One for the Road Page 20

  Adkins shook his head and stared out the window into the parking lot.

  ‘On its way, but I don’t think we’re going to need it.’

  ‘Why not?’ Nick asked. ‘Blood evidence found at the crime scene matched the elder Mr Shelby’s DNA. He was with Roger the night he died.’

  ‘I agree, but Owen Shelby is heading toward the front door. He appears to want to talk to us.’

  A moment later Owen shuffled through the doorway, looking nowhere near as dignified as he had a few days ago. His complexion was mottled, his shirt rumpled, and the lapel of his suit had a greasy stain. As he crossed the linoleum floor, Owen looked left and right as though confused what to do.

  ‘Mr Shelby,’ called Nick. ‘Why don’t you come back to Sheriff Adkins’s office? We can talk privately in there.’

  Shelby met Nick’s gaze with bloodshot eyes, nodded, then shuffled wordlessly around the counter. As he followed the sheriff down the hall, Nick stayed close behind him, breathing in the strong smell of alcohol and nervous perspiration.

  ‘Have a seat, Mr Shelby.’ Adkins pointed at a chair. ‘Have you changed your mind about pressing charges against Billy and Justin Clark?’

  Shelby’s face went blank as he lowered himself into the chair.

  ‘For vandalism, sir,’ Nick interjected. ‘We spoke to you in your office the other day.’

  Shelby waved his hand through the air. ‘No, I’m not here about that. I want to confess to killing Roger Clark. But on my ancestors’ graves, I swear it was an accident. Roger threw the first punch and from there, things turned ugly.’

  Nick glanced at the sheriff who looked just as surprised as he felt. ‘In that case, sir, we advise you to say nothing more until you have legal counsel present.’

  Shelby gripped the arms of the chair. ‘I waive my right to legal counsel. Let’s just get this over with.’

  ‘I’ll go set up the conference room,’ Adkins said to Nick as he walked from the room.

  ‘It’s standard procedure to videotape all confessions, so Sheriff Adkins will have that ready in a few minutes. In the meantime, you can start by explaining why you went to Black Creek on Wednesday night.’

  Owen blinked several times. ‘Business has been lousy this year. I thought we could generate bigger profits with flavored small batches. We would age the bourbon for the required minimum of two years, and then market the product to twenty- and thirty-year-olds. Those millennials have money to burn, but they prefer whiskey that tastes like apples or peaches or cinnamon. The small crafts must be hurting as much as us.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I thought Founder’s Reserve would cover the cost of raw materials, then Black Creek could mix and distill, since our facilities are geared for mass production. Then we would handle aging and bottling, along with the cost of promotion and distribution.’ Owen blotted beads of perspiration which had formed on his brow. ‘So I called Roger up and mentioned the idea of a partnership. He told me to come by after supper and we could discuss my idea. He said to drive up to the loading dock and his guard would let me in.’

  ‘Why did Mr Clark want you to come in through the back door?’ Nick asked.

  ‘He wanted to give me a tour, and not what they normally show tourists. So we started in his warehouse, where his barrels of bourbon are aged.’

  ‘Did Mr Clark like your business proposition?’

  ‘Oh, Roger liked my idea all right. He fetched a couple glasses and a bottle of his best product. So I pulled out a flask of my thirty-year-old bourbon. We drank a toast, but I never should have used the word partnership on the phone. That crazy old coot thought we would share the profits fifty-fifty. Why would I split fifty-fifty if I’m fronting the cost of raw materials, tying up my rickhouse for two years, and bearing the full expense of promotion? When I suggested a seventy-thirty split, Roger called me every foul name in the book. Then he said I was a thief just like my ancestor.’ Owen’s face flushed to a dangerous shade of plum. ‘I’ve never cheated anyone in my life. How dare that upstart from the hills—’

  ‘We’re ready for your statement in the conference room, Mr Shelby.’ Sheriff Adkins interrupted Shelby’s description of his arch nemesis.

  Owen pushed to his feet and lumbered through the doorway. Once he was settled in an upholstered chair, the sheriff sat down on Shelby’s right. ‘Are you sure you don’t want your attorney here during questioning?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, we don’t have time to get my overpriced lawyer off the golf course.’ Shelby thumped the arms of his chair with his fists.

  Nick switched on the video camera and leaned across the conference table. ‘If Clark’s death was an accident—’

  ‘It was an accident, I tell you. Like I said, Roger went crazy when I refused a fifty-fifty split. He accused me of trying to cheat him, like when the Shelbys stole sixty acres of land from the Cooks. When he called me a thief like my grandfather, I told him it was better to be a thief than an arsonist who torched a house with a grandmother inside!’

  ‘Is that when Roger threw the first punch?’ Sheriff Adkins asked.

  ‘Yes, he threw a hook and caught me on the chin.’ Shelby fingered the spot as though it were still tender. ‘Then I threw a punch and it was no holds barred after that.’

  Nick couldn’t imagine fisticuffs between these two men, yet his gut told him Shelby was telling the truth. ‘We found drops of your blood on the floor near where we found Mr Clark’s body. Is that how it got there, during this fistfight?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so. Roger connected with my nose pretty good, and you know how those things bleed. Tempers were on edge because business was bad all around, but neither of us wanted someone to die.’ Shelby peered from one to the other, hoping they understood.

  ‘Did you push Mr Clark into the metal rack?’ Sheriff Adkins asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘Roger had me up against the barrels. I pushed just to get him away from me. But he slipped in the spilled bourbon and fell. That’s when he hit his head on the edge of the rack.’ Owen touched the back of his head.

  Nick locked gazes with the sheriff. ‘The medical examiner in Frankfort said the fatal blow to Mr Clark was to the frontal portion of the skull. It wasn’t the superficial laceration on his scalp.’

  The elderly man blinked several times. ‘I don’t know anything about that. I’m just telling you his death was an accident.’ Sweat ran down the side of Owen’s face and dripped onto his already rumpled suit coat.

  ‘What happened after Roger Clark slipped in the bourbon and hit his head?’ Nick picked up the questioning.

  ‘I didn’t know if he was just out cold or dead, so I panicked. Business was already bad, and publicity like that could put us under.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Nick demanded.

  Owen twitched, like a cornered animal without a way to escape. ‘I got out of there the same way I came in. The guard was busy watching a ballgame and didn’t even see me leave.’ His lip curled with contempt.

  ‘The guard was Elmer Maxwell, right?’ asked Adkins.

  ‘Yes, that’s what I was told. I have a contact at Black Creek. He lets me know when good employees are unhappy in case we want to make them a better offer.’

  ‘Who is your contact, Mr Shelby?’

  ‘Gordon Clark.’ Shelby’s distress visibly increased.

  ‘Why would Roger’s second in command help Founder’s Reserve?’

  ‘For money, what else? If Roger had paid a decent wage, his employees would’ve been more loyal. Besides, Gordy never gave up proprietary secrets, only information on personnel.’

  Nick circled the table until he stood next to Shelby. ‘You mentioned twice that we didn’t have time for your lawyer to get here. Before I lose my temper, why are you in so big a hurry?’ He leaned until he was inches from the man’s face.

  Shelby’s features contorted with hatred. ‘I want you to charge me, Lieutenant, and notify the media I confessed to the accidental death of Roger Clark.’

  ‘Just because
you’re rich you don’t get to decide what happens,’ Nick muttered under his breath.

  ‘Then charge me with manslaughter, I don’t care. I just don’t want anything else bad to happen.’

  ‘Something bad like Elmer Maxwell taking his own life?’ asked Sheriff Adkins.

  ‘Or someone coercing him by putting a gun to his head?’ Nick added.

  Shelby shook his finger. ‘I asked my son to check on Clark and get my antique flask back. I dropped it during the scuffle, but I didn’t ask him to pay that security guard to erase the tapes with me on them. That’s it.’ Shelby dropped his face into his hands. ‘I know I should’ve called the police right away. If I had, maybe Roger would still be alive.’

  ‘We asked around at the bar where Maxwell drank and placed bets on sports events. He had flashed a wad of money on the day Roger died, and also on the day before he allegedly took his own life.’ Sheriff Adkins kept his voice low and controlled. ‘If we subpoena your son’s financial records, will we find large cash withdrawals to match those dates?’

  ‘Maybe, but my son didn’t kill him and I didn’t either. Elmer Maxwell was a married man with two kids, for goodness’ sake.’

  Nick placed his hand on Shelby’s shoulder. ‘A man being blackmailed might do something stupid. What else do you know, Mr Shelby?’

  A tear slipped down Owen’s face. ‘Jamie didn’t like that travel writer and her sidekick asking so many questions – questions that had nothing to do with tourists or making bourbon. That woman writer – Jill something – had been sticking her nose into Jamie’s relationship with Michelle Clark.’

  Ice formed in Nick’s veins. ‘What did your son do to Jill Curtis?’

  ‘Nothing to her,’ Owen blubbered. ‘Jamie thought she was really pretty, but he wanted them both to go back to Chicago. They had finished their stories on Founder’s Reserve and Black Creek. Anything personal about Jamie and Michelle didn’t belong in a travel article and certainly nothing about Roger’s death inside the distillery. Publicity like that won’t bring more folks to Kentucky for the tours. He said he was going to keep an eye on her – make sure she didn’t cause too much trouble for us. He wanted to make sure she had only glowing praise for Founder’s Reserve.’ Owen lifted his chin and focused on the sheriff.

  Nick switched off the video camera. ‘I am out of patience and that doesn’t bode well for you. What did your son do to the videographer?’

  ‘Jamie got mad when he saw him taping everyone who came to Roger’s funeral. So that night he went to the B and B where they were staying and smashed his car windows with a baseball bat. Then he stole the guy’s equipment.’

  ‘Did your son cut the power at Black Creek and trap Michael Erickson in the elevator?’ Nick demanded.

  Shelby’s forehead furrowed. ‘I don’t know anything about that. Jamie just told me about trashing the car.’

  ‘Does Jamie have a key to Black Creek?’ When Owen didn’t immediately answer, Nick grabbed his shoulders and shook him like a ragdoll.

  ‘Michelle gave him a key the night of Roger’s fundraiser and he never returned it to her. I don’t want Jamie to do anything else stupid. This nightmare has gone on long enough.’

  Nick sprang from his chair. ‘If you could record the rest of Mr Shelby’s confession, Sheriff, I want to check on Jill.’

  ‘You got it, Lieutenant,’ said Adkins.

  But Nick was already out the door with his phone in hand. He punched in Jill’s number and waited. When all three tries to reach her went to voicemail, he jumped in his car and drove straight to Sweet Dreams well above the speed limit. Let whoever was on duty chase after him. Maybe the backup would come in handy.

  Jill flashed her lights several times trying to get her date’s attention. A four-cylinder pickup was no match for Jamie’s late model sports car, either in speed or maneuverability. And the route he picked out of Roseville had plenty of curves. At long last, Jamie got the message and slowed down enough so she could enjoy the scenery along the way.

  Once they reached the restaurant, Jill began to feel a little foolish. The Pine Hollow Lodge was just as charming as Jamie had described. The rambling three-story building had plenty of porches and wrought-iron balconies attached to most second-story rooms. A flagstone path led to the front door, while a second path took guests beneath a grapevine-covered arbor into the flower garden. Old-fashioned larkspur and hollyhock grew along the picket fence enclosing the property.

  Jill parked the battered truck next to his shiny car in the last row of the lot. ‘This place is adorable,’ she murmured, taking hold of his elbow.

  ‘It doesn’t look like a dangerous lair for psychopaths?’ Jamie’s smile deepened his dimples.

  ‘Definitely not, at least not from the outside.’

  As though to underscore the safety a group of elderly women in red hats and purple outfits trooped through the doorway. All seemed to be talking at once.

  ‘Reservation for Shelby,’ Jamie said to the hostess.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, they were shown to a table in a semi-private alcove. Candlelight reflected in the crystal stemware and illuminated a budvase of tiny roses. Despite the romantic setting, Jill didn’t feel the least bit nervous. Dozens of other diners were only yards away. ‘If the food is half as good as the ambience, we’re in for a treat,’ she said as he pulled out her chair.

  Jamie sat across from her. ‘And since we’re miles from the ocean, your virtue is safe with me.’

  It took a moment for his joke to sink in. ‘So I won’t have to feign a headache after all?’ she teased.

  Jamie straightened his tie and leaned across the table. ‘Look, Jill, I get it. You’re not physically attracted to me, but I thought we worked well together on your article. I read what you wrote about Founder’s Reserve the moment it hit my inbox. You did a great job with Black Creek too, without mentioning the unfortunate circumstances with the master distiller.’

  Jill shuddered at the memory of Roger lying in a pool of blood. ‘The circumstances were beyond unfortunate, Jamie. My cousin’s husband was murdered in cold blood. What I emailed you was the first draft. I might just include something about Roger if they arrest the killer before the article goes to press.’ She reached for her water glass and took a sip.

  His friendly smile vanished. ‘What would be the point? Isn’t there enough negative news already in the media? People want to read about interesting places to visit without tawdry tabloid rubbish.’

  Tawdry tabloid rubbish? Jill swallowed as heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘Why don’t we pick out something to eat?’ She hid her face behind the extensive menu.

  ‘If you like seafood, I recommend the mountain trout,’ he said after several minutes of silent study. ‘The filet mignon is always good if you’re a steak lover. And I understand the pasta Florentine is wonderful if you turned vegan since the last time we were together.’ Jamie placed his menu on the edge of the table.

  Jill lowered hers as well. The sooner they got this meal over with the sooner she could get back to Sweet Dreams. ‘I’ll have the trout with wild rice, along with a Caesar salad and iced tea to drink.’

  She sat back as Jamie gave their orders to the waiter. Surprisingly, he requested a bottle of Roderer champagne instead of the iced tea she requested. ‘I hope that’s not an expensive bottle of wine,’ she said after the waiter left their table. ‘Since I don’t drink much, I wouldn’t know the difference between vintage champagne and the cheap stuff. Plus, I’m driving tonight.’

  Something flashed in his dark eyes: anger? Disappointment? He stared at the flickering candle before speaking. ‘I realize that, Jill. That’s why I made the wine selection. And the fact we’re in two different vehicles is a perfect example of your annoying stubbornness.’

  Before she could respond, Jamie burst out laughing as though he meant his comment to be funny. Jill hadn’t felt this uncomfortable on a date since the eleventh grade, when a boy had described his previous conquests in a misguided attem
pt to impress her.

  ‘You’re not the first man to say I’m stubborn.’ She forced herself to meet his eye. ‘My partner describes me that way all the time. So far the trait has served me well.’

  ‘Lucky for me, women like you are a rarity in these parts.’ Jamie hooked his thumb at the tree-covered hills in the distance.

  Jill also focused on the view until the waiter delivered two glasses and the bottle of champagne. After Jamie pronounced the taste acceptable, the waiter began to fill both flutes. Jill covered her glass with her hand. ‘Thank you, but I would prefer a glass of iced tea instead.’

  Jamie pried loose her fingers. ‘Since you’ll be eating a full meal, you won’t be impaired after just one glass. I want you to know what the good stuff tastes like.’

  Feeling the waiter’s and Jamie’s gazes on her, Jill drew back her hand. ‘Fine, one glass, but I would still like that glass of tea.’

  ‘Absolutely, ma’am.’ The waiter filled her flute, then fled their table.

  ‘To just comeuppance to Roger’s killer and great success for your travel series.’ Jamie raised his glass in a toast.

  How could she not drink to that? After they clinked glasses, Jill sipped her champagne and tried not to sneeze from the tiny bubbles. ‘This tastes better than I thought it would,’ she declared, scooting her chair to the table. ‘When you referred to women from these parts, it reminded me of something … or rather someone. Michelle Clark.’

  Jamie moved closer to the table too. ‘For someone who says she’s uninterested in me romantically, you seem obsessed with my ex-girlfriends. Why is that, Jill?’ His mouth twisted in an unappealing fashion.

  ‘Maybe because Michelle is a distant cousin through marriage.’

  He leaned back as the waiter delivered Caesar salad to the table and divided it between bowls with great fanfare. ‘Your kinship with the Clarks is a stretch, even in the South.’

  Jill ignored his comment. ‘As you know, Michelle is expecting a baby and plans to have that baby at home. In all likelihood, the baby is yours,’ she added and waited for dispute.