Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

search box.
    “Who were you?” she asked. Over a dozen results appeared on the screen.
    Most of these focused on Violetta’s performances, but Olivia finally found a site on the arts of Appalachia that had a link to the storyteller’s biography. Violetta Devereaux was born in 1958 in Whaley, North Carolina, to Josiah and Ira Devereaux. The fourth of five children, Violetta had three older sisters, Hattie, Mabel, and Flora, and a younger brother, Elijah.
    Violetta’s father worked their mountain farm while her mother tended their two-room cabin and made rugs on her loom. She sold these, along with quilts and blankets, or traded them for goods. The children worked from the time they could walk. In addition to their regular chores, they were also tasked with gathering plants to sell to a wholesale drug company. “We collected Galax and goldenseal, witch hazel and snake root and more. We got paid the most for ginseng,” Violetta was quoted as saying. The direct quote gave Olivia pause, and she scrolled to the end of the piece to see who’d penned the biography.
    “Alfred Hicks,” she spoke the name aloud for no reason in particular, but when she did, it sounded familiar. “How do I know you?”
    Unable to recall the context, she resumed her reading. The Devereaux children didn’t have much in the way of formal schooling, and the family possessed very few books. Their chief entertainment came in the form of Bible readings and tale telling when the family gathered around the potbellied stove each night. Josiah was an avid storyteller, and Violetta soon learned to mimic his methods. As she grew into a young woman, Violetta began performing for neighbors and local church groups. People found her so captivating that she considered entering the regional competition. However, she couldn’t afford to travel. The family struggled financially. During a particularly lean winter, Violetta’s brother, Elijah, fell ill. The severely undernourished child died on Violetta’s eighteenth birthday. Wracked by grief, she made two vows. The first was to leave home and never return. The second was to never marry or bear children.
    In the spring following Elijah’s death, Violetta packed up her few belongings and moved to the outskirts of Blowing Rock where she began her storyteller career in earnest. To supplement her income, she took in washing and continued to sell plants to local drug companies. Violetta survived, but she remained poor and relatively unknown until, during her late thirties, she competed in a major storyteller’s competition and was awarded a handsome grant. Violetta toured the state and later, the nation, performing for children and adults alike. She never reunited with her family following Elijah’s death. Those close to the Devereauxes claim that the character of Jack in Violetta’s stories was modeled after her late brother, but Violetta never confirmed this theory. When questioned about her reclusive nature and refusal to commit any of her stories to paper, Violetta responded by saying, “Some of my tales are about life and laughter, but others are dangerous. Cursed. Strung together, some of the lines and phrases can form a noose, strong enough to hang a man with.”
    The article finished with a glowing review of Violetta’s performance at the National Storytelling Festival in Tennessee.
    Olivia let the information sink in for a moment. She then opened a new window and typed Alfred Hicks’s name into the search box. She gasped when the first result announced that Hicks, a professor at Western Carolina University, had died last winter.
    “‘Suffered fatal injuries resulting from a fall,’” Olivia murmured. Her words dropped like anchors into the empty air. “Lowell told Dixie the professor’s death was no accident. He claimed that it had been the work of a ghost.”
    She stared at the screen again, trying to locate where Hicks had died. “A trail on Beech Mountain,” she said and opened yet another window. This time she used Google Maps to zoom in on Beech Mountain and its environs. Scanning the small towns close by, she saw that Violetta’s hometown of Whaley was practically at the mountain’s base.
    “So what?” she asked the screen. “Is the connection important?”
    Olivia was just about to conduct a search on Violetta’s estranged family when her cell phone rang. Recognizing the number, she answered at once.
    “’Livia? Lowell’s here. At the house.” Dixie’s whisper was