Dipped to Death

by Kelly Lane

  “Yes, I talk to people all the time during my olive oil tasting events about polyphenols.”

  “Did you know that in one study involving animals with tumors, after scientists introduced oleuropein to the animals, within a matter of just two weeks the tumors in the animals completely regressed? Some disappeared entirely.”

  “Wow.”

  “And I have a couple of folks who stop by regularly to purchase olive leaf extracts to help fight diabetes.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  Joy continued. “Studies with both rats and humans have demonstrated that when fed olive leaf extracts, metabolic abnormalities associated with the disease can be countered.”

  “No kidding! I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes. It’s all very exciting. Your family’s timing, getting into the olive industry now, couldn’t be better. All sorts of studies are coming out showing that extracts from olive leaves have tremendous potential to lessen, or even prevent, serious health conditions such as heart disease, hypertension, diabetes, cancer, stroke, Alzheimer’s, and even arthritis. Did y’all know that after drinking olive leaf extract infusions, people suffering from AIDS have reported surprising results in their fight against immune disorders and infections?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “It’s true. Although, for medicinal purposes, tea must be made strong, and that usually gives it a bitter taste, which is a shame, really, because with a light steeping, olive tea normally has such a distinctive, mellow flavor. Still, some lemon, mint, or ginger, as well as milk, sugar, or other flavorings, helps mask any bitterness.”

  “I’m so impressed by all this. Really, I knew the stuff was healthful; however, obviously, I’d not studied up enough.”

  “I can’t keep supplies on the shelf. I’d love to have a regular, local supplier.”

  “Well then, please, count us in!”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Tell Miss Daphne that I’ll get back to her in a day or two about the tea blends.”

  “I will,” I said, heading toward the door.

  “Say, I’m curious,” said Joy, “did you have any trouble parking in the village? It’s the Peeps Week parade today, you know.”

  “Actually, a friend dropped me off. She’s meeting me in another half hour or so. However, I did see folks beginning to line up outside. I suppose it’s almost parade time?”

  Joy checked a clock on the wall.

  “Yes, they must be about ready to start. Although, I’ve heard from some folks in town that it’s not expected to last long. There aren’t many participants. It’s only the second year they’ve held the parade.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Right after Precious had dropped me off outside Joy’s shop in the village, she’d taken off in her red Corvette to do her own errands. Our plan had been for Precious to return and pick me up thirty to forty minutes later, just down the boulevard outside the hardware store, where I’d be delivering Daphne’s corks. Then Precious and I would go together to the bed-and-breakfast, where we’d deliver Daphne’s guilt basket to Pottie Moss Diggs.

  However, just as I hit the brick sidewalk after leaving Joy’s botanicals shop, I realized that the plan wasn’t going to work at all. That’s because in our rush to get to town so that Precious could be back at Greatwoods by four thirty, we’d both completely forgotten to stop at Daddy’s warehouse to pick up the box of used corks. Worse still, even as we’d made plans and discussed how she’d pick me up outside the hardware store, neither Precious nor I had even realized our silly mistake. Nor had we remembered the parade. And of course, after leaving Joy’s shop, when I’d finally realized that we’d forgotten the corks and I didn’t have my phone with me—I never carried my phone—I couldn’t call Precious to confer.

  I was destined to fight the crowd, hoofing it up to the hardware store in the blistering, midday summer heat, for nothing. And with the parade happening, I’d no idea whether Precious would even be able to get back into the village anytime soon . . .

  Sigh.

  Main Street was positively busting with tourists. In the parklike center of the boulevard median, folks crowded together on wooden benches, many of them snacking in the shade, while others pointed at and photographed the long cascades of Spanish moss hanging from the gnarled live oak trees above them.

  Along both sides of the bustling boulevard, under the shade of colorful and perky striped awnings suspended from the Victorian buildings, people ambled along brick pavers dotted with giant pots planted full of greenery and flowers, while others stopped and admired enchanting window displays enticing them to enter cute specialty shops nestled within the picture-perfect buildings accented with gingerbread trim. On the far side of the boulevard from me, I could see that popular stores like Gifts Galore, Clayworks Pottery, the Kibler Gallery, and Buy the Book were absolutely jammed with gawkers and shoppers.

  On my side of Main Street—the side the parade would be following—outside the old-fashioned movie theater the sidewalk was nearly impassable as a long line of people waited to get into the next matinee. A vendor was selling balloons from a cart. Another cart vendor hawked ice cream, another had cotton candy, and a fourth vendor sold smoothies. The curbside village information booth was mobbed with tourists demanding maps, directions, and free advice.

  “Anyone know where we can get a good meal?” shouted one man.

  “Across the street. That way,” answered someone. “The Palatable Pecan.”

  “Try the Roadhouse,” shouted someone else from the mob. “It’s cheaper. Although it’s not in the village . . .”

  “Yoo-hoo! Eva Knox, is that you, dahhwr-lin?”

  Waving frantically to catch my eye as she hustled up the jammed sidewalk, about half a block away, Daphne’s book club friend Doocey Cronk was all smiles. From somewhere up Main Street behind her, in the direction of Town Hall at the top of the boulevard, I could hear the thumping of drums. A band was playing. Already, the Peeps Week parade had begun. It was headed our way.

  I hope Precious can get back into town . . .

  Stretching and peering down the boulevard to catch a first glimpse of the oncoming festivities, folks crammed themselves along the curbside.

  “Why, I just knew it was you!” Doocey exclaimed breathlessly.

  The sharp-nosed, curly-haired brunette grasped my shoulders, greeting me with an unexpected air-kiss. Her oversize straw bag swung wildly as she pulled me toward her. The bag fwapped me on the hip.

  Normally, Doocey wouldn’t have given me the time of day.

  Stepping back, she propped her cat-eye sunglasses atop her head. Instantly, the glasses disappeared in her curls as she squinted in the sunlight.

  “Hi, Doocey. It’s lovely to see you,” I said.

  I doubted that the forty-something banker’s wife believed my sentiment any more than I believed it when I’d said it. Still, politesse is the Abundance way . . .

  “I heard y’all had some more excitement at your place today, Miss Eva. Do tell! What happened?”

  Digging for gossip.

  “Well, really,” I said with a courteous smile, “Doocey, there’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. We don’t know what happened other than to say one of our guests accidentally drowned in the pond.”

  “Sounds positively dreadful! I heard the man wasn’t very old. And was quite handsome. From up North, folks are saying. When I spoke with your sister this morning, she said that you, Eva, had found the body.”

  She shook her head dramatically. I said nothing. She carried on.

  “Poor dear. And after all the other dead people you’ve stumbled over this summer, you must feel terribly distraught.” She rested her hand on my forearm, as if her touch would somehow comfort me. “Tell me, Eva sweetie,” spoken with all the sugary politeness she could muster, “what did the dead man look like when you found him?”

  She smiled
sweetly, as if it were the most normal question in the world to ask.

  “He looked dead,” I said flatly.

  I wasn’t at all in the mood to feed the local gossip mill. Especially when it called for describing a dead person. Let alone a man whom I’d known intimately.

  “I’m sorry, Doocey,” I said with as much of a smile as I could muster. “I’m afraid that I need to get going. I’m scheduled to meet someone at the other end of town. In fact, already, I’m late. Will you please excuse me?”

  Without waiting for her to respond, I left Doocey with her mouth gaping open as I turned on my heel and pushed my way through the crowd. People were still jostling for position as the parade drew nearer. Just a block away, I could see the high school color guard twirling and tossing their flags, followed by the marching band. After that, a big road tractor towing a float kept blasting its noisy horn.

  “Hey, you! Eva Knox!”

  I recognized the harsh voice. It was local reporter, and thorn in my side, Pat Butts. Like everyone else, she must’ve been waiting for the parade. And like everyone else, she was always sniffing out a juicy story, especially when it centered around Abundance’s most scandal-ridden resident: me.

  “I heard y’all fished out another stiff at your place,” she cried out over the crowded noise. “Can ya tell me what happened?”

  I walked in the other direction, quickly heading toward the back of the crowd under an awning over the entrance to the Abundance Package Store.

  “Hey! Eva Knox! Come back!” shouted the nosy reporter. “I have questions!”

  “Take a number!”

  No doubt, she couldn’t hear me as I scrambled through the crowd. Changing direction again, I was jammed amidst the mob in front of the theater. Just then, a swarm of moviegoers pushed their way out onto the sidewalk. The first matinee show was over. That’s when something neon in the crowd flashed and caught my eye.

  Oh no.

  Atop a white-trimmed neon orange and green Lilly Pulitzer sundress, I recognized the bleached blonde inverted bob hairdo. Buck’s new squeeze, my old nemesis, the oh-so-flexible Debi Dicer was headed right for me. Distinctively tall and slender, and by all accounts quite attractive, people gave way as she marched through the crowd.

  Trying to ignore her, I put my head down, hoping to pass unnoticed.

  No such luck.

  “Eva Knox, what are you doing here? Don’t y’all have some more dead bodies to bury?”

  Standing in front of me, blocking my way, Debi crossed her arms and stood stock-still. Her freshly painted and manicured hot pink nails glistened in the sunshine. The temples of her pink sunglasses featured interlocking double “G” logos. Gucci. Somehow, even in the crush of the crowd, no one bumped into her. It was like she had this invisible shield . . . People just steered clear.

  Except the men, of course.

  “Afternoon, Miss Debi,” said an attractive young man wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.

  Flannel? It’s nearly one hundred degrees out here!

  He winked at Debi as he sauntered by.

  “Why, hello, Landon. Lovely to see you today.”

  She reached out and patted him on the arm as he passed her. She was all sweetness and honey. I stepped to the side and started to walk away; however, Debi suddenly grabbed my arm, squeezing it tight.

  “Wait,” she said through clenched teeth.

  To anyone passing, it looked like she was smiling, I’m sure.

  “Debi,” said an older, well-dressed fellow with a beard. He smiled and nodded as he approached us.

  “Kurt Morris,” she said with a flirty smile, “why, I haven’t seen you since Dickey and I sold your farm last year. I’ve missed you, sweetie!” She was positively gushing.

  “I’ve missed you, too, darlin’,” Kurt gushed back. He squeezed Debi’s elbow as he strolled past us and melted into the throng.

  Apparently, I was invisible. Again, that day.

  That’s when I saw the Bostoners, Wiggy, Coop, and Spencer, just down the block, with another man . . . Debi’s real estate magnate brother, Dickey Dicer. Dickey’s dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a red-collared jersey. They were a couple of buildings away . . .

  “Debi, let go,” I said. “I need to go.”

  From what I could see, it looked like Wiggy, Coop, and Spencer were arguing with Dickey. Everyone’s hands were flapping angrily. I wanted to hear what they were saying. Puffed up and red-faced, Wiggy looked positively infuriated as he waved his cigar in Dickey’s face. Dickey was nodding and holding his hands out, as if to say, “Stop!” He looked abashed. I needed to get closer to hear them.

  Debi still clutched my arm. “Hold your horses, Miss Eva, I’m not finished sayin’ what I’ve got to say . . .”

  “Debi, please. Not now!”

  I threw her hand off my arm and watched as Wiggy poked his finger into Dickey’s chest. Then someone stepped in front of me, blocking my view and my exit away from Debi. Debi grabbed me again. This time, she pulled me right up against her side.

  Still “smiling,” she dug her nails in my arm and whispered in my ear, leaning in so close, she nearly bit my ear off. The noisy marching band, playing an ear-shatteringly discordant version of the tune “Rockin’ Robin,” was passing us in the boulevard, making it nearly impossible to hear. A block away, the road tractor following the band blasted its horn.

  “It’s obvious, honey bun, that y’all don’t know the first thing about men, or you never would’ve let Bucky get away all those years ago.”

  There she went, calling the sheriff “Bucky,” like she always did.

  How embarrassing . . .

  With a goofy grimace, I shook my head.

  “But you did,” continued Debi. Her nails dug deeper into my arm. “And, goodness knows, I don’t know why you’re back in town now. Trying to reel Bucky back in, after all your other relationships have belly flopped, is my guess. But I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. I’m onto you. And I’m watching you. You hear me?” She was nearly shouting in my ear, trying to be heard above the band. “You keep coming on to Buck, or meeting up with him late nights the way I know y’all have been doin’ all this summer, and I’ll make sure you never meet up with Bucky, or any other man, again. You got it, sister? Whatever y’all think you got goin’ on with Buck Tanner stops right here.”

  She smelled like sweet, intense tuberose with melon, coconut, and musk—kind of like sweetly scented flowers making whoopee. Was her perfume Carnal Flower? How perfect, I thought. Her breath smelled like cheap candy. I yanked my arm away.

  “So, Debi,” I said hotly, “let me get this straight . . . Are you telling me that the Buck stops here?” I snorted with a laugh as I put my hands on my hips. “Get a life.” I had to shout to be heard over the parade noise. “The man has a mind . . . and a heart of his own. Don’t come threatening me and blaming me just because your tricks in bed aren’t enough to satisfy him. If he’s not home at nights, that’s on you. Not me.”

  People in the crowd tittered. No doubt they’d heard what I’d said. I didn’t care. But Debi did. She was beet red with anger. She snatched at me, seething with anger, before she spit out her final words.

  “Listen up, pretty pants. Just as soon as he picks out a ring, I’m going to marry Sheriff Buck Tanner. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Already, I have his mama’s blessing . . . something you’ll never have!”

  “Omigosh, how will I ever sleep at night?” I shrugged.

  The yammering crowd on the sidewalk, thunderous roar from the approaching parade trucks, and clanging band instruments in the street were sure to have my ears bleeding at any moment, I thought. I tried pulling my arm away from Debi. She clenched my arm harder, yanking me closer as she hissed again in my ear.

  “After Bucky and I get married, right here in town in front of God and everyone, we�
�re gonna make babies. And lots of ’em. In fact, I’m gonna keep that man so busy makin’ babies that he won’t have time to think about you, or anyone else in this town. And then we’re gonna raise those babies together, Bucky and I. After that, we’re gonna be grandparents. So, hear me, sweetness, I’m deadly serious when I say Buck Tanner and I are gonna live happily ever after. And whether y’all remain here on this earth to see it all happen, or not, is up to you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Just friendly advice. Take it any way you want it, darlin’.”

  Debi smiled sweetly.

  “Give it your best shot, Debster.”

  I smiled back.

  Debi was forced to let go of my arm when the crowd on the sidewalk surged between us, as folks tried to get a better look at the act that brought up the rear of the Abundance High School marching band. In the road, a group of octogenarians from the nursing home, seated in wheelchairs, honked, tooted, dinged, and banged their handheld instruments while staff dressed in nursing uniforms pushed them along the parade route. The crowd on the sidewalk went nuts, cheering and applauding the old band members and their helpers.

  To get away from Debi as quickly as possible, I decided to walk along the edge of the road, bypassing the near-impassable crowd on the sidewalk. As I started to step off the curb, I glanced down at my arm. She’d actually bruised it with her nails!

  Damn her.

  Someone shoved me hard from behind. Pitching forward, I lost my balance. As I snatched at air, I managed to spin around just in time to see Debi in her bright neon colors vanish into the mob.

  Did she push me?

  It felt like slow motion as I continued falling backward into the street. There was nothing to stop me. The giant road tractor following the octogenarian band blasted its deafening horn. At the same time, I heard the growl of the truck and the loud pssssshhhttt of air brakes. As I smacked the pavement, the big truck’s chrome bumper was nearly overhead.