Death By Drowning (17 page)

Bette Ann’s eyes brightened. “I know. We can have a fundraising dinner at June’s house celebrating your mystery and Josiah’s new cookbook. Do you think she’d let us?”

“If it means getting her name in the paper, then I would say yes,” I said.

“Then you’ll do it. I can use the cookbook as a premium gift for my station’s fundraiser. It will be great.” Bette Ann clapped her hands together. “Please say yes, Josiah. I’ll never say another rude thing to you again.”

“Yes, you will,” I laughed. “But I will give the cookbook some serious thought.”

“I knew I could talk you into it,” said Bette Ann smugly.

“Yes, yes, you’ve got the touch,” Meriah said, pouting her lips. “Let’s go. I’m late for my other appointment and you’re driving.” She pulled Bette Ann up from her chair. “Sorry to run,” said Meriah, “but I’ve got to go.” She gave an annoying look at Bette Ann. “Move it.”

Bette Ann mouthed “call me” as she was being pushed out the door.

“I wonder where those two are going and what they’re up to?” I said to myself.

Jake wandered over. “Get what you need and let’s go. We’ve made ourselves very conspicuous.” By that he meant I had made us conspicuous. It made his job harder. I could tell that the stress of being bodyguard, doctor, cook and bottle-washer was starting to get to Jake. He had asked my daughter for more help besides Cody, but she couldn’t afford it. Jake was stuck.

I quickly picked out books on local wineries and a book with detailed maps of the Kentucky River. Jake paid for them and hurried me out the door before I could talk with Wyn Morris, the owner.

For once I didn’t argue. Jake had gone out on a limb for me and I was not going to repay him back by being difficult. I knew what he was thinking. Was O’nan alive? Was he watching us now? Were the both of us going to get a bullet in the back? That would put anybody on edge. O’nan was an excellent marksman. He had won many awards for his shooting ability. A headshot was not out of the question.

Maybe I should just go away on my own. I was risking people’s lives. Jake and Cody were paid to take risks, but not Franklin, Matt or Shaneika. Shaneika had already had the good sense to leave. I knew I could talk Franklin into not coming around, but not Matt. Matt would stay with me through thick and thin, no matter what. Maybe when my daughter came home, she could talk Matt into leaving until this thing with O’nan was over. Matt could stay in town with Franklin. I sank back into my car seat. I felt better. When my daughter came home, she would rework the scenario. She would get O’nan for me, if he had survived.

19

Regardless of what was going on in our personal lives, the animals needed tending to, and that also meant the bees. The nectar flow was so heavy I was afraid that the hives were becoming honey bound, which meant that the frames were filled with honey where the queen needed to lay eggs. It was tedious to go through the hives to switch out the nectar-filled frames or move them about in the hive. It took a long time and I couldn’t handle the strain of working the hives anymore.

Jake absolutely refused to let me teach him. He wouldn’t admit it but he was afraid of the bees and Matt simply didn’t have the time anymore. So I had to call Larry and ask for help. Being the guy that Larry was – he came the next day.

I put on my bee veil over a sweatshirt and followed Larry into the different bee yards in my electric golf cart where I got as close as I could to the hives.

“You want me to kill the queen cells?” asked Larry taking his hive tool to a peanut-size queen cell.

“No, I never kill the young queens,” I cautioned. “I just let nature take its course.”

“Gonna cost you bees in swarming.”

“That’s why I’ve got swarm boxes all over the farm.”

“Those things never work,” scoffed Larry. He gently pulled out a frame heavy with brood and honey, bringing it over for my inspection. The queen was laying a good brood pattern. We both grunted our approval.

He pulled out another frame, which was nearly capped with beeswax. “Looks like you are going to have to harvest soon, Josiah,” he said inspecting the hive body frame. “I bet there’s three pounds of honey on this frame alone.”

“Can you help me with the harvesting, Larry? I’ll give you an eighth of my honey if you will.”

“Skinflint. I’ll take a third.”

“No doing. Instead of robbing the hives, you’re robbing me.”

“Okay. Okay. A fourth of the total harvest.”

“Done.”

Larry got in the golf cart and pulled off his bee veil fishing for something to drink, while I drove over to Lady Elsmere’s farm where I kept more hives. I parked on a small ridge overlooking her estate so we could admire her antebellum house and Thoroughbred mares and their colts munching contently on the bluegrass.

“Those look like Standards over there,” remarked Larry.

“June is getting into show horses now as well.”

He whistled. “She must have shitloads of money.”

“She lost a lot of money when the stock market went south. I think she’s only worth about twenty-five million now and most of that is tied up in property.”

“Ahhh, I feel sorry for June,” grinned Larry, bringing up a water bottle to his mouth. “Just a couple of mill in the old checking account?”

“Larry, have you heard anything in the spook gossip world about what happened here?”

He sighed. “I was never a spook. A spook is a spy like a CIA field operative. I was a FBI agent. ‘Was’ is the key word – now being retired.”

I nudged his arm. “Aw come on. Shell out,” I said knowing that he liked 40’s slang.

Larry was silent for a long time and then spoke in his serious low voice. “Josiah, I am very fond of you, but you always pitch a curve at me. Okay, here’s the skinny. After what happened at the barn, I ameched a buddy of mine still working the Bureau. I wanted a profile on O’nan. Some strings were pulled and O’nan’s files were sent to him. It was astonishing.” He turned to look at me. “None of this was your fault. If it hadn’t been you, something else would have surely triggered O’nan to climb in your pocket. O’nan was a bad egg from the beginning. He should have never been allowed into any type of law enforcement. O’nan was obsessive compulsive with a narcissistic attitude accompanied by a nice strain of paranoia. Add a nasty temper to that and you’ve got a bad ass on your hands if you ruffle his feathers. He was smart, attentive to details, and he turned to the dark. You’ve got a real problem on your hands if he is still alive. The only way for this to be resolved is if one of you is dead.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“What’s the daughter doing about this?”

“She’s got people looking for him 24/7, but that didn’t stop someone from paying George Frank to make my life miserable. Shaneika has pulled out.”

“I think that’s smart. You’re a walking bull’s-eye.”

“Thanks. Larry, would leaving town help?”

“He’d just shag you. Nope. You’ve got to be smart. If he’s alive, make him come to you.” Larry pointed a finger at me. “Now I’ve come clean as a peeled egg. That’s all I can say. Trap him and make it stick with the law.”

It’s no easy thing to be told you have to kill a man and that’s what Larry was telling me. I didn’t think O’nan had died and he was not going to tire of chasing me. I was his obsession now and the only way to get rid of him was to put him in the ground. I didn’t know if I could live with the guilt of trapping and killing a man. Maybe I would just let him kill me. What was moral? What was right? What was doable? I would think about that tomorrow. But then things changed later. They usually do.

I answered the phone at 10 p.m. as I usually did.

“I’ve got some good news.”

“Can’t you say ‘Hello Mother, how was your day?’ ”

As usual she ignored me. “I had a buddy of mine at Homeland Security put O’nan’s picture in the facial recognition software and they got a positive hit. It seems like the heat was too much for O’nan since his friend squealed on him, and he boarded a plane for Brazil.”

“So he’s alive.”

“Maybe. That software is not 100% accurate.”

“No extradition in Brazil still?”

“We have a treaty with Brazil, but they are very lax about it unless it suits their agenda. I’m sending a guy down to confirm it, but I’d say things can ease up a little bit. We’re very close to confirming that O’nan’s alive.”

“Where’s he getting his money?”

“I haven’t discovered that yet, but I’m working on it.”

“Coming home soon?”

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

Then that awful click.

“Gotta go. Love you.” And then silence.

20

My daughter reported that no trace of O’nan could be found and the Bluegrass area was scoped again. Nothing. Since we had reason to believe that the immediate danger was over for a short while, Jake took a few needed days off. But I felt encouraged when he left. I could not become dependent on a bodyguard nor anyone else. I was going to become as self-reliant as possible. Besides, I couldn’t think when Jake was around. He seemed to fill the house with his voice, his smell and his physical presence. I found myself doing what he wanted just to please him. Now, really – does that sound like me?

Cody had come back and settled in, much to his chagrin. He was much easier to manage than Jake. Needing to take more control, I talked Cody into letting me drive to the mall. I gave him the doctor’s written notification that I could drive within certain parameters. The fear of my having seizures was over.

Again, I had to check in every half hour. I had to be home within two hours. I had to stay where there were people around. Blah, blah, blah.

It’s not that I had any intention of being bad. It’s not that I had the intention of making either Jake or Cody angry. It’s not that I had any intention of lying. It’s that I had the intention of taking those steps towards liberty without anyone’s permission. I felt it was my duty to be independent, to be self-reliant if I could. I knew the past year had been a strain on my daughter – both emotionally and financially. Matt had driven himself into depression with countless hours of work and worry. My problems had become a wedge between him and Franklin. I was becoming emotionally attached to Jake, which I’m sure was unwelcomed. Don’t all women become besotted with their protectors? I needed to speed up the recovery process so I could set everyone free. And I needed to find out what had happened to Jamie. Something drove that 15-year-old boy out on the river in the middle of the night. What was it?

I pulled carefully out of the driveway, but instead of heading for town, I turned the other way and headed for the ferry. Within fifteen minutes, I was safely across the river and speeding towards Richmond. Once in Richmond, I looked at the sweaty piece of paper that Sarah had given me. I took out a map and checked for the street. Assured that I knew where I was going, I pulled out into the busy Richmond traffic on Main St. Seeing the street I needed, I turned sharply, much to the irritation of the gentleman behind, who gave me the single-finger dance. I traveled for another several miles before I came to my destination. I pulled the car up to the church, so close I touched its wall with my bumper. Oops! Still a little shaky at this driving.

Grasping my city stick, I walked up the handicapped walkway and entered the church by the side door. The church secretary, who had heard the old-fashioned bell on top of the door, met me. Apparently the bell was their only security measure. I must have not looked threatening as she readily told me where to find Ison Taggert . . . but not before I had a long talk with her. Her name was Mrs. Bell and she was old as Methuselah. She told me some very interesting stuff when I related that the family had some questions about Jamie Dunne’s death. I love ancient nosy, talkative secretaries. They know everybody’s business. And if they are silly, shallow women, like Mrs. Bell, who felt the need to be important – why they will tell a stranger anything and everything. What luck for me. The telephone rang and she left me hardly breathing I was so excited about the information I had gleaned.

My left leg was starting to give me fits so I hit it with my fist. That sometimes calmed the muscle twitches. Worked like a charm, so I hobbled down a few steps to the choir practice room. There I found Mr. Taggert putting new choir robes on hangers.

“Mr. Taggert,” I said. “My name is Josiah Reynolds. I am a friend of Sarah Dunne’s.”

Ison Taggert was a tall man wearing the thick glasses of someone who had serious sight issues. He lifted his bifocals up on his nose to peer at me. There was a deep crease across his bridge. Turning his back on me, he fumbled with some hangers. “Really? Her son passed away several months ago and I don’t remember you at the funeral,” he said in a high unpleasant voice.

How dare he turn his back to me! This was odd behavior to a woman with a cane. Most Kentucky men would have offered a chair.

“I was incognito,” I smarted off. “Irene Meckler, Jamie’s aunt, has some questions about how he died and wanted me to help her find some answers. If you don’t mind, my visit will only take a few moments of your time.” I looked around for a chair. “May I sit down, please?”

“I don’t know how I can help you. I don’t even know that I should be speaking to you. Never seen you before. Is this Ms. Meckler a member of our church?” Taggert asked, pulling a robe out of its plastic packaging.

“I thought that Mrs. Dunne had called and told you that I might be stopping by one day.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

I didn’t understand this guy’s hostility towards me and his need to intimidate. Maybe he just didn’t like women. Maybe he didn’t like me. Maybe he was trying to stall because he was afraid of questions being asked. Maybe he was guilty of something.

He started to say something else, but I interrupted him. “Let’s cut the crap, okay. I’m going to get right to the point. I understand that you gave Jamie a vintage Farrah Fawcett poster – the real thing, not a knock-off.”

“What wrong with that?” Taggert said, hanging up another robe. He was avoiding eye contact.

“I never said anything was wrong with that. Just stating a fact. I would appreciate it if you would turn and face me.”

He turned with a sullen expression on his pasty face. The last guy who was hostile to me like this tried to kill me. I wasn’t taking my eyes of this s.o.b. for one second. If he took one step closer, I was going to crack his skull with my walking stick. I put my hand in my pocket and patted my taser before turning off the safety switch.

“Did he ever talk to you about his plans?”

“Like what?” He stood with his hand on his hip.

“How about plans to burn down a vineyard.”

“Of course not.”

“Then what did the two of you talk about? I have been told by several people that the two of you spent a good deal of time together.”

“Our conversations are confidential,” he smirked.

“Actually, they’re not, Mr. Taggert. I gotta tell you that this looks odd. I’m a sick woman trying to tie some loose ends for the dead boy’s mother and you are giving me attitude for no reason. Not to mention that you are in your forties and have never been married. No current girlfriend and you spend a lot of time with boys from your church. Classic.”

“Now see here,” he said, kicking a robe out his way. “I’m into girls. Don’t you start accusing me of something ’cause I’ll sue.”

“I see a middle-aged man who is a youth minister of a very conservative church wearing expensive jewelry, with dyed hair and capped teeth. You come across as less than sincere. In fact you drink too much and play the ponies.”

“How dare you make such accusations?”

“I’m just repeating what I was told,” I said, lifting my eyes to the ceiling.

He lifted his eyes as well and made the tattletale connection.

“Did you ever give Jamie some sex magazines?”

He paused.

“If you don’t start telling me something, I’m going to go the church’s superior and lay down some awful tales of innuendo. Now I want some answers. What did Jamie Dunne confide to you?”

Taggert hissed, “He was concerned about his mother. She had financial worries that he felt the Golden Sun Vineyard were responsible for.”

“You are lying. The Silver Creek Vineyard had no such financial worries.”

“I swear to you. I am telling you what he told me. He said his mother was in substantial debt.”

“What else?”

“That’s all.”

“Did you give him condoms? Try to bond with him over some dirty magazines?”

Taggert hesitated. His shiny forehead glistened with drops of sweat. “He wanted to know about sex. He was curious, so I counseled him.”

“By giving him dirty magazines with twisted images? That’s not your job. You’re a youth minister. That is all that you are.”

“You’re wrong. This church does not address the concerns of its youth. It is way behind the times. I am the only one person that these boys have to talk with. They have no one else.”

“Did you give Jamie Dunne condoms?”

“No, of course not.”

“His partner said he got them from someone in this church. I think that person was you. Whether you did or not, I am going to speak with the pastor.”

“Look, if you do that, these young people will just learn off the street. If Jamie was given condoms, it was by someone who was looking out for him. Trying to protect him.”

“Jamie was fifteen years old. He had no business being inducted into adult sex by a church figure whose job it was to insulate him from such conduct. Look, I’m not an old fuddy-duddy. I understand how the world works, what drives us as human beings. I know we are programmed to reproduce, but you have no idea the problems that have been caused by you giving Jamie the green light to have sex. He got a young girl pregnant and now her life is going to be painful no matter what she decides to do about this baby.”

“You can’t prove anything. I’ll sue you.”

“I’ve got those magazines and a condom wrapper. And now I am going to tear his room apart to find more. If I find one of your sweaty fingerprints on those magazine pages, then I am going to turn it over to the police. You’ll have a hell of a time – it’s called corrupting a minor. Then I’m going to ask them to reopen his file. Perhaps, Jamie was going to tell on you and you killed him to keep him quiet. You would have lost your position – everything. You would have been disgraced.”

Taggert stumbled towards me and gasped. “You can’t be serious. His death was an accident. I . . . I’ll take a lie detector test; anything, but I had nothing to do with that boy’s death. I loved him. I would never have harmed him. I may be many things, but I did not hurt that boy or cause his death.” He began choking, “Don’t you . . . dare suggest that. Don’t you dare!”

He grabbed his left arm and fell back upon a chair with a thud. A thick sweat broke out upon his brow. “I think I’m having a heart attack,” he rasped.

Alarmed, I hobbled over to the stairwell to call the secretary, but Mrs. Bell had already called 911 as she had been listening as I suggested. I hurriedly unbuttoned Taggert’s shirt and pants. The secretary shuffled as fast as she could with a blanket. We both waited holding Taggert’s hands until the ambulance came.

“I’d better go with him,” Mrs. Bell said, practically smacking her dry lips. I could see her already rehearsing the story and deciding who to tell first.

“What you need to do is call your pastor and the both of you search Taggert’s office or any place that would be good for hiding things. If you don’t and this guy has really has had a heart attack, then you, the church and I can be sued by this creep.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, “Oh goodness. We don’t want that. What shall be we be looking for?”

“You’ll know it when you find it, but I would check his computer, desk and his car. I would even pull the paneling from the wall. Look up in the ceiling. And make sure you don’t get your fingerprints on what you find. Or he could say it was yours to begin with. I’ll go to the hospital and let you know how he’s doing.”

“Oh dear, this is all so alarming.” Mrs. Bell gave me a look that told me she regretted confiding in me. She knew Ison was a creep, but at least it had been calm before I walked into their quaint little church. Too bad was how I looked at it.

I checked in at the emergency room telling them that I was Taggert’s aunt and was allowed into his cubicle. I peeped between curtains and, seeing he was not there, took the opportunity to search his pants, which were hanging on a chair. But I just found change, twenty-three dollars and his car keys. Hoping that Mrs. Bell had had more success, I called the church.

Mrs. Bell answered.

“Find anything yet?” I asked crossing my fingers.

“I’ll let you talk to the pastor,” she replied, muffling the phone.

“Uh oh,” I thought. I hoped I wasn’t going to be scolded.

“Hello, who’s this?” asked an authoritative deep bass voice.

“Mrs. Reynolds, who is this?”

“This is Brother Morris. How are you connected to our youth minister?”

I gave him a brief rundown on how I had been asked to look into Jamie Dunne’s death and my theory on who had given the boy the dirty magazines and condoms.

“So you see it was just a process of elimination. His reaction was hostile from the get-go. No one else was like that. It has to be him. Did you find anything?”

There was a slight pause.

“Brother Morris. Please don’t cover anything up. If you have found something, then you have a wolf among your sheep. It will cause you nothing but grief if you try to put a lid on this, because I’ll be behind you stirring the pot.”

He took a deep breath. “You will keep this confidential until the church can formulate a plan of action?”

“Yes sir.”

“We found church property in the trunk of his car and several boxes of condoms in his locker.”

“He can say those condoms are for his use.”

“Either way, it’s bad. Our church doesn’t approve of pre-marital sex. We don’t hire staff who won’t abide by our policies. We called in one of our members to go over the church computers and a locksmith to unlock his car.”

“That is an illegal search on his car.”

“The church financed the car for him and the loan has not been paid off yet – so technically, the church owns the car. Also one of our members is an officer on the Richmond police force. He is on his way over – in an unofficial capacity, of course. Some other members are going through his office and choir room searching. Once they report back to me, I will call the deacons of the church and together we will decide what to do.”

There was static on the phone. He was pacing as he talked. “This is most unsettling. Most unsettling,” Brother Morris said.

By this time, I had walked back into the emergency waiting room while talking on the cell phone. A nurse motioned for me to turn my phone off. “Just make sure that whatever is found, you are very careful handling it. You don’t want your fingerprints on anything or else it can turn on you.”