SIX

Once Paint left, I logged on to Udderly’s online store, printed new cheese orders, and created shipping labels. I startled when Eva tapped my shoulder. With the printer whirring, I didn’t hear her come up behind me. She grinned. “Just wanted to say goodbye.”

It was one of the days my aunt served as counselor at a domestic abuse shelter. Having been a victim herself, she was passionate about helping frightened, battered women.

“Won’t be home for supper,” she added, “but should be back in time for cake.”

“Since it’s a vegan recipe, I figured you were just being polite eating a slice this afternoon. I won’t force more down your throat. ”

Eva, a world-class champion of meat, eggs and butter, issued a deep-throated “grrrr”. I wasn’t quite sure how a human could sound so much like a cranky motor. The salute she gave me didn’t engage all of her fingers. I laughed.

“Love you, too.” My wave employed all my digits.

By supper time, I’d caught up on Udderly accounting and was indulging a guilty pleasure—reading a good murder mystery—while I noisily slurped my supper. I’d heated a bowl of my favorite homemade tomato basil soup. My manners took a vacation when I was by my lonesome, a condition I relished now that it was such a rarity. While I loved my aunt, living and working with her 24/7 sometimes wore me out.

Once the soup was all gone—okay, I licked the bowl—I cut myself a slice of cake and started a lengthy grocery list for my luncheon tasting. I’d almost finished when Mollye’s ringtone sounded.

“Hey, girlfriend, I’ve been thinking about our True Believer party crashers.”

As usual Mollye rushed into our conversation before I could eke out a hello.

“Remember Karen, the church secretary? Back in high school, we were buddies, sat side-by-side in homeroom. Maybe if we had a heart-to-heart Karen could intercede. She didn’t look like she was really into the protest. Maybe she could steer Susan toward a different missionary battle, say picketing that quack’s office on Lucky Lane. I hear the good doctor spits out a tree’s worth of opioid scrips a day.”

I took a deep breath and broke in on the rapid-fire monologue. “Not interested, Mollye. I’m with Eva. Susan and her followers will probably move on if we ignore them. Doubt they need our suggestions about alternate evil-doers to torment.”

“What could a little house call hurt?” Mollye cajoled. “Show Karen there’s no hard feelings. You know over spilt milk. You could take a hunk of your cake as a peace offering. Show her we’re normal folks who bake cakes when we’re not hoisting our butts in the air.”

“Like you’ve ever baked a cake.”

“Hey, just saying, you’re the one who’s always spouting off about the need for civil discourse,” she added, “bemoaning how people shout at each other and never listen.”

Mollye had a point. I did tend to yammer on, but talk is cheap. Ringing the doorbell of someone who thinks you’re in cahoots with Lucifer calls for a larger personal investment.

I mentally shrugged. Maybe making nice could pay off. “Okay, Moll. Guess there’s no harm in attempting a friendly conversation. I’ll bring cake. You talk.”

Thirty minutes later Mollye and I rendezvoused at Publix where I intended to shop after we delivered our peace offering. We could always beat feet if the church scribe answered the door with pepper spray in hand.

“The apartments are about six months old,” Mollye commented as I climbed in her van for the five-minute drive to Karen’s. “Still mostly vacant.”

The apartment complex consisted of four squat brick buildings, each fronted with a dozen uncovered parking spaces. Dead center in the quadrangle a small grassy square broke up the sea of concrete.

The back of Karen’s building butted up against undeveloped property. A sign declared it was earmarked for phase two of the complex. The developer must be convinced the flood of off-campus housing for Clemson University students would someday bring its high-tide here.

We entered the common hall inside Karen’s building. According to the central mail slots, she lived in 1-E, an end unit. She appeared to be the building’s sole occupant.

Mollye’s index finger was poised an inch above the doorbell when I asked, “Do we know if she has a roommate?”

Moll shook her head as she rang the bell. “She lives alone. Her husband was a real loser boozer. She finally kicked him out a couple months ago. Caught him in bed with some floozy. Good riddance, I say.”

I never ceased to marvel at how solidly Moll was plugged into the Ardon County rumor mill. Discovering Karen had recently booted a cheat made me feel a certain kinship with the woman. I recalled how sick I’d felt when I learned my fiancé—my ex-fiancé—was boinking two other women. He was among the reasons I’d been happy to depart Asheville when Aunt Eva asked me to help her manage Udderly Kidding Dairy for a spell. The unexpected death of Aunt Lilly, Eva’s twin and dairy partner, made it nigh impossible for her to run the farm alone.

Moll rang the buzzer and waited. No answer. My friend put her ear against the door—well as close as she could get it given her intervening collection of earrings. “I hear the TV. She’s got to be home.”

Mollye knocked. Waited a moment and knocked again. Then again. Without enough warning for me to stop her, she turned the knob and opened the door. It was unlocked. Risky for a woman living alone in a mostly vacant apartment complex.

“Yoo-hoo,” Mollye called as she stepped into the apartment. “Karen, are you home?”

I yanked on Moll’s billowy top. “Breaking and entering is illegal.”

“We didn’t break anything. We just entered.”

“Still not a good idea. We weren’t exactly invited. We probably shouldn’t surprise her.”

Mollye shook her head. “I’m worried. Maybe Karen fell down and hit her head or something. We need to make sure she’s all right.”

“Why not call Danny, you know your deputy sweetie?” I suggested. “We can wait outside till Danny or one of the other sheriff’s deputies can check on her.”

Naturally I was speaking to Moll’s back. While I hovered in the open doorway, she crossed the spartan living room with its blaring TV and disappeared down a hallway. “Karen?” she repeatedly called. “Karen, you here?”

Though reticent, I tiptoed after my friend. While I thought it was dumb to tramp through a stranger’s open apartment, I didn’t think Mollye should tramp alone. I’d just entered the hall when I heard Mollye gasp, “Oh, no. Lord in heaven, no.”

I ran toward Moll’s voice. She stood in front of a large bedroom closet, her back to me. “Don’t come any closer. Don’t touch anything. Karen’s dead.”

“You sure?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Moll answered. “You were right. I shoulda called Danny. Let’s go outside. I’ll call him now. You don’t want to see this.”

But, unfortunately, I did see. As Moll turned toward me, Karen’s crumpled body came into view, naked except for the long colorful scarf knotted around her neck. Her back sagged against the wall. Her legs splayed out in front of her. I imagined I could still read panic in the dead woman’s wide-open eyes.

My breath hitched. The poor woman. I wanted to scream. Instead I stood silently as tears pooled in my eyes. Mollye seized my arm and turned me away.

  

Sheriff’s Deputy Danny McCoy arrived in under five minutes with another Ardon County officer. They found Moll and me sitting in the apartment hallway on opposite sides of the door to 1-E.

Danny’d grilled Moll on the phone as he drove to the crime scene. Having heard all of her answers it didn’t take much brainpower to figure out his questions, which pretty much mirrored my own. He’d first asked if we were sure the woman was dead. Next he wanted to know how we got inside, and if we’d touched Karen or anything in her apartment.

“Only the front door,” Mollye’d answered. “I know how you feel about people who contaminate a crime scene,” she added rather peevishly. “And, no, if anyone else was here, they’re long gone.”

Was it a crime scene? Danny hadn’t asked Mollye her opinion of what caused Karen’s death.

After Moll ended her phone call and we began our floor-sitting vigil, I asked, “Murder?” I was no coroner but my guess was she’d been strangled.

“Well, it sure wasn’t suicide.” Moll answered without pause. “It’s been years since Karen and I hung out, but I know she loved her folks. If she’d wanted to hang herself, she’d have done so fully clothed. No way she’d subject her grieving parents to the added humiliation of finding her nude.”

I nodded. “So murder?”

“What else?”

Minutes after Danny arrived, he politely told us to scram. “Drop by the Sheriff’s Office in the morning to give a formal statement. Nothing more for you here.”

I was more than happy to follow his suggestion. Mollye seemed less thrilled about being shooed away. She didn’t utter a word on the short drive back to Publix.

“I’m so sorry Karen’s dead,” I said when we reached the parking lot. “I know you two had gone separate ways, but it’s still hard to lose an old friend, especially like this. I might not have seen eye-to-eye with her on religion, but she was way too young to die.”

Moll nodded. “Thanks. Right now, I don’t feel much like talking. I keep asking why. Maybe I’ll drop by Summer Place tomorrow afternoon. See if you need help with your tasting.”