She laughed. “I wish. If I did, I’d go straight to the police myself. I learned my lesson. I’ve got to run. I need to rehearse for the gig at the fair. I hope you can swing by.”
“I hope so, too, but my cheese duties might prevent me. We’ll see.” Brynn loved listening to Tillie sing and play guitar.
Tillie turned to leave.
“Tillie?”
“Yeah?” She turned back to face Brynn.
“Please be careful.” Brynn didn’t have to say more. She knew Tillie caught her drift.
Chapter 15
At some point while she was getting ready for the fair, Sheriff Edge had left the house. Good. She and Wes had to get moving if they were going to arrive a few minutes early to get organized for the CSA booth.
Wes was waiting for her downstairs.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He hesitated. “For now. But I’m starting to get worried.”
Brynn’s stomach wavered. “Why?” She picked up her purse and keys from the hallway table and he followed her out the door.
“Why do they keep asking me the same questions over and over again?”
They walked toward the car and Brynn spotted the boxes with flyers about their farm. Wes thought of everything. She opened the door and slid in. Wes got into the passenger side.
“They keep asking you the same questions because they’re investigating a murder. The timeline is important.”
“But my story is still the same,” he said, latching his seat belt.
“It’s a technique.” She turned the ignition. “They’re hoping either to trip you up or that you’ll remember a helpful detail while you’re retelling the story.”
“Okay.”
“Did you know the victim?” Brynn asked.
“We’d been to a few of the same parties. We spoke, but I didn’t know him well. It’s odd because I thought he was seeing Chelsea. But I guess I was wrong. Evan was seeing her.”
“Sounds like it might be hard to keep up with her boyfriends,” Brynn said.
Wes laughed. “True.”
As they drove along, they both quieted. Brynn was concerned that the police kept questioning him. She understood—and it was probably just procedure. But in such a small community, it seemed like overkill. Like they were truly suspecting him of killing that young man. Wes was one of the kindest people she knew. A good guy. She wished the police would leave him alone and find the real killer.
Maybe she could help in some way. Perhaps the police were overlooking a fact somewhere. If she could find anything at all and inform the police about it, they’d find the culprit and everything would be back to normal.
But maybe she was jumping the gun. Maybe that was the last of it. She mulled over what had happened with Nancy’s death and how she tried to help the investigation. It turned out that she did help, but it didn’t feel like it. She was certain she botched things up. Maybe she should leave the sleuthing to the police.
She drove along the narrow country roads, by cornfields and wildflower fields. Soon enough, they were at the fairground, pulling into the parking lot.
Brynn and Wes made their way to the building where they’d be manning the CSA booth. Brynn was pleased to see that everything had been prepared. Informative, colorful brochures were stacked on the table, along with applications for people to receive produce. There was a small shelving unit containing products from the CSA—honey, blackberry and strawberry jam, apple butter, things that had a shelf life. But Brynn had brought along cheese samples to place on the table, as well, along with the brochures Wes had created. They were just about set and the fair would open in twenty minutes.
“So tomorrow people will bring their cheese in,” Brynn said more to herself than Wes. “And we taste and judge the cheese. The next day, we place the ribbons on the cheese and announce the winners.”
Wes nodded. “Will it be hard to pick a winner?”
“You never know. Sometimes there’s a clear winner right from the start.” She straightened the stack of Buttermilk Creek Farm brochures. “Other times it’s really difficult. I judged a contest once where all the cheese was so bad it was hard to choose anything!”
Wes laughed. “Bad cheese? Imagine that!”
Their booth was sandwiched between the 4-H and the Future Homemakers of America. People from each group scurried around trying to set up. Across from them, there were a few local banks with booths. The crowd of people seemed happy to be busy. The countdown had begun—five minutes until the fair officially opened.
“Hey, how are you?” Wes looked up at Roy, who’d approached the booth. Brynn hardly recognized him. She’s only seen him once before up close, but now he had a beard. What was it with all the young men growing beards?
“I’m good. Helping Brynn with the booth tonight. What are you doing here? Heard you got a gaming job?”
“Yeah, it fell through. Long story.” Roy glanced at Brynn and smiled. She smiled back. “So I’m back working the fields. I don’t mind. But I’d rather be gaming.”
“How did you get in?” Wes asked. Brynn tried to busy herself with placing the cheese just so. She didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation, but she was right there within listening distance.
“I walked in.”
“But it’s not open yet.”
“I have my ways.” He winked.
Winked. He actually winked. Brynn wanted him to move along.
Wes laughed nervously. “You’re such a hacker.”
Roy grinned.
“Would you like some cheese?” Brynn asked. She didn’t like the direction of this conversation. Hacking?
“No, thank you,” he said. “I hate cheese.”
“Oh, I’ve never heard of anybody hating cheese,” Wes said. “That’s weird, dude.”
“I got sick on it once. Did me in.”
“Oh well, if you ever want to try again . . .” Brynn said. Didn’t like cheese? She knew of people like him and had even met a few. But they were far and few between. “Looks like it’s time for the fair to open.”
“I better get going,” he said. “Catch you later, Wes.”
The air brimmed with an excitement suddenly. A bell rang announcing the official start of the fair. Brynn’s childhood memories lightened her heart—the thought of attending the fair with clunky rides, smelly animals, and so much good food—and filled her with joy. She hoped it would last.
Chapter 16
About an hour later, after answering questions about the CSA, handing out brochures, and even making a few sales, Brynn heard a woman’s screeching voice: “What is he? Where does he come from?”
Brynn looked around to see who or what she was talking about. It was a small, elderly, but spry lady, white hair pulled into a bun, hands balled in a fist, heading for the booth.
“I’m sorry. Is everything okay?” Brynn said.
“What’s he doing here?” She pointed at Wes, who was helping a customer purchase honey.
Confused, Brynn’s mouth dropped open; then she gathered herself. “He’s helping with the booth. Why? What’s the problem?”
“What is he? Some kind of terrorist?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Brynn’s face heated. “You should move along.”
The woman stood with her hands on her hip. “Shenandoah Springs ain’t no place for a man like him.”
Enraged and embarrassed by the scene the woman was creating, Brynn tamped down the impulse to shove her away before Wes caught on. “I think you should go,” Brynn said with her teeth clenched.
“No, honey, he should go. Far away!”
Who was this woman? Brynn had never seen her before.
“The courts will deal with him. I hope they put him away for good. What he did to that poor man . . .”
Mike Rafferty came along about then. He was Schuyler’s brother and the fire marshal. “What’s going on here, Helen?”
The woman looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her
face fell. “I’m sorry. I have to say what’s on my mind. On everybody’s mind. That terrorist needs to go back to where he came from.”
“Boston?” Brynn said. “He’s American. And even if he weren’t, it’s none of your concern.”
“Thanks, Brynn,” she heard Wes from behind her. She hoped he didn’t hear any of that. First he’s accused of murder, then of being a terrorist.
“He’s from Boston,” Mike said, reiterating. “You need to move along. I’m going to take you into custody in about five seconds if you don’t.”
“Never thought I’d see the day Mike Rafferty would be all PC,” she muttered, and left the table.
Mike stood with his hands on his hips. “Sorry about that.”
“Who is she?” Brynn asked, her heart breaking and racing at the same time.
“Helen Donnelley.”
“Should I know her?”
“Nah, you’re better off not knowing her.” Mike laughed.
Brynn tried to smile, but it went nowhere. “I’ve never seen her before and she came marching over here accusing Wes of all sorts of things.”
“Unfortunately, he’s been in the news. It will blow over.”
“I hope so,” Wes said as he sat down. “If my dad gets wind of this, he’s going to make me come home. I don’t want that.” He paused. “I don’t care what people like Helen think of me. I’ve been dealing with that my whole life.”
“I do care, Wes,” Brynn said after a minute. “It’s ignorant and inexcusable.”
“I agree,” Mike said. “Other than Helen causing trouble, how’s it going?”
Brynn had no idea what to say. Flummoxed and trying to remember what she was doing here, she shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
She straightened the brochures again. The CSA, yes, she was here to promote the CSA. “Would you like one?” She held one up for Mike.
“Nah, I’m already a member. Love it.”
“Oh good,” Brynn said, smiling. “How about some cheese?”
His face lit up. “Okay. I’ll take a sample. I hear you’re having a contest.”
“Yep.” She handed him a napkin with a few crackers with cheese on it. “I’m excited about it. It’s tomorrow. You should come by the cheese shed.”
He nodded and popped a cracker with cheese in his mouth. “My God, this is good cheese,” he said after swallowing.
“Excuse me,” said a voice on the other side of him. “How do I join the CSA?”
Wes stood and handed her an application.
“I better get going,” Mike said. “Good seeing you, Brynn.”
“Hey, thanks for helping with Helen.”
“You’re welcome.”
As he walked away, Brynn recalled how he had investigated the fire that took Nancy’s life. That’s when she first met him. He struck her as capable and he was. But he didn’t solve that case—she did. Once again, she found herself wondering how to help the police. After all, they were understaffed. Maybe they’d welcome the help.
She had no idea where to start. But as she considered all the events, she felt a sense of urgency. Rumors were spreading. Not only was her heart breaking for Wes, but she was concerned about her new enterprise. She had yet to make a profit. If Buttermilk Farms was connected with a murder—no matter how ridiculous it was—it might put them under.
First, she needed to research the victim. What sort of person was he? Who were his associates? Why would someone kill him?
If she could answer those questions, perhaps she could help the police and nip this business in the bud.
* * *
After Wes took a break and walked around the fairground, Brynn followed suit. The night air was steamy, but the atmosphere was festive. The merry-go-round music in the background, lights strung, a few well-lit game booths. She heard the roar of the crowd and followed it to the far end of the fairground, passing the kiddie rides, booths, the trained animals going around in circles, carrying little ones waving to their parents and grandparents.
Brynn made her way to the crowd and spotted a tractor pulling a load of people—creeping along. The crowd cheered them on. Another two people stepped on the back—and it stopped in a puff of smoke and steam. The crowd jeered.
When the crowd calmed down, the tractor driver exited the vehicle and waved to everybody. Brynn knew the tractor pull was a longtime tradition. It seemed like good fun for the farm community. It was an oddly charming tradition. She recalled the conversation she’d had about tractors being so powerful now.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a gnawing in her stomach. She’d told Wes that she would pick them up a couple of orders of French fries. The scent wafted into the building and had been tempting them all evening.
She turned to find the French fries and bumped into David Reese, the tractor salesman. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.
“No worries,” he said, and grinned at her. “Checking out the tractor pull, are you?”
She nodded. “Why are they using old tractors?”
“For two reasons,” he said. “One is most small farmers buy a tractor for life. Or they inherit. And the other reason is the old tractors are more fun.” He winked at her, which made Brynn want to heave.
“Do you have something in your eye?” she said without thinking.
His face blanked. “I don’t think so. I better get going.”
Yes, you better. What was it with some of these older men? If you actually talked to them they thought you were interested in them? What the heck? Brynn wasn’t interested in anybody. Period. She was glad she let him know.
She found the French fry stand and took her place in the long line.
“What are you doing here?” she heard a voice say.
She turned to find Willow.
“You’re supposed to be at the booth.”
“I left Wes at the booth. I want some fries.”
Willow grinned. “Best fries ever. Great sweet potato fries over there.”
“Not tonight,” Brynn said. “We’ve been smelling these fries all evening.”
“I hear ya.”
“So what’s the scoop on this Helen character?” Brynn asked as the line moved forward.
“Helen? Little old woman?” Willow gestured. “About this high?”
Brynn nodded. “She made a scene tonight. Called Wes a terrorist and a murderer.”
“Good God. She’s crazy,” Willow said. “I’m sorry about that. She doesn’t come out of the hills often. But she does come for the fair every year.”
“What’s her problem?” Brynn said. Now two people stood between her and the French fry counter. Was she drooling?
“I don’t know. She’s lived up in the hills forever. And some of those old folks are still suspicious of outsiders.”
“Still? What do you mean?”
“Back in the day, the government came here and took our land, for a start. Outsiders have been coming into Appalachia for years and trying to tell us how to eat, pray, and live. The people who live in the mountains had it harder than the rest of us.” She paused. “But still it’s not 1950. She has no excuse for that ignorant behavior. She needs to get over it. Wes has done nothing to her and wants nothing from her.”
“Right,” Brynn said.
“Next!” the man in the trailer yelled.
“Two large fries,” Brynn said, handing him exact change.
He took her money and slid two cardboard containers across the counter full of crispy hot fries. Brynn’s mouth watered.
“Hey, are you the lady harboring a killer?”
Brynn looked behind her. Who was he talking to?
Willow stepped up. “Mind your own business, Zach, and get me some fries.”
Brynn reached for her fries. “Was he talking to me?” Her face heated.
Willow nodded. “Yes, now don’t worry about it. Take your fries and go back to the booth. I’ll handle this.” Brynn’s stomach roiled. “Okay,” she said.
She made her way through the crowd. T
he lights, the games, the people, who all had an air of festivity two minutes ago, seemed meaningless to Brynn now. Were they all looking at her? She kept her chin up and walked to the building where Wes waited. She felt like they were all looking at her. But that couldn’t be. Could people entertain the notion that Wes was a murderer?
She drew in a breath. She needed to put a stop to all this nonsense.
Chapter 17
Brynn was happy to see Wes engaged in a conversation about the CSA. Intent, she sat down with the fries and tucked into hers, listening to their conversation.
“For now, we make deliveries, but we’re hoping by the fall we’ll have a farm stand open and people can come and get their produce, too,” Wes said.
“What a great idea,” the man said. “You’ll be getting my application soon. I’m so sick of the produce I’m getting from the local grocery stores. The tomatoes have no flavor.”
Wes grinned. “We hear that a lot.”
“Thank you,” the man said, and he walked away with an application in his hand.
Wes turned his attention to Brynn and the fries. “Oh my God, those fries smell great!”
Brynn nodded as she shoved another one in her mouth. Should she tell Wes about the conversation with Zach, the French fry man? She ate another fry and mulled it over. What purpose would it serve? Wes was already nervous enough about all this, especially from Helen causing a scene. It wasn’t like she was keeping a secret. It was that, well, it might hurt him unnecessarily.
The crowd was thinning. Almost quitting time. Brynn looked forward to closing up shop here so she could go home, tend to the cows, and prepare for tomorrow’s contest. She didn’t know if she’d find time to begin to look into the backgrounds of the murder victims. But she hoped she did. Anything she could find that would help the police focus their attention on someone other than Wes would be a good start. She, of course, had no idea what she was looking for—and when she tried to find answers concerning her neighbor’s death, she was led on a few wild-goose chases. But if she approached this more methodically, she might succeed. She had to do something. For Wes—and for the farm.
“What’s wrong?” Wes said as they packed up the booth, tucking boxes under the table for tomorrow’s crew to find.
Goodnight Moo Page 6