Nobody Knows Your Secret (7 page)

* * *

T
he court reporter
dutifully recorded the incident. The recorded testimony read like a novel. It described how the man slowly raised up. His hands were black with dirt.

“His eyes popped when he seed me ’n’ my shot gun,” Eustian testified. “I told that feller,” (here Eustian pointed to Kyle Winthrop), “to ease on down the slope. We wuz gonna go ta’gather, nice ’n’ polite-like. As luck would have it, who should pull up a few minutes later, but the sheriff.

“Sheriff told me he wuz out ridin’ the county ’n’ jes stopped by to check on me. Never so glad to see nobody in all my borned days. Sheriff askes me whut was wrong. I told ’em I had a thief ’n’ a trespasser ’n’ I wanted to press charges.”

Sheriff Whittaker arrested Kyle Winthrop. He read him his rights. The backpack was half full of ginseng roots.

Hadley finished reading the court document. She slumped back onto the porch, looking up at the ceiling. She wondered if poaching played a role in Kyle’s death. She remembered reading about this incident in the paper. Did someone knock off Kyle after he’d shown them where the ginseng patch on Eustian’s land was?

Ginseng root was worth a fortune.

And people had been killed for a lot less.

She looked over at Beanie, who had dozed off for a short cat nap. She got the legal papers together pertaining to Kyle and placed them in her trunk. Maybe Bill might want to look at them in connection with Kyle’s murder.

After waking up, Beanie yawned and smiled.

Hadley and her friend got back to work hauling and dumping until evening. They were making good progress, and Hadley wondered if two dumpsters would be enough.

Tired and sweaty, Hadley looked at Beanie, “You ready to call it a day?”

“I’m with you,” said Beanie.

“We’ve made good progress,” Hadley said. “The parlor, the dining room, and the first-floor bedroom are all done. All that’s left is the upstairs, the kitchen, and old Mrs. Singlepenny’s first-floor bedroom. At the rate we are going, we may be able to see the light of day by first of next week,” Hadley said.

“Do you think Mrs. Singlepenny’s ghost still lives in that bedroom?” Beanie asked. “It sure looks like somebody still does. It’s the only room in the house not packed with junk.”

“I think Eustian wanted it that way, Bean,” Hadley said. “That was his mama’s room. He kept clean for her memory. In fact, I’d bet he left it just like it was on the day she died.”

“Ouuuu, Hadley,” Beanie said.

“Not to worry,” said Hadley. “He cleaned and dusted that room because he loved his mama. That’s all.

“That’s why it looks like somebody still lived there. I don’t think ghosts care about dust and cobwebs. Remember, Bean. There’s no such things as ghosts. But if there were, I think a ghost would want a dark, dilapidated room, dusty with cobwebs. If I was a ghost, that’s the kind of room I’d feel most comfy haunting.”

“Uh-huh,” Beanie said.

“Tell you what,” Hadley said. “Let’s stop by The Creamery on our way home. We’ve been working like mules. I think a couple of mules like us deserve a milkshake. Don’t you?”

“Hee-haw,” Beanie said. “I sure do! The front side ‘a my feed sack’s pushin’ clean through the back!”

“I’m starving, too,” said Hadley.

After milkshakes, Hadley dropped off Beanie at his house. She arrived home to find Onus perched on her front windowsill staring out at her.

“I hope you haven’t been playing king of the jungle, today. My drapes were not made for that much jungle roughhousing.”

Onus just stared at her with his wise eyes.

She entered her house and found it as she had left it.

“Good boy,” Hadley said. “Window shopping all day? Well, it is easy on the old pocketbook.”

Onus did that sometimes. For no reason, he would sit perched in front of the window watching the comings and goings of the townsfolk below on Main Street. Hadley stood beside the cat. He let her rub the top of his silky head. His motor started purring.

It was a nice view. Harry had picked the land out and had the house built a couple of months after they were married. She had a grand view of the town below. From stoplight to stoplight, she could watch the little figures and cars moving up and down Main Street like miniatures in a child’s toy village.

Onus bumped his head against her leg rousing her from her reverie.

“Guess you’re ready for supper, huh. I think I have something that might hit your spot.”

She went into the kitchen and filled his bowl with cat food.

“Let’s get you some fresh water. I wish my dinner was as easy to put together.”

“Meow.”

Umm, she thought. He actually answered. Must have missed me a little.

“Maybe a hot bath and a soak will rejuvenate these tired, sore bones and muscles,” she told the cat as she wandered to the bathroom shedding the dusty, dirty clothes.

After her bath, Hadley went to the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. She spied some of the leftovers from her meal with Maury and Bill.

A few seconds of nuking in the microwave and voilà.

As the carousel was turning on the microwave, she remembered the papers from Eustian’s house and decided to give them a closer look. Retrieving them from her trunk, she went back inside and left them on the sofa. She ate her dinner and after a quick clean up, settled down on the couch.

“Ginseng,” she muttered. “Maybe something I need to look up at the library.”

All her life, Hadley had heard stories about how people, including Daniel Boone, had hunted and sold the illusive plant. Ginseng was an herb that had played a role in sustaining mountain people for centuries.

The Cherokee used it to treat headaches. John Jacob Astor had sold it by the boatload to the Chinese who valued it as an aphrodisiac. And ginseng was prized by the mountain people today, as well.

Finding and digging ’sang’ in the fall and drying it and selling it in the winter had long been a way for mountain people to supplement their meager incomes. Often, this herb provided money to buy Christmas presents for their children.

But harvesting the roots of the herb meant destroying the whole plant.

Hadley got on the phone.

“Anna,” she said, “you busy?”

Anna was the local librarian in Hope Rock County, and Hadley’s main go-to techno guru. She’d hooked up Harry’s video cam to a television, which had helped Hadley figure out that Rayna Croft had poisoned Eustian Singlepenny.

“Anna, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Anna asked.

“Harry’s computer is still hooked up in his office. Could you run by some time and show me how to get it up and running? Harry had Internet bundled with our other services. I’ve just kept paying the bill. Might as well get some bang for my buck and learn to use it.”

“No problem,” Anna said. “I’ll be right over.”

“Well, I didn’t mean now. I don’t want to bother you,” Hadley said.

“No bother, Hadley. Stanley’s out of town. I’m here in this house, and it’s as quiet as a tomb. I’ll welcome the chance to get out for some fresh air. We’ll have you on the Internet in no time flat. See you in a few minutes.”

“Anna, you’re a pro when it comes to this stuff. Thanks so much,” Hadley said.

“Think nothing of it,” Anna said.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, a couple of pieces of pound cake, now and then, ought to do it.”

“Done,” said Hadley.

True to her word, Anna arrived at Hadley’s house in a little while. She showed Hadley the basics of surfing the Internet and scribbled some reference notes as they went along.

“Remember,” said Anna, “if you hit a snag, just look at those notes I made you. Don’t get frustrated if you end up somewhere other than where you wanted. Typos happen all the time. Remember, click here, and you’re ready to retype your search.”

“Gotcha,” said Hadley.

She gave Anna the first installment of payment.

“Here are six slices of pound cake for you to take home. I really appreciate all your help,” Hadley said.

Anna took the cake, hugging Hadley on her way out the front door. Hadley wandered back into the study.

Harry’s study glowed with the light from the screen. Hadley smiled. It almost felt as if her soul mate was sitting right beside her. Onus walked into the room, jumped up on a bookshelf, and stared down at her.

Did he mind her trespassing in Harry’s study, she wondered. She didn’t care. She had work to do.

She typed in her word and hit enter.

“Wait a cotton pickin’ minute!”

Several nice looking, but scantily clad, young men were smiling back at her from the screen. Naked.

She grabbed Anna’s notes and backed up and started all over again.

G-i-n-s-e-n-g, she typed slowly.

“Speed typing is definitely not my strong suit,” she muttered. “Not if I want accuracy, anyway.”

She hit enter.

“Today’s high demand and decreasing supply has resulted in a root that can bring hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars for the prized ‘Man Root’,” she read aloud. “Ginseng has many uses. It is found in energy drinks. It is used in treating erectile dysfunction, and the Asian market makes it a high demand product, even today.

“As a plant, it takes years to develop. It favors the north-facing slopes in hardwood forests. It is a shade-loving plant that can live for 60 years. Slow to mature. Several years to produce seeds.

“In nature, deer eat the seeds. Those seeds are spread in the animal’s waste. Three varieties: wild, wild-simulated, and farm-cultivated.

“Seeds can be harvested in the fall when they turn red. Farm-cultivated ginseng brings a lower price than wild roots. The most valuable is wild. Wild ginseng can be distinguished by its dark tan color and twisted appearance due to the hard life of surviving in the wild. Harvesting kills the entire plant because the whole root of the plant is removed.

“Seeds are harvested from wild plants. Grown on private land under a tree canopy amid the native plants of the forest, wild-simulated ginseng is the second most valuable. Farmed in rows with chemicals, farm-cultivated ginseng is least valued by Asian importers.”

Whoaa! In the same area a Christmas tree grows for eight years, three to four thousand dollars’ worth of ginseng can be grown. Incredible!

Hadley looked up at Onus who was preening on the top shelf of the bookcase.

“Big Kitty, you and I are in the wrong business.”

She looked back at the screen, reading aloud.

“Harvest could begin five to ten years at $500 per pound of root.”

“$500 a pound! Can you imagine how much I’d be worth at that price?”

Onus yawned.

“No comment from the goober gallery, Onus.

“What else does this thing say about ginseng?

“Let’s see. Locations of plants must be kept secret. Well, with those prices I guess I know why!

“If discovered, poachers will come in and clean out the area. The cultivator of wild-simulated ginseng must be on constant guard to protect his investment. Bingo!”

Onus suddenly jumped from the shelf and ambled to an easy chair. He nested in the cushion, needing it with his claws.

“Every tub has to sit on its own bottom, Onus. Kyle was poaching ginseng off Eustian’s land. It’s all there in the court papers. Eustian caught him, red-handed. Kyle was trespassing and stealing! For once, it looks like the old goat had a valid reason for pressing charges against Kyle Winthrop!”

“
W
elcome
, bluegrass fans. I just want to take a minute to thank you all for tuning in today to WAMR 89.5. We’re broadcasting live from the porch of The Band-Aid. The Band-Aid is your one-stop shop for jewelry, pottery, and a host of other wonderfully hand-crafted items make by our talented pool of local artisans and craftsmen. A percentage of the proceeds from any sale will go to support The Wildlife Rescue. Ruth Elliott, local vet, runs the shelter. And let me tell you, folks, we’re lucky to have such a dedicated friend to the wildlife in this area. Her good work helps sick and injured animals through rehab and release back into their natural habitats where they belong.

“Come on out and support a good cause. The wildlife would surely appreciate it.

“And today, we’ve got a very special program lined up for all you listeners out there. I’m excited, and I know you are, too. We’ve got Hobarth Stricker. Live and in the flesh.

“Now, I’m sure you bluegrass fans know the name Hobie Stricker. He’s one of the best pickers in these here parts. Hobie’s brought along a couple of his handmade guitars for sale, too. And he’s generously donating all proceeds of any instrument that is sold today to The Wildlife Rescue.

“Come on up here, Hobie and say ‘hi’ to the good people listening out there.”

“Hey, y’all,” Hobie said.

“You and the boys look like you are rarin’ to go. What you gonna play for us, this afternoon, Hobie?”

“Well, me ’n’ the band are gonna warm up with a coupla tunes I wrote a little while back: ‘My Sweet Laurel’ and ‘Pretty as She Does.’”

“All right, folks. Turn up the volume. Find your favorite easy chair. Sit back and prepare to hear some of the best music comin’ outta these mountains. You’re listening to WAMR 89.5. Here they are Hobie Stricker and the Speckled Pups. Take it away, Hobie.”

Hobie and his boys lit into those songs like heat on a cayenne pepper. Every foot was tapping. Little kids bobbed up and down like fishing corks on a stormy sea. Several folks started dancing. Every face was smiling. Hobie picked those strings for all he was worth.

Hadley and Maury were watching, drinking in every note with pure joy.

“I never seen a man who could make a guitar sound so good,” said Maury.

“He’d gifted,” Hadley said. “That’s for sure. And Skip’s picking ain’t too shabby, either.”

“Hobie’s took Skippy under his wing. I was so happy when he asked for a banjo several years ago. Now, Skips picking a mandolin and guitar, too. All thanks to Hobie.”

“It’s the code, Maury,” Hadley said. “Hobie is just passing on what someone was kind enough to show him. If the music isn’t passed on to the younger folks, it dies. Hobie knows that. He’s doing everything he can to keep those traditions alive and well.”

“We’re lucky Hobie lives in our neck of the woods,” Maury said.

“You said it,” Hadley said.

“Candy!” Hadley said, “It’s so good to see you. Where are the kids?”

“Virgie’s watching them for me,” Candy said. “I just had to get some air.”

“How are you doing?” Hadley asked.

“It’s hard,” Candy said, “but me ’n’ the kids are makin’ it.”

“Well, I’m so glad to hear that,” Hadley said. “I know it’s hard, but you’re looking mighty pretty. I love your blouse. Candy, where did you get those sandals! They are the cutest things I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“I ordered them off the Internet,” Candy said. “I’ve tried to find something trendy around here, but it’s impossible. It’s like we’re stuck back in time or something. Only thing they sell around here is boots and brogans.”

Hadley laughed.

“You’re right about that,” said Hadley. “It was so good to see you. Please tell Virgie I said ‘hello.’ How’s she doing?”

“I will,” Candy said. “Virgie’s real sad. She tries not to show it to me or the kids, but I can tell. She’s quiet ’n’ got a far away look. But you know Virgie. No matter what, she keeps keepin’ on. Well, I’d better be gettin’ home. By now, the kids have probably skated all over Virgie’s last nerve.”

“Take care, Candy,” Hadley said.

“I will,” said Candy. “You, too.”

The music was lively, and the afternoon passed quickly. Hobie took the microphone.

“What we have around here is very special,” Hobie said. “There’s no prettier place on earth than right here in these mountains. I like to think we live in a little slice of heaven, right here in this valley.

“And we got good people all around us, too. The extraordinary folks, like Ruth Elliott and her volunteers, are working hard to keep our little corner of heaven what it is. I’d like to send out a request to all you good folks to come on down next Sunday afternoon, rain or shine, for a little hillbilly hoedown. Come on down and make a donation. No amount is too small. Every cent is appreciated, and all of it goes to help the animals who have been orphaned or are sick or injured. The wildlife in our area need us, folks. Just as we need them. So, come on down.

“Now, me ’n’ the Speckled Pups are gonna be joined by some of my students. Y’all come on up here. Bring your guitars. This stage is big enough for all of us. That’s right. Settle in close. Our last song will be ‘Gone to the Dawgs.’ One. Two. Three.”

Hadley and the kids around her lit into the song. Standing on that old porch, Hadley was as happy as if she was playing Carnegie Hall. She only hit a couple of wrong chords, but it didn’t matter. She was playing with Hobie Stricker.

For Hadley, it didn’t get any better than this.