Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) (6 page)

We entered Wendy's house through the garage, loaded down with several sacks full of
household items she'd purchased for her new home. It was the first time I'd been in
their basement rec room since Wendy and Clay had moved in. The furniture was grouped
in front of a wood-burning stove. Against the far wall was a TV with a screen the
size of a garage door, and there was a bull moose head hanging over a brown leather
couch.

"Wow, that was quick!" I said.

"Huh?"

"Your taxidermist's motto should be 'You bang 'em, we'll hang 'em—fast!"

Wendy looked flustered for a second, and then it dawned on her I was talking about
the moose head. "That's a different mount, Mom. Clay brought this one from New York.
He bagged it somewhere back East."

"Oh, I see." I didn't really have a clue why anyone would want one dead moose head
in his home, much less two. The next couple of hours were enjoyable. Clay was out
somewhere with his weight-lifting buddies, probably drinking beer and smashing the
cans against his forehead. Wendy and I visited, laughed, and drank espresso until
Kenny called Wendy's number to let me know my Jeep was ready to pick up.

Wendy was still upset with me, but she'd resigned herself to the fact I was going
to South Carolina to meet the psychotic pervert with the ridiculous name, and nothing
she said or did was going to stop me. For the moment, that was good enough for me.

Chapter 6

The sun was just peeking up over the horizon as I approached the Columbus, Ohio, city
limits. I'd spent the first night of the trip in a little budget motel near Indianapolis.
It had offered reasonable rates, and had a nearby diner and gas station. More importantly,
I didn't see any bugs in my room large enough to cart off my suitcase.

I'd awoken early, too excited to sleep, so I'd taken off again before sunrise. I filled
up with gas at the all-night station down the street, and purchased an Indiana Hoosiers
travel mug full of hot, but tasteless, coffee.

By the time the first signs of dawn appeared in the eastern sky—pink and purple streaks
across the lower part of the horizon, fading to light blue higher up—I was beginning
to get hungry and restless. I was still reeling from having struck and killed a raccoon
that had darted out onto the road in front of me. I'd pulled over to check on its
condition, hoping it wasn't beyond saving, but I was saddened to discover that it
had died instantly upon impact. I scooted its lifeless body off the pavement into
the grassy area beyond the shoulder and said a quick prayer on the raccoon's behalf.

Driving along, keeping an eye out for a cafe, I thought about Wendy's reaction to
my announcement that I was traveling to the east coast to meet a man I'd encountered
over the Internet. It seemed to me that she was as concerned about my safety as she
was about the fact I was considering a romantic interlude with a man. I don't think
it was the fact that I was meeting a man so much as the manner in which I was going
about it.

Thinking back several years, I recalled the time Wendy had tried to set me up on a
blind date with the divorced father of one of her friends. So at least she wasn't
completely opposed to the idea of me dating. Perhaps she'd even realized that I wanted
a man in my life before I'd come to that conclusion myself. I was still not convinced
that was the case, but I admitted to myself I was beginning to feel a twinge of loneliness
and depression since Wendy's wedding a month and a half earlier. Wendy had Clay to
share her life with now. Who did I have to discuss the mundane aspects of my day with
at the dinner table each evening? I could hardly call Wendy umpteen times a day, now
that she was married. I could adopt a cute little orange tabby I'd seen at the animal
shelter, but I wasn't certain that was the answer either. A cat's vocabulary was pretty
much limited to "feed me", "pet me", and "get out of my way." I needed a little more
stimulating conversation and companionship than a kitten had to offer.

I was almost shocked by the direction my thoughts had taken. It had been a long time
since I'd given a man a second thought, or even a second glance. I was very accustomed
to my independence, and reasonably comfortable with my current lifestyle. I wasn't
sure I could adapt to such a big change at this stage in my life. Still a gentleman—a
thoughtful, caring, and mature individual—might be fun to spend a little time with,
now and then. Oh, good grief, what was I thinking? I needed stronger coffee; that
much was obvious. And maybe a little fresh air, I thought as I cracked open the window.

I shook my head to revert my wandering attention back to driving. No sense endangering
the wildlife population and leaving a trail of roadkill in my wake.

As I continued east on I-70, I admired the pastoral scenes on either side of the road.
There were three horses running through a field of newly baled hay on my left, a young
boy and an elderly man walking toward a small farm pond on my right. The two were
wearing matching bib overalls and carrying fishing poles over their shoulders. They
appeared as if they could be discussing the trophy fish they were hoping to catch.

I took a sip of coffee and cranked the volume up on the stereo. One of my favorite
Merle Haggard tunes drifted out of the speakers, and I sang along with the confidence
of someone who knew she couldn't carry a tune in a dump truck—much less a basket—and
didn't really care.

"Big city turn me loose and set me free," I sang off-key as I beat my fingers on the
steering wheel in reasonable beat with the music. I felt completely in tune with the
words of the song, emotionally, if not audibly. I loved the country, its scents and
scenes, and its laid-back atmosphere. But I also loved the conveniences of city life,
even though I felt the crowded confines were unbearably stifling, and sometimes frightening.
I had experienced both worlds and found both had good points and bad. The Kansas suburb
I now lived in offered a comfortable mixture of both, and that greatly appealed to
me.

I'd felt a great sense of apprehension and uneasiness leaving Shawnee to go to Schenectady,
not knowing what I might discover about my new son-in-law. I noticed that the farther
east I drove, the more nervous and uptight I felt.

Up ahead a flashing sign stretched across the front of a barn-shaped building. Redwood
Cafe, it read, and according to the sign it was home to the best breakfast buffet
in town. Although I normally ate a light breakfast, or no breakfast at all, this morning
a plate piled high with cholesterol-laden bacon and eggs sounded like just the balm
I needed to calm my nerves. If nothing else, I reasoned that it was better to be anxious
on a full stomach than an empty one. I steered the Jeep down the next exit ramp and
turned left toward the cafe.

* * *

As it turned out, the fall colors back east were even better than I'd anticipated,
and I found myself taking photo after photo. Each bend in the road brought a picture-postcard
scene more incredible than the last. I was particularly proud of a shot I'd taken
earlier in the trip of large tobacco leaves drying as they hung from the rafters of
an open-ended barn. The sun shining through the barn should make it a fascinating
photo. I hoped the new Minolta produced the type of photographs promised in the company's
advertisements.

I'd booked a room at a bed and breakfast right in downtown Schenectady. It was on
Union Street, across from a cozy-looking diner where I figured I could eat many of
my meals. The white-haired proprietor at the Camelot B&B was a feisty, little old
lady named Harriet Sparks. She looked to be about a hundred years old, but ran around
the place like she was eight. Where did she get that kind of energy? I wondered in
awe.

Harriet chain-smoked unfiltered Pall Malls down to the point the calluses on her fingers
were glowing red. She weighed about one hundred pounds, and before I could stop her,
she had hoisted my ninety-five-pound suitcase up the steep staircase to my room. She
sprinted up the steps and then waited for me to catch up at the top of the staircase.
I followed her to a room at the far end of the wide hallway.

"Ya need anything, sweetie, ya just holler. Ya hear?" Harriet's raspy voice made me
think of a western Kansas pheasant. It sounded like she had a load of gravel in her
craw. "I know most everything 'bout everybody in these here parts."

I nodded and knew instantly that Harriet would become a friend, and hopefully, a valuable
source of information. I thought of Justin's Korean marathoner as I said, "Say, listen,
Harriet, I'm thinking about doing a freelance article on a murder that took place
here in Schenectady a couple of years ago. Would you know anything about the Eliza
Pitt case, by any chance?"

"As much as anybody, I reckon. But the killing didn't take place here in Schenectady,
sweetie. No sir-ee! He kilt that little gal up in dem mountains."

"Oh? Have they determined who murdered her then?"

"Well, not 'fficially, but it's as plain as my face that it were her old man that
whacked her," Harriet said. "Don't take no rocket scientist to figure that one out."

Whacked? Harriet had been watching too many
NYPD Blue
shows. She sounded like Andy Sipowicz. "After I get settled, would you mind telling
me what you know about the case? Tomorrow sometime, maybe?"

"Shore sweetie, any time. Like I said, I know most everything 'bout everybody in these
here parts." With that, Harriet scurried off down the hallway, as if there were snakes
that needed whacking in the basement.

* * *

I relaxed over dinner at the Union Street Diner across the street. The small cafe
was dimly lit with only a handful of customers, but the food was excellent. I chose
to eat sensibly and ordered one trip to the salad bar. I then piled about ten thousand
calories' worth of macaroni salad, fruit salad, banana pudding, fresh bread, and other
goodies on a platter that looked like something a pizza parlor might use for baking
their jumbo supremes.

When I returned to the room, I unpacked my bag and set up my laptop computer on a
little corner hutch. I planned to make occasional contact with Wendy, via e-mail,
to rave about the vivid color of the trees and to let her know I was enjoying myself
and doing fine. I hesitated to call her. I knew she had caller ID, and I hadn't thought
to purchase a cell phone. A call from Clay's hometown area code would not be a wise
move on my part.

My small, but well-appointed, room was adorable. There was a four-poster bed with
a canopy against the back wall, and a blue, white, and yellow spread that featured
bright sunflowers. Belgian lace valances hung on both windows, and the antique dresser
had a large oval mirror with scented candles on either side. A note under one of them
read, "Feel free to burn me."

An old-fashioned rocking chair and the corner desk completed the furnishings. The
entire house boasted nine-foot ceilings and hardwood floors. There were no less than
a dozen different-colored throw rugs scattered about my small room. I could walk around
the room all day long and never have my feet actually touch the floor. It was like
wall-to-wall carpet in three-by-five-foot sections.

The bathroom assigned to my room was not connected, but it was behind the next door
down the hallway. It had fuchsia-colored wallpaper and a huge turquoise and yellow
bath mat. I was beginning to see that Harriet preferred her surroundings to be bright
and bold. Her taste matched her colorful personality perfectly. It was nothing like
the way I'd chosen to decorate my own home, but for some reason, I loved it and was
charmed by Harriet's eccentric style. Perhaps it was because it was in such sharp
contrast to my own home that it appealed to me.

I was relieved to feel very comfortable with the accommodations I'd booked over the
Internet. As I undressed in the bathroom, I thought about how fortunate I was to have
found this quaint little inn. It was ideal for me. I spent an hour lounging in a warm
bath, nearly falling asleep in the deep, claw-footed tub. I then sent a quick e-mail
to Wendy, stating only that I'd arrived safely at my destination and it had been an
uneventful trip. I'd been on the road most of the day and I was exhausted. I logged
off the computer, crawled into bed, and counted about two and a half sheep before
drifting off into a much-needed slumber.

* * *