Death By Bourbon (10 page)

I slept late. That’s because I didn’t get to bed until late. Rather I did get to bed,
but I didn’t get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning. Get my drift.

I was positively humming.

“Jake,” I called, wrapping a filmy robe around me. “Jake.”

“In here,” answered Jake.

I went to his bedroom where I found him sitting on the bed staring out the patio door.
I glanced at the bureau. It was empty of his possessions and his children’s pictures
were missing.

Slumping against the doorframe, I muttered, “Oh shit!”

Jake patted the mattress. Reluctantly I sat beside him. We sat quietly for a long
time until he found the courage to speak. “I don’t want to go but I have to. In fact,
I’ve put this off as long as I could, but my children need me.”

“For how long?”

Jake shrugged.

“I see.” I played with the fringe on my robe. “May I ask why?”

“Pauline called. That’s my ex-wife. She has cancer. I need go home and help with the
children. Her mother has passed away and her sister lives in another state. There’s
only me.”

“Is it terminal?” I asked, hoping. I know I’m awful at times.

“I hope not,” answered Jake softly. “But I have to be there while she fights, so I’m
going home to take care of things.”

I placed my hand on his. His fingers tightened around mine.

“I understand, Jake.”

“It’s not that I won’t . . . that I don’t . . .”

“I love you, Jake.”

“I’ve stocked the refrigerator and pantry. Mrs. Todd will be here tomorrow to help
with the light cleaning and cooking. Charles is going to have the pastures mowed next
week. All the bills are paid up for the month. Your medicine is in your bathroom with
all the instructions.”

“Even the pain medication?”

Jake chuckled as he touched my cheek. “Even the pain medication.”

“Wow, you must really trust me.”

“A new therapist will be here next Wednesday at nine a.m. He is going to give me a
report, so you behave now.”

“So everything is neat and tidy and tied with a ribbon. You have thought of everything
and can leave knowing that life will continue without you.”

“This is not what I wanted to happen. Please don’t get angry.”

“Will you call me, at least?”

“No.”

“I know you think being blunt is kind, but it’s not.”

Jake gave my hand one last squeeze before rising from the bed. “Goodbye Josiah.”

I tried not to notice the several tears running down my face.

Jake gave me one last look before walking out of the room. I sat on his bed until
I heard the front door close.

I sat there until late afternoon shadows stretched across the floor. Then I got up
and visited my honeybees. There in my beeyard, where thousands and thousands of honeybees
flew around me, winging to their rhythm of life, I cried out my sorrow. And when I
was finished, I knew that I would never cry over Jacob Dosh again.

BRANNON SAYS GOODBYE

I finally tracked Brannon down at Keeneland. A friend of mine had called and given
me a tip that Brannon was there sitting in a box with some “swells.”

Hurriedly I drove over to the prestigious racing course and parked my car.
It took twenty-five minutes to locate him having a grand time, sipping champagne
and exchanging jokes with people. Brannon always had told jokes well. That was one
of the things I liked about him – he had always made me laugh, as he now did Ellen
Boudreaux, who was hanging on his every word.

Not wanting to cause a scene, I wrote a note and paid a Keeneland attendant to hand
it to Brannon. From the back, I watched Brannon read the note and then scan the bleachers.
He leaned forward, saying something to Ellen, who smiled brightly at him.

My gawd – she was Asa’s age. Her father donated to the UK Art Department and UK Art
Museum. We had worked on exhibits together. What did he think of this September/May
romance?

I hurried back to my old Mercedes. In a few moments, Brannon walked out into the parking
lot and finding my car, got in. He did not seem pleased.

He just sat there, not saying anything.

“You said you were going to call,” I accused.

Brannon looked out the window. “I wanted to spare you.”

“Brannon, what’s going on? I think I deserve some sort of answer.”

“I want out, that’s all. I don’t want my old life.”

“I’m so confused. When did all this start? Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy?”

“You knew, Josey. Don’t pretend otherwise. It’s just everything else took precedence
– Asa’s fiasco, the farm, your job – everything but me.”

I was flabbergasted. Could he really be that self-centered and I not know it all these
years? “I worked my tailbone off.”

“As did I,” he countered. “Now I’m tired and I want attention. I don’t want to put
up with those damn animals on the farm. I don’t want the farm. The Butterfly – that’s
your achievement. It was never mine.”

“What about Asa?”

“What about her? She’s grown.”

I gasped. “Brannon, she’s your only child!”

For a moment, Brannon looked uncomfortable – as though he knew he had stepped over
the line. “I didn’t mean that.” He looked towards me. “Really, I didn’t. I just want
to be free. I don’t want to answer to any timetable. I’m tired, Josey. Can you understand
that? I’ve reached a point in my life where all I want is pleasure.” He wavered for
a moment. “I don’t know how else to explain it. I want pleasure.”

“Come back home. We can work this out. I can resign from my job. We can travel to
wherever you wish; do whatever you want.”

Brannon shook his head. “Not going to work. I want my freedom.”

“You want a divorce?”

“Jesus, Jo, what do you think I’ve been trying to convey to you? Yes, I want out,
free and clear.”

We were both silent for a long time. Finally I said, “There’s the question of money.
Bills still need to be paid that are in both our names. I should get part of your
retirement fund especially since my father set you up in business.”

“Can’t. I’m broke. The firm’s doing badly since Asa’s mishap.”

“You son of a bitch, blaming your cheapness on our daughter. I know for a fact that
you were bought out. I talked to Wyman, Brannon. You were paid $500,000 for your share
plus you raided all our accounts, leaving me with almost nothing. I also bet that
you were given a severance package from work.” I was mad now. Really mad.

“That money is mine.”

“That money is ours. We both worked for it.”

He sneered. “Good luck finding it. I’ll just say I lost it at the track. That I have
a gambling problem. The lawyers won’t be able to trace it and neither will you.”

I could hardly breathe. “When did you stop loving me, Brannon?”

“The day I started hating you.”

“This better be good,” huffed Detective Goetz as he entered my car parked in Jacobson
Park.

I handed him a tuna sandwich and a bag of potato chips.

Goetz grunted after taking a bite. “Homemade.” He took another large bite before taking
a swig of his soft drink. “Haven’t had homemade tuna salad in years. Real egg bits
and celery. Good. Pickles too.”

I ate some of my sandwich as well while observing Goetz. He had lost more weight since
I had seen him last, which explained the new clothes plus a recent haircut. Concluding
that he must be seeing someone, I put him on the “do not touch list.”

“You know what today is?” I asked.

“Yeah. It is the one-year anniversary of the day you fell off the cliff. Is this what
your call is about? Someone to commiserate with?”

“Goetz, don’t get my nose out of joint after I just fed you. Can’t you keep a lid
on that mouth of yours for a few moments?”

“Sorry. Sometimes I understand why my wife left me. I’m a very good cop but a lousy
partner for a woman. I just always say the wrong thing.”

“Maybe women make you nervous.”

“Just certain women,” grinned Goetz. “We can talk about that night if you wish. Your
recovery is quite remarkable. I never thought you’d walk again. Hell, I didn’t think
you were going to make it though the night. You were really beat-up.”

“Actually I called you about another matter. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why
I brought up the anniversary.”

“Because attention needs to be paid.” He held up his soft drink. “I salute you. It’s
been a weird year for both of us and the crap hasn’t settled yet.”

Goetz and I sat staring over the dashboard of the car like two old battle-hard veterans
mentally recounting the how and when that we received our wounds. We sat for the longest
time until I spoke. “I think Doreen might have really killed Addison.”

Goetz, who had been enjoying the silence, sighed. He was always sighing around me.
“Why?”

I told him about the ring and showed him the picture of Dossi’s portrait of Lucrezia
Borgia. “She could have had ground up aspirin in the ring and easily spiked Addison’s
drink at the party.”

Goetz pulled out his notebook. “I did some checking on Addison and came up with some
interesting facts. Addison DeWitt was not English at all, but Italian. Everything
was false about DeWitt: his accent, his background. He lied about everything. In fact
he comes from a small population of Italians that are highly allergic to aspirin.
It’s a genetic condition.”

“So just a little bit of aspirin would have pushed his system over the edge.”

“That’s what the geneticist told me,” concurred Goetz.

“I wonder if Doreen knew.”

“I went to talk to her about it. She says no, but she didn’t seem all that shocked
when I told her that DeWitt’s real name was Gino Gimabotto. I’m not even sure that’s
not an alias.”

“Criminal background?”

Goetz shook his head. “Naw. I just take him as a good looking boy with a certain way
with the ladies who tried to make his way in the world by his looks and charm. He
certainly hit the jackpot with Doreen. She took care of him. He didn’t work.”

“It sounds like you are open to suggestions that something like murder might have
happened.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I can’t prove it. The glasses and liquor showed nothing.
Nobody witnessed anything amiss at the party. Except for Lacey Bridges’ accusations,
there was never any mention of a divorce, or that either Addison or Doreen were unhappy
with each other. I talked to her neighbors and friends. Everyone says they were a
devoted couple.”

“But aren’t you curious as to how the aspirin got into his system?”

“We know that he ingested it but that is all. It could have been as simple as residue
from an aspirin that someone in the house took days before and didn’t clean the glass
properly. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

“So Doreen gets away with murder.”

“I would go as far as saying that possibly his death might be suspicious, but murder
is not provable.”

“What if I could get you that ring?”

“No. She would have already cleaned the ring and you would just be getting yourself
in trouble for nothing. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I know that O’nan thinks he’s going to get off.”

“You’ve had contact with him?”

“He’s working on a new angle. Trust me on this. He’s gunning for you legally and that
dope of a judge is falling for everything that creep says. O’nan is smart. He will
stay away from you until the trial is over but he might have a good chance to walk.
I’m just warning you. Make sure you and the DA are just as ruthless because O’nan
has got something up his sleeve.”

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

“Just be on the alert.”

I could tell that Goetz knew more but he wasn’t going to spill anything else to me.
This was as far as he would go. Instinctively my hand touched my purse where I kept
a stun gun. Maybe I should start carrying the handgun. Or maybe I should go ahead
and tell Asa to have one of her minions whack O’nan. As far as morality was concerned,
it went out the window when I woke up in the hospital a year ago. I’d rather be dead
than go through such pain again. But then again, I rather that O’nan be dead.

And I didn’t care who knew it.

Although the Revolutionary War had officially been over for ten months, it was still
being fought in the frontier. In retaliation for a siege at Bryan Station in 1782,
a group of militiamen under the leadership of John Todd of Fayette County followed
a well-trained, battle-experienced British and Indian enemy force to Blue Licks, Kentucky.
Daniel Boone, tagging along, warned that they were being led into an ambush.

Ignoring Boone’s advice, a Captain McGary shouted, “Them that ain’t cowards, follow
me!”

The men, smelling blood, bravely followed Captain McGary. The only problem was the
blood that they smelled was their own.

Witnesses recounted that Boone, in despair, said, “We are all slaughtered men.”

Boone was right. The enemy force hid in ravines and surprised the frontiersmen, killing
John Todd, an ancestor of Shaneika.

Fighting hand-to-hand combat, Boone, his son, Israel, and a handful of men were ordered
to withdraw. Boone told his men to flee. Boone gave a captured horse to his son, Israel,
but Israel refused to leave his father. Frantic, Boone tried to capture another horse
only to see his son mortally shot in the neck. Boone escaped on horseback, leaving
his dead son on the battlefield.

The Battle of Blue Licks was considered the worst defeat for Kentuckians of the war
effort. Out of 176 men, 77 were killed and 11 captured. The battle lasted only fifteen
minutes by some accounts.

In revenge, George Rogers Clark, brother of William Clark of the Lewis and Clark expedition
to the Northwest, led a thousand men into Ohio and destroyed five Shawnee villages
on the Great Miami River.

Four years later, the same foolish Hugh McGary, who had ignored Daniel Boone’s warning
and led those brave men to their death, asked the Shawnee chief, Moluntha, if he had
been at Blue Licks. Moluntha had not been, but not really understanding the question,
nodded yes.

Hugh McGary, in a rage, then took his tomahawk and killed Moluntha. McGary was court-martialed
for murder, for murder it truly was.

And the bloodshed goes on and on . . . even in the quiet, tree-lined streets of today’s
Lexington.

I wasn’t thinking of Kentucky’s bloodied history, but I should have known that Kentucky
was a beautiful siren who will have her way whether it is hard-living, battle-ready
frontiersmen or a lovely woman on a day’s outing. The black dirt of Kentucky will
not be denied sacrifice. She must have her bones.

But the day was too beautiful even to care about such things. I was thinking of my
bees.

It was time for wintering my hives. The leaves were starting to fall from the trees
and if I waited much longer, it would be too late, as the temperature would fall below
sixty degrees. Hives are not opened under sixty degrees.

Matt and one of Charles’ grandsons worked the hives while I sat in my golf cart giving
instructions. Meriah sat next to me admiring Matt’s fortitude while she was covered
head to toe in some getup to protect her from the bees.

All the honey supers had been stored in the barn, which left the hive boxes where
the Queen and her workers lived. In order to protect them for winter, the top box
is switched with the bottom box. As winter progresses the Queen will move up where
extra food is stored. For some reason, Queens don’t like to move down in their boxes.

“What are they doing now?” asked Meriah, her eyes bright as new copper pennies.

“They are putting pollen patties in the top of the hive so when the bees go to the
top box, they will have more food in the winter. Some beekeepers do this. Some preach
against it.” I took a deep breath. “Matt is also putting in some Crisco patties with
wintergreen oil. This helps keep pests away.”

“Fascinating,” replied Meriah.

“Honeybees are responsible for pollinating one-third of our food. Fruits, nuts and
vegetables are the result of a honeybee’s pollination. They even pollinate cotton
for our clothes and bed sheets.”

“I had no idea!” exclaimed Meriah. “I almost want to help Matt.” She turned towards
me, laughing, “But I won’t.”

I gave her a weak smile.

“What are those?”

“They are putting plastic inserts in the bottom of the hive to help the hive stay
warm in the winter. Again, some beekeepers do this and some don’t. I didn’t do it
one year and lost almost all my hives. It took three years to build the bees back
up again.”

Matt closed up the last hive and strode over to us.

“Did you get stung, honey?” asked Meriah.

Matt returned her cloying smile. “Just a few times. They seem in pretty good shape,
Josiah. I’d say they’ve got at least sixty pounds or more honey stored in each hive.”

I thought for a moment. “I’m going to feed them sugar water for a couple of days.
I want to give them the best shot of getting through the winter as possible.”

“Need help with that?”

I shook my head. “I’ve got a big rock where I put down food and they always find it.”

Charles’ grandson plopped in the back of the cart, causing it to rock. He gave me
a cheeky grin.

Matt climbed in the back, too. “Home, James,” he kidded.

I drove down the gravel driveway past the stable, which was full of horses from Lady
Elsmere’s farm boarding with us, while they built the new barn. I had checked my finances
last night and it looked as though I was going to be in the black this year with the
money from honey sales, the house tours and now the boarded horses. Some owners even
talked about bringing their second string of horses here as they could easily traverse
next door to use Lady Elsmere’s training facility but board horses with me at a fraction
of the cost. I was a very happy girl, indeed, that morning.

As I drove down the length of my farm, I was mentally calculating how much pasture
I needed when Meriah screamed. I nearly drove off the road.

“Something’s stung me,” she cried.

“A bee probably ran into you accidentally,” I responded, irritated that she was making
such a big fuss. Hearing a gurgling sound, I turned. Meriah’s face was turning red
and she was clutching at her throat.

“Matt. Matt!” I cried. “I think Meriah’s going into shock.” I slammed on the brakes.

Matt jumped off from the back and came round to where Meriah was sitting.

“Meriah?” he asked. He looked at me with fright. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Under the seat.” I started to tear off Meriah’s homemade get-up.

“WHERE?” cried Matt.

“Somewhere under the seat! Hurry, Matt. She’s gagging.”

Matt pushed Meriah’s legs over and peered under them. “Found it.” He threw the kit
on the ground and rummaged around until he found an Epi-pen. Since he had used these
on me due to my asthma, Matt knew exactly what to do. He thrust the pen to her thigh
where he pushed down on the plunger. It immediately sent adrenalin into her system.
Apparently Meriah was highly allergic to insect venom. Without adrenalin, she would
be gone in minutes.

Meriah started to breathe again although somewhat raggedly. Matt jumped back in the
cart as I raced towards the barn. There Matt jumped out and carried Meriah to Shaneika’s
car in front of the barn. I told Malcolm, Charles’ grandson, to tell Shaneika what
had happened and that we took her car as she always kept the keys in it at the farm.
Within seconds, I was flying down Tates Creek Road with Matt holding Meriah in the
back seat.

Malcolm had called the hospital and they were waiting for us at the emergency door
with a gurney and a doctor. Matt followed Meriah inside while I went to park the car
and tidy up. My hands where shaking as I looked for some rags or an old towel as Meriah
had vomited in the back. I certainly did not want to return the car in its present
state. I found a thin battered roll of paper towels and cleaned the back seat somewhat.
Opening the back hatch, I began to look for a paper bag to put the towels in. In my
haste to find something, I knocked over a small stained cardboard box of files. “Hell’s
Bells,” I whispered under my breath. “I’m so clumsy.”

Gathering the files, I tried to stack them and put them back in the box. That is when
I saw a thick file with my daughter’s name on it. Being me, I opened the file and
read it.

Twenties minutes later, I was finished.