Jed had never liked Beau Arson, a bitter commingling of jealousy, envy, and competitiveness. He and Beau were two big fish in a small pond, with Beau being the much bigger fish. Prior to the rock musician’s arrival in town, Jed had been the local celebrity, now overshadowed by a superstar of mammoth proportions. Also, Jed’s girlfriend, Cheri, was infatuated with Beau, thus exacerbating the young sheriff’s resentfulness and insecurity.
“Looks like Beau Arson’s the one you need to be talkin’ to, ain’t it?” he said. “Maybe he and she were, you know … doin’ some kind of late-night booty call here in the woods.”
“I don’t think so,” Harley said.
One of the things Beau was known for was his indifference to women. She knew while he was no angel, he also did not operate in that fashion. He could take or leave women, as Jed had once put it, which made his allure to them all that much more powerful. She doubted he would leave Briarcliffe in the middle of the night to meet a woman in Briarwood Park, not even one as beautiful as this one had been. No, for a woman to have that effect on Beau Arson, she would have to have her own supernatural powers.
“Then you tell me what he was doin’ out here in the middle of the night barefoot. Some kind of weird streakin’?” His voice still carried a hint of lingering satisfaction. “Or, like I said, maybe it was a ghost, which’d be the only other possibility I can think of in this crazy scenario. And if you’re huntin’ for ghosts, looks like Briarcliffe’s the place you need to be huntin’ ’em.”
15
Not A Creature Was Stirring … Except Aunt Wilma
Harley stood behind the bar in Smoky Mountain Spirits, with a series of liquors lined across the counter in front of her. It was after five o’clock, and time to prepare for the Briarwood Neighborhood Association meeting at Briarcliffe.
She added Tennessee whiskey, apple brandy, Cognac, and Bénédictine to the cocktail shaker before giving the concoction a good stir, and pouring it into a travel thermos. For the garnish, she threaded pieces of candied fruit on toothpicks and wrapped them in plastic wrap.
Her mind kept returning to the woman she had found in the woods that morning. The long, dark hair. The pale, beautiful face. What would a complete stranger be doing in the park in the middle of the night? Presumably she must have known someone in town, and had a reason for being there. But what was the reason, and who was that person or persons? And onto the biggest question, what had happened to her body?
Harley’s mind then turned to the footprints they had found in the snow, leading all the way back to Briarcliffe. Who had left them there, and when? Remembering Jed’s accusations, she considered Beau for a moment, then pushed the possibility from her mind.
The shop bell tinkled, and Aunt Wilma blew through the door, bringing a whirl of arctic wind with her.
“Howdy, Harley.” She pulled the door to a close behind her and neatened her Liberace wig. “It’s colder than a witch’s titty out yonder.”
She hobbled through the shop in her hot pink snow boots, a matching puffer coat covering her muumuu and holiday cardigan. In her right hand, she carried a tin lunchbox Uncle Tater had given to Matilda for her birthday the year prior. On the front, Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry character stood before a deli counter, pointing a banana at the clerk and saying, Go ahead. Make my lunch.
Wilma rested the lunchbox on the bar. “Had to stop off at the post office, mail my Christmas cards. Thought I’d drop off Matilda’s snacks. You left ’em at the office this mornin’.”
The word snacks activated Matilda’s selective hearing, and she awoke magically from her nap, joining Wilma by the bar.
Wilma looked down at the pig. “Now, you know you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ for free. You gotta do somethin’ to get somethin’. Now you set and look purdy.”
Matilda fell back on her haunches and waited for Wilma to fulfill her end of the agreement. Wilma popped open the lunchbox and rattled plastic wrappers as she rummaged inside.
Harley stood from her chair to survey the snack selection. At Matilda’s last checkup, the vet said it was imperative to feed the pig a healthier diet, something Wilma and Uncle Tater consistently tried to sabotage.
“Are those Little Debbies?” Harley asked. “Remember what the vet said.”
“Oh, hush up, young’un. I didn’t pack no Little Debbies.”
She removed a jelly donut from the lunchbox and held it up for Harley to see.
“A jelly donut?”
“And I reckon it’s healthy, too.” She pointed to the jelly center. “You see that? That there’s a fruit group.”
She popped the donut in Matilda’s mouth, watching with glee as the pig chewed and swallowed with enthusiasm.
Wilma looked across the bar at Harley. “You seen Jennifer Williams lately?”
Wilma’s question struck Harley as odd. She had never asked about Jennifer Williams before. Harley recalled Jennifer’s strange behavior in Briarwood Park that morning.
“I saw her earlier in the park. Why?”
“’Cause she was actin’ kind of funny when I seen her yesterday.”
“Funny how?”
“Well …” Wilma removed another jelly donut from the lunchbox and took a bite. “I was comin’ back from gettin’ my mustache waxed at the beauty parlor. I’d parked over yonder ’cause there weren’t no spaces left over here. Never is around noon. And anyhow, Jennifer was pullin’ into the parkin’ lot in her delivery van in a big old hurry. I tried to say hello to her when she got out, but it was like she didn’t even hear me. Heck, she didn’t even look at me. Real strange, ’cause you know she’s always such a friendly and pleasant person.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Not much that I could understand. She was talkin’ to herself—somethin’ about how ‘it was impossible,’ and how ‘she couldn’t believe it.’”
“Could you understand anything else?”
“Nope. And then she took off up the steps yonder to her apartment … like she’d seen a ghost.”
“And this was around noon, you said?”
Wilma paused in thought. “Yep. I had my wax appointment at eleven, so I reckon it was right around twelve.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, I best be gettin’ on. Got my Mahjong meetin’ here in a bit. You wouldn’t believe how many cracks I had me last time.”
“As opposed to just your one?”
“Smart aleck.” Wilma grabbed her pink pleather pocketbook from the bar and hot pink puffer jacket. She hobbled toward the door in her bubblegum pink snow boots, the pompom tassels swaying with her steps. Harley and Matilda followed her to the door and Harley held it open, snowflakes dusting her shirtsleeves.
“And don’t be worryin’ about what you’re gonna wear to the ball neither. Opha Mae’s makin’ a dress for you.”
Oh no.
“Says it’s gonna be a big surprise.”
I bet.
Aunt Wilma passed through the doorway and hobbled down the sidewalk.
“It still ain’t got no warmer,” she said before disappearing among a group of pedestrians.
16
Fowl Play
Harley flipped the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED,” and returned to the bar where she finished packing the remaining boxes of liquor for the meeting.
The bell on the shop door jingled, and two women entered, bringing a gust of cold wind and the lilt of holiday music with them. They dusted the snow from their shoes, and after embracing the store’s warmth, commenced with their bickering.
“I’m hungry,” Grandma Ziegler said. “When do we eat?”
Tina groaned. “I packed your dinner, remember? You can eat it here before we leave.”
Joy Ziegler looked across the store at Harley, balancing her purse on her elbow. A brown faux fur coat dwarfed her elfin body, not disguising the cotton nightgown she wore beneath, or the pantyhose covering her twig-like legs. Her little feet hobbled across the floor in white tennis shoes, a parade of costume jewelry causing her to jingle.<
br />
The only thing Joy Ziegler and her granddaughter, Tina Rizchek, shared in common was their Pittsburgh accent, which Tina had retained, despite having spent the last sixteen years in East Tennessee.
In her right hand, Grandma carried a bird cage, its thermal cover lifted to reveal a green parrot inside, which eyed Harley with a smug look.
“Harley, honey,” Grandma Ziegler said with her gin-and-cigarettes voice. “How the heck are ya?” She craned her neck to look at the parrot in the cage. “Petie, you remember Harley, don’t ya?”
“Big nerd,” Petie said.
“Nice to see you again too, Petie,” Harley said pleasantly.
“Harley’s a friend of Tina’s.”
“Big slut.”
Tina scuttled along behind them in her miniskirt and stiletto snow boots, carrying a stack of Tupperware containers. “I ain’t a slut, Petie.”
“Well, you dress like one,” Grandma Ziegler said, taking a seat at the bar. “And you go out with all them boys all the time.”
“Speaking of,” Harley said, “how was your date with Joe last night?”
“Oh, Joe Shmo,” Tina said, rolling her eyes. She rested the Tupperware containers beside Grandma Ziegler on the bar and smoothed her peroxide blond hair. “What a jagoff. He called at the last minute. You know what he said? Said he had to stay home. Said he had to load his Instant Pot.”
Harley forced back a laugh. “What was he making?”
“Buffalo wings, I think.”
Grandma Ziegler slapped her hand on the counter, clanging the numerous rings and bracelets against the wood. “Maybe I need to go to this Joe’s house for dinner. Maybe he’s got somethin’ good to eat. Yinz ain’t got no decent food in this tahn, I swear. Everything’s covered in gravy.” She grabbed one of the Tupperware containers. “Where are the pierogies?”
“On top,” Tina said.
“And the latkes?”
“Third down. With the matzo balls. The golumpki and corned beef are on the bottom.”
Grandma Ziegler opened the container of pierogies, then the latkes and matzo balls. She removed a can of Easy Cheese from her purse, and seconds later, the two dishes were covered with orange cheese product. She grinned as she skewered a pierogi and stuffed it in her mouth.
“Would you like something to drink?” Harley asked.
“Give me a gin martini.”
“But this is a whiskey joint, Grandma,” Tina said.
“Yeah, knucklehead, but I like gin.”
Harley poured gin and dry vermouth in a martini glass, and placed it on the bar. “I have a little bit of news,” she said.
Both women looked at her expectantly.
“Well, what?” Grandma said.
“We, um … well, Matilda and I—we kind of found a dead woman in the park this morning.”
Tina barked an expletive, nearly losing her balance in her stiletto snow boots. “You mean to tell me we’ve been here like ten minutes and you’re just now tellin’ us you found somebody in the park?”
In between Tina and Grandma’s rounds of bickering, there had not been time, Harley thought. “We were on our morning walk,” she said.
“You know who the poor ol’ broad was?” Grandma asked.
Harley shook her head. “I’d never seen her before. And then when I went to call Jed, she disappeared.”
“Oh, no,” Tina said. “Not again. This is like déjà vu all over—except without the Steven Tyler scarecrow.” She was referring to the scarecrow she’d seen on the side of the road last Halloween. It had scared her so badly, she had crashed her van in the ditch and found a delirious homeless man there.
“What’d the broad look like?” Grandma asked.
Harley wiped down the bar with a towel, describing the woman as she did so. “Long dark hair, fair skin, very beautiful. She had really distinctive light-green eyes.”
Grandma froze on the bar stool, her fork suspended at her mouth. “Hey, wait a minute. I think I might’ve seen her. Yesterday. No, I know it was her. Had to’ve been. Light-green eyes, right?” She stared at Harley in earnest. “Late thirties or so, maybe?”
Harley nodded, but she was beginning to think the woman had been much older.
“Gorgeous face?” Grandma said. “Nice figure? Kind of looked like that film star back in the day, the one that was married to Frank Sinatra.”
“Ava Gardner?” Tina said.
“Yeah, Ava Gardner. Gorgeous broad.”
Harley removed her phone from her pocket and did an internet search for Ava Gardner. When the images displayed, her eyes widened. There was indeed a strong resemblance.
“What was she wearing?” she asked.
“Uh … it was like one of them dress suit thingies. Black from head to toe. Black tights, pumps, wool coat. Nice digs. The lady had some money. And she wasn’t from around here neither, I can tell you that. North of the Mason-Dixon somewhere. Not the ’Burgh, but further on up the coast—maybe Boston, Connecticut, New Hampshire, one of them.”
“Maybe she was from New York,” Tina said. “They wear a lotta black up there.”
“Where’d you see her?” Harley asked.
“Across the street.” Grandma chewed a latke while she spoke. “Yesterday. She was beatin’ on the door over there at Jennifer Williams’s place—Modern Vintage.”
Once again Harley considered Jennifer’s unusual behavior in the park that morning, her dirty clothes, her skittishness.
“She was lookin’ for her and Samantha,” Grandma said. “I mean really lookin’ for ’em. Had her panties all up in a wad ‘cause she couldn’t find ’em.”
“Yeah,” Tina said, “and it like got so bad we finally just like went across the street there and asked her what her problem was.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much,” Tina said. “She was, um … what’s that word you use sometimes, Harley—cakey?”
“Cagey?”
“Cagey! Yeah, she was bein’ cagey. She said somethin’ like, ‘How can they not be here when I know what I know?’”
Harley dropped the bar towel. “Did she say anything else?”
“Nope,” Grandma said. “Just took off down the street.”
A thought occurred to Harley. “Do you think she might’ve been drinking, or doing drugs? Anything to make her act unhinged like that?”
“She wasn’t drunk. Wasn’t high neither. And I wouldn’t even call her unhinged. She was just, you know, frantic … desperate actin’. Like if she didn’t find Jennifer and Samantha right then, she was gonna die or somethin’.”
“We have to tell Jed,” Harley said.
“Oh, no,” Tina said. “Not me. I ain’t tellin’ that big bonehead nothin’. You can tell ’im. He actually kind of likes you now anyway—since you solved that case for ’im.”
“Hope the broad’s all right,” Grandma said. “Wherever she is. Hope she didn’t do somethin’ stupid after we seen her yesterday.”
The woman was not okay, Harley knew. What she needed to figure out was why and what it had to do with Jennifer Williams and Samantha Jacobs.
“Sometimes them antique collectin’ types are real competitive—get crazy over a find.” Grandma returned to her food and changed the subject. “So, what’s this field trip I hear we’re takin’?”
“It’s the Briarwood Neighborhood Association meeting,” Harley said. “Beau offered to have it at Briarcliffe.”
“Sounds like a bunch of richies gettin’ together to fuss about home tours and Christmas lights.”
“Doesn’t really sound like Beau’s kind of thing,” Tina said, gathering her things. “But I guess he’s tryin’ to make nice, bein’ new and all. You about ready to head out, Harley?”
“Boxes are packed.”
“I like that Beau Arson,” Grandma Ziegler said. “Reminds me of Khal Drogo.”
“Who’s Khal Drogo?” Harley asked.
“You know, from the Game of Thrones. That barbarian the Khaleesi—I mean,
Daenarys was married to in the first season.”
“Saw her boobs,” Petie said.
Grandma swigged her gin martini. “You know, but if like Khal Drogo drove a rig.”
“A truck-driving Khal Drogo?” Tina rolled her eyes, and Harley laughed.
Grandma dismissed them with a wave of her right hand. “Yinz ain’t got no imagination.”
“Since when did you start watchin’ Game of Thrones?” Tina asked.
“Since they started playin’ it at the Whisperin’ Pines.” She took another sip of her martini. “Part of the Night Owl Special. Started at six o’clock.”
Harley thought the schedule at Whispering Pines would suit her quite well.
Grandma Ziegler impaled a latke with her fork and offered it to Petie.
Tina made a face as the bird pecked at the little fried pancake, dropping crumbs on the counter. “Are ya sure he should be eatin’ them, Grandma?”
“They won’t hurt ’im. Might just give ’im a little gas is all.”
“Well, should we load up, get ready to go?” Harley asked.
“Sure thing.”
17
“Here We Come a Wassailing”
Within the half hour, the three women had dropped Matilda off at Harley’s house, and were making their way in Tina’s pink minivan along Briarwood Avenue. Rosie, the giant model cupcake, danced on the roof to “Pennsylvania Polka.” The back passenger-side window was cracked, allowing smoke and ash to escape from Grandma Ziegler’s Camel cigarette.
In the passenger seat, Harley pulled her coat to a close, and watched as the streetlights morphed into the tall pines of Briarwood Park.
“Are we there yet?” Grandma Ziegler asked between puffs of smoke.
“Grandma, we’ve been drivin’ for like two minutes.”
“Well, Petie’s gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Make a poo,” Petie said.
“Well, he’s gonna have to hold it, or go in his cage. We’re not stoppin’.”
The Ghosts of Notchey Creek Page 5