Mind Your Own Beeswax (29 page)

While Grams made blueberry pancakes on a griddle, Mom grilled me over hot coals.

“Helen,” Grams finally said to Mom, “you have to concentrate on being happy. You find negative in just about everything. What happened to that smiley-faced little girl I raised?”

I dug into a stack of maple syrup-doused pancakes, the syrup straight from Gram’s red maples, which she tapped every February. Mom? Smiley faced? When was that?

“This isn’t a happy world,” Mom responded.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Grams said, keeping her tone friendly and sweet as always.

“Oh, for cripes’ sake,” Mom said, and at first I thought she was crabbing about Grams’s comment, but she was looking at something out the window when she said it. “Speak of the devil and he’s on the porch with
that
dog.”

I followed her gaze and saw Hunter and Ben at the door. Since Hunter was on Mom’s s-list, I headed outside with a cup of coffee in one hand, wiping sticky syrup from my lips with the other.

“Did you ever consider calling me back and letting me know where you were staying?” Hunter said by way of a greeting, looking about as happy as Mom was at the moment. He launched in before I could reply. “I stopped at your house late last night to check on you and guess what? You weren’t there. And you weren’t at the store. And you didn’t answer your cell phone. And after Jay’s stolen car showed up in front of your house, what do you think went through my head?”

“You were worried about me?” I liked that a lot. The only other person I made worry was Mom, and she didn’t worry
about
me. She worried
because
of me. Big difference.

“After that, I couldn’t sleep,” Hunter said.

He did look a little rough around the edges. Red eyes, shadow of unshavenness starting on his chin (which I thought looked sexy), ruffled hair like the wind had gotten a hold of it. Only it wasn’t windy.

Ben didn’t look like he’d stayed up late stressing over me. I gave him a pat on the head.

“My cell battery died,” I explained. “I totally forgot about it. And the last thing I expected was a visit from you that late. If you were so worried, you could have checked here.”

“Your truck was still parked at the store. How did you get here?”

“Grams picked me up.”

“I almost
did
come over but figured I’d upset your family if you weren’t with them, or your mother would shoot me for showing up so late. And why is she giving me the evil eye through the window? She never did like me.”

“She doesn’t like anybody.”

I pulled Hunter out of Mom’s view and we walked out to his SUV. I knelt to exchange proper greetings with my four-legged friend—an ear rub for Ben, a face wash for me. Then I thought of Dinky and admitted to myself that I missed her. Sort of.

I stood up. “Hunter, you have to let me know what you’re thinking about this case. I feel like I’m right in the middle of a thick forest without a compass or sunlight to guide me.”

He was still crabby. “Should I keep you informed just like you keep me informed?”

“Right. Yes.” Well, I could be better at that, I suppose. No question. Like what happened last night with the car. Why wasn’t I telling him all the scary details? Sometimes, when I waited too long to share something, the timing got all messed up, and suddenly it felt too late. This was one of those times.

“Please, tell me,” I begged, hearing a whine in my voice. “Last night at the wake, Jackson Davis said he thought someone other than Lauren Kerrigan was driving the car the night Wayne Jay was killed.”

Hunter looked surprised, then thoughtful. “Why would he say something like that? Even if he believed it, he wouldn’t spread stuff like that around town. Jackson’s a total professional.”

“He’d been drinking.”

Hunter stared at me like he was working over the details of my discussion with Jackson. Sometimes I forget his line of work includes analyzing situations and figuring out motives. Hunter was good, because he said, “Let me guess. You attached yourself to the medical examiner, made sure he was well watered, then pumped him for all kinds of information.”

“That is so far from the truth,” I lied.

“And how much alcohol did the guy consume before he shared that particular tidbit?”

“A little.”

“Are you sure it was only a little? His car is still parked at the bar.”

“Grams took him home.”

“Case closed.”

I didn’t let up. “You’re questioning Gunnar and Carrie Ann. Do you think one of them killed Lauren and Hetty? You can’t believe that!” I wanted to press on to convince him of Johnny Jay’s guilt, but we’d been down that path before without accomplishing anything.

Hunter opened the door of his SUV. “What are your plans for the day?” he wanted to know, changing the subject without answering any of my questions. Men! And this one was one of the most frustrating on the planet. At least for right now.

I gave up. “I’m working at the store until Ali and the twins come in. Then checking on my bees, the ones out in farm fields.”

“Can Ben hang out with you today?”

I smiled. “That would be perfect.”

“You’re a stubborn woman, Story Fischer.” Hunter shook his head at me like I was a hopeless case.

“What do you mean by that?”

He got in his SUV and closed the door. I leaned in the open window, watching him put the key in the ignition. But he didn’t start it up. He turned back to me and said, “If I asked you to stay out here with your mother and grandmother, would you?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Then go someplace with your sister.”

“I can’t. Her husband is back home.” Why was Hunter pushing so hard?

“After what happened last night . . .”

What was he getting at? I’d only told him the car had been parked near my house. Why should he be so worried? I was still waiting for the perfect opening to tell him the rest. “I have things to do, a store to run.”

“So, your answer is no. See? Stubborn.” He paused, then said, “I know about last night, and a lot more happened than you said. When were you going to tell me the truth?”

Too late. “At first I thought it was kids,” I said, realizing my defense was lame. “Parking and making out, and no big deal.”

“So exactly when were you going to tell me?”

“Soon. How did you find out, anyway?” I’m not sure why Hunter hadn’t solved Moraine’s recent murders, since he seemed to know everything that went on in town. At least everything that pertained to me. “Nobody saw it happen. No one came running over to help me.”

“Larry Koon was down on the corner of Main. He couldn’t remember if he locked up his custard shop, so he was on the way to check the doors. He saw the car aim directly at you and veer off at the last second.”

“Only because I got behind a pole. Did Larry get a look at the driver?”

“No, the car had tinted windows. We found it this morning, abandoned on a side road.”

“You were so sure Johnny Jay wouldn’t bother me,” I reminded him. “Now look. I was almost killed by him.”

Hunter shook his head. “He wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

“You should re-watch Patti’s video if you’ve forgotten how crazy he is.”

“Not crazy enough to take that kind of risk,” Hunter insisted. “At first I thought he might have been behind the wheel. But he wouldn’t have had time to call in the report, hang around waiting for you, then attempt to run you down
and
dispose of the car.”

“Somebody took that risk.”

“And I’m going to find out who it was. My top priority is your safety.”

I planted a kiss on his cheek. “Another crime to solve,” I said lightly, even though I didn’t feel light. “I believe in you.”

That didn’t even earn me a smile or a return kiss. “Stay close in touch,” he said, “answer your phone when I call. And make sure it stays charged.”

After Hunter left, I asked Grams to drive Ben and me home. In the light of day and with Ben at my side, I shed all my earlier anxiety. I showered, changed, and headed for the store with Ben on a leash next to me.

Joel Riggins, junior reporter for Moraine’s weekly newspaper, waited by the door, ear buds in, sunglasses on, and holey jeans hanging loose.
The Distorter
distributed papers not only to Moraine but also to the surrounding communities and liked to hire young, overzealous college kids to work the main streets. Joel fit the bill in the overeager department.

I immediately switched directions, doing a one-eighty, with Ben and his fast reflexes right there with me. But Joel spotted me.

“Ms. Fischer!”

I turned back reluctantly.

Ben’s ears stood at attention and I suspected he not only could understand us, but could sense potential conflict.

Joel sized up Ben and took a step back.

“Let me go past,” I said.

“Please. Just a few questions for the next edition.”

“No comment.” Ben and I slid by him and fumbled with the locked door.

“What are you so afraid of?”

I paused with my hand still on the key. That question caught me off guard. Me? Afraid to speak with the media because of . . . what? Consequences? The kid was good, playing to my ego like that.

“You think I’m afraid of Johnny Jay?”

He shrugged. Glanced at Ben. “Maybe.”

Joel followed me in.

By some miracle, long-lost Carrie Ann showed up right behind him, looking fresh and pert, like nothing had ever happened to freak her out. Just wait, woman. I’d get an opportunity soon enough and when I did, she was going to tell me everything she knew, right down to her bra size.

But for now, Carrie Ann helped me open up the store. I ignored Joel, hoping he’d go away. He didn’t. Finally I gave him the attention he wanted.

“Why are you still here?” I said. “I’m not talking to you.”

“All you have to do is confirm or deny.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Patti Dwyre and I are working on an article about the police chief. She gave me a lot of material, but we need corroboration. A quote from you would be awesome.”

Then I remembered what Patti had said about Joel helping her get a job at the paper. I groaned. Leave it to Patti.

“You’re going off to college?” I asked.

Joel grinned. “I can’t wait.”

I took him into the back room. By the look on his face, he thought I was going to cooperate fully. “Tell me what you’ve got so far,” I said.

So here’s what he had, according to Patti’s point of view:

“I’m not participating in this interview,” I said.

“It won’t look good in the paper, you refusing to comment.”

“He’ll sue the paper if you print that.” Not to mention that Johnny Jay would come after me even harder. “And you can leave now.”

Joel looked disappointed, like he was a soda can and I’d just crushed him between my hands. “I’m going to interview the police chief next,” he said. “If you won’t give me a quote, I’ll have to paraphrase.”

“You and Patti better run that article past your editor,” I warned him.

“He’s on vacation.”

Great. Just great.

Once Joel left and I had a chance to tell Carrie Ann about the article, she said, “When Johnny Jay reads that, he’s going to kill somebody.”

“He was going to anyway. Now he has another target, too. Patti. Plus, I look at it this way, if everybody knows he’s after me, maybe he’ll think twice before making a move.”

“No, he won’t,” Carrie Ann reassured me.

“We need to talk. You and me. Privately.”

“Am I fired?”

“No,” I said, grudgingly. “As soon as we slow down again, let me know.”

With that, The Wild Clover sprang into its daily live action.

Milly Hopticourt came in with her morel mushroom creation.

“Try this,” she said.

My taste buds exploded. “Oh my gosh, what is this deliciousness?”

Milly looked pleased. “Morel sauce. Butter, wine, heavy cream, this and that.”

“It’s an absolute winner. Use it. How’s the rest of the newsletter coming?”

“Almost done.” And she bustled off with a shopping basket over her arm, leaving the rich sauce for me to sample again. Yum. It was hours before I had a chance to get Carrie Ann alone.