If Catfish Had Nine Lives (Country Cooking School Mystery) (15 page)

I’d grown up in a family of fishermen. Both of my parents had instilled the ritual of waking me and Teddy up long before the crack of dawn to gather poles and worms—never anything but worms, back then, but I’d never tell Jerome that part—to take us out to a nearby crick, not creek, not pond, not lake, but crick. I’d never been all that thrilled to be awakened that early and dragged out of my comfortable bed for some family time, but I’d enjoyed it once we got there and dropped the lines. We’d always fished for catfish, and it was always an adventure.

There were giant catfish in the waters of Missouri. Some were hundreds of pounds. Literally. But we never went for that variety. We just fished for some good-sized “catters” that we could fry up at home.

This tradition had, however, begun with Gram when my dad was younger. Apparently, they spent many a morning drowning worms and catching those catters.

But the best part of fishing for catfish is, without a doubt, eating them. According to Gram, there was truly only one real way to cook catters: Fry them up in a cast-iron skillet over an open flame. It isn’t a difficult process, but it does take a little practice to get it right. Gram has had plenty of practice.

“Yeah, that’s the part I don’t like, the cleaning.” A gentleman in jeans, an embroidered red Western shirt, and an out-of-place light blue Bermuda hat stood closest to Gram, but the crowd was pretty big.

There was no doubt that the cowboy poetry convention’s party atmosphere probably wasn’t up to par with the celebration-filled bash it had been in years past, but Orly and his crew had found a way to infuse some lively spirit that wasn’t disrespectful to the murder victim.

One of the ways that he’d done this was to continue to spread excitement about Gram’s cooking demonstrations, about both the Dutch oven dishes and the frying demonstration. When the poets first heard that Gram was going to offer cooking lessons during the convention, enthusiasm built quickly. And after the success of the morning event, even if people weren’t interested in learning the techniques for frying the fish over a campfire, people were interested in seeing Missouri Anna in action, and they had gathered in appreciation.

I was always a little surprised by her still-rising celebrity. It caught me off guard when a fan asked for her autograph or for a photograph with her. Her cooking school’s reputation had only grown. The building itself and the cemetery next to it (if only the tourists really knew what was going on there) had become bona fide Broken Rope attractions.

“I agree. Tell me your name,” Gram said.

“Jed,” he said.

“I agree, Jed, but you get used to it after a while. And you get quick, too. You can clean and fillet a catter lickety-split, and you learn not to even pay attention to the cleaning part,” Gram said as she flung the catfish’s guts into a pail next to the small portable table and chair she was using.

“Oh,” Jed said. He attempted to smile.

“And then you slice here. Like that. And then here. Like that. And voilà, you have fish ready to fry.”

“Can this apply to any fish, Missouri?” Esther asked. She was on the other side of the crowd, and I’d seen her there but hadn’t had a chance to talk to her. I thought Jake would be happy to see her when he arrived.

I was again surprised by how the cowboy poetry crowd had continued to grow. Jim and Cliff had thought about not allowing any more visitors, but the logistics of such a ban were too difficult to seriously consider. They’d had Orly and a few of his crew keep track of names of new arrivals, and they checked with him constantly, apparently running names in their criminal databases to see if anyone suspicious joined the activities, or could no longer be found. It had to be a difficult task, added to all the other difficult tasks Orly was handling.

“Sure, you can fry any fish, but it’s hard to beat a fried catfish. Its flavor works perfectly with the breading and the spices. Speaking of which, the breading is made up of buttermilk, and then cornmeal, corn flour, garlic powder, some peppers and a dash of hot sauce.”

“Sounds too spicy,” Jed added.

“Try it. If it’s too much, you can always mellow the hot stuff, but I don’t recommend it. A little kick to your catter is the only way to go.”

“I see.”

Esther caught my eye and smiled and waved. I waved back.

“So there I’ve whisked together your buttermilk and hot sauce. That’s what’s in this bowl.” Gram pointed.

Gram was set up pretty close to the west campfire, which blazed hot but still under control. Orly had lit the fire according to Gram’s specific directions. A grill had been placed above the flames, and a skillet with about a quarter inch of oil filling its bottom sat on the grill. Gram had fried catfish so many times in her life that she knew about how high the flames needed to be to keep the oil at the right temperature. I’d never attempted to fry anything outside, but I knew that the oil would be about 350 degrees, and would remain close to that as long as Gram was in charge of the show.

Along with the small folding table in front of her where she’d displayed the proper way to clean and fillet the fish, there was also a cooler full of more fish being kept on ice. There’d be lots of fish fried this evening, but the duties would be turned over to a couple of the poets after Gram was done with her part of the demonstration. She’d watch everything else closely, though. If catfish were going to be fried by someone other than Gram, the cooks would at least be supervised by Ms. Missouri, Anna Winston, herself.

She took the fillet she was working with and slapped it down on a couple paper towels.

“You have to make sure the fillets are dry before you work with them,” she said as she wrapped and patted the fish. “And then drag the fillets through the buttermilk, and then the cornmeal and spices.” She dunked and then pulled the fillet through the buttermilk, lifting it when it was well covered and giving it a small shake to get rid of the excess, and then she dipped it in the cornmeal and spices, making sure both sides were coated. “Place it in the oil. Take care not to burn yourself. The oil can pop up and get you.”

Somehow Gram never burned herself.

“Hi,” a quiet voice said from behind me.

“Hi, Esther,” I said as I turned. She’d snuck around the crowd. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. You have a minute?” she said.

“Sure.”

So we wouldn’t disturb Gram’s demonstration, we moved away from the crowd. We stood next to a tent that had peace sign patches sewn into it and had probably been made in the 1960s.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Sure, everything’s fine,” she said. “I just wanted to . . . gosh, I have no idea how I managed to maybe get in the middle of something, but I might have, and I wanted to tell someone. Honestly, Betts, this has been a strange and kind of awful trip, but kind of good, too. I’ve appreciated Jake’s research, and he’s such a sweetie, but the murder has made everything so scary, and I just heard that your brother was the one who got beaten up and I wanted to talk to you about that.”

I was glad to be getting the information without having to be the one to ask the questions first. “Yes, his name is Teddy. Did you see what happened?”

“Not really. No, not when he was being beaten, but I saw some other stuff before that that I’ve been thinking I should tell the police, but I’m kind of scared.”

“Are you scared of the police?” I asked. “You don’t need to be.”

“No, I’m scared of what might happen to me if I talk to the police about what I saw. I was hoping to tell you and between the two of us we can figure out how to get the information to them.”

I nodded. “Certainly.”

“The night that your brother was beaten—as I already told you, I did see him. I’d seen him around for a couple days. He seemed to be having a good time. He’s quite adorable.” Esther smiled and blushed a little. I wanted to remind her of Jake, but again I just nodded. “Anyway, he obviously likes to have a good time, too, though I don’t think he was drinking much, just having fun. He seemed to enjoy the poetry and the music.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t drinking, or acting drunk?”

“Not when I saw him, no.”

“Okay.”

“Right. Well, there was a woman who seemed very interested in both him and Norman, and I feel kind of rotten for not telling you about her earlier, but she seemed pretty upset when neither of them returned the interest. I didn’t want to tell anyone about her anger that night after Norman was killed because I didn’t want to be the one to make someone else maybe look guilty of something so horrible, but then I heard about your brother and her anger at both of them suddenly seemed even worse than her anger with just one of them. Gosh, I’m not sure that makes any sense at all.”

I’d had plenty of moments when something had suddenly become clear after only receiving a little more information. I got what she was saying. “Who?” Though I was pretty sure I knew who she was talking about.

Esther looked around and then whispered, “Vivienne.”

“I see.”

Esther was claiming that Vivienne was doing what Teddy had claimed that Esther had done. Was Esther lying or was Teddy misremembering?

“However, Betts, the thing about Vivienne that I think is more important than the fact that she hit on your brother and Norman is the fact that she’s been hitting on lots of guys. She’s pretty, but mostly she seems like she’s glad to be on vacation or something. You know, like what happens at the poetry convention stays at the poetry convention.”

“I get that.” Orly had mentioned some people having that attitude earlier.

“But she was more upset by being pushed away from Norman and your brother than by anyone else. And she was extremely upset right after the murder—you know, when you found us in the shoe repair shop—but other than that, she seems to be almost unaffected by it all. And . . .”

“Go on.”

“And, well, her behavior and reactions seem inconsistent, and her anger over your brother and Norman was so off the charts. Rage, maybe.”

“That’s never fun to see. Who else? Who else has she . . . well, seemed to be interested in?”

“One of the other guys I’ve seen her talking to a lot is Orly.”

“I don’t understand. You think she’s interested in Orly?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just saw them arguing and I wonder what he was so angry with her about.”

“When was this argument?”

“The night before Norman’s murder.”

“Maybe he was just telling her to cut it out,” I said.

“Maybe.”

“Do you know where she is right now?”

Esther nodded. “That’s why I came over to talk to you. I think I know exactly where she is. Come over here.”

Esther led us to a spot on the other side of the patchwork tent. We now stood next to a tent that must have been close to brand-new, and she nodded to the right.

“See her?” Esther asked.

I did, and surprisingly, while I was watching her, she suddenly became very animated and loud. My attention was solely on her, so to me she was the one who seemed the loudest.

But, actually, lots of people were screaming right along with her.

“Gram?” I said before I bolted away from Esther and pushed through the crowd.

The reactions and emotions from everyone were too big for something simple to have occurred, something like a mean snap of oil.

Fortunately, Gram was fine; scared almost as witless as everyone else, but fine. So far.

She’d jumped up from the chair, displacing both it and the table with the fish. In my lifetime, I didn’t think I’d ever heard Gram scream, but she probably had.

“Gram, you okay?” I asked as I found myself next to her.

“Fine. Scared the rotten right out of me, but I’m fine. We need to get this thing killed though.”

The “thing” she was referring to was a snake. It was not coiled, which meant it could move quickly and bite if it was so inclined. Though it was currently facing the other direction, it was only a few feet away.

“Move away a little more, Gram,” I said as I grabbed her arm. “Is that a cotton?”

“I think so,” Gram said.

The snake was mostly brown, which made it difficult to distinguish from other, less wicked snakes, but this guy’s or girl’s head was also triangular, which was a characteristic I’d been taught to look for and then run from. Cottonmouths are one of Missouri’s most deadly snakes; they’re one of many states’ most deadly snakes. They’re usually found in water or very close to it, so it was strange to see it writhe on the dirt around the campfire, far from any water source.

“Step back,” I said to Gram, pulling her another step backward, but she pulled her arm from my grip.

“Someone got a gun? Or a shovel?” she said.

“Gram, come on! You’re not going to kill that snake. Just get back.”

“I got this, Missouri.” Orly appeared from the crowd, carrying a shovel and a shotgun—they’d apparently both learned about the same sorts of snake-killing weapons. I hoped Orly would use the shovel, but cottonmouths are so dangerous that I probably shouldn’t have worried about the weapon as much as just hoped for a good aim.

Cliff was planning on joining us later, but I knew there were other officers roaming the campsite. I wondered where they were and how they’d feel about someone waving and then potentially discharging a firearm. If I’d had my wits about me a little more, I would have been concerned that Orly even had any sort of firearm. Hadn’t all weapons been confiscated by the police?

“Come on, everybody, get back a little,” Orly said when the crowd suddenly turned more curious than cautious.

The bowl of batter had somehow been propelled into the flames. As it burned, it sizzled and sent up small puffs of dirty smoke.

Only one of the coolers of fish had been overturned, blazing a scaled trail of dead catfish that spread from the cooler and out about six feet. Based upon what I saw, I thought that the snake must have come from the cooler, although that didn’t make a lot of sense. I couldn’t understand how it got in there in the first place. Sure, it had probably resided by or in the river where the fish had been caught, but I didn’t think it was capable of slithering its way into a cooler, nor would it want to. I didn’t understand the behavioral motivations for cottonmouths, but I knew they were mostly afraid of humans, their fear causing them to react violently when they were bothered by any.

I also couldn’t imagine that someone would actually find a cottonmouth and touch it long enough to put it anywhere, including in a cooler. They are fierce and deadly in the most lethal ways possible. They like their own space, and I believe Teddy once told me that if a cottonmouth is disturbed, it will “chase you down just to make sure you never come back again.” Everyone knows that they aren’t to be toyed with. No one in their right mind would do anything short of run away from a cottonmouth.

This snake was probably four feet long when stretched straight. From my vantage point, it looked huge, but I didn’t know if it truly was big for its breed. Orly was probably a very capable snake killer, but I wished for a law officer with some ace gun skills.

“Okay, fella, or little lady, who knows, I’m not going to hurt you,” Orly said.

I didn’t think snakes could hear, but I didn’t like what Orly said.
Not going to hurt it?
Was he really not going to kill it? Gram was still close enough to the action that if something went wrong, she could be bitten. I stepped forward next to her. I’d yank her back hard if need be.

“What can I do, Orly?” I said as I put my hand on Gram’s arm.

“Nothing, Betts, just give us room. I’m going to get him out of here.” Orly took the shovel and, with one quick swipe, uprighted the cooler that had previously held the fish. It was a pretty skillful move.

“Just shoot it!” someone from the crowd exclaimed.

I was now leaning that way myself, but I didn’t join in.

“Nah, he’s got a right to live just as much as anyone else,” Orly said.

I wanted to beg to differ, but I still kept quiet, because he was the one holding the shovel and shotgun.

In movements that were almost too fast to follow, Orly used his shotgun and the shovel for scoop and carry maneuvers, kind of like awkwardly shaped, giant chopsticks. Seconds later, the snake was somehow placed in the cooler and the lid was down. Gram was just as quick as Orly had been when she leapt to the closed cooler and sat on it.

She peered up at Orly and said, “Got a rope?”

“I believe I do, little lady,” Orly said.

I’d seen plenty of gentlemen become smitten with my grandmother. She was amazing and still had whatever it took that seemed to draw men right to her. I didn’t mind the flirtation, but understanding what had been going on between Orly and Vivienne moved up a notch on my priority list. Gram could take care of herself, but she didn’t need to be just another notch in Orly’s convention cowboy belt. Unless she wanted to be, I suppose.

Relief spread through the crowd in the form of some nervous laugher, a little conversation, and a smattering of applause. I took a deep breath and released it.

“Look over there.” Esther had appeared by my side. She was nodding across the crowd.

Vivienne was the subject of the nod. Her arms were crossed in front of herself. She was glaring directly at Gram.

“Uh-oh,” I said involuntarily.

“I know. She might have something for Orly, and we all saw his and your grandmother’s snake-wrangling teamwork. They seemed to enjoy it.”

Truthfully, Orly’s, Vivienne’s, and, for the most part, Gram’s love lives were none of my business, and I typically wouldn’t be interested in any details or gossip, but between the murder and Teddy’s beating, I was intrigued. Though it felt a little high school-ish, maybe knowing more about who had the hots for who might tell me about who’d also been acting with violence.

“You think Orly has something for Vivienne, or Vivienne for him?” I asked.

“I don’t know if that was it. Not sure. They were arguing, and I’m sure I heard Norman’s name, that’s all I know. And then she seemed interested in your brother and in Norman, and seemed so upset when they didn’t respond. I’m sorry, Betts, I don’t know the details, but I know something was going on and I just can’t help but think . . .” Esther said, her words trailing off. No one wanted to accuse anyone of anything violent.

I needed to talk to Vivienne, or at least find out more about her. And about Esther, too, for that matter.

• • •

Predictably, Gram was no worse for the wear. In fact, since no one got hurt, the moments with the snake somehow infused her with an extra dose of adrenaline. There were plenty more catfish that had been caught and stored in coolers that hadn’t been upturned, and hadn’t been invaded by snakes—we checked. The two poets who’d claimed to have some experience with both campfires and catfish jumped in to take care of the rest of the fry as Gram supervised.

I helped, too, and lost track of Vivienne. Finally, I found a moment when I thought I could step away from the frying activities, and I was pleasantly surprised to see Jezzie and Cody sitting side-by-side on a couple camp chairs. As I approached, I thought I heard Jezzie say Norman’s name.

“Hi,” I said.

They both looked up. Neither of them was happy to see me, or maybe it was just that neither of them was plain happy.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Hey, Betts. We were just talking about Norman and who would have killed that poor man. I’m more and more distraught the more I think about it,” Jezzie said.

She was pale and looked very tired.

“I’m so sorry, Jezzie. This has to be hard on you.”

“It is. I didn’t know him all that well, but I sure liked what little I knew. He seemed like a sweet guy.”

I nodded.

Jezzie rubbed her knuckles together. “That morning—that morning before he was killed, he told me he’d made an important decision
not
to do something. He was a little upset, but mostly relieved. I was all about getting into my character so I only briefly asked for more details, but he could tell I was distracted so he didn’t tell me more. If only I knew more. I’ve been asking Cody here if he knew anything.”

I looked at Cody. He shook his head and shrugged at the same time.

“Did you tell Cliff about that?” I asked Jezzie.

“Of course, but I don’t think it did much good. I feel like I let him down.”

“You didn’t,” I said. “He and my brother Teddy were kind of friends, too.”

“Yeah, I know. Does he know anything?”

“No, not at the moment,” I said. Maybe the news hadn’t made it to Jezzie yet. Cody just looked at me with wide, unsure eyes. “Teddy was hurt, Jezzie. He was beaten up the night before Norman was killed.”

“No! That’s terrible. Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Oh my gracious, I’m so glad to hear that.”

“I heard he’d been drinking quite a bit earlier that night.” I looked at Cody to see if he would waver from his earlier comments. I didn’t want to believe that he had been correct about Teddy’s behavior, but Cody gave no sign that he wanted to change his story. I turned my attention back to Jezzie. “Teddy doesn’t remember much. Any chance you saw anything suspicious?”

“No, and when I saw him he certainly wasn’t acting like he was too drunk, but I left early in the evening so I could get some rest. I’m not as old as the old ones around here, and not as young as the young-uns. I’m right in the middle group who likes a good night of sleep more than not.” There was no humor in her words, but if she’d been in a better mood, I might have laughed.

Instead, I hesitated to respond, which caused both her and Cody to look up at me.

“Jezzie, were you upset with Orly that night?” I finally asked.

“I don’t . . . oh, yes, I was. Well, not really, but we were having a discussion.”

“May I ask what it was about?”

“It wasn’t much of anything, just rehearsal schedules and such. Nothing important.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.”

“Oh.”

I looked back and forth at Jezzie and Cody, and I couldn’t help but wonder what they were hiding, or just keeping to themselves, maybe. They both now had that forced, wide-eyed innocence that pretty much always indicates some sort of guilt.

But any more questions I might come up with would have to wait to be asked. I saw Cliff’s car moving along the road at the edge of the campsite. I excused myself and hurried to greet him.

The snake story had made it back to the police station, and Cliff’s first item of duty was to tell Orly that the snake would be disposed of by the police, and that waving a shotgun in public, even if a murder hadn’t recently occurred, was a bad idea. In fact, I’d been correct—no one was supposed to have a firearm in the first place. The police had taken possession of all weapons. Or so they thought. The shotgun was now also in the possession of one of the other officers.

I didn’t think Orly cared much that the police weren’t happy with him, but he was dutifully obedient with Cliff, apologizing and promising to never to do such a thing again.

“How are you?” I said to Cliff after he took the tied-shut cooler and placed it in his police car. He’d driven his official vehicle, though he had changed out of his official uniform into some jeans and an appropriate Western shirt. I didn’t know if he’d decided to be more casual since we’d be together this evening or if he didn’t want to look so much like a cop. Jim must have given the okay on the clothes.

“I’m fine. How about you?” he said. “I’ve been a little busy the last few days, haven’t I?”

I shrugged. “Goes with the job.”

“It does. Seriously, you doing all right?”

“Yep. I’d like to find out who killed Norman and who beat up Teddy. I’ve been trying to ask some questions. You and Jim find out anything more about either of those crimes, though I realize the murder is much more important? Maybe you’d like to share the details with me?”

“You’re much more curious than you used to be in high school.”

“Not really. You just weren’t a police officer when we were in high school. If you had been, I’d have been extra curious. If I remember correctly, I paid very close attention to all your football stuff. I even learned some of the plays.”

“Yes, you did.” Cliff half smiled. He took a deep breath and then surveyed the campsite. Any reminiscing would have to take place later.