Death By Drowning (8 page)

*

It must have been 11 p.m. when the phone woke me up. I had fallen asleep on a pile of yellow sheets of paper.

“Hello?” I answered groggily.

“I’m sorry about O’nan,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s out of your hands.”

“We looked for him everywhere. I still have operatives trying to track him down.”

“He may be really dead. We have no real proof he is alive. Don’t spend any more money on me. Come back home.”

“I . . . I’ll be home soon. I’m almost finished here. Then we can work on a plan to flush out O’nan if he’s around.”

“We’re going to do no such thing. We are going to get back to normal, as much as we can. He’s dead.”

“That is not a wise plan of action.”

“Just come home. We’ll argue about this later. Oh, by the way, did you recover the stolen painting?”

“Yes, I got it.”

“Want to tell your old mother which painting it was?”

“Can’t.”

“Bad guys in jail?”

“Some are.”

“And the rest?”

Silence hovered, then a click. “Talk to you later.” The call was over.

I did not feel reassured. Not one little bit.

9

Dressed, teeth brushed, hair combed, makeup on, I strode – well, limped – with purpose into the great room the next morning. No one was about, but I heard noise from the patio. There I found Matt shoving a cheese Danish in his mouth while trying to read the paper.

“Morning,” he said apprehensively.

“Good morning,” I answered with a bright smile. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Well, I am working although it’s Saturday.”

“Seem to have lost track of the days,” I mused over juice. “Where’s Jake?”

“Jake has the day off and has gone to Hopkinsville to see the Trail of Tears memorial. Cody is hanging around somewhere. I thought I’d take you around the farm and show you the improvements, talk about your finances, that is, if you are up to it.”

“I am, but I warn you that I tire easily and might have to take breaks.”

“No problem. How about some pastries and then we’ll get going?”

“Sounds good,” I replied before sipping on orange juice. “I’m in your capable hands.”

Matt nodded, but I am sure he felt the way I did. The old intimacy was gone and though we were polite with one another, our being together felt strained.

I ate a strawberry pastry very slowly and drank a large glass of milk. Chewing still irritated my tender mouth, but I couldn’t eat baby food forever.

Once done, Matt and I got in the second-hand electric golf cart my daughter had purchased for me so I could get around the farm. The morning promised a sunny spring day as chattering songbirds were busily gathering materials for their nests. The viburnum bushes were perfuming the air with their white blossoms. It was great to be outside and the cart drove smoothly to the beginning of the property.

During the drive, Matt wove a story of repairs that included a new gravel road, mowed fields that had been resown with Dutch white clover seed, orchard trees pruned, dead trees removed and new fruit trees planted. Blackberry and raspberry bushes planted on the road side of pasture fences, the house power-washed, refurbished, new toilets, sinks and solar water heaters installed, chipped tile and slate floors repaired, the pool fixed, the old cabana torn down and all the work sheds and outbuildings repaired and painted.

Matt brought the cart to a halt in the bee field. All the hives had a fresh coat of paint and the honey supers were sitting high on the hive bodies. The field was alive with spring flowers like henbit and snowdrops while the honeysuckle hedges were beginning to open their flower buds. Dozens of bees swirled around the cart, curious. Several hovered around my face and then darted off. It was nice to drink in the scent of bee again.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Matt, everything looks fantastic. The woods have been kept intact while the pastures are clean. It looks like a real working farm. You did a great job.” I looked about with pride. “But I’m just worrying – how much did this all cost?”

“Shaneika paid for the fences and the remodeling of the barn as she promised. The other repairs cost close to $300,000.”

“Ouch. So that’s where my Henry Faulkners went.” I was quiet for a moment. “So Shaneika’s $200,000 is . . .”

“Gone,” stated Matt. “You have your retirement fund intact and your emergency $16,000. Everything else went back into the farm, but you are debt free.”

“Except for the medical bills, which are going to be out of this world,” I sighed.

“The farm was falling apart. Your daughter didn’t know if you would be able to come back, so her decision was based on the need to sell. In the beginning, the doctors were not hopeful . . .” He stopped and stared. It was a moment or two before he collected himself. “This way you will be able to get top dollar if you decide to pull out.”

“I’m not criticizing, Matt. The place looks wonderful. I know it was touch and go there for a while.” I squeezed his hand. “I know how far I’ve come and I know how far I’ve yet to go. No, this is going to be a long process. It’s just that . . . how am I going to have money to live on – to pay the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker?”

“I have a plan.”

“You do?” I asked hopefully.

“
Architectural Digest
did not cancel. They came and photographed while you were in Key West. I gave them some old pictures of you and Brannon that will accompany the piece also announcing that the Butterfly is open for tours.”

I started to object. I didn’t like the idea of strangers gawking at my personal things.

“Now hear me out first. The tours are open only two days a week. Once visitors are done here, they visit Lady Elsmere’s farm where she has built a gift shop to part them from their hard-earned cash. They can buy all sorts of trinkets with pictures of the Butterfly and Brannon’s other successes imprinted. Lady Elsmere is going to split the proceeds with you fifty-fifty after expenses and also Charles’ daughters will be the tour guides. You don’t have to lift a finger. Cody has also worked out the security problems with them, so we don’t need worry about that angle.”

“Does June need money?”

“She’s rich as Midas. Lady Elsmere is doing this for enjoyment as well as a tax write-off. She thinks you plunging off that cliff was the most exciting thing that has happened for a long time and she going to make a killing off it – no pun intended.”

“Jeeez. Sounds like that old bat.”

“Number two. You are going raise the price of your honey. Everyone will buy because they’ll be coming to take a gander at you. They will be willing to pay the honey price. I calculate that you might make $10,000 more this year from honey sales.

“Number three. Shaneika arranged for some of her buddies to board their horses here. You’ve got plenty of room and Charles’ grandsons have agreed to take care of the horses.

“Number four. I’m going to start paying rent on the cottage.”

“No, you’re not. I’m going to put my foot down on that. Absolutely not. I mean it, Matt. Besides who paid for the materials to fix that pig’s shed?”

Matt remained silent.

“I thought so. Gather all the receipts and when I get money from the city, I’ll settle up with you. You’re not going to pay for fixing up that broken-down excuse of a cottage. Besides, I don’t think you’ll be here for much longer if Franklin has his way.”

“Is he on that rag again?” A bee settled on Matt’s face. He wiped it impatiently away.

“Let’s move the cart. You’ve set off her attack pheromones.” Once a bee is hit, she releases chemicals that tell other bees she has been attacked and they come to help her.

Matt maneuvered the cart while raving. “Franklin wants to live in the city. He likes to eat out every night. I don’t. By the time work is finished, I’m sick of Lexington. The drive to the farm relaxes me, and just being where there is no noise is calming. Besides, I’m not ready to settle down. I want to give my career at least two more years before taking the plunge, but Franklin will not quit pestering me.”

“He wants to nest,” I commented.

“To tell you the truth, I’m still getting over that awful night. I was parking the van when I heard your scream and the gunshots. I caught sight of O’nan through the window. Everything happened so fast. I called the police. Then another shot. I ran around to side of the house and cut off the power. I was going to enter by one of the back entrances but as I turned the corner, I saw you and O’nan go over the side. My God, the screaming was horrible. I heard you crash into every tree until that awful thud . . . and then nothing.”

Matt became more agitated. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried to climb down, but it was too steep and dark. Besides I thought you were dead. I ran back into the house to search for Franklin. He had opened the front door somehow and was crawling down the driveway. I stopped the bleeding and carried him back into the house. By that time the police had arrived. I turned the electricity back on so those guys could see to climb down the cliff.” Matt closed his eyes. “I just get the shakes thinking about it. Everything was in slow motion for me, but they found and had you stabilized in an hour. It took them two hours to get you up the cliff, though. The thing that is so ironic about this affair is that Franklin remembers nothing and you remember everything until the fall.”

“Franklin has no memory?”

“None. Except for an occasional shoulder twinge, Franklin has totally recovered both mentally and physically. In fact, he’s better because he loves all the attention. The story he tells is what he has read in the paper. Franklin is living in tall cotton and I’m struggling . . . to put the pieces back together.”

“Franklin thinks that you feel guilty.”

“I’m still recovering for sure. I have a list of things that need to be accomplished and I can’t think of moving forward until then. I should have walked in the house with you. With three of us, Franklin and I could have taken him down.”

“Nobody could have changed the outcome. If you had been in the house, I am sure he would have killed you first because you are the strongest of the three of us. O’nan was crazy that night. He was high on something. The fact you turned off the lights probably saved my life. If I hadn’t been so fat, Matt, I could have run faster. He just caught me, that’s all.” I looked out, watching the orderly lives of the honeybees. “Mark me off your list, Matt. I’m not your responsibility. The farm and the Butterfly are in terrific shape. There won’t be any problem if I’m forced to sell. She’ll go fast. I’m ahead of Jake’s recovery schedule, although he warned me that I might hit a plateau in that area, but that is in God’s hands, not yours. You’ve done all that you can do for me. You’re free. Be happy.”

“Are you happy?”

“The way I look at it, every day is a gift. Just to see the Butterfly the way she is now is more than I had hoped for.”

Matt kissed my cheek. I laid my head on his shoulder as we sat in silence watching the bees collect nectar from flowers and hurry back to the hives. I was happy as I had my Matt back.

We both were luxuriating in the quiet until a murder of crows put up a ruckus as a sparrow hawk glided past. Matt started the golf cart and said suddenly, “If Franklin doesn’t get off my back, I may have to cut him loose.”

I didn’t answer, but thought that would be a mistake. Franklin was good for Matt as he tended to brood too much. Franklin was light where Matt was dark, both physically and emotionally. They complemented each other. For some reason Matt was angry with Franklin. I would have to find out why.

Matt let me off at the front door to the Butterfly, telling me that he would be at home if I needed him. I passed through the alcove gate and met Cody waiting for me with his hand on his gun.

“I would appreciate it if you’d let me know if you are leaving the house,” said Cody, looking down at me.

I had a sudden impulse to squeeze his biceps. They looked like porch columns. “Sorry,” I said seemingly contrite, but not really sorry at all. “You up to a little wine tasting?”

Cody scowled.

“I want you to drive me over to Old Spears Vineyard. It’s only ten minutes from here.”

“What for?”

“A little intelligence gathering. I’ll buy you lunch,” I said, hoping to sweeten the pot.

“You got a deal, lady, but no alcohol for you – Jake’s orders.”

Within a half hour, I was ordering lunch on Old Spears’ deck, as the day was warm. The waiter told me that they were not usually open for lunch, but Maggie Moore, the owner, had told them to open the kitchen when I called and told her that I was coming over. I sighed with contentment. I loved special treatment.

We were just getting our salads when Maggie walked in. Like Sarah Dunne, Maggie was petite but with shoulder-length chestnut hair and an infectious laugh. Old Spears Vineyard was known for its French night dinners of eight courses for which Maggie had traveled to France to learn to cook. Sitting down at the table, she motioned for the waiter to bring us a bottle of wine. Cody picked up his plate and moved to another table where he could witness all the entrances to the deck.

Maggie gave him an appraising look. “Goodness, what a bootie on that guy. I bet you could bounce quarters off it.” She giggled. The waiter handed her a glass of red wine. “Our First Spears Reserve made from Chambourcin, Norton and Cabernet franc grapes. Here’s to your continued health, Josiah – the woman with nine lives. Salut.” She took a sip. “So you’re back.” She looked hard at me. “What’s that thing?” she asked, pulling on my hearing aid.

“What does it look like? Hey, give it back.”

She held the aid up to the sun inspecting it. “It looks like something a spy would wear. Very sexy.”

“That’s what I think every morning when I put it on – my
sexy
hearing aid. It beats a thong hands-down.” I grabbed it from her hand and put it back on.

“And you’ve lost a lot of weight. You look good.” She leaned forward and peered into my face. “Very good. That black cane gives you the right air of mystery, but I’m not going to give you any more compliments. I’m so mad at you. You never returned one of my emails.”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m here, Maggie: to apologize in person. I’m so sorry, but I was doped up for the first several months and exhausted during the others. I do appreciate the funny cards you sent. It was a boost to my poor spirits.”

Maggie pouted. “Well, at least you got them. Matt promised me that you would, but . . .”

“I know. I know. I’m truly sorry. I should have more of an effort to let you know what was going on with me.”

She sipped her wine as the waiter brought me some iced tea. “What is the other thing that brought you here?”

“What?” I answered distractedly while slurping my tomato bisque. It was really good, thick and creamy.

“You said one of the reasons you came.”

“Do you know Sarah Dunne?”

“Very well. Why?”

“Irene Meckler, my friend, is sister to Sarah and wants me to look into the death of her nephew, Jamie.”

Maggie paused before placing her glass on the table. Her perkiness disappeared as a thoughtful expression froze into a frown. “Poor Sarah. Things have been rough for her. Her husband died several years ago from cancer and now her youngest child from a freak accident. Some people have rotten luck.”