Death By Drowning (9 page)

“Have you heard any rumors about her – something hinky?”

“Sarah’s a good person. Her husband’s death was hard on her, but with the insurance money, she was able to put some away for a rainy day. The business is not going as well as it should, but it still pays the bills. I talked with her at a conference earlier this year, and she was very hopeful that this season would be better.”

“Was she dipping into her savings?”

“No, she was solvent. And Jamie was with her. He seemed very devoted to his mother.”

“Did she complain about anything?”

“Just the usual complaints all business people have – high taxes, crazy customers, staff not showing up for work – things like that.”

“Did you know anything about Jamie? Like – did he have a girlfriend? Did he have trouble at school? Sarah say anything about that?”

Maggie shook her head. “No. As far as I know, Jamie was a decent sort of fellow. No problems. His death was a shock to everyone.” She waved to some customers leaving with shopping bags loaded with Old Spears Vineyard’s wine. “Aren’t you going to eat anything else besides soup?”

I grinned. “I wouldn’t turn down any of your chocolate mousse cake.”

“You’re like an old person gumming soft foods.”

I tapped my teeth with my fingernail. “Still getting used to the new choppers.”

Maggie motioned for Cody to rejoin me. “I have to get back to work, but I will send out some cake. Hey, where did you get the new boyfriend? Isn’t he too much car for you?”

“Thanks for the confidence booster, but I’m not driving him. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Then what is he?”

“My bodyguard.”

“Why can’t you ever give a simple answer to a simple question? I swear, Josiah, bodyguard, indeed.”

I shrugged.

Maggie gave Cody a big smile before she left. He sat down at my table again with a large plate of roasted duck. The waiter brought over more bread.

“This is my second plate,” he announced with relish.

“You should come during a French night meal. Eight courses.”

“Really?”

“I’ll make arrangements for you. In fact, I think all of us could use a pleasant break.”

Maggie brought out some hot chocolate mousse cake. I noticed that she had given Cody twice the usual serving. Someone had a crush. She mouthed, “he’s cute” to me. I waved her away, chortling.

When finished, I made a reservation for the next French dinner. I also bought some of their award-winning wine plus some honey mead, which Maggie made from my honey. The clerk refused my money. “Everything’s on the house today,” she said, handing me back my debit card.

“That’s cool,” said Cody.

I was so touched I couldn’t respond. I just nodded, making a mental note to treat Maggie better in the future. No more telling her customers that I had found a hair in her food. Maggie never did enjoy my sense of humor, but then she shouldn’t have told folks that my honey was nothing more than bee vomit.

When I got back home, I wrote on my legal pad – interview with Maggie – bust! I had learned nothing useful.

10

The next several weeks were routine, routine, routine. Cody made his rounds of the farm like a little wind-up soldier, and Jake was constantly pushing me physically when not taking me to doctors’ appointments, which were becoming fewer in number. There was some talk about another bone graft, but that died down after some tests.

Matt finished the caretaker’s house and invited me to dinner. Small but cozy, just perfect for a single person, the sparsely furnished four rooms with colors of pale greens and browns reflected Matt’s aesthetic taste. After the main course, we sat on the little porch and watched my peacocks strut in the yard while the sun settled in the distance behind the Berea knobs, the last gasp of the Appalachian Mountains before they gave way to the graceful hills of the Bluegrass. From Matt’s porch, one could see for fifty miles or more.

To the south of Matt’s porch vista was Whitehall, the home of Cassius M. Clay, the fiery emancipationist, who donated land for Berea College where beginning in 1855, both blacks and whites could get an education. This was stopped by the Day Law in 1904, when a member from the Kentucky legislature attended a graduation ceremony. Appalled at seeing integration, he drummed Jim Crow through the legislature at the next session. Black Kentuckians couldn’t get an education at schools where whites attended until the law was amended again in 1950. This story was not one of Kentucky’s finest.

But every time I saw the knobs, I thought of Berea College’s creed – “God has made of one blood all peoples of the earth.”

Awakening from his nap and not finding me home, Baby followed my scent to the cottage. Feeling threatened upon seeing him, the male peacock gave a grand display of his turquoise feathers while hissing at Baby, who took no notice of him. Giving me an accusing look, the fawn mastiff plopped down near the porch steps and would not be comforted until Matt had given him a plate of leftovers.

“I think I better be going,” I replied to Matt’s inquiry about dessert.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ll walk. Can still see. It’s just turning dusk.”

Matt looked dubious but said, “Call me when you reach the Butterfly so I won’t worry. I’ll call Jake and tell him you are on your way.”

“Sure thing.” I grabbed my cane and after waving goodbye, started down the gravel driveway to my house. The gravel was tedious to walk on, but I was too proud to say that I had made mistake and needed a ride home. Matt watched me for a moment and then went into the house. Baby, realizing that he might have to sleep outside if he didn’t come with me, lumbered to his feet and followed at a distance. I pulled a taser out of my pocket in case a coyote got too inquisitive. Just the noise of a taser would make a coyote think twice.

Seeing that the lights were on in the old tobacco barn, I went in and found Shaneika brushing her stallion, who stirred at my entrance. “Whoa boy, whoa. She’s not going to hurt you,” soothed Shaneika. She rubbed his velvety muzzle, giving the horse a peppermint.

I stayed a safe distance away, plopping down on a bale of hay. “You really went and bought a racehorse. He’s so beautiful,” I said, admiring the horse’s gleaming dark coat and black mane. “What’s his name?”

“Comanche,” she said, brushing his mane while the stallion chewed contentedly. “I felt he needed a strong name. Not after the tribe, but a documented survivor of Custer’s stand at Little Big Horn.”

“I knew that,” I relayed, batting my eyelashes. I guess the name referred to a horse since no white soldier at the battle survived that day. I would have to look it up when I got home. “I would have just called him Scout.”

“As in Tonto’s horse?”

“Hey, you know your horses.”

“You’re not the only one who has useless information rolling around in her head. Besides you renamed those nags you saved Scout and Silver. It doesn’t take much to realize you have a thing for the Lone Ranger.”

“Everyone should know things like that. It is part of our cultural history. What was the name of Dale Evans’ horse?”

“Buttermilk.”

“How about Gene Autry’s horse?”

“Champion.”

“Okay. How about the horse from Mister Ed?”

Shaneika gave me a weird look. “Uh, Mister Ed.”

“Oh yeah, right. Well, the Lone Ranger is a cherished icon from my childhood. I wish I had kept my Lone Ranger lunchbox. It would be worth a small fortune now.”

“Have you read that material I sent you?” asked Shaneika, wishing to change the subject.

“Not yet. I need to do that soon, as Irene will be asking for answers.” I summed up my meetings with Sarah Dunne and Maggie Moore. Franklin had also sent me information, which I hadn’t studied yet. It was just depressing, sifting through a dead boy’s life. “What do you think?” I asked.

“I think Jamie was no different from any other boy of fifteen. He had secrets from his family. From what you told me, it seems he was sexually active.”

“Yeah, but with whom? Everyone I’ve talked to confirms that he went to school and came straight home afterwards. When he wasn’t working on the farm, he was on the river.”

“Didn’t you say that a girl his age worked at the vineyard?”

“She said there wasn’t anything between them.”

“And you believed her?”

“Maybe I should talk to her again. You’re right. If I were she, I wouldn’t tell something like that to a stranger.” Seeing that it was now the last gasp of twilight, I hummed the
William Tell Overture
as I waved. “Farewell, Kemosahbee!”

Heading home, Baby rejoined me from a foray into the woods. I sang
Happy Trails
to him until I came to the beeyard. “Just gonna take a quick look-see,” I said to Baby. Turning into the bee pasture, I was about eight feet in when I spied a dark figure moving near my hives.

I gasped. I couldn’t get out any more sounds. Sensing my fear, Baby purposely moved in front of me, pressing against my legs, growling. Upon hearing the dog’s warning, the shadowy figure looked up, only to flee into the woods. I grabbed Baby’s collar and pulled him with me as I hobbled down the gravel road. Wanting to protect me, Baby jerked loose and ran in circles, only impeding my way. “Don’t make me fall, Baby. I won’t be able to get back up,” I cried at the frantic dog. Finally remembering the emergency necklace that Jake had given me, I pushed on the panic button, again and again.

It must have been just over three minutes, when a jeep with bright search lights came rushing up the road. I pounded on the car hood as Jake and Cody jumped out of the jeep. Jake grabbed me and pushed me into the vehicle as Cody searched the perimeter with his gun drawn. Jake yelled at me to get down while he swerved the jeep around and headed towards the house. Cody jumped on the running board and held on. Once home, they surrounded me until they got me into the Butterfly. The phone was ringing. Jake answered it and muttered something like . . . “hurry!” It must have been either Shaneika or Matt calling.

Cody brought me a glass of water and then left to search the property. Jake ran to get the nebulizer as I had begun a serious asthma attack. I slid to the floor as Matt suddenly appeared before me in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He lifted me into a chair.

Out of the corner of my eye, Brannon was sitting in his favorite chair reading the newspaper. “Now?” he mouthed to me.

Go away, Brannon
, I thought. Looking disappointed, Brannon shimmered and then was gone.

I had more pressing problems than a dead husband beckoning me from beyond the grave. It felt like someone was standing on my chest. Heaving for air, I tore at my shirt. Matt grabbed my hands as he yelled at Jake to hurry. Everything seemed on the verge of going dark when Jake rushed into the room and threw Matt an adrenaline pen before he plugged in the nebulizer and poured abuterol into its opening. Matt tore off the cap of the pen and plunged the needle into my thigh. I jerked forward. Seconds later a life-saving steam emerged from the nebulizer mouthpiece, which Jake pushed into my mouth. The medicine found its way into my lungs, allowing my chest to expand more until my inhaling was longer and smoother. Matt let go of my hands.

Opening my eyes, I saw Shaneika standing tightly in a corner. She looked frightened. Jake spoke with her before she gave me one last quick look and departed. Finally my breathing was slow and steady. Jake turned off the machine and removed its mouthpiece. I was terrified. The idea that O’nan might be on the property was causing me to spin out of control just when I needed to focus. Plus my chest and thigh hurt like the dickens. Blood dripped from my cheek where I had scratched myself.

“Why did you push the panic button?” questioned Jake, speaking very loudly.

“Someone in the beeyard. When he heard me, he ran. It’s O’nan. I think he’s here!” I cried out. I tried to get up but Jake pushed me back into the chair.

He said something else to me.

“What? What are you saying? Can’t hear you. Speak up.”

Cody strode in with my hearing aid and a carved piece of wood. He shook his head at Jake as he dropped the hearing aid in my lap. Jake checked it and put it on my ear as my hands were shaking far too violently to help. “Can you hear me more clearly?” asked Jake.

I nodded. Cody handed me the carved wooden stick.

“What’s this?” I asked.

Jake gave a slight nod of his head, giving Cody to signal to depart, which he swiftly did. Pulling up a chair, Jake sat down. His forehead was deeply creased and his jowls seemed slack as though his skin had been pulled loose. “Man, I feel really bad about this. I should have warned you,” he confessed.

“That O’nan is in Lexington?” I couldn’t stop shivering.

“Boss Lady, it’s not O’nan. It is not someone who will hurt you.” Jake looked helplessly at Matt. “I don’t know how to explain this. We thought it best not to tell you because we never thought you would see him.”

Matt leaned forward and held my hand. “It’s not O’nan. It’s Boo Radley.”

“Huh? Talk sense, Matt,” I demanded.

“It’s not the Boo Radley; it’s
your
Boo Radley. That’s the best way to explain it.”

“Like Boo Radley from
To Kill A Mockingbird
?”

“When the rescue team brought you up, you had a tree branch through your thigh. One of the paramedics pulled me aside and told me what a good job I had done; otherwise you would have bled out. He then asked me how I could have gotten down and back up the cliff so fast.

“Like I told you before. I didn’t go down the cliff. I couldn’t see in the dark. I thought you were dead. I went to find Franklin. But when the paramedics got to you, the branch had been trimmed with a knife and a tourniquet was tied on your leg, plus there was moss packed around the branch to stanch the bleeding. Whoever it was knew enough not to pull the branch out of your leg.”

I listened, but could barely believe what I was hearing.

Matt continued his monologue as though reliving a dream. “When the big kahuna arrived the next afternoon, I told her about the tourniquet. Her first thought was it might have been O’nan, but she ruled out that possibility two days later when her men discovered a cave in the Palisades cliffs about three miles from here.”

“What did she find?” I asked, my heart pumping fast.

To my chagrin, Matt’s lips turned into a short smile.

“This is not funny,” I fumed.

“Actually, it is. Our mistake was not telling you about it, but we thought you would never see him.” Matt took a deep breath. “She found a hermit who had been living in a cave for over a year without detection.”

“A hermit! Is he crazy?”

“Nope. His background is good. No history of drugs, violence or anti-social behavior. The situation was explained to him. He was very cooperative and let us check him out. He turns out to be a true ascetic. Wants only to be left alone so he can contemplate God. Came here because he said Kentucky was a very spiritual place. He’s actually a very nice guy. But what makes him so odd is that he is an ex-rapper Hasidic Jew from the East Coast. Since we knew your beliefs of live and let live, she didn’t run him off. Besides he wasn’t living on your property anyway and had saved your life.”

I squinted at Jake and Matt. Would they lie to me about O’nan only to replace it with a more outrageous lie? What was the truth here?

“What’s his name?”

“His real name is Moshe Goren but his stage name is Magnus J.”

I studied the wood. It was a handsomely carved walking stick with figures of honeybees and occult signs. “These are kabbalah symbols,” I said, turning the wood over.

“How can you tell?” asked Jake.

“Because I was once a professor of art history specializing in religious symbols,” I quipped. I pointed to a symbol. “This is the kabbalah tree of life. This sign over here is the circle of the five worlds. Each ring in the circle represents a plane of existence – God, emanation, creation, formation and action. This group of symbols with the Hebrew letters and the eye represents protection against the evil eye.”

“It must be a gift for you, Josiah,” said Matt, fingering the carving of a queen bee. “He’s leaving gifts for you like Boo Radley did for Jean Louis and Jem.”

“That’s great. Just great. I’ve always said what I need is an ex-rapper Hasidic Jew carving mystical prayer canes for me, sneaking around on my property like some nut and scaring the bejeebies out of me. Now I can see why you didn’t think you needed to tell me about him.”

I was so mad I could have spit cotton. I grabbed my walking stick and hobbled into the kitchen, where I got out a gallon of vanilla ice cream plus a spoon and marched past Jake to my office. “Don’t say a thing to me,” I muttered. “I’m going to eat every bit.” I slammed the office door and sat on the corner of my desk eating my ice cream. Suddenly feeling nauseous, I put the container outside the door and let Baby finish the rest it at his post of guarding the hallway. He put the tub between his two mammoth paws and buried his face in the container happily.

I picked up the wooden walking staff and examined it. It was made of sycamore wood, probably found floating in the river. It was not professionally carved, nor sandpapered or even stained. It was a rough piece of wood, but it had a powerful quality about it. Obviously someone had taken much time to carve all the symbols and flying honeybees. It was folk art in its most primitive and raw form. I felt drawn to it. Walking around the room, it felt natural to be by my side as though it had be specially designed for me. I decided it would be my country walking staff and the cane Franklin got me would be my town cane.