Dead on the Vine

by Elle Brooke White

  “I guess we can’t call him Horse now, can we? You’ll think of something. Have a nice night, Miss Charlotte. You too, Horse, Mrs. Robinson.”

  “Pele. He’ll be named after the world’s greatest soccer player. Goodnight, Pele. Goodnight, Samuel.”

  When she looked back, Samuel tipped his hat to them just the way she remembered her uncle doing.

  * * *

  After such a spectacular lunch, Charlotte decided to forego dinner, but at the last minute brought a bowl of strawberries with cream into her uncle’s suite. Her trusty sidekick, Horse, was amenable to the plan. She lounged on the sofa in front of the fireplace, with her long legs curled up under her, and opened one of the farm’s ledgers.

  It took Charlotte a while to figure out the entries. The system had clearly been developed by her great-uncle and was a little cumbersome. But with a little help from some quick Web research on accounting, she eventually caught on. This side of the bookkeeping looked to have been done by Joe near the time of Tobias’s death, but was soon after taken over by Serge. That was mistake number one.

  On the farm side, Samuel kept track of the produce that went to market each week. It was only slightly more sophisticated than tally marks, but the quantities were crystal clear. It didn’t take long for Charlotte to realize that Serge was consistently shorting the payments.

  That explains Annabel’s designer accessories. And it can’t be cheap, keeping a mistress.

  Charlotte felt the anger rise up in her cheeks. This was worse than simply stealing. This was taking advantage of a dying man who she was sure had treated Serge and his family with the utmost respect.

  Just wait until he shows his face around here in the morning!

  Charlotte swiped to the calculator app on her phone and got out a pad of paper. She’d decided to add up all the money that Serge had skimmed just for this year alone and present him with an invoice for the amount. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought to include a twenty-five-dollar fee for the barn rental each time for yoga classes from now on. Payable a month in advance.

  Getting the upper hand of her farm energized her, and she felt even stronger knowing that Samuel was behind her.

  Just as she turned the ledger pages back to January, she heard the sound of glass breaking. She looked outside her French doors to the patio and noted that there was only a light breeze rustling the bougainvillea trees. She got up to investigate and wandered out of the bedroom and into the foyer.

  Again she heard the sounds of glass breaking along with some thumping noises. To her ears, it seemed that the activity was coming from the kitchen. Suddenly she heard the loud clicking on the floor tiles of something approaching her from behind. When the frequency of the clicks increased, she quickly looked around in the dark for something she could use to defend herself.

  That was when she heard a pleasant squeal.

  “Horse! You nearly scared me to death, and I could have hurt you. From now on, only sneak up on bad guys.”

  His eyes glistened in the dappled light coming from the moon through the patio doors. She couldn’t resist bending down to kiss his head.

  Another sound of shattered glass told her that the noise was originating in the root cellar. Her first thought was that Alice was down there again and in danger from some trapped animal. She wondered if she should quickly call Joe. When she reached in her pocket for her phone, she realized that she’d left it with the ledgers, when she’d been using its calculator app.

  Another series of thumps and pounding gave her no choice but to immediately investigate and help Alice. Charlotte had actually never descended the steps to the level below. She opened the door and felt the wall for a light switch. Two hanging work lamps came on, but almost immediately one blew out. She felt Horse peek from behind her legs at this new space to investigate.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. “This is no place for little legs and steep stairs, Horse. You are going to have to wait here until I get back.”

  When the pig kept inching toward the top riser, Charlotte slipped in and quickly shut the door behind her. She took several deep breaths, her anxiety level rising. It was impossible to see more than ten feet in front of her, with the only illumination coming from one bulb. Charlotte hoped that once she got down there, she’d find additional light sources.

  The other thing that she immediately sensed was the drop in temperature. It was at least ten degrees cooler down there, and she was in shorts and a light T-shirt. The stairs had been carved out of the stone, and more than a few of the stepstones had broken loose from the aging concrete. She made a mental note to put the cellar on the list of items to be upgraded and made safe. When Charlotte reached the ground, she could tell that the space ran the length of the farmhouse.

  This could be repurposed for so many things.

  The ceiling and adjoining room entries were all made of stone barrel vaults, and Charlotte was beginning to think that this cellar was at one time part of a much older farmhouse. A rusted and misshapen arched gate sat partially open, leading to another chamber. Charlotte traced the noises as coming from inside that room. A little bit of moonlight spilled into the cellar from a narrow slit of a window, but it was only enough to guide her to the gate.

  “Hello?” Charlotte asked into the dark but only heard the pitter-patter steps of something smaller running away.

  Could one little animal be responsible for all that noise? And where’s Alice?

  Charlotte had to shimmy through the wrought iron gate to enter that next room, and once inside, she felt along the walls for a light switch. She wasn’t finding one, but she remembered that Samuel had told her that the root cellar doors to the outside were always kept locked. Whatever was in here couldn’t be bigger than a rat or a mouse, could it? She heard a loud thud of glass hitting stone and then smelled tomatoes. She remembered seeing a large mason jar of sauce in the kitchen pantry and knew that it was too big for a rodent to toss off a shelf. Charlotte felt a chill and searched more frantically along the walls of the chamber. When she moved to the center of the space, a piece of string glided across her face. She reached for it, made contact, and pulled it down. Another smaller work lamp came to life. When her eyes adjusted, Charlotte could see that the room’s walls were lined with dilapidated wooden shelves that looked to be about the same age as the cellar itself. On them sat rows and rows of glass jars filled with what she guessed was strawberry jam on one side and, as she’d imagined, larger ones on the other side containing tomato sauce. The wood shelves bowed in places, succumbing to the weight of their occupants.

  Charlotte then lowered her eyes to the floor and saw a pool of red liquid coming from the opposite wall and screamed. There was broken glass scattered all over the floor.

  When she examined the liquid under the bottom shelf more closely, she could see and smell the ruins of spilt tomato sauce.

  What or who is doing this?

  Charlotte noticed that there was a wooden locker box sitting below the shelf.

  What’s that doing down here all by itself?

  Charlotte bent down to try to open it, and heard a rustling from across the room. She looked in the direction of the noise and saw a jar of strawberry jam come flying toward her. She tried to stand quickly to get out of harm’s way and slammed her head into the shelf above her. And that was the last thing that she saw.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charlotte slowly woke to a throbbing pain that ran from the back of her head all the way through to her eyes. When she brought her lids to half-mast, she saw the shadow of what looked like a person through limited light. Something came forward toward her and lifted up her head. The next sensation was of a cool and soft material being placed at the back of her scalp.

  “Don’t try to talk,” said a voice Charlotte recognized. “It’s Alice, and Joe and Samuel are here as well.”

  “We’ve called for Doc Wilkins—he should be here any moment.” That voice she knew was Samuel’s.

  “Where am I?” Cha
rlotte whispered.

  “You’re in the cellar, Miss Charlotte. It would appear that you’ve been here all night.” Joe reached for her hand.

  Sweet man.

  “We probably wouldn’t have found you until much later if it weren’t for Horse,” Joe added.

  “The pig went around trying to wake us all up—started with me, but I yelled so loudly that he finally gave up. I’ll never ignore him again,” Samuel said, and on cue they heard squealing coming from upstairs.

  “He managed to get us to pay attention, but we couldn’t understand what he wanted. I guess we need to learn how to speak Horse.” Alice smiled.

  Unless you were already in the cellar, trying to scare me away from finding something incriminating.

  “When I got up to the farmhouse to wait for Serge, Horse wouldn’t let me get past and go to the door. He grabbed my pant leg and pulled me to the cellar door. Joe and Alice had just come in, and we went down to see what the fuss was about. I thought that the raccoons had gotten in again,” Samuel explained, and then spotted some droppings that confirmed his suspicion.

  “Is Serge here?” Charlotte asked, trying to sit up, but a dizzy spell sent her right back down.

  “Not yet,” Joe said, examining one of the shelves.

  Charlotte was lying out from under the danger of falling jars, on blankets that smelled to her like they came from a cedar chest. That stirred a memory, and she turned her head to one side to look for the locker box that had set this calamity in motion. When she spotted a rectangular form, she saw that the lid was open.

  “An old blanket chest,” Alice said, following her eyes. Remarkably, everything inside has stayed dry for who knows how many years. With all the time I spend down here, this morning was the first time that I noticed it.”

  It was then that Charlotte had an image of a strawberry jam jar soaring at her from across the room, and she tried to smell and look for its remnants.

  “This wood’s all rotted,” Joe said breaking large pieces off the wall shelf.

  Samuel also inspected the wood and then turned to study the ones all around the chamber. He walked over to the far wall. “These are still rock solid,” he said rapping his knuckles with some force against the wood. “They’re made of oak just like the columns and the beams are.” Samuel pointed up to an example. “These look like pine and were probably added later.”

  “Anybody home?” They heard a shout coming from outside the chamber.

  “In here, Doc,” Joe replied.

  “We didn’t want to try to move her until you got here and gave the okay,” Alice explained.

  “Let’s just take a look. Hello, Charlotte, we haven’t met yet. I’m Doctor Wilkins.”

  * * *

  “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you were lucky,” Doc Wilkins explained to Charlotte once they’d brought her upstairs and laid her on a sofa in the living room. “That nasty shelf hit you on the hardest part of your cranium so I don’t believe you’ve suffered a concussion.”

  “That’s a relief,” Alice said to the group surrounding Charlotte.

  “However, I recommend that you take it easy for a day or so, just in case any small blood vessels were broken. And take at least two aspirins a day. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Thanks, Doctor. Alice, could you fetch my checkbook from the bedroom please?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the doctor said. “This is really more of a social call to welcome you to Little Acorn.”

  “That’s very kind, and I insist that you and your family come to our neighborhood barbecue a week from Saturday. There’ll be lots to do, and we may even have the lake to admire again.”

  “Sounds like a can’t-miss.” The doctor checked Charlotte’s forehead one more time before he was satisfied.

  “I can’t make any promises about the lake,” Samuel said, entering the room. “But I can tell you that someone has opened and closed the outside cellar doors at the side of the house. I found the padlock open—not broken, so it was someone that had access to the key.”

  Hearing this, Charlotte sat up.

  “Where is the key usually kept, Samuel?” she asked.

  “I’ve got one on my key ring, and there’s a spare on a hook at the bottom of the cellar stairs. I checked and it’s gone.”

  Everyone let that news settle in their minds.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a conundrum on your hands. I’ll see myself out.” Doctor Wilkins turned to leave.

  “Thanks again, and don’t forget about next Saturday,” Charlotte said.

  “Wouldn’t think of it, and you’ll get to meet my better half!”

  “Samuel, are you sure that those cellar doors were opened? Maybe someone just forgot to close the lock or thought they had closed it?” Charlotte asked, hoping.

  “They were used. I could tell by the way the grass growing around the sides of the doors had been patted down.”

  So, someone didn’t want to be seen coming and going?

  “We need to figure out who would want to steal the key and use it to sneak into the cellar.” Charlotte tried to discretely look at everyone for telltale signs of guilt.

  “It would seem that you surprised whoever it was, and they tossed jars at you, hoping to scare you off, and then you hit your head,” Samuel summed up.

  That’s a very good assessment. Maybe too good?

  “Helloooo! Daddy’s home!”

  “Beau? Is that you?” Charlotte asked, and he appeared in the living room.

  “Are we posing for a family portrait, and nobody told me?” Beau asked, sauntering into the room and seeing Samuel, Joe, and Alice seated and standing around Charlotte on the sofa.

  “”What a nice surprise—I wasn’t expecting you until Friday!” Charlotte reached for him, and he bent down to give her a kiss.

  “It is Friday,” Alice, Joe, and Beau said in unison.

  “Having so much fun that you’ve lost track of time, my love?” Beau looked around the room for signs of a party.

  “Not exactly. I’ll explain over breakfast, or should I say brunch?” Charlotte asked. “Please tell me I haven’t missed the entire day.”

  “It is the perfect time for brunch. Shall we repair to the kitchen?” Beau offered his arm.

  “I can cook,” Alice offered.

  “I’ve got this. Finally, I don’t have to fight my sister for chef rights.” Beau smiled.

  * * *

  The table was a sea of empty plates and serving platters. Beau had gone all out, and Charlotte was surprised by how hungry she was. Which reminded her that she hadn’t eaten dinner, and prior to that she’d had lunch with the most disagreeable Annabel. She brought Beau up to speed on everything that had happened.

  “So, theories? You must have some,” Beau said while dredging the last morsel of French toast through buttery syrup.

  “I’m starting to, but the problem is that the suspect list is very long. Wade and Clark are still at the top. From what Samuel tells me, Wade was just born angry.”

  “You and Samuel seem a lot more chummy than the last time I saw you together …”

  “We’ve reached a kind of truce, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure?” Beau winked at her and raised his eyebrows.

  “Positive. He understands that I want to get the farm back up and running well, and he wants to help. That’s it. Period.”

  “Milady, that’s a lot of protesting.”

  “And I haven’t entirely taken him off the suspect list. So there.” She told Beau about the bloody rag that she found under the truck’s passenger seat.

  “Okay.” Beau put his hands up in surrender.

  “Then there’s Annabel and Serge. She’s an unfulfilled person, and that seems to constantly trigger her hairpin nasty side. But given what we know about her brothers, she seems to come by it honestly. I know very little about Serge and his family—”

  “Except that he likes his sugar on the side,” Beau jumped in.

 
; “Yes, faithful he’s not, and who knows if he’s seeing just one other woman?”

  “Do you think that Annabel knows?”

  “She’s not one to miss a trick, pun intended.”

  “Hah! Charlotte—funny.” Beau gave her some air applause.

  “But she’s not the type to go around saying ‘poor me’ either. She is much more likely to tuck that infidelity away and bring it out when she can strategically use it with maximum leverage.”

  “Agreed, from what you’ve told me about her. And she could be cheating on him as well. So that’s the list?”

  “There’s one more, I’m afraid.” Charlotte shook her head slowly.

  “Alice?” Beau knew that this one was tough on Charlotte.

  “I really want there to be solid alibis. She loves it here. You can see how possessive she gets about the kitchen and the fields. So where was she when we all met the realtor for a tour? And what does she do all day in that cellar? That’s where I got this knot on my head. Maybe she’s trying to thwart my future chances of selling the farm so her life can continue on as it was. Or—and this is far-fetched—maybe she thinks that there is something of value on the farm that she has yet to find. Like you said, Alice and Joe know where all the bodies are buried.”

  “Like something in the cellar? If you’re suggesting going back down there tonight, count me out. I forbid you too.” Beau got stern.

  “I’m not—at least for the moment. But soon, Samuel noticed that the shelves on one wall were made of pine and must have been added later. The cheaper wood was rotting while the older oak was holding up just fine.”

  “Meaning?” Beau asked, taking plates to the dishwasher.

  “Meaning that at some point someone might have opened up that part of the wall.”

  “To look for something?”

  Charlotte thought about that.

  “Or to put something in it.” Suddenly, Charlotte had an urge to get right back down to the root cellar, her mind was racing. And she never did find that jam jar that surely should have broken on landing. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I forgot this until just now!”