“Stop,” Bradford ordered in his authoritative manner. “I’m Detective Samuel Bradford from Whiskey Creek, and I’m here in an unofficial capacity.” He fished his badge out of his back pocket.
Her hand dropped to her side. “I believe you’d better start explaining. Sheriff Snellgrove is on his way, and I’m sure he’ll be interested in your story.” Here she turned to me. “And I suppose you’re a police officer, too?”
“This is Jolene Claiborne, and she’s here at my request.” Bradford cut me off before I could answer. “I speak for us both.”
Bradford’s intense gaze quelled my impulse to deny that assumption. If he wanted to explain, then let him. Words failed me at the thought of another murder.
“I believe now would be a good time for you to get dressed, Jolene. I’ll accompany Mrs. Goldenrod to Vanessa’s cabin to await the sheriff.” Bradford plucked his shirt off the back of the chair. “You can meet us down there.”
I dressed in record time, pulled a brush through my tangled curls and anchored them behind my neck in a makeshift bun, applied light foundation to cover my bruised jaw, lipstick to my swollen lips, thanks to that missing she-devil, mascara, and blush for a dash of color. Not great, but it would have to do. A natural beauty I’m not.
When I arrived outside of Vanessa’s cabin, I noted the opened door. Bradford and Mrs. Goldenrod were nowhere in sight, so I assumed they must be inside. I eased through the door and surveyed the trashed cabin—clothes scattered everywhere, overturned furniture, and the coppery scent of blood—a smell you never forget.
I spied Bradford and Mrs. Goldenrod hunched over a small pattern of blood drops just outside the bathroom door. They both glanced up at my entrance.
“Be careful not to touch anything, Jolene,” Bradford cautioned. “This is a crime scene.”
Mrs. Goldenrod strode to the door. “I’ll wait for the sheriff on the porch and keep out any wondering guests.”
I stared at the blood, frowning. “Vanessa’s?”
Bradford snapped to his feet. “Forensics will determine that.” From his front shirt pocket, he withdrew a small notepad and pencil and began to sketch a basic drawing of the cabin.
“I assume you’re collecting evidence?” I questioned as he continued to jot down items on his notepad.
“No. The evidence technician will take care of that, assuming the sheriff’s department has one. I left my phone in the cabin, and since we don’t have a camera to document the scene, this is the next best thing for my personal investigation.” He paused to fix his stare on me. “When the sheriff arrives, we’ll be conducted from the crime scene and questioned. This is out of my jurisdiction. You need to join Mrs. Goldenrod outside. I don’t want you implicated in any way.”
A sudden movement from my peripheral vision drew my attention away from Bradford. The familiar Snow White costume flashed past me in a frantic dance across the room, bouncing from wall to wall. I drew in a deep, fortifying breath. “Your shadow friend has returned acting rather erratic. She appears to be lost. Perhaps you should call her and see if she responds to your voice.” I backed toward the door not willing to have another possession episode.
Bradford groaned. “I don’t believe I can stand much more of this ghostly madness. And where in the hell is Scarlett?”
“I believe she’s with Sheriff Snellgrove. She has a thing for his sawed-off shotgun. Go on, call Snow White, she’s making me dizzy.”
He gave me a wry grimace. “When we get back to the cabin, I want you to make an appointment with Madame Mia. I’m desperate.”
“Sure thing, boss, but for now, give it a try.”
Bradford pocketed his notepad. With a comical expression covering his face, he whispered Vanesa’s name several times with no response.
“Louder,” I advised.
“What about Mrs. Goldenrod?”
“Chance it.”
Bradford did as I had instructed, and Snow White materialized at his side.
Her ghostly energy flashed rainbow. “I saw myself again.”
Bradford fished out his notepad. “Where and when?”
“In the graveyard.”
My stomach did a flip. “What graveyard?”
“The one in the forest.”
Bradford and I exchanged puzzled glances. Bradford scribbled on his notepad. “What were you doing there? I mean Vanessa.”
“Arguing with that man.”
“What man?” we asked in union.
Snow White froze. “Gotta go. He’s coming,” she screeched and dove head first into Bradford’s aura.
Bradford staggered a step back at the sudden impact and dropped the notepad and pencil to the floor. As I bent down to retrieve the items, a voice boomed behind me.
“Well, slap my mammy and call her Sammy. Somehow, I knew y’all would return to the scene of the crime. Put your hands up real slow, now.”
With a slight of hand, I pocketed the notepad and pencil in my bra. Bradford winked an acknowledgement, and as I stood upright, we both raised our hands in the air and turned to face Sheriff Snellgrove.
****
I don’t blush easily, but the sight of Scarlett dry humping the sheriff’s sawed-off shot gun sent blood rushing to my cheeks. “Holy moly.” Bradford’s whispered words brought a smile, and I glanced over at his stunned expression. Got a good looksee at my horny ghost gal pal, did he? Good. Now he’ll understand my daily dose of Zanny to keep me sane and functioning in this wacked out invisible world.
I cleared my throat. “I think now would be a good time to give it a rest.”
My words had the necessary effect. Sheriff Snellgrove tilted his head and furrowed his brow, but Scarlett ceased her outrageous behavior. However, when her glazed blue-green eyes met mine, I could see she had achieved satisfaction.
With a slow languor, Scarlett detached herself from the robust sheriff and drifted over to the bed.
She yawned. “Time for my beauty sleep.”
I huffed. “Time for you to get to work.” Bradford shifted beside me, but I ignored him.
“Exactly,” Snellgrove said. “Y’all got some explaining to do, Detective Bradford, Miz Claiborne. But first, put your weapon on the floor, detective.”
Bradford did as ordered. I wasn’t packing, so I remained focused on Scarlett who continued to gaze at me with a silly, satisfied smile.
“Miz Claiborne, you wait outside with Miz Goldenrod,” Snellgrove ordered. “I’d like to have a private word with Detective Bradford.”
I gave Scarlett the evil eye and made for the door. Once outside I skirted the nervous head registrant and strode to a towering magnolia offering privacy from nosey ears. Scarlett and I needed a chat session. I had hoped that Snow White might join us, but she remained firmly attached to Bradford’s aura. At Scarlett’s arrival, I turned my back on Mrs. Goldenrod.
“I won’t waste any time on your not-so-nice activities, Scarlett. We’ve a new crisis to deal with.”
“I’m aware of that.”
The cool morning breeze brushed against my fevered cheek. “Anything to report? Or were you able to peel yourself away from temptation?”
“Jealous?”
“Redheads aren’t my type.”
Her ghostly sigh rattled the waxy leaves. “More for me, I say.”
“Get on with it, Scarlett. What do you know?”
“Well, Purgatory is in an uproar over that screwed-up arrival list. Heads were rolling when I took out of there—fast.”
“Nothing new?”
“Well, yeah, but you won’t be happy. Vanessa’s name is back on the list.”
The sights and sounds of early morning wrapped around me allowing Scarlett’s announcement, and the implications, to wash over me. Could the splattered blood be Vanessa’s? A shy morning sun spread its yellow rays across the still waters of the pond. The treetops stirred with the gentle fingers of a warming breeze, and from the branches sprang the melodious chirping of songbirds. Had to be. It was her cabin.
“What about C.H.?” I wondered aloud.
“Crossed out.”
“So Snow White is definitely Vanessa van Allen?”
“According to the list.”
“The list was wrong before, Scarlett.”
“Snow White insists she’s Vanessa. I believe her.”
I stared at the mirror-surfaced pond. “We need to speak with her. She observed Vanessa arguing with a man. Do you know of a cemetery in the vicinity?”
“There’s a small one in back of Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church. Been abandoned for years.”
“Can you show me?”
“Now? The sheriff won’t be happy if you disappear. And ole eagle eye has her sights on you.”
From a distance, a train whistled. I lifted my gaze from the pond to the opened cabin door. Bradford wouldn’t be pleased, but what other choice did I have? “I might not get another chance if I wait. You’ll have to distract her.”
“Not. She’s coming this way.” Scarlett faded into the branches of the magnolia.
I swung around at the sound of approaching footsteps. Mrs. Goldenrod’s brown eyes glittered with suspicion. “The sheriff sent me to fetch you, Miz Claiborne.”
Frustrated at my derailed plans, I stole a fleeing glance back at Scarlett tucked within the sheltering branches of the magnolia tree. “Wait for me here until I return.”
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Goldenrod shot me an anxious glance. “I’ll do no such thing.”
I shrugged, allowing Mrs. Goldenrod to believe I’d been speaking to her. Scarlett winked an acknowledgement, and I strode back to the cabin, uncertain how to answer the sheriff’s questions as Bradford and I hadn’t had time to synchronize our stories.
Snellgrove met me at the door and steered me to the small kitchenette table. I took the indicated seat, all the while swiveling my head to locate Bradford.
“He’s keeping my deputy company.” Snellgrove eased into the chair opposite me, his smile never making it to his eyes.
Every sense on high alert, I kept my mouth shut, and my gaze locked on his. I’d been through this a number of times and had learned to reveal as little as possible about anything. Give just enough to appear cooperative and then fake the rest.
“Why the pretense?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, Miz Claiborne, cut the crap. Answer the question.”
“Clarify the question, Sheriff, and I will.” Breathe. Breathe. Stay cool.
“I want to know why you and Detective Bradford checked in as Annie Mae and Harland Tucker. Why the pretense?”
Truth this time. “We were concerned for Miss van Allen’s safety. My parents decided to skip the retreat. Their absence afforded us with an opportunity to keep an eye on Vanessa.”
Snellgrove curled his lip. “Is that what you were doing in here earlier? Keeping an eye out for Miss van Allen?”
“Yes, Detective Bradford was concerned for her safety. There were several veiled threats spoken against her on Halloween night. Not too many people are in favor of the book she’s writing. It has the potential to ruin lives.”
Thankfully, a lone deputy entered the cabin with a large, black box I recognized from previous crime scenes. The crime scene technician. Sheriff Snellgrove stood up and strode over to the man giving me time to gather my forces. If only I knew what Bradford had told him? What to do? What to do? I dropped my head into my hands and prayed like hell for reinforcements to rescue me from any further questioning.
“Sweep the area, Jack.” I heard the sheriff directing his man. “Look for the obvious.”
And not so obvious, dummy. Every investigator knows this.
“And not so obvious,” the sheriff added.
Okay, so he’s not a dummy. I’d better stop assuming he’s clueless and pay attention to this good-ole-boy. Heavy footsteps alerted me that he was headed my way. I lifted my head just as he stopped beside the table.
“You’re free to go, Miz Claiborne, but keep yourself available for further questioning.”
I stood and faced him. “I’m returning to Whiskey Creek today, but will happily return at your request.”
He dug his notepad out of his front pocket and repeated my phone number. “Correct?”
“You may reach me at that number or at Dixieland Salon.”
Sheriff Snellgrove snapped shut his notepad and shoved it back into his pocket. “See that you don’t leave the area, Miz Claiborne. You and Detective Bradford won’t be in the clear until Miss van Allen is found safe and sound. Remember that.” He directed his gaze to the splattered blood drops. “I’d be praying if I were you. This doesn’t look good.”
Chapter Twelve
My Ass Is on the Line
I found Bradford pacing the floor when I returned to the cabin. He flew to my side as I strode through the door.
“How’d it go?” His voice reflected his mood. Tight. Concerned. Worried.
I willed my muscles to relax. “I told the truth.”
“What! For God’s sake, Jolene. The truth?”
“Yes, the truth minus our other worldly visitors. That we’re concerned for Vanessa’s safety.” I slanted a reproving look. “What about your story?”
His aura flickered as he sank down into an overstuffed chair. “Pretty much the same. Vanessa’s well-being. He put in a call to the chief.”
“How’d that go?”
“Could’ve been worse. The chief is still sore at my leaving, but he vouched for me and assured Sheriff Snellgrove that I’d be around until this incident was cleared up. I have to be in his office in an hour.”
At the mention of his leaving, I shifted my gaze from his and dodged around him. The last thing I needed was him seeing how much I wanted him to stay. Determined to hold my own, I dug around in my purse until I found my phone. Two voicemails. One from Deena. Of course. And the other from Mama.
“I’ll get my things together as soon as I return these calls,” I told him without turning around.
“Take your time. I’ll finish packing and start loading the truck.”
Deena’s frantic voice left no doubt that another crisis had struck in her never-ending nuptial plans. I punched in her number and got her voicemail. Leaving a message promising to meet her at the bridal shop by ten, I then listened to Mama’s message. Apparently, my parents had decided to check out timeshares and would be home in a couple of days. Not having a lot of time to talk, I sent her a text message relaying my support. With that out of the way, I repacked my suitcase and cosmetic case. Bradford wasn’t back by the time I’d finished, so I hauled myself and my luggage to the truck where he was waiting for me. I threw my suitcase and cosmetic case in the backseat with his.
“I left our contact information with Mrs. Goldenrod,” he said, as I slipped in the front seat beside him. “She’s decided to close down the retreat for a couple of weeks until this blows over. The other guests have to make other accommodations. I heard several making plans to return to Whiskey Creek since Snellgrove ordered them to stay in the area.”
“Before we leave, I need to fill you in on a couple of new facts.” I scanned his aura for any sign of Snow White. Yep. Still sticking to him like glue. “Scarlett finally gave me a condensed update on Vanessa.”
Bradford perked up. “Yeah? What? Good news I hope.”
“This riddle just keeps getting weirder every day. C.H. has been crossed off the list and Vanessa’s name is back on it.” I buckled my seat belt. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Nothing’s changed.” Bradford fired up the engine. “We’ve got to find Snow White’s body and locate the missing Vanessa if she’s still alive.”
“The blood could belong to someone else.”
“True. I want to check out the cemetery Snow White mentioned at the crime scene.”
“Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church. It’s been abandoned for years but it’s the only one in the vicinity according to Scarlett.”
Bradford backed the truck onto
the dirt road leading out of the forest and shifted into drive. “Any chance she’s available to show us?”
I shook my head. “She’s gone to only God knows where, but it’s somewhere close by. Should we try to find it ourselves?”
Bradford glanced into his rearview mirror. “Now’s not a good time.”
I glanced at the passenger side mirror. No tail. “Now’s the best time.” The soft strands of a classical guitar from the CD player filled the cab as we crept along the dusty road leading to the main highway to Whiskey Creek.
Finally, Bradford spoke. “My ass is on the line, Jolene. I’ve got to return to the station and give the chief a rundown on my activities. You, too, have obligations waiting. We’ll reconnect later today and compare notes and decide how to proceed. Hopefully, by that time, you can make contact with Scarlett, and Snow White will come out of hiding with more information to share. Agreed?”
I agreed to his plan and fell silent for the remainder of the trip into town. Bradford dropped me off at my house on Pineknoll, promising to call later. Glad to be home, I unpacked before fetching my cat, Tango, from the vet. After settling in back home, I showered and changed and drove over to the salon to check on business before my scheduled meeting with Deena. Perhaps she’d hadn’t left for the bridal salon yet and we could ride together.
I entered Dixieland Salon amid a babble of women’s voices and marched up to the reception desk where Holly had just hung up the phone. The familiar smell of chemicals washed around me like a warm summer breeze. Ah, home sweet home.
“Is Deena in her office, Holly?” I gazed around the packed reception area. By the looks of things, business was hopping. Hopefully, Billie Jo would be over the stomach flu in a couple of days.
Holly swept back her overly long bangs. “She left about five minutes ago for her appointment. She wanted me to hurry you along if you stopped in. Oh, and your book is full for tomorrow. You will be back, right?”
“Yes, indeed. What time is my first appointment?”
A Dead Pig in the Sunshine Page 9