Pickin' Murder: An Antique Hunters Mystery (5 page)

“The chef showed me how to make a Kentucky Hot Brown. It’s a classic sandwich.” Before picking up her knife and fork, CC reached into her purse and pulled out her ghost pepper mixture. She sprinkled some on the sandwich. “It makes everything better,” she told Anne.

Later in their room, CC sat down at the desk and pulled out her iPad mini with its Zag keyboard. “Dear friends,” she typed on her blog. “Today, Anne and I started our excursion for our first antique hunting commission. We stopped at Cumberland Falls and saw the moon bow rise over the waterfall. It was an amazing sight.

After that, Chef Alfred was kind enough to teach me how to make a Kentucky classic, the Hot Brown sandwich. He said I could share the recipe with you so here it is.”

Chapter Seven

Following a good night’s sleep, the Spoon Sisters headed to Corbin, a short drive from the falls. Scooter Muscarello’s farm was on the outskirts of town––mostly everything was on the outskirts of town in Corbin. The new ranch home was situated on ten acres, next to a small lake. There was a horse barn with two palominos prancing along the split rail fence. The animals raced CC’s VW bus as she pulled up the driveway. On the front porch was sitting Ellie Muscarello, Scooter’s granddaughter. She was an attractive, 40-year-old blonde with her hair tied back tight in a ponytail, wearing jeans, riding boots and a flannel shirt. The morning air was cool and crisp. The oak and maple trees that surrounded the ranch were already orange and red, and the leaves were starting to fall.

As Anne and CC got out of the bus, the leaves crinkled under their feet. Anne took a big whiff of the fresh air and caught the whiff of the horses. She gagged.

CC was first up the short steps to the wraparound porch. “Ellie, I’m CC. Thank you so much for having us out,” she said as she reached out her hand and shook Ellie’s. “This is my friend and partner, Anne.”

“Welcome! You must be the Spoon Sisters. After we spoke, I looked up your blog and read it. I really enjoyed it.”

“Thank you, it’s a lot of work but we love it,” Anne said. CC shot her a look.

“I think my grandfather would have enjoyed it also. He was a collector and a picker.” Ellie opened the screen door. “Why don’t you come in? Can I get you some coffee?”

“That would be great,” Anne said.

“Would you like some Danish?”

Before she could finish, Anne interrupted. “Danish? What kind of Danish?”

CC gave her a concerned look.

Anne stopped and said. “No, thank you; we just had breakfast.”

The living room was packed full of guitar cases, record albums, old newspapers and sheet music. After handing Anne and CC mugs full of steaming hot coffee, Ellie said, “You can see there’s a lot to look through. Grandpa Scooter collected musical instruments his whole life. He still played at age 91. Some of the older guitars and banjos he left to the Grand Ole Opry Museum. He played with Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, Hank Williams.”

“That’s quite a pedigree of stars,” CC said.

“Let me show you some pictures.” Ellie pulled out a stack from underneath a tower of record albums. CC looked through the black and white 8 x 10 photographs. “That’s my grandfather.” Ellie pointed him out. In the picture was a lanky good-looking man playing a lap steel guitar on the Ryman stage. There was another picture of Scooter standing next to Minnie Pearl.

“These are wonderful,” CC said. “Would you consider selling any of them?”

“There are hundreds of them. I’ve got more boxes in the pole barn. I guess I could part with some of the ones I know that I have duplicates of.”

“They will be going to a good home as I was telling you on the phone. Our client is acquiring collectibles for her fiancé, Steven Kendall.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of him,” Ellie said.

“He’s from Nashville. Betsy, our client, is a wonderful collector. Anything we buy will be appreciated and taken care of,” Anne said.

“Grandpa Scooter would want his things to go to a good home. He’d want people to see them and enjoy them. I don’t have enough room at my house for anymore of his stuff. I’ve picked through what meant the most to me. My two boys are musicians––one plays drums, the other guitar. They picked what they wanted already. Grandpa Scooter didn’t have a lot of money and he wanted to make sure both my boys had a good education. My oldest boy Kevin has been accepted to Berkley and my younger boy Peter is in his second year at Vanderbilt. All the money from the estate sale will pay for their education.”

“That’s wonderful that your grandfather could leave that legacy to your boys,” CC said.

After looking through the crowded basement and making a pile of items, including the pictures, CC and Anne paid Ellie and loaded everything onto the bus. “Thank you so much,” CC said to Ellie.

They got into the bus. “Where to now?” CC asked. Anne pulled out her large atlas along with several coupon books that she had picked up at the rest area.

“There’s an antique mall in Hickory. We should stop,” Anne said.

“Hickory what?”

“Actually, Hickory, North Carolina.”

“We have to go through the Smoky Mountains to get there.”

“That’s great. I’ve never been through the Smoky Mountains. You can get some pictures there,” Anne said.

CC hesitated. “It is supposed to be beautiful. I could get a lot of great shots.”

Chapter Eight

From Corbin, they headed south on I-75. There was a slight drizzle as they got on the highway. As they drove, CC gave a history lesson. “You know, Anne, at one time North America and Africa were connected with the Appalachians being the center of the two continents.” She paused. “They’re actually from the same chain of mountains in Morocco known as Little Atlas. This mountain range, known as the central Pangaean, extends into Scotland. Isn’t it amazing to think how at one time the whole planet was one big continent?”

Slightly listening to CC, Anne looked out her window watching the beautiful brown, green and red slate and granite canopy of rocks that were cut through the mountains to make the highway. Each curve brought a new vista more beautiful than the one before. The mountains, the luscious pines, the jagged rocks.

A rainbow appeared capping one of the mountains to its sister. Eagles danced overhead like they were following the VW. The rain started again. Anne could feel the VW accelerating as it descended down the highway. A sign warned
Nine Percent Incline
. Anne gripped the armrest. “CC, don’t you think you should slow down a bit?”

“We’re fine, Anne.”

A Peterbilt semi- flew past in the left lane, spraying water, blinding CC temporarily as the wiper blades struggled to keep up. CC slowed down a bit as she felt her microbus hydroplane. “CC, slow down!” Anne felt her breakfast turn over in her stomach. She closed her eyes as if she were on a roller coaster.

When they reached the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, they followed the signs that read Great Smoky Mountain Parkway. The VW bus strained as it did the slow 30-minute climb up to Smoky Mountain National Park. CC turned in at the first vista point. “I’m going to walk around and take some pictures. Are you coming?”

“I think I will conserve my energy for the antique store,” Anne said, thumbing through the visitor’s guide.

The sun peeked out. CC walked along the bridge that jutted over the mountains. Eagles screeched overhead. A sea of orange and red blanketed the valley. The fall air was crisp and smelled like fresh pine. She wondered where Tony was at that moment.
Probably somewhere halfway between here and Italy. Was he thinking about her?

She took a picture of the wooden sign that marked the
Free Speech
area that had been designated by Franklin Roosevelt who had dedicated the park. Walking back toward the car, she wondered why Anne was sitting in the driver seat. Anne turned and gave her a horrified look, a piece of her ham sandwich hanging out of her mouth. Before Anne could shout at her, CC saw a black bear run around to the front of the car to the driver’s side and pound on the window. Anne screamed.

CC made herself very tall and talked loudly. She reached in her jacket pocket and threw her power bar across the parking lot. The bear sniffed the air but it was not interested. The black bear charged CC. She reached into her pocket and felt for the small glass vial, struggling with the cap. She flung the ghost pepper powder at the black bear which had stopped feet in front of her, standing on its hind legs. The bear shook its head and sneezed. It shook its head again and sneezed again. It ran into the woods with one last glance at the girls as CC watched. She looked at the small empty vial and smiled.
It really does make everything better
, she thought. Getting back in the car, she asked Anne, “What were you thinking?” She grabbed the sandwich from Anne’s hand and threw it out the window.

“What’d you do that for?” Anne protested. “He’s gone now and I’m hungry.”

CC started the engine and began the trek down toward Cherokee. “You know, Anne, the Great Smoky Mountain Park is the most visited national park in the United States. There are over nine million visitors each year. The Smoky Mountains gets its name from the blue fog or mist that hangs over the mountains and in the valleys. The Cherokee Indians settled it. They called it Shaconage or the place of blue smoke. The fog is a result of warm humid air from the Gulf of Mexico cooling rapidly as it enters higher elevations.”

Anne looked down, wishing she had time to finish her ham sandwich while CC droned on. CC’s monotone was making her tired. She fought to keep her eyes open. The sun was setting as Anne finally gave in and closed her eyes. A pounding rain began, hitting the top of the bus. What seemed like seconds later, CC shook her awake.

“Don’t be alarmed, Anne, but the engine died. I can’t pull over, the river is starting to pour over onto the road. I’m going to coast down as carefully as I can.”

“What are you talking about?” Anne tried to shake herself awake.

The storm intensified. The VW bus wipers were swishing at high intensity but it wasn’t enough to clear the windshield so CC could see. The VW rolled down out the exit of the Great Smoky Mountain Parkway. CC managed to maneuver it off the pavement to the gravel shoulder. It was pitch dark under the canopy of the old growth hickory trees. Anne quickly pushed the button down to lock her door and turned to CC. “What about the bears? We can’t get out of the car.”

CC tried her cell phone but there was no reception. “I’m sure someone will be by. There’s 60,000 people who visit here every day.” Lightning crashed through the distance, and thunder rolled across the mountain.

“But it’s dark; it’s rainy. You took my sandwich.” The lightning flashed again. Anne swore she saw a herd of bears standing on their hind legs, one of them holding her ham sandwich. “CC, do bears hunt at night? How about coyotes, wolves, mountain lions? What about snakes?”

“Anne, we’re fine. We’re fine inside this German-engineered piece of art.”

“You mean the piece of art that just broke down.” Anne lifted her finger to show the rain dripping off it. The flip-top sunroof was leaking and Anne was getting wet.

CC was noticeably annoyed. When it came to anything German, she took her heritage very seriously. After an hour without any cars passing by, a pair of headlights appeared driving around the bend in front of them, heading up the trail towards the mountains.

An old Jeep wrangler stopped just feet in front of the VW. Anne grabbed CC’s arm. “What do we do?”

“Let’s take a look at him and see. I’ll roll the window down a little.”

A very tall and muscular Native American man exited the old Jeep. Through the rain and the glow of the headlights, they could see he was wearing a beaded vest with multicolored feathers. He knocked on the window through the pouring rain.

CC rolled it down.

“Do you need help?” he asked in a deep voice.

Anne’s eyes opened wide. She wanted to scream
Indian
! but knew how politically incorrect that was. She stifled back a giggle.

“Yes, I think I blew a gasket,” CC said.

“The nearest tow truck is miles away. I can take you back to my village and have your car picked up. It’s not safe to stay here at night.”

CC looked at Anne who smiled. There was something about his eyes that were truthful. “My name is John Blackbear, Chief Blackbear.”

He escorted Anne and CC through the pouring rain into his jeep and made a U-turn onto the road and headed up to the Oconaluftee Village. He talked while he drove. “The village is closed to visitors at this time of night but we can find you some accommodations. They might not be what you’re used to. It's a little primitive. The village is a replica of an 18
th
century Cherokee community. It’s to celebrate my ancestors who were allowed to stay here during the evacuation of the Trail of Tears.”

CC broke in and explained, “You know, Anne, the Trail of Tears began in 1838 when the Cherokee land in the south was taken by the government and the Cherokee were forced west.”

“My people, the Oconaluftee, received permission from the government to stay in North Carolina,” John Blackbear said.

“That’s right,” CC said. “It was thanks to the efforts of William H. Thomas that they were able to stay here.”

“You know your history,” John Blackbear said.

“Thank you,” CC said. She prided herself on knowing all manner of history.

They pulled up in front of the tribal council house, a large circular, windowless building situated on top of a mound. A stream ran next to it. The walls were made of saplings woven together and plastered with mud. Inside, there were animal skins on the floor and a roaring fire in the center with smoke rising up through the opening in the ceiling.

“We try to make the council house as authentic as possible,” John Blackbear said. “Come sit by the fire and get warm. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

A Cherokee woman returned carrying two dresses manufactured from a calico print with triangles and circles and the seven-sided star of the Cherokee. “My Cherokee name is Standing Deer but you can call me Sue. Here are some dry clothes.” She was wearing a similar dress and Minnetonka moccasins.

“These are beautiful. Where can I buy one of these?” Anne held the dress up.

“We sell them in the gift shop. They are called tear dresses. They are the style of dress that our women wore during the Trail of Tears when they no longer had access to scissors because the government took them. The fabric was torn from larger pieces and then sewn together.”

When she left, Anne and CC put on the dresses and laid out their wet clothes in front of the fire to dry. John Blackbear opened the deerskin that covered the entrance and walked in. “You look very good,” he said, staring at Anne.

Anne did a slight curtsey and gave him a smile.

John Blackbear managed a smile back. “I’ve contacted a local mechanic who will pick up your car later. You are welcome to stay here. We have a guesthouse.”

“Couldn’t we just stay here tonight? The fire is so inviting,” Anne said.

“That would be fine if you are comfortable. I’ve asked Sue to bring you some food. Please sit.”

“Chief Blackbear, I’ve noticed you are wearing your ceremonial clothes,” CC said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Yes, we were reenacting the Nuwtiegwa, the festival of the October new moon. We had to stop because of the rain.” He paused before explaining. “The Cherokee believe the earth was created at this time. This is when our new year begins.” He handed Anne and CC each a crystal. “During this festival, each member of the tribe looks into the crystal to see if they will live through the next year. If they see themselves standing as they look into the stone, they will live. If they appear flat, they will die before the first spring moon.”

“What did you see?” Anne asked.

“I saw that I met a very attractive maiden.”

Anne looked at CC and then back at Chief Blackbear. He was still looking at her. She looked into her crystal and didn’t see anything. Sue returned to the lodge, carrying bags from Taco Bell. “Is this part of the ceremonial food?” Anne asked giggling.

John Blackbear smiled again. As they sat cross-legged in front of the fire eating their ceremonial Chalupas, John Blackbear explained more about his people’s culture. “My people believe that certain beings came down from on high and formed the world, the moon and the stars. It was believed that the world was created at the time of the new moon in autumn. The Cherokees believe that the morning star was once a wicked priest who killed people by witchcraft. When the Cherokee planned to kill him, he took all of his crystals and flew to the sky where he now appears as the morning star. Our tribe had the original morning star crystal. It was a natural seven-pointed quartz like our Cherokee emblem. It had been with our people for a thousand years. My people believed it had great power. They used it during the October ceremony at morning’s first light, which is the first day of the New Year. The chief would hold it up in the early morning light and it would shine like the morning star from the light of the sun. When it shined on the council house, it would make a perfect seven-pointed Cherokee star. This crystal was our greatest treasure.” He gestured to their hands. “The crystals you hold are copies.”

“Could we see the original morning star?” Anne asked.

“It was stolen many years ago. I do have a painting of it.” They walked to the other side of the fire. On the wall was an early 1800s woodblock etching of a young Indian maiden holding a large seven-pointed crystal up toward the sun. “Look.” John Blackbear pointed at the crystal. “You can see its imperfections here. Each crystal is unique. Their imperfections are like fingerprints. These are the original fingerprints of our people.”

Anne peered at it closely. “I can see it. They are unique. May I take a picture?”

John nodded his permission. Anne took out her iPhone and zoomed in on the crystal. She snapped a few photos.

CC stifled a yawn. It had been a long drive filled with many adventures. As John Blackbear continued his stories, she lay down, covered herself with a deerskin blanket and fell asleep.

Anne sat cross-legged in front of John Blackbear, listening intently. She thought how handsome he was. She didn’t really hear what he was saying but admired his many colorful feathers and his silver jewelry. She wondered if there were similar pieces in the gift shop. She would have to check on that in the morning.

“Anne,” she heard. It broke her trance.

“Yes, John? I mean, Chief?”

“Anne, you can call me John. You look like you were falling asleep. Do you wish to lay down?”