Dead on the Vine

by Elle Brooke White

  “Who else was present when the body was found?”

  “Just Farmer Brown. He’s still down there making sure that the scene is preserved.” Charlotte hoped that she sounded reliable and respectful.

  Chief Goodacre quickly spun her head back to Joe.

  “Samuel—she means Samuel.” Joe nodded to the chief.

  “That is his last name … Brown? I never knew that.” Chief Goodacre tried it out on her tongue. “Farmer Brown. That’s funny.”

  Beau approached her and lifted one of the foils in her hair.

  “Excuse me!”

  “Girl—ma’am … Chief, your roots are done. We’ve got to rinse out your hair right now. I can’t believe that they let you leave the salon like this.”

  “I didn’t exactly give them a choice,” Chief Goodacre replied, looking to Beau to save the day.

  Beau did a quick scan of the area and spotted a garden hose next to a trough that looked like it was used in gardening.

  “Quick—over here. Joe, will you get that milking stool and place it right at the edge of this basin?”

  “You sure you know what you’re doing, son? I’m an authority figure, after all.”

  “I was born ready,” Beau told her while guiding her to her seat.

  “Now sit down facing me. Here. You can use my robe to cushion your neck. Just lean back a bit.”

  Beau rolled the blue robe into a long rope and draped it under the chief’s neck and around her shoulders. He then picked up the hose and nodded to Joe to turn it on.

  “The water will be warm for a short bit because it’s been sitting in the hose in the sun, but then, I’m afraid, it will turn cold. I’ll work as fast as I can. So, you married?”

  Alice appeared in the doorway of the farmhouse, mouth agape. As her eyes took in the impossible scene playing out in front of her, she looked to Joe, surely for some possible explanation for why a nearly naked man was washing the police chief’s hair with a garden hose. He just shrugged his shoulders and smiled.

  “I’ll get some towels” was all that Alice could muster saying.

  Where has she been all this time? Alice knew what time the realtor was arriving …

  * * *

  “Beau, you are a lifesaver,” Chief Goodacre said to him once he’d towel dried her hair and combed it into place. His robe was now too wet to wear, but thanks to Alice, he’d wrapped a towel around his waist. If the lake had been filled, his attire would have made perfect sense.

  With Chief Goodacre’s looks restored almost to normal, Charlotte saw that they were close to the same age, and the chief had made it all the way to the top in her career—even if it was a relatively small pond.

  “You all wait here for the medical examiner, and when he shows up, Joe, you can escort him down to us. Charlotte, since you own this place, you’d better come along with me. We haven’t had a murder here in over ten years. You’re here one day, and we’ve got a body.”

  Charlotte winced. Does she think that I had anything to do with this? She should talk to Alice, who’s been missing all morning.

  An age-worn pickup truck appeared on the plateau, windows rolled down, with hard rock music pouring out of the vehicle like a downpour from over-saturated rain clouds. Charlotte couldn’t see the driver clearly, but there was another man riding in back in the bed. She thought that she recognized him as being the friend or brother of the spitter from town. It was confirmed when the driver leaned out and caught sight of Beau and said, “Well looky here. You sure are making yourself at home pretty fast, boy.” A cigarette hung from his lips. The man in the back hopped out of the truck and walked around Beau in a circle.

  “Wade, turn that damn music off immediately or I’ll arrest you!” the chief said to the truck driver.

  “For what, Chief?”

  “For disturbing the peace and being butt ugly. And give me a minute and I’ll come up with some more charges, like proof that it was you who shot out that transformer last night, making the power go down. Clark, you get back in the truck. I don’t remember hearing anyone invite you to visit.” She crowded Clark and made him walk backward to the truck bed, where he stepped up onto a tire to hoist himself in.

  So these are the Avery brothers.

  Silence was restored.

  Wade slid over to the passenger seat and stuck his head out the window.

  “So, what’re you here for, Chief? I heard from a friend that you tore out of the beauty parlor with rollers still in your hair. Something about a dead body? Who is it?”

  “You can’t sneeze in this town without someone catching a cold a mile away. Don’t you boys have anything better to do? Don’t answer that, but stay put. I may need you to identify the body. Come on, sister”—she gestured to Charlotte—“let’s go take a look. And it was foils, not rollers, Wade,” the chief shouted over her shoulder as she led Charlotte away. “Go ahead and introduce yourself to the twenty-first century.”

  Charlotte followed her down the hill, accompanied by the pig, now named Horse. It relaxed her a bit to see that Mrs. Robinson was still riding on his head.

  “Were you and Tobias close? I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

  “Yes and no, Chief Goodacre. I spent a month here one summer when I was a kid, and we were both big fans of letter writing.”

  “A lost art,” the chief said.

  That surprised Charlotte; this lady was not conforming to the stereotype of a cop who uses force rather than words. She wondered if they could be friends. Charlotte figured that she was going to need one when Diane and Beau went back to Los Angeles.

  “Those men that came by in the truck—do I need to worry about them?” Charlotte bit a corner of her lip; she always did when she was uneasy.

  “Trust me I’d love nothing better than to put them behind bars. They are mean-spirited and unkind. But I suspect, otherwise harmless. Don’t get me wrong. I’d happily change my mind. Hello, Samuel.”

  “Chief Goodacre, I’ll lead you to the body. I made sure that no one came near it after that realtor tripped over it.”

  “That reminds me, what was his name again, Charlotte?”

  “Mr. Lurvy, Max Lurvy. He overheard me talking in the bank and introduced himself. He said that he knew the farm and would help me sell it.”

  “Do you have his number? Did he give you a card?”

  “Yes.” Charlotte thought for a moment. “You know what? He showed me his card but took it back. I never did actually get his phone and address information.”

  “I’ll have to track him down. Which real estate company does he work for?”

  Charlotte stopped following Farmer Brown for a moment. “I feel like such a fool. I don’t even know who he represented.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Chief, here he is.” Farmer Brown stopped about ten feet away from the body and pointed.

  “Okay, don’t get any closer. I’m just going to get a look at his face to see if I know him, and then we’ll wait for the M.E. I don’t want to destroy any evidence.”

  Chief Goodacre peered down at where he lay.

  “Don’t know him. No one mentioned the pitchfork before—that’s a nice touch, and it tells you a few things.”

  “Like what? It’s so heartless.” Charlotte couldn’t bear to look at the victim again and had hung back with Horse and Mrs. Robinson.

  “That’s one way of looking at it. Rage could be another. Or the murder was unplanned, and the pitchfork was there and available. But I don’t want to speculate. We need to know what caused this poor fellow’s demise. I suggest that we put all preconceived notions about this way on the back burner.”

  Now that she was over the initial shock, Charlotte screwed up her courage to study the murder victim. He had dark hair, almost black, that served as a dramatic contrast to his very fair complexion. Almost as light as hers. He had a square jaw and high cheekbones, qualities every girl wishes that she possessed. But on him they seemed to be going through a transition
from soft to chiseled. He couldn’t have been older than his early twenties.

  Chief Goodacre backed up as well and turned to Samuel.

  “So, Farmer Brown—I hear that’s what they call you these days.”

  “Not ‘they’—just her.”

  The chief looked at Charlotte and nodded like she sensed the tension.

  “Prior to discovering the body, when was the last time that you went out to this particular part of the tomato field, Samuel?”

  “It would have been three days ago. I have a set rotation that I make.”

  “And to your knowledge, did anyone else have reason to be here since then?”

  “No, but clearly at least two people were. This guy and whoever killed him.”

  “Tell her about the broken sprinkler valves, Farmer Brown,” Charlotte requested, and noticed Horse’s nodding head signifying approval.

  “Oh, that. It happens every now and again, but I’ve never been able to catch anybody. Probably kids, vandals bored with a need for something to do.”

  “Joe says it’s Wade and Clark.”

  Horse emitted a growl at hearing this.

  “It sure sounds like something they’d do. You say you’ve never seen anyone actually in the fields tampering with your irrigation?” the chief asked.

  “No.” Farmer Brown had a hangdog look on his face. “And since the damage has escalated recently, Joe and I take turns doing a drive around at night.

  “Too bad.”

  In response Horse let out a succession of squeals.

  “Action from the peanut gallery. If only you could talk, little pig.” The chief gave him a pat.

  Charlotte looked at him and tried to read the signs.

  “Ah, there’s the M.E. Over here, Burt.” Goodacre waved him over.

  * * *

  Chief Goodacre, Charlotte, and Farmer Brown walked back up to the house so the chief could begin questioning witnesses in an orderly fashion.

  “So, let me get this straight, the group on this little tour of horror was comprised of Samuel, Charlotte, Joe, dear Beau, and Diane. And this Mr. Lurvy character, if that’s his real name.”

  “And Horse.” Diane gave the little guy a pet.

  “Hah! She can’t tell a pig from a horse, Clark,” Wade shouted, and they both belly -laughed.

  “The pig’s name is Horse. Try and keep up Wade!” Chief Goodacre gave him a look of disgust. “Alice, my friend, where were you while all this was going on?” The chief’s tone had done a three-sixty turn.

  Aha.

  “I was in the cellar. I’m making lots of jam right now and canning fruits and vegetables. I’m hoping this year to be able to sell them at the farmers market in the fall. For the farm, of course.” Alice addressed this last bit directly to Charlotte.

  Alice looked tired, with her thick black hair off her face in a messy braid. This invasion of a new owner and friends must be really taking a toll on Alice. Or is it something else?

  “If you go to all this effort, Alice, you should certainly reap a percent of the profits.” Charlotte knew that they had gotten off on the wrong foot because of a misunderstanding about Mrs. Robinson when Alice tried to wipe the ladybug off her shoulder. She’d promised herself to be extra nice to her in an effort to mend the fences. She was rewarded with a small smile from Alice.

  They were interrupted by the noise of footsteps and squeaky wheels as Burt and his assistant returned, wheeling the gurney with the body up the hill. The pitchfork had been removed but was lying on top of the sheet-covered body.

  “Please tell me that you have a good idea of the time of death within a small window?”

  “I wish I could, Theresa, but until I get him on the table, the best I can say is that he died between midnight and about eight in the morning. He was a young, healthy guy, and the air was cold last night, so I have to look internally for better clues. Oh, and he had no I.D. on him—or anything for that matter. This could either be on purpose or because the killer took all the evidence with him.”

  “So more questions than answers. Will you lift the sheet so that these two fellas can hopefully identify him?” the chief asked Burt’s assistant.

  Wade and Clark had gotten out of their truck when the body was brought up.

  They both took a good look and shook their heads.

  “Of course not,” Chief Goodacre muttered. “Burt, make this a priority please.”

  “Priority? This is the only murder victim I’ve had in years. I’ll have more for you tomorrow.”

  “I’ve radioed my two deputies to come over right away to collect evidence. In the meantime, nobody go anywhere near the scene—understood?”

  Charlotte and her group all nodded obediently. Horse followed suit, making Charlotte giggle.

  Wade made a show of pulling out a cell phone from the bib of his overalls.

  “Serge? Yeah, it’s Wade. Listen, we’re at Finn’s; you might want to reconsider selling for a farm that also produces dead bodies. They got one here that had a pitchfork in his neck. No lie, and you know how fast news spreads around here.”

  “You’re a real class act, Wade. Now you two buffoons get out of here—you’re trespassing. And quit that filthy smoking. This is fire country.” She crowded him all the way back to the truck and stood an inch away from him until he got in and turned the ignition.

  Charlotte was beginning to really like Chief Theresa Goodacre.

  Horse then added his two cents by letting out a displeased grunt and turning his head away from Wade.

  Chapter Five

  “Every time I entertain thoughts about making a go of it with this farm, something awful happens that tells me it’s a bad idea.”

  Charlotte, Beau, and Diane had repaired to the porch swings for a much-needed calm down. They sipped Alice’s homemade lemonade and just let a moment of peace wash over them.

  “I have to agree Charlotte. This is not the way I pictured the day going. If I’d known, I certainly wouldn’t have worn a turquoise swimsuit.” Beau had changed into madras shorts and a white polo shirt for the afternoon.

  Charlotte knew that, despite being all smiles, the jabbing from Clark Avery had left a mark.

  “You know people have short memories. Hopefully this murder will be solved very soon, and we can get on with our lives. That Chief Goodacre seems pretty sharp, and she sure doesn’t take any crap from anyone.” Diane grinned. She loved women with spunk.

  “Amen to her. I saved her blondness, so she’s beholden to us now.” Beau hoisted his glass, and they all toasted the air in front of them. They were trying to lighten the mood but couldn’t quite get there.

  “I like her too, but it doesn’t bode well that no one has recognized that poor young man. I still can’t believe someone was killed on my farm! And everyone says that the city is a dangerous place to live.” Horse had his head cocked, listening to Charlotte.

  “Look at it this way: you’ll have time to get some of the cosmetic changes done to the farmhouse, and I’ll bet in a month’s time people will be lining up to make an offer on the place.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say, Beau.”

  “Oh no.”

  They all turned to see Alice standing in the doorway. Charlotte wondered how much of their conversation she had overheard.

  “What’s ‘oh no,’ Alice?” Diane asked.

  “I completely forgot that Miss Fern’s third-grade class was coming today. They were scheduled to pet the animals and learn a little about farm life. I’ll just have to send them away. We certainly can’t have kids running around a murder scene.”

  They all watched a half-size yellow school bus labor its way up the hill.

  “Nonsense. We can certainly think of some activities to make this a learning experience.” Diane was on her feet. “Beau, come with me into the kitchen—you too, Alice. Let’s get some cupcakes started and gather an array of fruits and vegetables on the long farm table.”

  Charlotte loved Diane’s positive attitude and u
sually found it infectious.

  “Horse, can you round up a goat or two and bring them up here to meet the children?” Charlotte asked him and then realized that she was letting her imagination get the better of her.

  I’ve just named him, and now we’re having full conversations.

  Charlotte introduced herself to Miss Fern, who in turn made the introductions of her students. The eight- and nine-year-olds were wide-eyed with excitement, and Charlotte found herself wishing that her great-uncle were standing right beside her. How he would have loved entertaining this group. She remembered how magical the farm had been to her when she’d visited at their age.

  “Can you show us where the dead body was found?” asked one boy, tall for his age. “My brother says that he had a stake through his heart like a vampire.”

  “Brad! Don’t say such awful things, and you should know better by now than to believe everything that your older brother feeds you,” Miss Fern admonished him, and she gave Charlotte a “sorry” shrug.

  “Word certainly does spread fast in Little Acorn,” Charlotte tried to offer as a way of curbing further conversation, but now the other kids were asking Brad all sorts of questions.

  Just then a minivan pulled up behind the bus, and a woman with a worried look rushed up to Miss Fern.

  “I’m going to take Becca home, Miss Fern—this is no longer a place for children to visit.” The woman reached for her daughter’s hand.

  Charlotte watched as another mom pulled up to the farm. This was quickly getting out of hand.

  I have to do something.

  When a third car approached, Charlotte really started to panic. Some of the children started crying at the growing frenzy of the situation. Then, like the phoenix rising from the ashes, Horse trotted up to the farmhouse with several goats in tow and a handful of geese hovering above.

  “Ah, the entertainment has arrived,” Charlotte announced. “May I present to you the Finn Family Farm’s most treasured artiste, Horse.”