by Gin Jones
And yet, Mabel thought guiltily, Rory had risked criminal trespassing charges, which wouldn’t reflect well on her husband, just to help out a friend. “That’s another reason why I really need to sell the farm as soon as possible. So you aren’t busy with me when you’ve got more important things to do.”
“Don’t be silly.” Rory waved away Mabel’s concern with a flip of her hand. “I love helping you, and you won’t need me much longer. You’ve come a long way in just a few months. Once you’ve overseen the planting of next year’s crop, you’ll have gone through the full growing cycle for garlic. At least the parts that require intense work.”
Mabel refrained from mentioning that it would most likely be Porter doing that planting, not her.
“I’ll take your silence as recognition of how amazing it is to be a farmer.” Rory moved to the truck’s door. “I’m heading out now, and I’ll leave you to your work. You know what needs to be done to prepare for the garlic planting, right?”
She nodded. She knew exactly what needed to be done. Get Jeff’s approval on the purchase and sale agreement, so the farm could be sold next week and Porter could do the planting. That answer would only upset Rory though, so Mabel said, “I made up flyers for hiring field hands. I was just going into town to pick them up and then post them.”
“You can count on my daughter to work at least a few hours. Especially if you get Terry Earley to work for you again. Dawn can’t wait to see him again.”
Terry was an agriculture student at the local university, and he’d been a huge help with the summer’s harvest. “I still have his number, so I’ll text him to make sure he knows about the work.”
“Good.” Rory climbed into the truck. Through the open window, she said, “Are you sure you’re all right after yesterday? You’re not afraid to be alone or anything?”
“Of course not,” Mabel said. “The only thing I’m afraid of is that everyone will assume I’m responsible for Graham’s death. The sooner the police arrest someone for the murder, the sooner I’ll be able to go home to Maine.”
“In that case,” Rory said with a grin, “don’t tell my husband I said so, but I hope they never find Graham’s killer.”
Chapter 8
The announcements board at town hall was just inside the main entrance, above an ancient steam radiator that hadn’t been turned on yet due to ongoing warm daytime weather. If the temperatures didn’t drop soon, the ground might be too warm for planting the garlic in October. The cloves had to develop some roots but not sprout so much that the energy went into green shoots and not into surviving the winter. The Halloween deadline was a judgment call apparently, and a balancing act based on weather, not a hard-and-fast rule. Which Mabel thought was one more reason why selling the farm was the right thing to do. She much preferred set-in-stone rules, especially in situations like farming, where she didn’t have enough experience to make a judgment call.
Mabel pinned her Help Wanted notice between a smaller ad for an apartment for rent and a dozen index cards offering free kittens to a good home. She’d already left some flyers at the office of the farmers’ market manager, but she still had to give some to the university’s job placement office.
She turned to see Charlie Durbin carrying a set of rolled-up architectural plans as he left the building inspector’s office at the far end of the main corridor. He came over to read her flyer and then pointed his paper cylinder at it. “Does that mean your sale fell through?”
“I’m just making sure I’m prepared for whoever does the planting, whether it’s me or the buyer.”
“Your aunt was always an advance planner too,” he said. “She’d have been proud of how you’ve managed her farm so far.”
“Does that mean you think she wouldn’t approve of my selling it?”
“I didn’t say that.” He paused for a moment before saying, “I think she’d have approved of whatever you chose to do with the farm as long as it made you happy. She loved you even more than the farm.”
Which was exactly why Mabel couldn’t let anything happen to the farm. She had to be as good a person as her aunt had been, doing what was right rather than what was convenient. “I don’t suppose you’ve found out anything about Thomas Porter yet, have you?”
“I have, but you’re not going to like it, and I need more confirmation to be absolutely sure.”
Mabel sighed. “So he’s a developer like you?”
“A developer, yes,” Charlie said, “but not like me. He’s the kind who gives the rest of us a bad name by doing things like what he’s done to you apparently. He’s lied before about what he’s going to use property for in order to make a deal. A friend is sending me a court order from when Porter promised that a historic building on land he was buying for condominiums would be moved to another site for preservation, and then after the deed was signed, he demolished the old house instead of saving it.”
“It could have been a single instance and he’s changed his ways,” Mabel said desperately.
“I doubt it.” Charlie twisted the rolled-up plans, tightening them into a narrower cylinder. “The seller sued and won, but it was too late to save the historical building. The money judgment was just a small fraction of the profit Porter made, so he probably considered it a cost of doing business rather than a reason to behave more ethically. My guess is that example is just the tip of the iceberg, and his other victims didn’t have the resources to sue him.”
“Do you think my broker knows?” I asked. “Danny’s supposed to be representing me, doing what I want, and I told him right up front that I wouldn’t sell to a developer.”
“I don’t think Danny would intentionally mislead you,” Charlie said. “He probably didn’t know the guy since he’s not local. Danny wouldn’t think to look into the man’s background like I did, since he tends to see the best in everyone. I’ve learned not to trust anyone, especially when it comes to real estate.”
Mabel hugged the remaining flyers to her chest. “I’ll let my attorney know the deal is off.”
“You trust me that much?”
Mabel nodded. “I’d hoped for better news, but you don’t have any reason to lie to me about this. It’s not like you’re planning to buy Aunt Peggy’s farm if Porter’s deal doesn’t go through, so it shouldn’t matter to you whether I sell it to him or not.”
“Maybe I just don’t want you to leave town, and I’d say anything that might keep you from selling.”
“Have Rory and Emily drafted you into their campaign to keep me here?”
“I didn’t know there was a campaign, or they wouldn’t have had to draft me. I’d have volunteered.”
Mabel wasn’t sure what to make of his statement. Why would he care if she left town? He’d asked her to have lunch with him a few times, but she’d been too busy to accept and he hadn’t pushed the issue. She’d assumed he’d just been being kind to her out of respect for her aunt, who’d been a close friend for a number of years. Had he actually been flirting with her and she hadn’t realized it? She’d have to ask Emily later. Until she understood what Charlie meant, it was better not to risk making a fool of herself.
“Careful. If Rory hears the word ‘volunteer,’ you’ll never have time to do your actual work.” Mabel nodded at his rolled-up plans. “Is that a new project?”
He shook his head. “Just a minor amendment that I wanted to get the building department’s comments on.”
“Have you considered buying Graham Winthrop’s property to develop?”
“Would you hate me if I did?”
“No,” she said. “Graham’s situation is different. It’s too small for a sustainable farm, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t care about the land itself all that much, just his breeding program. That can be moved to another location fairly easily. It’s not like Aunt Peggy’s farm, where the thing she cared about was the place as a whole. I’d like to fi
nd a way to save Graham’s rhubarb plants if I can, but the land itself might be better used for residential purposes. I was just wondering what you thought of its development potential.”
“I can’t see a professional developer being interested in it. I’m certainly not. It’s too small for more than one or two houses, so it’s not worth the time I’d have to spend on it.”
That was disappointing. Mabel had been hoping that the value of the land might have provided a possible motive that would refocus the police’s inquiries to someone other than herself.
Charlie continued, “Even if it were a bigger lot, it wouldn’t be worth the hassle of dealing with Lena Shaw and her homeowners’ association. She’s going to make life hell for whoever buys the property. Assuming she doesn’t buy it herself. She’s tried to buy it in the past, but Graham wasn’t interested in selling.”
“She mentioned possibly buying it now.” Lena had made it seem like an altruistic thing, intending to tidy up the property, but she had as much incentive to lie about her intentions as Thomas Porter did. Mabel needed to have another talk with Lena. It seemed unlikely that she’d have killed Graham simply because he was making her look bad as the president of the homeowners’ association, but if she could have gotten rid of the eyesore that clearly annoyed her, while at the same time making money for herself by flipping the property, that seemed like a more credible motive for murder. “Do you know what Lena had planned to do with the property if Graham had been willing to sell?”
“I heard she wanted to tear down the house and build a small guest cottage for when family members visit. Not a bad idea actually, from a land use point of view.”
“Doesn’t she live in the house right next to Graham’s?” Mabel hadn’t gotten a good look at it because of the fence that obscured the view of the first floor, but she assumed it was a close match to the identical homes across the street from it. “If it’s like everything else in the subdivision, it must have six bedrooms and parking for ten cars. That’s not enough for her family to visit?”
“Apparently not,” Charlie said. “Although, I remember someone saying her plan seemed odd, that they’d never met any of her family members in the ten or so years Lena has lived in West Slocum, and no one could recall her even talking about any relatives. And she’s not married, so it can’t be for a spouse’s family.”
“What else could she want Graham’s land for?”
“Probably to flip it. It’s not worth my time, but it’s a good location, surrounded by houses on the high end of the price range for West Slocum. And if she lost a few bucks on it, she might consider it a reasonable investment to have a better neighbor, especially since she’d probably make up the difference with the increase in her own property’s value once Graham’s house stops bringing down the values for the whole subdivision.”
“Sounds like a possible motive for murder to me,” Mabel said, wondering if anyone had developed an app for investigating homicides. The user could key in the names of suspects, with their motives and whether they had an alibi, and have the app calculate the odds that each person was the killer. Even without doing the math, it looked like Lena would have been high on the list of suspects. “I hope the police are taking a close look at Lena. Not just because of her motive, but means and opportunity too. Graham was killed with his own knife, so no one had to bring their own murder weapon or have any special skills to use it. I’m pretty sure he died hours before I got there, and as the closest neighbor, Lena could have slipped into the unlocked greenhouse and confronted him about the poor upkeep of the property, then killed him and left without anyone noticing.”
“I’m sure the police are looking into whether she’s got an alibi.”
“I’m not that optimistic,” Mabel said. “I haven’t met the detective the state is sending out to help, but the local one seems extremely new to murder investigations.”
“And you think you can do a better job?”
“I probably have more experience than Frank O’Connor has,” Mabel said. “I did solve my aunt’s murder when no one even thought she’d been killed. That’s more experience than O’Connor seems to have. He might decide I’m the best suspect, since I found the body. People are already looking askance at me.”
“It’s just your fifteen minutes of infamy,” Charlie said. “The gossips will move on to something new soon enough.”
“Not if the real killer isn’t arrested,” Mabel said. “Until then, people will suspect me, and I won’t be able to leave town without everyone thinking I’m running away from justice. Even Rory and Emily don’t want me to be forced to stay. They want me to choose to live on the farm.”
“Me too,” Charlie said. “I’ll keep an ear out for anything that might be useful to clear your name.”
“Thanks.” Mabel remembered the flyers she’d been posting. She held out a handful of them. “If you know anyone looking for some seasonal work, the garlic needs to be planted soon, and it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to hand the workers off to a new owner. I can use all the help I can get.”
Charlie held out a hand to take the flyers. “I’ll share it with my crew. I might even be able to put in a few hours at the farm if it’s the only way I can spend some time with you. I was hoping we might be able to do something together that didn’t involve digging in the dirt sometime.”
Before Mabel could decide whether Charlie had really been flirting with her, a man in a jacket with the town seal on it came through a nearby doorway and called Charlie’s name, insisting they needed to talk.
It was probably just as well, she decided. Planting the garlic and keeping herself out of jail was going to keep her busy for the foreseeable future. And both projects were less stressful than the thought of Charlie being interested in her for herself, not just as her aunt’s niece.
* * * *
Mabel left Charlie to his work and headed outside. On the way to her car, she texted Jeffrey Wright to ask him to hold off on reviewing the contract with Porter, just in case the lawyer was planning to start work on it before contacting her. She didn’t tell him the deal was dead, hoping against hope that Charlie’s evidence would turn out to be incorrect, and simply said she needed to talk to him before he spent time reading the contract.
She put her phone away, only then remembering that the police station was right next to town hall. It was a simple, single-story brick building, easy to miss in the shadow of the imposing, three-story, stone-exterior town hall. She wondered if Frank O’Connor was working at his desk or had gone out to interview suspects. Assuming he had any in mind other than herself. She doubted he would tell her anything about the investigation if she asked him directly, but he might let something slip if she talked to him about other things.
Easier said than done, Mabel thought, at least for her. She’d never been any good at small talk or conversational subtlety, so she needed to plan out a seemingly impromptu conversation that included a plausible reason for visiting him.
After several minutes of pacing the sidewalk outside the police station, she was as ready as she’d ever be. A person’s heirs were always suspects, and she could ask who they were in the context of the risk to the rhubarb plants if they weren’t cared for right away.
Once inside, she was asked to wait while O’Connor was notified she was there. The lobby was only about ten feet square, with bare, off-white walls, equally bland commercial carpeting, and a dozen metal chairs. There were no tables with reading material to pass the time, like most waiting areas had, or even a window to look out of. Big signs on the walls asked visitors not to use their phones, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was give the police any more reasons to view her with suspicion.
O’Connor kept her waiting for about half an hour, plenty of time for her to have second, third, and even fifteenth thoughts about what she was going to say to him. Eventually, he appeared and escorted her back to a room that was as d
evoid of decoration and comfort as the lobby had been. The only difference was that there was a sturdy metal table in addition to the four chairs that matched the ones in the lobby.
O’Connor tossed a legal pad on the table and took a seat, gesturing for her to sit across from him. “Did you think of something you wanted to add to your statement?”
“No,” Mabel said, pulling out the chair but remaining on her feet behind it. After half an hour in the matching, unpadded chair in the lobby, she wasn’t in a rush to add to the numbness of her rear end. “But I wanted to thank you for arranging for animal control to catch Graham’s cat.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, although he looked irritated by her brilliant conversational gambit. “Is that all? I’ve got a homicide to investigate, you know.”
“I do know.” Mabel reluctantly sat down. “I was wondering if I could ask you for another favor.”
“I can’t tell you anything about the investigation.” O’Connor giggled nervously as he grabbed his legal pad in preparation for leaving.
“Of course not,” Mabel said quickly. “I wouldn’t ask you about that. I’m here about the plants in the greenhouse. They need a caretaker, too, like the cat has, and I want to be sure someone is responsible for keeping the seedlings alive. It would be a shame for Mr. Winthrop’s life’s work to die with him.”
“And you’re volunteering to adopt the plants as well as the cat?”
“I just want to make sure they survive until the estate gets settled. The plants will die before then if they’re not watered and monitored. Perhaps you could let Mr. Winthrop’s heirs know that they need to send someone to check on them?”
“Perhaps,” O’Connor said. “But it may be a while before we find them. No one seems to know who they are. Graham was a loner after his wife died, no new girlfriend or even close friends that we know of. He and his wife didn’t have kids, he was an only child, and her sister moved away from West Slocum decades ago. There’s no one left in town who can give us any information about his heirs.”