Murder Comes to Notchey Creek

by Liz S. Andrews

  Harley unlocked the shop door and held it open for Hazel. As she passed through, Harley touched her arm. “Patrick did love you. I know he did, in the best way he could. You were a true and dear friend to him. A friend he needed all those years. I know it’s not quite the type of love you wanted, but it’s no less special, no less true.”

  The expression of hurt tightened Hazel’s features again, then softened into a frown of complacency. “I wish that were true. I wish I could see that. But right now all I can feel is that he didn’t care anything for me at all. That I was just someone to type his manuscripts, bring his coffee. Old trustworthy, reliable, nondescript Hazel. That’s all I was.”

  She drew her raincoat to a close at the chest then scurried down the sidewalk, her petite figure disappearing among the pedestrians on Main Street.

  “You’ll come to see it in time, Hazel,” Harley whispered. “I know you will.”

  31

  Culinary Reunions

  As Harley closed the shop’s front door and turned the entrance sign to OPEN, a black Mercedes SUV pulled up to the curb, Rosie the cupcake attached to its roof. Rosie’s cherry had been reaffixed to her mound of icing and the dirt cleaned from her pink foil. In truth, she looked the best Harley had ever seen her.

  Stevie, the man with the black Mohawk who had been at the shop with Marcus the day before, stepped outside the SUV and neatened his leather pants.

  “Ah,” he said, looking at Harley with a smile, “just the person I came to see.”

  Harley came out to meet him on the sidewalk. “But I didn’t think you all would …”

  “Bring her back?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled again, revealing a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. “Well, after yesterday, this old girl’s pretty famous in our circle.”

  He unsnapped the ties holding Rosie to the luggage rack, then lifted her from the roof before carrying her over to Harley. “Where would you like her?”

  “Let’s take her to the back for now.” She held the shop’s door open for him. “And I’ll deliver her to Tina later.”

  “Sure thing.”

  When they had safely deposited Rosie in the storage room, Stevie followed Harley back inside the shop area to the bar.

  “This place is pretty cool,” he said, looking around. “Is it yours?”

  “I inherited it from my grandfather.”

  “Nice.”

  “Would you like something to drink while you’re here? A cocktail? A glass of water?”

  “I’ll just take some water if that’s okay. And do you mind if I sit for a minute?”

  “Please do.” She pointed to the row of bar stools. “Take your pick.”

  He removed his black leather jacket and rested it on the bar before taking a seat across from her.

  Harley placed a glass of ice water in front of him. “How’s Marcus?”

  “Well, his nose is fine—a little bruised, I guess, but his ego … well, that’s another story.”

  “I’m really very sorry.”

  “I’m not.” He took a sip of water and returned the glass to the bar. “Marcus needs to be taken down a notch every once in a while. It’s good for him.”

  “Is he going to press charges?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, I think he’d be too embarrassed. I mean getting clocked by a giant cupcake. Are you kidding me?” He laughed. “Besides Beau wouldn’t let him press charges even if he wanted to. He knows what Marcus is like.”

  “He does seem like he’s insecure about something.”

  Stevie looked at her over the rim of his glass. “You’re very perceptive. And yes, that’s probably why he can be difficult.”

  “So why does Beau put up with him?”

  “That’s a good question.” He folded his arms at the chest, then rested them on the bar. “And the answer says more about Beau really than it does Marcus. You see, we go way back, the three of us, me and Marcus and Beau. We went to Juilliard together. Took all of the same classes, had all of the same friends. Even shared an apartment at one point.” He smiled, thinking back on what were now the good old days. “And of course, like every other guy our age, we wanted to be rock stars.”

  He laughed and repositioned himself on the bar stool. “Anyway, long story short, Beau became successful, beyond successful, and we didn’t.” Thinking on this for a moment, he gazed down at his folded arms and said, “But then again, I always knew he would. Ever since the first time I ever heard him play.” He looked up at Harley. “Have you ever heard him? I assume you must’ve. I mean, who hasn’t?”

  “I don’t really listen to much.”

  “He’s incredible. I mean, the man has a gift. A true prodigy. And can you believe that before he went to Juilliard, he’d never even had a music lesson? Not one. He learned to play by ear.”

  He took a sip of water from his glass. “And I think that’s part of Marcus’s problem, his insecurity, as you put it. Even though he loves Beau, I think he’s always been a little jealous of him. Of his talent and the fact he made it big and we didn’t. And Beau never even graduated. He dropped out after our first year.” He shook his head, as if he were still awed by Beau’s meteoric rise from music school dropout to international superstar.

  “And you obviously kept in touch after Juilliard,” Harley said.

  “Oh yeah. You see Beau’s not one to make new friends. He doesn’t trust them. He only lets in people who knew him before he became famous, people who knew him back when he was just a broke foster kid. So he hired us as his managers.” He shrugged. “It’s not quite what we dreamed of for ourselves, but the job has a lot of perks. Definitely better than anything we could’ve gotten playing at dive bars and coffee shops.”

  He hoisted his weight from the bar stool. “Well, I better head back. Things got a little crazy at the resort this morning.”

  He guided his arms through his leather jacket and pulled it to a close. “You know all those people you saw at the resort yesterday? Well, Beau sent them away this morning. Every single one of them.” He pulled his car keys from his pants pocket and held them in his right hand. “But I guess they weren’t really his friends anyway, were they?” He walked toward the entrance. “They were ours. But still, he’s never done anything like that before. Never seemed to bother him until now.”

  “Why do you think he did it?” Harley asked, following behind him.

  “Don’t know. He just said he wanted to be left alone. Then he locked himself in his room, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “Did he ever mention anyone by the name of Patrick Middleton?”

  “Patrick Middleton.” Stevie seemed to search his mind for the name. “That’s the professor he was friends with, right? The rich one. Gosh, I think Beau’s known him since he was a kid. Said he used to help him out back then. And if I’m not wrong, he’s the one who paid his tuition at Juilliard.”

  “Paid his tuition?”

  “Yeah. Beau didn’t have any money. Not back then anyway. He wasn’t a trust fund kid like me and Marcus. Didn’t have rich parents to help him out. Everything that poor kid got, he had to work for, or it was given to him by that Patrick Middleton guy.”

  She touched the back of his shoulder and when he turned to face her, she said, “There’s something I need to tell you … about Patrick Middleton.”

  He waited for her to continue.

  “He died last night. His body was found this morning outside his house.”

  Shock fell over Stevie’s features and he ran his hand through his Mohawk. “No wonder. No wonder Beau’s been acting so weird. He must be devastated. I’m assuming his death was from natural causes, right?”

  “They’re not sure yet. They’ve initially ruled it an accidental drowning, but the body hasn’t been fully examined.”

  “I really hate to hear that.”

  “I wanted you to know because the police will be coming to see Beau, I suspect. To ask him some questions. They’ll figure out he and Patri
ck were acquainted.”

  He followed her train of thought. “Well, Beau was at the resort all night. I can testify to that. We don’t let him get out of our sight much, as you know. It’s not safe. There’s no way he could be involved. Besides, he loved that guy. I’m sure of that.”

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “Because I know Beau. He’s a loyal guy. Once he loves you, he’s loyal to the very end.”

  “That’s good to know. I mean about their relationship.”

  He nodded in agreement and passing through the shop door said, “You take it easy.”

  “You too.”

  On the way to his Mercedes SUV, Stevie passed Ruby Montgomery on the sidewalk, the shoulder-padded mayor eyeing him with disapproval. Stevie, apparently accustomed to raised brows and judgmental looks, offered a cheerful greeting as he got into his car.

  Ruby Montgomery barked a “humph” in return and, after neatening her gray pantsuit, she stepped inside Smoky Mountain Spirits.

  32

  Zombies and Grievances

  “This town is being overrun by hooligans.” Mayor Montgomery blew through the shop’s door, a whirl of leaves entering with her. “It’s that Beau Arson character. Word is getting around that he’s here, and they’re all congregating like those zombies on that TV show. I swear if it weren’t for all of the publicity and money he’s bringing in I’d …”

  “What?” Harley asked.

  “Well, I don’t know what I’d do. But I’d do something. Anyway, I’m not here to discuss Mr. Arson or his minions, I’m here to speak with you about the festival.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I need to know your plans, Miss Henrickson. You never submitted your proposal to the Chamber of Commerce as you were supposed to, and Alveda didn’t want to deal with you. She begged me to meet with you instead.”

  “Well, it’s pretty simple. Uncle Tater will host a moonshine demonstration out on the sidewalk.”

  “Not offering samples, I hope.”

  “No. We couldn’t offer samples even if we wanted to. The moonshine wouldn’t have had time to age. It would taste terrible.”

  Ruby heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Then,” Harley said, “Wilma will be inside the shop, greeting customers and serving cocktail samples.”

  Ruby held up her index finger. “I’m not sure Wilma True is the best person to represent this business or this festival. Her grammar is atrocious and her fashion sense leaves much to be desired.”

  Harley Henrickson rarely grew defensive with Ruby Montgomery or with anyone else for that matter, but this time she did. “Aunt Wilma may not have mastered the finer points of English grammar or of fashion, but she has mastered one thing: The art of conviviality. She is pleasant and warm and genuine and kind, traits that are far more endearing and difficult to hone than the superficial ones you mentioned. She will represent this business in the way I intend for it to be represented, in the way my grandfather intended it to be represented. Without pretense and with a sense of welcoming. When people enter this shop, I want them to feel like they can be themselves, be comfortable, and be treated like family.”

  A stunned Ruby Montgomery stared at Harley, speechless. She had never raised the young woman’s ire to this degree before, and she seemed to flounder in her response to it. After a few moments, she cleared her throat and lowered herself to one of the bar stools. “I apologize.” She rested her hand to her forehead. “I’ve just been so stressed out with this festival. So much is weighing on it.”

  “Your reputation as mayor being the first.”

  She glanced up at Harley, an injured expression on her face. “Yes, that is one of the reasons, but you don’t have to put it that way.”

  Realizing her defense of Aunt Wilma had bordered on unkindness to Ruby, Harley reeled in her emotions and adopted a friendly tone. “Everyone is stressed out about the festival,” she said. “It’s okay. Everything will work out.”

  And Ruby would just love Aunt Wilma’s new hairdo.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Ruby shook her head. “Sometimes I just get so focused on proving myself I forget—I forget the important things. And then with Patrick’s death, without his help and his leadership, I don’t …”

  “But I didn’t think you liked Patrick.” Harley took a seat beside Ruby. “I mean you were always arguing about your different visions for the community’s projects.”

  “I didn’t like him. It’s true. I even hated him some days, but he—”

  “Kept you sharp?”

  “Yes.” She raised her brows. “Yes, he did keep me sharp, as you put it. I never did agree with him on anything, of course, and this latest venture, this ridiculous living history museum in Briarwood Park, well, it was the worst yet. Not only for environmental reasons, but because of the loss of community green space.”

  “But it’s more than just green space to you, isn’t it?” Harley asked. “It’s something far more personal.”

  She nodded, seeming to crumble atop the bar stool. “You see … my father … he planted those trees. When he came home from Europe, he and his fellow GIs planted them as a memorial in Briarwood Park, the section that belonged to Patrick Middleton. My father loved nature his entire life, you see, and those trees were so important to him, and even though he worked seven days a week, he took the time to care for each and every one personally. And they’re still there today, and would remain there if Patrick would’ve forgone that silly historical complex.”

  “Is that why you went to Patrick’s house last night? To voice your concerns over the history museum?”

  “How did you know I was at his house last night?”

  “Someone mentioned it.”

  “Who?”

  Harley gave her a look suggesting her question had reached a dead end, and Ruby conceded.

  “Okay.” She smacked her manicured hand on the bar. “I did go to his house last night. And I did go to voice my concerns about the history museum.”

  “And?”

  “Someone was already there.”

  “Inside?”

  “No, at the door.”

  “Could you tell who it was?”

  “No. It was dark. Then I realized how ridiculous and inappropriate it looked for me to be there too at that hour, so I left.” She deflated once again on the bar stool. “Although now I almost wish that silly history museum was going forward.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Patrick left no provisions for it in his will, so now it will be auctioned off to the highest bidder. And we know who that will be.”

  “Arthur Johnson?”

  “Correct again, Miss Henrickson. I see you’re still the sharpest knife in the drawer.” She drummed her burgundy fingernails against the bar top. “He’s always been a shrewd one, Arthur has. He’s always gotten his way. Now he’ll have his multi-million-dollar shopping center too.”

  Harley turned to her with concern. “What do you mean by saying Arthur’s always been a shrewd one, that he’s always gotten his way?”

  Ruby angled her body on the bar stool toward Harley. “You know Arthur’s contracting business was built on Sutcliffe Real Estate, don’t you? That when he started out, he was just a day laborer, working on one of their hotels.”

  “No,” Harley said, surprised. “No, I never knew that.”

  “Yes. He somehow ingratiated himself to the Sutcliffe’s only son, James—he was Michael’s father. They became very good friends, and not surprisingly, over time, Arthur was promoted from one level of management to the next. When James Sutcliffe took over his father’s business, he made Arthur his second in command. And then when James died so tragically, and I will not voice my suspicions of Arthur in that regard though I do have them … Arthur received James’s shares of the company.”

  “So James had willed them to him then?”

  “So the story goes. James was a recent widower, you see, and Michael was just a baby at the time. Arthur was his best
friend. It made sense. Then the remainder of the Sutcliffe shares remained with Michael as part of his trust fund. So you see what I’m getting at, Miss Henrickson?”

  “Yes. I see very clearly. Arthur Johnson became a very wealthy man after James Sutcliffe’s death, and is about to become even wealthier after Patrick Middleton’s.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But Pearl says Arthur was at home with her the night Patrick died. He has a solid alibi.”

  “That’s a lie,” Ruby said. “I know because when I was leaving Patrick’s house, I saw Arthur’s Range Rover pulling into his garage next door. He hadn’t been home apparently. Not all night at least.”

  “And he’d been somewhere he needed to lie about.”

  “So it appears.”

  33

  Return to Camelot

  “Are you ready yet, Harley?” Tina scuttled through the shop’s back door, bringing a current of cold wind and the faint aroma of baked goods with her. She wore a hot pink sweater, matching miniskirt, and silver stilettos with white puffs of fur on the toes. A heart of silver beads glittered from her sweater.

  “Ready for what?” It was a little before seven, and Harley was turning off the lights in the storefront windows.

  “The engagement party, of course. Michael and Savannah’s. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

  In truth, she had forgotten. She was so preoccupied with Patrick’s death and the subsequent events that the party had utterly slipped her mind. Luckily, she had prepared for the occasion the week before, setting aside designated boxes of liquor marked Sutcliffe Engagement on a shelf in the storage room.

  “So they’re still having it then?” she asked. “I thought they might’ve canceled because of Patrick.”