Dead on the Vine

by Elle Brooke White

  “I like shooting things.”

  Charlotte audibly gasped.

  “Oh, sorry—it’s not what you think! I mean filming stuff like farmland, sunrises, and the animals. I’ll see something when I’m out by myself and want to capture its beauty. I got my grandpa’s old camcorder when he died, and I’m still using it today.”

  If this had been a cartoon, everyone would have seen Charlotte’s ears perk up. “Did your grandpa live in Little Acorn? What was his name?” Charlotte tried her best to sound casual.

  “Why are you so interested in me? Wade told me you’d be pesky.”

  “You sound like a very accomplished man with a vision of where he wants to go in life.”

  “I am!” Clark declared, puffing out his chest.

  Whew—nice save, Charlotte. You don’t want him clamming up now.

  “You’re the one who brought up your grandfather. I’m just trying to get to know the histories of the prominent families in Little Acorn,” Charlotte said, hoping to settle Clark back down.

  She noticed his shoulders relax. “Do you show your work anywhere that I can see it?”

  “No. They’re just for me right now. When I finally get something I’m okay with, I might send it in to one of those contests on the internet.”

  “You know who has connections with film and can always use fresh talent? Beau. He does special events for big time brands and artists. I bet that he’d love to see some of your work. He’ll be back on Friday. Want me to arrange a meeting?”

  Clark literally squirmed at the suggestion.

  “No—like I said, I’m not ready.”

  The last little lamb had crossed the road to the field, due greatly to the leadership of a border collie.

  “I understand, but if you change your mind or just want to bounce some of your clips off me, I’d love to see them.”

  Charlotte was pleased that she’d established a connection with Clark that was separate from Wade’s bullying and suspicion. She definitely wanted Clark to be innocent of any crime. I’ll curry the relationship, and when the time is right … get him to talk about his grandfather.

  They rode in silence the rest of the way.

  “That’s the place,” Clark said, indicating it with a nod of his head after he’d pulled the BMW to the curb and parked.

  He got out, and for a moment Charlotte thought that he was coming around to open the door for her. But after about thirty seconds, she realized that she was on her own.

  “Can you give Annabel her keys back?” Clark asked. “I’m meeting up with Wade in town,” he said, dropping them into Charlotte’s hand. This was a key fob with a brass ball the size of a marble, attached to a chain.

  “Of course. Thank you for picking me up. And remember, anytime you want to show me your filming skills, just ask.”

  “Let’s forget I ever mentioned it. I’m sorry that I told you.”

  “When you started talking about it, you got a whole new look in your eyes, Clark. There was a spark of passion in you just thinking about what you film. You can pretend that it’s nothing, but inside I can see that it has a solid grip on you. Treasure that, Clark. Most people never find what they’re really meant to do.”

  Charlotte left Clark at the curb with his mouth agape. She doubted that anyone had ever given him that amount of encouragement about anything he’d ever done or wanted to do.

  * * *

  Charlotte spotted Annabel holding court at the best table in the room. Two servers hovered over her and a lady in a floral dress who, Charlotte suspected, was the owner. Annabel’s blonde hair was once again swept back into a neat French twist that she perhaps hoped would remind people of Grace Kelly.

  While she had a moment, Charlotte discretely scanned the room to get a sense of the other luncheoners. This was the first chance that she’d had to take stock of the regular Little Acorn residents. What struck her was not so much the demographics of the group—they were almost equally Caucasian and Hispanic, and there were a few more women than men, their ages ranging from about twenty-five to fifty-five. No, what was so refreshing was how energetic and healthy they all looked. It was clear that these people enjoyed their lives. If there was a murderer among them, she’d have a hard time picking him or her out.

  Annabel’s booming voice drowned out her thoughts.

  Charlotte had nothing against Annabel, yet her exaggerated sense of entitlement made Charlotte feel like a sneaker in a washing machine. It was time for Charlotte to stop second-guessing herself and take control.

  “Ah, there she is,” Annabel practically announced to the entire restaurant. “Don’t you look lovely? I think that I have a similar ensemble. It’s from a couple of seasons ago, no?”

  Charlotte ignored her comment and accepted the seat from the woman in the dress.

  “Charlotte, this is Karen Hubbard. She owns this lovely establishment.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Charlotte said, shaking her hand. “I can’t believe that this is my first time actually dining in Little Acorn. It seems that I’m always running in and out for supplies while I get settled.”

  “Understandable, Miss Finn.” Karen gave her a warm smile.

  “Please, call me Charlotte. I am very much looking forward to getting to know you better, and perhaps you could introduce me around sometime. If one doesn’t already exist, we could consider forming a ‘women in business’ group. I belonged to one with my last job, and I was so grateful for their support and friendship.”

  “That is a fabulous idea. Most of the men around here are farmers, while we ladies provide all the other essential services. I’m excited!”

  “We’ll need a minute to look at the menus, Karen,” Annabel interrupted, clearly feeling that her plan to gain more admiration by bringing Charlotte into the fold had backfired. “I know what I would like, but I suspect that Miss Finn will need a bit more time to peruse a much simpler style of cuisine than what she was used to in Chicago.”

  “Nonsense. There is nothing better than dining farm to table, and I can already tell that you take great pride in your restaurant. I’ll leave it to your recommendation, and I know it will be delightful.” Charlotte nodded graciously to Karen and handed back the menu without opening it.

  “It will be my pleasure,” Karen said, backing away from the table. To her credit, Charlotte thought, she resisted giving Annabel anything but a very gentle smile.

  That’s the way to do it: swat them across the nose with a newspaper, but do it with grace.

  “I hope that Clark didn’t drive recklessly while bringing you here. He was a last resort. I was tied up on a conference call with a very well-known San Francisco art gallery. They have been trying to lure me up there to manage it for months now.” Annabel gave Charlotte an overly wide smile.

  “On the contrary, Clark drove like a gentleman, and before I forget, he asked me to give you your car keys. He said that you hadn’t been able to locate Serge to pick me up. It would have been no trouble for me to drive myself, if I’d known.”

  Annabel tried to bury the sneer that was forming across her lips by taking a sip of iced tea.

  “So, Charlotte, my dear, tell me about your plans. You can’t possibly be considering staying on in this little peach pit of a town? You’d be bored to tears. Our friendship may have to become a long-distance one—we are this close to moving up north.” She pinched her index finger and thumb almost together. “With Serge’s business taking off the way it has, it’s silly to waste our talents in a one-horse town, don’t you think?”

  “Actually, Annabel, I am seriously considering settling down here. In spite of all the obstacles, not the least of which was finding a dead boy on my property, I am enjoying the beauty and pure simplicity of this lifestyle. In Chicago, I was always trying to be more, to own more, and I rarely stopped to enjoy what I had. Here I am grateful for every day.”

  “That sounds like a motto to live by,” Karen said, appearing with their lunch plates. “Your usual Crab Louie
with fried goat cheese, Annabel, and for you, Charlotte, I present a butter-poached halibut on a bed of shaved Brussels sprouts, arugula, apricots, and California black walnuts. All our seafood is sustainably caught.”

  Charlotte used her hand to help waft the delicious aroma from her plate to her nose.

  “I must admit that you had me at ‘butter-poached halibut,’ but the rest sounds just as spectacular.”

  “Is that on the menu? I didn’t see it,” Annabel complained. “And could you bring me a glass of Santa Ynez Cabernet?”

  “We’ll share, Annabel—isn’t that what friends do?” Charlotte appeased her with that statement. “Now I want to know all about you—an art gallery manager? Your talents seem endless. You must be a very creative lady.”

  “I was quite the artiste before I got married and started a family. I painted, did a stint as an actress—lead roles in local theater and such. And of course my fitness regimen. In addition to yoga, I run, hike, do Pilates, and ride horses when I find the time.”

  “Very impressive, and do you have children? I don’t think that I knew that.” Charlotte was trying to artfully disguise her probing and also keep to herself the fact that the food was exceptional. She’d offered, but maybe out of spite Annabel had declined a taste of her fish.

  “A boy and a girl both under the age of ten. Shoot me now,” she half-joked. “And it being summer and no school … I can’t find enough camps to send them to. Serge’s off all day working, and I’m desperate for things to do with them. We even went to a farm so they could pet other people’s goats. It is time to move to a city like San Francisco so that I can bring them up in the kind of sophisticated society that you and I are used to.”

  Is she trying to convince me that she grew up cosmopolitan? I’ve seen her birth certificate. Still, there’s nothing wrong with having aspirations.

  “Oh dear, that sounds like a lot for one person. Have you thought about a nanny?”

  “We’ve gone that route, and let’s just say that the Andersen kids have a reputation around Little Acorn of being hard to rein in. They’re free spirits and all.”

  “I might be able to help in a few weeks—”

  “Fantastic, I’ll pay you whatever you ask. How many days a week can you take them? Would you consider overnights?”

  “Er, I didn’t mean in that way. You see we’re starting a “you pick ’em” program aimed at kids. We’re designating some fields for just that purpose, and we’re planning on giving farm tours and having a petting area as well. So you could bring them as often as you like.” Charlotte watched Annabel’s face fall, not the reaction she was expecting.

  “Serge hasn’t mentioned this to me. Does he know about it?”

  Ah, did her mind just go to the commission Serge will lose when we sell direct?

  “I’m not sure. I’ve run into him at the garden center but have yet to see him at my farm. But he’ll hear about it soon enough. We’re working on signs now, and I plan to announce it at the Lake Finn fundraising barbecue. I do hope the Andersen family will be coming.”

  Charlotte noticed that Annabel seemed to have lost her appetite. She, on the other hand, had just joined the “clean plate league.”

  “We’re still considering the offer. With there being a murderer on the loose who has already struck once on your property, we’re not sure that we want to expose the kids to possible danger.”

  A moment ago, she was practically giving them away.

  “We’re hoping the case will be solved by then. I understand that the chief has some new leads and evidence that are bringing her closer to the killer as we speak.”

  Charlotte knew that statement was a stretch, but she needed to stir the pot.

  “Is that so? Oh, we’ve been having such a lovely lunch that I lost track of the time. I have another call to hop on in twenty minutes, and they’ll be calling my home number. Karen?” Annabel waved to her from across the room.

  “Be a dear and drive Miss Finn home, will you? I have an important call to take and must scoot. It’s been a pleasure, dear.”

  With that, Annabel disappeared almost in a cloud of smoke.

  Just like the wicked witch. And how convenient that she left right after I hinted that the police were closing in on the killer.

  “No worries, I’ll give my caretaker a call. I’m sure that you have much more important things to do.”

  “Of course not. I’d be happy to run you up to your farm,” Karen replied as her server cleared the plates.

  That was when Charlotte noticed that Karen had come to their table with the check.

  “If it’s not a bother, that would be great. And let me take care of that.” Charlotte reached for the check.

  “Absolutely not! Your meal is my treat as a welcome to the community. And I’ll get Annabel to take care of her share when I see her again.”

  Charlotte suspected that this wouldn’t be the first time Annabel had booked without paying.

  * * *

  When Karen dropped Charlotte off in front of the farmhouse they promised to get together just the two of them as soon as things settled down. They exchanged cell phone numbers and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that she had made one new friend in town. As she climbed the steps to the porch, she noticed that Samuel had left her the frames he’d made for the signs, along with the art supplies from the hardware store that she’d left in his truck.

  Time to make amends. If nothing else, he is true to his word.

  Charlotte quickly changed into more suitable farm clothes and headed down to the paddock, hoping to catch Samuel before it got dark. She located him there, kicking around a soccer ball, and couldn’t believe her eyes. Samuel was playing with the lean chestnut and white horse.

  “What a beautiful roan. Am I to believe my eyes? Is he really playing soccer with you?” Charlotte said, approaching Samuel with a smile.

  The farmer didn’t respond.

  Oops—the silent treatment. Time to try a new approach.

  “I came by to thank you for the signs you made and to apologize for my outburst yesterday. There is no excuse for it, and I am sorry for the things I said.”

  Charlotte walked into the paddock, and the horse immediately kicked the ball to her. She passed it to Samuel, hoping that she’d put enough honey in her apology, but Samuel still didn’t speak to her. They kicked the ball among the three of them for another minute or so.

  “I’m hoping that you can forgive me or that I can find some way to make it up to you, Samuel. I recognize that I’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest since I arrived, and—well, I’m going to make things right and stop anyone who has other ideas. For as long as I’m here, I’m going to run this farm, and that starts with me exposing the rotten apples!” Charlotte had really worked herself up into a lather.

  “’Bout time,” Samuel said, still not looking up from the game.

  “I would have said that I’m sorry earlier, but I forgot that Annabel insisted I have lunch with her, and I had to rush to get dressed.”

  That made him look up at her.

  “Annabel? And no, I’m not talking about your apology, nice as it was. I’m saying that it’s about time you took the reins of this farm. Your uncle was a great man, but in his later years he no longer had the stamina to keep things in check, and people took advantage of his kindness.”

  Samuel stopped kicking the ball and led the horse toward the barn.

  “I kind of suspected that from the little I know so far.”

  Charlotte followed him into the barn and watched him take off the horse’s reins and hang them up. The horse then walked all by himself into his stall and pulled the door shut with his teeth before lowering the latch.

  Charlotte’s mouth dropped open, and Samuel grinned to himself, trying to hide his pride.

  So deep down he’s an animal nut too!

  “When you arrived, we were all waiting to see whether you’d stay and take control or sell and run. I guess we still don’t know fo
r sure, but that murder put a stop to any immediate plans to sell.” Samuel eyed her, waiting for a response. “For the longest time, we suspected you’d sell.”

  “I’ve decided for now to make a go of it, and I’m letting everybody know that I won’t be pushed around. You should have seen how I showed Annabel her place today when she was so rude to the restaurant owner.”

  “I would have loved to have seen that.” Samuel chuckled.

  “I’d like to have a look at the accounting ledger that you keep for Serge’s distribution of our produce. I don’t trust him anymore than I could throw him, and that’s saying something given his girth. Those two show off some major displays of wealth for a guy who sells strawberries.”

  “Sure—the accounting books are in the back here. Like I said, the financial side of things I leave to Serge and sometimes Joe, although I wouldn’t be surprised if Serge has been cheating the farm for years.”

  He exited the stall and headed to the back of the barn. Charlotte gave the horse a pat on the head.

  “If I find out that Serge has taken so much as one cent from us that he hasn’t earned, he’s going to wish that he’d stayed in Solvang cobbling wooden clogs!”

  “Hah! I knew that red hair wasn’t just for show.” Samuel handed her the books.

  “I’ll need these for a few days, not that it matters. Is Serge ever going to show up for our haul?”

  “He says he’ll be here tomorrow morning. I’ll call you when he shows. If he shows.”

  Samuel doesn’t like Serge; Joe and the chief both told me that. But is the hate so deep that he’d throw suspicion for murder his way?

  Horse came racing into the barn. He’d been so busy enjoying his supper that he hadn’t come up for air, to greet Charlotte after she’d been gone most of the day.

  “Pig sure does like you,” Samuel said, smiling.

  “His name is Horse.”

  “Of course, I meant to say that. And ‘hello’ to you Mrs. Robinson,” Samuel said to the ladybug sitting beside Horse’s ear.

  “That’s more like it. By the way, what’s the roan’s name?” she asked, giving him a pet on the nose on her way out.