Dead on the Vine

by Elle Brooke White

  * * *

  Charlotte was awakened at dawn the next morning by the sounds of heavy machinery and trucks honking.

  Has the farmhouse been condemned? The dead body was found in the field, not here.

  When her head finally cleared from sleep, Charlotte remembered something about borrowing a backhoe for the lake pump, and quickly got dressed.

  Horse had already gone to get breakfast, she assumed. When Charlotte looked out the French doors, she could see the heat vapors bouncing off the grass. Today was going to be a hot one. She could cover her arms and shoulders with her shirt, but she really needed something to cover her head and protect her face from the sun. She glanced over at the wrought iron rack where Uncle Tobias’s favorite cowboy hat hung. It was made of straw that was once white but now was dirty with wear and sweat. A lighter colored ring at the base of the straw Stetson hinted that it had originally had an outer hat band. There was a darker area at the top front of the hat with a shredded bit of straw that marked a hole. Charlotte could just picture her uncle palming that exact area to tip his hat in respect each time he encountered a lady.

  It looked like it would be too large on her, but Charlotte’s red curls filled in the extra room. Something about the Stetson made it tilt to one side, but Charlotte didn’t have time to futz with it now. She quickly headed out to see what all the noise was about and to let them know that she was in charge: she had the hat to prove it.

  Charlotte arrived just in time to watch a small yellow backhoe being backed down a ramp from a flatbed truck. The man driving it looked to be about fifty and appeared to be the owner of the machine. He’d brought along two young helpers. When the hoe had all four wheels on the ground, Joe approached Charlotte.

  “That’s Javier Espinoza, he owns a farm about eight miles from here. He and your uncle were friends. I think that he even worked for Tobias for a while,” Joe explained as the farmer disembarked and walked toward her, smiling. He took off his hat when they were face-to-face, and by reflex Charlotte did the same.

  Charlotte looked into the man’s caramel-colored face, weathered from a life spent outside. When he smiled at her, his eyes squinted and a dimple appeared on his upper right cheek. It gave him an endearing, almost puppy-dog look.

  “Joe tells me that you and my uncle were friends, which automatically makes you one of my favorite people. I’m Charlotte,” she said warmly, extending her hand.

  “Nice hat,” Joe said, nodding at the Stetson she was holding. “It’s my pleasure to be able to be of assistance. That’s what farm friends do around here. I can’t even count the number of times Tobias, Samuel, and Joe have helped us out of a jam. But we don’t keep tabs; if someone needs something, we drop what we are doing and help. That’s just our way.”

  “Everybody should have that attitude, Javier, and you know who to call if you need anything. We’re going to be having a barbecue with the fire department, to fundraise so that we can get the lake filled. All our friends and neighbors can swim on hot days like today. We’ll also offer it as a resource during fire emergencies. I’ll let you know when it is. Please come and bring your family for an afternoon of fun!”

  “Joe told me that was the plan. We’ll all sleep a little easier knowing that we have water nearby. We barely survived the last big fire.”

  “Thank goodness you did,” Charlotte said, seeing Samuel approach. “I’ll let you all get to work, and be down with lemonade and snacks in about an hour.”

  “You sound just like your uncle, Miss Charlotte—always throwing parties and feeding people. It is so good to have you here.” Javier placed his hand on his heart.

  “It is good to be here.” Charlotte smiled and looked again at Samuel, who actually broke into a half grin.

  “And who knows? When the lake is filled, the kids might ask their moms to take them swimming at Finn Lake and after that go into the farm shop for treats and antiques!” Charlotte said, trying out the idea with the others for the first time.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Javier said, replacing his hat.

  * * *

  “Does this mean that I’m going to have to really get up with the roosters each morning?” Beau asked, wandering into the kitchen in pajamas printed with images of sheep with numbers on their sides. “I know that it’s hard to believe, but I need my beauty sleep. Especially after last night’s intense brain challenge.”

  “Sorry about the noise. Farmer Espinoza has brought his backhoe and some helpers to dig up the lake pump. We need to look at a calendar and set a date for the fundraiser. I’m excited!”

  “Nice hat.” Beau sat down at the counter. Diane had also been woken and was quietly making coffee. Charlotte knew from their long-time friendship never to speak to Diane in the early morning until she spoke first. She’d explained the rule once as trying to preserve that half-sleep, semi-awake state for as long as possible.

  After coffee was poured, Diane grabbed a seat at the kitchen counter and woke up her phone. “When I talked to the fire chief, he said that this coming weekend or the one after were good dates for them. After that, they couldn’t make it until a week after the fourth.”

  “This weekend is impossible—it’s already Monday. But the following gives us a good two weeks to prepare. I guess I should say ‘me.’ I can’t imagine Chief Goodacre forcing you both to stay much longer.” Charlotte took a deep breath; she didn’t like the idea of going it alone on this.

  “We’ll talk about everything over the phone, and we’re closed Mondays, so I can come back up in a week.” Diane patted Charlotte’s back.

  “And you have Alice. Diane says that she’s great with picnic food. Plus, she must have helped your uncle with the parties he was always throwing.”

  “Good thought, Beau. I should ask her about her role in planning those,” Charlotte said to him.

  “Are you wearing that hat at a slant on purpose? I think that’s more the trend with a French beret rather than a Stetson. Unless you’re Frank Sinatra miscast in a Western.” Beau giggled. “I did it the cowboy way,” he crooned.

  Charlotte took it off and peered inside. She soon found the cause for the lopsided deportment. The hat was lined with a leather sweatband that bulged on one side. The bottom part of the leather was sewn into the straw, but the top of the band was loose. She separated it from the inside of the hat and ran her fingers along behind it. When she hit the bulge, her fingers felt something hard with some heft. She closed her thumb and index fingers around it and pulled it out. It was a small key.

  “Wow—I wonder what that opens.” Charlotte thought for a moment.

  Diane held her hand out for a closer look. “This was your uncle’s, correct?”

  “Refill your coffee, and follow me into his bedroom!”

  Charlotte couldn’t wait and raced off to the wooden box. Horse caught up with her in the foyer, and always up for a race, he tried to gain enough purchase on the sleek Mexican tiles to pick up speed. To his chagrin, this only served to splay him out on his belly. By the time he was upright again, he was able to follow Diane and Beau into the bedroom.

  “I found this the first night I stayed here. It was buried under blankets in this hope chest.” She held up the wooden box that was about the size of a small dresser drawer. “I’ve tried the key, and it fits but it won’t turn,” Charlotte continued with a frown.

  “It can’t be a coincidence that this hidden key works with the box. We need some sort of lubricant to free up the mechanism.” Beau looked around the room for a candidate.

  “I saw some orange oil under the sink in the kitchen. Would that work?” Diane asked while examining the lock.

  “Sounds perfect, I’ll go get it and be right back!” Beau scampered out of the room.

  “It is so peaceful here. I don’t miss Los Angeles at all,” Diane mused.

  “I’m not surprised. You always were the most spiritual and organic one among us. You like it here, don’t you? Despite everything.” Charlotte walked up next to Diane, who wa
s staring out the window at the fields below.

  “I do—don’t you?” The wistful look in Diane’s eyes was unmistakable.

  “A turkey baster filled with orange oil—we are in business ladies.” Beau was holding the baster by the bulb and was ready for action.

  “Let’s do this out back so nothing drips onto the wood floors.” Charlotte carried the box through the French doors.

  “Shoot some oil in, Beau, and I’ll try wiggling the key,” Charlotte directed.

  It took several attempts before the lock mechanism had some give. Finally, the key turned and the box’s lid popped open.

  “It looks like there’s a bunch of letters and old photos in here. I wonder why they had to be kept locked away.” Diane peered over Charlotte’s shoulder. “Maybe we should lay everything out on your bed—unless of course you’d rather look at the contents privately.”

  “Are you kidding, Diane? We keep no secrets from each other.” Charlotte carried the box back into the room and tried not to be concerned that Diane hadn’t immediately confirmed that she’d kept nothing from Charlotte.

  The first photo that Charlotte picked up was of the woman with the dark hair that she’d remembered from her summer visit to the farm. She studied it for a few minutes, hoping some other memories would emerge, but her mind was blank. She turned the print over and read the inscription in her uncle’s handwriting on the back:

  Hera, summer ’95.

  She flipped the photo back, and this time focused on the space where Hera was standing when the photo was taken. It looked like some sort of country inn. Charlotte could make out a two-story white building with black shutters and part of a metal bracket with a sign hanging from it. She could only see a couple of letters: an “O” and on the line below, a “W.”

  “Um, maybe we shouldn’t be reading these.” Beau dropped a letter back on the bed.

  “I agree,” said Diane. “I realize now why they were kept under lock and key.”

  “Why?” Charlotte picked up a handwritten note.

  “They are love letters, passionate love letters from your uncle Tobias’s many girlfriends over the years,” Diane explained softly, to prepare Charlotte.

  “Dearest Tobias,” Charlotte read, “Your love and kindness is something that I never expected to find in my life. I was content as I was until I met you, such a generous lover. Yours, Marion”

  “Oh my,” Beau said, using a letter to fan the flush that had come to his cheeks.

  “After some more of these, there are a bunch that are addressed to this Hera woman, but returned unopened. How sad. I wonder what happened.” Charlotte sat down on the bed and picked up an envelope.

  “Are they all from the same year?” Diane asked, holding up a letter.

  “The bulk seemed to have been sent in 1995, according to the postmarks,” Charlotte replied. “Nothing later.”

  “Except for this one—it was sent about seven years ago. Brace yourself—it’s a doozie.” Beau sat down on the bed to read to the girls.

  Dear Tobias,

  By now you have certainly forgotten me and are living happily with several lady friends or perhaps even a wife. Enough time has passed, and I wanted to put your mind to rest about why I left.

  You see, despite the growing affection that we had for each other, we were from completely different worlds. You are such a sophisticated and educated man; you love history and the arts. You were my mentor and I looked up to you, but there came a point when we both needed to get on with our lives. Plus there are too many years between our ages.

  Which is why I had to go away.

  I know that when I first left, you tried to find me, but I returned all your letters. I have a happy life now, and I want to put your mind at rest that I made the right decision for myself and for my family. I wish you all the happiness in the world on your beautiful farm.

  Hera

  “Is there a return address on the envelope?” Charlotte asked.

  Beau picked up the envelope. “Nope. Just a San Francisco postmark.”

  “What about the earlier letters?”

  “No again,” Diane told Charlotte.

  “The letters that my uncle sent that were returned unopened—who were they addressed to?” Charlotte was talking fast. A thought was beginning to form in her mind.

  “To Hera, care of the Olive and White Oak Inn.”

  “How sad. Despite the age difference, she may have been the love of his life. I wonder what made Hera just up and leave without telling my uncle? She must have married, since she mentioned a family.”

  “Well, at least we know what this Hera looks like.” Charlotte rubbed her temples as she felt her head pound. She picked up the photo of Hera that had been in the box. “The ‘O’ and the ‘W’—they must be part of a sign for the Olive and White Oak Inn here in town.”

  “I wonder if, after all this time, someone working at the Inn would remember Hera?” Beau pondered.

  “It’s definitely worth a call to find out.” Diane stood, grabbing her phone. “At the very least we need to learn her last name.”

  “Okay, but please be discrete.” Charlotte tensed up. “These letters were locked away because my uncle wanted to keep them private. It would serve no purpose to make his love life public, unless—“

  “Unless what?” Diane stopped in mid-dial.

  “Unless this somehow ties to the murder.”

  Beau slumped down on the bed. “What are you thinking, Char?”

  “Nothing. That’s the problem, I have this hunch, lurking deep down in my brain, that is just out of reach.”

  “Maybe the chief can help you retrieve it. She just drove up.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I was just a kid in ’95. I could barely remember my name and address at the time. And I didn’t hang around your uncle’s farm,” the chief said, handing the photo of Hera back to Charlotte. “What is it about this woman? You think that she’s somehow tied to the case?”

  “I don’t know, but they were close, and then she abruptly disappeared. It just seems odd.” Charlotte handed Hera’s final letter to the chief to read.

  “What seems odd to me is why Hera chose to reach out to your uncle, what, seven years ago? It would appear that he stopped trying to find her many years before that. Why not just let sleeping dogs lie?” The chief looked at the photo again. “This mystery may just have to remain unsolved. At the moment I have no cause to try and track down this woman.”

  “You’re probably right.” Charlotte couldn’t disguise her disappointment. “Was there something you needed when you came here today, Chief?”

  “Yes. I’d like to get DNA samples from everyone on the farm for comparison purposes with the evidence that we’ve collected. If this gives you pause, just remember that it could also take you off the suspect list.”

  “I understand. Whatever I can do to help you find the killer.” Charlotte tried to sound bright about this, but her stomach had done a nosedive when the chief reminded her that she was a suspect.

  “I’d also like to try and get a DNA sample for your uncle before any trace is obliterated. It might shed light on whether the murder victim had ever been in contact with him. Obviously, a cheek swab would be ideal, but not possible. Do you think that you could find a toothbrush of his still lying around?” Chief Goodacre was gentler with Charlotte this time, perhaps seeing that this part of the process was sensitive.

  “No old toothbrush that I’ve seen, but he kept lots of hats. Maybe you’ll be able to find a hair sample on one of them. Follow me.” Charlotte was a bit unsteady on her feet. It had already been a very long morning. When they reached the bedroom suite, Charlotte handed the chief a hat off her uncle’s rack, her hand visibly shaking.

  “Why don’t you call me Theresa when it’s just the two of us? It certainly looks like we are going to be tied together for a while, and I want you to feel comfortable confiding in me.”

  Charlotte smiled but wondered to herself if this was nothin
g more than a police tactic. She watched Theresa use tweezers to retrieve a hair from inside a ball cap and hold it up to the light coming through the French doors.

  “That looks like it was his. The color’s the same,” Charlotte offered.

  “For this test to have any validity, I need a sample with the root attached, to test the DNA,” the chief explained.

  “If there’s a match, what does it mean for the murder case?” Charlotte asked while checking a few other hats from the stand.

  “First things first, Charlotte. Let’s establish that your uncle and Marcus Cordero had met. This is going to take awhile without a strong sample, so I’ll have to send the hairs out to a specialized lab.”

  “What if it shows that they have more than just met?” Charlotte said this so softly that the chief asked her to repeat it.

  “You think that this guy was your uncle’s illegitimate son? That’s really a stretch.”

  “My uncle had lots of girlfriends; it is possible that he had a child and never knew about it. I don’t like the word ‘illegitimate.’ If he’d known, he certainly would have done the right thing.” Charlotte didn’t try to hide her scorn.

  “I’m sure you’re right, but think about the consequences if he is proven to be your uncle’s son. That would move you right up to the top of the suspect list.” The chief was suddenly very serious.

  Charlotte crossed her arms tightly around her waist.

  “I wish that I’d never come here.”

  “Don’t say that, Charlotte. This will get resolved, and if you’re proven innocent, then hopefully you can get on with farm life.” The chief handed her a saliva swab kit. “Just rub the wand along the inside of your cheek, and then replace it in the tube.”

  Charlotte did as she was told.

  “You said that Marcus had been here about six months, according to the owners of the Humble Petting Zoo. You think that he made friends with someone during that time?”

  “Entirely possible and all things that I need to check out. Say, how about you meet me at the Records Office tomorrow morning around ten, and we can look into your family and find out who’s related to whom. Maybe shut Wade and Clark up once and for all.”