100 Proof Murder Page 12

  ‘Sure, Ma.’ He sprang to his feet.

  ‘I’ll take tea, Nicky,’ Jill called after him, chuckling.

  He laughed too, since no matter how old you got, childhood monikers never seemed to die. But when he reached the kitchen his good mood faded. Taped to the refrigerator door was a paper with Jill printed in large block letters. His mother must have put it up after his phone call last night. Across the face of the cupboards were even more yellow Post-its than before with reminders such as: Bring in the mail at lunchtime and Get newspaper from porch. Nick felt a pang of sorrow deep in his gut. Opening the refrigerator, his breath caught in his throat. There were no cans of soda or pitcher of iced tea. He didn’t see much food at all, even though his mom had insisted on cooking dinner for them that night. Inside the freezer Nick found only the single serving heat-and-eat purchased on their last shopping trip.

  Nick filled three glasses with tap water and returned to the living room. ‘Jill and I were just discussing we don’t drink enough water. So that’s what I brought us instead of tea.’

  ‘Fine with me,’ Julie said. ‘Tell me how your work is going, son. Are you still writing plenty of tickets on I-65?’

  ‘No, not anymore. Now I travel around the state helping local sheriffs and police chiefs investigate crime.’

  His answer seemed to confuse her. ‘What kind of crime?’

  ‘All kinds – murder, arson, armed robbery, assault, especially if law enforcement thinks a serial criminal might be involved.’

  ‘But you still write speeding tickets, don’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, someone else brings the lead-foots to justice these days.’

  Julie pondered this, then shook her head. ‘So, what would you kids like for supper tonight – beef, chicken, fish?’

  Nick had seen none of those in the fridge or freezer. ‘On our way here, I decided to take my two best girls out to dinner. No arguments. I don’t want you to fuss.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Jill nodded in agreement. ‘You pick the restaurant, Mrs Harris.’

  His mother shrugged listlessly. ‘All we have is a pizza shop and Asian takeout.’

  ‘What about the Mexican restaurant next to the dry cleaner?’ he asked, remembering their drive around downtown.

  ‘I didn’t know anything about that. It must be new.’ Her brow furrowed.

  ‘Let’s check it out. Then you can report back to Inez Diaz. She’s mom’s next-door neighbor,’ Nick explained to Jill.

  ‘And she’s the one who insists on those reminders in the kitchen.’ Julie glanced at her watch. ‘All right, son, if you insist. But if we’re going out, I’ll need time to change. Why don’t you show Jill the photo albums of your days as a football star?’ She pointed at the bookcase against the wall.

  Nick waited until she left the room to roll his eyes. ‘Why don’t we just see what’s on TV?’ He reached for the remote.

  But Jill had already sprung to her feet. ‘Don’t be silly. Let’s look at pictures. Maybe we can find a few candid shots of Nick wearing a saggy diaper or with spaghetti sauce on his face.’ Jill easily located the albums atop an assortment of cozy mysteries and light romance. Labels on the bindings indicated the year the photographs had been taken.

  Jill plopped down on the couch and started paging through the most recent album first. Her reaction was immediate and exactly matched how he felt. ‘Oh, no,’ she murmured. ‘This isn’t good at all.’

  Nick pulled the album from her fingers for a better look. Scattered throughout the album were small white labels, identifying the people in each photograph. Some labels made complete sense such as Marcie, Carol, and Ruth from Bible study. No one could remember the names of every casual acquaintance during a lifetime. But a few other labels chilled Nick’s blood to ice water such as Reverend Davis, who’d been Mom’s pastor for thirty years. And even more ominous, the photos of her children had been labeled: Sarah, Susan, Bobbie, and Nick.

  Nick closed the album and returned it to the bookcase. When he sat back down, Jill enveloped him in a hug.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ she whispered. ‘We don’t want to spoil the evening. Maybe all this labeling is some kind of precaution.’

  ‘Maybe so. Before I say anything to Mom I need to talk to her doctor and maybe a memory specialist. Then I’ll talk to my sisters again.’

  ‘I’m here to help if I can.’

  ‘Thanks, Jill. That means a lot.’ He hugged her back fiercely.

  ‘OK, you two … can you stop hugging long enough to tell me which scarf looks more Latin?’ Julie had changed into a black pants set and wrapped a ruby red scarf around her throat. She also waved a black scarf with red embroidery through the air.

  Jill quickly disengaged herself. ‘Oh, definitely the black one. With your outfit, the owner might hire you as a flamenco dancer.’

  Julie grinned and tossed the red scarf on the table. ‘In that case, kids, I’m ready to go.’

  Dinner turned out to be an unqualified success. The threesome dined on chips and salsa, enchiladas, empanadas, black beans and rice, and a delicious, deep-fried pastry he couldn’t pronounce. His mother enjoyed a margarita, while Nick and Jill opted for iced tea since they’d be driving back to Louisville. They brought home enough leftovers for both lunch and supper for his mom. On the way home, Nick stopped at a convenience store to buy bread, milk, lunch meat, and salad fixings. He didn’t know why the grocery delivery hadn’t started yet, but he would check with his sister.

  ‘Thank you, Nicky,’ Julie said inside her front door. ‘I haven’t had so much fun in a long time.’ Spontaneously, she pulled Jill into another embrace. ‘I love you already. Please come back often. I think we’re going to get along just fine.’

  Jill kissed his mother’s cheek. ‘I couldn’t agree more. And Tres Lobos will be our regular hangout.’

  Nick made sure his mother’s house was locked up tight before joining Jill in the car. ‘Well, what did you think?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know, Nick. Either the neighbor, Mrs Diaz, scared her witless so your mom is taking precautions, or we are looking at early dementia. I have no clue.’

  He sighed. ‘I agree. Everyone gets forgetful as they age. How do we draw any kind of line?’

  ‘Your old friend and my new friend, Alexis, said her grandfather suffers from some kind of dementia. Why has this become so commonplace?’

  ‘Robert Parker?’ he asked. ‘What a shame. In my non-medical opinion, either our environment is to blame or people are simply living longer. Bodies might last longer with medical advances, but our brains might have a pre-determined shelf life.’

  ‘My grandmother would say, “No one can outsmart God. He has the final say”. And the longer I live, the more I agree with her.’

  Nick was about to comment when Jill’s phone rang.

  ‘How odd,’ she said, reading the caller-ID on her phone. ‘It’s Sheriff Jeff Adkins from Roseville. What on earth could he want with me?’

  Unfortunately, Jill didn’t put the call on speaker. Instead, she uttered a series of ‘oh my’ and ‘dear me’. When she hung up, she swiveled towards him on the seat. ‘Change of plans. Would you mind heading to Roseville? My grandmother and Aunt Dot have landed in a heap of trouble. I’ll give you the gory details along the way.’

  EIGHT

  Jill slipped her phone into her purse, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

  ‘Uh, oh.’ Nick took his eyes off the road to Roseville just for a moment. ‘How can two old ladies get themselves into trouble during a book club meeting with their cronies?’

  ‘Did you forget the part about bourbon along with the books?’ Jill shook her head. ‘Head to the sheriff’s office. Aunt Dot and my grandmother have been arrested. You should still know the way since you worked there for two weeks.’

  ‘Arrested? You’re pulling my leg. Tonight was only their second official meeting.’

  ‘Correct. They were supposed to snack on tiny sandwiches and sample bourbon craft
ed by Uncle Roger, while discussing the auspicious merits of Little Women.’

  ‘And?’ Nick prompted and increased his speed on the open road.

  ‘Aunt Dot happened upon a thirty-year-old bottle of Black Creek Reserve in the library. Apparently, Uncle Roger had been saving it for a special occasion. Dot got the bright idea of selling shots of the stuff to raise money for the local food pantry. She and Grandma put up posters all over town, asking people to come to Sweet Dreams B and B from six to eight o’clock to help a good cause. The ladies had planned to talk about the book after the general public left.’

  ‘That was such a bad idea.’

  Jill nodded. ‘Aunt Dot set up folding tables and chairs on the porch. Grandma baked lots of cookies to nibble and made plenty of coffee and tea. She also sold little bags of cookies for five dollars each.’

  ‘I’m afraid to ask how much they were charging for a drink.’

  Jill swiveled to face him. ‘Fifty dollars, sweet man. Those two entrepreneurs were charging people fifty bucks for a shot of Roger’s good stuff. And plenty of people were willing to pay that much. Word got around through some kind of bourbon grapevine. By six thirty the porch was mobbed. One guy told Dot that her price was too low for thirty-year-old whiskey, that she could easily get a couple hundred. He paid a hundred for his shot, since it was for charity.’

  Nick clenched down on his back molars. ‘Surely Dorothy Clark knew that liquor licenses are closely monitored in Kentucky.’

  ‘Dot thought that since the money was going to charity, there wouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘Who blew the whistle on them?’ Nick asked.

  ‘First Gordy Clark, the operations manager at Black Creek, showed up to insist Aunt Dot stop selling booze from her front porch. But Dot was down to the last few shots so she paid no attention to him. Then one of her neighbors, either a teetotaler or someone who didn’t like boisterous crowds, called the sheriff. He threw my kinfolk in the clink.’

  ‘Take heart,’ Nick said, keeping his focus on the road. ‘If you look hard enough you can find a criminal element in the best of families.’

  Jill pulled her sunglasses down with one finger. ‘Are you having fun, Magic Man? This isn’t funny. If the story makes the Louisville and Lexington newspapers, it could hurt Aunt Dot’s business.’

  ‘Or it might draw bourbon aficionados from around the world.’

  ‘Please take this seriously.’ Jill’s voice cracked. ‘I’m worried the ladies will have to spend the night in jail.’

  Nick reached over to pat her arm. ‘Sheriff Adkins would never keep them overnight. He probably just wants to restore law and order in Roseville. You know, there never was much trouble until Granny Vanderpool blew into town.’

  Jill punched his arm playfully but couldn’t keep from smiling.

  For the next ten miles neither said a word until a phone call interrupted their quiet introspection. ‘Nick Harris,’ he answered when he didn’t recognize the number. ‘Hey, Detective. Thanks for the callback.’

  Jill listened to Nick murmur a series of banalities like: ‘Is that right?’ and ‘That’s a surprise’. Unfortunately, he didn’t put the caller on speaker. When Nick finally hung up, he stared mutely at the road.

  ‘Well?’ Jill demanded. ‘What was the big surprise?’

  ‘That was my friend on the Louisville police force. I asked him to keep me posted on the William Scott case. In all likelihood, Otto Bach, the disgruntled employee recently fired at Parker Estate, isn’t our killer.’

  ‘The guy who poisoned his neighbor’s dog?’ she asked, incredulous. ‘Didn’t the cops find an array of poisons in his house?’

  ‘Yes, but none of them matched what killed the master distiller. The lab finished the tox screen and identified it as a rare toxin that mimics symptoms of a heart attack. It’s very difficult to detect in the blood, but a high concentration was found in Mr Scott’s liver. This was no weedkiller or garden variety insecticide. So far the police haven’t found evidence that Bach ever purchased the toxin.’

  Jill crossed her arms over her chest. ‘What explanation did the lunatic have as to why he has so many dangerous poisons?’

  ‘Bach told the detective he wanted to start a pest control company with his brother. The brother, who’s probably also a wacko, confirmed the plan.’

  Jill smiled. ‘It’s funny to hear a cop use the term “wacko”.’

  ‘I only use the word when I’m not working. Today, I’m on a date with my best girl.’

  ‘Which day does your worst girl get?’

  ‘She can have any day she wants.’ Nick winked in her direction, which resulted in a second punch to his arm.

  When they reached the charming downtown area of Roseville, all was quiet with order restored at Sweet Dreams B & B. At the sheriff’s department, Jeff Adkins waved them into his office the moment they walked through the door. ‘Ah, Lieutenant Harris and Miss Curtis, a pleasure to see you both,’ he drawled. ‘Have a seat.’

  ‘The pleasure is ours, sir.’ Nick settled comfortably in a chair.

  ‘Hi, Sheriff,’ Jill greeted, too nervous to sit. ‘I hope my relatives haven’t caused too much trouble.’

  A grin turned Adkins’ face into a roadmap of wrinkles. ‘I’ve had more cantankerous inmates than Mrs Vanderpool and Mrs Clark. But I must say both are accustomed to rationalization to get their way. They couldn’t quite understand that good intentions and a worthy cause don’t circumvent the law.’

  ‘Where are they now?’ Jill gripped the back of a chair.

  ‘I considered putting them in a cell, but at the last minute I opted for an interview room. With only two plastic chairs, half a table and one-way glass, the room’s austerity might convince them that selling booze without a permit is a crime.’

  ‘If you’d thrown them in with hardened criminals, they would only learn more tricks,’ Nick said, as though not taking the matter seriously.

  Adkins laced his fingers together. ‘I talked to an ATF agent who’s willing to let them go with a warning. I’m just waiting for a call-back from the county prosecutor to make sure she’s OK with me not filing charges. I don’t want that neighbor complaining we gave special treatment to a bourbon master’s widow.’

  ‘No jail time, not even a fine?’ Jill asked. ‘Thanks, Sheriff Adkins.’

  Adkins rubbed his stubbly chin. ‘You two must reinforce this is not to happen again.’

  ‘You can be sure of that.’ Nick pushed to his feet. ‘Can we take them home? I’m sure they’re worried about the B and B in their absence.’

  ‘A couple of book-clubbers promised to clean up and then lock up. I’d bet they’re both ready to hit the sack. By the way, your grandmother purchased the last shot, Miss Curtis. Mrs Vanderpool pledged fifty dollars from her next pension check to the county food bank.’

  Jill dropped her chin to her chest. ‘My granny doesn’t even drink. We might need EMTs to revive her.’

  Sheriff Adkins led them down the hall to interview room two and swept open the door. Aunt Dot appeared to be praying while Granny was fast asleep, head on the table. A light snore rumbled from her open mouth with each breath.

  ‘Jill, Nick, oh my goodness!’ Dot closed her prayer book, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I’d hoped and prayed Jeff wouldn’t call you. I am so ashamed.’

  ‘No need to be embarrassed.’ Jill wrapped an arm around Dot’s shoulder. ‘Just promise me you’ll never do anything like this again.’ She felt like a parent scolding a naughty teenager after a missed curfew. ‘What you two did was illegal.’

  ‘Please don’t blame Emma. This was my fault. I talked her into it.’

  ‘Wake up, Granny.’ Jill gently shook her grandmother’s shoulder. ‘Time to go home.’

  Emma popped upright and gazed around the room. ‘Are we still in the slammer? I hope no one stole the cookie sale money. I raised eighteen dollars before the cops busted the place.’

  Jill felt her cheeks redden. ‘Granny, where did you lea
rn such talk?’

  ‘In the nursing home. We never missed an episode of NCIS, FBI, or Blue Bloods.’ Emma smiled, but continued to hold her head with both hands.

  ‘Sheriff, will you release these two on their own recognizance, pending the prosecutor’s decision?’ Nick asked. ‘I’ll take personal responsibility.’

  Adkins pretended to ponder the question. ‘All right, Trooper, but if they open another bottle and start peddling shots, all three of you will spend the night in the county jail.’

  ‘The bar is closed.’ Emma sliced the air with her hand. ‘I won’t jeopardize my granddaughter’s future with this handsome man. After all, he’s got a good job.’

  While Jill cringed with embarrassment, Aunt Dot rose to her feet and placed her hand over her heart. ‘You have my word, Sheriff. No more selling bourbon from Sweet Dreams and no more fundraising except on church property, since they have a non-profit license.’

  ‘All right, you two may go. Drive safely, Trooper. And good luck, Miss Curtis.’

  Good luck, indeed, she thought.

  The club members who’d stayed behind to clean up the B & B thanked her and Nick for bailing out their fearless leader when they got back the previous evening. Jill didn’t correct them that posting bail hadn’t been necessary. It was better everyone involved realized the serious nature of their behavior.

  On the way home her grandmother and Aunt Dot had been meek and contrite. After their friends left, they invited her and Nick to spend the night in a guest room, but looked relieved when they declined. Since she and Nick both had plenty to do in Louisville, they left without as much as a cup of coffee with the elderly lawbreakers. When Jill finally reached her hotel room, she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

  Early the next morning the human alarm clock pounded on her door. ‘Get up, Curtis,’ Michael demanded. ‘Let’s get in line for the first newly resumed tour of Parker Distillery. With Mr Scott’s death, there’ll be plenty of interest from both locals and tourists.’