Dipped to Death

by Kelly Lane

  Pep snorted.

  Daphne let out a disgusted gasp.

  “Well, Debi is awfully good in jujitsu class . . .” I said with a giggle.

  “Exactly.” Pep grinned. “I bet she can twist herself into a pretzel if she wants to . . .”

  “Pepper-Leigh,” Daphne interrupted, “bein’ a pretzel hardly has anything to do with jujitsu and y’all know it.”

  “And, Pep, Daphne knows all about it,” I said, laughing, “because she reads Kitty Kipple books!”

  “No kidding!” cried Pep. “I hear the Humpty Dumpty one is a hoot. Really egg-cellent!”

  “Please, Pep, don’t crack me up!” I said with a silly smile.

  Pep and I broke out into peals of laughter. Daphne blushed. Then she cleared her throat.

  “My point is, you two, any man who is interested in that sort of woman—a woman with talents, like Debi Dicer—is no more marriage material than she is. And Eva, forgive me, but you need to be hitchin’ yourself to some man’s wagon, real soon. Forty will be here before y’all know it, and you’ll be an old maid! I simply can’t have a sister who is an old maid. It’s . . . depressing. Certainly, if we cleaned you up a bit, did something with your hair—”

  “Why are you always picking on me about my hair?”

  “It’s just that you don’t do anything with it. Like I’ve said before, you need to stop pulling it back in that silly, girlish ponytail. Instead, spend some time and style it once in a while. Wear some makeup. Go and get yourself a mani-pedi . . . a makeover!”

  “Well, given that Tammy Fae’s is the only salon in town, that’s not gonna happen.”

  Pep snorted. “That’s for sure. Plus, be real, Daph. Even if there was another salon in town, Eva still wouldn’t go . . .”

  I grinned.

  “Eva, I’m serious. And I’m lookin’ out for your best interest. We need to find you a man, right quick. No woman worth her salt is still single in her late thirties, livin’ in a one-room cottage behind her family’s big house. And you can do a lot better than the likes of Buck Tanner.”

  “Did I say I was interested in Buck Tanner?”

  “You didn’t have to,” sniggered Pep.

  “Oh, come on!” I cried.

  Daphne shook her head. “Eva, I realize that with all this dead-body business, you are required to have some conversations with the man. After all, he is the county sheriff. And you do seem to have an innate talent when it comes to attracting . . . dead men. And, I recognize that Buck Tanner has helped us out of a few jams regarding all the bodies y’all have kept turning up this summer.”

  “That’s for sure,” said Pep. “Although, Daph, I’m disappointed not to have seen how you’d have managed wearin’ an orange prison jumpsuit, if Detective Gibbit had gotten his way. You owe Buck for savin’ you. After all, orange isn’t your color.” Pep snorted a bunch of giggles.

  “That’s for sure,” I said.

  Pep and I high-fived each other.

  Daphne pursed her lips, slipping us a sideways glance.

  “Well, I’ll grant you, dealin’ with Buck Tanner is better than dealin’ with Detective Eli Gibbit. Goodness knows, given the chance, ol’ Eli would throw all of us in jail, just for the sport of it.”

  “That’s all we need . . .” I said, sighing.

  “And whose fault is that? Daph, maybe y’all shouldn’t have teased and made fun of Eli back in grade school,” Pep said.

  “What sort of a person holds a grudge from grade school?” I asked.

  “A sniveling worm with a persecution complex, no personality, and no friends,” Pep said. Then she broke out into more piglet snorts.

  “Eva, after this nightmare is over, please promise me that you’ll stay away from Buck Tanner socially. You have your reputation to think about. And of course, I don’t have to remind you that what you do reflects upon our entire family,” said Daphne.

  “Righto.” Pep slammed her hand on the counter. “We can’t have our fine reputations soiled, now, can we?” She laughed. “I hate to clue you in, Daph; however, methinks it’s a bit too late to worry about that! Let’s see, mother abandoned us when we were kids . . . that certainly took a bite out of the family’s good name. Then, Eva ran away from the altar, twice.”

  I winced. It was really three times; my sisters still didn’t know about my engagement to Dex.

  “Your big-time husband got caught cheating, and you got divorced. Then you had a scandalous affair with a famous chef just before he was found murdered—”

  “It was not an affair! And you, Pepper-Leigh, you grew up acting like a boy, and now you work in a wretched bar and dress like a character from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

  Daphne’s face was flushed. She rarely let her guard down to show her real feelings. Still, Pep always had a way of punching Daphne’s buttons. Of course, I’d chimed in as well . . .

  Clearly miffed, Daphne kept going. “And your lazy musician husband, Pepper-Leigh, gambled your life savings away and had an affair with the local lingerie merchant, who is still whoring all over town, even after your husband has flown the coop and run back to his mama in Alabama! If that doesn’t give somethin’ for folks to talk about, I don’t know what does. We Knox sisters can’t be the laughingstock of the town anymore. It must stop.”

  Daphne crossed her arms.

  “Well, we do have the business to think about . . .” I said.

  Pep laughed.

  “Pepper-Leigh, I’m quite serious,” Daphne scolded.

  “Don’t we know it? That’s what’s so scary about you, Daphne. You’re always ‘so serious’ about the stupidest things. I gotta go to work now . . .”

  “We need to come together as sisters and keep a lid on things,” Daphne called out.

  “Get real! Life happens, Daph. We can’t always ‘keep a lid’ on everything that comes our way. I’m off to work.”

  The porch door squeaked open. Pep shuffled out. Then, there was a distinctly different, heavy footstep inside the house.

  “Nice to see ya, Miss Pep. You’re lookin’ fine as frog’s hair this afternoon. I’m diggin’ those goth earrings,” said Precious from the doorway.

  “Howya doin’, Precious?” called Pep from the porch. “Wish I could stay and visit with y’all a bit, but I’m off to tend bar at the Roadhouse.”

  “Well, it’s been real nice seein’ ya, just the same,” said Precious. She sashayed into the kitchen.

  “Hiya, ladies.”

  Precious gave us a big smile. Her impeccably made-up face flattered her flawless skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Towering over us, she wore a bright red dress with butterflies and flowers patterned on it. And her high-heeled Louboutin pumps were red, to match.

  I heard footsteps out on the porch again. Pep pulled open the screen door and stuck her head inside.

  “I’m sorry, Daph, I didn’t mean to sound so wretched before. Really, I didn’t. It’s just that you set yourself up for it and I can’t help myself sometimes. If y’all get a chance later, the Crop Pickers are playin’ at the Roadhouse, and they’re a killer band. Why don’t y’all c’mon down tonight and relax for a few hours. Drinks will be on me.”

  “Not for me, thank you, Pepper-Leigh,” said Daphne with a sniff. “I’d rather eat glass.”

  Pep snorted. Precious shook her head. I shrugged. We all knew that it’d take a while for Daphne to cool off. And really, I doubted she’d ever be convinced to step foot in a place like the Roadhouse.

  It just wasn’t couth.

  “Well, I might just take y’all up on that, Miss Pep,” said Precious brightly.

  “Great!” said Pep. “Bring Eva.” Pep stuck her arm through the open doorway and cocked a thumb toward me. “She looks like she could use a picker-upper. Or at least a cold beer.” She pulled her head back outside and the door slammed. “Lemm
e know when you find out what happened to the dead guy,” she shouted from the porch. “Tootles!”

  “I’m not going!” I called after Pep.

  CHAPTER 7

  “I’ve just got to do somethin’ about that slammin’ door,” mused Daphne.

  Precious clomped across the kitchen floor to stand next to the farmhouse sink. She folded her arms and leaned against the red laminate counter, smiling. Her big, gold hoop earrings glinted in the sun that gleamed through the kitchen window behind her.

  “I take it there’s no new news about the dead guy in the pond?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Daphne said.

  “Oh well. Miss Daphne, I gotta run a few errands in town for Mister Collier, so I’ll take Eva with me now, if y’all don’t mind.”

  “That’ll be just fine, Miss Precious. I do appreciate y’all takin’ Eva with you. I’m sure it is inconvenient.”

  It was like they were talking about a small child or a pet . . . except it was me. And I was right there. Finally, Precious turned to look at me.

  “Sunshine, we gotta leave now. And we can’t dawdle once we get downtown ’cause I gotta be back to Greatwoods before four thirty.”

  “I’m ready when you are, Precious,” I said, standing up from the table.

  “Oh, Precious, I nearly forgot to thank you for tidying up the kitchen this morning,” said Daphne. “It certainly was a mess! I can’t imagine what happened. You always leave everything so pristine before leaving in the evenings.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I gotta admit, it looked like a small tornado’d spun through here this morning. Must’ve been one of your guests helped himself, or herself, to a late-night snack. There was olive oil spilled everywhere! On the counters. On the floor . . . And salt! Y’all shoulda seen the piles of sea salt that I swept up. Not to mention all my settings on the toaster oven were messed up, and there were crumbs and toasted bits of my fresh-made sourdough bread everywhere. Plus, I found a pile of smashed garlic cloves and skins . . .”

  “Sounds like fettunta,” I said.

  “Fe—what?” asked Precious.

  “Fettunta. It’s Italian for a greased slice of bread. Dex used to have it all the time.”

  “Dex?” asked Daphne. “What do you mean Dex? Do you mean Mister Codman?”

  “The guy in the pond?” asked Precious, raising her eyebrows. “The dead guy?”

  I sighed.

  “Yes. The same Dexter Codman from the pond. Our guest. I used to know him. Back in Boston.”

  “Is that why he asked to sleep in your old bedroom, Eva?” asked Daphne. “Because you two knew each other? Heaven forbid. I had no idea.”

  “That’s freaky,” said Precious.

  “I thought he’d just read about you in the gossip papers and wanted to experience a little celebrity,” said Daphne.

  “There’s more,” I said.

  “More?”

  “Don’t tell me you and him were doin’ the dirty deed last night!” Precious’s eyes got big. “Were y’all skinny-dipping in the pond? Did ya boff the life outta him?”

  “Precious!”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Then what . . .”

  “I assure you both, I didn’t see Dex at all after last night’s olive oil tasting party. However, just so you know, Dex and I did . . . er . . . date each other for a while. It was a long time ago.”

  I just couldn’t admit we’d been engaged. I knew it’d kill Daphne to hear it this way. Especially after all these years. I’d tell her later. Once she’d had time to process the fact that the dead guy in our pond had been one of my boyfriends. Maybe in a year or two I’d say something . . .

  One step at a time.

  “Dated?” cried Daphne. “When did this happen? Was this Dex fellow the reason you broke it off with the weatherman so suddenly? Why didn’t I know about this person? Did Pepper-Leigh know about him?”

  “No. No, nothing like that, Daph. My break with stupid Zack the weatherman this summer had nothing to do with Dex, I assure you. Like I said, Dex and I knew each other a long time ago. And, Daph, just so you know, Pep didn’t know anything about Dex. She still doesn’t. You’re the first one in the family whom I’ve told.”

  “Oh. I see. Well, that’s good, I suppose . . .”

  Reassuring Daphne that she was first to know seemed to calm her. Good, better, best.

  “Before yesterday, I hadn’t laid eyes on Dex in years,” I said. “Anyway, he often used to make himself fettunta at night. It’s just sliced bread rubbed with fresh garlic and salt. Then it’s drizzled with olive oil. Dex told me once that he first had fettunta in Italy. You won’t find it in restaurants, he’d said. It’s something folks eat at home. Just like no one dips bread in olive oil in restaurants over there, either. Dex made his own version of fettunta all the time. I bet he was the one in here last night.”

  I was racking my brain to try to piece together everything the Bostoners had said on the hill earlier. Had anyone mentioned being with Dex? Or being in the kitchen late last night? No, quite the opposite, actually. They’d assumed that he’d been with me. Or at least they’d said so.

  “Well, at least the poor boy ate well before he croaked,” said Precious. “They all seem to eat real good here before dyin’ . . . The last one, your chef fella, Miss Daphne, he had that yummy peach bourbon ice cream, remember?”

  Daphne furrowed her brow and frowned, big-time.

  “Precious,” I said, quietly, warning . . .

  “Oh yeah. Sorry,” she said with a knowing nod. “Not to disrespect the dead or nothin’. Sorry, Miss Daphne. I know the chef was special to you.” Precious gave Daphne a soft pat on the shoulder. “Okay, so Miss Eva, we got to be going now. Already, I’m runnin’ late, and Mister Collier don’t tolerate lateness.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Wait! Eva! Surely, y’all are not goin’ to town lookin’ like that?” cried Daphne.

  “Like what?”

  “Like a street urchin! Surely, you can find something else to wear in public besides a tacky tee shirt and those ratty cutoff shorts! I bet they’re twenty years old.”

  “Sure wish I could wear my twenty-year-old stuff!” Precious laughed. “Although, come to think of it, I sure wouldn’t want to be wearin’ now what I wore then.” She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. I had no class back then. Like I do now, don’t y’all know it?”

  Precious threw back her head and laughed merrily as she headed out the back door and across the porch to the stairs.

  “C’mon, Sunshine. We ain’t got time for you to change clothes,” she called to me. “Sorry, Miss Daphne!”

  Daphne groaned as I followed Precious outside. The kitchen door slammed behind us.

  CHAPTER 8

  A bell on the door jingled as I entered the tiny Birdsong Botanicals shop in the village. The shop smelled of sandalwood incense, and lots of it. New age music warbled softly from speakers in the ceiling from which dream catchers, wind chimes, and colored glass ornaments hung on long strands of translucent fishing line.

  Right away, a tall, noble-looking woman came out from behind the counter to greet me. She was well tanned with jet-black eyes, high cheekbones, and straight gray hair worn loose, down to her waist. Most likely in her sixties or early seventies, she was simply attired in a gauzy off-white caftan worn over black leggings and thong sandals with shell accents. Handmade-looking silver earrings dangled from her big ears, matching the stack of silver bangles on each of her wrists.

  “Greetings!” she said. “Welcome to Birdsong Botanicals.”

  Her tiny shop was filled, floor to ceiling, with rare and exotic dried plants, seeds, and herbs. They were showcased in shelves chock-full of boxes and bags as well as glass and wooden bins set up around the store. Moreover, one wall was covered with shelves of self-help and informational books about holistic h
ealth, natural healing, herbs, botanicals, seeds, plants, and natural gardening. Also, there were handmade soaps, bath oils, breath mints, lip balms, lotions, shampoos, conditioners, toothpastes, healing stones, and more.

  “I’m Joy. You must be Daphne’s little sister, Eva,” Joy said with a toothy smile. “I can tell from your hair. It’s just as pretty as your big sissy’s hair!”

  I laughed. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I held out my hand and Joy clasped it firmly.

  “Your sister Daphne has told me so much about you.”

  “I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad!” I joked. I handed Joy the package of olive leaves and bark. “Daphne tells me that you’re going to come up with some new olive leaf tea blends. How exciting!”

  “Yes, already, I have a few in mind,” said Joy. “One with chamomile, rose petal, and passion flower, for a more calming blend. And then, perhaps another more invigorating blend with ginger, peppermint, and lemon.”

  “Daphne’s thrilled to have you working on this. She speaks so highly of your knowledge and experience.”

  “I’m delighted to do it. It’s always good to help out another local business. Besides, it’s good for my own business.” She set Daphne’s olive leaves and bark down on the counter. “Your sister brought over some dried tea leaves last week and, look, already I’m sold out.” She pointed to an empty spot about halfway up a shelf in the middle of the shop.

  “Great!”

  “Now that y’all are producing olive oils,” Joy continued, “word is getting around about the many healthful benefits of the olive tree plant. I’ve had quite a few requests for more olive products. Did you know that folks as far back as the ancient Egyptians used olive leaf tea for medicinal purposes?”

  “Please, tell me more.”

  “Perhaps you already know that the unprocessed olive leaf contains oleuropein, an antioxidant responsible for most of its health benefits, as well as several other polyphenols and flavonoids that help lower bad cholesterol and blood pressure. Also, oleuropein has been proven to help prevent cancer, protect against oxidative damage, and slow cognitive decline.”