Murder at the Moonshine Inn

by Maggie King

What I hadn’t learned was how easily a no could become a yes.

  THREE

  ON THE WAY home, I pondered Nina’s request that I investigate her sister’s murder. She had mentioned paying me. How much should that be? Or was bartering the way to go? Did Nina service cars? Clean houses? Do laundry? Color hair? Considering the condition of her own hair, I didn’t think I’d have her touch mine.

  But it didn’t matter because investigating her sister’s murder was an emphatic no.

  At home Olive, our Norwegian Forest cat, rolled over in the driveway for a tummy rub. Olive was camouflaged, sometimes black, sometimes charcoal, and sometimes brown, depending on the play of light. Her green eyes often darkened and became opaque, blending into her fur. Indoors, Morris, an orange and white Manx cat and Olive’s companion, greeted me, abbreviated tail bobbing.

  Vince came down the stairs. “How did everything go?” He asked after kissing me.

  I laughed. “That’s a short question that requires a long answer. Do you have time now?”

  “Sure.”

  My husband, Vince Castelli, stood at six foot one with broad shoulders. His shock of white hair, blazing blue eyes, mustache, goatee, and Brooklyn accent all added up to sexy as all get-out. He’d retired as a Richmond homicide detective to pursue a career writing true crime accounts. Like me, he’s enjoyed publishing success. Vince was currently writing an account of how the housekeeper of a wealthy family in Richmond’s West End used her employer’s hunting rifle to shoot him and his family. Another case for gun control, in my opinion. Sometimes Vince joined the book group to tell us about law enforcement and police procedure.

  I met Vince shortly after I moved to Richmond from Los Angeles in 2000. For five years we went through a series of breakups and make-ups, due mostly to the commitment phobia I suffered after four failed marriages. Finally, I took a leap of faith and found myself proposing. We married on a white sandy beach in Costa Rica almost eight years ago. Despite the chaos that marked our premarital relationship, we enjoyed marital bliss—for the most part.

  I’d just sent my latest manuscript to my editor. It told the story of three friends whose spouses die and they wind up spending their golden years with their high school sweethearts. My baby boomer-aged characters enjoyed active and loving sex lives. The best thing was that I got to do my research with Vince and he was a willing partner. The research was more fun for my books than for his.

  I started off by describing Phyllis’s tirade at Panera. Vince laughed and shook his head. “Woman’s a piece of work. Nina’s lucky the coffee wasn’t hot. So is Phyllis, for that matter.”

  “Let me tell you why Nina wanted to meet me.”

  No sooner had I mentioned the name Roxanne Howard than Vince cut me off. “Wait a minute—Nina Brown—is she Jeannina Brown?”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Yes, I’m sure she is. Jeannina Brown. She’s a suspect in her sister’s murder and so is your cousin Brad. The police just don’t have a solid case yet.”

  Vince knew all about the case. The Richmond Police Department was handling it and he kept in touch with his former colleagues. And he planned to publish an account of Rox’s murder for his next true crime project.

  “Why did she want to meet with you?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you . . . She wants me to investigate her sister’s murder.”

  “Why? Murder’s a matter for the police.”

  “I know, I know.” I didn’t want to get him all riled up. “And I’m sure they’re handling things.”

  “I don’t like you looking for killers. I still shudder when I think of that time with Carlene.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it.” I held up my hand in the stop position. “On second thought, don’t. And I did say no.”

  “And remember, Brad’s first wife died under suspicious circumstances. According to reports, police don’t think foul play was involved. But I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” How had I managed to overlook that small detail? Vince referred to Brad’s first wife, who drowned in the James River about four years before. Maybe it was just as well that Brad wouldn’t have anything to do with me—the fact that he had not one, but two dead wives loomed. “Brad’s sure an in-demand suspect.”

  “Exactly.”

  Vince gave me an emphatic look. “What does Nina think you could do?”

  “Talk to people at the places where Rox worked, like the Hamlin Group and the ARS.” I explained that ARS was short for the unwieldy Alzheimer’s Research Society of Central Virginia. “She says I have a lot of fans there.”

  “Hmm.”

  For a few moments the only sound came from Morris, snuggled in Vince’s lap and purring.

  “You need to tell Trudy that you’re not a detective.”

  “Yes, I plan to do just that. Although she said she didn’t tell Nina that I was.”

  “Of course, Nina may have remembered reading about you back in 2005, reading that you solved a real murder. That might have led her to ask Trudy about you.”

  “It’s possible,” I allowed. “I’ll ask Trudy how this all came about.” Thankfully, not many people clamored after my services. I guessed there wasn’t a big market for amateur detectives, aside from the fictional kind. “I told Nina I’d ask you for a name of a good PI. Do you know of one?”

  Vince thought. “Yes, I know a few. I’ll e-mail them to you.”

  “You have a folder of articles about Rox, don’t you?”

  “I do, but it’s not complete. I’ll show you what I have.” Vince shot me a warning look. “As long as you promise—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not investigating. I just want to refresh my memory on Rox.” I returned to the unfortunate, and messy, reunion of Phyllis and Nina. “If I was Nina I’d file assault charges. Even with cool coffee. Plus, Phyllis was verbally abusive and in a public place to boot. The woman’s often a trial at book group, but at least she limits her attacks to authors who aren’t there.”

  “Does she post negative reviews on Amazon or Goodreads?”

  “Hmm. I don’t know. If she does, I’m sure she gives no higher than a two-star rating.” A merry tune on my phone alerted me that I had a call. “Trudy.”

  Vince nudged Morris off his lap and got up. “I’ll get you those articles.”

  Trudy asked, “Did you hear anything from Phyllis?”

  “No. Do you think we will?”

  “It would be nice if she apologized, but I wouldn’t count on it. So, what did you think about Nina?”

  “Oh, I don’t know what to think. I feel bad for her, but I don’t know why you recommended my services. And she’s a suspect.”

  “But I told you earlier that I didn’t recommend your services. Not exactly. First of all, I’ve only known Nina for about five years, and I still don’t know her that well. We chat from time to time when I’m out walking Millie.” Millie was Trudy’s Golden Retriever mix. “One day last week she came over and asked me if I knew you. Figured I knew a lot of authors, being a librarian. I said yes and that we were in the same book group. She wanted to meet you, see if you’d help her find out who killed her sister. She remembered reading about you back in 2005. I told her I doubted that you would, but she persisted. I figured you could just say no. Which you did.”

  “And I’m sticking to it.” Or so I hoped. “Trudy, this seems important to you. But you say you don’t know Nina that well.”

  “Yes, I know it seems weird. It does to me too. But, well, I don’t think she did it. I’m not so sure about Brad, but I don’t think Nina did it.”

  “So Nina could be in danger from Brad?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What makes you think Nina didn’t do it?”

  “A feeling.”

  A feeling! Feelings mattered. But like anything in the human realm, they were prone to error.

  “And I want to see justice done,” Trudy added.

  “I can understand that. So why don’t you inv
estigate?”

  Trudy laughed. “I have a better idea. We could get the book group involved in this—how does that sound?”

  “You mean a group investigation?” Morris jumped up on my lap and I stroked his back. “Well . . . I don’t know. I suppose we could discuss it at tonight’s meeting.” Uh oh, I could already feel my resolve crumbling.

  Thanks, I mouthed as Vince handed me a manila folder secured with an elastic band. He gave me a suspicious look. No doubt he’d caught the part about the group investigation.

  “What about Eileen?” I asked. “She’s a neighbor as well. Did Nina talk to her about coercing me into doing this?”

  “No, I’m sure she didn’t. I don’t know if she likes Eileen that much. You know how Eileen can be.”

  I did. Much as I liked our fellow book group member, she could be brusque and impatient. “Yes, I can picture Eileen telling Nina in no uncertain terms to hire an investigator and not try to involve hapless writers just to save money.”

  Trudy laughed. “I mean, they’re neighborly enough. And Eileen went to Rox’s funeral with me.”

  “I remember that you went to the funeral. Tell me again how it was.” Vince and I had been out of town for another funeral and missed out on Rox’s.

  “Okay, as funerals go. But we were short-staffed at the library, so Eileen and I left right after the service. We didn’t meet any of the family, but there wasn’t much of one. Brad, of course. Aside from him, who was there? Brad’s son. Some friends.”

  “I know my cousin Patty Ratzenberger and her husband Paul were there.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Trudy said. “But I didn’t meet them. Did I tell you that Nina and Brad used to be an item?”

  “Oh, yes, you did. I forgot about that.”

  “Well, now they seem to be back together. He’s there a lot late at night. I see his car when I’m walking Millie.”

  “Interesting. And it lends credence to the two of them being viable suspects.”

  “Yes, unfortunately it does. Oh, and before I forget—at one point Nina told me she was estranged from Rox, but that was a year, maybe two years ago. I’m not sure if they still were at the time of the murder.”

  “Things don’t look good for Nina.”

  Seconds after I ended my call with Trudy, Phyllis phoned. Without preamble, she started. “Is that bitch coming to book group?”

  Morris, startled at Phyllis’s harsh voice emanating from the vicinity of my ear, jumped off my lap. I didn’t blame him.

  “I take it you mean Nina. I don’t know if she wants to come to book group. She didn’t mention it.”

  “Well, if she does, I’m out of the group. I’m not putting up with her.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know her plans.”

  “Nina was a real piece of work. So was that sister of hers.”

  Nina’s sister? Did she mean Rox? Had Nina mentioned other sisters? “Did you know Nina’s sister?”

  “Yes, Roxanne. I met her once or twice. Brassy as all get-out. Why do you ask?”

  “She was killed a few months ago. We talked about it at book group. She was stabbed in the parking lot of the Moonshine Inn.”

  “Yeah, I remember. She was quite a lush.” Had Phyllis said anything about Rox at the time we discussed it? It was a hot topic and took up an entire group meeting.

  “Well, let me know if she shows up tonight. But just in case she does, I won’t be there.”

  I gave Phyllis a noncommittal “We’ll be in touch.” She didn’t apologize for her outrageous behavior at Panera, but I decided to stay on her good side in case she had some useful information to share about Rox.

  I’d first met Phyllis Ross long ago at another fiction group. Phyllis was given to overwrought harangues about the book selections. Poor writing, books too long, too short, and continuity errors in time and place were just a sampling of her pokes and jabs. She generally dominated the discussion.

  Years later, Phyllis showed up at our mystery book group. Since this group didn’t read the same books, she could choose her own according to a theme. That cut down on her complaints—for a while. I put her critical nature to good use by having her read my drafts. Sure enough, Phyllis nailed every flaw. I guessed I’d have to find another proofreader as I didn’t see myself carrying on any kind of relationship with the volatile woman. It was one thing to be a book group malcontent; being abusive was quite another. I’d never again be able to be in Phyllis’s presence without thinking of her behavior at Panera.

  It was time to tackle the articles. First I went to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of envelopes and a pen. My recycle practice included using the backs of envelopes for note-taking. I curled up on the sofa with Morris, opened the folder, and started reading.

  My sister had told me a little about Brad’s wife’s tragic end, but I’d never read an account. The body of Veronica Paye Jones, missing since February 19, 2009, had been found about seven miles from downtown Lynchburg, Virginia. Her body was lodged in a tree, approximately five feet above the James River.

  The article was dated March 26, 2009. The woman had been missing for more than a month? I shook my head in dismay. That must have been a hellacious ordeal for the family. Waiting always was. Even though finding her body was sad, at least they could then grieve and have closure.

  Lynchburg was at least a hundred and fifty miles from Richmond. I’d been there a couple of times for book signings. I envisioned a map of Virginia, placing the city more or less in the center of the state.

  Veronica’s obituary listed her husband and son, Bradley R. Jones and Alexander M. Jones respectively, as survivors, along with a slew of kinfolk in Kentucky. The deceased earned her Ph.D. from Bryn Mawr College in Pennsylvania. Her academic expertise included 19th-century British and European literature.

  Were Brad and Rox a couple during this time period? According to Nina, they’d met years before. Were they friends for years before ratcheting up their relationship?

  The police didn’t think foul play was involved, but my husband was skeptical about that view. Had Veronica committed suicide? If so, was it instigated by a possible relationship between Brad and Rox? Or Brad and Nina? I thought it unlikely that she’d had a sudden urge for a swim in February. Many questions, few answers.

  On to the next printout. Oh yes, the movie theater incident, probably the most famous, or infamous, of Rox’s many incidents:

  On April 10, 2007 Roxanne Howard, 49, confronted Foster Hayden, 23, and his companion, Pamela Barry, during the screening of a film at the UA West Tower Cinema in Richmond. Howard spoke at high volume, using abusive and sexually explicit language. A patron summoned the manager who tried to escort Howard out of the theater, but she resisted and continued her profanity-laced tirade. She finally left of her own accord.

  But Howard waited outside in the parking lot where she keyed Hayden’s car and smashed his windshield with a tire iron. When Hayden and Barry left the theater and approached the car, Howard threatened them with the tire iron. A police response was initiated by Barry, and Howard was arrested for assault and property damage. Later Hayden dropped the charges.

  I shook my head at Rox’s bizarre behavior that made Phyllis’s actions at Panera pale by comparison. A photo of Rox showed a woman who would look right at home at the Moonshine Inn, the redneck bar where she’d been last seen alive. The bloated face and disheveled hair suggested a hard-living life. Twenty-six years separated Rox and Foster—Rox was quite the cougar. So far, my female baby-boomer characters hadn’t strayed outside of their age groups and set their sights on younger men—but I wasn’t opposed to the idea, and I had a lot of stories to tell.

  Why had Foster dropped the charges? I jotted that question on my envelope.

  Another newspaper article detailed Rox and Foster having an altercation in the hall outside of his apartment which prompted neighbors to call the police. Neither party filed charges. I went on to read about her two DUIs, about her murder, and her obituary. But the media celebra
ted Rox’s accomplishments as well, including her reign as Executive Director at the ARS and later as Vice President at the Hamlin Group. A smiling Rox posed with prominent public figures, including politicians from both parties.

  Was the murderer someone in these photographs or named in these news stories? Was it a hired killer? If so, who hired the killer? And didn’t hired killers use guns?

  No doubt about it—I was succumbing to the lure of this investigation.

  Vince sat next to me on the sofa and scratched Morris’s ears. “So, what’s this about your book group investigating?”

  “Trudy thinks they might be interested in taking this on.”

  Vince considered. “Well, a group project would be safer.”

  “And these women are well-connected in the Richmond community.”

  “True. Sarah Rubottom’s the ultimate volunteer.”

  “And one of her organizations is the Alzheimer’s Research Society. So that works out well. Eileen and Trudy know a lot of people from the library.”

  “And your cousin Lucy has all those contacts in the business community.” Lucy Hooper was yet another cousin, but from my mother’s side. She managed a job placement agency in downtown Richmond.

  I told Vince what Trudy said about Nina and Brad being an item, past and present. I added that Nina and Rox had been estranged at one point.

  “So that gives Brad and Nina possible motives to kill Rox.” Vince sighed. “Well, I hope you decide against doing this. But, if you do go ahead with it, I’ll find out the current status of the case. I haven’t kept up with it.”

  Vince stayed in touch with his former colleagues at the police department. They were valuable resources for his writing. “I do know that they interviewed a number of people who all had alibis.”

  “Really? Like who?”

  “As I recall, Brad, Nina, Andy, Foster Hayden, all the folks at the Hamlin Group and the ARS. And Foster’s girlfriend, what’s her name?” Vince touched his forehead with his fingers, a classic gesture used to summon elusive information.

  “Pamela Barry,” I supplied. “I just read about that theater incident and saw her name.”