Leave No Stone Unturned (A Lexie Starr Mystery, Book 1) (7 page)

I woke up feeling refreshed the following morning, but still I didn't feel quite ready
to begin delving into the mysterious disappearance and death of Clay's former wife.
My procrastination tendencies were kicking in full force.

When I'd registered the previous day, Harriet hadn't mentioned the "breakfast" half
of her B&B services. It was only 7:45, but I thought maybe I could catch her up and
about and talk her out of a cup of coffee. I needed a fix for my caffeine addiction
before I did anything else.

As I walked down the stairs, I heard lively music coming from the kitchen and recognized
the tune as "Brick House" by The Commodores. I walked toward the sound of the music
and found Harriet dancing and cleaning out the bottom of a large birdcage at the same
time. It was an amusing and endearing sight.

"Morning," came a high-pitched greeting that was barely discernible over the loud
music. "Morning, sweetie," the voice repeated. I looked up and saw the red tail of
an African gray parrot as it flitted behind a large kettle atop the refrigerator.

Harriet flicked off the radio and turned toward me. "Morning, sleepyhead. Say hello
to Sinbad." She gestured toward the parrot.

"Good morning, Harriet," I said. "Good morning, Sinbad. You sure are a pretty thing."

"Ah, horseshit," Sinbad responded as he paced back and forth across the appliance.
"Horseshit, horseshit. Shut up, nasty thing. Sinbad's a bad boy, a bad boy. Damn bird."

Harriet snapped her towel at the foul-mouthed parrot and muttered, "Damn nasty-mouthed
bird." It was easy to see from whom Sinbad had learned his colorful vocabulary.

"Did you sleep well, sweetie?" Harriet asked me. She gave me a cup from the cup rack
and pointed toward a percolator on the stove.

"Oh yes, I slept like a log," I said. "Just need a shot of coffee to wake me up."
I poured what appeared to be half coffee and half coffee grounds into a coffee cup
labeled "Lady Luck Casino." I could easily picture Harriet slamming quarters into
a slot machine and cussing like Sinbad when it didn't pay out.

I took a swallow of coffee and almost spat it out across the kitchen floor. I was
wide awake instantly. This coffee even made the espresso I normally drank seem weak
and vapid. After a few sips of Harriet's stout coffee, I'd be bouncing off the walls.
It had to have been brewing for a long time. Harriet must have gotten up hours ago,
I decided.

"Good, that's good. I was just thinking I otter go up and put a mirror under yer nose
to see if you's still breathing," Harriet said. "Breakfast is served at six 'round
here. I made your breakfast fer ya but tossed it out after a spell when ya didn't
show up."

"Oh, Harriet, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize..."

Did Harriet forget she hadn't told me about breakfast, or did she just assume that
everyone got up at the crack of dawn for a six o'clock feeding? With a sweep of her
hand, Harriet waved off my apology. "S'okay, I knew ya had a long day yesterday, so
I let ya be lazy and sleep in late. But after this, be down here at six fer breakfast.
Ya hear?"

Oh my! I had gone and enlisted in boot camp! I'd have to set my alarm for five-thirty
to be dressed and down in the kitchen by six. I didn't get up at five-thirty even
if Ed McMahon and the prize patrol were at my front door, and much less for breakfast.

"Horseshit," Sinbad squawked. He'd taken the words right out of my mouth.

"Sure, Harriet. No problem," I said. I couldn't hurt this nice lady's feelings. She'd
already wasted one breakfast on me. I told myself that tomorrow I'd have my lazy butt
down at the kitchen table at six sharp.

"Sit down, girl," Harriet commanded. "I'll have yer plate ready in a jiff. Ya like
poached eggs on toast, don't ya?"

I could barely stomach poached eggs. I liked eggs cooked over hard or not at all.
But Harriet had already scrapped one meal because of me. I didn't feel like I could
be choosy at that point, and I had no desire to look like a prima donna in her eyes.
I felt I could tolerate runny eggs for one meal. If I could get Harriet's coffee down,
I could suffer through anything. "Love them, Harriet. Thanks."

"Just be a sec."

"No hurry. Has everyone else eaten?"

"There ain't no one else, sweetie. This time of year is usually perty slow. You be
my only lodger right now."

"Oh, I see. Well I love it here, and I'm so thankful I found your place on the Internet."
It was the truth, although I was beginning to have second thoughts.

"Yeah, me too. Like I say befer, business been perty slow. My son set that 'puter
deal up. Me, I don't do 'puters. Figure you can't teach an old dog new tricks," Harriet
said, as she set a plate down in front of me. There was enough toast and runny eggs
on the plate to feed a lumberjack, and I wasn't sure I could even get half of it down.
"Chow down, sweetie. Time's a'wasting."

I reluctantly shoveled spoonfuls of half-raw eggs mixed with soggy toast into my mouth,
knowing I was going to have to eat it all or be severely scolded for wasting perfectly
good food. At least I would save money on meals while I was here. I wouldn't be hungry
again until suppertime. If I ate like this all the time, I'd have to make room in
my closet for an extra-large wardrobe.

I noticed that Harriet was watching me intently, apparently waiting for my evaluation
of her cooking.

"This is wonderful, Harriet. Thanks."

"Ya like it, huh?"

"Yes, I sure do."

"Ya like it a lot?" Harriet asked, for more clarification.

"Oh yes, it's delicious." Please, Lord, don't let me upchuck on Harriet's table.

"Good, that's good. Ya want some peaches with that? They needs to be ate befer they
go bad," Harriet offered.

Befer they go bad? As good as that sounds, no thanks. No way, Jose. That's where I
draw the line. Poached eggs are one thing, but nothing on the verge of "going bad"
is going to cross these lips.

"Oh, no Harriet, I couldn't," I said. "There's more on my plate now than I can handle.
It's wonderful, but I've got to watch my weight, you know."

She eyed my thighs for a second and replied, "Yes, I guess yer right." Oh my, that
one hurt. Harriet shook her head as if she'd just spied a woman at her kitchen table
the size of a beached whale. I decided at that very moment that those pesky ten extra
pounds would have to be dealt with in the near future. I started to push my half-finished
plate away and grimaced as Harriet continued, "Oh well, them eggs won't hurt ya none,
so after ya clean yer plate, we'll sit out on the porch with our coffee, and I'll
tell ya what I know 'bout that little gal that got whacked by her old man."

* * *

There was a covered porch off the kitchen in the rear of the little inn that overlooked
the most chaotic flower garden I'd ever seen. There were at least a hundred different
kinds of flowers growing and scattered haphazardly about the backyard. It looked as
if the entire area had been tilled and a hundred bags of mixed seeds broadcast from
a hovering helicopter. There was a riot of color, but somehow it all resulted in a
very soothing effect.

Looking closely, I saw a single tomato plant in the back corner, one bell pepper plant
near the steps leading down from the porch, and in the very middle of the backyard
was a solitary pumpkin. It was by far the largest pumpkin I'd ever seen in my entire
forty-eight years. Harriet must have gone through a full gallon of Miracle-Gro on
that one plant alone.

"Big critter, ain't it?" Harriet commented when she saw me staring at the humongous
pumpkin.

"I'll say," I agreed. "If it had an antenna and a bud vase it could easily be mistaken
for an orange VW bug. You need to enter that monster in the county fair, Harriet."

"Reckon I otter. Won't be worth a tinker's damn to eat—that size and all. But I ain't
got the heart to whack it outta there. Maybe I'll make a jack-o'-lantern outta it
and put it on the front porch come Hallerween. Fer the kiddies, ya know."

"Oh, yes, you should, Harriet. If I'm still here, I'll help you carve it."

Harriet had pointed me to a hanging hammock-type chair swinging from the rafters of
the porch. Nestled in the seat was a green and white striped cushion. Harriet sat
down opposite the chair on an upside-down five-gallon bucket that looked like it had
been around as long as she had. There were spots where rust had eaten completely through
the metal.

"Harriet, let me sit there. You take the chair. You've been working this morning,
and I haven't," I said. I didn't want to imply I was offering the chair to her because
she was old. Despite her age, I was certain that Harriet could work circles around
me.

"Nah, rather sit here. Been sitting on this here bucket for years. Iffing I was to
git too comfy, I'd git lazy."

I plopped myself down into the chair and sighed. It was like sitting on a cloud. I'd
never sat in anything so comfortable in my entire life, and I could visualize myself
spending all my free time here in this very spot.

I opened my notebook. Pen in hand, I felt I resembled the freelance writer that I
was pretending to be.

"So, tell me, Harriet, what do you know about the Pitt case?"

"Well, ever body around here knows that the Pitt boy weren't no good. That much is
fer shore. He'd been running 'round on Eliza fer a long time, iffing ya ask me. Clay's
what they call a 'rounder' in these here parts. Likes to drink, fight, and pick up
trashy broads. Ain't seen him 'round in a spell, but he used to chase tail down at
that strip joint down the road, drunker than a skunk ever night. One night he got
tanked up and shot the weathervane off the top of the sheriff's house. Spent the weekend
in the slammer too, he did. Yes sir-ee! Shoulda left him there and thrown away the
key."

"Wow, he sounds like a real pillar of sobriety, er, society," I said.

Harriet ignored, or didn't understand, my pun, and kept talking. "He's meaner than
a snake too. Thumped his missus ever chance he got. Poor girl come awandering into
Mabel's hair store one day with a cracked tooth and a split lip. Said a softball smacked
her, but even that tongue-wagging, gossip hound, Mabel, knew that were a lie. Softball,
hell, covering fer that no 'count husband of hers was what she were doing."

"Did Clay know that Eliza was expecting their child?"

"Shore he did. That's what set him off, iffing ya ask me. Didn't want to be shackled
to the wife, much less no kid. That's why he did her in fer good, iffing ya ask me.
It weren't no surprise to no one, I can tell ya that fer shore. Don't know why them
damn silly cops ain't smart enough to see that. Says they ain't got no evidence. Why,
bloody hell, that split lip otter had been evidence enuff."

By this point I knew all I was going to get out of Harriet was her somewhat biased
and speculative opinion. It sounded more like rumor and supposition than a factual
accounting. Harriet hadn't told me one certifiable detail I could record in my notebook
yet, but she was looking at me quizzically, so I jotted down, "abusive, drunk, adulterer,
fighter, kid-hater." If nothing else, it seemed apparent that my son-in-law was not
very well respected in "these here parts."

I told Harriet that was all I needed to know at that point, but I would no doubt be
picking her brain more in the future. She seemed content with that. The hammock chair
was so comfortable and I felt I needed to get my bearings before I dove into a full-fledged
investigation, so I decided to take it easy the rest of the day and run over to the
police department tomorrow. I'd brought along the latest best seller and wanted to
sit on the porch, procrastinate, and read. I didn't want to think about what my son-in-law
might do to my daughter. It was only about sixty degrees out, but by the time Harriet
had finished talking, I had beads of sweat above my eyebrows.

I swiped the sleeve of my KU Jayhawks sweatshirt across my forehead and leaned back
to relax in this small slice of heaven I'd just discovered, while Harriet rushed down
to the yard to deadhead flagging blossoms off a patch of petunias.

Chapter 7

The alarm clock went off at five-thirty the next morning and nearly scared ten years
off my life. I was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep, but I could hear music
downstairs and knew Harriet was in the kitchen cooking breakfast for me. I didn't
want to disappoint her again, so I groaned and stretched, and grudgingly got up to
get dressed. I wasn't accustomed to eating early and really just wanted coffee. I
hoped Harriet was preparing a light meal, now that she knew I was watching my weight.
Not peaches, or anything else about to turn green and furry, but a toasted bagel or
a bowl of oatmeal wouldn't be too bad, even at the ungodly hour of six in the morning.