A Dead Pig in the Sunshine

by Penny Burwell Ewing

  “Thank, sis. I may take you up on that but not today. I need to get home. Preston’s picking me up at seven.”

  “This isn’t going away, Jolene. You’ve got to choose between Sam and Preston,” she said as she walked me to my car.

  I slid behind the wheel. “No, I don’t. Bradford is leaving Whiskey Creek as soon as he closes on his ranch.”

  “He has a buyer?”

  “Yes, he delivered the news yesterday morning.”

  “So you’ve decided not to relocate to Wyoming?”

  “I’m not leaving Whiskey Creek.” I shut the door and fired up the engine. In the rearview mirror, I could see Deena wave as I pulled out of the rear parking lot and headed for the house.

  ****

  Thirty minutes before Preston’s expected arrival the doorbell rang. I opened the door to see Bradford leaning on the doorjamb. My gaze froze on his long, lean form, and I swallowed back the sudden lump in my throat. Butterflies assaulted my stomach as a rush of warmth poured over me, and I realized that I loved him. Jolene Claiborne had done the unthinkable and fallen madly, passionately, head-over-heels in love with Samuel Bradford. Christ. Shoot me now.

  “Hey, sunshine.” He removed his Stetson. “Got a minute?”

  My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth while the earth rocked beneath my feet. Sheer terror filled my veins with ice, but I stepped back and opened the door wider.

  He crossed the threshold, and removed his hat. “Nice shoes. They match the red in your dress.” His eyes met mine. I struggled to breathe. Say something. Do something. Yet, I stood there speechless, locked in my own nightmare. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Pull it together, Claiborne. Love doesn’t last. Fight it.

  “I have a date.” My voice was strangely calm, all emotion held in check by iron will. I wouldn’t crumble. I wouldn’t touch him. I wouldn’t give in to the love choking me.

  “With the doctor?” His voice held a spark of sadness.

  I steeled myself against its appeal. “Yes, with Preston.”

  The blue in his eyes faded. “Well, I won’t stay. I wanted to go over the details of your encounter last night at the Maco mansion. Officially.”

  I moved into the den like a frozen zombie and eased down on one of the wingback chairs flanking the fireplace. Bradford sank onto its twin. He pulled out a small notepad from his front shirt pocket. “You reported finding a woman’s body in the basement at 1288 Sixth Street, correct?”

  “Vanessa van Allen, yes.”

  “The body hasn’t been identified.” His voice was wooden. “The fire consumed the house and garage. Are you sure it was Vanessa van Allen?”

  The image of Vanessa’s still face rose in my mind. “It was her. She was wearing the ruby ring.”

  “A ring wasn’t recovered.”

  “No ring? I saw it. Vanessa had the ring.” My voice rose with disbelief.

  “The medical examiner didn’t find any jewelry on the body, Jolene.”

  “Betty came back for her ring,” I declared, certain of my conclusions. “She’s guilty as sin. I presume she has an alibi.”

  “You are correct. Betty denies any involvement in the Maco fire or Vanessa’s whereabouts. Sophia swears they hadn’t left the residence since yesterday morning. The neighbors collaborated the story. The physical evidence was destroyed by the fire. And since the body hasn’t been identified, Betty wasn’t informed of Vanessa’s death.”

  “Did you find a connection between Hazel Jessup and Betty van Allen?”

  “Not yet. Still checking. These things take time.” He tucked the notepad back into his front shirt pocket and rose. “That’s all I need for now, but I will have more questions as the investigation continues. The State’s Fire Marshal’s arson investigator has been called in along with the GBI. Can you give me a description of the car?”

  “I’m not sure, but I believe it was a blue four door late model Cadillac.”

  He jotted the description down on his notepad. “Any specific features you can remember about the car that would help to identify it?”

  I shook my head. “No. What about Snellgrove?”

  “Solid alibi.”

  “So, it’s my word against theirs?”

  “For now, yes. I’ll be in touch.” He strode to the door, then turned to face me and brushed a light kiss upon my lips.

  I shut the door with a soft click, and leaned against the panel with a heavy heart. Seconds later, I heard the roar of his diesel engine and crunching tires as he backed out of the driveway and drove away. Peeling myself from the door, I went into the hall bathroom and dabbed my watery eyes with a tissue. From the master bedroom Tango’s purring sounded, and I tracked back to the bedroom to gather a light sweater against the chill. In the bedroom, I plucked a white cashmere wrap from the closet and draped it over my shoulders. Gathering my purse, I left Tango curled in a ball in the middle of the bed, and made my way to the kitchen to wait for Preston.

  As I pulled out a chair, a dense fog boiled out of the opened pantry door and twisted into the wavering form of a woman I never wanted to see again.

  Queen of the Vampires. Vanessa van Allen.

  Before I could utter a sound, another fog bank rolled out of the pantry.

  Geez, enough already. Careen Halsey still costumed as Snow White with golden handcuffs dangling from her skinny wrist.

  And last—but certainly not least—the storm clouds spit out one pissed-off heavenly bounty hunter in black jeans and leather. Scarlett leveled a gleaming silver handgun at the twins, then cocked a wry smile over her shoulder at me. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Three Witches of Whiskey Creek

  “Get them outta here, Scarlett,” I shouted, my face hot and frowning. “I’m not dealing with this ordeal any longer. All of you get outta my kitchen.”

  “Not until my manuscript is in my agent’s hands,” Vanessa van Allen haughtily proclaimed. “Heaven can wait. The next bestseller can’t.”

  “Bestseller? How dare you pass off my work as yours,” Careen screeched, her ghostly figure bobbing in the air like a child pulling a balloon string. “Peaches Noble had you pegged correctly. You can’t write squat. I’m the true talent in the room. You’re nothing but a murderer.”

  “Killer? I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Ha. You murdered me.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did.”

  I placed my hands over my ears as the two began squabbling between them. Finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I stalked out of the kitchen and back to my bedroom. Tango wasn’t in sight. Probably cowering under the bed with the house invaded by the three witches of Whiskey Creek. The clock on the nightstand read 6:57. Great. Preston should be here any minute. The doorbell rang. Scarlett materialized beside me. “Your date is here, and you look like hell.”

  I glanced in the dresser mirror, grimacing back at the frazzled woman. I did look like hell. My flushed face and angry expression added a decade to my forty years. Forty. Christ. I was too old for all this drama. “Scarlett, please go away and take them with you. I’m finished with the evil twins. They can go to Hell where they belong.”

  “Boy, you are in a funk. It won’t be easy, but we’ll be gone by the time you get back from your date. I promise.”

  I left the three witches of Whiskey Creek battling it out in the kitchen and made my way to the front door.

  Preston whistled when I opened the door. “Wow, you look scrumptious tonight, darling.”

  Darling. Crap. I forced a weak smile and took his offered arm. “Thank you, Preston. You look nice yourself.”

  Dressed in a dark, casual suit, he made a dashing figure. Not ruggedly handsome like Bradford, but clean cut and nice. Husband material Mama would say. However, I wasn’t Mama and wanted no husband. Depending on how the evening progressed, this might be our last date. If he pulled out the “‘I love you” card, he’d be history.

  With my feeling
s riding on my shoulder, I allowed him to hand me into his white Lexus SUV. I snapped my seatbelt and struggled to keep a smile on my bland face. Disaster surrounded me like the cashmere sweater draped on my shoulders as the urge to dump him mounted. Better to do it in the driveway where I could make a quick escape. My stomach clenched and unclenched as butterflies again assaulted my belly. Anxiety nipped at my heels. God, why hadn’t I downed a Zanny before leaving?

  Preston jumped into the driver’s seat, buckled his belt, and started the engine. “Is everything okay with you, Jolene? You’re quiet.”

  I gazed out the window at the streetlights casting a merry glow on Pinecone Lane. Most houses lining the streets had warm, yellow light spilling from the windows, and I could imagine happy families sitting down together for the evening meal. Turning away from the window, I threw a wary eye at him. “Deena’s wedding is almost here, and as Maid of Honor, I’ve been the go-to guy. Billie Jo is out for the remainder of her pregnancy, and we’re short staffed at the salon.” I left out my part in Bradford’s investigation. The atmosphere was tense enough. “Mama and Daddy might put the farm up for sale and move to Florida, and Tango discovered a nest of mice in my laundry room. My superpowers have abandoned me.”

  “Is there anything I can do to ease the strain?”

  Yeah, take me home and find a nice girl to settle down with. I shook my head. “No, but thanks for asking. A glass of wine will brighten my mood.” Or two or three, I left unsaid.

  We hopped on I-75 and drove south to Valdosta, spending most of the trip in casual conversation. Each time Preston deftly steered the dialogue back to us, I redirected it to safer ground. My goal for the evening remained steadfast—return to Whiskey Creek unscathed by relationship drama that occurs when one party, being me, wasn’t all that into the other, being him.

  An hour later, we were seated at Freddie’s Steak and Seafood in downtown Valdosta. The waiter poured two glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon to accompany our prime rib steaks and hurried away to bring our salads.

  “My coworkers at the hospital rave about the prime rib here, Jolene.” Preston swirled his wine in the crystal glass, brought it to his nose, whiffed, and then took a sip. “Excellent.” He set down his drink.

  I gulped two mouthfuls. “I prefer a cheap brand of blackberry wine, but okay, just as long as my glass stays full.”

  A frown furrowed his brow. “Perhaps you should slow down, my dear. I don’t want you too relaxed. I have an important question to ask you.”

  I set down my glass and reached for the basket of rolls the waiter placed on the table. “No questions tonight, Preston. My mind is crammed with other issues. For both of our sakes, don’t push. I really shouldn’t have come tonight seeing how I’m so outta sorts.”

  My words had the necessary effect. Preston turned his attention to the salad placed in front of him, and for five minutes, we consumed the food in front of us in awkward silence. My mood continued to deteriorate as the meal progressed.

  As the waiter cleared away the dirty dishes from the table, Preston reached inside his jacket and brought out a small, black box. He placed it in front of me. My wineglass froze mid-air.

  “I know it’s only been three months since we started dating,” he said with a hopeful smile. “But I’ve grown extremely fond of you, and hope to take our relationship to the next level. Open the box.”

  With shaking hands, I set the wineglass down on the pristine linen tablecloth. In the background couples were chatting, glasses clinking, laughter and gaiety blended with soft music. The perfect backdrop for a marriage proposal. I balked, my arms cast in cement at my side.

  “Go ahead, open it,” Preston said, his eyes shining like a young boy with a new toy to share with a friend. “It won’t bite.” He reached for the box and began to open it. My hand snaked out and covered his.

  “I see dead people,” I announced over the background noise. “Not only do I see them, I talk to them.”

  The chatter around us ground to a halt. The waiter paused, cast me a horrified look, and scampered away with a tray of deserts. Several pairs of eyes watched me with disbelief before turning their heads to avoid my hostile stare.

  Preston cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how to respond to that, my dear. If you don’t want to live with me, then say so, but please don’t make up lies to hide your true feelings.”

  I blinked at him, my anger building. “No one calls me a liar but my mama, and that’s only because she can. I’m trying to be nice here but you’re making it hard. Whatever gave you the ridiculous notion that I’d be interested in marrying you?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “The only thing I wanted from you was sex. Sex and only sex. Not I-love-yous or any other nonsense. Especially after three months of casual dating.”

  He laughed loudly, drawing more curious looks our way. “Casual dating? God, what a fool I am. You’re in love with that detective you’re playing around with.” He opened the box to display a pair of exquisite diamond dangle earrings. “These were a gift to show you my affection and dedication to our relationship. Marriage? Yes, I want that someday. But not now. We’re not ready.”

  My temper took a dive at his crestfallen features. Remorse rushed in. “I’m sorry, Preston, but you said you had an important question to ask me. I assumed you were going to propose with that ring box in your hand.”

  “Never assume, Jolene. I wanted to ask you to be my one and only. That’s all, but it seems I’ve made a horrible fool out of myself.”

  ****

  The three witches of Whiskey Creek were waiting for me when Preston dropped me off around eleven. The ride back home had been uncomfortable, and my predication of a last date came true. Preston walked me to the front door, told me goodbye, and then turned on his heel and drove away.

  Exhausted with the emotional rollercoaster, I ignored the bickering coming from the kitchen and made a beeline for my bedroom to see Scarlett lounging on my bed like a sleeping tiger.

  “You promised you’d be gone.” I launched my purse at her, only to see it pass through her wavering figure to land in the middle of the bed. “You lied.”

  “I do that on occasion,” she answered with a yawn. “How’s your latest boy toy? Not good?”

  “You could say that. Now please leave.”

  “I can’t without them, and the pair are proving to be a handful.”

  I kicked off my heels and peeled out of the dress and hose. “Then shut them up so I can go to bed.”

  “Can’t do that either.”

  “Where’s Tango?” I peered under the bed in my bra and panties.

  “How should I know? Your pussy doesn’t like me.”

  “He and I share that sentiment.” I went into the bathroom to take a shower. When I emerged ten minutes later, my mood had improved, and I felt better equipped to help my unwanted guests cross over to the Other Side.

  Scarlett still lounged on my bed. “He’ll call you after his anger cools, Jolene. I know men. They always cave when the sex is good.”

  “Preston isn’t my concern at the moment, Scarlett. The house needs cleaning of three unwanted guests.” Dressed in a short, flannel nightie, I padded into the kitchen, and stood next to the stove watching the evil twins circling one another like two roosters in a henhouse. Geez. What did I ever do to the Universe to deserve this?

  Scarlett appeared next to me. “Writers make the worst ghosts, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I cocked a snide smile. “Not just writers, Scarlett. Now help me put an end to this confrontation so I can get some sleep.”

  “Have any suggestions?”

  “You’re the bounty hunter.”

  A loud whistle blasted my eardrums, and I clamped my hands over my ears. The evil twins stopped bickering to turn and look our way. I dropped my hands to my sides and opened my mouth wide to stop the ringing in my ears.

  “Okay, hear this,” Scarlett began, “The long, black train leaves the station in five minutes, go
t it? Any last words you have to say, now’s the time.” The golden handcuffs shackled Vanessa to Careen. Both screeched a loud protest, then both said in union, “Me first.”

  “I want to question Vanessa.” I plopped down on a seat at the table. “Careen, you keep quiet for now.”

  Careen settled down. “Only if I get justice.”

  “Agreed. Here’s the rules: I question, you answer. No interruptions, no arguing.”

  The evil twins cast mean looks at the other, but finally nodded their heads. Scarlett supervised from the stovetop.

  “First question, Vanessa. Did you murder Careen?”

  “No. She’s my paycheck.”

  “Who did?”

  “Her brother, Michael.”

  “That’s a lie,” Careen burst out, pulling against the handcuffs.

  “No, it’s the truth,” Vanessa declared. “I saw him from my hiding place in the garage. Remember our phone call? We agreed to meet there and switch places. You were to disappear, and I would assume my rightful place as Vanessa van Allen as we’d done many times before.”

  “Mistaken identity. Go on,” I urged.

  “As soon as Careen shut the garage door behind her, I heard a muffled gunshot, and saw Careen crumple to the floor. Michael stood over her with a small handgun with a silencer. They must’ve planned to kill me from the beginning. Believing he’d shot me, he hid the gun on the top shelf behind some boxes, then returned to the party. In one minute, he’d destroyed my well-laid plans.”

  “So you covered up the crime by moving the body?”

  “Yes. I dragged Careen to the back of the garage, covered her with an old blanket before slipping into the house. As planned, my Snow White costume perfectly matched Careen’s, and no one knew the difference. Not even Michael. He thought I was Careen when he cornered me in the butler’s pantry to tell me the deed was done. I convinced him it would be best for me to get rid of the body, and he left when the party broke up. At my first chance, I told Mother everything. We planned the fight with Sam to get rid of him. I retrieved the gun, then we moved the body.”

  “You and your mother?”