by B L Crumley
When I reached the alpacas’ pen, I pulled out my phone to snap a few pictures to send to my city friends. Off to the side of the enclosure was a small barn. The alpacas had a covered area, and mostly stayed outside since the weather was pretty mild.
The previous owners had a few horses, so the barn housed several stalls, a tack room, and another space for storage. Lifting the wood latch, I pulled open the large wooden door, and went to find the alpacas’ treats that were kept in the tack room.
I’d only walked a few steps when I noticed the door was partially open, making me hesitate. I was almost positive that Fern had closed it tight when we were finished feeding the alpacas yesterday. I shook off the unsettling thought. It was probably nothing. The place was drafty and sometimes doors didn’t always stay shut. Reaching the doorway, I pushed on the old wooden door and stepped inside.
Then I screamed.
Lying facedown on the floor was a body.
I’d like to say that I was brave and fearless and rushed to the man to check his pulse and see if I could save him. But I didn’t.
I stood in the doorway. Petrified.
“Hello,” I squeaked. “Um, are you okay, sir?” I tentatively took another step into the room.
That’s when I saw it. Blood. My stomach revolted. I shouldn’t have added whipped cream and caramel creamer to my coffee.
I forced my feet to move closer even though I was pretty certain the man was dead. Dried blood was matted in the man’s thinning gray hair. Then I recognized him; it was Fern’s neighbor from last night. Earl.
Oh no. My hand flew over my mouth. What was he doing here? And the bigger question: Why was he dead?
I swallowed, hoping to calm the churning caffeine and sugar in my stomach. Backing up slowly, I made sure not to touch anything and returned to the aisle. I tugged my phone out of my sweatshirt pocket.
I needed to call someone. My first instinct was to call Fern. After all, this was her property, but that could wait. Shakily, my fingers dialed 911. I spoke to the dispatcher, answering the questions I could — there weren’t many.
When the call ended, I left the barn. I needed to put some distance between myself and Fern’s dead neighbor. Maybe then it would seem less real, and my stomach would quit churning. I called my aunt, but it went to voicemail. I left her a message relaying that there was an emergency and she needed to come home ASAP. I figured that was better than shrieking that the neighbor she loathed was dead in her barn.
Around fifteen minutes later, I heard voices and the click of the gate unlatching.
“Hello,” called out a masculine voice.
“Back here,” I yelled back.
Then Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome emerged and came striding toward me. I mean, Sheriff Walker. He wore dark fitted jeans with a dress shirt peeking out of his police jacket, and he looked delicious.
I glanced down at my baggy sweatshirt with what appeared to be a coffee stain (it made sense with how much I drank), and flannel pajama pants with pink and turquoise owls. I inwardly groaned. No makeup, in addition to bedhead with my hair shoved in a messy bun. I hadn’t even brushed my teeth! I snapped my lips shut.
The sheriff’s eyebrows rose as he approached me. Yes, I know I wasn’t a pretty sight, but I was still a heck of a lot better than what he was going to find in the barn.
“Ms. King,” he greeted formally. By his confused expression, he seemed surprised to see me. Or maybe he was just appalled by my outfit. I certainly was.
“Charlee,” I corrected. Ms. King was my deceased grandmother, a cantankerous woman I didn’t care to be addressed as.
“Charlee, I hear you found a body in the barn.” His gaze moved to the building behind me.
“Yes,” I confirmed, nodding. “I’m pretty sure it’s Earl Henderson, the neighbor.” I pointed toward the house next door.
His mouth formed a grim line.
“Sheriff, I got the camera and crime scene tape,” hollered another man.
The man came into view and I grimaced.
“Thanks, Troy.”
The young deputy came to stand beside the sheriff.
“Troy, this is—”
“Charlee! Hi, how are you?” Troy stuck his hand out, grinning like a kid at a candy store.
I couldn’t believe my rotten luck. I should have gone to church with Fern.
“Oh, I know Charlee. She used to date my older brother Kenny way back when,” Troy rambled.
Curiosity flickered in Cole’s eyes.
I was mortified. How was Troy even old enough to do this job? I wasn’t even sure if he was twenty-one.
“Charlee, would you please show us the body?” The Sheriff motioned for me to walk ahead of them.
“Sure,” I didn’t bother with a fake smile. This was a crime scene after all, and with Troy’s appearance, I didn’t have it in me to feign any friendliness.
At the entrance to the tack room, I pointed. “He’s in there.”
Cole seemed to sense my discomfort, and walked around me into the room. Troy followed behind, snapping pictures.
“Charlee, would you please come here a second?” Cole asked.
I poked my head into the room, and made eye contact with the sheriff, who kneeled near the body.
“Is this how you found him?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Did you touch him? Or disturb anything else in the room?”
I shook my head. “I uh, saw the blood on his head, and assumed he was dead and left.”
Cole pointed to a coffee mug on a stool near the alpaca food.
“Oh, that.” I entered the room to retrieve it. “I came in here to get treats for the alpacas and must have set it there.”
Cole stood and looked around the room. It was a mess. Alpaca supplies, empty flowerpots, potting soil, and shelves stacked with home-canned fish and fruit littered the small space. His dark blue eyes settled back on me. I know we were standing in a room with a dead body, and I shouldn’t care, but why couldn’t I have taken five minutes with my appearance?
“Excuse me, Charlee.” Troy stepped around me and out into the aisle.
“Do you have any idea why Earl Henderson would be here?”
“Not a clue. I mean, I just met him last night when he—” I stopped abruptly, realizing how that might sound.
“When he what?”
When he came over and fought with Fern. I couldn’t say that. Fern didn’t kill Earl, and I wasn’t going to implicate her as a possible suspect.
“Charlee, what happened?”
I chewed on my lower lip, trying to think of the most sugarcoated way to explain it. Unable to come with anything good, I exhaled a defeated breath. Fine, I’d tell the truth. “Earl was in the backyard chasing Moe with a clam shovel… or was it Cheddar?” My head tilted to the side as I tried to remember.
“Moe? Cheddar?” Cole looked confused and not the least bit amused. Maybe he didn’t have a sense of humor. Perhaps he wasn’t as perfect as Fern thought.
“Moe is actually short for Mozzarella. She’s one of the alpacas. They’re all named after cheese,” I explained. Like he cared about that detail.
“Why was Earl chasing an alpaca?” Cole crossed his muscular arms over his broad chest.
Focus, Charlee.
“He said the animal was in his yard eating his flowers.”
Cole stared at me, but didn’t say anything. He might have been thinking. Probably that I was crazy.
“Then what happened?” he asked.
“Well, Fern and Earl had a few words, and then he went back to his house.” Okay, so I could sugarcoat a little.
“By ‘words’ do you mean an argument?” Cole clarified.
“Uh, maybe,” I replied vaguely.
“Charlee,” he admonished sternly.
“He w
as chasing Cheddar with a clam shovel. Of course Fern was upset,” I divulged. “Personally, I think Earl was overreacting,” I added, despite that the sheriff probably didn’t care one iota about my opinion.
“Did Fern threaten him?”
Oh sure! He would jump straight to that conclusion.
“Possibly, but that was after Earl threatened Cheddar.” I was trying my best to keep Fern off the suspect list, but feared I was failing.
“Okay, that’s what I needed to know.”
Crapola. This wasn’t going well.
“Fern did not,” I emphasized, “kill Earl.”
“I didn’t say she did,” Cole replied coolly.
“Well, good,” I spluttered.
“Hey, Sheriff,” Troy’s muffled voice shouted. “I think I found something.”
Cole stepped past me and out into the aisle. I turned and followed. Troy poked his head out of one of the stalls. “In here,” he waved. The already small space was filled with a lawn mower, weed eater, and a variety of garden tools. I leaned around Cole’s large frame to see what Troy was talking about.
“Look,” Troy kneeled and pointed at the blade of a shovel. “That’s blood. Could that be the murder weapon?”
“Possibly.” The sheriff kneeled to study the shovel.
I was terrified I’d failed miserably, as it looked like Fern just jumped to the top of the suspect list. I chewed my fingernail anxiously.
Cole looked back at me, and his gaze hardened. I backed away. “Charlee, where’s Fern?”
“Church. I called her and left a message. If she gets it, she’ll come home. I didn’t tell her about the body,” I added, just in case he thought I’d warned her to get out of town.
“Okay, you can go back to the house. But don’t go anywhere,” he ordered firmly.
I wasn’t sure I liked the tone of his voice. I hadn’t done anything wrong. And neither had Fern for that matter. I turned to leave and headed for the door.
“Did you have a chance to go through the other rooms?” Cole asked Troy from somewhere behind me.
“Yeah, just briefly. The other stalls just had hay.”
“And the room at the back?” Cole asked.
I froze.
“It was locked,” Troy answered.
“Charlee,” Cole barked, saying my name like a drill sergeant.
“Yes.” I turned around and pasted on a fake smile. I didn’t feel like it, but I’m afraid the situation warranted one. I really needed to figure out a way to talk myself out of this. And fast.
“Do you have a key to access this room?”
“Do I have a key?” I parroted back to him slowly.
His eyes narrowed into slits. “Where’s the key, Charlee? Either you open it, or I bust the door in.”
I wasn’t liking this serious, menacing side of the sheriff.
Holding my head high (well, as high as I could, seeing as I was wearing owl pajama pants), I marched toward him. Shoved against the wall just past the door was a small bench. I kneeled and felt around for the key that was hung on a nail underneath.
Gripping the key, I stood and inserted it in the lock, avoiding Cole’s angry glare. The knob turned, and I pushed the door open. Cole stepped inside and swore quietly.
“Charlee, is this your aunt’s still?” He turned, a furious glint in his eyes.
“Oh, is that what that is?” I tried to play dumb, but I’m not the best liar, so I don’t think he bought it.
“Yes, Charlee. It’s a still, for making moonshine. But I think you know that,” he bit out sharply. “Which is a felony.”
“Oh, come on, it’s Rockfish Bay,” I protested, perhaps sounding a little whiny.
He snickered. “I’ve been hearing that a lot since I moved here. Are you saying that the law doesn’t apply, Ms. King?”
Great, so we were back to Ms. King again. He must really be ticked.
“Maybe that’s why this town has so many problems.” He grumbled and stalked away.
I chased after him. “Of course I believe in upholding the law.” I kind of had to; it was sort of in the genes with my dad being the former district attorney.
Although, I was pretty sure my dad knew about Fern’s still. Or maybe I just assumed he knew. “I’m saying that Fern is an upstanding citizen, and a pillar of this community.”
Yes, I was laying it on thick, but this was Fern’s life here. Besides, no one other than the goody two-shoes sheriff cared one lick that Fern had a still. It’s not like she sold the stuff.
He stopped, and I accidentally bumped into him. “Sorry.” I jumped away quickly.
“Go wait at the house.” He walked away and pulled out his phone.
It didn’t look like I was going to make it back to Portland today.
Chapter Four
W hen I got back to the house, Fern still wasn’t home, so I raced up the stairs to brush my teeth and change into real clothes. I even took an extra minute to apply some mascara. It couldn’t hurt, right? As I was rummaging through my suitcase for some socks, I heard Fern’s voice.
“Charlee! Are you here? Is everything okay?”
I grabbed the first pair of socks I could find, which also happened to have owls on them, and rushed down to meet Fern. “I’m coming!”
She met me at the bottom of the stairs. My expression must have been more dire than I intended as she gasped. “That bad?”
I nodded. “Let’s go sit.”
“Should I make some tea?” she asked. If she only knew.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said as calmly as I could. But I’m sure we could both use some. As could the sheriff. He was wound way too tightly.
Fern sunk onto the chair opposite me. “Okay, I’m sitting. So, spill it.”
“Your neighbor Earl is dead in the barn,” I blurted quickly.
Fern’s wide eyes blinked several times, reminding me of an owl. An owl in shock. “My barn?” She looked out the window toward the backyard. “Is that crime scene tape?” she gasped.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. But it gets worse.”
Fern turned back to me.
“It looks like Earl was hit in the back of the head. The police found a shovel with blood on it.” I hesitated. “And I may have told the sheriff about what happened last night.”
“I see.” Fern clasped her hands together on the table. “So, he knows we argued and suspects me.”
“I was adamant that you did not kill Earl,” I declared again.
“Of course I didn’t kill the man. I wanted him to move, not die,” Fern said exasperated.
I’m not sure the sentiment was that much better. She still didn’t like the man. But dislike and murder were two very different things. “So, they’ve got some circumstantial evidence,” Fern acknowledged weakly.
“Yeah, it looks that way. And there’s one other thing,” I took a deep breath. “The sheriff found your still, and he’s pretty upset about it.”
At this, Fern began to chuckle. “Oh, that. Well, I think the sheriff has bigger fish to worry about than my little ol’ still.”
“Yes, one would think, but—”
A knock sounded at the back door. “I’ll get it.” I scooted back my chair, and went to answer it. Through the beveled glass panes I saw Cole, sporting the same scowl as when I’d last seen him.
I opened the door, matching his expression.
“Charlee, is Fern here?”
“Yes,” I stepped aside and allowed him to enter. “This way,” I motioned for him to follow me the short distance to the kitchen.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bailey,” he greeted my aunt with a tight-lipped smile.
“Call me Fern,” my aunt smiled back. “Please have a seat.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
I moved to stand be
hind Fern, crossing my arms defensively.
“Fern, I’d like to ask you some questions—”
“Wait!” I held up my hand. “Fern, I think we should call Noah.”
The sheriff glared at me.
Seriously? It was her right to have an attorney present.
Fern looked back at me. “Charlee, I don’t think that will be necessary. Sheriff Walker said he just had some questions.”
“That’s right. Fern, I understand you had an argument with Earl Henderson last night. Would you please tell me what happened?” Cole was direct, but his tone didn’t come off as accusatory. Not yet, anyway.
Fern explained what happened from the time we heard the noise to when we got back to the house after Earl left.
“Do you have any security cameras?”
“No,” Fern shook her head.
“Why isn’t there a lock on the barn door?” he asked, and I wondered why this was relevant.
“It’s Rockfish Bay,” she replied, like that was obvious.
I smiled, despite the frown forming on Cole’s mouth.
“Okay, so you don’t know how Earl ended up dead in your barn?” he asked again, after my aunt had already said as much.
“I have no idea,” Fern confirmed. And it was the truth.
“Well, for now, all of the evidence we have is circumstantial. We’ll know more when the coroner examines the body, and we get results from the crime scene back from the lab. We still need to interview the other neighbors, but it’s unlikely there were any witnesses, since your property borders the woods.”
“The alpacas,” I said without thinking.
At the mention of my aunt’s fluffy pets, Cole’s brows pinched together.
“You said there probably weren’t any witnesses, but the alpacas were there.”
“Yes, and one always stays awake to guard the herd, so there probably was a witness.” Fern turned in her chair and winked at me.
“An alpaca witness,” I grinned back, but it vanished when I saw the fire in Cole’s eyes. Which was really too bad. He had very nice eyes.