Copyright
DEATH IN DAHLONEGABY DEBORAH MALONE
ISBN 10: 1-60039-190-7
ISBN 13: 978-1-60039-190-3
ebook ISBN: 978-1-60039-714-1
Copyright © 2011 Deborah Malone. All rights reserved.
Print and Electronic Format & Layout Copyright © 2011 by LAMP PoST Inc.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication — whether in printed or ebook format, or any other published derivation — may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Death in Dahlonega
a Trixie Montgomery cozy mystery
by
DEBORAH MALONE
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
Proverbs 3:5
Contents
Copyright
Contents
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Questions For Discussion
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the Lumpkin County Sheriff’s Department, the Dahlonega Gold Museum, and the City of Rome Police Department for their help with police procedure.
I would like to thank Zack Waters for critiquing my manuscript and special thanks goes to Dawn Hampton who helped me breathe life into Trixie and Dee Dee.
Last, but certainly not least, I owe a debt of gratitude to Ashley Ludwig, Beverly Nault and Candice Prentice, my editors extraordinaire.
Dedication
”Death in Dahlonega” is dedicated to my family and friends who supported me during my writing journey.
Chapter One
Dahlonega, here we come!” I cheered, triumphant at the 10 miles to go sign. My knee ached from three hours in the car, my palms slick on the wheel from the harrowing twist of road.
“Here. Have some before I eat it all.” My passenger, and oldest friend, Dee Dee, shoved a bag of trail mix under my nose.
I dug through and, finding only nuts, pushed it back. “You ate all the chocolate pieces!”
She muffled an unapologetic sounding apology, then continued singing along as Alan shifted to Clint Black.
My Jeep Cherokee bumped over a rut in the road as a semi sped downhill a trifle too fast. With a tight grip on the vibrating steering wheel, I rounded another curve on the mountain road.
I single-handedly gripped the wheel and cooled a sweaty palm on the air vent, thinking how this trip would propel my career from probationary to full-fledged reporter. This was my big chance to prove to my editor that I, Trixie Montgomery, could write an article with substance and flair, despite the rather routine subject matter. Who says you can’t start a career after forty?
After all, “Gold Rush Days” in the North Georgia Mountains was hardly Pulitzer Prize material. Even the best had to start somewhere. Besides, what girl in her right mind could turn down an opportunity to take a little vacation while getting paid at the same time?
I reached over and squeezed my friend’s hand. “Thanks for coming, Dee Dee.” I couldn’t wait for a little antiquing, sightseeing, and plenty of good country cooking. What could possibly go wrong?
“Look!” Dee Dee pointed at something outside, misjudged, and slammed me hard in the nose. A spike of pain shot up through my eyes, to the top of my head.
“What?” I yelped, shooting a quick-glance to the rearview to see if it was bleeding. “You’ve broken my nose.”
Dee Dee slid toward me until I thought she was going to sit in my lap. She leaned over, pointing out the window. “Over there. Those beautiful yellow trees.”
“You almost broke my nose and scared the starch out of me to show me trees?”
“I’m sorry.” She handed me a wad of tissues. “But have you ever seen anything so beautiful as these mountains in the fall?”
“Wade and I vacationed all over the United States, and the North Georgia Mountains are on the top of my favorites list.” I longed to be in the passenger seat so I could study the view. But if you wanted to live while driving these roads you’d keep your eyes focused ahead, my ex-husband’s voice reminded me with gritting annoyance.
“It’s like God created a patchwork quilt with all the brightly colored leaves.” Dee Dee rolled down the window a bit. “Mm. Fresh mountain air. Nothing smells as good, either.” She stuck her head outside like a happy, oversized puppy.
“Careful there. I don’t want to lose you.”
She pulled her head back in. “I don’t think there’s any chance of me fitting through the window.” She laughed at her own joke. “Where are we staying again?”
“I made reservations at the Dahlonega Inn,” I said. “I got the last room, and only after I told the owner, Joyce, that I worked for Georgia By the Way. Turns out it’s her favorite magazine.”
Before we knew it, we arrived in Dahlonega. Hanging baskets full of geraniums hung from every light post. Second story porches adorned many of the clapboard structures. The shop-lined streets were filled with people milling about. A friendly driver waved us through the four-way stop.
The founding fathers had seen fit to arrange the buildings of Dahlonega in a square. The mountains served as a beautiful multi-colored backdrop. In the center stood the old Dahlonega Gold Museum, where most of my research would be carried out. I glanced at my camera, itching to get started.
We pulled into the Dahlonega Inn’s gravel parking lot across from the town square. Brown-leafed Magnolias dotted the area.
Researching on-line, I’d learned the two-story clapboard house was originally built in 1895, and later turned into an inn in the early 1920’s. I half expected a trio of flappers to saunter out the door.
“Come on Dee Dee. Let’s head on in.” I opened my door and struggled to reach the cane I kept behind my seat.
“Trixie, does your knee hurt? Hold on.” Dee Dee reached behind the seat and shifted the cane where I could easily grab it, and I hobbled alongside her across the parking lot.
Anxious to get settled in, we entered the lobby of the Dahlonega Inn. The large room had been carefully decorated to resemble a homey replica of a Norman Rockwell parlor. A large stone fireplace adorned the wall across the room. Overhead, huge, hand-hewn beams supported a split cedar roof. Several comfy chairs perched in various corners of the room, and bright watercolor landscapes added a splash of color to the reception area. Visitors mingled while we maneuvered to the reception desk.