Dead on the Vine

by Elle Brooke White

  “To us, Paul was just another kid, so we took him under our wing. So we’re sitting in the water, trying to catch tadpoles, when Wade and four of his buddies showed up. They’re all two or three years older than us. Bullies led by the biggest bully of all, Wade.”

  “I don’t like where I think this is going.” Charlotte wrapped her arms around her waist.

  Samuel nodded and continued. “The minute Wade saw Paul, he started in on him, calling him ‘palsy Paul’ and ‘Bassett hound.’ Tim told Wade to shut up, but that only stirred the pot. Next the older boys decided to take over our swimming hole and yanked us out, one by one, except for Paul. They got in the water and crowded him.”

  Charlotte gasped. “Kids can be so cruel.”

  “Then Wade said that they should have drowned Paul at birth because he was a total misfit. I saw Wade swing his arm over Paul’s shoulder and place his palm on the back of Paul’s head.” Samuel paused for a moment. “Then I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Tim holding a boulder about the size the size of a bowling ball over his head, Tim’s eyes were fixed on Wade.”

  Charlotte brought her fingers to her mouth in shock. Even Horse lay down and hugged the earth.

  “‘Get your grimy hand off my bother!’ Tim shouted. I saw the look of surprise when Wade turned around. There was no way that he could stand up in time to avoid being hit. And a rock that size would surely have done some permanent damage.

  “I calmly but sternly told Tim to put the rock down. I knew that he’d heard me, but he continued to hold the boulder over his head, staring at Wade. Paul, free of Wade’s clutch, crawled out of the swimming hole. I explained to Tim that he could get jail time, and then Paul would be alone against these bullies.

  “After some more pleading, Tim finally put the boulder down. Wade and his friends looked at me, stunned. Tim and Paul’s family moved away that fall. They couldn’t take the bullying any longer.”

  They sat in silence for a bit, and then Samuel let out a dry laugh from the back of his throat.

  “Funniest thing: Wade never forgave me for saving his life.”

  “Wow, that was quite a story. So Wade is out to destroy anything good that comes your way?”

  “Pretty much.” Samuel nodded. “You asked me who I thought started the fire? Even though his friends gave him an alibi, I’d bet that Wade was involved. He’d have heard about our harvest and plans from one of the day laborers or someone else, and he decided to take a cheap shot.”

  “Then we’re just going to have to get proof.”

  Samuel shook his head. “Best just to drop it Wade’s got a lot of people in this town wrapped around his finger. All you’d do is expend negative energy.”

  Unless it leads to proving that he’s a murderer as well as an arsonist.

  “Why don’t the goats have names?” Charlotte asked, trying to make things lighter.

  “Who says that they don’t have names?” Samuel grinned, and Charlotte studied his face.

  “You’ve named them?”

  Samuel nodded. “The boys are Cade and Tim, and the girl is called Pauline.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The chief called the next morning and asked Charlotte to come down to the station. She told her that she had some news, as did Maria, who had driven back from Northern California the night before.

  On her way to the car, Charlotte walked around the side of the farmhouse to examine the area around the cellar doors one more time. It continued to bother her that they had no explanation for the mess that was made the night she had hit her head and passed out. Both Joe and Samuel had told her that they didn’t find any evidence of raccoons or other critters down there, so what or who had done the damage?

  Charlotte was headed into Little Acorn when she saw a sign for the Humble Petting Zoo and turned around and drove along the dirt road to the farmhouse. When she pulled to a stop, she noticed that the farmer’s wife was outside, sweeping the front porch.

  “Hi, I’m Charlotte Finn,” she said, approaching the woman.

  “Oh my, you’re the—I mean it was on your farm—” She stopped, too flustered to finish her sentence.

  “There, there,” Charlotte said, rushing to her. “Yes, it was a terrible thing, but the killer will be found and made to pay. And the Finn Family Farm will be back better than ever.” Charlotte guided her to the front steps, and they both sat down.

  After taking a deep breath the woman said, “I’m Marjorie Kincaid. I own this farm and zoo with my husband. He’s gone to town for supplies.”

  “I’m on my way there myself, but I wanted to stop by, give you my condolences and hopefully ask a couple of questions.”

  “No need for condolences, Charlotte. May I call you Charlotte?”

  “Of course, Marjorie.”

  “No one should die in such a horrible manner, but I wouldn’t say that Marcus had established any sort of bond with us. He did his job, and we were grateful, but when he wasn’t working, we never saw or heard a peep from him.”

  “That seems a bit odd, doesn’t it? You never saw him bring groceries to his room? Have friends over to watch a game?”

  Marjorie shook her head. “We invited him right from the beginning to have dinner with us, or at least let us make him a plate, but he declined. There’s a small TV in his room, but I don’t think he ever turned it on.”

  “Did he ever mention any relatives? His childhood or hometown?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Would it be too much to ask you to show me his room? Assuming that there isn’t somebody new in there already.”

  “Oh no, it’s as he left it. The police didn’t want us to touch anything, but they came and did an inspection. I suppose we could clean it now and get it ready, but we just haven’t gotten around to it.”

  Marjorie stood and motioned Charlotte to follow her around the side of the house to a garage. The inside was filled with small motorbikes and farm machinery, all in various stages of disrepair. At the back wall was a staircase that led up to a second-story loft. Marjorie motioned for Charlotte to ascend first.

  The open space above the garage was dark and virtually barren. One small window had been cut into the front roof facing, and it let in only about a foot of diffused light. Marjorie clicked on a floor lamp, and Charlotte adjusted her eyes to take in the space and its contents.

  “It doesn’t even look like anyone was living here,” Charlotte said, walking around the bed and bare nightstands to the lone dresser sitting against the wall. “Does he still have clothing here?”

  “No, the police took virtually everything for evidence. Even his toiletries. There are still a few staples in the kitchen—a box of cereal, instant coffee. Stuff like that plus a bottle of local wine that had barely been drunk.”

  Charlotte turned her attention to the red wine sitting on the kitchen counter. “What did he do for glasses? Plastic disposable?”

  Marjorie opened a kitchen cabinet. “We provide dishes, plates, cups, and glasses. Not many, but here they are.”

  Charlotte reached in and took out a stem-less wine glass. She examined it closer to the light before she asked, “Mind if I take this and show it to the chief?”

  “Please, take anything that you think might help to solve this horrible crime.” Marjorie opened the remaining cupboard doors for Charlotte.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Charlotte was seated in Chief Goodacre’s office, waiting for the meeting to start. She’d passed along the wine glass to her for fingerprint comparison purposes.

  “You arrived at the perfect time. I’m expecting Officer Maria at any moment. She returned from San Jose last night and has news about your great-uncle Henry.”

  “Oh, I hope it’s good news, although I don’t know what that would be any more,” Charlotte replied.

  “Ah, here’s the woman of the hour,” Chief Goodacre said, spotting Officer Maria enter the station. “I’ve got a fresh cup of coffee for you. Come in once you get se
ttled.”

  Maria nodded to the chief and smiled at Charlotte.

  “I’ll be right in.”

  “We’re getting close, Charlotte—I can feel it.”

  “I hope that you’re right, Chief. I can’t take much more of this. I want to get on with rebuilding and growing my farm.” Charlotte nervously studied some fidget toys that the chief kept in a box on her desk. She pulled out a mini slinky-type spring and let it dangle from her hand.

  “I don’t suffer fools very well, and these help restore my patience,” the chief explained, and Charlotte nodded.

  “Sorry it took me so long, Chief. There were a pile of messages waiting for me, and I needed to make sure that there was nothing urgent,” Maria said, taking the second guest chair, next to Charlotte.

  “Was there anything?” the chief asked.

  “Not really, but with my partner out searching for Serge Andersen to question him about the Finn Family Farm’s books, I thought it important to check. Although the front desk has been told to reach me on my cell if anything needs immediate attention.”

  “Well done, Officer. Now show us what you’ve got.”

  Maria laid out some official-looking documents and a couple old photographs across the chief’s desk. Charlotte moved around to her side so that she wasn’t looking at them upside down.

  The first stop I made was to the prison outside San Jose, where Henry Finn was incarcerated. The warden was only there for a handful of years, but she summoned a couple of longtime guards who worked in Henry’s building and should remember him.”

  “What was the prison like? Was it austere like an Alcatraz, or more of a modern cell for less violent criminals?” Charlotte asked, hoping for the latter. Although she never knew her great-uncle Henry, he was family after all.

  “Henry Finn was sent to the appropriate prison for his crime. This place will give me nightmares for a long while. It houses murderers and rapists, and reformation and redemption are in very short supply. But the good news is that the two guards remembered Henry very well, as he was nearly the only prisoner at the time who treated them civilly. And they returned the favor. They said he had a great sense of humor, and that ultimately led to his death.”

  “Oh, he’s dead.” Charlotte wasn’t surprised, but sad all the same.

  Maria nodded.

  “Besides being humorous, he was a prankster and played one on the wrong inmate. He was found strangled in his cot on his birthday. He’d just turned sixty.”

  Everyone was silent and privately bowed their heads in a short prayer.

  When it felt appropriate, the chief continued. “What about visitors, Maria? Did the prison have a record of who’d signed in to see Henry?”

  Maria nodded. “In the beginning, the only name on the books was his attorney, but a few weeks into his sentence there were no more visits from him. Ever.”

  “Henry probably ran out of money to pay the attorney. Okay, who else?” the chief asked Maria.

  “He had only one other visitation during his time, and that was by his wife and daughter. She signed in as ‘Mrs. A. Finn’ and the child was simply called ‘daughter.’ It was only about two months in, and the visit lasted less than thirty minutes.”

  “How sad.” Charlotte tried to hold back tears.

  “It is sad. So is that where the trail grew cold, Maria?” the chief asked.

  “No.” Maria sat up tall and brightened. “From there I went to the San Jose PD and spoke to their chief. He’s no youngster, but not old enough to have worked on the Henry Finn case himself. But he had access to the files of the retired detective that had, and ordered them brought up from the archives. I spent the next five hours going through the boxes.”

  “I’m impressed. You’ll make detective yet, Maria.” The chief gave her a genuine smile.

  “Documents confirmed that Henry Finn had married a woman named Annabel, and they had conceived one daughter, named Lucille.”

  Annabel? That can’t be a coincidence …

  “It sounds like you’re about to close another loophole, Officer.” The chief grabbed a toy from her fidget box.

  Not a good sign.

  “I did. It seems that Annabel legally changed her last name with the hope of erasing the stigma of her husband’s crime.”

  “Let me guess. Annabel and her daughter Lucy Finn became Annabel and Lucy Ursin?” Charlotte nodded her head, already knowing the answer.

  “How did you know?” The officer seemed genuinely shocked and looked to the chief who had just caught on.

  “Because Lucy Ursin married Thomas Avery. Charlotte and I have seen the marriage certificate. She named her daughter Annabel after her grandmother.” The chief leaned back in her chair, satisfied.

  “And unfortunately this confirms a connection between the Averys and myself.” Charlotte sighed.

  * * *

  Charlotte’s head was spinning by the time she walked out of the police station. She now had proof that she was indeed related to Wade, which disgusted her.

  Maybe he inherited the bad seed from his great-uncle Henry, and it skipped a generation? Maybe the other two were okay?

  She saw Officer Maria come out and head to her squad car.

  “Officer, great work. I owe you a lunch!” Charlotte thanked her again.

  “Thanks, Charlotte—let’s talk later. We’ve got a lead on Serge Andersen’s whereabouts.”

  “Of course, but could you answer just one quick question? You said that you’d met Marcus Cordero the day that you and another mom took the kids to the Humble Petting Zoo. Can you tell me who that other mom was?”

  Maria nodded, and Charlotte knew that she was about to get another piece to the puzzle.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As she drove back to the farm, Charlotte’s curiosity got the better of her. The chief had given her copies of important family paperwork including birth certificates and other important records for her great-uncle Henry’s side of the family. She pulled over before merging onto the road out of town and opened the file folder.

  As she’d hoped, among the papers was the address for the Avery family home where Wade and Clark still resided. As it was the middle of the day, she was sure that both men would be out working on a farm. It was risky to go over there and snoop around, but she had an excuse prepared just in case someone questioned her.

  Charlotte put the address into her phone for directions. She ended up on a fairly quiet street on the outskirts of town. This was family housing, she presumed by the tricycles and ride-on toys strewn around front lawns and driveways. She parked across the street and back a bit from the Avery house address and decided to just sit for a few minutes and watch. There were no cars or trucks in Wade and Clark’s driveway, and the garage door was shut, but she could see ruts in the grass leading to the back of the house, so someone could still be home.

  The house itself looked to be fairly well kept up: two stories, Cape Cod style, with sage green paint and white trim. Charlotte tried to visualize the three young Avery children playing in the yard in happier times while their parents looked on from the second-story balcony.

  What happened in that house? The children turned into disillusioned and disimpassioned adults.

  When almost ten minutes had passed and Charlotte hadn’t see any activity from the house or the immediate neighbors’ houses, she got out of her car and casually walked across the street to the Avery home. She was hoping to find anything to tie Wade to the fire. Empty gas cans out back, kindling—maybe even fire starters. She didn’t think that she’d be lucky enough to find something linking him to Marcus’s murder, but nevertheless she intended to be extra vigilant in her search of the perimeter of the property.

  If Wade thinks he’s entitled to part of the farm, he might rationalize all sorts of crimes.

  She walked up to the front door and rang the bell and then quickly slipped to the side of the house. She wanted to double-check that no one answered the door; she didn’t exactly want to test
out her excuse for being there in the first place. When no one came, Charlotte was relieved.

  Again moving like she belonged there, she went about her search along the exterior of the house. Leaning against the front side was a wooden pallet that had been painted into an American flag.

  Patriotism is a good sign.

  If they believed in country, then they couldn’t be all bad. When she reached the back of the house, she was kept out by a six-foot, dog-eared, redwood fence that enclosed the backyard. She couldn’t quite see over it, so Charlotte looked around for something that could act as a stepladder. Nothing really presented itself as an option.

  Until she took another look at the flag-painted pallet. The gaps between the slats were exactly like steps … Will I be able to lift and carry it over to the fence? If I drag the pallet, it will leave tracks.

  Charlotte walked back and tested the weight of the pallet. She found that she could lift it if she put one arm through the top slat and rested it on her shoulder. She quickly walked it to the back gate. No cover story would be able to explain away this particular act.

  All she wanted was to do a quick survey. If she saw something suspicious, she’d take a picture and return another time with a better plan. The slat steps worked like a charm, and on the second one, she cleared the fence and had a full view of the backyard.

  If you could call it that.

  The area was a mishmash of dirt, stones, and errant pieces of cheap, Kelly-green Astroturf. The only cleared area was just off the house, where a cement patio held a grill and a few folding chairs.

  I’m never going to be able to find any evidence, standing on the outside of the fence.

  Against her better judgment, Charlotte climbed the remaining two steps of the pallet and hoisted herself over the fence.

  Once she looked over the contents of the yard, she realized there was a reason for the way the junk was grouped. In one section she saw all sorts of items that belonged on a car or truck. The boys had probably picked them up along the way and used or sold them as needed. In addition to parts of motors, there were fenders, tires, roof racks, and even a windshield.