Ice Coffee Corruption, page 6
The front porch, with its two rocking chairs made by my grandfather, was my favorite spot. Aunt Maxi had given me the key to her storage unit, and I’d found the perfect furniture to fill the cabin. The deep-brown ladder-back rockers with outdoor pillows added a welcoming touch to the porch.
Inside, the first floor of the cabin consisted of a combination kitchen and dining area with a bathroom and laundry room tucked away at the back. A set of stairs led up to the loft bedroom, where natural light from skylights and a large window made the room feel inviting. The white iron bed suite from Aunt Maxi’s storage unit, adorned with quilts, completed the look.
Pepper and Deputy were both lying by the potbelly stove, soaking in the heat. Deputy looked up at me, his ears perking up as if he knew I was thinking about him.
“You’re going to be my little detective today,” I said to him, giving him a pat on the head. He wagged his tail in response, seemingly eager for the adventure ahead.
I turned my attention back to the tablet and jotted down a list of ingredients I needed for Friendsgiving. Birdie and Shelley had opened the Bean Hive this morning, giving me a rare chance to plan for the holiday and focus on the investigation.
First on my list was shopping for ingredients. I made a mental note to stop by the park in downtown Honey Springs and purchase some fresh produce at the farmers’ market there.
I also needed to coordinate with friends and family to finalize the menu and assign dishes for the potluck-style dinner. I’d do that with my mom while in town today. She was a realtor, and her office was right across the street from the park.
The thought of having everyone gathered around the table, sharing food and stories, filled me with anticipation.
But first, there was the matter of the investigation. I looked at the evidence bag, which contained the ink pen and business card we had found near the scene. The cryptic note on the back still puzzled me, and I knew I had to dig deeper into Aiken Armstrong’s affairs. Remembering my promise to Kevin and Spencer that I’d stop by the department this morning, I added the task to my to-do list.
I stood up, stretching my legs, and walked over to the stove to add another log to the fire. The dogs stirred but didn’t move from their spots.
“Come on, boys,” I said, grabbing Deputy’s leash. “Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into today.”
Deputy jumped up, wagging his tail, ready for the adventure. Pepper, more reluctant to leave his toasty spot, looked up at me.
“Fine, you can stay here this morning,” I told the ornery little schnauzer.
Since the weather had started to turn a smidgen cooler today, I grabbed a sweatshirt from the laundry room. Then, with my list in hand and a sense of determination, I headed out the door, Deputy trotting beside me. Today would be a busy day, filled with Friendsgiving preparations and a deeper dive into a murder that was far from being solved.
Outside, the crisp November air hit us, invigorating and fresh. This kind of weather started out cool but would heat up to around sixty degrees by the afternoon. According to the forecast, there was still a chance of snow before Thanksgiving.
Deputy bounced around in the leaves. Their shades of orange, yellow, and red had created a beautiful mosaic on the ground until he plowed through them. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, promising a day full of my favorite autumn weather.
The farmers’ market was held downtown every Monday in Central Park. The location was a five-minute drive from the boardwalk and a seven-minute drive from the cabin. The summer wildflowers that dotted the park with vibrant purples, pinks, yellows, whites, and blues had been replaced with mums, marigolds, and asters in rich autumnal hues. The flowers were just the beginning of the beauty Mother Nature bestowed on our town.
The courthouse, medical building, and library, along with a few specialty shops, stood in the middle of Main Street and across from the park. So did Mom’s real estate office. I found a parking place right behind her car, so I knew she'd be my next stop after I picked up what I needed from Jean Hill.
I started my morning errands with a visit to the Honey Bee Company. They had the best-tasting honey, which went perfectly with most of my specialty teas. The rich golden liquid with the comb still in the jar was also the best for baking. I grabbed a jar, knowing it would be perfect for the maple-pecan bars and sweet potato biscuits I planned to bake for Friendsgiving.
Next, I made my way to the Hill’s Orchard stand, owned by Jean Hill. She had the perfect apples for my apple tart. At this time of the year, it was hard to find an apple that had the perfect sweet-and-tart balance for the special apple pie I made only for Friendsgiving, but somehow Jean never disappointed. I scanned the table, which was lined with orchard baskets filled with all sorts of freshly picked apples. Their stems and leaves were still on, a testament to the fruits’ freshness.
“Who is this big guy?” Jean asked as soon as I walked up. “I know this isn’t our little Pepper.”
Before I could answer her, she had walked around the table laden with her perfect picks and up to Deputy.
“Deputy,” I called to him so he would know to take his nose out of Jean’s apron pocket.
“Oh no, he’s fine. You have a good smeller, Deputy,” she said, hearing that I had called him by his name. She took out a piece of dried sweet potato. All animals were welcome at the farmers’ market, so she kept many vegetable treats at her stand.
“If you only knew,” I mumbled and picked up a couple of the potatoes to stick in my basket. They would pair well with the beef stew I was planning on making tonight for Patrick to eat a later night this week.
“I heard about Jennifer yesterday at the pier.” Jean tsked, walking over to me. She placed a hand on my back. “I heard you and Maxine found her.”
“Did you know Jennifer well?” I asked and ran my hand along some of the other vegetables, trying to play it coy.
“Not too well, but she did come out to the farm more often than the farmers’ market to get her items,” Jean replied, selecting a few more apples for me. “Though most of the time, it was Dana who picked up things for her.”
“Dana?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Yes, Dana. She’s the chef for the Armstrong family. Lovely woman, always chatting about the meals she was preparing.”
“What kinds of things did Dana like to cook for the Armstrongs?” I inquired, thinking it might be nice to cook something and take it over to them. Plus, going there might help me learn more about their routine and maybe uncover some useful information.
Jean smiled warmly.
“Dana has a real knack for comfort food, especially during the fall. She often buys my butternut squash for soups and casseroles, and she loves the heirloom carrots for her stews. But I think her specialty must be the apple cider pork chops. She gets the apples and cider from me and pairs them with pork chops. It's a dish she said the Armstrongs adored.”
“That sounds delicious,” I said, making a mental note. “Maybe I’ll make that and bring it over to them. You know, to offer my condolences.”
Jean nodded approvingly. “I think they’d appreciate that. Here, let me get you a few extra apples for the cider.”
She added a few more apples to my basket then leaned in a bit closer. “You know, Dana mentioned that Aiken likes his pork chops cooked just right. She always sears them first in a hot cast-iron skillet to lock in the juices then slow cooks them in the cider with a bit of rosemary and thyme. It makes the meat incredibly tender and flavorful.”
I nodded, grateful for the tip. “Thanks, Jean. I’ll make sure to cook them just like that. I’m sure it’ll mean a lot to Aiken and his family.”
Before I walked off, I knew I needed to find out where the Armstrongs lived.
“Do you know where the Armstrongs live?” I asked, hoping for a straightforward answer.
“Now, let me see… you take that old Honey Hive Road. You know, the one that’s barely a road anymore?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Follow it till you get to that big ol’ fork in the road. Don’t take the left fork. Take the right one, even though it looks like it’s headin’ nowhere. Keep on goin’ down yonder a bit, and you’ll see one of them old stone markers they used back in the day for surveyin’. Turn left there, and just keep goin’. Can’t miss it. Big house with a wraparound porch, sits back from the road a bit.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her picturesque directions. “Got it. Thanks, Jean. I’ll make sure to follow those to the letter.”
“And, Deputy, you come back to see me anytime,” Jean said, handing him another sweet potato treat. “I could use a sniffer like that to find the critters who are eating up all my gardens.”
“Well, he is up for adoption at the Pet Palace,” I replied. Then I quickly corrected myself. “Soon. I’m just taking him around to see if he’s a good-natured dog.”
“Honey, you can’t get no better nature than that,” she pointed out as Deputy sat right down next to her, his sweet eyes staring up at her as obediently as ever. “You let me know when Louise is ready to let this one go,” she added with a smile.
“Oh, I will,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt about not necessarily telling her the whole truth. I genuinely wanted Deputy to help me with the investigation, or at least sniff out a few more clues.
But I had to do what was right.
“Actually, you know what?” I turned back to her and handed over the leash. “Why don’t you try him out? I’ll let Louise know that you’re giving him a test run on the farm.”
“Are you sure?” Jean's face lit up, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she took the leash from me and put her other hand on my hand, which she continued to pat.
"I’m positive," I said, watching as Deputy perked up too. It was remarkable how an animal knew where they were supposed to go and who they were supposed to live with.
Jean knelt down and patted Deputy’s head. “Well, Deputy, looks like you’re gonna be my new helper,” she said, her voice soft and affectionate. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun together, aren’t we? And if you and I get along, you just might stay."
Deputy wagged his tail enthusiastically, his eyes bright and alert. Seeing them bond so quickly warmed my heart. It was almost like he knew he was where he was meant to be.
“Thank you, Roxy,” Jean said, standing up and giving me a quick hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me. And I promise I’ll take good care of him.”
“I know you will,” I assured her, feeling a sense of relief. Deputy seemed happy, and I was glad he’d found a potential new home with someone who clearly adored him. Plus, it gave me some peace of mind to know he was in good hands while I focused on my own tasks for the day. “You call me if I need to come back and pick him up. He can be a handful.”
With a final wave, I headed back to my car to drop off the items I’d purchased, my heart lighter and my to-do list a little shorter. I kept one of the apples with me.
But my day would be much longer now that I needed to cook some fancy pork chops and make a pit stop at the Armstrong household to offer my condolences. That meant my little visit with my mom would have to be quick.
“What do you mean you have to hurry up?” Penny Bloom, my mother, asked from Ursula Scott’s receptionist chair. I had given her an apple as a snack for later, but she grabbed it and took a huge bite out of it.
“I have some fancy pork chops to cook for the repast for Jennifer Armstrong.” I knew she wasn’t going to let that slide.
“You go to church with them?” she asked, her eyes popping up over Ursula’s computer monitor. “Doggone it!” she yelled at the computer and hit the keys much harder than needed. “Why on earth does Ursula take her lunch break at this hour?”
“Because it’s pretty close to lunch?” I asked, trying to hide my amusement.
“Roxanne Bloom, don’t you be sassing your mama,” she spat and looked at me with mock indignation. “I know you don’t go to church with the Armstrongs, so why exactly are you making and taking them fancy pork chops?”
“Because it’s the nice and Southern thing to do around here,” I said, settling into the chair in front of Ursula’s desk. I watched Mom get madder and madder with each aggressive keystroke. “What is it you’re trying to do?”
“I’m trying to get on the MLS on her computer because my computer is being worked on.” She sighed, finally mustering the strength to remove her hands from the keyboard. Glaring at the screen, she held the apple up to her lips and bit down with frustration.
“Trade spots with me,” I told her, getting up. “I can help you.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, quickly sliding out of her chair. “Fine. But if you can’t get it to work, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I took her place, feeling a bit like I was about to defuse a bomb. Mom’s tech problems always seemed to escalate to a near-apocalyptic level. “You know, this reminds me of the time you tried to set up that online dating profile and ended up signing up for a fishing tournament instead.”
She huffed. “That was one time, and I was multitasking! Besides, I thought ‘casting a wide net’ was a clever metaphor.”
I chuckled, tapping a few keys and bringing up the MLS site with ease. “There you go. Easy-peasy.”
Mom peered over my shoulder, taking another bite of the apple. “Show-off.”
I swiveled around to face her. “So, how’s the real estate market treating you?”
She shrugged. “Oh, you know, busy as ever. Everyone wants a little piece of Honey Springs. And why wouldn’t they? It’s the most charming place on earth.”
I smiled, feeling a surge of pride for our town. “You’re right about that. Speaking of charm, have you seen the decorations for the Friendsgiving Harvest Fest? They’re even better than last year.”
“Of course they are. I supervised half of it,” she said with a wink. “Now, tell me more about these pork chops. You said ‘fancy’—how fancy are we talking?”
I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Oh, you know, just a little maple glaze, some rosemary, and a touch of apple cider vinegar. Southern hospitality at its finest.”
She shook her head, smiling. “You always did know how to impress with your cooking. Just like your daddy.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said.
“Well, what is it? What do you want? I know you didn’t come in here to bring me an apple out of the goodness of your heart, especially now that I know about those pork chops.” She said “goodness of your heart” in a condescending way.
“Fine.” I put my hands up. “You figured me out,” I teased, knowing good and well I wasn’t going to keep anything from her. “And I am still happy to see you.”
“Out with it.” She motioned for me to spill the beans.
I glanced around Ursula’s office, which was filled with framed photos of Honey Springs through the years. Each picture captured a different season. The town looked just as charming in the bloom of spring as it did under a blanket of winter snow. The scent of the half-eaten apple mingled with the faint smell of freshly printed paper, making the room feel both homey and industrious.
“I kinda told Spencer I would keep my ear to the ground, and I have been doing that. In fact”—I took the plastic evidence baggie out of my purse and laid it on Ursula’s desk—“I found this near the murder scene.”
“They are calling it a murder now?” Mom asked.
“Not officially, but unless you want to think Jennifer stuffed herself like a scarecrow on purpose, I’d say there’s a real good chance it was murder.” I flipped the baggie over to show Mom the other side of the note. “I know you do a lot of business with him in the real estate area here, and I wanted to know if you had any documentation of his handwriting. I want to compare the two.”
“Like one of those handwriting analysis things I’ve seen on the crime television shows.” Mom’s voice rose in volume. “And you think he killed her?"
“I guess, but I don’t want to be going around and pointing fingers if he wasn’t the one writing about wanting to meet someone at the docks,” I said. Then I spat out a theory without really pegging Aiken as the murderer, though the killer often did end up being the husband. “What if Jennifer knew he was going to meet someone and that someone saw her there, took her out?”
“What if I’d had another child so you weren’t an only and had to use that imagination of yours like some mad person?” Mom was never too fond of me being a lawyer or visiting Honey Springs, so I was batting a thousand with her.
She grabbed her phone, which was sitting on the desk.
“I’ll take a photo of the handwriting and see what I can come up with.” She did what she said she was going to do and then hit a key on the keyboard. The printer on the credenza came to life.
“First I have to go meet a couple up on Nectar Nook. They’ve been staying in the cabin over there, and it’s for sale, so they want me to bring the comps.”
“The old Perm’s cabin?” I asked, knowing it was a total gut but that someone could come into that property and make it great because it had a gorgeous view of Lake Honey Springs.
“That’s the one. It’s got a lot of work to be done, but they are asking a fortune. It’s the location, and the trees are turning right now, so that only ups the value even more.” Mom twisted around, grabbed the papers she’d printed, and stood up. “I’ll let you know about the handwriting, and if you get an extra pork chop, you can save it for me for payment.”
“Are you blackmailing your own daughter?” I asked with a smile as I reached across the desk and picked up the evidence.
“No. I just want to see you for more than just a few minutes,” she said and gave me a hug. “I’ll be by the coffeehouse later.”
Before I jumped back into the car, I looked across the road to Central Park to check on Deputy. Jean was talking to a customer, and Deputy was sitting right by her legs, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
