Chapter 14 #2
“No, thank you,” Avery said. “Thank you for your time.”
Avery and Grant climbed into the car and drove to their next stop—what used to be the Stenson home.
The house was located on the far edge of town, on a road that led to the county cemetery.
It didn’t take long to find Cemetery Road. Once on it, they drove a mile and a half before they reached the house. Across the street was a cemetery with old, white gravestones and statues, as well as newer, granite headstones.
Grant parked on the street in front of the old house.
“Our research at the courthouse showed this house is now owned by a Mrs. Olivia Jordan,” Avery recalled. “She and her husband bought the house thirty years ago from John Stenson’s son, Michael.”
“It’s large enough to have a basement big enough for brewing beer.”
Avery drew in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “I get the feeling we’re wasting our time here, just like the other places. I hope Melissa and Bree are having more luck.”
“Let’s do our due diligence, look at the house and then head back to the sheriff’s office to compare notes with the others.”
Avery nodded and walked up the steps beside Grant. He knocked on the door.
They waited for any sign that there was someone in the house. After a minute or two, they turned and started down the steps.
The creak of hinges made them stop and look back.
A diminutive old woman with thinning white hair, wearing a cardigan on a warm day, poked her head out the door. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice wobbly like only the really old could be.
Avery and Grant climbed the stairs again.
Avery led the way with a gentle smile. “Mrs. Jordan, I’m Agent Avery Hart with the FBI, and this is Grant Hayes.
We’re conducting an investigation into older homes that might have been used in the production of alcohol in the past, possibly during prohibition or later.
Could we ask you some questions about your home? ”
“Of course,” she said and opened the door wider. “Please, come in. I have a pot on the stove. Would you join me for tea?”
Grant didn’t want to be there for that long and scrambled for a way to say that while not hurting the woman’s feelings.
Avery answered for them, “We’d love to join you for tea.” She followed the woman inside, leaving Grant no other choice but to join the ladies for tea. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker but kept that fact to himself.
Mrs. Jordan shuffled through the house to the kitchen, where a small dinette table stood in a corner with shiny red vinyl-covered chairs that could have come straight out of a nineteen-fifties furniture ad.
“Please, have a seat,” the older woman said in her wobbly voice.
Avery lowered herself onto one of the vinyl cushions. Grant sat beside her.
Mrs. Jordan loaded a tray with three teacups and a teapot, poured water from the metal pot on the stove and dropped a teabag into the pot to steep.
Then, she lifted the tray that looked impossibly heavy for someone so old and frail and carried it to the table.
She poured tea into the three cups and set one in front of Avery, the other in front of Grant and sank into her seat. “Sugar or cream?”
“None for me, thank you,” Grant said.
“Sugar, please,” Avery said.
Mrs. Jordan plucked a sugar cube from a small bowl using a tiny pair of tongs and dropped it into Avery’s teacup. She dropped two in her own and stirred.
Once they all lifted their teacups, the older woman smiled. “Isn’t this nice? I haven’t had company for tea in... Well, I don’t quite recall.”
Grant felt sorry for the woman. She appeared to be happy to have someone visit. And he hadn’t wanted to stay. Now, he was glad Avery had agreed to tea on their behalf.
“Thank you for inviting us in,” Avery said.
“You said you had questions about my home?” Mrs. Jordan took a cautious sip from her teacup.
Avery set her cup in the saucer. “Mrs. Jordan, we understand this house was built back in the early nineteen hundreds by John Stenson.”
“Why yes, it was. When he passed, his son, Michael, lived in it for years until he moved to Dallas to be closer to his grown children. My husband bought the house from Michael. We’ve lived here for the past thirty years.
Or at least, I have. My dear husband passed away fifteen years ago. It’s been just me, ever since.”
“I’m sorry about your husband,” Avery said.
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Jordan sipped her tea.
“Does this house have a basement?” Grant asked.
Mrs. Jordan nodded. “It does. Though I haven’t been down there for a while. These old bones don’t make it up and down the stairs like they used to.”
“Do you mind if we check out the basement?” Avery asked.
“Not at all.” She nodded toward a door on the opposite end of the kitchen. “Would you like to see it now or after tea?”
“We’d like to look now and then come back to finish our tea together,” Avery said with a smile.
“Of course. I’ll wait for you here. If the stairs are too steep for you, there’s another entrance to the basement on the side of the house.
They’re wider, and there are fewer of them.
I think they used that entrance when they delivered supplies.
Michael said they used to host parties here back in the roaring twenties. It’s your choice of stairs.”
Avery and Grant chose the stairs leading out of the kitchen.
Grant led the way down, pulling on a string overhead to turn on the light over the stairs.
Once at the bottom, he pulled the long string for another lightbulb above their heads.
It blinked on, shedding a dull yellow glow over a basement large enough to house a still, but showing no sign of any such equipment or brewing supplies.
Shelves lined the walls with a variety of items, including old board games, a box full of ancient sports equipment, canning supplies, and empty Mason jars.
Avery crouched close to the floor and ran her hand over the concrete surface. “Only dust,” she said.
Grant nodded. “For someone who was a notorious bootlegger, you’d think there would be something left in a nook or cranny.”
“Those women weren’t brought here,” Avery said. “We’re missing something.”
Grant led the way up the stairs, where they joined Mrs. Jordan at the table. She poured hot tea into their cups to warm what was there. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Not quite,” Avery said. “John Stenson had a reputation for running beer and whiskey to the cities.”
“That’s what his son said. Not only did he run it, he made it, cutting out the middleman.
Apparently, he made enough money doing all that so he could afford to build this big house.
It also helped that he milled his own lumber.
” She stared over the rim of her teacup.
“Michael was sad to have to sell his father’s home, but when the big paper companies moved in and bought up large tracts of land, they put some of the smaller mills out of business, including Stenson Mill.
His children had to move to Dallas to find work.
He followed them there after he lost his wife. ”
“That’s so sad,” Avery said.
“I’ve been around long enough to watch a number of businesses come and go.
It’s always sad to see the empty buildings standing like ghosts.
It didn’t help that the train quit stopping here.
” She waved a hand. “But it’s not all gloom and doom.
I got a lovely home I’ve enjoyed for all these years. Would you like more tea?”
Avery held up a hand. “No, thank you, Mrs. Jordan. We have to go. This is a workday for us.”
“Of course,” she said and pushed up out of the chair. “I hope you will come again soon. It’s been a pleasure.”
“The pleasure was mine.” Avery hugged the older woman gently.
They left the house, climbed into the car and headed for the station, where they found Melissa and Bree talking with Sheriff Taylor in front of the desk.
As soon as they entered, the sheriff nodded. “Good. You’re in time to hear this. Blade has shown signs of coming to. We were about to head out.”
Grant glanced down at his watch, surprised that the day had passed so quickly. “We’re coming with you.” He turned to Melissa and Bree. “Find anything?”
Melissa frowned. “Nothing.”
“Same,” Avery said. “What are we missing?”
“A pointed conversation with our hitman friend,” Melissa said. “Let’s do this.”
They left the station in three different vehicles. Sheriff Taylor in his service SUV, and Bree and Melissa in her red pickup. Grant and Avery climbed into the battered rental car and drove to the local hospital.
Once inside, they took the elevator to the floor where Robert Martin was recovering from the crash.
A doctor met them outside the room. “I called as soon as Mr. Martin showed signs of regaining consciousness. I’m afraid I might have jumped the gun.
When I was examining him a few minutes ago, shining a light into his eyes, he flinched and blinked.
When I called out his name, he opened his eyes briefly.
That’s when I told your deputy he should notify you.
” The doctor’s lips twisted. “He hasn’t opened his eyes since.
However, I think it could be any time now.
His reaction to the light is a good sign. He should wake up soon.”
“Can we see him?” the sheriff asked.
“Absolutely.” The doctor moved aside, allowing their team to enter the room.
Blade lay in the bed, his dark skin in distinct contrast to the stark white of the pillow behind his head and the sheets pulled up over his chest. Electrodes stuck to his chest fed the monitor beside him with a steady beep, indicating the beat of his heart.
Grant stood over the man who’d tried to kill them yesterday and felt no empathy for the killer. He didn’t look so tough hooked up to monitors and an IV bag.
The man’s eyelids twitched.
“Did you see that?” Bree exclaimed.
“I did,” Grant responded. “He could wake at any moment.”
Avery sighed. “Or it could be hours. I don’t know about the rest of you, but my stomach is barking at me for skipping lunch.”
“I could stand a bite. Is the hospital cafeteria still open?” Melissa asked.
A nurse appeared behind them. “They’re remodeling the cafeteria.
Until they’re finished, they have limited hours.
” She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Blade’s arm and tapped a button on the monitoring device.
The cuff expanded, squeezing Bade’s arm.
“Those of us working the evening shift usually call in our orders to TJ’s, and we send one of us to retrieve them.
Beats going hungry or eating whatever meal prep we’ve had all week. ”
Avery nodded. “Sounds like a viable option.” She looked around at her team. “Let me know what you want, and I’ll make that run.”
“I’ll go with you,” Grant said.
“Actually,” Avery said, “I’d like Bree to come along. It’s not far, and we haven’t really had time to talk. I’m still debating pressing charges,” she said with an arched brow. “Unless she convinces me otherwise.”
Bree snorted, her lips drawing up on one corner. “Not above blackmail, are you?”
Avery met her twin’s gaze. “Not if it works. Does it?”
Bree’s mouth spread in a smile, softening her features. “We’re more alike than I pegged you for.”
“How about I escort the two of you?” Grant offered, not liking the idea of Avery leaving his sight for even a short drive across town.
“Not necessary,” Avery said. “There’s still enough daylight to get there and back.”
Grant frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you two ladies going about without protection.”
Melissa snorted. “But it was okay for me and Bree to roam the countryside without a scary Navy SEAL to protect us?”
Avery cocked an eyebrow. “She makes my point. Besides, Bree and I have things to discuss. In private.”
Bree’s brow wrinkled. “We do?”
“Yes. If it makes you feel better, we’ll place the order from here for carryout. Bree and I will dash over to pick it up and be back in a matter of minutes.”
“The diner or TJ’s?” the sheriff asked.
“I like TJ’s wings and seasoned fries,” Melissa said.
“Sounds good to me,” Bree said. “Sheriff?”
“The sliders and plain fries.” Sheriff Taylor shook his head. “None of that seasoned garbage.”
Avery used her cell phone to locate the number for TJ’s and placed the call. Within minutes, she’d made the order, including a club sandwich for herself and a personal pizza for Grant.
“My car’s parked out front,” Bree said.
“Perfect.” As Avery walked past Grant, she laid a hand on his chest. “We’ll be right back.”
He captured that hand and held it, not at all happy about her leaving without him, but realizing it was the same argument that had led them to their divorce. “Be careful,” he whispered. “I can’t lose you again.”
She smiled up at him. “I don’t want to lose you either.”
His gaze followed her as she pushed through the door and out into the hallway.
Though he knew he had to let her go, he didn’t feel any better about it. His instinct was to follow.
“Hey, his eyes are fluttering again,” Melissa cried.
Grant tore his gaze from the door and focused on the hitman. They needed answers.