Marcie's Murder (55 page)

She took the card and looked it over. “Goodgodalmighty
,
you are a cop. Lieutenant Hank Donaghue.” She slipped the card into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Thanks for the autograph.” Hank nodded and walked away.

The crowd led him to an area where local farmers were selling fruit and
vegetables. He spotted a large kiosk with a sign on it that said
Dial Rock Ginseng
and sure enough, Louise Coffee was sitting in a rocking chair behind the kiosk while
a
girl in her late teens
served customers.

Pleased to see him, she stood up and
came around to the front of the kiosk. “Heard you took care of that bad business with Morris.”

“Yes,” Hank said.

She
put her
hands on
her hips. “Had it coming to him
. Good thing there are men like you who know what to do when the time comes to do it.”

Hank changed the subject. “These are the products you sell through your business, are they?”

She grinned and took hold of his forearm. “I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll like.”
She pulled him over to the
girl
. “
This is
my granddaughter, Tammy Hartnell.
Tammy
, this is Lieutenant Donaghue, a real important police official who’s visiting from Maryland. Why don’t you show him what we’re selling
today?
”

Tammy looped her hair behind her ear and pick
ed
up a jar. “This is
our one-hundred per cent pure ginseng berry juice, from ginseng berries. Of course it’s from berries, if it’s berry juice, right? Sorry. Anyway, it’s really good for reducing blood sugar.” She set the jar down and picked up a white plastic bottle. “These are powdered ginseng capsules. They’re very high in ginsenoside, that’s the active ingredient in ginseng that gives you an energy rush. Well, not a rush, exactly, but more energy.”

Louise patted his forearm. “A fellow your age needs to think about a little help that way, now and again.”

Hank bought a bar of ginseng berry soap and a jar of the juice. He put them in his messenger bag and gave Louise a business card before saying goodbye. He strolled past other kiosks, nostrils flaring at the smell of grilling meat somewhere nearby
.
Karen and Branham materialized next to him.

“Back already?”

“It was a blast, Lou, an absolute blast. You have to go up.
It was like being able to fly.
” Her f
ace was flushed with excitement. She looked like an eight-year-old girl with a new pony.

“I thought you hated flying.”

“Nah, I hate airports and I hate airplanes, not fussy about helicopters either, but that was great. I just held on real tight.”

“Where’s Janice?” Branham asked.

“I’m not sure,” Hank said. “She said she was going to look for the beer tent.”

“There isn’t one,” Branham replied. “It’s a dry event. Anyway, it’s lunch time and I’m starved. Let’s get something to eat. Maybe she’s having a cup of tea over there.”

“Lead the way, Chief,” Hank said.

“I like the sound of that.” Branham led them through the crowd to the area where the food vendors had set up shop. Everywhere Hank looked, it seemed, middle-aged men in white aprons were grilling meat on everything from charcoal-fired barbecues to monstrous propane outfits to home-made
barrel barbecues fashioned from 55-gallon drums
.
It was
as though
he’d died and gone to
barbecue
heaven.

“Heart attack central,” he grinned at Branham. “Where the hell do I start?”

“Anybody here know how to grill real Texas-style brisket?” Karen asked.

“I doubt it, but you can probably get a very good hamburger,” Branham said.

“Step aside.” She set off in search of the largest burger she could find.

“Excuse me,” Branham said to Hank, “I think I see Janice over there. I’d better go. If I don’t see you again before you leave, thanks again for all your help.”

Hank shook his hand. “No problem. Think about what I said about Hall.”

“I will,” Branham promised, then turned away to look for his errant girlfriend.

Alone again, and
as happy as he’d felt since he
’d strolled out of the Emporium tobacco shop on Bluefield Street a week ago with a big cigar in his mouth and nothing but time on his hands
, Hank wandered among the stalls until he found himself watching a middle
-
aged woman serving very large burgers sided with seasoned potato wedges.

“Smells good,” Hank told her.

“They’re rosemary lamb burgers,” she said. “Care to try one?”

“Lamb?” Hank was dubious.

“You’ll be surprised at the taste, sir. There’s a secret about good lamb that I don’t mind letting you in on.”

Hank laughed. “All right. I’m game.”

“Very funny.”
She removed a burger from the grill and slipped it onto the heel of a large bun. “Normally I’d ask how you want it dressed, but I think maybe I’ll do it for you just this once.” With brisk, practiced movements she built the burger in front of him. “There’s rosemary, oregano
,
and lemon zest right in the burger already, so I’m just going to top it with this here chutney made with black and green olives, roasted red peppers
,
and sun-dried tomatoes, then top it off with some of this crumbled feta cheese and we’ll call it done. Side helping of rosemary potato wedges, and there you go. Take a big bite of that
burger
and tell me what you think.”

Hank accepted the paper plate from her and took a bite. It was delicious, without the gamey lamb flavor he’d expected.

The woman handed him a napkin. “You got some bits in your beard, right there. Good, isn’t it?”

Hank nodded, chewing.

“Now I’ll let you in on that secret. Lamb doesn’t need to be so strong-tasting
as people think
. We raise our own lambs right here on Sunset Farms
,
and they’re every one of them gras
s-fed
each
day of their lives. Most growers finish them off with grain to fatten them up, but sheep are ruminants, know what I mean? They naturally eat grass, not grain, and it makes a big difference in the taste. Plus, our sheep are bred for burgers and not for wool, which also makes a huge difference.”

“It does?” Hank managed between swallowing and biting.

“Sure enough. Sheep bred for wool
have
a
lot
of lanolin, that waxy, oily substance
?
That’s what gives the meat such a strong smell and taste. Sheep bred for eating are low in lanolin, and if they’re sheared and slaughtered properly you keep the lanolin away from the meat altogether and there you are. A delicious burger or chop or what have you.
Plus, they’re antibiotic free and pasture-raised. They don’t live in little cages. You can see the pasture yourself
on the other side of the barns
, if you’re interested.” She grinned at him. “
Good, huh?”

Hank nodded. “Got a Coke?”

“Coming right up.”

A few kiosks over, Karen was sitting
with Brother Charles Baker
at a picnic table
,
munching on a regular beef burger and sipping from a can of Mountain Dew.

“You’ll be driving back to Maryland soon,” Brother Charles said, leaning his elbows on the table
.

“As soon as Hank’s done looking around.” Karen swallowed. “He really digs this
stuff
.
”

The crowd thinned
for a moment. A
cross the way they could see Hank standing by himself with a paper plate and can of Coke in one hand, half-eaten burger in the other hand, looking back in the direction of the bandstand where the next performers were tuning their instruments in preparation for their turn on stage. Karen’s mouth quirked fondly. He looked like someone’s uncle, big and frizzy
-
haired, his
worries
momentarily forgotten.

“I never did have a chance to talk to him,” Brother Charles said. “He seems like a good man. He carries a lot of tension, though.”

“He’s upset about the woman. He saw her only ten or fifteen minutes before she was strangled
,
and
it’s
eat
ing
away at him.”

“How could he know
what would happen
?”

“Exactly. He thinks he should be telepathic or
some
thing.
Plus, he had to shoot the guy who killed her, and he hates that. He sees it as a failure.
But he’s a helluva cop,
he does what he can
,
and that’s the best any of us
can
do.”
She drained her Mountain Dew and set the can down on the picnic table with a clack. “
H
e’s tough enough, just the same. Not as tough as me, but tough enough. He took a round in
his
shoulder only a couple months ago
,
and he doesn’t show it. He hates to make a fuss about himself.” She nodded in Hank’s direction. “That’s how he does it. How he stays sane
.
He just forgets who he is for a few minutes and has a good time.”

“
Do
you
think you’ll
talk to him, Karen? About your mother, the things you mentioned to me before?”

Karen ate the last bite of her burger. She stood up from the picnic table, put the empty can on her paper plate, carried them over to a nearby trash receptacle
,
and dropped them in.
“I guess I
’d
better.”

“You’re not Superwoman, just as he’s not Superman,” Brother Charles said. “You’re just two people trying to do what’s right.”

“I guess.” She allowed him to embrace her and kiss her on the cheek.

“Stay in touch,” he
said
. “Send me an e
-
mail. And drive carefully.”

“Well, that last one won’t happen, but we’ll see about the e
-
mail.”

He disappeared into the crowd
.

S
he made her way over to Hank. He was dumping his garbage into the trash bin and looked as though he
wanted
to head back to the bandstand, so she rapped him sharply on the forearm.

“Come on, Lou, we gotta hit the road. Time’s a’wastin.’”

It took a moment for his eyes to focus on her, but after two heartbeats he was back within himself
,
the familiar weight
of self
-
awareness
once again
settled
across
his shoulders. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

She led the way back down to the field where they’d parked.
They got in, she started the engine,
she
put her hand on the gear shift
,
and
turned to look
at him.

“Something I wanna talk to you about, Lou.”

“
Okay.
Right now?”

“No, not right now. Right now I just wanna get out of this fucking place and hit the interstate.”

Hank slouched down and closed
his eyes. “Wake me up
then, whenever
.”

As they bounced out of the field onto the driveway and she edged slowly down to the road behind a passenger van loaded with kids, she glanced over at him.

I will
, she promised herself.

I will.

Acknowledgements

As always, I’m very happy to be able to thank my team of manuscript readers, who provide me with a
wide
range of
very
valuable feedback during the preparation of this novel.
Thanks go out to Gwenda Lemoine,
Margaret Leroux
,
Danielle Rapone,
and
Larry
 
Sudds.

I owe an enormous debt to my wife, Lynn Clark. A former professional editor, Lynn donated hours of her life that she can’t get back to
critiquing,
copy-editing
,
and proofreading this novel. In addition, as my business partner in The Plaid Raccoon Press
,
she has
been very
support
ive of
the
incredible amount of time I’ve spent
marketing
Blood Passage
, the first in the Donaghue and Stainer Crime Novel series
.