Rhubarb Pie Before You Die

by Gin Jones

  “It isn’t fair for me to drag people away from their own work to help me.”

  “You wouldn’t have to drag them,” Emily said. “I bet Charlie Durbin would love to spend more time with you.”

  Everyone’s a matchmaker, Mabel thought, surprising herself with how little it annoyed her. “He already offered.”

  Emily’s face lit up. “Really? That’s wonderful. He’s a really good person, and he’s got such a crush on you, but I didn’t think he’d ever make a move. You two would make a great couple. Your aunt would have been so thrilled for her niece and her friend to be together, and you could both settle down here on her farm.”

  So Charlie had been flirting with her, Mabel thought. “I’m not going to date anyone just because my aunt would have liked it, and I’m certainly not settling down with someone for that reason.”

  “I suppose marriage is a bigger commitment than protecting your aunt’s farm,” Emily said. “But you should at least consider getting to know Charlie better. And definitely take him up on his offer to be your bodyguard until Graham’s killer is arrested.”

  “That may take weeks or even months, and Charlie’s got to be busy, getting his construction projects done before winter. Besides, I don’t want to give him the wrong idea about our having a future together. I’m still planning to go back to Maine as soon as the farm sells.”

  “If you don’t want to take Charlie with you to the greenhouse, at least take someone else,” Emily said. “I’ll even do it if you want.”

  “Thanks, but you’ve got your own work to do. I’m sure I can come up with someone else.”

  On her way back to the farm, Mabel considered who that might be. She didn’t know that many people in West Slocum, even fewer who might be willing and able to visit Graham’s greenhouse with her. Then she remembered Terry Earley, the college student who’d been part of the crew harvesting the garlic in July, and had signed up to do the fall planting too. Maybe he would accompany her to the greenhouse. She could pay him for his time, and he might actually know something about rhubarb, since he was majoring in agriculture. Terry would have a useful role, helping with the watering, instead of wasting his time standing around looking fierce when the worst thing that might actually happen was harassment by the next-door neighbor for breaking obscure homeowners’ association rules.

  * * * *

  Mabel texted Terry to see if he had some time available to help her at the greenhouse. While she was waiting for his response, she fed Pixie and Billie Jean, and then settled down to study Graham’s journal again, hoping she could break the encryption and find some new leads to his murder there.

  A few minutes later, she finally got a message from the friend she was counting on to break the code. She settled in the kitchen with a glass of iced tea and her laptop to see if his suggestion would do the trick. She quickly found the pattern and was able to make sense of a whole sentence. Translating the rest would be time-consuming work. It would have been so much easier if Graham had typed his journal into a computer document and she could apply an algorithm to translate it. Then she could have had the entire book decoded in just seconds. But Graham had been old school, handwriting his journal, so she would have to do the decoding manually. She could try scanning it and applying an optical character reader to it, but that would probably just introduce errors.

  The first page of the journal was dated January of the current year, but Mabel was more interested in recent entries. She turned to the last one, near the back of the book. It was dated the day before Graham had died. She started painstakingly translating the entry’s two pages of coded letters into words. After just a few lines, it was apparent that, like Aunt Peggy, he hadn’t limited his notes to information about his breeding program but had included tidbits about his personal life and the people he interacted with.

  Unfortunately, even after translating the words, Mabel couldn’t make much sense of them. They were rambling, more word salad than coherent observations. On top of that, there was yet another layer of obfuscation. Graham mentioned people he interacted with, including those he was angry with and presumably were angry with him, but he always used nicknames instead of their real names, like a code within a code. Perhaps it was a way of accommodating his legal training, since he couldn’t be sued for libel if no one knew for sure who, for example, “the Enforcer” was when he made derogatory comments about the person. Mabel assumed it was the next-door neighbor, Lena, but she wouldn’t be able to prove it in a court of law.

  Maybe Graham had included context earlier on in the journal that would make it obvious who the Enforcer was. Mabel flipped back toward the beginning of the volume until she found a date that translated to March, and began decrypting the entries. The first one was considerably more coherent than the later entry, with fewer word salads. Graham still used nicknames for the people in his life, but there was at least one she thought she understood: Bad Brother. Since Graham was an only child, it probably referred to his wife’s brother, Rob Robinson.

  Apparently Robinson had loaned Graham some money, and then became unreasonable—according to Graham, at least—in demanding repayment right when he was on the cusp of finally achieving his goal of establishing a rhubarb hybrid that would revolutionize the industry and be named after his wife. Graham had grown frustrated with having to explain that he needed just a little more time, and then they would both profit from the Carolina variety of rhubarb becoming the new standard.

  Robinson hadn’t mentioned any loans when Mabel had talked to him. Assuming the money was still outstanding, it gave him a motive for murder, separate from any inheritance he or his children might get. He could file a claim against the estate and get paid when the farmhouse was sold. As long as Graham had been alive, it seemed unlikely that the loan would ever have been paid, given the deteriorating state of both the farmhouse and Graham’s mental capacity. Could Robinson have been desperate enough for repayment that he’d have killed his brother-in-law?

  Mabel would have to go back to his office and ask him. First, though, she wanted to see if the journal had more information about the loan and also about the Enforcer, and whether she might have been inclined to kill someone who wouldn’t follow her rules.

  She resumed the slow process of decoding the pages until Pixie warned her of the arrival of a visitor. Mabel had lost track of time while hunched over the journal, and it was almost six o’clock. It was just as well someone had come to interrupt her, or she’d still be hunched over the journal at midnight, having forgotten to eat.

  She stretched on the way to the kitchen window to see who’d arrived. Rory was just getting out of her truck and would soon see the wheelbarrow that hadn’t yet been emptied of its charred contents. Perhaps Rory would know if it was possible for the garlic to have spontaneously combusted or if it would have needed a little help—from Porter or someone else—to catch fire.

  Rory was peering at the contents of the wheelbarrow, her confusion obvious even from a distance as Mabel hurried over to join her. “Have you been experimenting with new ways to roast garlic without using an oven?”

  “No,” Mabel said. “Although now I wish it wasn’t covered with fire retardant. If I hadn’t been in such a panic to put out the fire, I’d have transferred the garlic to a pot to roast it.”

  “Then how’d it catch on fire?”

  “I was hoping you’d know,” Mabel said. “Thomas Porter said it might have been spontaneous, like damp hay that heats up when it composts.”

  “I suppose it’s possible, in theory, since organic materials need to be damp in order to break down, and it’s that breakdown that releases enough heat to potentially cause a fire,” Rory said. “I’m not buying it though. It certainly never happened in all the years that Peggy grew garlic. She was pretty inexperienced in the beginning, so she might not have dried the crop as well as she should have, and she lost some garlic to decomposition, but there weren�
��t any fires. I know you dried everything properly this year, so there’s no way it could have spontaneously combusted.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Mabel said. “Someone must have started it on purpose. But who?”

  “Someone who wants you to sell the farm,” Rory said without hesitation. “I heard you canceled the deal with Porter, because he was going to turn it into ugly houses. My money’s on him having a motive for arson.”

  “Mine too,” Mabel said. “But I can’t prove it.”

  “Did the fire change your mind about selling? To Porter or anyone else? I tried calling your attorney in Maine to make sure he was keeping an eye on the situation, but I got a message that his voicemail box was full.”

  “I’ll ask him to call you when I get in touch with him,” Mabel said. “But don’t worry. I wouldn’t sell to Porter even if the farm burned to the ground, and I told him as much.”

  “I hope he believed you and doesn’t try to test you,” Rory said. “You should double-check the smoke detectors in the farmhouse. If whoever started the first fire tries again and the barn burns down, the house isn’t very far away. I hate that you’re all alone out here. I’d offer to come stay with you, but my husband’s been filling in on night shifts recently, and I can’t leave my daughter alone overnight.”

  “I’ll be fine on my own.” Mabel hadn’t lived with anyone since her grandparents had died shortly after she’d finished her master’s degree. Even sharing her space with Pixie and Billie Jean was something of an adjustment for her. Having another human being around all the time, forcing her to be quiet during her peak work hours after midnight, and then waking her up in the morning, wasn’t something she wanted to experience. Especially not right now, when she was already dealing with the fallout from Graham’s death, plus making plans for the garlic planting and starting a rhubarb field.

  “Are you sure you don’t want someone to stay with you?” Rory asked. “Maybe Emily could come over until her husband gets home. She could probably use the companionship herself. He’s been gone longer than usual and won’t be home for another week yet.”

  “I’m not a very good housemate with my late hours,” Mabel said. “Besides, Emily knows about the fire and my suspicions, so I’m sure she’ll be keeping an extra eye on me.”

  “I guess that will have to do,” Rory conceded. “But I’ll mention it to my husband, too, before he goes to work tonight. Perhaps he can arrange for a patrol car to drive by occasionally.”

  “Thanks.” Mabel liked her privacy, but she also believed in reasonable precautions. “So what are you here for?”

  “Just wanted to see how you were doing with hiring help for the garlic planting. My daughter isn’t terribly enthusiastic about the prospect, and I was hoping you’d heard from her friends from the summer harvest.”

  “I did. Terry Earley and Anna Johnson have both signed up to help with the planting. And a few other students have expressed interest.”

  “That’s a relief. I was planning to tell Dawn she had to work it if she wanted to stay out late for a Halloween party she’s been invited to, but now I won’t have to face all the moaning and groaning about my being the mean mom. She’ll want to see Terry and Anna again.”

  “There may be some more work too. I’m definitely going to try to buy some of Graham’s plants to start a rhubarb field. I just need to look at my aunt’s journal notes on where they would do well.”

  Rory nodded. “I remember your aunt talking about it a year or two ago.”

  “Graham’s brother-in-law, Rob Robinson, seems willing to sell them, assuming he’s Graham’s heir, but Sandy Faitakis might try to steal them out from under me. She showed up at the greenhouse when I was there, and I couldn’t tell if she wanted the plants or the breeding program data.”

  “I’ve seen Graham’s greenhouse,” Rory said. “Even if Sandy wants the plants, she doesn’t have enough space for all of them. I don’t even know what Graham thought he was going to do with all those seedlings once they outgrew their starter cells. He’d need ten times the size of his yard to plant all of them.”

  “I can say for sure that he wasn’t thinking very logically in the last few weeks,” Mabel said. “I found his journals in the greenhouse, and I was hoping the most recent one would tell me what needed to be done to keep his seedlings healthy. I haven’t found any useful information yet, but I’ve barely started to read it. He encrypted it and it’s slow going to translate it. The latest entry was a whole bunch of gibberish that almost sounded like dreams with surreal elements. He talked about going to a party with his wife, who was somehow alive again, and she was yelling at the Enforcer, who I think is his neighbor, Lena Shaw, when the Broker, who’s probably the mayor, interrupted to say he and the Enforcer were getting married. Does any of that make sense to you?”

  “Sounds like a nightmare to me,” Rory said. “And nothing that would happen in real life. Graham’s wife never even knew Lena. She came to West Slocum from somewhere in New York, I think, when someone she knew through her real estate brokerage company bought the property to develop the subdivision and she decided to retire. And Graham’s wife wouldn’t have yelled at anyone. Carolina was a strong woman, but she got things done through her quiet competence, not by shouting at anyone.”

  “What about Danny and Lena as a couple?”

  Rory laughed. “Seriously? Everyone’s pretty sure that Danny is gay, or perhaps just not interested in sex. He might be in Lena’s pocket, based on some substantial campaign contributions she’s given him, but I can’t imagine any sort of personal relationship between them.”

  “I couldn’t imagine it either, but I’m not very good at noticing that sort of thing.”

  “You know,” Rory said, “the dream makes a little sense if you look at it metaphorically.”

  “I never look at anything metaphorically.”

  “What I mean is, Graham could have seen Lena and Danny as being ‘married’ in the sense of being united against him. I know from my husband that Lena liked to call the station to complain about Graham, and if they wouldn’t do anything, then she’d call the mayor, and he’d arrange for the police to send someone out. Joe made a few of those visits himself.”

  “Looking at it that way makes a lot more sense to me than a personal relationship between Danny and Lena.”

  “Definitely.” Rory nodded. “Did Graham mention anyone else in his journal who might have had a reason to kill him? The police may want to take a look at it now that you’ve decoded it.”

  “I’ve just done a few pages,” Mabel said. “The only people he’s mentioned there besides the Enforcer and the Broker were the Brother, who’s probably Rob Robinson, and the Professor, who I think is Sandy Faitakis.”

  “That’s probably everyone Graham interacted with, other than his clients,” Rory said. “Ever since his wife died, he pretty much kept to himself outside of work.”

  “I’m not entirely sure the journal is going to be helpful. The most recent entries didn’t make much sense. I wonder if it’s because he was eating the rhubarb leaves and it affected his ability to think straight. Do you remember when he first started talking about edible leaves?”

  “Less than a year ago, but I’m not sure exactly when. Best guess is about six months ago.”

  “So around April?”

  “That sounds right,” Rory said. “I know it was before the CSA started up with its deliveries again in May. He didn’t want to participate this year, claiming he didn’t have time. He mentioned then that he’d been experimenting with eating the leaves, but other than the craziness of the statement itself, he didn’t seem particularly unbalanced. Not like he was when you met him on Sunday night.”

  “I haven’t gotten to the April entries in the journal yet,” Mabel said. “I’m still in March.”

  “My husband would say you should hand the journal over to O’Connor and let him f
inish translating it.”

  “I’m afraid he won’t bother,” Mabel said. “But I suppose you’re right. I’ll take it to him first thing tomorrow.”

  But not before she made a digital copy for herself in case O’Connor didn’t consider it worth reading. She couldn’t trust him to do it, not when her freedom was at stake.

  Chapter 15

  After Rory left, Mabel had dinner and took care of the cats. Billie Jean was still wolfing down more than what the instructions on the kibble bag said was a regular daily intake for a cat of her size. Of course, she was eating for five or six, so maybe her appetite was normal in the circumstances.

  Mabel spent the evening alternately scanning the journal and decoding a few pages. The copying was monotonous work, so there was still a handful of pages left to scan when she went to bed. She finished them the next morning right after feeding the cats.

  As soon as those chores were done, she called Jeff Wright’s assistant at her direct office number, but the line was busy. Mabel kept trying every few minutes while she made and ate breakfast, but continued to get the busy tone. She tried the main office number, too, but no one picked up and the voicemail box was full, so she couldn’t leave a message.

  She couldn’t delay going to the police station any longer, so she drove into town to deliver Graham’s journal. According to the young male officer at the front desk, O’Connor was at Graham’s office, searching it with the detective from the state police.

  “What do you think of her?” Mabel asked. “The visiting detective, I mean.”

  “Deanna Cross?” The young officer chuckled. “The name’s easy to remember. She’s definitely not anyone you’d ever want to cross.”

  “Have they found anything useful?”

  “All I can say is that the department is following all leads and they expect to have an arrest in due course.”