Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning, Dottie and I were the first ones to make it to the Laundry Club Laundromat.
The early spring air still carried a chill as I parked my little Ford Focus beside the row of washing machines visible through the laundromat windows.
The sky over Normal had turned that pale-blue color that only appeared in the mountains right after sunrise, and thin strips of fog still clung low against the tree-covered hills surrounding town.
“Let’s go grab a coffee,” I suggested while shutting off the car and looking across downtown Normal toward Trails Coffee. “I need espresso strong enough to restart my personality.”
Dottie stayed planted in the passenger seat for a second while she dug through the oversized purse she carried around like a traveling junk drawer. Finally, she found her cigarette case and pushed open the car door with a dramatic sigh.
“Why don’t you go over and get the coffee while I sit here and smoke in peace?” Dottie told me while slipping a cigarette between her lips. “My nerves are still hotter than fryer grease after last night.”
“Fine,” I agreed while stepping out onto the pavement. Before crossing the street, I shoved the sleuthing notebook into her hands. “Take that inside and give it to Abby when she gets here. I’ll grab coffee for everybody.”
Dottie gave me a lazy salute with two fingers while balancing the cigarette in the corner of her mouth. She was at prime snarkiness this morning when I picked her up at her camper, and it had only gotten worse during the drive into town.
Something was bothering her beyond Florence Sparks getting murdered, and if there was one thing I knew about Dottie Swaggert, it was that she couldn’t hold on to secrets long without eventually exploding all over everybody nearby.
Katy bar the door when that happened because no one in her path was safe.
Instead of worrying about whatever Dottie was bottling up, I crossed one of the one-way streets and stepped onto the grassy median running through the heart of downtown Normal.
The entire area already buzzed with spring tourists and early-morning hikers who looked completely oblivious to the fact that somebody had been poisoned less than twelve hours ago.
The grassy median stretched through downtown like a park dropped in the middle of town.
Massive oak and hickory trees towered overhead with fresh green leaves just starting to fully fill out for spring.
Their thick branches gave a great morning shadow across the grass, where tourists already spread blankets and unfolded lawn chairs while sipping coffee from Trails Coffee cups.
Stepping-stone paths wound through the median, connecting picnic tables shaded beneath the trees.
Large ceramic planters lined the walkways overflowing with Kentucky wildflowers, purple lupines, yellow daisies, lavender, and bright-red poppies that swayed softly every time mountain wind rolled through downtown.
The air smelled like fresh-cut grass, damp earth, and coffee drifting from Trails Coffee across the street.
At the far end of the median, the white-pillared amphitheater sat quiet for now except for two hikers stretched out near the edge, studying trail maps while somebody softly played bluegrass music through a portable speaker nearby.
Fairy lights still wrapped around the trees and amphitheater columns from the Blossom Festival preparations, though they looked dim and sleepy in the daylight compared to their nighttime appearance.
Downtown Normal always looked like somebody had carefully staged it for a postcard.
The two one-way streets running on either side of the median curved gently through town, lined with cottage-style shops painted in soft Southern colors.
White picket fences separated tiny courtyards filled with café tables, flower barrels, and seasonal decorations.
Hanging baskets overflowed from black carriage lights dotting the sidewalks while banners advertising spring festivals fluttered softly overhead.
Jessica Niles had fought hard for those flowers.
I still remembered her standing before the Historical Society and National Park Committee, giving a full presentation about why every flower basket and planter downtown should feature native Kentucky blooms. Conveniently, Jessica also owned Sweet Smell Flower Shop, which supplied every single hanging basket in town, but honestly, the woman had made a pretty convincing case.
And she wasn’t wrong.
The flowers made downtown feel alive.
Buckets of jasmine, daisies, and morning glories spilled outside Sweet Smell Flower Shop onto the sidewalk, while next door, the Stitchin’ Post had already decorated several trees with crocheted blossoms and colorful knitted sleeves in preparation for the spring tourism season.
Across the street, Tough Nickel Thrift Shop’s front window featured mannequins dressed in hiking gear, posed inside old kayaks surrounded by fishing poles and vintage camping lanterns.
Beyond downtown, the Daniel Boone National Forest rose around the town in rolling layers of green mountains and rocky ridges.
Every road leading out of Normal disappeared eventually into trees, hiking trails, or campground loops.
Tourists came here for the forest, but most ended up falling in love with the town too.
Hikers in boots and backpacks stood around drinking coffee while studying trail maps. Campers carried boxes of pastries back toward the campground. Cyclists rolled slowly through downtown while locals waved and stopped to gossip beside the median.
Honestly, it was hard to believe murder could exist in a place that looked this charming.
Trails Coffee sat facing the grassy median, inside one of those restored cottage-style homes.
A hand-painted wooden sign swung gently near the front porch entrance while a chalkboard near the sidewalk advertised cowboy coffee, maple cinnamon lattes, and hiking trail muffins.
The small courtyard beside the coffee shop already buzzed with tourists sitting beneath colorful umbrellas, drinking coffee, while hikers adjusted backpacks and studied maps spread across café tables.
I pulled open the door, and a warm breeze carrying the smell of espresso, cinnamon rolls, and fresh baked muffins wrapped around me immediately.
Conversations mixed with the steady hiss of the espresso machine drifted through the crowded shop. Every table looked full.
The first thing everybody noticed inside Trails Coffee was always the living wall.
The massive vertical garden stretched across nearly the entire far wall of the coffee shop and looked like a living piece of the Daniel Boone National Forest had been brought indoors.
Gert had hired some fancy architect years ago to create it and never let anyone forget how much she paid for it either.
Spring wildflowers filled the wall with color.
Marigolds, purple lupines, and chrysanthemums spilled through layers of greenery while soft vines trailed around hidden irrigation pipes worked into the design.
The scent of fresh greenery, mixed with coffee beans and pastries, made the whole place feel warm and alive.
Long farm tables filled the middle of the room while smaller café tables lined the windows facing downtown. Several bourbon barrel tables paired with tall stools sat near the bakery case. Tourists hovered there, trying to decide among muffins, cinnamon rolls, and fried apple hand pies.
Each farm table held a lazy Susan made from old bourbon barrel lids, topped by little jars of sugar packets, cinnamon sticks, honey straws, and peppermint spoons, spinning slowly every time somebody reached for something.
A giant chalkboard menu stretched across the wall behind the counter, covered in colorful handwritten specials and complicated espresso drinks Gert renamed depending on the season. Above the bakery case, a wooden sign read, “Pour yourself something warm and stay awhile.”
Which was exactly what most people did.
Behind the counter, Gert Hobson looked up from steaming milk the second I stepped inside. She narrowed her eyes immediately while setting the metal pitcher down beside the espresso machine.
“Morning!” she called out. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I bet you have,” I said with a smile as I weaved through the crowd.
“Spill it,” she said, nodding me over to the edge of the counter where the hallway led to some back offices and the bathroom.
She handed me a cup, untied her apron, and gestured for me to walk back to her private office.
“You knew I was going to need a double espresso shot, didn’t you?” I pretty much stated it.
“Hank came in earlier and told me everything that happened.” She shook her head and stopped shy of the office door to lean against the wall, her arms crossed. “What on earth happened yesterday at the tea?”
“The usual,” I said. “Women in power want full attention but nothing worth killing one of them over. So when Dottie and I went to check on Florence, Alice, and Tara after they didn’t show up, it was Florence we found at the bottom of the steps.”
“That’s horrible.” She shook her head. “Mary Elizabeth brought them in the other day to pick out some breakfast pastries. When they left, one of my employees said she had heard Florence and the governor were having an affair.”
“What?” That got my attention.
“Yeah. One of my employees—” Gert stopped in mid-sentence. “What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I shook my head and tried to forget what I’d overheard Tara say to the person on the phone at the tea party. “Are you sure your employee said Florence and the governor?”
“Yeah, pretty sure, but I’m happy to double-check,” she said, pushing off the wall with her shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to help with the morning rush, but we did put together some bagels and a coffee box for the Laundry Club Ladies, compliments of Hank.”
“Oh, he did?” I put my hand up to my heart.
“He sure did. He mentioned y’all were getting together this morning, and I was going to run it over there, but now that you’re here, you can take it.” She turned, and I followed her down the hall, where the order was already packed up and waiting at the edge of the counter.
“Thank you,” I said, picking up the box of coffee in one hand and the bag of bagels in the other. “The ladies will love it.”
“And I might’ve added a few cinnamon rolls because nothing is a better bribe than that when I want to hear the details of what happened.” She winked, knowing that we were going to be over at the laundromat, talking about Florence. “Plus I can’t believe Al kept Tex all night.”
“He did?” I questioned because that was news to me. “I called Ava Cox for Glenda last night after Al and Tucker took him into custody, but I figured Ava would get him released.”
“From what I heard…” Gert didn’t disclose who she heard it from. “Al said he was going to use his full twenty-four hours he had to keep Tex.”
“Thanks.” I held up both arms. “I’ll keep you posted.”
I hurried out of the coffee shop because I knew the Laundry Club Ladies had to work some magic fast if Ava Cox wasn’t able to use her lawyering skills to finagle Al into letting Tex leave.