The sound of his breath filtered through the line. After a moment he exhaled long and slow. “I guess you’re right. This murder’s got everyone spooked. We’re even keeping the door to the town hall locked during the day. You have to ring the bell for Cathy to open the door.”
I thought of my sunroom and the blinds now covering the windows. “Hopefully the sheriff’s department will make an arrest soon and we can all rest easier.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He sounded disappointed, like he’d resolved himself to the fact there wasn’t much he could do about the situation. “Have they made any arrangements yet? I mean for Trish.”
“Her parents are taking her back to Raleigh for burial once the autopsy’s complete. They didn’t mention anything about a service.” I didn’t want to go into detail about the situation with Rupert and Ann Givens so I cut the conversation short. Nola returned with fresh coffee. “Hey, Justin, I’ve got to get to work. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Okay?”
“I’d appreciate it. Have a good day.”
I hung up and took a long drink from my mug. Nola spun her chair around to face me. She clutched her coffee mug with both hands, staring at me with expectant eyes. “The murder?”
“There’s probably more locked doors now in Jackson Creek than ever before.”
“Sheriff Ridge still doesn’t have a suspect?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t heard of one. It’s still pretty early in the investigation though. Did you get in touch with Aster?”
She slapped a hand to her head as if I’d reminded her. “Yes. Ten o’clock.”
The clock on my computer read 9:10. It was a twenty-minute ride to Aster’s, thirty if tourists were already clogging the roads. I had time to call my graphic designer to tell him to save space for another obit. I didn’t know what I’d write, but Trish’s life deserved as much space as her murder.
Gray smoke rose from the chimney of Aster Hasting’s log house and dissipated into a cloudless Carolina blue sky. Miles behind the house, colorful peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains framed the cabin like a picture. The wooden steps to the porch were lined with pots of gorgeous mums in full bloom. Aster’s wife, Sue, met me at the door and welcomed me in. She’d been my Sunday school teacher at church when I was a kid and never failed to offer a hug as an adult.
“How are the kids?” She released her tight embrace, freeing my ribs from the squeeze.
“They’re good. Growing up too fast.”
The small house was suffocatingly hot thanks to a wood-burning stove that dominated the living room. Sweat beads popped out along my hairline. Sue seemed immune to the heat, comfortable in her cable-knit sweater with an orange pumpkin stretched across her heavy breasts.
Aster came into the living room from the hallway, wearing a plaid flannel shirt and blue trousers left over from his days underneath cars at the Jackson Creek Auto Shop. He was a small-boned man with hunched shoulders that made him look even shorter than he was. His eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles, making me question his health.
“I liked that article last month on the pumpkin patch. Used to take our kids every year.” His voice was wheezy and forced. He offered me a seat in a rocking chair next to the stove.
I used to take Cole and Emma every year too. They’d outgrown the tradition, but maybe next year Ivy might enjoy it.
Balancing my notepad on my knees while wiping a trickle of sweat rolling down my neck, I purposely moved the chair a few inches from the inferno.
“Would you like some coffee?” Sue asked. “Maybe hot tea?”
The mere thought made me want to dive headfirst into a frozen river. “No, I’m fine, but thank you.” I smiled politely.
“So I’m supposed to tell you about selling ’seng.” Aster labored for breath. He opened the cast-iron door of the stove and tossed in another log before taking a seat on the slipcovered sofa.
“If y’all excuse me, I’ve got to get the breakfast dishes cleaned up. Aster, you want more coffee?”
After he shook his head, she disappeared into the kitchen. I wondered if it was as hot in there as it was in the tiny living room.
I flipped my notepad open to a clean page. “Calvin told me you’ve done business with a new buyer over in Roan Mountain. Can you give me his name?”
“Tiny Cormack. Don’t let the name fool you—ain’t nothing about him tiny.” He wheezed out a laugh.
I jotted down the name. “Does he have a business name?”
“Got a scrap metal yard he runs his ’seng business out of.” He scrunched his face in thought, then continued, “Mack’s Metals, maybe? Sounds about right.” He sucked in another wheezing breath.
“How’d you hear about him?”
He shrugged and opened his hands in an apologetic manner. “Talk.” He coughed up a painful hacking sound and took a moment to recover.
“Can I get you some water?” Drawing attention to his struggle wasn’t on my agenda, but I didn’t want the man to die in front of me either. I’d had enough of that for this lifetime.
He held a boy-sized hand up and shook his head. “She’ll be in here in a minute.” His words pulled at his diaphragm, lifting his sunken chest with each breath.
Sue came in the living room carrying a glass of water and a pill of some sort. She handed them to him and waited while he downed them both. “Ava, you sure I can’t get you something?”
“I’m sure.”
Aster handed the empty glass back to her. His breathing had relaxed enough for him to talk. He started slow, but picked up speed as breathing became easier. “Last year, Anderson Lee was the only one ’round here buying, so he could set his prices as low as he wanted and weren’t much the growers could do about it.”
Sue headed back to her dishes while Aster resumed his story. “He set his prices so low, the only one making any profit on ginseng was him. Then this season we hear tell ’bout this Cormack fella over the mountain paying good money so some of us took our ’seng over the ridge.”
“You do your own picking?”
He coughed again then sucked in a deep breath. “Did last year. Don’t quite feel up to it this year.”
“Did you hire someone?”
“My son, Greg, and a couple of his friends are helping me out.”
“You ever had problems with poachers?”
He bobbed his head. “Poaching’s been going on since these mountains were formed. Some years it’s worse than others.”
“What about this year?”
Aster puckered his lips, scrunching them against toothless gums. “Can’t say it’s any worse.”
I replayed my conversation with Calvin and wondered if he had said Aster was being poached too. If he had, he was either lying or Aster didn’t put the same amount of importance on the crime as Calvin. If Calvin was the only one being poached, it was a shame for him, but I could understand Ridge’s reluctance to put manpower and tax dollars on it. My political radar went up and zeroed in on Ed Stinger. I scribbled check notes from Calvin on my notepad.
“You wouldn’t happen to have the address for Mack’s Metals, would you?”
He dug his well-worn wallet from his back pocket and fished out a business card. “He’s a right nice fella. Big as a house, but nice just the same.”
I took the card from him and wrote down the needed information then handed it back. Sue returned to the living room, carrying a small breathing nebulizer and face mask. “Hate to cut this short, but it’s time for his treatment.”
Aster smiled a soft smile and gave me a wink. “Are we through?”
“I think I have enough. You’ve been very helpful.” I returned his smile and closed my notepad.
Sue plugged in the small machine and sat it on the end table beside the sofa. She handed him the face mask and waited while he s
lipped it over his nose and mouth. Soon after, the machine hissed to life, pushing much-needed air into Aster’s lungs.
I stood to leave then reached out and patted his bony knee. He was a good man and it pained me to see him struggling for something most take for granted. “Thank you, Aster. You take care.”
He didn’t try to speak but nodded and waved goodbye. Sue walked with me outside, stopping on the front porch.
“How long’s he been sick?”
“Early spring. Mesothelioma. I think that’s how you pronounce it.”
“I’m so sorry, Sue.”
She smiled as she watched a blaze-red cardinal at a feeder in the yard. “He has good days and he has bad days.”
“Is he doing chemo?”
She shook her head. “He chose not to. A ‘quality of life’ thing.” She pinched the head off a dying mum and tossed it in the yard. “I didn’t mean to run you out in there. If you need to talk to him some more about your story, you’re welcome to come back anytime. We’re here all the time now. Well, my daughter-in-law, Sherry, comes Mondays so I can run errands, but other than that, we don’t get out much.”
“Thank you, but I think I got what I needed.”
“I don’t know what you’re going to write, but that man over in Roan Mountain is a good man in my book. Without that extra money our boy’s been getting for the ’seng, I don’t know what we’d do.”
CHAPTER 10
Anderson Lee owned a wholesale produce market near the Virginia state line, about ten miles north of Aster’s place. I called to make sure he was in before heading that way, then called Nola to check in. Justin hadn’t called again but Ed Stinger had. I wouldn’t waste my cell minutes on Stinger and told Nola to just leave a reminder on my desk.
I then called Doretha to check on Ivy.
“She’s playing with those old baby dolls been around here for years,” Doretha said. “She’s a right happy little baby.”
I wondered if Ivy would remember anything about all the blood, about the sirens and emergency vehicles. If it was a memory she’d carry in the far recesses of her mind, where it would lay dormant like a monster under the bed. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused on the here and now—she was a happy baby. That was what I cared about at that moment.
After I hung up with Doretha, I called Ridge. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours since Rupert and Ann Givens discarded their granddaughter like a stray dog dropped off on the side of the road. But until Ivy’s immediate future was settled, I was uneasy about it.
Ridge’s secretary transferred the call to his cell. “Hey. What’s up?” There were voices in the background, loud at first, then fading as he must have walked away.
“Have you talked to the D.S.S. yet?”
“Yeah. Hang on a minute—Sullivan, did they dust the baby’s room for prints?” There was faint chatter in the background then Ridge came back on the line. “Sorry. We’re at the crime scene. Okay, to answer your question, yes. I was going to call you in a little bit.”
“What’d they say?”
“They’ll need to do a home inspection and an interview and you’ll need to fill out a pretty detailed application. In the interim, until you’re approved, I’m vouching for you.”
I didn’t understand. “What do you mean until I’m approved? Approved for what?”
“As a foster mom. We’ll worry about the adoption later. Who knows? The Givens may change their mind at some point.”
Every thought in my head bounced off one another. I pulled off the road onto one of the graveled scenic overlooks along the Parkway to try and grasp a single thought. An elderly couple was there, their Buick parked beside me. They sat at a picnic table sipping from a thermos. “I thought you were going to see about Doretha taking her?”
Total silence on the other end. He must have walked farther away from the investigation. Finally, Ridge cleared his throat. “I did, and like you said last night, Doretha doesn’t have room. Do you want her, or do you want me to withdraw your application?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to brush them away. “Yes,” I whispered. “I want her.”
“Good. Marsha Thomas is the director. She’ll assign a caseworker and they’ll be giving you a call to get the paperwork started. It’ll probably be later in the week before they call.”
I sniffled. “And until then?”
“I vouched for you so she’ll be staying with you. Looks like you’re back to changing diapers.”
“Ridge…” I didn’t know what to say. I swallowed a torrent of tears, collecting my thoughts. “Thank you,” was all I could muster and that was in a tiny voice.
“Thank me in a few weeks if you’re still excited about it. Hey, look, I’ve got to get back in there. We’re hoping to wrap this up today.”
I shook off the shock of being Ivy’s foster mom as my brain shifted gears. “You’re making an arrest?” I scrambled for my notepad.
Ridge laughed. “Relax, Ace. I meant wrapping up the crime scene.”
“Oh. I knew that.”
I could picture him smiling, his head turned slightly downward, his eyes hidden beneath his ball cap. “I’ll check in with you later.”
After we hung up, I sat there on the side of the road and cried. I cried for Trish. I cried for Ivy. I cried for Emma and the fear she now lived with, along with the knowledge I had burdened her with last night. And I cried for Grayson Ridge. The longing that never seemed to go away. The want to feel his arms around me again. His hands on my waist. His lips…“Stop it,” I said out loud. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!”
I jerked the door open and leapt out onto the gravel, sobbing and frantic for fresh air. The elderly couple at the picnic table stared at me, alarmed.
“Honey, are you okay?” The woman stood and started toward me.
“Do we need to call someone?” the man asked, following his wife’s lead and stepping closer.
I shook my head and leaned over, clutching my knees, fighting back the hyperventilation coming on. The woman was suddenly at my side. “Harold, grab a bottle of water out of the car. Honey, you need to sit down.” She wrapped a supportive arm around my waist and led me to the picnic table, forcing me to sit. “Are you in pain?”
I shook my head wildly, fighting as hard as Aster had for breath.
“Look here,” the woman said. “Purse your lips like you’re blowing a kiss.” She knelt in front of me and demonstrated. “Deep, deep breath.”
Harold returned from the car, clutching a bottled water. The woman continued the breathing demonstration until my breath matched hers. My heart rate slowed, quieting the jackhammer in my chest.
“I’m Helen. This is my husband, Harold.” Kindness radiated from her sun-wrinkled face.
I sipped the water she’d offered. And felt like a fool. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I…uh, just got some news I wasn’t expecting.”
“Must have been pretty bad.” Helen put her hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head. “No. Not…really.” But I couldn’t say that it was good news either. How do you explain something you don’t understand yourself? I didn’t want Ivy in the foster system being raised by people who never knew her mother. At least I could give her that. I could tell her what a beautiful smile her mother had. I could tell her how much she looked like her mother when and if the time came. And I could tell her how much her mother loved her and it wouldn’t be just words coming from a stranger. It would be the truth because I knew it to be, and I would be the one telling her.
Still, I felt a twinge of guilt, feeling happy about it. How could I be happy about the result of Trish being dead? It was like being glad your husband was dead so you could escape a bad marriage.
I sat with Helen and Harold at the picnic table long enough to settle t
he thoughts running rampant in my head. Helen offered me a wet napkin to wipe away the streaked mascara. I didn’t carry makeup with me so Anderson Lee was getting blotched cheeks and red eyes.
And I was getting Ivy.
The thought still terrified me but at least I could breathe now. Once my heart settled into a more natural rhythm, I called Rick to tell him the news.
His cell forwarded to his office. “I’m sorry, Ava, he’s in court,” his secretary said. “Do you want me to put you through to his voicemail?”
This wasn’t news I wanted to leave in a message. “No, but thanks. I’ll get with him later.”
I sat there another minute, gathering my thoughts, then got back to work. At Anderson’s produce market, I parked near the entrance. The market looked like an airport hangar with roll-up sides, open and airy surrounded by a gray metal frame. Pickup trucks were on one side with farmers unloading their goods, while on the other side, delivery drivers were loading their trucks with pumpkins, sweet potatoes, and the last of the apple harvest.
I checked my face in the rearview mirror one more time before getting out. Eyes were still puffy, but the redness had faded. My cheeks were still blotchy, but it was the best I could offer at the moment.
One of Anderson’s helpers, a skinny kid with a tattoo on his neck, motioned toward the back when I asked where his boss was. The market smelled like autumn, rich and sweet. Like Doretha’s kitchen filled with pumpkin pies and apple crisps, the warm scent of vanilla and roasted pecans. Would Ivy remember the smell of my kitchen like I remembered Doretha’s?
Anderson’s office was little more than a partitioned area in the back corner. One wall was windowed, allowing a good view of the goings on out on the floor.
He stood to greet me as I entered the cubicle. “Hey, Ava. It’s been a while. The paper looks like it’s doing well.”
“We’re still plugging along.” I sat down in a plastic chair across from his surplus-sale desk.
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