Honey-Baked Homicide Page 18

She picked up one. “Now these here are my favorites. I’m not too awful fond of them there in the white box—they’re a tad bland—but I can mix them with that other box that’s too sweet and they’ll be all right.”

  “Well, if you just want your favorites, I can take the other two boxes back,” I said. “Or you can use them to feed the birds or the squirrels or something.”

  “I’m not wasting good raisin bran. And I’m not Dilly Boyd. I don’t make it my mission in life to feed wild animals. I figure God’s got that taken care of.” She held up an index finger. “Mark my words, that raccoon is going to attack Dilly one of these days, and she’ll wind up with rabies. She might have to get them shots in her belly and everything. They say that’s awfully painful.”

  “I hope that never happens.”

  “Me too,” said Aunt Bess. “But I’m betting it will. That raccoon might be the very thing that puts Dilly on my People I’ve Outlived board.”

  “Maybe so.” I looked at Mom, and Mom just shook her head.

  Aunt Bess went back to her computer to see what other strange things she could find for her Lord, Have Mercy board.

  “Come outside with me a second,” I said. “I want you to see if you think my air-conditioning is working okay in the car.”

  She frowned. “Honey, I don’t—” Realization flooded her face. “Aunt Bess, I’ll be right back inside. Amy wants me to help her with something.”

  We stepped out and got into the Bug.

  Mom closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat. “Feels good to me. What’d you want to talk about?”

  “I ran into Fern Thomas in the grocery store, and she had a bad bruise on her face.”

  “Fern Thomas . . . I don’t know her.”

  “She’s Chad Thomas’s wife,” I said.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know him either. Should I?”

  “Probably not, except he’s the farmer whose pesticides Stu Landon Carver thought were killing his bees.”

  Oh, yeah, that’s right. I remember now.”

  “Roger said that Chad had a bad temper, and now his wife comes to the grocery store looking as if someone hit her.”

  Mom placed her hand over mine. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Amy. Did you ask Fern about the bruise?”

  “Yes, and she told me she fell up the stairs while carrying a load of laundry.”

  “That makes sense. I mean, if it was a made-up story, wouldn’t she have said she fell down the stairs?”

  “She said that too,” I said. “Not that thing about it being a made-up story, but she said that most people fall down stairs but that she was so clumsy, she fell up them.”

  “What makes you think her husband hit her?”

  “Fern was in the café yesterday buying a cake. It was for Stu Landon Carver’s wake, but I didn’t know it at the time and foolishly asked Fern if they and the Carvers were celebrating Ives Oil and Gas discovering the possibility of natural gas below their properties. And Fern said Chad wouldn’t like that.”

  “Wouldn’t like what—your joke?”

  “No. I took it to mean that Chad wouldn’t like the fact that Mr. Dougherty and the Carvers must believe that there’s natural gas on their property. Sarah spoke with me earlier today and said that Chad Thomas was trying to buy the land off the Carvers.”

  “And he was angry because now it was unlikely that they’d sell.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Still, would that make him angry enough to hit his wife?”

  “Maybe. What if when she told him, it made him so mad that he felt like he had to strike out at something, and that something was her? Maybe she was the only person around at the time for him to take his wrath out on.”

  “Or maybe she fell walking up the steps with a load of laundry,” Mom said gently. “I did something similar to that once. Remember?”

  “Yeah, but you weren’t living with a man known to have a terrible temper at the time.”

  “True. But I fell, and it was an accident, and I looked like a battered woman for a month.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  “Hopefully, if Chad did hit her, she’ll go to the authorities.”

  “I hope so. But somehow, I doubt she would.”

  “I’d better get back in there to Aunt Bess before she decides to date someone she’s adding to her Lord, Have Mercy board,” she said. “If old Spider Face ever showed up at the front door, I might have a heart attack.”

  • • •

  By the time Ryan arrived for dinner, I had everything almost ready. As he walked through the front door, he stopped, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

  “Wow. Dinner smells fantastic.”

  I smiled. “Hopefully, it’ll taste every bit as good.”

  We went into the kitchen. I told him to have a seat while I went and got the pork chops and corn off the grill. When I brought the food back, he’d poured us both a glass of tea.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.” His stomach growled.

  We both laughed.

  “We’d better get to it.” I went to the refrigerator and took out the cole slaw and the key lime pie.

  “What did I do to deserve all this?” Ryan asked.

  “You’re dating a chef,” I said. “Plus, you had to work hard last night.”

  “That’s true.” He took a pork chop and an ear of corn and put them on his plate. “Between us, there was a hunting knife found in the barn just beyond the worst of the blaze. The firefighters found it after they extinguished the fire and were suspicious because it had the letters S and L engraved in the hilt.”

  “So the knife belonged to Stu Landon Carver?”

  “We’re not a hundred percent sure yet, but there’s a good chance it did. Plus, we believe it to be the murder weapon.”

  “Poor Stu . . . killed with his own knife.”

  “That’s what we’re thinking,” Ryan said. “Again, it’s not definite yet, but we believe Stu Landon Carver’s attacker followed him to the hive, the two of them argued, and Stu was murdered there.”

  “But how did the attacker get Stu from the hive to the barn? Were the hive and the barn that close?”

  “They were fairly close. We’re just speculating, but we believe that the killer might’ve knocked Stu unconscious and then dragged or carried him into the barn to finish him off.”

  My mouth had suddenly gone dry, so I took a drink of my tea. “Who owns the property where the barn was located?”

  “Andrew and Ellen Hart. They currently live in Florida and only check on the property when they visit relatives.”

  “If they live in Florida, why are they hanging on to pastureland in Winter Garden?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”

  “Do they have someone managing the property?”

  Ryan shook his head. “As far as we can tell, they allowed Stu to keep two hives on the property, and they let Chad Thomas mow the fields for the hay. He then feeds the hay to his cattle.”

  “And you think Stu’s attacker followed him to the hive? How would he know where Stu was going? Did he know where the hives were?”

  “I believe lots of people knew the location—or had a general idea—of where the hives were kept. Stu wasn’t secretive about them. In fact, one of the deputies noted that there was a map on Stu’s refrigerator detailing where all the hives were located in case something should happen to him.”

  “He really cared about those bees,” I mused. “And he was really paranoid.”

  “I’m not so sure he was as paranoid as all that.”

  “You’re right. He thought someone was out to get him, and someone did.”

  He chuckled. “That’s not what I meant. I think he was just super careful to make as many provisions for his hives as he could . .
. just in case. But I don’t think he was as concerned about Callicorp as he let his family believe.”

  “You agree with his ex-wife that he wanted an excuse to live alone.”

  “I do. He was a solitary guy.” Ryan cut into his pork chop.

  “But answer me this. The police department believes Stu Landon Carver was murdered in an abandoned barn in Old Cedar Grove, put into his truck, and driven to the Down South Café. So how did the killer get back to whatever vehicle he’d used to follow Stu to Old Cedar Grove?”

  “He had to have had an accomplice.”

  “I’d just been thinking the same thing myself,” I said.

  Chapter 19

  At Sunday lunch, the main topic of conversation was what the Carvers were planning to do now. Actually, Aunt Bess brought it up. And the way she brought it up was, “What’s that clan of Carvers planning on doing now that they’ve buried Stu?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, I saw in Friday’s paper that the funeral was yesterday morning,” she said. “So are they going to sell the house and go back to wherever they came from? Or do you think they might put down roots here?”

  “When Madelyn first arrived—back when she liked me and would talk with me—she told me she might stay on in Winter Garden, keep up her dad’s beehives, and make a life for herself here,” I said. “She did say that it would depend on what her brother, Brendan, wanted to do.”

  “True,” Jackie chimed in. “But that was before they knew there might be a natural gas reserve beneath their property.”

  Mom spooned some potato salad onto her plate. “If they think they can make a fortune by holding on to Stu’s land, then I’m guessing that’s what they’ll do.”

  “Greedy so-and-sos.” Aunt Bess shook her head and took a drink of her tea. “They’ll be wishing they had sold that land when they’re all blown to Kingdom Come over there.”

  “If it’s true that there’s a natural gas reserve under the Carvers’ land, wouldn’t Ives Oil and Gas pay them for the property, raze the home, and then give the family a small royalty off any gas extracted from the land?”

  “I believe so,” said Jackie.

  “That’s why Stu didn’t want that man from Ives poking around his land,” said Aunt Bess. “Stu was some kind of scientist or something himself, wasn’t he? He probably knew whether or not there was gas underneath his land. But he’d rather have the land, his home, and his bees than the money they’d give him to tear it all up.”

  “I believe Stu’s ex-wife would agree with you, Aunt Bess. She came into the café yesterday.” I bit into my chicken leg.

  “What? You got to meet Stu’s ex-wife?” Aunt Bess placed her hand on her chest. “And you’re just now telling us about it? What’s the matter with you?”

  I shrugged, my mouth still full of chicken.

  “Hurry up and swallow, and tell us about Stu’s wife,” she demanded.

  I swallowed, took a drink of tea, and then told them about Patricia Vance. “She was nice. She came in because she needed directions to the funeral home, stayed for a cup of coffee, and—it must have been her nerves talking—told me all about Stu.”

  Aunt Bess leaned across the table. “What did she say about him?”

  “She said she could see why he’d enjoyed Winter Garden so much. It was somewhere he could live a quiet life. She said that’s the kind of life he wanted—a simple, solitary life.”

  “Then did she say something like, ‘I got to thinking about him leaving me and our children to raise on my own, it made me furious, and I came up here and killed his sorry butt’?” she asked, pushing her glasses up on her nose.

  “No,” I said. “She seemed thankful that Stu had left so that she and her children could have Douglas, their stepfather.”

  “That Brendan is one of those hooligans who was being mean to you,” she mused. “Maybe the stepdad came up here and killed Stu because he was so aggravated at having to raise Stu’s bratty young’uns.”

  “Could be,” I said.

  “Or it’s possible that neither of the Vances had anything to do with Stu’s murder,” Mom said.

  “I’m just throwing out possibilities,” said Aunt Bess. “By the way, Amy, are those jackals still bothering you?”

  “They haven’t been since Roger installed the security cameras. They were an excellent deterrent.”

  Jackie shot me a triumphant grin. “I’ll let him know how grateful you are.”

  I glared at her. “Don’t you dare.”

  • • •

  I spent the rest of Sunday afternoon lazily and peacefully watching cooking shows on television. I enjoyed some of the shows, and I critiqued the others to Rory. And I got a few ideas for new dishes to test at the café.

  Monday morning came just a wee bit too early, but I managed to get up, shower, dress, and make it to the café a good ten minutes before anyone else. I’d already made the coffee and started the kitchen prep when Shelly and Luis got there.

  I heard someone else come into the café and figured it was Dilly. I stepped out of the kitchen to say hello and found that it wasn’t Dilly—it was Walter Jackson.

  “Mr. Jackson . . . good morning.”

  “Hello, Amy. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. And you?”

  “I’m well. I came by for one more of your delicious meals before I leave Winter Garden.”

  “Oh. You’re leaving today?”

  He nodded. “I said I’d stay for Stu’s funeral, and that was Saturday. I took in some of the sights yesterday, and now I’m ready to head home.”

  “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,” I said. “Before it slips my mind, did Ms. Vance speak with you at the funeral? She told me she hoped to see you and ask if you’d made your peace with Stu.”

  “I did see her,” he said with a sad smile. “Stu was a fool to treat her and his children the way he did.” The smile was replaced by a slight frown. “I did hear an interesting conversation between Stu’s son, Brendan, and his stepfather after the funeral. What’s the stepfather’s name—Douglas?”

  “I believe so.” I thought it strange that Douglas had apparently changed his mind about the funeral after telling his wife that he thought it would be awkward for him to be there, but I didn’t want to interrupt Mr. Jackson’s story.

  “It struck me odd that Douglas said he’d missed Brendan and wasn’t a month in Winter Garden long enough.”

  My jaw dropped. “A month?”

  “Yeah, and Brendan said he hopes a big deal will be coming through in a few more days that will allow him to torch the old man’s house and come back to Cookeville a rich man,” said Mr. Jackson. “Then they laughed and hugged. I thought it was disrespectful for Brendan to speak of burning his father’s house down at his funeral. Don’t you?”

  “I sure do, Mr. Jackson.”

  He shook his shoulders as if making a concerted effort to shake off his melancholy. “I’d better order and eat up, so I can go by the police station before leaving town. The sheriff asked me to tell him, you know.”

  “Right.” I wondered if I should suggest to Mr. Jackson that he relay the conversation he overheard between Brendan and Douglas to the sheriff. It wasn’t as if Brendan was confessing to anything. But why had he been in Winter Garden for a month? And why didn’t Madelyn seem to know that?

  Mr. Jackson gave me his order, and I had to snap out of my woolgathering to make his breakfast.

  • • •

  The first chance I got, I called Ryan. I told him about Mr. Jackson’s visit to the café and about the conversation he’d overheard between Brendan Carver and his stepdad, Douglas Vance.

  “So what do you think about that—about Brendan being in Winter Garden for a month?” I asked. “And why didn’t Madelyn know? Where did she think he was during that time?”


  “Mr. Jackson shared that same story with Sheriff Billings before he left here. I have to wonder if he was testing it out on you before telling it to the sheriff.”

  “Wait, you think Mr. Jackson was lying about that?”

  “Something you find out early on as a police officer is that people tell you what they want you to know,” Ryan said. “Now, the story might have been true. Or it might have been a way to deflect suspicion from himself onto Brendan Carver . . . especially since Brendan has made it clear that there’s no love lost between him and his dad.”

  “Oh. That makes me feel gullible.”

  “Not necessarily. I’m not saying Mr. Jackson’s story isn’t true. We simply need to verify it first.”

  “Okay,” I said. “That makes me feel a teensy bit better. So did Mr. Jackson leave Winter Garden?”

  “As far as we know. We had no evidence to hold him.”

  After speaking with Ryan, I called Madelyn. I knew there was a good chance she wouldn’t take my call, but she did. Granted, she had an attitude, but she answered the call.

  “What do you want?” was her greeting.

  “I hate that our misunderstanding about Joey and Brendan cost us our friendship,” I said. “Why don’t you come by the café today for lunch . . . on me?”

  “I’m busy today.”

  “I . . . I need to ask you something.” I might not get the opportunity to talk with Madelyn again, so I bit the bullet and asked. “Where was Brendan for this past month—before your father’s death?”

  “At school in Radford. Why?”

  “Are you sure?”

  She huffed. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Where do you think my brother has been?”

  “Walter Jackson came into the café for breakfast and said he overheard Brendan talking with Douglas. He said Douglas told Brendan he missed him and that being in Winter Garden for a month was long enough.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Maybe he said it seemed like Brendan had been here a month. He and Douglas are tight.”

  “Okay. I guess I was hoping that Brendan had come to see his dad,” I said. “I get the impression they didn’t get along very well, and I was hoping that had been resolved before Stu died.”