Pickin' Murder: An Antique Hunters Mystery

by Vicki Vass

  Anne pushed her way through the crowd. “CC, my God, someone get help!”

  A man stuck his arm through the bottom of the railing trying to reach for her, but she was too far away. CC’s legs dangled, supported by only her arms.

  “CC, hang on! They’ve sent for the park rangers!” Anne called after her.

  “Anne, I’m slipping. I can’t hang on!” CC’s words came out in quick gasps. She could feel her grip slipping.

  Anne looked around for anything, anyone to help her best friend. Dumping the contents of her large orange Prada bag on the ground, she found what she was looking for––her iconic vintage Burberry plaid silk scarf. She tied one end to the railing and flung the other down toward CC. “CC, grab on!” she yelled down to her friend.

  “It’ll never hold!”

  “Of course, it will; it’s Burberry!”

  CC grabbed the scarf with her free hand and wrapped it around her wrist. The man, who had been trying to help, grabbed the scarf and pulled her up. Several people grabbed onto her and lifted her over the top of the railing. CC sat on the ground, catching her breath, her heart was still pounding.

  “Are you all right? What happened?” Anne knelt down beside her and put her arm around her friend.

  “I was trying to get a better angle of the falls and the moon bow. I sat on the edge of the railing. I was really careful.”

  “CC, that’s so dangerous! How could you?”

  “Anne, somebody pushed me.”

  “Who would push you?”

  “I don’t know if it was intentional. There was a lot of people crowding to see the moon bow.” CC shook it off.

  “The important thing is you’re okay.”

  The park rangers arrived along with an emergency kit. CC stood up. “I’m fine. Really; I’m fine. No cuts or bruises. It was just an accident.”

  “Let us take you back to the lodge, ma’am,” the ranger said, leading her and Anne to an all-terrain vehicle.

  After examining CC, the girls were left sitting in front of the lodge’s roaring stone fireplace, sipping their hot chocolate. Anne took off her shoes and massaged her aching feet.

  When Anne had finished her second cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, she turned to CC who had been sitting quietly, staring at the flames. “CC, are you okay to continue? Do you want to go home?”

  “Anne, it was just a careless accident. I was being reckless. I will be more careful in the future,” CC said. “You know the interesting part is I was able to hang by one arm for several minutes. All those pushups at the Glen Ellyn gym, shoulder pull-ups and the yoga are really paying off. You might want to think about joining.”

  “No, I think I’ll avoid putting myself in situations where I need to dangle 100 feet over a waterfall.” Anne paused. “I think that’s the best exercise plan for me. Can we go eat now?”

  Anne and CC walked into the lodge’s restaurant. It resembled the cafeteria of a summer camp. One side was dedicated to a large buffet with fried catfish, hush puppies, salad bar and desserts. Anne perused the desserts before they sat at a table that had a view of the Cumberland River. She couldn’t wait to try the banana pudding.

  CC studied the menu. She was starving after her ordeal and was looking forward to trying a local specialty. “Anne, what are you going to have?”

  “I think I’m going to try the buffet,” she said.

  When the waitress came over, Anne ordered the buffet and went to fill her plate. Balancing it carefully, she went back to their table. CC was not there.

  Inside the lodge’s kitchen, CC watched the chef as he prepared the Hot Brown, a famous Kentucky specialty. He layered turkey and roast beef over a slice of toast. He then poured the fresh cheese sauce, a combination of cream, butter and white cheddar cheese, on top of the meats. “This is fabulous,” CC said as she sampled the cheese sauce.

  Then the chef decorated it with a slice of crisp bacon, salt and pepper and a sprinkle of Parmesan cheese. He put it in the broiler. When it was crisp and browned, he put the sandwich on a plate and handed it to CC. “Thank you so much for showing me your recipe,” she said. “Do you mind if I share this recipe on my blog?”

  “Not at all, Miss CC,” the chef said.

  Bearing the plate in her hand, CC went back to the dining room and her table where Anne was plowing through her second plate of catfish and hush puppies. “Where were you? I was worried.”

  “The chef showed me how to make a Kentucky Hot Brown. It’s a classic sandwich.” Before picking up her knife and fork, CC reached into her purse and pulled out her ghost pepper mixture. She sprinkled some on the sandwich. “It makes everything better,” she told Anne.

  Later in their room, CC sat down at the desk and pulled out her iPad mini with its Zag keyboard. “Dear friends,” she typed on her blog. “Today, Anne and I started our excursion for our first antique hunting commission. We stopped at Cumberland Falls and saw the moon bow rise over the waterfall. It was an amazing sight.

  After that, Chef Alfred was kind enough to teach me how to make a Kentucky classic, the Hot Brown sandwich. He said I could share the recipe with you so here it is.”

  Chapter Seven

  Following a good night’s sleep, the Spoon Sisters headed to Corbin, a short drive from the falls. Scooter Muscarello’s farm was on the outskirts of town––mostly everything was on the outskirts of town in Corbin. The new ranch home was situated on ten acres, next to a small lake. There was a horse barn with two palominos prancing along the split rail fence. The animals raced CC’s VW bus as she pulled up the driveway. On the front porch was sitting Ellie Muscarello, Scooter’s granddaughter. She was an attractive, 40-year-old blonde with her hair tied back tight in a ponytail, wearing jeans, riding boots and a flannel shirt. The morning air was cool and crisp. The oak and maple trees that surrounded the ranch were already orange and red, and the leaves were starting to fall.

  As Anne and CC got out of the bus, the leaves crinkled under their feet. Anne took a big whiff of the fresh air and caught the whiff of the horses. She gagged.

  CC was first up the short steps to the wraparound porch. “Ellie, I’m CC. Thank you so much for having us out,” she said as she reached out her hand and shook Ellie’s. “This is my friend and partner, Anne.”

  “Welcome! You must be the Spoon Sisters. After we spoke, I looked up your blog and read it. I really enjoyed it.”

  “Thank you, it’s a lot of work but we love it,” Anne said. CC shot her a look.

  “I think my grandfather would have enjoyed it also. He was a collector and a picker.” Ellie opened the screen door. “Why don’t you come in? Can I get you some coffee?”

  “That would be great,” Anne said.

  “Would you like some Danish?”

  Before she could finish, Anne interrupted. “Danish? What kind of Danish?”

  CC gave her a concerned look.

  Anne stopped and said. “No, thank you; we just had breakfast.”

  The living room was packed full of guitar cases, record albums, old newspapers and sheet music. After handing Anne and CC mugs full of steaming hot coffee, Ellie said, “You can see there’s a lot to look through. Grandpa Scooter collected musical instruments his whole life. He still played at age 91. Some of the older guitars and banjos he left to the Grand Ole Opry Museum. He played with Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Hank Williams.”

  “That’s quite a pedigree of stars,” CC said.

  “Let me show you some pictures.” Ellie pulled out a stack from underneath a tower of record albums. CC looked through the black and white 8 x 10 photographs. “That’s my grandfather.” Ellie pointed him out. In the picture was a lanky good-looking man playing a lap steel guitar on the Ryman stage. There was another picture of Scooter standing next to Minnie Pearl.

  “These are wonderful,” CC said. “Would you consider selling any of them?”

  “There are hundreds of them. I’ve got more boxes in the pole barn. I guess I could part with some of the ones I
know that I have duplicates of.”

  “They will be going to a good home as I was telling you on the phone. Our client is acquiring collectibles for her fiancé, Steven Kendall.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of him,” Ellie said.

  “He’s from Nashville. Betsy, our client, is a wonderful collector. Anything we buy will be appreciated and taken care of,” Anne said.

  “Grandpa Scooter would want his things to go to a good home. He’d want people to see them and enjoy them. I don’t have enough room at my house for anymore of his stuff. I’ve picked through what meant the most to me. My two boys are musicians––one plays drums, the other guitar. They picked what they wanted already. Grandpa Scooter didn’t have a lot of money and he wanted to make sure both my boys had a good education. My oldest boy Kevin has been accepted to Berkley and my younger boy Peter is in his second year at Vanderbilt. All the money from the estate sale will pay for their education.”

  “That’s wonderful that your grandfather could leave that legacy to your boys,” CC said.

  After looking through the crowded basement and making a pile of items, including the pictures, CC and Anne paid Ellie and loaded everything onto the bus. “Thank you so much,” CC said to Ellie.

  They got into the bus. “Where to now?” CC asked. Anne pulled out her large atlas along with several coupon books that she had picked up at the rest area.

  “There’s an antique mall in Hickory. We should stop,” Anne said.

  “Hickory what?”

  “Actually, Hickory, North Carolina.”

  “We have to go through the Smoky Mountains to get there.”

  “That’s great. I’ve never been through the Smoky Mountains. You can get some pictures there,” Anne said.

  CC hesitated. “It is supposed to be beautiful. I could get a lot of great shots.”

  Chapter Eight

  From Corbin, they headed south on I-75. There was a slight drizzle as they got on the highway. As they drove, CC gave a history lesson. “You know, Anne, at one time North America and Africa were connected with the Appalachians being the center of the two continents.” She paused. “They’re actually from the same chain of mountains in Morocco known as Little Atlas. This mountain range, known as the central Pangaean, extends into Scotland. Isn’t it amazing to think how at one time the whole planet was one big continent?”

  Slightly listening to CC, Anne looked out her window watching the beautiful brown, green and red slate and granite canopy of rocks that were cut through the mountains to make the highway. Each curve brought a new vista more beautiful than the one before. The mountains, the luscious pines, the jagged rocks.

  A rainbow appeared capping one of the mountains to its sister. Eagles danced overhead like they were following the VW. The rain started again. Anne could feel the VW accelerating as it descended down the highway. A sign warned Nine Percent Incline. Anne gripped the armrest. “CC, don’t you think you should slow down a bit?”

  “We’re fine, Anne.”

  A Peterbilt semi- flew past in the left lane, spraying water, blinding CC temporarily as the wiper blades struggled to keep up. CC slowed down a bit as she felt her microbus hydroplane. “CC, slow down!” Anne felt her breakfast turn over in her stomach. She closed her eyes as if she were on a roller coaster.

  When they reached the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, they followed the signs that read Great Smoky Mountain Parkway. The VW bus strained as it did the slow 30-minute climb up to Smoky Mountain National Park. CC turned in at the first vista point. “I’m going to walk around and take some pictures. Are you coming?”

  “I think I will conserve my energy for the antique store,” Anne said, thumbing through the visitor’s guide.

  The sun peeked out. CC walked along the bridge that jutted over the mountains. Eagles screeched overhead. A sea of orange and red blanketed the valley. The fall air was crisp and smelled like fresh pine. She wondered where Tony was at that moment. Probably somewhere halfway between here and Italy. Was he thinking about her?

  She took a picture of the wooden sign that marked the Free Speech area that had been designated by Franklin Roosevelt who had dedicated the park. Walking back toward the car, she wondered why Anne was sitting in the driver seat. Anne turned and gave her a horrified look, a piece of her ham sandwich hanging out of her mouth. Before Anne could shout at her, CC saw a black bear run around to the front of the car to the driver’s side and pound on the window. Anne screamed.

  CC made herself very tall and talked loudly. She reached in her jacket pocket and threw her power bar across the parking lot. The bear sniffed the air but it was not interested. The black bear charged CC. She reached into her pocket and felt for the small glass vial, struggling with the cap. She flung the ghost pepper powder at the black bear which had stopped feet in front of her, standing on its hind legs. The bear shook its head and sneezed. It shook its head again and sneezed again. It ran into the woods with one last glance at the girls as CC watched. She looked at the small empty vial and smiled. It really does make everything better, she thought. Getting back in the car, she asked Anne, “What were you thinking?” She grabbed the sandwich from Anne’s hand and threw it out the window.

  “What’d you do that for?” Anne protested. “He’s gone now and I’m hungry.”

  CC started the engine and began the trek down toward Cherokee. “You know, Anne, the Great Smoky Mountain Park is the most visited national park in the United States. There are over nine million visitors each year. The Smoky Mountains gets its name from the blue fog or mist that hangs over the mountains and in the valleys. The Cherokee Indians settled it. They called it Shaconage or the place of blue smoke. The fog is a result of warm humid air from the Gulf of Mexico cooling rapidly as it enters higher elevations.”

  Anne looked down, wishing she had time to finish her ham sandwich while CC droned on. CC’s monotone was making her tired. She fought to keep her eyes open. The sun was setting as Anne finally gave in and closed her eyes. A pounding rain began, hitting the top of the bus. What seemed like seconds later, CC shook her awake.

  “Don’t be alarmed, Anne, but the engine died. I can’t pull over, the river is starting to pour over onto the road. I’m going to coast down as carefully as I can.”

  “What are you talking about?” Anne tried to shake herself awake.

  The storm intensified. The VW bus wipers were swishing at high intensity but it wasn’t enough to clear the windshield so CC could see. The VW rolled down out the exit of the Great Smoky Mountain Parkway. CC managed to maneuver it off the pavement to the gravel shoulder. It was pitch dark under the canopy of the old growth hickory trees. Anne quickly pushed the button down to lock her door and turned to CC. “What about the bears? We can’t get out of the car.”

  CC tried her cell phone but there was no reception. “I’m sure someone will be by. There’s 60,000 people who visit here every day.” Lightning crashed through the distance, and thunder rolled across the mountain.

  “But it’s dark; it’s rainy. You took my sandwich.” The lightning flashed again. Anne swore she saw a herd of bears standing on their hind legs, one of them holding her ham sandwich. “CC, do bears hunt at night? How about coyotes, wolves, mountain lions? What about snakes?”

  “Anne, we’re fine. We’re fine inside this German-engineered piece of art.”

  “You mean the piece of art that just broke down.” Anne lifted her finger to show the rain dripping off it. The flip-top sunroof was leaking and Anne was getting wet.

  CC was noticeably annoyed. When it came to anything German, she took her heritage very seriously. After an hour without any cars passing by, a pair of headlights appeared driving around the bend in front of them, heading up the trail towards the mountains.

  An old Jeep wrangler stopped just feet in front of the VW. Anne grabbed CC’s arm. “What do we do?”

  “Let’s take a look at him and see. I’ll roll the window down a little.”

  A very tall and muscular Native Ame
rican man exited the old Jeep. Through the rain and the glow of the headlights, they could see he was wearing a beaded vest with multicolored feathers. He knocked on the window through the pouring rain.

  CC rolled it down.

  “Do you need help?” he asked in a deep voice.

  Anne’s eyes opened wide. She wanted to scream Indian! but knew how politically incorrect that was. She stifled back a giggle.

  “Yes, I think I blew a gasket,” CC said.

  “The nearest tow truck is miles away. I can take you back to my village and have your car picked up. It’s not safe to stay here at night.”

  CC looked at Anne who smiled. There was something about his eyes that were truthful. “My name is John Blackbear, Chief Blackbear.”

  He escorted Anne and CC through the pouring rain into his jeep and made a U-turn onto the road and headed up to the Oconaluftee Village. He talked while he drove. “The village is closed to visitors at this time of night but we can find you some accommodations. They might not be what you’re used to. It's a little primitive. The village is a replica of an 18th century Cherokee community. It’s to celebrate my ancestors who were allowed to stay here during the evacuation of the Trail of Tears.”

  CC broke in and explained, “You know, Anne, the Trail of Tears began in 1838 when the Cherokee land in the south was taken by the government and the Cherokee were forced west.”

  “My people, the Oconaluftee, received permission from the government to stay in North Carolina,” John Blackbear said.

  “That’s right,” CC said. “It was thanks to the efforts of William H. Thomas that they were able to stay here.”