Nobody Can Say It’s You: A Hadley Pell Cozy Mystery (6 page)

“Why did that wild goose choose to come to my rescue in the park that day a drug-crazed fellow held a knife to my throat? Who could have predicted that an animal would have had enough sense to come between me and my attacker?

“I don’t know why he intervened, but I’m awfully glad Sprat decided to flog him. He saved my life. That goose startled that guy and caused him to drop the knife. I’m here today because of something I can’t explain.

“It’s easy to scoff at that incident, to say a goose is a dumb animal and could not possibly know a human was in need of his assistance. Did some spirit move that goose to help me? Is Sprat intelligent enough to figure out I was in trouble?

“I’m sure I was emitting lots of fear scents. I was scared to death. Did that prompt that goose to act on my behalf? I can’t say. But I only escaped with minor scratches and a few bruises. If it was dumb luck that saved me that day, I’ll take dumb luck.

“I like to think of Sprat as one of my guardian angels. He’s my golden goose. I’m forever thankful he acted the way he did that day. If you think I’m silly, then call me silly. Doesn’t change my way of thinking, one bit.”

“I don’t think you’re silly. I’ve lived long enough to see a lot of unexplainable things. I know what you’re saying, Hadley. I’ve had things happen to me that are totally baffling. If I told you, you’d never believe me. They’d be locking me up in the looney bin and assigning me to a padded round room.”

“These mountains are old,” Hadley said. “There’s been a lot of life lived here. Cosmic energy, granny witches, good and evil. I don’t know what you call it. But there are forces out there in those woods.

“Somebody left Lou Edna a message. And it wasn’t good one. They are upset with her for some reason. Maybe it makes sense. Maybe it’s some reason that you and I would deem ridiculous. Button Dudley’s death may be connected. It may not.

“But Lou Edna’s really rattled. She claims she saw Button’s spirit out by Sadie’s. I don’t know what to think. It was dark. She’d suffered a fright. I told her that what she thought she saw was only a product of an overactive imagination. But then she told me someone had left a chicken bone with a string around it and red powder all over her steps. It’s some kind of curse, Bill. But it did its job. Lou Edna’s scared to death.”

“Only time and evidence will tell if there is a logical explanation that connects these things,” Bill said. “But I’m glad you told me. I’ll keep an eye out. Someone is using hoodoo to make her think she’s been cursed.

“Just the suggestion of something like that can shake a person. I’ve seen it happen over and over again. We think we live in a modern world, Hadley, but there is something primordial that still lives in our brains. It’s just natural that we respond to our mystic side. We can’t help it.

“I’ve seen grown men reduced to nothing because they thought they’d been hexed. These men would never admit to being superstitious in any form or fashion, yet who do you think is the first to make a charm bag and stick it in their pocket as protection against a curse. They are the first ones to cut a lock of their hair, put a stick and a nail clipping in the bag with a red string. And they’re the first to worry themselves sick if they lose that little bag. Their charm’s gonna be used against them, they’d say to me.

“The power of suggestion is a powerful thing, Hadley. Don’t underestimate it.

“I’ll keep my eye out and run by her place every chance I get. I’m not saying I believe in that stuff or that I don’t. I’m just doing my job, you understand.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Hadley said. “I knew I could count on you.”

W
hat made
Button Dudley come running down Main Street like the devil was hot on his trail? Had he suddenly gone crazy, lost his mind, saw monsters in his imagination and tried to run away from them? Had he been poisoned by some toxic food or drink? Did he know Death was coming and simply wanted to go out its way? Was Button running to meet Death on his own terms? Whooping down Main Street in one final, futile blaze of glory before succumbing to the inevitable?

These were questions that kept nagging Hadley like the constant drip-drop-drip from a leaky faucet. She didn’t know the man very well. Nobody did. Button was like a lot of back hill folks. He minded his own business and kept to himself. He wanted no bother, and he bothered no one. Nothing wrong or suspicious about that. It was just the way some folks liked to live their lives.

He was a staple of the backwoods, like the rumors of stills and marijuana farms. But the fact that he’d dropped dead at her feet make her want to know the reason why he died?

And what was the significance of the star anise that had been transferred from Button Dudley to her sweater when he’d rammed into her just seconds before going to meet his Maker?

The Internet told her that star anise was an important magical herb that was used in death and dying rituals. Did Button foresee someone’s death or even his own?

It was also a good luck talisman, but it hadn’t been so good for Button.

It could be used to awaken and increase psychic powers.

Was she missing something?

Her inner voice said she must investigate. Her common sense said to leave it alone.

Button was an old man. He had lived a long life. His time on this Earth was over. He was dead. Kaput. The end. That’s it. Let moldering bones lie peacefully in their eternal resting place. That’s what common sense kept repeating to her.

But sometimes, you simply had to overrule common sense. Hadley couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t one of those times.

Button Dudley was going to be buried at Memorial Gardens. Hadley had found out from Beanie. Beanie told her that Button was going to be interred in a grave not far from her dearly departed husband, Harry. If Button was involved in some kind of evil magic, Hadley wondered, would his spirit wreak havoc with Harry’s, now that both men inhabited the same other-worldly realm?

Harry was one of the good guys, the ones who wore the white ten-gallon hats. Not that Harry had ever owned a ten-gallon hat, but he would have looked at home in one, just the same.

Hadley didn’t know much about Button Dudley. Would he have worn a black, gray, or white hat? Too late to know now.

Why was Button being buried in the town’s cemetery?

And why was she obsessing about it, anyway?

Dead men tell no tales. No lies. Nothing.

If they did, would she listen? Doubtful. She’d probably be high-tailing it in the opposite direction as fast as her feet could take her. Too scared to hear what they had to say.

Was she making a mountain out of a mole hill because she was bored and needed something to occupy her mind? Probably.

She had to admit that she’d been feeling a bit stir crazy since she and Beanie had finished cleaning out Eustian Singlepenny’s trash-filled house. That had been a monumental task, but it had kept her busy and occupied. She and Beanie had done it. Yes, they had. That job had been finished weeks ago. Her life had settled back into a rather quiet routine.

Quiet equals boring, she reminded herself.

She had to admit, she’d enjoyed cleaning out that house. Not that it wasn’t dirty, back-breaking work. But it had been like a treasure hunt. Every day had brought something new. The unexpected became a common occurrence when you were dealing with someone else’s collection of treasured things. Multiply that by a gazillion-million when that person turned out to be a hoarder.

Every day had brought something new.

In a different kind of way.

No big, priceless treasure was uncovered. Only dusty junk. But it was amazing to see what one man had considered important enough to fill his house with from floor to ceiling. Old papers. Old books. Stuff she would have tossed in the dump in a Tennessee minute, Eustian had dragged home and feathered his nest with.

And she missed seeing Beanie. He was a hard worker and good company.

He was also a lot of fun.

Beanie was a pal that would follow her to the Creamery for an ice cream soda at a split-second’s notice. Hadley smiled. Even while working like a dog, she had put on at least ten pounds thanks to those mouthwatering goodies. And the chocolate sundaes at the Creamery weren’t shabby, either.

Good junk food. Sweet-tooth heaven. Bad for the thighs, but good for the soul.

Oh, she still ran into Beanie occasionally downtown. But it wasn’t like those days of packing up sacks of snacks and grabbing her friend and heading off to a job that filled her days with purpose.

She wondered if Beanie wouldn’t like a big batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She could make him some with pecans and another batch with English walnuts. There might be some dates in the pantry.

It might be worth a little “cleaning-out-treasure-hunt” of her own to see what was lurking in the back corners of that little room. No telling what forgotten ingredient she might find that would be just the thing to make her old recipe zing.

She loved to experiment. And Beanie was the perfect one to bake for. He loved anything Hadley made. The flops and the wonderful successes. Beanie’s taste buds appreciated them all. He dove into a fallen cake like it was manna from heaven. Looks weren’t important to Beanie. Taste was all that mattered. It made no difference what she took him.

Store-bought, too, for that matter, was just as good to Beanie.

He was one man who was easy to please when it came to food. She opened the pantry and began an earnest search for everything she might need to make the perfect batch of cookies.

It filled her with energy, not to mention, it took her mind off the troubling message that someone had left Lou Edna. And Lou Edna was shook up. She took the omen seriously. Bad business. Any way you sliced it.

It was a nasty thing to do, Hadley decided, to anyone.

“
T
aste this
,” Hadley said, shoving a glass in front of Maury.

Maury swallowed a swig and started coughing.

“Tastes awful,” said Maury. “What is it?”

“Vinegar lemonade,” said Hadley. “Must need more sugar.”

“Where in the world did you get that recipe?” Maury asked.

“Off the Web,” said Hadley. “It’s just vinegar and sugar and water. Something the pioneers drank.”

“The Donner party ate each other,” said Maury, “but that doesn’t mean I want to pick somethin’ off their menu.”

Hadley took a sip behind Maury. She puckered up her lips.

“Or maybe I added too much vinegar. Maybe my glass is too small.”

“Maybe you should lay off the old-timey recipes, Sis.”

“I was going to try some cornmeal mush, but I’ve ran out of lard.”

“Try using olive oil. Not as tasty but twice as healthy.”

“Oh, pooh,” said Hadley. “I could try some Corn Dodgers, if I could remember where I put my Dutch oven.”

“If it’s in the attic,” said Maury, “forget it. That’s just too much sugar for a cent to pull those steps down and go off on a gallivant in that dark dungeon.”

“It’s not as bad as that, Maury,” Hadley said. “Are you sure you’re not describing your attic?”

“Maybe.”

“How ‘bout some Black Pudding? All it has in it is eggs, flour, cinnamon, molasses, and a few other spices.”

“And vinegar. My throat still feels like it was scalded and left to dry in the hot sun.”

“You’re just too sensitive. Kid Pie sounds interesting.”

“Who’s kids are you planning on cooking?”

“Nobody’s. It calls for goat. I don’t think Pixies stocks goat.”

“Nah. Skip’s not mentioned that as new items he’s had to stock.”

“Here’s a roast recipe that uses coffee,” said Hadley.

“Well,” said Maury, “guess I know what Bill and I will be having next week.”

“I’ll buy a small roast and try it out first,” said Hadley, “before I spring it on you and Bill. I can always count on Beanie to help me eat the leftovers. Even if they don’t come up to house standards.”

“That man is a human garbage disposal,” said Maury.

“Good thing,” said Hadley. “Keeps good food out of the dump.”

“And not so good food,” said Maury.

“It’s a pretty simple recipe,” said Hadley. “Onions and garlic and vinegar. You marinate that for 48 hours and then simmer in the old Dutch Oven in a couple of cups of strong coffee for about six hours.”

“Don’t hurt yourself rummaging around up there,” said Maury.

“I won’t,” said Hadley. “Who knows? I might uncover another treasure like Harry’s video cam up there.”

“Or you might break your neck stumbling over old junk,” said Maury.

“I’ll let you know if the coffee roast is on the menu next week,” said Hadley.

“Later, Sis,” Maury said.

* * *

H
adley took
some goodies and packed them in her car. She took off down the road toward town, watching as she drove for any sign of her friend, Beanie. She spied him walking down the sidewalk outside of Lou Edna’s Beauty Boutique and pulled over to the curb. She leaned over to the passenger side and rolled down the window.

“Hey, there. How’s the finger, Bean?” Hadley asked.

“It’s as right as rain, Hadley,” Beanie said. “I’d really like to stay and talk, but I’m in kind of a hurry.”

“Where you going?”

“I gotta get down to the cemetery. Harvey sent word for me to come. Mr. Dudley’s body’s back from his autopsy. Harvey wants to get the hole dug quick. Harvey wants everything ready for when he has Mr. Dudley resting in his coffin. He told me he wants Mr. Dudley’s goin’ away to be as smooth as silk.”

“You want a lift?”

“Sure,” said Beanie. “Gosh, it smells good in here. Like a bakery.”

“Oh,” said Hadley, “I almost forgot. I made some cookies for you. Three batches. Originally, I was only going to make two, but my dump cooking got the best of me, and before I knew it, I’d dumped in enough ingredients for an extra batch of cookies.”

“Thanks, Hadley,” said Beanie. “You know me. When it comes to anything you cook, too much is just about the right amount.”

“I know, Bean,” Hadley said. “I can always count on you to lick the plate clean no matter what I’m serving.”

“Me and Onus are good plate lickers.” “Well, Onus is a persnickety, old cuss. I really wish he’d take some lessons from you. Not be such a picky eater, you know what I mean?”

“I can learn him plate-lickin’ if you want me to, Hadley.”

“I was thinking more in the lines of being grateful for what’s on your plate. I think I’ll just have to put up with Onus’ not quite licking the plate clean. He puts up with a lot from me, you know.”

“If you say so, Hadley,” Beanie said.

“What time is the funeral service,” said Hadley.

“Harvey said it’s going to be tonight at midnight,” said Beanie.

“Midnight!”

“Yeah. I ain’t too happy with the time, neither. I hope I don’t fall asleep and fall into that hole. You know? I just don’t know if I will be able to keep my eyes open.”

“Is Button’s service private?”

“No. Harvey didn’t say it was. Harvey is always good to tell me if it is ’cause he knows I won’t mention nobody’s service if he’s told me that. Private means private, Hadley. No extra mourners allowed but the privates.”

“Well, if it’s not private, I’d like to come,” said Hadley. “I’m certainly not one of the privates, but if it’s public, I know I can call myself one of the publics.”

“It’s public,” Beanie said, “so you can come because you are publics.”

“Good,” said Hadley. “Here we are. I want to come and give you moral support, Beanie.”

“Do my morals need support, Hadley?” Beanie asked. “I didn’t know they were sagging. Miltie Pearl was talkin’ to Mona Leone Yuntz the other day about her saggin’ you-ter-rines. What’s a you-ter-rine?

Miltie Pearl was just ‘a whining to Mona Leone that havin’ 16 youngins had, let me see, how did Miltie Pearl put that? Oh, I know! Them 16 youngins done a number on her. Her you-ter-rine prolapse was the worst! Thing sagged plum to her ankles. I looked, Hadley. I don’t see nothing between her ankles. They’re right big ’n’ meaty, her ankles are. But that’s all.”

“Did Miltie Pearl see you standing near them, Beanie?” Hadley asked.

“Oh, yeah,” said Beanie. “Mona Leone did, too. They’re like most people, Hadley. They ignore me like I ain’t there.”

“Well,” Hadley said, “don’t trouble yourself over those two. Mona Leone and Miltie Pearl had no business discussing women’s matters in front of you like that. Miltie Pearl knows what causes babies to be born. She’s had 16 times the practice of most women.”

“That does make me feel better,” Beanie said.

“It does,” Hadley said.

“Your you-ter-rines must not need no support,” Beanie said. “Even I know what makes babies, and you and Harry didn’t have none. Your you-ter-rines must be tight as Dick’s hat band.”

“We tried, Beanie. We were just not blessed with children,” Hadley said, “but you’re right. My you-ter-rines are just fine.

“And so are your morals.

“I just wanted to show up at Button’s service to make sure you stay awake. It wouldn’t do for one of my best friends to close his eyelids and wake up in Button’s grave.”

“Thanks, Hadley,” Beanie said. “It would be like sticking six kids in a bunk bed. Crowded wouldn’t begin to describe it.”

“Exactly,” said Hadley.