Death of a Country Fried Redneck

by Lee Hollis

  Wade reached down and gave her a peck on the cheek and then sauntered out of the station.

  Hayley turned to Liddy, who had a crushed look on her face.

  “What is it, Liddy? What’s wrong?”

  “Ma’am? How old does he think I am to be calling me ma’am?”

  “It’s a southern thing.”

  “Well, it’s rude,” Liddy said, spinning around and sweeping out of the station. “Come on. I’ll drop you off at Randy’s.”

  Hayley dutifully followed.

  Gemma and Dustin had only been told sketchy details about the attack backstage, because Mona didn’t want to scare them, but Hayley knew they would find out all the gory details at school on Monday, true or not, so she thought it was best to sit them down in Randy’s living room and tell them everything she knew. They were both just relieved that their mother wasn’t seriously harmed.

  The comforting smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted in from the kitchen and Randy brought out a tray of hot cocoa with marshmallows for Hayley and the kids. They were going to have a family slumber party without the scary movies, because they had all had enough frights for one night.

  Instead, Randy downloaded a Kristen Wiig comedy from Netflix and it played in the background as Hayley, Randy, Gemma, and Dustin munched on cookies and sipped cocoa.

  Hayley felt relaxed for the first time in days. She just wanted to sit with her brother and kids and forget all about the trauma of nearly dying tonight.

  “So who do you think tried taking you out?” Dustin asked.

  So much for that.

  “I have no idea, Dustin,” Hayley said. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “But if you were to guess,” Gemma jumped in. “Do you think it’s the same person who shot Mickey Pritchett?”

  “Maybe. Who knows?” Hayley said, grabbing another cookie off the plate.

  “That’s enough, you guys,” Randy said sternly. “Your mother needs to stay calm and rest and she doesn’t need you two shooting questions at her and bringing up unpleasant memories. Now watch the movie.”

  Gemma and Dustin sighed and settled in on the cushiony couch and stared at the TV.

  Randy poured some more miniature marshmallows from the bag into his cocoa and glanced at Hayley. Proceeding gingerly, he said, “Personally, I don’t think it was anyone related to the Pritchett killing. My money’s on that delinquent Jesse DeSoto.”

  “Randy!”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” Randy said, popping a marshmallow in his mouth. “Let’s not talk about it.”

  Hayley tried concentrating on the movie, but her mind was racing.

  She cocked her head in Randy’s direction. “So what has Sergio told you about the murder so far? Any leads we don’t know about?”

  “You know I can’t talk about that,” Randy said.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  She knew she just had to wait a few seconds for him to break. Randy was a die-hard gossip. Her kids knew it, too, because Dustin picked up the remote and hit the mute button on the TV so they could hear what he’d say.

  “Uncle Randy, we all know you’re going to talk. You’ll make us promise not to say anything and after we do you’ll spill everything.”

  “Oh, is that right? You think you know me so well, but you don’t. I’m not going to make you promise because I’m not going to tell you anything.”

  Gemma picked up the plate and held it in front of Randy.

  He took another cookie. “Thank you.”

  They waited.

  It was only a matter of time.

  The silence in the room was deafening.

  “If I did tell you something, do you promise not to say anything?”

  Hayley, Gemma, and Dustin all scooted closer to Randy.

  “Now wait a minute. I said if I tell you . . .”

  “We promise, we promise,” Gemma said. “What?”

  Randy looked at Hayley, who crossed her heart with her index finger.

  Randy took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay, here’s the weird thing. Sergio and his team first suspected Mickey stole the tour bus to leave town, and that the killer either flagged him down or was with him when he left. But when they combed the bus, there was no evidence he was leaving. All of his belongings were back in his hotel room.”

  “So where was he going?” Gemma asked.

  “No one but Mickey and the killer knows that.”

  “Do you think the killer shot Mickey in his hotel room, and then put the body in the bus, drove to Albert Meadow, and set it on fire?” Hayley asked.

  “No. Someone would have heard the gunshot or at least seen someone dragging his body out of the hotel,” Randy said. “My guess is the killer forced Mickey into the bus at gunpoint and then drove it to Albert Meadow where it’s quiet and more remote and that’s where the killer shot him before setting the bus on fire.”

  “Is that what Sergio thinks?”

  “Yes. Mickey’s suitcase was open on the bed and half his clothes were packed. Somebody must have shown up at the door when he was getting ready to leave,” Randy said. “And there was a grocery bag on the table with some toiletries and snacks and booze. There was no receipt, but the bag was from the Shop ’n Save.”

  “So Mickey went shopping before he was killed. Does anyone at the store remember seeing him?”

  “No, that’s what’s so strange. The Shop ’n Save is dead that time of night so it doesn’t make sense that no one saw him enter or leave. Not even the cashier who was on duty. She would’ve had to check him out. And Sergio went through all the receipts and there was nothing in their records that showed anyone buying those items. And there was nothing on the surveillance cameras that showed Mickey was ever inside the store.”

  “So it would’ve been impossible for him to shoplift all of that stuff,” Gemma said.

  “Mickey’s cell phone records show he called the store at eight thirty-five and talked with someone for five minutes, but Sergio interviewed everyone on duty—the cashier, the manager, the bag boy—and they all deny ever talking to Mickey.”

  “So who did he talk to?” Hayley asked, more to herself.

  Dustin gasped. “Spanky!”

  “Spanky McFarland?” Gemma asked incredulously.

  “Yes! He’s a stock boy at the Shop ’n Save. Uncle Randy, was Spanky working that night?”

  “Yes, I saw his name on the interview list. But he told Sergio he never spoke to Mickey on the phone or in person. Ever.”

  “He’s lying,” Dustin said, slapping his palm on the coffee table.

  “How do you know?” Hayley asked.

  “Because Spanky was hanging out at Rosalie’s Pizza after school a few days ago and he was throwing money around, buying all the kids pizza, trying to be Mr. Popular. He said he got a big tip making a delivery.”

  “So why would he lie about that?” Randy asked.

  “The booze!” Gemma screamed. “Spanky’s underage. He’s not allowed to deliver alcohol. But if there was the promise of a big tip, I bet Spanky just bagged everything Mickey wanted and snuck it out of the store.”

  “Which would explain why there was no receipt,” Randy said.

  “And Spanky works there, so he knows where all the surveillance cameras are located! He probably smuggled the bag out the back, knowing he wouldn’t wind up on tape,” Dustin said.

  “So Spanky McFarland may have been the last one to see Mickey Pritchett alive,” Randy said.

  “And quite possibly he may have seen the killer,” Hayley said.

  “Or is the killer!” Dustin shouted, arms in the air.

  Hayley grimaced.

  Her kids were getting way too excited about this case.

  Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell

  With winter fast approaching, I realized we just didn’t have too many weekends or evenings left to enjoy the things we like to do outside, because we all get so busy. So I decided to take a break, wrangle up my kids,
and call my friend Mona to invite her and her own kids to go on a picnic with us. I knew she would appreciate the break. Her brood loves hanging out with mine, mostly because they look up to my kids as an older brother and sister.

  I didn’t feel like a picnic at the beach. So Mona and I piled everyone in her van and headed into Acadia National Park since it’s practically in our own back yard, and I knew we’d quickly find a nice private area for the kids to run around so Mona and I could relax and catch up on some long-overdue gossip.

  After finding a scenic spot, we pulled over and parked. All the kids tumbled out of the van and went wildly running off as if we’d just been on a ten-hour excursion instead of a ten-minute ride to our picnic area.

  While my two older kids kept an eye on Mona’s hellions, she and I spread out a couple of blankets and began to unpack our joint picnic baskets of thick sliced ham-and-cheese sandwiches on homemade country oatmeal bread, Mona’s specialty! I brought a country potato salad, coleslaw, and thermoses of sweet tea, as I am still exploring good ole home-style country cooking as a part-time employee of Wade Springer’s. (I might have previously mentioned that.)

  Anyway, the kids were having a grand time exploring, climbing rocks and trees, which thankfully allowed Mona and me to finally have some good old girl time to catch up on everything going on in our lives.

  Which took about five minutes.

  It wasn’t long before the kids got tired of running around and wandered back over to us, stomachs growling. So we all gathered around for a delicious cold lunch.

  But, as usual, all good things must come to an end. Little Timmy started scratching himself to the point where Mona finally had to shout, “For God’s sake, Timmy, what is with all that scratching?”

  That was just about the time Judy started scratching her arms. And I’m sure you know what’s coming. One by one, all the kids began digging and scratching at their arms and legs, jumping up and down, yelling and complaining louder and louder.

  Mona and I just stared at each other. It was like watching a horror movie! Then we sprang into action, grabbing the kids one by one to inspect them. At first I suspected we were sitting atop a giant red ants’ nest because I started feeling itchy myself. But, Mona, waving her arms, screamed, “Don’t touch them, Hayley, it’s poison ivy!”

  That did it. My daughter went into full panic mode, wailing, “Oh, no! My face! My face! Tell me it’s not on my face!” Then she pushed and shoved her way past the furiously scratching kids, actually knocking some of them down to the ground, which made them cry even louder as she ran to the van to inspect every inch of her face in the side mirror. That’s my daughter! Always thinking of others!

  My daughter spied a small red bump on her face and let out such a bloodcurdling howl, it startled the little ones into silence for a split second. I swear to you, I heard an answering howl from a coyote in the distance.

  Luckily, Mona once again took control and began barking orders for everyone to get in the van, sit as still as they could, and don’t touch anything or anyone (especially me and her!). I threw what was left of our picnic lunches into the baskets and tossed them in the back of the van, then jumped in the front beside Mona. She looked at me and let out a big sigh as we peeled away for home. I knew what she was thinking. Why didn’t we just follow through with our plan, after high school, to travel to California, find our fame and fortune, and lead wonderfully exciting lives? Well, that obviously didn’t pan out so we both just smiled and shrugged our shoulders.

  When we arrived at Mona’s house, she raided the pantry for boxes of oatmeal she had stocked up on for her country bread and prepared an oatmeal bath in her tub for the kids, to relieve their itching.

  Suffice it to say, the next time we go on a picnic, I’m going to suggest we go to the beach for some swimming. What possibly could go wrong there? Sharks don’t make it up to the Maine coast all that often, do they?

  Well, after that exhausting adventure, I found myself with an extra thermos of sweet tea, so I decided to make myself a very strong sweet tea cocktail.

  Today, I’m going to share with you Mona’s country oatmeal bread recipe. But, first, I recommend you start with a nice refreshing whiskey sweet tea!

  Whiskey Sweet Tea

  ½ ounce whiskey

  ½ ounce Southern Comfort

  Sweet tea

  Lemon slice for garnish (optional)

  Ice

  In a rocks glass, fill with ice and add whiskey and Southern Comfort. Top with sweet tea. Stir and add lemon slice for garnish and enjoy!

  Mona’s Country Oatmeal Bread

  1 cup boiling water

  1 cup old-fashioned oats

  1 package active dry yeast

  cup warm water

  ¼ cup honey

  1 tablespoon butter

  1 teaspoon salt

  3 to 3½ cups all purpose flour

  Additional oats and melted butter

  In a large bowl, add oats and boiling water to combine; let stand until warm. In a small bowl, dissolve yeast in the cup warm water, then add to oat mixture. Add honey, butter, salt, and 2 cups of the flour; beat until smooth. Add enough of the remaining flour to form a soft dough. Turn onto a floured surface and knead until smooth and elastic, about 5 to 7 minutes.

  Place in a greased bowl and let rise in a warm place for about an hour until doubled. Punch the dough down and shape into a loaf. Place in a greased 8-inch by 4-inch loaf pan, brush with the melted butter, and sprinkle with oats. Place in a warm spot for about 30 minutes until doubled again. Bake at 350 degrees for 50 to 55 minutes or until golden brown. Yummy!

  Chapter 25

  Hayley waited until early the next morning before stepping out onto Randy’s front porch—so as not to wake anybody inside the house—and calling Spanky McFarland’s mother, with whom she was friendly because they had once shared a table at the library bake sale.

  Carla McFarland’s apple turnovers were to die for.

  And Carla enjoyed Hayley’s sense of humor and love of sweets.

  But today Carla seemed tense and out of sorts when she picked up the phone. Hayley chalked it up to her calling so early. It was just a few minutes past eight in the morning.

  “Yes. Who is this?” Carla barked.

  “Hi, Carla, it’s Hayley Powell.”

  “Oh, Hayley. I thought you were a telemarketer or someone trying to sell me something.”

  “I’m sorry I’m calling so early, but I was hoping to speak to Spanky.”

  “Spanky? I’m afraid he’s not here. He’s gone kayaking with Nate.”

  Nate was Spanky’s older brother, a senior in high school.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “Not until later this afternoon. Why? What’s he done now?”

  “Nothing. I’m just planning a surprise birthday party for Dustin, and I was hoping Spanky might help me come up with names for the guest list.”

  “Oh, good. I thought he was in some kind of trouble again.”

  “Oh, no, of course not.”

  Hayley decided not to mention the whole stealing groceries and alcohol and selling them for a profit scheme.

  Why add to Carla’s stress so early in the day?

  “Well, I’ll give Spanky the message and have him call you. And I’ll be sure to make some of my apple turnovers for the party.”

  “You are too good to me, Carla. Thank you. By the way, I used to love kayaking. Where did the boys go?”

  Actually, Hayley had never been kayaking in her life.

  “They set off from the beach in front of the Bar Harbor Inn and were going to go around Frenchman’s Bay.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely. Well, you have a great Saturday, Carla.”

  “You, too, Hayley.”

  Hayley quickly ended the call and speed-dialed Mona at her house.

  When Mona picked up, Hayley could hear screaming kids in the background.

  “What?” Mona yelled, even more tense than Carla had sounded.r />
  Why was Hayley the only morning person?

  “Mona, it’s me. I need to borrow one of your motorboats. I need to track down a couple of kayaks somewhere in Frenchman’s Bay.

  “Of course you do. Meet me at the pier in five. If I don’t get out of this house, I think I’m going to have a stroke! Hold on.”

  Hayley heard rustling on the other end of the line.

  Then Mona was screaming, “Do not, I repeat, do not throw eggs at your sister! I’m warning you! Don’t you do it! Aw, hell, Hayley, make it ten. I have to chase down one of my kids.”

  Click.

  She was gone.

  Hayley considered waking Dustin and taking him with her. Spanky might be more inclined to talk if a friend was there. But, then again, if she had to strong-arm the kid, she didn’t want to embarrass Dustin or damage his friendship with Spanky in any way.

  She hopped in her Subaru and drove down to the town pier solo, parking in an empty spot.

  Waiting by the dock were a couple of Mona’s boats tied to wooden posts sticking above the water.

  Fifteen minutes passed.

  Then thirty.

  Finally, Mona’s pickup truck came roaring down the hill from the center of town and pulled into the spot next to Hayley’s.

  When Mona jumped out of the truck, there were bits of yellow scrambled egg in her hair and juice stains on her sweatshirt.

  “It’s friggin’ World War Three at my house. Thank God you called. I was going stir crazy. It started when two of my rugrats wanted to watch SpongeBob and the oldest insisted on iCarly and it all went south from there.”

  Hayley hugged Mona and their cheeks touched.

  “Your face is sticky,” Hayley said.

  “Maple syrup. I got caught in the cross fire.”

  “Is your husband watching the kids?”

  “If you call zoning out in front of the TV glued to a ball game while the walls of the house collapse around him watching the kids, then yes, he’s watching the kids.”