Address for Murder Read online

  The bike had a wire basket on the front filled with various bright colors of yarn balls. Tin flower holders filled with yarn flowers in the colors of spring hung off the bike’s back wire shelf. She had made at least eight butterflies of different sizes out of yarn and hung them with fishing wire from the ceiling. The sight was amazing.

  “Thank you. I spent a lot of time on it because I didn’t want to have Carla on my back like she’s been doing to all the neighbors.” Leotta rolled her eyes. “How is Julia’s blanket coming along?”

  “I forgot all about that. I don’t know.” Over the past couple of months, Leotta had kept asking me about a blanket Julia, my daughter-in-law, had been making in one of Leotta’s knitting classes. “I’ll be sure to ask when I see her this morning.”

  As the mail carrier of most of the businesses in Sugar Creek Gap, I tended to see everyone every day, including my parents, who owned Wallflower Diner, and Julia, the secretary for Tabor Construction.

  The bell over the shop door dinged. A few women with a bag filled to the top with yarn and knitting needles sticking out headed straight to the next room, where Leotta taught classes, and sat their bags down on the table.

  “Good morning, ladies. Are you ready for class?” Leotta turned her attention to them while I headed out the door and got back on the sidewalk, where I quickly delivered mail to Tranquility Wellness, the locally owned spa and yoga studio.

  I always gave myself a good minute while I was in there to take a few deep breaths, since the place smelled so good, even though I knew the perfect spa smell that made me feel all zen was chemically made and piped into the ventilation system.

  But it was the smell of my mom’s freshly made biscuits that really made me feel at home when I walked into the Wallflower Diner.

  It was a typical diner with metal tables and red vinyl metal chairs that took up the interior flooring. They had saltshakers filled with salt and a few pieces of elbow macaroni—which kept the salt fresh, according to my mom—along with matching pepper shakers. They also had fresh cream on the tables for the coffee drinkers. A small bud vase with a plastic red rose and the menu pushed between the bud vase and shakers.

  “There’s my baby girl.” My dad waved me over to the counter, where he was having his morning meeting with the local men who gathered there every day.

  “Y’all solving all the world’s problems?” I asked and pulled my mail bag around to my front so I could get the diner mail out. I handed it to my dad.

  “Just trying to figure out what we are going to do with Carla.” Dad nodded swiftly over to the few tables that’d been pushed together. “She’s over there telling them they need to go door to door in all the neighborhoods to make sure everyone has a flyer in their window and their yards all dolled up with flowers.”

  Carla was over there with what looked like the members of the beautification committee.

  “Hi, dear.” Mom walked out of the kitchen pass-through, rubbing her hands off on the apron tied around her waist. “How are you this morning?”

  “I’m good, Mom.” We hugged and kissed cheeks. “How about you?”

  “You know, kneading the dough.” She winked and grabbed a ceramic mug from behind the counter. In one fluid motion, she’d set the mug down in front of me and already started to pour me a cup of coffee. “Go on. Sit down. Warm up your bones. It might look nice outside, but there’s still a chill in the air, and I can’t have you catching cold.”

  I was never one to protest against my mom. She always won.

  “And I’ll get you a fresh biscuit.” She didn’t even bother letting me decline the biscuit. She headed straight back into the kitchen and soon came back with a golden-brown biscuit topped with a pat of butter that was melting faster than she could set it down in front of me. “Tell me what you’ve been up to,” she said and leaned on the counter, like we didn’t see each other a few times a day.

  “Same thing as last time I saw you.” I picked up the biscuit and took a bite. “Can I get a few biscuits to go? I want them for Mr. Macum.”

  “Put some arsenic in those biscuits. Then he won’t be the bane of my existence.” Carla came out of nowhere and nudged me with a giggle.

  “Carla Ramey, that’s not so nice,” I told her and looked into her black eyes to determine whether she was kidding or serious—or what even possessed her to say something so mean. “He’s a nice man.”

  “Nice man? He and I are at odds, and if we lose the Make Kentucky Colorful campaign, it’ll all be because of him.” She put her money and food bill on the counter next me. “Mark my words.”

  “You know that old washtub leaning up on the side of his house?” One of my dad’s friends leaned on his forearms to look down the counter from the stool he was sitting on. He continued, “That was my old washtub from five years ago.”

  “Mmm-hhhmm.” Carla’s lips pinched. “He picked up any old thing when he was picking up trash, but now that he’s retired, he needs to clean up that yard. I can’t tell you how many times the city has cited him.”

  “From what I heard, he picks up just enough not to be in violation.” The man shrugged and picked up his coffee cup to take a drink. “No problem to me. He ain’t hurting no one.”

  “His hoarding is hurting my legacy. I’ve spent my entire life for this community, and here is my last hurrah to get some sort of award before I retire. I’ll be dang sure it won’t be Lee Macum who keeps me from it.”

  Carla turned on the toes of her shoes and stalked straight out of the diner, leaving me, Mom, Dad, and a few others shaking our heads until the door shut.

  THREE

  There would not be enough cups of coffee or time spent at the diner to stall the next stop on my route—Tabor Architects, owned by Mac Tabor.

  Mac was Richard’s best friend and had taken great interest in making sure my family had been well taken care of since Richard’s death. Mac had also gone to great lengths to ensure Richard’s long-time affair and possible love child had been kept a secret even after the ten years of Richard’s death. Lucky for Grady and me, the child Richard’s lover had wasn’t his, and it was a chapter in my life I’d completely let go of, but Mac hadn’t.

  Mac was still a big part of the community and my life. It didn’t help that we had an obvious attraction to one another. Over the past couple of months, we’d been tiptoeing around it when we were together. Though the feelings were there, and other people had even commented on them, we’d yet to make good on them and pretended all the little things he did for me were just part of his promise to Richard to keep Grady and me safe and happy.

  Richard even hired Julia as his secretary, not only paying her a hefty salary but giving her a nice insurance policy, stock options, and all the things he would to his own daughter-in-law.

  “I have a treat for you.” I took out one of the to-go bags my mom had given me for the various residents she loved to send biscuits to and put it on Julia’s desk. “Grandma sent a treat over to hold you until lunch. She said you rushed out of there.”

  Julia and Grady lived in the apartment over the diner, which was a nice arrangement, since they both worked close by.

  Grady was the English teacher and the head football coach at the Sugar Creek Gap High School. And now that football season was over, I got to see my baby more, and I loved that.

  “I had to get to work because Mac told Carla he’d help in any way he could.” Julia took the biscuit out of the bag and went to town on it. I’d never seen her eat so fast. “These are so good,” she said through a muffled mouthful of biscuit.

  “Mac’s not here?” I asked, feeling a little more relaxed.

  “No.” A big smile curled up on her face. “You just missed him. Carla ran in here and got him saying something about Lee Macum, Walter Ward, and the houses.”

  I knew exactly what she was talking about. Mac lived a few houses away from Lee Macum and recently purchased the two homes next to Lee’s home—one he was using Walter as a real estate agent to sell an
d the other he was working on as a rehab.

  “I wouldn’t put it past her to have Mac do something about his houses.” I took the mail for Tabor Architects out of my bag and handed it to Julia. “How are you?”

  “Me?” She jerked up and looked at me. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?” She seemed a little flustered or taken aback that I’d even ask such a thing.

  “I’m just checking on you. Grady’s been over a few times to the house without you, and he just said you’ve been tired from working.” I tossed my bag over my shoulder and noticed the bag of yarn and needles on the floor next to Julia’s desk.

  “I’m good. I’m fine.” She blew me off, knocking the bag under the desk with her shoe like I didn’t see it. She leaned around me to look at the door.

  “Hey, you.” Mac Tabor stood right behind me. His thick brown hair was perfectly styled. His big brown eyes danced as they moved around my face, and that smile… It sent my toes curling. “I was going to call you today. But here you are.”

  “Here I am.” I rocked back on the thick soles of my mail carrier shoes and felt like a complete idiot. I was a fifty-year-old woman feeling like a twenty-something looking at a crush.

  Since discovering Richard’s horrible affair, I’d long forgiven myself for these underlying feelings for Mac and actually given myself permission to feel them as long as the town didn’t know about them. I heard so much gossip on my route. I could only imagine what the gossip would be like if it was about me.

  “I’ve been wanting to try that new Italian place for supper. I wanted to know if you’d like to go with me tonight?” As he spoke, I could feel Julia’s stare behind me.

  “Tonight?” I asked as if I had something to do, which I did not.

  “Dinner tonight?” His smile reached the corners of his eyes.

  The door flew open, and Walter Ward walked in, saving me from the bumbling fool I felt like I was being—although Walter Ward wasn’t my favorite person in Sugar Creek Gap. In fact, Richard was no longer among the living, and Walter Ward quickly put his foot in my living room. Did I think he was giving me some sincere condolences? No, he was looking around assessing my home for a good market value because, according to him, I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the place.

  “We’ve got a problem.” Walter tapped Mac on the front of his shoulder. “Rats. I was showing your house to a potential client, and lo and behold”—Walter drew his arms open in front of him—“rats in the basement. Those buyers hightailed it out of there and couldn’t drive their car fast enough off Little Creek Road. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.” He smoothed a smudge of his mustache with a ring-laden finger.

  Even if he’d not set foot into my home hours after Richard had died, I still wouldn’t have trusted him. Lord knew I wasn’t one to judge, but I’d seen too many of my elderly neighbors either pass away or relocate to the nursing home, only for Walter Ward to show up seconds later… like an ambulance chaser.

  “Rats?” Mac suddenly went into business mode as I’d seen him do so many times. “Where are they coming from?”

  “You really need to ask that?” Walter suddenly noticed me. “Bernadette,” he greeted me. “Did I interrupt something?” He looked between Mac and me.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “You sure did,” Mac said over me. “I was just asking Bernie to supper at the new Italian place.”

  “Oh yeah. Me and the missus went. So good.” Walter licked his lips as if he remembered. “The rats?” He looked at Mac.

  “Just take care of it,” Mac told him.

  “I’ll go take care of it, and tomorrow you have those flowers there and ready.” He pointed at Mac. “Not only will they make the house look pretty, it’ll keep Carla Ramey off my back. She’s been over there fussing about Lee’s house and beating his door down. His poor dog has been barking all day at her, but she keeps showing up.”

  “What is Lee saying to her?” Mac asked. When I took a few steps to head back to my mail route, he stuck his hand out and gently touched my forearm for me to wait a second. He looked at me and smiled.

  “He won’t open the door. He keeps pulling the blind back and eyeballing her with one eye.” Walter’s visual made me laugh only because I’d been on the receiving end of that eye when I delivered his mail or when he got a certified letter. “I’ll go fix the problem.” Walter made his statement sound like code talk before he headed out of the office.

  “How about if I pick you up and we go pick out a few flowers then go eat.” He could see my hesitation and started to talk some more. “I need a woman’s touch. What do you say?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” I smiled and couldn’t help but see Julia’s great big grin from the corner of my eye.

  I couldn’t get out of there any faster.

  As I took in some deep breaths and saw the signs of spring on the horizon, it didn’t take long for my heart rate to go back to normal and for me to get into the delivery mail groove. The winter months were long in Kentucky, and they really didn’t clear up for another month or so, but the trees were showing signs of buds on their otherwise bare branches, and some green stems sprang up through the mulch in my clients’ yards.

  But the biggest sign that spring was coming was from my duck friend who lived on the bridge that connected my route from Short Street to Little Creek Road. He was there all year long but was more active in the creek that ran between the backs of the downtown shops and the Little Creek Road neighborhood.

  Quack, quack. He greeted me with his usual duck tone and swam around in a couple of circles until I stopped at the middle of the bridge. I swear he knew it was me from the sound of my big-soled mail carrier shoes. We weren’t required to wear these shoes, but they were made for a reason. They had good padding, and trust me when I tell people just how much mail carriers’ feet and toes take a beating. It’s ugly, and a good pedicure does nothing for them.

  I reached around and grabbed one of the few biscuit boxes my mom had given me, and I quickly pinched a piece off for the duck. It was probably something Carla Ramey would just drop dead and die if she saw because she’d say it was bad not only for the duck but also for the creek.

  “You gotta live a little,” I told my duck friend when I tossed the piece of biscuit over the bridge and right in front of him. “A little bit of bad food isn’t going hurt.” I reached around for the rest of the biscuit. “See.” I stuffed the rest in my mouth.

  He gobbled it up and did his usual laps until he headed down the creek, which was where he’d meet me again for another little pinch of whatever I had in my bag. Little Creek Road was a dead-end street with nine houses along the right side. Looking down the street, I saw they all stood like soldiers with their uniform fences, gates, small front yards with sidewalks up the middle, and three steps up to covered brick porches with half-brick walls.

  At each end of the street was a bridge. The bridge at the very end of the dead end connected to Main Street but was only a walking bridge. After I delivered the mail to the nine houses, I met my duck friend for one last hurrah for the day and then headed over the bridge to the post office, where I picked up my last loop and started on the longest part of my route.

  The first house on Little Creek Road belonged to Mac Tabor. Just thinking about him and our… well… date was probably not what he had in mind, but technically it was dinner, so we would just call it that. Anyway, thinking about it made me jittery, so I took another deep breath and blew out a long stream of air out of my mouth.

  I put my hand on the latch of his gate and clicked it open. Mac generally didn’t get a whole lot of personal mail, but he did get various architecture magazines. All the mailboxes were built into the brick wall near the front door of each house.

  Sugar Creek Gap was built around the Old Mill, which was founded in the old mining days. Some of these houses were built way back then and were protected by the Sugar Creek Gap Historical Society, of which I was a member, and it was an act of Congress to get anything approved if
you wanted any sort of renovations on your house. The historical society was one thing Mac would complain about as an architect, but on the flip side, she loved how they built back in the day.

  When the two houses next to Mr. Macum came up for sale, Mac had bought them. He did all the due diligence and filed the various permits to get the historical society to rehabilitate the inside without hurting the structure.

  The one next to Mr. Macum was all ready to sell, and Walter Ward was the realtor for that one. The other was two doors away from Mr. Macum, and he’d not yet finished it. Some of his permits had yet to come back, so I was sure that was why.

  I dropped my mail bag and dug out his mail, pushing it through the slot.

  “Mornin’, Bernie!”

  I glanced up and saw Harriette Pearl waving from next door. She had her fluffy mint green house coat tightly snuggled around her thick waist. Her hair was still in curlers, and she held a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “Anything good for me today?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” I tugged my bag up on my shoulder and made my way out of Mac’s yard, happy for the distraction of Harriette’s conversation and temporarily forgetting about my dinner with Mac.

  “I’m hoping to get an invitation to Zeke Grey’s bridal shower he’s hosting for his soon-to-be-granddaughter-in-law. I heard they went out a couple of days ago,” she said and moved to the top step of her porch to wait for me.

  “Oh. That’s delightful. I’d not seen any signs of an invitation today.” I walked up the sidewalk and the steps. I put the mail bag down to retrieve her stack of mail. “It’s unusual for a granddaughter to have a bridal shower, much less for a man to host it.”

  “Let me grab you a coffee.” Harriette didn’t bother letting me protest. Getting me something to drink was her usual activity depending on the time of day and the time of year. She seemed to enjoy keeping me hydrated. “I’ll tell you all about it. Not that I’m gossiping or anything.”

  If it were a little hotter, she’d have a thermos full of ice-cold sweet tea, but today there was still a bit of chill in the morning air from the change in seasons.