Chapter 22

Ash saton a hard-cushioned chair that looked like it had been plucked out of a Jane Austen novel.

Every time he moved, the wooden frame squawked beneath his weight. He wondered if his hostess positioned him here, knowing he wouldn’t be able to snoop around without alerting her.

The chair wasn’t the only piece of ancient furniture. The room had an Old World feel. Hunt scene paintings lined the walls, a chaise longue, similar to the Krownes’, but gold and gaudy, rested inside the bay window. Striped wallpaper surrounded him on all four sides, and when Joyce Ann Carlson entered a few seconds later, she carried a tea service, silver tray and all.

The metal clattered against the low coffee table when she set it down. Tiny, hand-painted pink roses covered the teapot and dainty porcelain cups and saucers resting beside it.

Ash flexed his hands, imagined himself snapping the handle off as he tried to maneuver the puny drinkware to his lips. He now regretted his “Whatever’s easiest” response to her earlier inquiry of “Coffee or tea?’’ and gained a new appreciation for Kayla’s quirky mugs.

Ms. Carlson asked, “Sugar or cream?”

Cream?He wouldn’t be surprised if she started speaking in the King’s English next.

“No, thank you,” he said.

She added a generous splash of cream to her cup, then used a set of tiny silver tongs to extract two cubes of sugar from a matching floral bowl and dropped them into her cream.

Hot tea flowed from the teapot into an empty cup that she placed in front of him, complete with a matching paper-thin saucer, before pouring the liquid into her doctored cup. Using a dainty spoon, she swirled the concoction together.

Ash picked up his drink by the rim and took a sip. More out of politeness than any need to quench his thirst. He ignored his hostess’s look of horror over his lack of pinky-up etiquette.

Social niceties done, he got started. “I understand you overheard a disturbing conversation between the lobbyist Kayla Krowne and fellow board member Dee Rhodes.”

Ms. Carlson folded her hands in her lap. “That’s correct.”

He drew a small notebook and pen from an inner pocket of the jacket he kept in his vehicle for unexpected meetings such as this.

After leaving Kayla’s house, he’d called Detective Morgan to get an update on the forensics for the earring he found at the scene, but his call had gone to voicemail. Still wound up from his confrontation with Kayla, he found himself driving west, toward Maggie Valley.

The compulsion to get to the bottom of this Celtic gift issue was strong. As was his regret.

He shouldn’t have raised his voice and accused Kayla of mindfucking him. But something about her attitude, the way she seemed to be amused by the entire situation, amused by him, had burrowed beneath his skin like a tainted sliver that refused to be tweezed out. Which pissed him off.

He was a seasoned special agent with the FBI, trained in the art of interview tactics. And he’d allowed the lobbyist to manipulate his feelings.

With a damned smile.

“Walk me through what you heard, Ms. Carlson.”

“Well now, this goes back a few days. The county held an arts and crafts competition last weekend at the fairgrounds. There were ten categories—mixed media, ceramics, jewelry?—”

“I’ll take your word for it, Ms. Carlson.” He sat forward, arms resting on his knees, pen and paper at the ready. “Where does Ms. Krowne come in?”

She frowned. “I was about to get to that before you interrupted me.”

“My apologies.” He forced the words between his teeth. “Please go on.”

“As I was saying.” She lifted her teacup to her lips, her pinky extended, sipped, and returned the brew to its saucer. She squared her bony shoulders. “Ms. Krowne is a great patron to the school library. Has been for years, so the events committee chair asked her to be one of the competition judges.” She paused, assessing his reaction.

“Very generous of her.”

The board member sniffed. “Dee decided Miss Krowne needed an escort while she went from booth to booth. Like the woman couldn’t walk down the street by herself.” She seemed to shake herself. “Anyways, it was at this time, I heard the two conspiring.”

Finally, they got to the meat of the issue. “Tell me what you can recall of their conversation.”

“My memory is excellent, Agent Blackwell. I remember every word.”

He gave her an encouraging smile—he hoped. “Proceed when you’re ready.”

“I heard Dee mention the grand opening of her son, Lyle’s, natural history museum.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The billboards on I-40, between here and Asheville, are littered with advertisements about the new museum.”

Ash recalled seeing one tasteful advertisement on the drive here. But maybe the “litter” was on the eastbound side.

When he didn’t respond, the board member’s pinched expression deepened. “Dee complained about the fact that one of the museum’s donors had pulled their Celtic piece and her son was scrambling to find a replacement.” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing to angry slits. “That’s when Kayla told Dee she might be able to help her son out of his predicament.”

A cold blast of foreboding blew across the back of Ash’s neck. “Did the conversation end there?”

“Of course not.” She looked at him as if half his brain was oozing out of his ear.

Maybe it was.

“Dee said she would be indebted to Kayla if she could get her son a new showcase piece.”

“Did you hear Miss Krowne say she would loan her artifact to the museum in exchange for her vote?”

“No, but they were whispering amongst themselves at one point.”

“Whispering? Or were you too far away to hear everything? Or maybe fair-goers crowded in between you and the two women?”

The board member grew silent as if sifting through her memories. Then her vertebrae snapped into the upright position. “What does it matter? They were obviously speaking at a confidential level.”

Ash let her absurd statement hang in the air for three heartbeats. “Why do you suspect the artifact for the grand opening belongs to Miss Krowne?”

“Because she had a Celtic piece displayed in her home last spring, when she hosted a St. Patrick’s Day fundraiser for the county library.”

“Have either of the women confirmed the artifact loaned to the museum belonged to Ms. Krowne?”

“Nooo.” She drew out the word while she considered her answer. “Not specifically.”

Ash stared at the board member and wondered how the good citizens of Engel County could have voted to put such a petty, vindictive, wildly unqualified person into office.

For the school board, no less.

Under his unwavering gaze, she fidgeted and searched the air for a particle of logic she could latch on to. “Who else could it be? Few could afford such a priceless piece. Maybe you should search Kayla’s home. If the artifact is missing, then we’ll know she loaned it to the museum.” When he continued giving her the silent treatment, her tone turned hostile. “Kayla’s wealthy, but not wealthy enough to possess more than one twenty-five-hundred-year-old treasure.”

Kayla Krowne could own a hundred Celtic artifacts and it would barely put a dent into her fortune.

Enough was enough. Kayla had been right about Ms. Carlson wanting to discredit her fellow board member. He returned his notepad and pen to his pocket. “Anything else, Ms. Carlson?”

Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, her eyes flared and her lips compressed. “Are you going to speak to Dee about this? Or her son?”

“More than likely.”

“Good, she needs to be reminded of her sacred duty. Could you imagine the damage to our institution if it became known our votes could be bought for a bauble?”

Ash rose to leave. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Carlson.” A thought struck him. “You believe Kayla Krowne is using the artifact to sway Dee Rhodes’s vote on the Board’s response to the state’s new law on book banning and the parents’ bill of rights?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how Ms. Rhodes was going to vote prior to her conversation with Miss Krowne?”

Silence stretched between them.

She took a drink. “Not specifically, but rumor indicated she would vote yes.”

“Rumor.” Ash bit the inside of his cheek to keep the explosion of words from escaping. “So it’s possible the artifact might not have had an impact on Ms. Rhodes’s vote, one way or the other.”

“Dee said she’d be indebted to Kayla. Says it all, does it not?”

“Not by a long shot, Ms. Carlson.”

He left her sputtering in her tepid tea.