Dipped to Death

by Kelly Lane

  “Silly me. I forgot to ask. Would y’all like some tea, Eva?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve made some olive leaf tea. It’s full of antioxidants.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  “Daph, I thought you said that all the guests had gone out for lunch.”

  Daphne sipped her tea before answering.

  “Mmm, this is yummy,” she said to herself. Then she looked up at me and smiled. “Yes. I did. I saw their rental car pull out a while ago.”

  “If you were counting heads, you missed at least one person. Claudia is still here.”

  “Oh dear! Do you think Miss Devereaux would like some lunch? Precious isn’t here right at the moment. Still, I should go upstairs and check.”

  Daphne’s delicate teacup tinked as she set it on the saucer.

  “I wouldn’t bother, Daph. I didn’t get the impression that Claudia is hungry,” I said. “Not at all, actually.”

  “Hmm. Alright, then. Perhaps she needs some alone time. I hear she was the poor dead man’s assistant. She must be in shock.”

  “Must be.”

  “Perhaps I’ll send up a fresh steaming pot of olive leaf tea for her . . .”

  “Really, don’t bother. She’s not the tea type.”

  “A good, strong cup of olive leaf tea with some milk and honey might relax her . . . Don’t y’all know it, a shock like that can really kick the stuffing out of a person.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Claudia’s screeching was still ringing in my head. Shock or not, something about the whole library episode wasn’t right . . . Still, I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Daphne took another dainty sip of her tea, pausing for a moment as she considered the taste in her mouth. Then she set the teacup down on the saucer again.

  “Eva, I need you to go to town for me this afternoon. With all that’s happened, finding that poor Mister Codman in the pond and all”—Daphne shuddered—“I wasn’t able to take care of a few errands that I’d planned for today. And now, now that everyone has finally left, I’ve got to prepare for this evening. Besides, it’ll be good for you to get off the plantation for a while. Clear your head. You must be in shock yourself . . . finding another dead person, like that.”

  I nodded.

  So much for my afternoon off.

  “I’ve called Precious. She’s comin’ over from Greatwoods. She’s got some errands in town, and she’ll be here any minute now. Y’all can go to town together.”

  I’d wrecked my own car earlier that summer. And because I’d forgotten to pay my auto insurance, I’d not been able to replace my totaled car. So when I wanted or needed to go anywhere, I was forced to beg, borrow, or steal vehicles from family and friends. Unless Daphne arranged a ride for me.

  Eye roll.

  “And where, exactly, will I be going?”

  “I need you to drop off some olive leaves and bark to Joy Birdsong at the Birdsong Botanicals shop on Main Street. It’s all packaged up, waiting for you on the wicker table out on the back porch.”

  “I’m curious: Why am I delivering tree bark and leaves to Joy Birdsong?”

  “Joy’s agreed to sell our dried olive leaves in the shop, as well as our new olive leaf tea, once I get the pricing and packaging figured out, of course. But also, she suggested we come up with some olive leaf and herb tea blends. You know, like a blend of olive leaf and chamomile, for relaxing and bedtime. She’s going to try some different combinations for me and then suggest a recipe or two.”

  “I see . . .”

  “She’s just a whiz about ethnobotanicals and all the like. She’s even earned a master’s degree in ethnobotany—did y’all know that?” Daphne picked up her cup and inhaled the steam coming from the tea inside the cup. “Although, I suspect most of her knowledge about such matters comes from her family.”

  She took another sip.

  “Her family?”

  “They’re all Cherokee.”

  I shook my head. “Gosh, Daphne, good to know you don’t stereotype people.”

  “Why, of course I don’t.”

  I shook my head again.

  “Okay. Olive leaves to Joy Birdsong, got it. Where else am I going?”

  “I’ve made up a pretty basket with our best olive oils, plus some handmade olive oil soaps and bath oils. Please bring it to Pottie Moss Diggs at the Naturist B&B in town. Do you know where that is?”

  “I think I can find it.”

  “Good. She won’t be expecting you.”

  “And why am I going to surprise Pottie Moss with a basket of our best olive oil products?”

  “Her establishment is where our guests were staying before they decided to jump ship and stay with us yesterday. Although I was delighted to take our new guests’ money and fill our place up for the week—of course, I’d no idea that one of them would up and die in our farm pond—I don’t relish that I poached these guests from another local business. So, I’m sending you over with a peace offering . . . the basket. Hopefully, Pottie Moss will forgive me for stealing her guests. And Eva, Miss Devereaux said that accommodations over there were positively appalling. I’d love to know what you see.”

  “Okay. Got it. Deliver olive leaves to Joy. Then, deliver guilt basket while spying on Pottie Moss’s operation. Anything else you want me to do?”

  “Yes! I almost forgot. There’s a big box of used corks that need to go to the hardware store. Although they always collect corks and send them off to be recycled, they’ve been having a special cork recycling contest this week, and I promised Merle Tritt that I’d bring the corks to his store before the contest ends this weekend. So, it’s got to be done by close of business today! I promised him. You can pick up the box of corks at the warehouse before y’all go to town.”

  “Got it. Olive leaves. Guilt basket. Corks.”

  “That should be it. Oh, and Eva, please don’t forget that you agreed to help the Abundance Garden Club members during our annual village refresher tomorrow afternoon. It’ll just take a couple of hours. I signed you up to do brush pile cleanup. It’ll be fun!”

  “Gee, thanks. Whenever I think of fun, I always think of cleaning up piles of brush.”

  “Please don’t be sarcastic, Eva, dear. It’s all for a good cause. Daddy’s leant us a tall ladder, and we’ve even managed to borrow a couple of chain saws from folks, to remove some of those dead and low limbs on the trees in the boulevard median. They’re such an eyesore! The limbs, not the chain saws.” Daphne giggled. “And I daresay, those big tree limbs are a potential danger. Remember after that dreadful storm a few weeks ago? When that giant limb fell onto Louisiana Heenehan’s Mercedes while she was gettin’ a perm in the beauty parlor?”

  I started to say, that’s what Louisiana gets for patronizing Tammy Fae Tanner’s beauty salon. Still, I held my tongue. After all, Shear Southern Beauty was the only beauty parlor in town. Tammy Fae never forgave me for leaving her only son, Buck, at the altar, and since my return home that summer, she’d done her darnedest to besmirch my name in the community. Of course, operating the only salon in town, she had the ear of nearly every woman in Abundance, and a bunch of men as well. I heard that just since my return home that summer, she’d dredged up and disseminated every scandalous thing she could about me, and then some. What gossip she couldn’t turn up, she’d made up.

  “Why, poor Louisiana Heenehan is still fighting with her insurance company!”

  “She can afford the repairs, I’m sure,” I said.

  Longtime local farmer Louisiana Heenehan was making a fortune in her new role as the self-published author of a scandalous book series of erotica, written under the pen name Kitty Kipple.

  “Don’t be cruel, Eva. That lovely
Mercedes convertible was Louisiana’s pride and joy. Before that, all she and her husband owned were farm trucks and used Chevies. We should all be happy for her success. Although, I’m sorry I didn’t think of the idea to write steamy sex stories based on folktales and nursery rhymes myself . . .”

  “Omigosh.”

  “They’re quite titillating, actually. Perhaps you should read one? Especially while you’re without a squeeze . . . I have a copy in my room.”

  “No! Please. Anything but that.”

  “Oh, Eva, dahhwr-lin, y’all are such a stick-in-the-mud. Why you’ll nevahh get married if you keep carryin’ on this way.”

  “Stop. Please. Respect my man moratorium.”

  “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee. Are we still talking about that nonsense?”

  “Yes. Only it isn’t nonsense. I have come to fully understand and appreciate the fact that when it comes to men, I am positively clueless and inept. Therefore, I am respectfully abstaining from any relations with the opposite sex. At least until I figure men out.”

  “Eva, women have been tryin’ to understand men since the beginning of time. Y’all need to quit procrastinatin’ and find yourself a nice, eligible, trainable bachelor. One with looks, good genetics, and enough charm to keep you swept of your feet. Literally. And lots of money, of course.”

  Daphne let out a snigger . . . Clearly, she’d amused herself. I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

  “Please, Daph, enough. It’s not the day for it.”

  Daphne prattled on. “Also, on Monday, don’t forget that you’re skipping our usual jujitsu class . . .”

  That would be the weekly class that Daphne insisted that I attend with her. I’d actually enjoyed learning jujitsu, although I’d never let Daphne know.

  “Instead of jujitsu class, you’re going to help the twins set up a special picnic dinner on Alligator Island for our guests during their swamp tour with Skeets Diggs—that’s Pottie Moss Diggs’s brother. She’ll probably be helping him on the trip as well. I hear she does that. And that’s another reason I want to send Pottie Moss the basket today. We can’t afford to have her deep-six the picnic because I stole her guests. Anyway, Precious will have everything for the picnic prepared, packed, and ready to go. All you have to do is accompany the Boston folks on their swamp tour. Then once you get to Alligator Island, you’re to set up the picnic and serve the food and beverages. The twins will help you. It should be easy peasy. I’m told that there’s a picnic site with tables and barbecue grills permanently installed there.”

  “Really? On Alligator Island? That’s new.”

  Alligator Island was a decrepit little island located right in the middle of the Big Swamp. Growing up, the uninhabited island had been a “secret” scary hangout for kids, a favorite haunt for hunters, and a popular hideout for lawbreakers. Now, apparently, like most everything else in the county, it’d been transformed into a tourist destination.

  “Yes, well, a lot has changed since you ran off eighteen years ago.”

  I’ll say.

  “It’s not like you were here the entire time, either, Daph! Have you completely forgotten about moving to Atlanta, getting married, taking exotic vacations, having five kids, getting divorced . . .”

  Daphne ignored me.

  “So, back to our guests. On Monday, they’ve requested alcohol for the swamp trip, and since the twins are just of age, and quite immature if you haven’t noticed—”

  “I’ve noticed!” I grimaced. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

  “Well, at any rate, I don’t want the twins pouring liquor. I don’t think they know much about alcoholic drinks. I want you to manage the situation. And if the picnic somehow goes to hell in a handbasket, by all means, start pouring drinks. The more the better. I want our guests to be happy, happy, happy. Which reminds me, Skeets agreed to take our guests on a very special, custom swamp tour. Y’all will be leaving from the old Taylor Farm, taking Snake River, which runs behind the Taylor property to the Big Swamp, instead of Skeets’s usual jump-off point at the Big Swamp dock over by the chemical plant.”

  “Taylor Farm? Oh gosh, I remember that place! I haven’t been there in years, of course. Buck used to take me to the farm pier on Snake River to watch his friends shoot off fireworks from Alligator Island. It was all so romantic . . .”

  Daphne’s eyebrows pinched together. She puckered her mouth, like she’d eaten something foul.

  “I’m sure that whatever Buck Tanner and his hooligan friends were up to was all quite illegal.”

  “Now, now, Daph,” I chided. “You used to like Buck yourself, remember . . .”

  Daphne threw her hands up in protestation.

  “If, at any time in my life, I had any proclivities toward Buck Tanner, it was only because I was young and foolish.”

  “And horny!” called out my middle sister, Pep, as she trotted into the kitchen. The porch door slammed behind her. She broke out into peals of piglet snorts and giggles.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Heavenly day, Pepper-Leigh!” Daphne let out a big sigh. “You positively shock me with your vulgar language. What a terrible thing to say. Besides, it’s not at all true. And, what on earth are y’all wearing today? Good gravy!”

  Grinning, Pep ran her hand through her spiky, short-cropped platinum hair. At five feet two inches, with flawless porcelain skin, a pert little nose, and seductive gray eyes rimmed with some thick, smoky liner, Pep was a bit shorter and distinctly curvier than either Daphne or I. She wore a black tee shirt with ripped-off sleeves that read ROADHOUSE CREW in metallic sequins across her chest. A bronzy, skull-shaped earring dangled from one of her ears, and the leather-spiked collar around Pep’s neck matched her spiked black leather wristband. She wore a leather miniskirt, black leggings, and combat boots. Her lips and short nails were painted purple.

  “Ha! Terrible thing to say?” Pep asked. “Maybe. But y’all both know it’s true.” She laughed, stepping into the big-house kitchen. “Daph, you’ve always had the hots for Buck Tanner. You might as well give up denying it.”

  I stood from my chair at the table as Pep reached around my shoulders and gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. Her jammy perfume smelled like velvety old-garden roses, with a dash of musk, pepper, and spice.

  Decadent.

  “Hi, Eva, hon. I didn’t mean to ignore you. In fact, you’re the reason I stopped by,” said Pep. She reached up and adjusted her spiked leather choker.

  Daphne remained seated, sipping on her olive leaf tea.

  “What the heck happened here today?” asked Pep. “Eva, I heard you found a floater in the farm pond! Gosh, that’s terrible. That makes four guys who’ve kicked the bucket here, just this summer! And you’ve found every single one. Imagine that. Must be some kinda record or somethin’, don’t ya think? Anyway, how are ya feelin’, sweetie? Are ya alright?”

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. So what happened?”

  “We don’t know, really. It just looks like he drowned last night . . . sometime after the olive oil tasting party up here.”

  “And the stiff was one of the new guests? Part of the group that arrived yesterday, right?”

  “Right. Daphne stole them from Pottie Moss Diggs.”

  “Stole them? Good goin’, Daph. Way to smoke the competition.” Pep made a face and blew a kiss to Daphne. Then Pep gave me another squeeze before she turned back to Daphne.

  “So why were y’all talking about Buck Tanner when I came in?”

  “We weren’t,” huffed Daphne.

  “Oh yes, you were!” Pep laughed, then she winked at me. “Daph, why don’t you just climb down off your high horse, for once, and admit that you had an itch to be with Buck Tanner so bad after Eva ran off that you could barely stand it, just like every other woman in this town. Y’all know I’m right. Remember, Daph? You . . . Buck
. . . the two bottles of champagne? Do we really need to go there again?”

  “I hope not,” I said.

  Daphne pursed her lips.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Oh puh-leeze, both of you,” said Daphne, setting her teacup down. “Even if I were to think that Buck Tanner has any redeeming qualities aside from looking buff and solving crime, he certainly shot that silly notion all to pieces when he started dating Debi Dicer.”

  Pep let out a big snort. “Speaking of which, a bunch of the guys down at the Roadhouse were talking about Debi’s ‘redeeming qualities’ last night at the bar. I think the deputies are all jealous of Sheriff Buck.”

  “Oh, Pepper-Leigh.” Daphne made a big, exaggerated sigh. “I swear, working at that tawdry bar has absolutely ruined you . . .”

  “I heard one deputy report that he heard Debi has mastered all sorts of ‘skills.’”

  Pep tittered.

  “Skills?” I asked.

  “You know, Eva. Skills!” Pep raised her fingers to make air quotes for the word “skills” when she said it. “Get it? The kind that aren’t discussed in polite company.”

  “Pepper-Leigh!” Daphne shook her head.

  “Really?” I asked.

  I couldn’t help myself. Debi Dicer treated me so badly every time she saw me—I swear, she’d even tried to kill me once by mowing me down with her Cadillac Escalade—I admit, I was eager to hear anything and everything scandalous about the woman. After all, it was only fair play . . .

  “Tell me,” I said to Pep. “Like what sorts of skills?”

  I gave Pep an evil grin.

  “Just about anything you can imagine. Dillard Coleman—y’all know him, he’s the pig farmer livin’ next to Putt Nutz Mini Golf—he said Debi knows how to please a man ‘a million different ways’ in the bedroom.”