by Tonya Kappes
“A key?” I asked and put the Wagoneer in park after I pulled up to the house.
“In her esophagus.” He could’ve knocked me over with a feather. “Did you hear me?”
“Like she had swallowed a key?” I asked.
“Yes. She definitely swallowed this key right before she died, because I found it in the space below the end of the tongue muscle where it meets the esophagus,” he said. “I’m just as shocked as you. Never in my life have I seen a murder victim with a key in their esophagus. And it’s not a normal key. It’s small and gold.”
“Was she wearing a necklace with a key dangling from it?” I asked.
“Not when I brought her to the morgue,” he said. “I’ve inventoried all the items on her person and there’s no key. Why?”
“When I saw her at Duke’s ceremony, I remember she had a key on a necklace. An old key like the one you described.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the investigation?” He asked.
“Initially I though the key was a decoration like most young kids wear nowadays, but now I’m more sure than ever that she was keeping that key safe around her neck and somehow it has to do with her murder.”
“Like I said,” he paused in an uneasy way, “I’ve never seen anything like this ever.”
“I’m here at the estate now. I’m going to have Finn swing by and get that key,” I said.
“Sounds good. I’ll have it waiting for him.” Max clicked off the phone.
Immediately I dialed Finn back and told him exactly what Max had found.
“I’ll go right over there after I meet with the realtor,” he said.
“I bet if we can find out what that key opens, we’ll be able to find what the murderer’s looking for.” My mind swirled with crazy thoughts. “Someone wanted that key.”
“Someone still wants it. And I’m not sure if I believe the killer is done.” Finn’s words crept into my soul and sent a fright right through me.
Chapter Fifteen
The reserve officers that’d been acting as security at the estate said that a few people had stopped by and tried to get an early look at auction items, but no one seemed suspicious or linked to the murder. Of course, the officers didn’t let them look around, instead rightfully sending them away.
Cecily had said that Beryle had died in her sleep. That she’d made all the necessary arrangements that Beryle had asked her to upon her death. Had Beryle been sick? Was she threatened and felt like she was in danger? Did she really just die in her sleep?
I pulled on a pair of gloves and thought about these questions as I sifted through Beryle’s things in her bedroom. If she was sick, I was hoping to find anything with a doctor’s name or number. The bed was made, so if Beryle did die there, someone had cleaned it up. The room was spotless. There was no hint that Beryle was a writer or had been writing. There wasn’t a pen, pencil, paper, or laptop around.
Everything was neat and tidy. Too neat and tidy, I thought as I looked around. I checked every bedroom to see if I could find anything that needed a key to open. Especially if there was something that would fit the key that Max had described.
After I took a good look upstairs and didn’t see anything, I headed down to the kitchen.
“Kenni?” Finn’s voice echoed through the house.
Like me, Duke jumped to attention. Only Duke ran in the direction of Finn’s voice, and I held myself back. Lucky dog, I thought when I stepped into the hallway from the kitchen and saw Finn bent down next to Duke. Duke had keeled over on his back, his legs up in the air, ears flailed to the sides along with his tongue.
“He never refuses a good belly rub.” I smiled. “So how was the house hunting?”
“It was fine. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. It’s actually two houses down from you.” He looked up at me. “Away from Main Street.”
“I didn’t know there was a house for sale there.” My brows furrowed. I thought I knew everything going on along Free Row, but apparently I didn’t, or the fact that my entire mind was caught up in this investigation meant I missed it.
“There’s not a sign in the yard.” He shoved his hands in his pocket. “Lonnie Lemar actually owns it, and after I got him calmed down this morning, I mentioned something about needing a place to live.”
“I bet he thought that was a good one since he’s running against us.” I chuckled. “He’ll use it in his campaign that he’s doing the best for the community and even giving the current deputy a deal on this house.”
“Uh-oh.” Poppa’s voice gave a warning.
“And he owns the house and is willing to sell it to me.” Finn’s voice broke off like a piece of chalk breaking in half.
“That Lonnie Lemar is a dirty old dog,” Poppa griped. “How do you like them apples?”
“That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.” Finn seemed to beat around the bush. He hemmed and hawed. There was no way he’d be able to shove his fists down in his pockets any deeper.
“Go on,” I encouraged him. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Lonnie said that he planned on keeping me around if he won,” Finn said.
“All hell’s about to break loose.” Poppa patted his leg. “Come on, Duke.”
I rubbed my hands in front of me. I rocked back on the heels of my shoes. “You mean to tell me that you are not loyal to me?”
Those were fighting words around these parts. And loyalty was as rooted as God in Cottonwood.
“Yes, I am. God, yes,” he said. “But I don’t want to invest in buying a house if I don’t have a job. I love it here, and I want to be a deputy. And with all that’s going on...”
I stopped him.
“By all that, you mean murders? Crime? Everything under my watch?” I asked. “You don’t think I’m going to win the election?”
“I…I…” He hesitated like he needed a minute to contemplate.
Heck, a second was too long.
“Well, if this isn’t a humdinger then I don’t know what is.” Poppa stomped around. “And I was beginning to like this boy.” Poppa stood next to me. He eyeballed me good. “Kenni? Kenni-bug, don’t be flying off the handle,” he warned.
The more I thought about Finn Vincent and Lonnie Lemar conspiring against me while Paige was laid up in that hospital bed, the madder I got.
“Bullshit!” I yelled at Finn. I didn’t have a short temper, but I sure did have a quick reaction to bullshit. “You!” I was so mad I was shaking. “You don’t know what loyalty is.”
“Kenni, now, Kenni.” Poppa’s ghost stood between Finn and me. “I understand this man doesn’t understand the loyalties of the South, but there is no need for you to pitch a hissy fit right here in the middle of an investigation and during election season.”
The election might be just under two years away, but that was close enough to call it election season.
“Let me tell you something, Finn Vincent.” I stepped up and got nose to nose with him. “When the going gets rough, that’s when we stand beside each other and dig our boot heels in. We don’t waiver. Our loyalties lie deeper than the Mississippi River. If you can’t stand by me in good times and bad, then maybe you aren’t the deputy for me. Or the deputy I thought you were.”
I shoved past him, but not without looking up to see Edna Easterly, the town reporter, and her big fat camera lens in my face, clicking away. The flash was so bright, I had to throw my hand up to shield my eyes.
“New flash,” Edna boasted.
“I’m not going to run with Lonnie. I wished I’d never said anything!” Finn shouted at my back.
I turned around and glared at the both of them.
“You,” I pointed to Edna. “Get out of this crime scene. You can stick that new flash you know where,” I said through my gritted teeth.
“Lettin’ the cat out of t
he bag is a whole lot easier than puttin’ it back in.” Edna’s lips curled, her eyebrow cocked. I continued to walk down the hall. Behind me I heard Edna say, “Aw, honey, southern women will rip your heart out, fry it up, and put it on a biscuit while washing it down with some sweet iced tea. She’ll come around.”
“Come around my hiney,” I grunted as the Wagoneer bounced up and down the curvy road that led back into town. “If Finn Vincent thinks he’s going to undermine me, he’s got another thing coming to him.”
I talked to Duke like he was a person. If Poppa was here and not disappearing to God knows where, I’d be complaining to him. On second thought, maybe he knew that and that was why he wasn’t here.
The library was going to be my last stop of the day. Spending time on some research would keep my brain from thinking about Finn.
The three-roomed library was located in a white colonial house next to the courthouse on Main Street. Marcy Carver had been the librarian for as far back as I could remember. She never aged. Her milk-chocolate skin was smooth, and her black hair was always pulled up in a thick knot on the back of her head. She claimed that if she let her hair down, it’d take up the entire space in the children’s room.
“What in tarnation are y’all doing in here so late?” Marcy called from the reference desk. She grabbed a book from the returned book shelf and used the scanner to scan the barcode
“Duke and I have a little work we need to do on Beryle Stone,” I said.
“Aw.” Marcy lifted her chin. “Our local celebrity seems to be in high demand after her death.” Her brows rose. “A lot of people have been coming in here asking for one of her books.”
She walked over to another desk behind the counter, pulled out a treat for Duke, and picked up a book before she walked over to us. She handed Duke the treat and me the book.
“Here is one of her romance novels. Crimson Hearts.” She winked. “Don’t tell your mama I gave it to you directly. She’ll have a conniption fit.”
I smiled and looked at the cover with a half-naked man that looked to be man-handling a woman into submission as her boobs practically spilled out of her brassiere.
“Seriously, this is the stuff she wrote?” My ick factor went off.
Marcy tapped the hard cover with her nail. “That’s her name, isn’t it? Deceit, lies, and cheating make for a good book.”
“Ugh.” I felt all icky and held it out to her. “I’m not interested in reading it. I’m interested in Beryle Stone’s life outside of Cottonwood.”
“Interesting you’d ask. Edna Easterly has been in and out of here the past couple of days doing the same thing. You wouldn’t believe what people in Cottonwood look up.” She flashed a sly grin. “Sometimes when they leave,” she curled her nose, “I go over to the computer and look up the history. They never erase it.”
She nodded her head to the right towards the computer.
“In fact, Edna was the last one to use it earlier this morning.” She nodded again.
“Is that right?” I pointed to the computer knowing Marcy was telling me without seeming gossipy.
Slowly Marcy nodded. “Uh-huh.”
“You’re a gem.” I patted her on her arm. “I guess I’ll check out this book.”
“I’ll take care of it for you.” She took the book, and over her shoulder she said, “You know that if you read between the lines and change a few names, you might recognize some people in her books.”
“Really?” I drew back.
Was this a motive for murder? Did sweet Beryle Stone use real-life people in Cottonwood as characters in her books? Did someone figure it out? Was the tell-all where she was going to reveal who everyone was?
“You let me know how you like it.” The computer beeped when she scanned it, and she handed me the novel. “I’m going to go lock the doors and do some paperwork in the back. You take your time. If you need to print, just holler.”
“I will. Thanks, Marcy,” I called on my way over to the computer station.
When the screen lit up, I put in my library ID, which was my birthdate. All the hacking experts always told you to never use your birthday, but who in the world would hack someone in Cottonwood?
I scrolled the mouse to the right of the screen and clicked on the three lines and then clicked on the history. Marcy was right. Edna had looked up about thirty different things, mostly interviews.
“I love the smell of books.” Poppa stood over me with his hands on his hips.
“Where have you been?” I asked Poppa.
“Here and there. Reminiscing about old times with Beryle.” He stood over my shoulder.
As he gabbed on about old times, I scanned articles about Beryle and her interviews. There was a court document where Beryle had put out a restraining order that caught my attention. But thanks to Edna, the next website listed was the obituary of the person who had the restraining order against them. A dead end.
The photos of Beryle weren’t any more interesting. She was under the Eiffel tower, in museums, a lot of her holding her books, and not even one with her fans. There were a lot of reviews about the book that’d been turned into a movie, but not much about the novel itself.
It seemed that the old saying “don’t judge a book by the movie” held true in Beryle’s case.
“Don’t you find it odd that she never married or even had a boyfriend?” I asked Poppa.
“She said she never wanted to have kids.” Poppa’s eyes scanned the computer screen. “Have you noticed there was one question that every person who interviewed her asked?”
“No. What?” I asked.
“They all asked her if any of her characters were based on anyone she knew.” He pointed to one of the open tabs and I clicked on it. “Right there, and there, and there.” He continued to point to the tabs and I’d reopen them.
One after the other the question seemed to pop up, and she answered it exactly the same way every time. Every character of mine has a little bit of someone I know, and every plot line has a little bit of truth.
I clicked on the tab that had a list of all of her novels. All fifty-five of them. The same shirtless guy and a different woman were in various positions on all of them.
“Who on earth figured out Beryle Stone was writing about them? And which book do you think it was?” Poppa asked.
“There’s no way I can read fifty-five of these kinds of novels.” My ick factor went off again.
“No, but your mama sure did devour them.” He smiled, a twinkle in his eye.
“You know Mama. If there’s an underlying message in one of these, I bet she’s already got a list of who Beryle Stone was talking about.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Marcy?”
“Yes, honey?” She came out of the room where she’d disappeared.
“Can I get a list of Beryle’s book titles?” I asked.
“I’ve already printed some of those out for the library.” She pointed to the far side of the counter where there was other literature for people to take.
“Thanks.” I took one and turned back to her. “Do you think Beryle Stone wrote about anyone in Cottonwood?”
“Every author I’ve ever talked to has said that there is some truth to their fiction.” Her face stilled. “Do you think Beryle wrote about someone in Cottonwood and it’s in that tell-all book I keep hearing about?” She gasped. “And someone came to Cottonwood to find it and killed that girl?”
“Oh, Marcy.” I played it off. “You’ve been reading too many of those mystery novels.”
“She ain’t too far off.” Poppa noted exactly what I was thinking.
“Thanks, Marcy. You’re a gem!” I called as I walked to the door and unlocked it. “Let’s go, Duke!” I yelled for my treat-begging dog.
Chapter Sixteen
“Pink is your color.”
Mama’s voice wasn’t the
sound I wanted to hear first thing in the morning. But whenever my phone rang at five a.m. and her name scrolled across the screen, I had to answer it.
Call it the guilt in me, but if she or Daddy had a heart attack and I didn’t answer, I’d never forgive myself.
“Mama, I’m tired. I didn’t get a wink’s sleep last night.” My mind immediately went from the crime scene to my fight with Finn.
“Because of Finn Vincent?” she asked.
“You heard about me and Finn?” I groaned, knowing Edna Easterly had probably used the telephone chain from church to spread the word about the disloyal officer I’d insisted become my deputy.
Finn wasn’t the reason for my lack of sleep. I’d stayed up all night reading Beryle’s book. There was enough backstabbing, disloyalty, and affairs in the one book to keep me from reading any more of her novels.
“I’m not gonna lie.” Mama sounded a bit sad. “I was hurt. Hurt that you didn’t come to me, your mama, and tell me the news, that I had to hear it from Ruby Smith. How on earth am I going to face the women at our Sweet Adelines meeting?” she whined.
“So Ruby is over you in the telephone chain?” I asked, knowing I was getting Mama’s goat, knowing the more prominent in the community you were, the higher up on the chain.
“What does this have to do with the church chain?” Mama asked.
Pink? It was like my mind had just woken up. I remembered the first words out of her mouth after I answered.
“Wait. Pink? What does pink have to do with loyalty?” I questioned.
“Loyalty?” Mama threw the question back at me.
“Mama.” I sat up in bed and ran my hand down Duke’s warm body that took up over three-fourths of the bed. “Let’s start over. Good morning, Mama. Is there something wrong? There’d better be something wrong if you are calling me at five in the morning.”
“Yes. There is something wrong. How on Earth do you think I feel that I had to find out from Ruby Smith that my daughter has been seen around town lip-locking with Finn Vincent, which by the way is fine with me, but you didn’t bother telling your own mother who has busted and broke her perfectly manicured fingernails pinning pins on crazy people for you, kissing babies and smudging my lipstick across my face, and ruining my heels when I go into a yard and drive a campaign sign into the dirt?” Mama sucked in a breath, but I couldn’t even think fast enough to interrupt before she ranted some more. “I am your mama and I’ve been waiting for you to date Finn Vincent, and this is how you repay me?”