by Abigail Keam
Death By Deceit
A Josiah Reynolds Mystery
Abigail Keam
Worker Bee Press
Death By Deceit
Copyright © 2019 Abigail Keam
Kobo Edition
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author.
The characters are not based on you.
So don’t go around town and brag about it.
Any similarity to any person or place is coincidental.
The Butterfly, Lady Elsmere’s Big House, and Wickliffe Manor do not exist.
However, if you buy enough of my books, I might have the money to build the Butterfly.
ISBN 978 17329743 5 7
10 22 2019
Published in the USA by
Worker Bee Press
P.O. Box 485
Nicholasville, KY 40340
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
By Abigail Keam
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Other Books By Abigail Keam
About The Author
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my editor, Penny Baker.
Artwork by Cricket Press
www.cricket-press.com
Book jacket by Peter Keam
Author’s photograph by Peter Keam
By Abigail Keam
Josiah Reynolds Mysteries
Death By A HoneyBee I
Death By Drowning II
Death By Bridle III
Death By Bourbon IV
Death By Lotto V
Death By Chocolate VI
Death By Haunting VII
Death By Derby VIII
Death By Design IX
Death By Malice X
Death By Drama XI
Death By Stalking XII
The Mona Moon Mysteries
Murder Under A Blue Moon I
Murder Under A Blood Moon II
Murder Under A Bad Moon III
The Princess Maura Fantasy Series
Wall Of Doom I
Wall Of Peril II
Wall Of Glory III
Wall Of Conquest IV
Wall Of Victory V
Last Chance For Love Series
Last Chance Motel I
Gasping For Air II
The Siren’s Call III
Hard Landing IV
The Mermaid’s Carol V
1
Veritas Noble and I had just seen the classic The Apartment with Jack Lemon and Shirley MacLaine at the Kentucky Theater and were heading back to her car when she exclaimed, “Oh, Josiah. Someone has run into my Subaru Impreza!”
We both rushed and surveyed the damage to the back of her bumper which someone had severely dented.
“That’s terrible,” I said, looking around for cars whose color matched the paint marks scratched on the bumper. “Wait a minute, VeVe,” I said, referring to my nickname for her, as Veritas was too much of a mouthful. “There’s an envelope under the windshield wiper.”
Veritas pulled a white envelope out from the wiper and tore it open. It contained a large wad of cash. “Josiah, there’s a thousand dollars here,” she said, incredulously.
“Read the note.”
Pulling out a handwritten note she read—“‘I’m sorry. Hope this helps.’ Just when I thought the worst, I find this. Kind of restores my faith in humanity. My insurance has such a high deductible.”
“Do you think the money will cover the cost of fixing the bumper?”
“It should be close enough. I feel so much better now.”
“It was very nice to leave some money, but who walks around with a thousand bucks in his pocket?” I wondered out loud.
“I don’t know and don’t care. Let’s go. I want to get home.”
“Can you get my packages out of the trunk?”
“Yeah. Looks like the trunk wasn’t affected,” Veritas said, inserting her key and opening it.
How shall I put this? The trunk swung open. We both stared at its contents, gasped, and ran down the street screaming.
A dead man had been stuffed into Veritas’ trunk.
2
Let me introduce myself. My name is Josiah Louise Reynolds. My grandmother named me after a righteous Hebrew king. I’m anything but. I’m not a king and definitely not righteous. I live on a farm near the Palisades in the Bluegrass overlooking the Kentucky River. I raise honey bees and make my living selling honey at the local farmers’ market, boarding horses, and renting out my iconic home, the Butterfly, for events like wedding receptions.
I’m in my fifties, wear a hearing aid, walk with a slight limp, and in pain much of the time, although the pain has lessened. I am mannerly, housebroken, and presentable in public without embarrassing myself or others—most of the time.
That takes care of me.
As for Veritas, she is an old friend, and we had spent an enjoyable evening together until we opened the trunk of her car.
We ran screeching pell-mell, coming to a halt only when I careened into a parked car. I grabbed hold of Veritas’ jacket. “Stop, VeVe. I can’t go on.”
“I think I peed on myself,” Veritas said, glumly.
“You’re not the only one who needs to change her panties. Come on. Let’s see about this.”
“No.”
“The man might need assistance.”
“He looked dead to me, Josiah.”
“Stay here, then. If someone is playing a gag, and that stiff jumps out at me, I’m gonna make sure he’s dead.”
I made my way back to the car parked behind the theater. The trunk was still open, and the street was eerily quiet as if nothing untoward had happened. Peering cautiously into the trunk, I sputtered, “Sir, are you all right?”
I inched closer still and poked him with a finger. The man’s head lolled to where I could see his face. He was dead all right. His eyes stared up at me with that blank look that only the dead have. I should know since I’ve stumbled upon my share of lifeless bodies during the past few years.
Digging into my purse, I pulled out my phone and used its itty bitty light to get a better look inside the trunk. The unfortunate man was a white male with nice features who must have been handsome in life. He was thirtyish, wearing expensive blue jeans, posh tennis shoes, black tee shirt, and jacket. His hair had been cut recently, and his nails appeared to be professionally manicured. Rigor mortis had not set in yet, which meant the man had died within the last three hours. My concentration was broken by the clip-clop of Veritas’ approaching steps.
“Is he?” Veritas asked.
> “Sure looks like it.”
“How did he die?”
“Don’t know but there’s a small blood pool underneath him. Better get the police, VeVe. I’ll stay here with the body while you go.”
“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” Veritas said, quickly walking to the police station only a block away.
I took the opportunity of her absence to rifle through the man’s pockets and go through his wallet. I switched on my phone’s camera, taking pictures of both the body, possessions, and the dented bumper before the police arrived. I even took a small paint sample from the scratching on the bumper and dropped it into an empty pill bottle in my purse. Seconds later, a squad car with two uniforms pulled up with Veritas riding in the back. I turned with a frightened, panicky look plastered on my face for the benefit of the male policemen who expected such scared looks from women after stuffing my phone in my pocket. Who am I to stand in the way of archaic prejudices?
A beat cop nudged me aside and felt for a pulse. “Yep, he’s dead.” He eyed us suspiciously. “Touch anything?”
“Why no, Officer,” I lied. “Why would we do that?”
“Did you know him?”
Both Veritas and I shook our heads.
“Whose car is this?”
“Mine,” Veritas said, her voice quaking a bit.
“We’ll need you both to make a statement. This officer will show you to police headquarters.”
“Don’t bother. I know the way. Come on, VeVe. Let’s get this over with.”
“What a horrible evening,” Veritas said, peering over her shoulder at the cop following us to the police station.
I couldn’t have agreed more.
3
Norbet Drake walked into the interrogation room with a Styrofoam coffee cup in one hand and a file in the other. He glanced at me, shaking his head. “You are certainly a bad penny. How do you manage to keep any friends when bodies keep piling up around you? I would give you a wide berth.”
“Nice to see you too, Norbet.”
He sighed, “It’s Detective Drake.”
“We see each other so often, I thought we should be on a first name basis.”
“It’s rather like a revolving door for you and this police station. Okay, Josiah, let’s hear your story this time.”
“May I call you Norbet?”
“No.”
“Then it’s Mrs. Reynolds.” I batted my eyelashes.
“Do you always act like this just to be difficult?”
“Hmm, yeah, I think I do.”
Detective Drake cleared his throat. “Let’s get on with this.” He clicked on the video recorder. “It is twenty-two hundred hours on Sunday—.”
I interrupted. “He must have been shot.”
Detective Drake looked up from his file. “What makes you say so?”
“Because you made VeVe and me take a GSR test. Who does that anymore? It’s a rather outdated test, isn’t it?”
“When you say VeVe, do you mean Veritas Noble?”
“Did you know Veritas was the Roman goddess of truth? VeVe, that’s what I call her, is very much like her namesake. I don’t think she’s ever told a lie in her life. I don’t think she even can. If VeVe says something, you can take it to the bank.”
“For this interview, let’s refer to VeVe as Veritas Noble.”
“Okay, but let’s get back to the gunshot residue test.”
“Mrs. Reynolds, I was under the impression I am conducting this interview.”
“Interview? See, that’s the problem. I thought we were merely giving statements as witnesses to discovering a body. My being interviewed means you think I’m a suspect. Did you find gunshot residue on my hands?”
Detective Drake leaned back in his chair. “NO! We didn’t.”
“So, I’m not a suspect?”
“My mouth waters at the thought.”
“Did you find a gun on me, VeVe, or in her car?”
“Privileged information.”
I replied, “Which means no. Did you find a gun anywhere in or near the crime scene like a dumpster or a storm drain?”
Detective Drake crossed his arms while clenching his jaw muscles.
I said, “I think the perpetrator took his gun with him.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I haven’t a clue. You’re the detective,” I replied in my best helpless female tone of voice.
“Will we find your DNA on the victim’s body?”
“You will. I touched him to see if there was a pulse.”
“What about Veritas Noble?”
“After opening the trunk, she never got close to the body again.”
“Why did Mrs. Noble open the trunk?”
“I asked her. We had been shopping before the movie, and I wanted to get my packages from the trunk since we were going home.”
“Why not leave them in the trunk?”
“It would save VeVe getting out of the car again when she dropped me off at home.”
“What did you do when you saw the body?”
“We both ran away. I believe I was screaming. I think VeVe was, too. I ran headlong into another car. A bruise has formed on my leg. Would you like to see it?”
Detective Drake ignored my suggestion to see the bruise.
It used to be when I teased a man about showing part of my anatomy, he jumped at the chance. Now, men acted as if a bee had stung them. It’s tough getting old, girls.
Drake asked, “Did you know the suspect?”
“It was dark and the man’s face was turned away,” I replied, trying to stifle a yawn.
Drake checked the report in the file. “The man’s face was facing up when the officer arrived.”
“Yes, only because I checked for a pulse.”
“Did Mrs. Noble know him?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“Why did you park behind the theater instead of Main Street?”
“We went to see a movie and all the parking spaces were taken on Main Street, so we parked in the back.”
“Why not use the parking garage half a block over?”
“Women dislike using parking garages.”
“Even if it is attached to a police station?”
“We parked only a block from the police station and look what happened right under your noses. A man was murdered and thrown into the trunk of a woman’s car.”
“Okay, I’ve had enough. We’ll call you back in if we need something further.”
“You will talk to my lawyer, Shaneika Mary Todd, if you need something further. I gave your men a statement. I complied with your GSR test. I’m done talking. See ya around, Norbet.” I gave Detective Drake a big smile, relieved the police hadn’t searched me. For if they had, they would have found gloves tucked in my pants’ pocket. Otherwise, my prints would have been discovered all over that dead man.
I may be a snoop, but that is no reason to make the police think I’m a killer.
4
A loud knocking at the door woke me up. Since Baby, my English Mastiff, wasn’t growling, it must be someone he knew, and he didn’t know anyone I didn’t know. I pushed off the cat sleeping on my chest, and tried avoiding stepping on other felines from the Kitty Kaboodle, the clowder of barn cats, which were Baby’s pets and let in every night. Two were curled around Baby still sleeping. One was on my dressing table, knocking off lipstick tubes. Another was climbing up the draperies.
I hurried to the front door and opened it. “Morning, Charles,” I said to Lady Elsmere’s heir. He was also her butler and estate manager. In other words, he was the big cheese at the Big House. “What can I do for you?”
“Good morning, Josiah. Her Ladyship would like a word with you.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
“You woke me up.”
“Please don’t make me go back without you.”
Seeing Charles’ distressed expression, I assumed Lady Elsmere, aka June Webster from Monkey’s
Eyebrow, Kentucky was on the warpath about something. Probably one of my peacocks had pooped on her patio again. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”
“Please hurry.”
“Can I at least brush my hair and maybe my teeth?”
“If you must.”
“Gee, thanks. Come on in. Help yourself to the fridge while I dress.”
“Thanks, Josiah.”
“Know what it is about?”
“Rather not say.”
“Is it serious? Should I call a lawyer?” I teased.
“Nothing like that. I’ll wait in the car until you get ready.”
“Okay, be out in a jiffy.” I hurried to my room, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, and threw on some clothes. I stumbled over Baby who had moved from my bedside to the front of the bathroom door. Mastiffs like to lie in doorways. “Good golly, Baby. You trying to kill me or somethin’? If I die, who is going feed you?”
Baby raised his massive head, yawned, and replaced his drooping jowls upon his paws, seemingly unconcerned by my threat.
After finding some flip-flops under a chair, I hurried out to the Bentley waiting for me. Ooh, June sent the important car to fetch me. Must be serious.
We arrived at the Big House, and Charles dropped me off at the back entrance. “Yoo-hoo,” I called, striding into a large kitchen.
At the kitchen table sat Bess, Charles’ daughter and cook extraordinaire, Amelia, another daughter and June’s caretaker, and finally, June, the great lady herself.
June held up a newspaper. “What’s this, and you didn’t even bother to tell me?”
I grabbed the paper from June and read the front page. There was a large article about Veritas and me finding the body.
“What is it with you and dead bodies? It’s becoming a filthy habit.”
I replied, “I know. I know. They seem to be piling up, don’t they?”
“One or two dead people is one thing, but there’s been over a dozen in the past few years. It’s unseemly and people are starting to talk.”
“Starting to? Tongues have been wagging ever since Brannon left me for that skank half his age.”