As he dislodged the wooden shrapnel from his finger, Ms. Mary Belle grabbed a tattered carpet bag from the hall closet. She pulled jars, bottles, rocks and objects Emory couldn’t discern from various cabinets and buried them in the bag.
“M’ nephew left all m’ potions an’ charms. Cain’t make no livin’ w’out m’ wares.”
Emory picked up an errant rock on the kitchen counter. “Charms? You mentioned you gave your Specter a charm to keep her from harm. Would one of those work for me to reverse the curse?”
The witch snatched the rock from his hand. “To’d you, you have ta die.”
“Not much for loopholes, are you?” Emory opened a cabinet and found a chicken-bone doll in the back corner. He pulled it out and asked, “What is this for?”
“It’s a blessin’ tal’sman.” Ms. Mary Belle took it from him.
“It’s for luck?” Emory glanced inside her bedroom to see a multi-colored, crocheted quilt on the dimpled bed. “Do you need any help?”
She grunted at him and continued her work. After a few moments, she closed all the cabinets. “I’m outta tea. Gotta go dig me some more. Where’s m’ ’andbasket?”
Dig tea? Emory pointed to a spool table in the corner. “Is that the handbasket you want?”
The witch grunted and picked up a basket woven from thistle branches from the table. She reached behind the front door for a cane made of copper. “Let’s git.”
Emory grabbed her carpet bag and followed her outside. Shutting the door behind him, he tried to return the broken padlock to the latch, but each of his three attempts ended with it jangling back onto the porch. “Forget it.”
He looked toward his car but didn’t see his elderly companion. “Where’d she go?” He spotted her heading toward the woods at the side of the house. “Ms. Mary Belle!” He ran to stop her before reaching the edge of the tree line. “What are you doing?”
The witch twisted her head back while pointing forward. “I need to attend to m’ trees.”
As sweat grated through the pores on his forehead, the private investigator scanned the woods from side to side, trying to judge how expansive they might be. “How far are they?”
“Just yonder.” She pointed and continued walking.
Damn. I hate the woods. Emory reached for a pill bottle in his pocket before he realized it wasn’t there. I forgot to get a refill. He shook his head and forged ahead, following the old woman.
Wind whistled through the holes in the hollow cane clutched in the Crick Witch’s gnarled right hand, laying down an eerie score to their sylvan trek. They trudged over the frozen mud and occasional icy puddles between the trees. After a few non-verbal moments, they came upon a creek, frozen on top and running from a boulder with an unusual shape.
Ms. Mary Belle pointed to the creek. “M’ trees are b’hind Crow Rock.”
Emory snapped his fingers when she said the name. That’s what it looks like. The boulder was indeed shaped like a hunched-over crow with greenish water flowing from its beak, as if it were regurgitating food for an imagined chick.
He followed her around the creek to a grove of leafless sassafras trees in an area of land pockmarked with numerous shallow holes. “Was this all your property?”
She nodded toward a clearing several hundred feet away. “T’where the woods end.” The old woman dropped her thorny basket and steadied herself with the copper cane, waving aside Emory’s helping hand, as she dropped to her knees near the trunk of one of the trees. She ran her free hand down the tree trunk, along a large root that reached across the ground two feet before disappearing into the dirt. She gripped her cane with both hands and rammed it into the root.
What the hell is she doing?
She struck the root and the ground beside it again and again. Clink! The cane hit something hard, which she pulled from the dirt and tossed over her shoulder.
Emory picked up the lustrous blue and white rock that landed at his feet. Pretty. I wonder if this could be used for meditation. Maybe it’s good for healing or luck or fortune. Where do they come up with which rock is good for what purpose anyway? Maybe I should take up meditation. Emory dropped the rock and turned his focus back to the crazed digger before him.
Ms. Mary Belle drove the cane into the ground again and again, several times throwing aside other bothersome rocks. When at last she dropped the cane, she placed the pieces of the root she had chipped off into her basket.
Now that the cane lay silent, another sound came to Emory’s ear. It was faint at first, but it grew with the wind. He tilted his head to get a bead on the source. “Ms. Mary Belle, do you hear that?”
The old woman stood, clutching her full basket, and her face cracked into a grin. “That’s m’ Specter.”
The faint moaning quivered the air, wheedling goosebumps from Emory’s skin. His mind screamed as he realized she wasn’t imagining it. The spirit of her deceased love haunted the woods!
Emory watched Ms. Mary Belle close her eyes and embrace herself in proxy for her lost love. He found himself mesmerized by the witch as she swayed to the moaning of her Specter as if it were melodic. The wind gathered strength, blowing through her long grey hair and raising the hem of her brown ankle-length skirt. Her swaying morphed into slow rotations, and she raised her arms over her head before extending them at her sides.
The cell phone ringing in his pocket slapped Emory’s attention away. He glanced at the caller ID and walked away from Ms. Mary Belle before answering. “Jeff, did you see the picture I sent you?”
Still at Becky’s house, within earshot of both her and Randy, Jeff answered Emory over the phone. “Why would the TVA be auctioning off property after going through all that trouble to acquire it?”
“I have no idea, but we need to find out.”
Jeff waved to Becky and headed toward the front door. “I’m on my way to talk to Frank Belcher now. By the way, what are you doing out there?”
“I brought Mary Belle Hinter here so she could get some closure.”
Jeff slipped into the driver seat of his rental. “I’m glad to see you took my advice. Is she going to lift your so-called curse?”
“Don’t poke at me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I heard that tone.”
Jeff smiled at himself in the rearview mirror. “That was concern. Not ridicule.”
“Whatever. Apparently, the curse is set in stone.”
“She can’t break her own curse? What kind of witch is she?”
Emory glanced at the witch, who was now singing to the wind. “A very odd one.”
Jeff barged into Frank Belcher’s office without knocking or waiting for an invitation. “So the TVA is into flipping properties now?”
Hunched over his desk reading a document, the startled man gasped at the sound of Jeff’s voice. “What?”
“You just kicked all those people off their land for the expressed purpose of building a windfarm, and now you’re selling it?”
Frank removed his glasses and placed them on his desk. “Going after that tract was a decision made by my predecessor – one I never agreed with.”
“That’s great. Why not just sell the land back to the previous owners?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t reverse the purchase of those properties. They’re owned by the TVA now, and the only way we can unload property is through public auction. On the bright side, the previous owners can probably get the land back at auction for less than we paid them for it. I’m calling all of them today to let them know about the auction.”
“I suppose that’s good for them.” Jeff took a seat and relaxed his tone. “So you’re prepared to take a loss?”
“The added energy produced at the new tract will more than make up for any loss.”
“How did you choose the new tract so quickly?” Jeff felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
Frank gurgled out what Jeff thought was a laugh, if not a well-executed one. “We always had two tracts we were considering.”
“That’s right. I remember Peter West saying something about that.” Jeff saw that Virginia was calling him, but he let it go to voicemail. “Was that common knowledge?”
“It was publicly shared knowledge. In the paper. On our website.”
“So why did you disagree with Corey’s choice?”
Frank sat back in his chair and interlocked his fingers over his sunken waist. “Corey had a tendency to make decisions with his gut instead of basing them solely on the facts at hand. A meteorological report comparing the two tracts clearly shows higher average wind speeds at the tract I chose.”
“Could I see that report?”
Frank tilted back toward the desk. “It’s publicly available information.” He shuffled through papers on his desk and handed Jeff the document.
Jeff glanced at the annual wind speeds for both tracts. “The difference is just 0.01?”
“Trust me, it’s significant.”
“I make it a rule never to trust someone who begins a sentence with those two words.”
Frank cleared his throat. “Ultimately, Corey said he chose the other tract because it’s flatter, and so he thought it would be cheaper to build on.”
“Is that not the case?”
“Yes, but we’ll make up the difference with the extra wind.”
“When we last spoke, you mentioned a report you get from a physical inspection of the land after you’ve purchased it. Could I see that report on the original tract?”
“It’s the survey report, and I actually haven’t received it yet. The contractor was supposed to give it to me yesterday. It’s a moot point now anyway.”
“Who’s the contractor?”
“We use a company called Rutherford Geophysical Survey Company. Why?”
Jeff rose from his seat. “Just curious. Thank you for your time.” He stopped shy of the door and turned. “By the way, did people in the office here know about Corey’s rooftop meditations?”
“He didn’t announce it, but I don’t think it was a secret. He had been coming in half an hour before the official start of the workday, opening his office and then disappearing with a gym bag for twenty minutes or so before returning to the office. There’s no gym in this building, so I asked him once where he went and he told me.”
“You must get here really early.”
“First to arrive and last to leave. I take my job seriously.”
“Thanks again for your time.” Jeff exited the office and pulled out his phone to call Virginia back when he saw that she had left him a voicemail.
“Jeff, this is Virginia. I think we should add Becky to the list of suspects. After that incident at her house, I guess you could say I took off my blinders. I did some digging, and it turns out the more I find out about her life, the less I know her. She told me that Corey had a small life insurance policy, and I figured it was just enough to pay the funeral expenses with maybe a little left over. Jeff, it’s for $750,000.”
Chapter 24
Virginia parked on the street in front of Becky’s house and started up the walkway.
The front door opened ahead of her, and Randy Graham exited the house, wearing a sleeveless, quilted vest. “Hello again.”
Virginia grumbled at him before a black object fell from his vest pocket. “You dropped something.”
Randy one-eightied and picked it up. He grinned at her, holding up the ski mask he had worn during the role-play fiasco as if it were an enticement.
Virginia rolled her eyes and continued to the front door.
Becky answered in a bathrobe. “Virginia. Why are you back here? I was just about to take a shower.”
“I won’t keep you long. I need to talk to you.”
Becky stepped back to let her in, but Virginia gave her head a gentle shake and stood in place. “Are you here to apologize?”
“No. Why didn’t you tell me about Corey’s life insurance policy?”
“I did.”
“Yes, but you didn’t tell me how much it was.”
“Only because I didn’t know at the time. I was shocked when the insurance company told me.”
Virginia shrugged. “Well now that his death is officially a murder and not a suicide, there’s nothing to keep you from cashing in.”
“I’m telling the truth! Look, before Corey started contracting with the museum, we were barely making ends meet. I knew he had some life insurance through the TVA, but he never told me how much. I guess he wanted it to be a surprise.”
“How much more work did he have to do for the museum?”
“The contract was for a year, but the director was really happy with his work, so there’s no reason he wouldn’t have renewed it after that.”
“How many more pieces did he have to provide?”
“There was no limit. The museum replaces them regularly and sells them off to other museums. The curator, that stuck-up bitch Claire Beckett, always says, ‘Stagnant exhibits lead to dropping attendance.’ I bet she couldn’t wait to give Corey’s contract to her husband.”
“Her husband does those animal skeleton things too?”
Becky nodded. “He used to supply them before Corey got the contract.”
“I don’t like to ask this, but how much was he making from the museum?”
Becky shrugged and answered, “He was averaging about $3,000 a month.”
“Wow! I would’ve never guessed that much.”
“It’s funny what people will pay for.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll let you get to your shower.” Blank-faced Virginia turned away.
Becky grabbed her arm and widened her eyes. “Hey, don’t leave like this. You’re my friend. I’m sorry if I haven’t been the best to you since this whole mess began.”
Her friend’s description of recent events brought the expression raging back to her face. “This whole mess?” Virginia locked eyes with the widow. “Becky, your husband was murdered while you were sleeping with another man, and you’ve continued carrying on as if nothing happened. You betrayed him in life and in death.”
Becky crossed her arms, and once her mouth closed, she spit out, “My marriage is none of your concern!”
“You’re right. And neither is your friendship. Goodbye Becky.”
Virginia wandered around the natural history museum until she saw a woman setting up a display with what looked like a coyote skeleton. She glanced at the woman’s badge and stopped to speak to her. “A new piece?”
While adjusting it on the stand, Claire answered, “Yes, it just came in.”
“Your husband’s work?”
Claire Beckett stopped working and faced Virginia. “Who are you?”
“Virginia Kennon. I’m a PI investigating Corey Melton’s murder. You met my associates.”
“Yes, but I don’t understand why y’all keep coming around here. No one here had anything to do with it. Unless it was Becky.”
“Why would you say that?”
Claire shrugged. “Isn’t it always the spouse?”
Monty Beckett entered the room carrying a skeleton Virginia couldn’t identify. She nodded toward the approaching man and asked, “Speaking of which, is that yours?”
Claire pointed Monty to an empty display stand. “Just put it there.” She turned back to Virginia. “Did Becky tell you how they stole the contract from Monty?”
“How did they steal it?”
Now empty-handed, Monty joined his wife. “Honey, everything okay?”
Claire didn’t answer him. “She found out how much Monty was making and had her husband put in a lowball offer. My director will take any opportunity to cut costs.”
Monty asked, “Who are you?”
Claire answered, “Another PI.”
“Okay.” Monty stepped in front of Virginia, glaring down into her brown eyes and pointed a finger an inch from her nose. “You need to go.”
Virginia didn’t budge. “You need to get that finger out of my face.”
Monty jabbed his fin
ger into Virginia’s forehead. “Now.”
Claire touched his arm. “Monty, stop.”
“Do that to me one more time,” Virginia dared.
Monty accepted the challenge and pushed her forehead again. Quick as a snap, she grabbed his finger and rammed it into her knee.
Monty yelped and jerked his hand back. “You bitch! You broke my finger!”
While Claire tended to her husband, Virginia told him, “It’s just dislocated. Now, I’ll go.”
Exiting the museum, Virginia heard her phone ring. “Hi Jeff.”
Jeff clicked on his turn signal as he talked on the phone over the car’s Bluetooth. “Hi. I need a favor. Can you track down a report on the windfarm land? The Rutherford Geophysical Survey Company was supposed to do a complete physical survey of the land, but Frank Belcher said he hasn’t received anything from them.”
As she walked to her car, Virginia put the call on speakerphone and typed the name of the company on her mobile browser. “Do you think he’s lying?”
“Possibly.” After making a turn, Jeff pulled down the car visor to shield his eyes from the sun. “Either way, our best bet for getting our hands on that report is through the surveyors.”
“Okay. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
“Why not now?”
“It’s late. I wasn’t planning on going back to the office.”
“Are you outside?”
Virginia took the phone off speaker. “I just questioned Claire Beckett.”
“The museum lady? What about?”
“Apparently, Corey took the gig from her husband Monty, and neither of them is happy about it.”
“Monty? That name sounds… That big guy’s her husband?”
Death Opens a Window Page 15