Murder at Catfish Corner: A Maggie Morgan Mystery

Murder at Catfish Corner

A Maggie Morgan Mystery

Michelle Goff

Copyright © 2015 Michelle
Goff

All rights reserved.

This is a work of
fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to
this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Prologue

Boone Osborne’s
not as young as he used to be.

When the eighty-one-year-old
was a younger man, he hoed corn, tied up tomato plants, and picked beans underneath
a blazing sun for hours on end. But those days were just a memory to him.
Nowadays, working outside in the heat of the day left him exhausted and he could
tend to his vegetable garden only in the early morning or in the late evening.
Daybreak found him emerging from his house with a thermos of water in one hand
and his work boots in the other. As soon as he sat on his porch steps and
pulled on his boots, a rabbit hopped out of his garden.

“By gum, you’d
better run,” Boone said as the bunny raced across his yard.

Boone stood and
watched the rabbit until it ran out of his sight and safely onto his nephew’s
property. Just as he started to turn and walk to the garden, something caught
his eye and he approached his nephew’s land. Not that there was much land left
to the two acres Boone’s brother had passed on to his son, Earl David. After Earl
David had taken possession of the property, he had paid a backhoe operator to
dig a one-and-a-half-acre hole in it. Earl David had then stocked the hole with
catfish and turned the place into a pay lake he christened Catfish Corner.
Boone had never understood the meaning behind the name. It wasn’t in a corner
as far as he could see. It was to the left or right, depending on your
perspective, but not in a corner. When Earl David had shared the name with his
uncle, the old man had asked, “Corner of what?” On this muggy morning, a dark
object floating on the edge of that lake continued to hold Boone’s attention.
He stopped short of the chain-link fence that separated his property from Earl
David’s, peered into an opening in the fence, and said, “Bless my soul. That
can’t be right.”

Chapter One

Maggie Morgan whisked
the mixture of milk and cornstarch into water and watched gravy materialize as
if by magic. When the gravy thickened to her satisfaction, she added the boiled
potatoes and seasoned the dish with pepper. She emptied the potatoes and gravy
into a serving bowl, which she sat on the table amidst cooked cabbage, green
beans, a turkey breast, and cornbread. She took a step back and admired the
meal she had prepared primarily from garden produce. Of course, the cornbread
and turkey hadn’t come from her dad and uncle’s expansive garden, but she figured
the corn component of cornbread came from somebody’s garden. She could come up with
no such justification for the turkey breast, which she had selected from the grocery
store’s frozen food aisle, but she knew better than to serve a meatless meal to
her carnivorous dad.

All things
considered, Maggie regarded the meal as relatively healthy. Sure, she seasoned
the cabbage with bacon grease and added slabs of bacon to the green beans, and,
yes, a fresh raspberry pie baked in the oven. There was no way she could
rationalize the pieces of that pie she planned to eat or the potatoes and gravy
she hoped to heap on her plate. But she felt she had earned the feast that
covered her kitchen table. After solving Mac Honaker’s murder the previous
autumn, she had resolved to curb her overactive sweet tooth as well as her fondness
for fried, fatty foods, both of which had added a few pounds to her trim figure.
More than six months, one-hundred-ninety workouts, and dozens of salads later,
she had developed a healthier relationship with food and dropped the excess weight.

Maggie peered
into the oven to check the pie just as her chocolate lab, Barnaby, scurried out
of the kitchen. Maggie smiled, waited for the doorbell to ring, strode to the front
door, and opened it for her boyfriend, Luke, who stood on the porch holding a
bouquet of wild flowers.

“Are those for
me?” Maggie asked with a smile.

“No, they’re for
your mom.”

Maggie frowned.

“I’m joking.
Even if I brought your mom flowers, I would have the good sense and decency to
bring you some, too.” Leaning in for a kiss, Luke handed the flowers to Maggie
and said, “You look wonderful and the food smells great.”

“Thank you,”
Maggie said, accepting a kiss from him. “I know I shouldn’t brag, but the beans
and cabbage taste as good as they smell. I can’t speak for the taters and
gravy. I haven’t sampled them yet.”

“Taters?” Luke followed
Maggie into the kitchen. “I’ve never heard you say that before. The next thing
I know, you’ll ask me for a sup of water.”

Maggie usually
didn’t welcome a non-native calling her or others out on their vernacular. But
when it came from Luke, who had moved to Jasper, the county seat of Geneva
County, a year earlier, it didn’t bother her. She recognized the difference
between joking and condescending. “I always say potatoes,” Maggie explained as
she put the flowers in a vase, “unless I’m talking about taters and gravy. For
some reason, it doesn’t sound natural to say potatoes and gravy. Except, of
course, when I’m referring to mashed potatoes and chicken gravy.” Maggie sat
the vase of flowers on her countertop. “I’m sorry that so many rules dictate my
particular take on the English language.”

“That’s all
right. It keeps me on my toes.” Luke looked at the bowl of cornstarch gravy and
potatoes. “I know one thing for certain, that’s definitely not mashed potatoes
or chicken gravy.”

“No, it’s not,
but I hope you like it,” Maggie said. “I know you grew up on a farm and are
used to home-cooked meals, but I wanted you to experience one of our genuine
Sugar Creek garden suppers. I just wish we had some corn on the cob, but it’s
not full enough to pick yet.”

“Maybe you could
prepare another genuine Sugar Creek garden supper once the corn gets ripe,”
Luke said and bent down for another kiss.

Before his lips
could make contact with Maggie’s, the back door opened and Maggie’s mom, Lena, carried
a platter of food into the kitchen.

“Hello, Luke,”
Lena said.

“Hello, Mrs.
Morgan. What do you have there?”

“I made some
fried green tomatoes,” Lena answered, making room on the table for the platter.

“You didn’t have
to do that, Mom,” Maggie said.

“Well, I’m glad
she did,” added Maggie’s dad, Robert, who joined them in the kitchen after
enticing Barnaby to go outside and into Maggie’s fenced-in back yard. “You
can’t have a garden supper without fried green tomatoes.”

Yes, you can,
Maggie thought to herself. She didn’t want to hurt her mom’s feelings, but she
wished she hadn’t brought the fried green tomatoes. Now that they were there, she
would have to eat a few and she felt sure she hadn’t worked out long enough that
morning to justify eating those crispy slices of temptation.

The ringing of a
timer cut short Maggie’s fretting and reminded her to check the pie. The crust
had browned to her satisfaction, so she took the pie out of the oven and joined
her guests, who had gathered around the table. She sat down just as her parents
attempted to explain killed lettuce and onions to Luke.

“Why do you call
it killed?” Luke asked.

“Because you fry
the lettuce in hot grease, effectively murdering its nutrients.”

“Well, I don’t
know why you have to make fun of it,” Lena scolded Maggie. “You’ve sure eaten
enough of it. Murdered nutrients or not. Huh.”

“That reminds
me,” Robert said. “Have you heard the news?”

“News about
lettuce and onions?” Maggie teased.

Robert, who had
been eating green beans mixed with cabbage, cornbread, and turkey, interrupted
his feast and said, “No. Why would they be talking about lettuce and onions on
the news?”

“They probably
wouldn’t, but you said,” Maggie sighed. “Never mind. So, what was the news?”

Still chewing,
Robert said, “They found a woman floating in that pay lake over on Sassafras.”

Chapter Two

Robert’s news
caused Maggie to momentarily abandon the potatoes swimming in gravy on her
plate. “I hadn’t heard about a drowning. What happened to her? Was she killed?”

With his
attention focused on eating, Robert answered only with a shrug of his shoulders.

Lena, on the
other hand, said, “Why would your mind automatically think she was killed,
Maggie? Whether she accidentally drowned or was murdered, dead is dead. Do you
think a murder makes it more interesting?”

“No, I only
asked because we were talking about killed lettuce and onions and Daddy said –”
Maggie closed her eyes and counted to ten. “What did they say on the radio?”

“Just that she
was found in that pay lake.” After consuming more of his mixed meal, Robert said,
“They interrupted the Swap Shop to tell us that. I feel bad for her, but I
think it could have waited until the program was over. It ain’t like they
needed to warn us about a thunder storm headed our way or an escaped convict on
the loose.”

“Well, I
disagree,” Lena said. “I think a woman found dead in a lake is more important
than you looking for a used wheelbarrow to buy.”

Robert furrowed
his bushy eyebrows. “I never said I aimed to buy that feller’s wheelbarrow. I
just told you that he had one for sale.” Robert looked at Luke. “I don’t know
why somebody would try to sell that. I think a man would have to be pretty hard
up if he couldn’t afford a new wheelbarrow.”

Luke nodded his
agreement and Lena ceased cutting a potato and turned her brown eyes toward the
ceiling. “Well, you wrote his name and number down, so you must be interested.
Why don’t you call him and ask him how many times he’s used it? Maybe it’s almost
new. Maybe someone gave it to him as a gift and he already had a wheelbarrow so
he never used it. Maybe it is a new wheelbarrow.”

“I didn’t write
down his name and number,” Robert said. “I wrote down the name and number of
that feller with the chainsaw for sale.”

“So,” Maggie interrupted,
“they broke into the Swap Shop with the news about this woman drowning. I
understand that dead is dead, but did they say anything about how she died?”

“She was
floating in the water, Maggie,” Lena said. “You’re a reporter. I’m sure you can
figure it out.”

To keep from
responding to her mom, Maggie popped a fried green tomato into her mouth and
allowed herself a moment to savor the salty appetizer. After everyone finished
their meal, she served coffee and pie.

“Oh, my God,”
Luke said. “This is the best raspberry pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“It’s also the
first raspberry pie you’ve ever eaten, so, by definition, it’s also the worst,”
Maggie said.

“It is good,
Maggie,” Robert said. “Is this a brought-on crust?”

“Yes, it’s a
store-bought crust, Daddy.” Maggie caught Luke’s attention and they shared a
smile. “You know I can’t make a pie crust.”

“You could if
you tried,” Lena said.

Maggie ignored
her mom and said to Luke. “I hope my reliance on brought-on pie crusts doesn’t
change the way you feel about me.”

“It actually
makes me respect you more. I like a woman who recognizes her limitations.”

“Good, because
I’m a woman with many limitations.” Maggie lifted a bite of the warm, fruity
pie to her mouth. She had to agree with Luke and Robert. It was delicious. The
pats of butter she added to the top of the raspberry filling made all the
difference. So what if they also added a few calories? By day’s end, she could be
floating in a pay lake. If that happened, at least she could say she had savored
one last piece of pie. With the dead woman still on her mind, she asked, “Daddy,
didn’t I go with you to buy a pig from a man on Sassafras?”

“Shew, that was
at least twenty-five years ago. You couldn’t have been more than ten.”

“Where’s
Sassafras?” Luke asked. “Is it in Geneva County?”

“It is,” Maggie
answered, “but just barely. It takes anywhere from fifty minutes to an hour to
get there from Jasper. It’s at least a thirty-minute drive from here to Sassafras.”

“Wow,” Luke
said. “I knew Geneva County was big, but that’s a long haul. That must have
been one heck of a pig for you to drive all the way from Sugar Creek to get it.”

“She was worth
the drive,” Robert said. “She was a pregnant sow. She wouldn’t nurse all of her
pigs, though. Mother here bottle-fed them.”

“I fed them at
the kitchen table,” Lena said.

“I remember that,”
Maggie said. “They were so little. I was afraid they wouldn’t make it.”

“They did,”
Robert said. “Every one of them made it, and I sold every one of them, too. That
trip more than paid for itself.”

“I’ve done a few
interviews on Sassafras,” Maggie said. “I think that pay lake is near where we
bought the sow. What was the name of that man we got her from? He was so nice.”

“Boone Osborne,”
Robert said as he used a scrap of crust to pick up the last trace of berries
from his plate. “We traded here and there, but I ain’t seen him in years. He’s
got to be an old man by now. Wonder what he’s up to these days?”