Ax to Grind

by Tonya Kappes

  “Oh, gosh.” I groaned. “I forgot all about the council meeting.”

  “I can go and represent us,” Finn suggested.

  “No way. Not with that crap published. We,” I pointed between us, “will go together and be a cohesive unit. And we can always be honest and ask for anyone to come forward with information.”

  “Or you can go to Edna and ask her to do an exclusive and ask the community for help and to report anything they might’ve seen. Nothing is unimportant,” Betty suggested.

  “You know,” I nodded my head, “that’s not a bad idea. And Edna will be there tomorrow night.”

  “She needs to get on our side.” Finn looked down at the fax machine that was beeping and spitting out papers. “This isn’t good.” I detected disappointment in his voice. “The tape Gina Kim dropped off yesterday was analyzed and the person seen running away was too shadowy. They are seen in only one frame looking back. They can’t determine whether the shadow alongside the face is long hair or just a shadow, which means they can’t determine the sex of the person.”

  I walked over and took the paper when he offered it to me. I quickly read through what he’d said and groaned.

  “When did she drop off the tape?” I was at the department most of yesterday, and she didn’t show up when I was there.

  “She left it with Bartleby. The Kims had eaten supper at Cowboys and you’d already gone for the night. Bartleby gave it to me this morning,” Finn said.

  “Kenni.” Betty got my attention. “Darby has something to tell you.” Betty had the phone hooked to her ear. “I’m getting the messages off the machine, and she called saying she needed to talk to you.”

  “Did she reference the case?” I asked, wondering if Darby was going to come clean about her little run-in with Cecily Hoover at Duke’s ceremony and admit there was really something between her and Cecily that she’d been keeping a secret.

  “No, just asked if you had a minute to stop by. Nothing urgent.” Betty shrugged.

  “Any more messages?” I asked.

  “Nope.” Betty tapped her ear. “I’ve got my ear to the gossip channels though. Maybe somebody will say somethin’.”

  “I was going to give the guests at the Inn a little more time to wake up, but maybe right now isn’t too early.” I wanted to make sure that when I went over that they’d be there.

  “Nah, it’s not too early. Antiquers love to get up and go, plus she serves breakfast starting at eight.” Betty eyes darted toward the clock on the wall.

  I grabbed a few business cards off my desk along with my pen and little pad of paper and stuck them in the front pocket of my uniform shirt.

  “Good thing, because I’m hungry.” I headed out the door.

  The oranges, reds, purples, greens, and yellows of the fall trees nestled around the blue-painted clapboard Inn created the coziest feeling. It was picture perfect. Darby had decorated the front of the Inn with hay bales and fodder shocks with pumpkins and gourds. A few scarecrows were even sprinkled around the front.

  There were a few carved pumpkins on each step up to the wrap-around front porch. The rocking chairs were empty. Quilts were draped over the back of the chairs for the guests to snuggle up in. The heaters that hung from the ceiling were turned on. I’d guess Darby had them on timers to coincide with breakfast. She made it a very nice place to stay.

  She’d even set out an old bourbon barrel from one of the Kentucky bourbon facilities in the corner where Kiwi was a couple of days ago. A steaming Crock-pot filled with warm apple cider along with a glass-covered dome of pastries sat on top of the barrel for guests to enjoy while they sat in one of the rocking chairs and enjoyed the amazing view.

  The screen door of the Inn creaked, catching my attention. A young girl came over with a stack of napkins and put them next to the pastries.

  “Good morning,” I said. “You must be the new girl.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She looked up and down my uniform. “Sheriff.”

  “You can call me Kenni,” I said.

  She nodded with a tight closed-lip smile and turned to walk back into the Inn.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Jenny Rose Neil,” she said. “Jenny.” She shrugged one shoulder.

  “Welcome to Cottonwood, Jenny.” I held the screen door open for her and followed her inside.

  “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder.

  I got the funny feeling she was trying to rush off, but I had a few questions.

  “How long have you been in Cottonwood?” I asked and leaned up against the counter on the left where the guests checked in.

  “A couple of days.” She pinched her lips together and avoided eye contact. Her long dishwater blonde hair fell in front of her face as she looked down at the desk behind the counter as though she were looking for something to keep her busy.

  “What brought you to Cottonwood?” I asked.

  It wasn’t a question anyone else in Cottonwood wouldn’t ask; the only difference was that when it came from my mouth in this uniform, it seemed more official than nosy.

  “I’ve been here all my life.” I offered a warm smile to help break the shield Jenny had up.

  “Passing through.” She ran a finger down the guest sign-in sheet.

  “Good morning, Kenni.” Darby walked down the stairs with a wooden tray in her hands.

  “Good morning.” I turned my attention to her for a split second and when I turned back to talk to Jenny, she’d taken the opportunity to slip away.

  “I expected to see your mama this early, but not you.” Her brows twitched. “I’m assuming you got my message.”

  “I did, and I’m here to talk to your guests about the Stone estate sale that’s taking place tomorrow.” I looked around, noticing Darby didn’t have a lot of antiques and wondered what her conversation with our victim had been about. “I need to get a list of items they wanted to check out and how they found out so fast after Beryle’s death this was going to happen.” I pulled the list out of my bag and snapped it open with a good fling.

  “Sure. We can cooperate since you have a list. I was hoping that talking to me was enough.” Darby lifted her chin and her eyes drew down her nose as she tried to look at the list. “How did you get my guest list?”

  “I’ve been here talking to people.” I didn’t necessarily lie. I just hadn’t talked to the people on the list.

  “Let me go put this tray in the kitchen and give Jenny some morning jobs. She’s new and I’m still training her.” She turned and walked down the hall past the stairs and through the swinging doors that lead into the kitchen.

  I moseyed into what used to be a large dining room of the old house that Darby had turned into a small dining room with a couple of cozy café tables. Each table had a small pumpkin centerpiece.

  “Lawdy be.” Poppa appeared and stuck his nose in the air. “It smells so good in here.”

  “Hi there.” Ignoring Poppa as he went around and stuck his nose in all the guests’ food, I walked up to two women who appeared to be in their sixties. “Y’all in town for the Stone estate sale?”

  “We are.” The lady aggressively nodded and smiled.

  “I’m Sheriff Lowry. If you need anything at all, please call us anytime.” I took a business card out of my pocket and put it on the table for them.

  “Hope and Bea. We’re sisters.” Hope pointed between them. She had short blonde hair with big green eyes that stood out with the green turtleneck she had on. “We heard there was an original painting by Ms. Stone that we’d love to get our hands on. We loved her books. Anything she created with her hands is exactly what we want.”

  That reminded me that Ruby had said there was a painting missing from the inventory list. Where was that painting? Had Beryle painted it?

  “I’d forgotten all about Beryle and her painti
ngs.” The memory put a twinkle in Poppa’s eyes. “She did love to paint. We’d jump in her little red MG and park down by the lake. I’d swim, and she’d paint.” His face stilled. His mouth frowned. “The last time we went was when I last saw her paint. The next day was when her sister was gone. It was the saddest thing.”

  Poppa needed me to discuss his sadness, but it wasn’t like I could do it here, right now. I tried to give him a sympathetic look without people noticing me staring out into space.

  The woman’s companion nodded while stuffing her face with some eggs that looked and smelled good. My stomach growled.

  “How did you hear about the sale?” I asked.

  “The internet.” Bea’s brows lifted. Like Hope, she had blonde hair and green eyes, only her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and she had on a black turtleneck. “We have Beryle’s name set on Google alerts. Anytime someone posts about her, we get an alert. Plus, with her books,” the woman’s face hardened, “though she hasn’t put out a new book in years, those online bookstores have a feature where you can follow your favorite authors.” She rubbed her hands together. “When I get one of those emails, I silently beg for it to be about Beryle. But I guess we won’t be getting any more novels from her.”

  “I hope you get that painting.” I did a double tap on their table with my fingertips before I walked over to the next table. “Good morning.” I greeted a couple who were enjoying a couple of pastries and coffee. “Those doughnuts look so good.”

  “They are.” The man nodded. “We have really enjoyed your town since we got here.”

  “Today we are heading down to Main Street where we heard you had a lot of small boutiques,” the woman said.

  “And the antique shop,” the man said.

  “Oh, yes.” Her eyes bugged out and she smiled. “Definitely the antique store.”

  “Ruby’s?” I asked.

  “Yes. We are very excited to see what Beryle Stone has down there,” she said giving me to opportunity to ask more questions.

  “I’m Sheriff Lowry, and if you need anything while you are here, be sure to holler.” I plucked a couple more business cards from my pocket and handed it to them.

  “We’re the Ganders. From Minnesota.” They nodded.

  “Wow, that’s a long way. We are proud of Beryle here in Cottonwood. How did you hear about the sale?” I asked.

  “On eBay, and there are estate sale newspapers and magazines. Though it’s not on there yet, but they put up a photo that says coming soon.” She looked at her husband and gestured between them. “I Googled and saw where Beryle had died.” She drew her hand to her lips that took a sudden downward dip. She curled her lips inward, closed her eyes, and slowly shook her head. “Awful she died. Just awful.”

  “Instead of waiting to see what the sellers on eBay are going to buy, we decided to come and get our own stuff,” the man said. “They jack all those prices up. Especially with a celebrity who’s passed.”

  “Good luck.” I offered a friendly smile. “Be sure to head on over to Ben’s for lunch. They have the best beans and cornbread.”

  “I heard that’s a must,” another woman’s voice said next to me. She was sitting alone in a wing-backed chair next to the large stone fireplace, which I’d heard nearly cost Darby her entire budget when she was redoing the old house.

  It was well worth the money; the workers built it by hand and cut each stone to fit. I was sure Darby has recovered ten times the cost since she opened the Inn. A much-needed place for our town since it was one of the only places to stay. The Inn and Tattered Cover Books were the only offerings in Cottonwood for our out-of-town guests.

  “Hi there.” I walked over to her. “You’re here for the sale?”

  “I’m here to see what sells and what doesn’t. I’m a photographer. And now that there’s been a murder, of Beryle Stone’s assistant no less, I’ve taken an active interest in the case and hope to turn that into the magazine article instead of lousy photos.” She leaned back into the chair, resting her elbows on the arms and intertwining her fingers in her lap.

  “I’m sorry. I’m Sheriff Lowry.” I put my hand out for her to shake.

  “Jetter. Everyone at work calls me Jetter. I work for a tabloid magazine out of California. And I’m here to get the details on the estate.” A slow and steady smile crossed her lips. “I was just reading about the turmoil in the sheriff’s office. Makes for an interesting story.” She tapped a copy of the Cottonwood Chronicle with her finger. “And I must be on my way, since I have a meeting with the editor-in-chief. Edna Easterly?”

  Jetter stood up and grabbed the Chronicle off the table, folding it in half and sticking it up under her armpit.

  “Have a good day, Sheriff.” Jetter nodded.

  Poppa stuck his foot out in front of Jetter. Something happened. She stumbled but didn’t fall completely down. Her torso flailed as her feet tried to keep up with her. She jerked around once she had her footing and glared at me.

  I didn’t say anything to her. It was better to keep my mouth shut. Now she’d definitely write an article. There was sure to be some blow-up about it, and I didn’t want to waste my time with it. At least not until I got this murder solved.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth. “I really think she felt your foot.”

  “Nah. She’s just clumsy.” Poppa tilted his head to the side, peeking around to see where Jetter had gone.

  I pulled the list of guests out of my pocket and checked off the Ganders, Jetter, Bea, and Hope. I didn’t get a sense that they’d said the words Kiwi had repeated to me. I’d just knocked out half of my list.

  Jetter had stopped at the front desk and was saying something to Darby. Darby gave me a look that told me she wasn’t too happy.

  There was a shuffle down the steps. I looked up and saw Hattie Hankle taking each step carefully. Kiwi was propped up on her shoulder.

  “Hi, Hattie.” I walked over to the stairs and up to help her down the rest. “How are you today?”

  “I’m okay.” Her brows were furrowed. “I’m not sure where my sister is.” Her eyes popped open wide and she swung them at me. “Do you think a critter got her?”

  “Hattie, I didn’t know you had a sister,” I said, trying to play along. I’d found it was much easier to just go with what Hattie said.

  “Where’s my seester? Seester?” Kiwi tried to imitate Hattie’s southern accent. “Tag, you’re it. Tag!” Kiwi squawked.

  “What did he say?” Poppa asked and stood next to Kiwi.

  “Tag, you’re it.” Hattie tapped me on the head and giggled.

  “Tag, you’re it.” I tagged her back.

  “No, Kenni. That’s not right.” Hattie stomped and Kiwi’s claws dug into her shoulder as though he were holding on for dear life.

  “Not right, not right.” Kiwi’s feathers waved up on his neck as he repeated Hattie. “Freeze!” Kiwi squawked.

  “Evie said you have to freeze.” Hattie started to sit on the floor, but she was really trying to get on all fours and crawl.

  “That’s enough.” Darby rushed around and grabbed Hattie by the elbow. “It’s not time to play tag.”

  “Not just any tag.” Poppa smacked his hands together and did a jig, kicking his hip up to the side along with his elbow. “Beryle Evie Stone. Her sister used to call her Evie.”

  “Wait.” I put my hand out for Darby to leave Hattie alone. “Hattie, did you and your sister play freeze tag?”

  “All the time.” Her face lit up in delight. “She hasn’t been here in a while. Paige tries, but she isn’t as fun as Evie.”

  “That’s what I had to talk to you about.” Darby let out a long deep sigh. “Hattie Hankle is Beryle Stone’s sister.”

  “Smile!” Jetter yelled.

  We all turned around with shock and awe on o
ur faces. All but Hattie Hankle. She was grinning as big as a possum eating a sweet potato.

  Click. The flash of Jetter’s camera blinded me.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You knew all this time that Hattie Hankle was Beryle Stone’s sister, and you didn’t think to tell me?” I asked after I’d dragged Darby into the Inn’s kitchen and planted her in the chair at the table.

  “It wasn’t that I wasn’t going to tell you.” She put her head into her hands and shook it. “That’s one reason I called Betty. I knew I had some information that you might find helpful.”

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “Son of a biscuit.” Poppa’s jaw dropped. I’d never thought I’d see a ghost at a loss for words. “Beryle told me that her sister tried to follow us to the river that day I told you about and they found her dead.”

  “I was trying to keep a family secret, well...secret. They’d gone to great lengths, using Hattie’s middle name as her last after Beryle moved her here.” Darby’s eyes dipped. “Beryle came to me after I bought the Inn. Her father had just died, and she told me how this adult-care facility had called her about payment for her sister. Hattie.” Tears filled Darby’s eyes. “She was so shocked to find out her sister was still alive because she’d spent all these years thinking she’d died. Come to find out, her parents were hiding that they’d put Hattie in a facility so Beryle could live a normal life. So she wouldn’t have to stop her dreams of being an author, traveling the world to stay in Cottonwood to take care of her sister. Beryle was distraught. Instead of taking her in due to her crazy traveling schedule, she asked, practically begged, me to rent her a room at the Inn on an ongoing basis.”

  “Go on.” I took out my notebook and began to write down everything she was saying.

  “This is on the record?” Her eyes popped open. “I can’t have it on the record.”

  “This is a major development in the current investigation of the murder of Cecily Hoover and attempted murder of Paige Lemar,” I said. “What did Hattie mean about Paige trying to play tag?”

  “Kenni, I want to help, I do, but I...” She hesitated. “I promised Beryle that I’d keep Hattie a secret, and if I did, then Beryle would continue to pay for Hattie. I just can’t let her live here for free. I mean, I love Hattie, but this is my business and my life.”