Pickin' Murder: An Antique Hunters Mystery (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

CC had just fallen asleep when she heard the message alert from her iPhone. It was on the nightstand next to her. Half asleep, she reached over, grabbed it and rubbed her eyes. It was from her friend at the
LA Times
. He gave her the name Jeremiah Riddle and a phone number. She turned off her phone and went back to sleep.

Later, Anne and CC sat in the Capital Bar and Grille, the elegant dark-wood restaurant located in the basement of the Hermitage hotel. CC was on her second cup of coffee. She loved their great French roast. Anne was still perusing the menu. She had to stop ordering pecan pancakes. It was all she had for breakfast since she had arrived in Tennessee but they were so good. She was starting to feel the consequences of the carb load, her pants were a little snug around the waist.

“Anne, the Tennessee ‘Jack’ Egg sandwich looks delicious. Why don’t you give it a try?”

The waiter came over to take their order. “Can you tell me about this Tennessee egg sandwich?” Anne asked.

CC interrupted. “It’s infused with Jack Daniel’s whiskey.”

The waiter smiled. “Yes, it’s very popular with our guests.”

“I’ve tried infusing my French toast with my homemade cherry wine. I’d love to learn how your chef prepares it.”

“Oh, are you a chef?” the waiter asked.

“I dabble a bit,” CC replied.

“I’m sure Chef Elbert would like to meet you. Would you like to come back to the kitchen?” the waiter asked.

She nodded and stood up. “I'll be right back,” CC said to Anne before following the waiter into the kitchen. Anne rolled her eyes. Wearing his white toque, the chef was calling out orders and directing traffic in the busy kitchen.

“Chef Elbert, this is one of our guests, Ms. Muller. She’s a chef. She wanted to watch you prepare the Tennessee Jack Egg sandwich,” the waiter said, introducing CC to the world-famous chef.

“Of course.” He nodded at her. CC watched as he infused the toast with Jack Daniels whiskey, fried an egg in a small pan with some bacon. When all the components were complete, he placed them artistically on the plate, garnishing the dish with house-made tomato gravy.

“Thank you so much, Chef Elbert. I can’t wait to try that at home,” CC said, marveling at the plate.

“The secret is to use jowl bacon,” Chef Elbert said.

“I’m very familiar with jowl bacon. We had it often when I was growing up in Louisiana.” CC paused. “Of course, one of my favorite breakfast recipes is for pain perdu; it’s a New Orleans French toast.”

“Please, I’d love to watch you make that.” The Chef gestured at the oven and the pans.

CC took five eggs, half a cup of white sugar, and half a cup of milk. She fluttered around the kitchen until she found orange liqueur and added two tablespoons followed by a tablespoon of orange zest. She cut up a loaf of white bread into twelve slices. She combined the ingredients in a large bowl and beat them until they were thick and foamy. Then she poured the mixture into a shallow pan, she soaked the bread slices for two minutes on each side. She took a large griddle and turned on the heat to medium. She cooked the slices two minutes on each side until they were golden brown. She drizzled warm maple syrup on top and garnished it with a fresh orange slice. Chef Elbert tasted a slice. “Oh, Chef CC, this is delicious. I’d love to add this recipe to our Sunday brunch menu. We shall call it CC’s French Toast.”

CC smiled.

When CC returned to the table, Anne had already eaten half of her sandwich. The waiter brought CC the French toast. “That looks great, I didn’t see that on the menu,” Anne said.

“It’s new.” CC smiled.

After breakfast, CC went into one of the tiny rooms that served as a business center. She dialed Jeremiah Riddle’s phone number. A woman answered, “Orange County Nursing Home. How may I help you?”

“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Jeremiah Riddle. Is this the right number?”

“Oh, Jeremiah lives here. Please hold. I’ll have the nurse let him know he has a phone call.” A few seconds later, another female voice answered, “This is Nurse Nancy. I understand you want to speak with Mr. Riddle. Can I say who is calling?”

“He won’t know me. My name is CC Muller. I’m calling about his brother.”

The nurse handed the phone to Jeremiah Riddle. A very soft, southern raspy voice answered, “Hello.”

“Mr. Riddle, my name is CC Muller. I wanted to ask you some questions about your brother, Clarence.”

“Who are you?” he asked in a louder voice.

CC talked loudly into the phone. “We found some of your brother’s sheet music and had some questions.”

“I haven’t seen my brother in 50 years. Not sure I can tell you anything.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” CC asked, scribbling notes in her reporter’s notebook.

“He left his kid on my doorstep and took off. Clarence was always irresponsible, drinking and rabble rousing.”

“What happened to his child?”

“I raised him like he was my son. Who are you?” he asked in a confused voice.

“Is he still around?”

Mr. Riddle grew quiet for a moment. “CJ died years ago. He was too drunk to drive. He was an alcoholic like his father.”

“I’m so sorry to hear this.”

“Don’t be sorry. He gave me a beautiful granddaughter, Lily. She took care of me when I got sick.”

“Is she around? Can I talk to her?”

He dropped the phone. Nurse Nancy picked it up. “I’m sorry but you’re upsetting Mr. Riddle,” the nurse said.

“Is he okay?”

“He has advanced Alzheimer’s.”

“He seemed so lucid,” CC said.

“You caught him on a good day,” the nurse said.

“He mentioned his granddaughter. Do you know how I can get in touch with her?”

“She hasn’t been around in months. He stopped recognizing her and when she would come visit him, he would get agitated,” the nurse said.

“I’m so sorry. Do you know how I can reach her?”

“When I spoke to her last, she told me she was going to Nashville. She always had her guitar with her and played songs for Mr. Riddle,” the nurse said. “We tried her number recently but it was disconnected.”

“I’m in Nashville. I can try and find her,” CC said. “Do you know what she looks like?”

The nurse hesitated. “I’ve got information about her biological grandfather. It’s very important I get in touch with her,” CC said.

“There’s a picture of Mr. Riddle and his granddaughter next to his bed. I can make a copy and email it to you,” the nurse said.

“Thank you. That would be great.” CC gave the nurse her email address.

After hanging up the phone, CC turned a guilty look at the computer. It had been days since her last blog post. So many people were waiting, hanging on her every word. She opened up the site.

“Dear Friends, Please accept my apology for not writing more frequently. Anne and I have had quite an adventure that would rival anything Agatha Christie could dream up. The antique world holds so many dangers that we didn’t foresee when we undertook our commission.

Through it all, Anne and I have remained true to the course. We have found many great items both for our client and for those of you on our list. We will be contacting you individually.”

She detailed some of the stores they had visited and added pictures from her phone.

“The rest of the tale must be held back for now, due to police investigations. Enough said. But I promise you will know the whole story when the whole story is known. Until then, God bless all of you.”

She posted the blog, and turned off the computer. When she opened the door of the business center, Bradley was standing at attention. She took a step back. “Bradley.”

“Miss Muller, Miss Hillstrom wanted me to tell you that she is over at Betty’s Boots on Broadway. I wanted to also give you fair warning that Betty’s Boots caters to all the stars and their prices reflect it.”

“Ohmiword,” CC said, grabbing her purse.

“Will you be needing a ride?”

“Yes, Bradley.”

By the time CC arrived at Betty’s Boots, Anne was wearing a pair of light orchid Lucchese boots and a matching $3,000 lambskin fringed skirt. A sequined cowboy hat completed the outfit.

CC sighed. “Anne, we can’t afford any of it.”

The salesgirl frowned. “We have layaway.”

Anne turned to CC. “Layaway. Layaway.” She admired herself in the mirror, twirling so the fringe swirled around her. “CC, we’ll be getting that big commission check from Betsy.”

“Anne, do you have any idea what the Hermitage is costing daily? If you really want the boots, we can stay at a different hotel and save money,” CC said.

Anne’s face turned white. She turned to the salesgirl. “I will not be purchasing these items today.”

“Anne, we have to go. I have a lead on Riddle.”

With one last glance at the full-length mirror, Anne reluctantly changed back to her street clothes. “You sure you don’t want to do layaway?” the salesgirl asked, taking the boots and skirt from her.

Pausing for a moment, Anne shook her head no. She followed CC out of the store and into the street where one drunken tourist was practicing a line dance in the middle of the street while other tourists cheered her on. Anne wanted to join in. CC pulled her arm and led her to the black Lincoln town car before she could ask.

Chapter Thirty

CC knocked on Brent’s door. Anne sat in the town car, looking up her bank balance. She clicked on her calculator on her iPhone, subtracted her mortgage, her utility bills from her check and then compared that to the price of Betty’s Boots and realized she could live in her house for the next six months or get the outfit. It was a tough decision.

CC waved to Anne to come in as Brent opened the door. “Miss Hillstrom, do you want me to wait for you?” Bradley asked.

“We’re going to need the Volkswagen.”

“I’ll have someone drop it off for you. ”

“Bradley, you’re wonderful. Could you have someone pack a lunch, too?”

“Certainly, Miss Hillstrom.” Bradley disappeared with the Lincoln town car. The Hermitage was a pretty penny but worth every cent. The blog request list was paying the bill along with Betsy’s commission. Anne felt it was a good business investment. After all, the Hermitage was a good place to network with wealthy collectors who might want to hire the Spoon Sisters.

Anne and CC sat on the couch across from Brent. It was nearly lunchtime and Brent was just waking up. Part of a musician’s life. He was wearing cargo shorts, sandals and no shirt. His 30-year-old body was slender but cut. He pulled his hair back into a topknot and wrapped a rubber band around it. He sipped his coffee from his Gruhn vintage guitar coffee cup.

“Brent, we didn’t wake you, did we?” CC asked.

“No, I’ve been up for minutes.” He smiled.

“Lots of things have happened since I saw you last.”

“A lot of things happened when I last saw you.”

CC blushed.

Brent sipped his coffee and smiled again.

Anne was not following the conversation.

“I need your help with something.” CC pulled up the photos on her iPhone. “I received this picture of Lily Riddle. She’s a singer/songwriter. I was hoping you might know her.”

Brent took the iPhone, looked at Lily’s picture. “I’ve seen her around town. I didn’t know her name. She’s very good.”

CC took back her phone. “Any idea where I could find her?”

“There’s a listing service for all the bars. It’s in the
Nashville Entertainer
. Also, you might want to try Music Row if she’s trying to break in. She’s probably playing on the street like everyone else. Last time I saw her she was in line at the Bluebird for open mic night. I don’t remember her playing. She probably didn’t make it in.”

“Brent, can you ask some of your friends? If they’ve seen her? It’s really important that I get in touch with her,” CC said.

“Is this about the recording of ‘Young Hearts’?”

“Yeah, she’s Clarence Riddle’s granddaughter. Everything goes back to Clarence Riddle. I need to talk to her.”

Brent put his coffee down, stretched and yawned. “I’ll ask around town. Maybe you can stop by later tonight and I’ll have some information. I’m playing the Listening Room Café if you want to stop in. The food’s pretty good. I know the music’s good.” He gave her a wink.

CC smiled. Anne still wasn’t following the conversation. There was a knock on the door. It was one of the valets was dropping off the keys to the VW. CC took the keys and turned to Brent. “We’ll see you later,” she said.

Anne followed her out the door toward the VW. ”What was that flirting all about?”

“I wasn’t flirting. I wanted to see if he could help us find Lily.” They got in the VW. Anne was distracted by the wicker basket sitting on her seat. She took a peek inside and caught a whiff of balsamic vinaigrette. She opened one of the containers. It was sirloin tip salad with fresh vegetables and goat cheese. A warm baguette was accompanying it with a container of apple butter and sparkling water. Anne nibbled on a piece of sirloin tip, hoping CC wouldn’t notice.

“Anne, can you wait til we pull over? I’d like to eat, too.”

Anne looked over with the piece of steak hanging out of her mouth and nodded.

When she stopped the car so they could eat, CC said, “You know, Anne, the chef at the Hermitage runs his own farm with all his own grass-fed cattle. It’s the true farm to table.”

They sat at a picnic table at a nice park and enjoyed their lunch
al fresco
. “I’ve got a lead for us. There’s a woman in Franklin. Her husband was a contractor and worked on a lot of the local bars and recording studios. He’s got a three-car garage full of stuff.”

“Sounds great,” Anne said, finishing her last bite of the famous Hermitage Hotel coconut cake. She then proceeded to lick her fork. She paused, licked the fork again. She then looked over lovingly at CC’s fork that still had a big chunk of frosting on it but thought better of asking.