliant architect’s mind. Made from local pines, intricately carved forest animals scampered playfully up the massive banisters to the second-floor landing.
The rest of the lobby followed the hunters lodge theme. The floor and walls were pine, the simple furniture in browns and greens, with vases of vibrant wildflowers sprinkled throughout, and mounted on the walls were the heads of deer, boar, and wild fowl. If I didn’t know that I was in South Georgia, I would’ve thought I’d traveled to the Alaskan backcountry.
Colorful braided rugs scattered about gave the lobby a warm, inviting feeling. On the far, opposite wall, flanked by tall, wide windows, a fireplace promised warmth during the cold winter months. Now all it needed was snow-covered mountains in the background to become Bradford’s idea of paradise.
We went directly to the desk where an older woman smiled a warm greeting when I gave her Mama’s name. Amelia Goldenrod, her name tag read, appeared to be an exact replica of the flower she was named for. Petite and flowerlike, her short, frizzy yellow hair sprigged in all directions, and dancing brown eyes that smiled with an energy and directness that immediately put one at ease. I liked her on sight.
“Welcome to the Baconton Writers’ Retreat, Mrs. Tucker.” She beamed in my direction. “You and Mr. Tucker are in the Flannery O’Conner cabin. Most of the attendees have arrived and are preparing for the opening workshop.
Bradford merely nodded, but I could tell from the frown that he was still harboring doubts about our assumed identities. Really, at times the man could try the patience of a saint waiting for the rapture. We’d spent most of last night arguing the pros and cons of my plan. Bradford didn’t believe we’d be able to pull it off, but I had faith we could. Sure, assuming my parents’ identities had its drawbacks, especially if we ran into someone we knew, or who knew my parents, but it would land us in the desired location. And I doubted that anyone would pay us much mind. Mama wasn’t in the big leagues, and not notable. From what I’d observed at the book launch, Vanessa’s acquaintances hadn’t given Mama any recognition. Besides, we’d keep to the background, thereby limiting our exposure to the players. Since Bradford didn’t have a better plan, I’d won the argument, and here we were at the mini-conference.
“Thank you, Mrs. Goldenrod.” I returned her infectious grin. “My husband and I are thrilled to be here. I understand Vanessa van Allen has arrived?”
The desk clerk punched several keys on a small computer. “Yes, she checked in early. You’ll find her in the Margaret Mitchell cabin.” Here, she cast me a shrewd look. “However, I believe Miss van Allen has requested privacy, and here, privacy is respected.” As the spiel continued Scarlett materialized behind the woman’s back and peered over her shoulder at the computer screen.
“Vanessa van Allen co-authored my wife’s cookbook. They’re friends of a sort.” Bradford’s frown melted into a smile sure to captivate any female.
Mrs. Goldenrod’s face didn’t flinch at his sugary tone. “Then I’m sure Miss van Allen will let her know when she’s free to receive visitors. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your cabin.” She handed me a packet. “Your itinerary.”
Silently, we followed her out of the lodge and down the pathway to the group of identical cabins surrounding the lake. The Flannery O’Conner cabin was indeed at the end of the row, butting up against the dark, lush forest that promised a symphony of night sounds to wake the dead. Good thing I’d brought along a big supply of sleeping pills.
Mrs. Goldenrod unlocked the door, and we followed her inside. “As per your instructions, Mrs. Tucker, I stocked the bar with whiskey and peanuts for Mr. Tucker.” She hurried over to a small bar just off the kitchenette and opened the cabinet doors to display the mentioned items. “Housekeeping will change the sheets and towels only if you request it. Ring the office and we’ll see to it. The kitchen is stocked with fresh local foods. If you require any additional foodstuffs, you’ll have to fetch it yourselves. The Internet password is listed in your itinerary. Well, if there’s nothing else you need, I’ll excuse myself so you can get to work.”
After the woman had shut the door behind her, I again surveyed the cabin with dismay. Good Lord, I’m in trouble. The small room was filled with furniture too heavy for the size of it—especially if the occupants were above average in height and weight. Not that Bradford and I were fat. No, but we were, as I said, above average. The double bed tucked over in the corner appeared to have come out of a dollhouse, and the only other soft surface was a love seat that wouldn’t be a sleeping option at all unless you were a leprechaun.
That meant Bradford and I would have to share the bed. Tight squeeze. Good or bad? Not sure I wanted the temptation. Even after three days of glorious sex with a younger man.
Bradford had the same uncertain gleam in his eyes when I turned to face him.
“Sorry for the tight quarters. I guess I didn’t think this through.”
His brows flickered a little. “As usual.”
Snow White materialized over his shoulder. “This is unacceptable, Sam. I demand better accommodations.” Her mouth puckered. “And we can’t all sleep in that poor excuse of a bed.”
“You ninny.” Scarlett’s tone matched her mood. “The bed is for them, not us. We’re way past that earthly function.”
“Over my dead body will they share that tiny bed,” Snow White shrilled as her anger intensified. Bradford’s aura pulsed blue under her assault.
“Exactly,” Scarlett purred, stretching her arms over her head provocatively as Bradford’s eyes bugged. “Now, you’re getting with the program. Shall we leave these two alone?” She winked at me suggestively. “I’m sure Jolene would appreciate a little privacy with Detective Delectable.”
I stepped toward the minuscule bathroom. No way was I gonna be sprayed with exploding aura.
“Enough of the squabbling, ladies,” Bradford’s voice cut through the sizzling atmosphere. “I need to speak with Vanessa, or her imposter, without raising suspicion. Any ideas? “
“We know she’s here,�
� Scarlett said, with a sultry smile. “In the Margaret Mitchell cabin. We start there. It’s the second bungalow from the lodge.”
“How are we going to handle this?” I asked Bradford. “Are we going to confront her?”
“No. First, we need to make a positive identification. If it’s truly Vanessa, then I’ll shift my investigation to the imposter. I need to identify her and find her body if possible. There’s still a murder to solve.”
Snow White materialized beside Bradford. “I’m Vanessa van Allen. The woman in that cabin is the imposter, I’m telling you. I’m the real deal.”
“We’ll see about that, missy.” Scarlett snorted. “Everything about you is false.”
“Like those silicone basketballs on your chest?” Snow White snickered. “Not much originality there.”
“Enough!” Bradford bellowed, his face red with anger. “Find a way to get along or get the hell out of here.”
The room fell into silence as we all surveyed the other. Snow White faded back into Bradford’s aura, leaving the three of us in the small room. Finally, Scarlett seemed to pull herself together and give a quick nod in Bradford’s direction. “What’s your plan, Boss?”
“Like I said, we need to identify the woman checked in as Vanessa van Allen.”
“How do we do that without confronting her?” I questioned.
“Carefully. Now let’s get moving. And try not to draw attention to yourselves.”
I didn’t budge. “In broad daylight? No way. Mrs. Eagle-eye Goldenrod is sure to catch us, and I’m not in the mood to go to jail. Not even for you. Come up with a better plan.”
“I could scout out the cabin with none the wiser,” Scarlett offered. “If she’s there, you can come up with another plan. If it’s empty, then you could proceed with a search.”
Bradford shook his head impatiently. “This is my case.”
“And this is my ass on the line,” I added. “Besides, I need to change my shoes. Scarlett will be back before I can dig them out of my suitcase.”
He gave in with a grunt, and Scarlett disappeared in a flash. Hurriedly, I retrieved my suitcase from beside the bed and dug around until I located my brown flats and a pair of comfortable jeans. I had just slipped them on when Scarlett reappeared.
“The cabin is empty. I observed the woman hiking in the woods.”
“Odd behavior for her, wouldn’t you think.” I joined Bradford at the door. “What about Mrs. Goldenrod?”
“In the kitchen stuffing her face,” Scarlett replied. “I did a quick recon of the area, and all the other attendees are occupied.”
With no further discussion, we slipped out the door and headed for the Margaret Mitchell cabin.
Chapter Eight
The Break-In
“Now what?” My voice intensified as I grew more anxious. We’d been poking around the cabin for a way in and thus far had found our efforts blocked by locked windows and front door. I was ready to call it quits and head back to our cabin for a bite to eat.
“Keep your voice down,” Bradford commanded in a strong whisper. “We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to our activities.”
We were hunkered down under the back window of the cabin behind a boxwood bush. We’d been unsuccessful in breaking and entering, and I was beginning to seriously question our investigative abilities. The woman would be returning before long, and our time had just about expired.
“Don’t you have a pick or something?” I mumbled to Bradford’s back. “I thought you guys were trained for this sort of thing.”
Bradford removed the window screen, placing it down beside me, then gave a forceful push on the window frame. It slid open a fraction, then stopped. “It’s stuck. Help me, Jolene.”
Together we gripped the window and pushed. Nothing. The window remained partially opened.
Bradford’s gaze swept down the length of my plus-size figure. “I don’t suppose you could squeeze through this opening?” A teasing grin twisted his mouth. “Take one for the team?”
My heart constricted at his shining eyes, and for a moment I remembered happier times. Sadly the moment vanished when the window suddenly sprang open on its own.
“What’s taking you guys so long?” Scarlett’s tone was contemptuous. “We need to get in and out of here. Quick. The woman won’t stay away forever.”
I wasted no time with a reply but heaved myself over the windowsill and into the room. Bradford followed. The layout of the cabin was identical to ours, but for the overly Southern belle influence. White lace everything. Curtains, bedspread, dollies, and fluffy pillows. Local landscapes dotted the walls and offered the only splashes of color to the room. Oh, and Vanessa’s belongings were scattered everywhere. The bathroom shared the same fate. Towels littered the floor and makeup spilled from a cosmetic case—covering the marble vanity top.
“Lord, what a pig,” I declared from the bathroom. “Looks like a bomb went off.”
“Or someone beat us here,” Bradford’s voice came from the main room. “This place has been searched.”
I stuck my head out of the bathroom. “What do you mean?”
“I agree with Detective Delectable,” Scarlett remarked from above. “Someone went out of his way to cover his tracks, but he was definitely here. See how the pictures aren’t quite straight?”
Slowly, my gaze traveled the room. I saw what she meant. To the casual observer it appeared that the occupant was indeed a slob, but overlying that impression was the distinct markings of a slow, methodical search. But for what? Jewels? Cash? I shook my head. That didn’t seem plausible here in this backwoods location. Even the Vanessa of my acquaintance wouldn’t be that stupid.
“What could he be after?” I mused aloud.
“Or she,” Bradford added.
He was digging through a pile of papers on an antique lady’s desk, his blue aura turning slightly purple. Without much ado, Snow White materialized beside him.
“Perhaps the imposter has absconded with my manuscript.” Her velvet eyes heightened the translucence of her face and neck. “That could be the key to this mystery.”
“You don’t mean that piece of trash you announced on Halloween.” I shot her a twisted smile. “And I do mean trash.”
Snow White’s brow rose a fraction. “Trash makes the bestsellers in my profession, my dear. Of course, you don’t know anything about my intricate world.”
Just as I started to respond with another stinging zinger, my cell phone shrilled from my back pocket.
Ignoring the scowl on Bradford’s face, I whipped out my phone. Deena. Dang. I forgot we were shopping for her wedding dress today. For the tenth damn time.
“Hey sis,” I answered. “Sorry I’m not there, yet. Flat tire,” I lied. “Can I reschedule?”
“I’m running out of time, Jolene,” Deena’s teary voice cracked over the line. “I haven’t found the perfect dress, plus the country club phoned this morning to tell me they’ve overbooked the clubhouse. Now I’m out a prime venue. What am I going to do? Please, Jolene, I’m depending on you.”
Deena’s panicked tone had me backtracking. Instead of helping my sister with her upcoming wedding I was scouring the countryside looking for Vanessa van Allen, or an imposter with her face. Even thinking it gave me a headache. Hurry, put on your thinking cap, woman. How can you be in two places at one time? Investigating or dress shopping? Former boyfriend or sister? How could I choose? Either way I was screwed.
Bradford’s pissed expression made the decision for me. “Listen, Deena, run out to the country club and personally speak with the manager, Gloria. She’s one of my best clients and will get to the bottom of the mix-up. I’ll meet you at the dress shop in two hours.” With that, I hung up and returned the phone to my back pocket, my eyes glued to Bradford’s face.
“I have to do this,” I said at his continuing silence. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Really, you don’t need me for this. Scarlett is the best at what she does. Trust me.”
I pocketed the keys and had moved over to the window when the front door knob rattled stopping me in midflight. Bradford made a motion of silence. Snow White ducked back into his aura, and Scarlett lounged confidently across the bed, her eyes shining with glee. Bitch. I shot her a bird just because and turned my attention back to my leader. The knob rattled again, and the soft murmur of voices could just be heard outside the door.
Bradford’s brow creased in concentration before pointing to the closet. I wagged my head in acknowledgment and crept silently in that direction. No such luck. The front door swung open freezing me to the floor. Outlined by the warm sunlight streaming through the doorframe stood a bear of a man. Red hair and beard. Mean eyes. Thin lips. On his chest a silver star. And in his meaty hand, a sawed-off shotgun pointed directly at me.
“Busted,” came a sugary voice from the bed. With my hands in the air I couldn’t shoot her another bird but, by God, at the next opportunity I was going to do a little ghostbusting of my own.
****
Greenwood County Sheriff Cleaster Snellgrove turned out to be colder and harder than Stone Mountain on a frosty winter morning. Added to that was Mrs. Goldenrod’s displeasure at finding the couple registered in the Flannery O’Conner cabin making themselves at home in the Margaret Mitchell cabin. It took several minutes of heavy explaining to get the sheriff to holster his weapon and allow us to drop our arms, although his hand rested in close proximity to his massive sidearm. Scarlett, who flittered around the grisly sheriff like a pollenating bumblebee, was downright disgusting. A dark flush stained her cheeks, and every once in a while, she would touch his sidearm and squeal with orgasmic delight. He, on the other hand, remained ignorant of the provocative ghost clinging to his side.
“I ought to kick you off the premises this instant,” Mrs. Goldenrod scolded. “This sort of thing is strictly prohibited.” We’d been shuffled outside before she closed and locked the door, and now we were standing on the front porch doing our best to appear contrite, and ignore Scarlett’s lustful play.
A Dead Pig in the Sunshine Page 6