“I’ve got some good news and some bad.”
“Give me the bad first.” I’m a “get on with what needs doing” kind of a person and I’ve found knowing what you’re up against early on helps with that. I hoped the website update in front of me was not going to need heavy revisions.
“Can’t give you organic certification until this poisoning thing is all cleared up.” At least he didn’t apologize or mince words. Still, a small part of me had hoped he was going to say he was just going to have to wait until after the holiday to mail my certificate because they were out of printer ink.
“So you aren’t shutting me down permanently? Is that the good news?”
“That’s not my job. I can’t say yea or nay on that subject.”
“So what is the good news?”
“If the police get to the bottom of the poisoning and you aren’t to blame, things should go through without a hitch. Your operation looks good, and I’d be delighted to pass you just as soon as the other thing is resolved.” I heard him mumbling something to someone in the background. I wondered again if it could be another one of the dwarves or Snow White.
“Well, that’s something at least.”
“It’s a whole lot of something. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of stuff I see during my inspections. The poisons people keep sitting around in their barns and sheds for livestock and kids to get into scare the life right out of me sometimes. Many’s the time I’ve given landowners what for, for their sloppy and dangerous practices.” I heard him harrumph like an animated dwarf.
“You’d think people would know better, especially if they are producing things for consumption.”
“Not a lick a sense, most of ’em. I’m not one bit surprised that woman at the pancake breakfast was killed by a pesticide. It would be all too easy to do if you ask me, accidentally or otherwise.”
“Well, there wasn’t anything accidental about that toxin ending up in the syrup.”
“No, I’m sure there wasn’t if it came from your property. At least not if you didn’t clean something up between the time the syrup got poisoned and the time we had the inspection. Like I said, it looks like you have a very clean operation.”
“I’d appreciate your spreading that kind of rumor around if you feel like you can and the opportunity crops up. I’m afraid my business is going to suffer a serious blow on account of this mess.”
“I’m not one to hold my tongue when I think something is worth shouting about. I’ll tell you what, if the police clear this up and it turns out you aren’t in the middle somewhere, I’ll put in a good word for you wherever I can.”
“Thanks so much. I could use all the help I can get. Alanza Speedwell’s death may be the death blow for Greener Pastures.”
“Alanza Speedwell. I knew I’d heard that name from somewhere besides the evening news. She called my office about a sugaring operation.”
“When was this?” Excitement buzzed in my brain, like a fly trapped against a sunny pane of glass.
“Let me think. I am pretty sure it was last week.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“She called just as I got back from my trip to the dentist for a filling. I get a little too into my work sometimes and test a bit more maple candy than is strictly necessary. I remember that I had a spot of trouble getting her to understand me at first because of the Novocain, but as the conversation went on, things improved. That would make it Thursday afternoon.” Thursday. What could have happened as a result of her conversation with the organic inspector that could have led to someone deciding to kill her?
“Do you remember what she asked you about?” It was worth a shot.
“Generally speaking, I wouldn’t feel comfortable telling you something like that. But seeing as how the dead woman has landed you in such a heap of trouble, I’ll tell you.”
“Thanks for stretching your limits.”
“Is that a short joke?”
“No sir. I am in no kind of position to be looking down on anyone else.”
“I’m just fooling. Where were we?”
“Alanza’s call. Her questions.”
“Right. Now let’s see. It was her second call to the office, now that I come to think of it. Such an unusual name, I should have thought of it right off, but my memory isn’t quite what it used to be.”
“When did she call the first time?”
“Maybe a month back. She wanted to know all about the rules regulating sugaring operations and how difficult it would be to start one up.” About a month earlier would have made it just around the same time she lost the snowmobile election.
“Difficult how?”
“Oh, permits, equipment, fertilizers, and tree maintenance issues.”
“So nothing out of the ordinary?”
“Nope, not really. I gave her a brief rundown of what was required in terms of equipment to get started. I told her not to get all worked up about spending on the most advanced stuff before she had tried her hand at it at all.”
“Was she listening to your advice, do you think?”
“Well, she called back again, didn’t she?”
“What would she have needed a second time?”
“Fertilizers.”
“Fertilizers?” There wasn’t too much call for fertilizers during the late fall in New Hampshire. And maple sugaring doesn’t rely heavily on fertilizers the same way many other commercial crops do.
“She wanted to know the average schedule for fertilizing a sugar bush.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her what you would expect, that a sugar bush doesn’t need too much in the way of fertilizers and that she would want to look for certain plants growing in the bush alongside the maples which indicate soil fertility. I recommended she hire a forester to give her property a once-over and make recommendations.”
“Did she ask anything else?”
“She wanted to know if pesticides, herbicides, and fertilizers had to be registered with the state in order to be available or professionally applied.”
“They do, don’t they?” Our motto may be “Live Free or Die,” but we do have some limits.
“Of course. I told her there was a listing right on the website of all the registered fertilizers in the state, but when she asked me if I had heard of one in particular, I went ahead and checked it for her. It was easy enough for me to do instead of asking her to navigate the website herself.”
“Can you remember the name of the fertilizer?”
“It was kind of cutesy, with a funny spelling that stuck in my memory. Best Bett All in One. I wrote it down because there was nothing with that name listed and we are eager to track down people selling nonlicensed fertilizers or pesticides. Those things are regulated for a reason, missy.” The gnome harrumphed again, with an even more exaggerated throat clearing than before.
“Did she tell you where she heard of it?”
“Nope. As a matter of fact, she hurried off the phone right quick like. I wondered at the time if she was trying to avoid answering my questions.”
“And you can’t ask her now.” Was that the whole reason she died? She knew too much about an illegal fertilizer operation? Could it be enough to kill someone over?
“No, I can’t, and I feel just terrible about it.”
“If I turn up anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.” And I had a couple of decent bets where to start.
• • •
I was grabbing my car keys almost before I had hung up the phone. Lowell needed to hear there might be something to lead the investigation away from Greener Pastures, the sooner the better. I promised Grandma I would be back within an hour or so to help with more pie baking and set off for town.
The police station is just one block off Sugar Grove’s main street. It sits tucked back behind a shady clump of rhododendrons that are unique in the fact they are being used in a commercial setting and don’t look like they are suffering because of it. I sometimes t
hink petty thieves and IRS auditors get reincarnated as rhododendrons. I can’t think of anything more miserable than being one of those plants that get a reputation as an easy-care, hardy evergreen.
I rolled up to the corner of the station and parked the MG near the back so as not to take up any spaces needed for actual emergencies. I was sure Lowell would want to hear what I had to say, but I was not sure it justified plopping down in front of the building like I was a mayor on crutches or something. The door swung silently on its hinges and I walked in past the reception desk without spotting Myra. She ought to be at her desk fielding calls about police emergencies as well as the kind involving turkeys that were still frozen the day before they were scheduled to be the main event. The door to Lowell’s office was halfway open, and I could hear him talking to someone. I didn’t want to interrupt or disturb him so I stepped up quietly.
He was speaking softly, and at first I had a hard time making out his actual words. I was about a foot from the door when the forced hot air heating system shut off and the building suddenly became much quieter.
“How about if I call Mitch in a little early and we go over to my place for a little bit? He’s always looking to pick up a few more hours and I never take my vacation time.” Lowell’s voice had a softness to it combined with a rumbling sultry quality I had never heard him use before. I heard a woman giggle just a bit. Lowell has never had a girlfriend I have ever met as long as he has been my godfather. Sure, I’ve heard my father and grandparents asking him about dates he had been on, but there was never anybody he brought out to the house for a family dinner or even anyone whose name he brought up in conversation. I was intrigued and felt like he was headed into new territory that would do him a world of good. I crept just slightly closer to the doorway, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who caused him to behave so recklessly.
Her back was to me and her face was obscured by Lowell’s but I would know her anywhere. After all, it’s hard not to recognize your own mother.
I backed away from the door so quickly I bumped into a chair and fell to the floor. Myra came out of the small room at the end of the hall, where they kept the microwave and the extra paper goods. She was holding one of those frozen diet entrées in her red beefy hands, a startled look on her face.
“Dani, are you all right?” She moved toward me like she was going to help me up. I jumped to my feet and continued on without a word. I heard her calling after me in tones a lumberjack would use to alert the others a tree was on its way to the ground. I had gotten to the car, shut the door, and had even turned the engine over before Lowell and my mother appeared in the doorway of the police station. The look on my mother’s face in the rearview mirror was one I had not seen since my father’s funeral. She looked stricken and small. The last thing I saw before I rounded the corner was her turning in toward Lowell’s chest and him wrapping his long arms around her shoulders.
Fourteen
The only place to go was Piper’s. Even if she wasn’t home, her place was never locked. Her parents used to scold her about it until she pointed out that if anyone wanted to steal her stuff, they could easily take it all by hitching her RV to a truck and towing the whole thing away. Once she promised to lock it at night when she was inside, they stopped nagging. They did buy a surveillance service for the campground, but they argued it was a business expense and for the campground so it wasn’t really about her anyway.
Piper’s parents own and operate a kitschy campground right off the highway. It was built about the same time as the Stack Shack. and it has a no longer politically correct cowboys and Indians theme. There’s a wagon train and a teepee village coexisting much more peacefully than happens in children’s games. The wagons, which are actually small cottages, are circled around a main bonfire area and a horseshoe-pitching pit. The teepees make up a second circle around another bonfire area and a shuffleboard court.
The campground is open from Memorial Day weekend until, in an ironic twist, Columbus Day weekend. Piper’s parents spend a few more weeks doing repairs and winterizing and then head down to Florida to spend the winter. Now that Piper is an adult and runs the Stack, she also keeps an eye on the place in the off-season. Usually, she has some guy or other helping to keep her company while she’s at it. The relationships always seem to melt away with the snow come spring and the return of her parents. I’m not sure exactly what that says about her relationship with them, but at this point it was certainly better than mine no matter what. With one parent dead, and the other lip locking with the deceased’s best friend, it was hard not to be on rocky ground.
Piper’s RV was set back out of the main camping areas so as not to detract from the effect the Wild West Wagons and Wigwams was trying to achieve. I parked in the parking lot and noticed her car wasn’t there. I wandered to her RV and stopped on the stoop Piper had built in front of the Airstream and used the raised vantage point to look out over the teepees and wagons. Alongside one of the teepees, a bit of wash flapped on a clothesline. A pair of trousers, some boxers, and a long-sleeved T-shirt waved at me as I turned to enter Piper’s private space.
It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other or how many times I have been in Piper’s RV, each time I enter it, I get a startled feeling. Everything is neat, everything is tidy, and almost everything is covered in vintage leopard print. From the flooring to the drapes to the knobs on the golden maple cabinets, leopard spots cover so much, it can be difficult to see where one surface ends and another begins. If life were fairer, Piper would have been the one to encounter a big cat instead of me. She would have been thrilled. I yanked off my jacket, flipped on the electric teakettle, and threw myself down on the built-in leopard print couch. I tugged the leopard throw off the back of the couch and curled underneath it.
What was my mother thinking? I knew there was a possibility she would start dating again someday, but I hadn’t thought any of us were ready to consider it. Dad had been gone only five years. And to become involved with his best friend? I felt like everything I knew about either of them was now called into question. I had to wonder if they had been carrying on while my father was still alive. Could he have found out about the two of them? I was so hurt and angry my blood was pounding behind my eyes like the bass beat at a rock concert. I started crying, and the sound of my sobs bounced around the confined space like a ball bearing in a clothes dryer. I wore myself out entirely and fell asleep like a toddler who’d thrown a temper tantrum that had run its course.
I awoke to the scrunch and crunch of tires on the ground outside. It was dark in the tiny home except for a leopard-spotted night-light. I wondered if Piper had brought any of the daily special home for dinner. The door opened and the figure silhouetted in the doorway didn’t look like Piper. I thought again about her parents’ door-locking policy and wished I’d followed through. It occurred to me I had no idea who the person was staying in the campground. For all I knew, it could be a dangerous squatter with a desire for clean clothes.
“I thought I’d find you here.” Celadon’s voice cut through the tiny home even more efficiently than my sobs had. I squished back down and pulled the throw over my head. “Oh no you don’t. You are going to sit up and head home if I have to throw you over my arm and carry you there.” Celadon has been saying things like this since we were kids. It used to work but now that her back has started giving her trouble, the threat is as hollow as a jack-o’-lantern without a candle.
“Go away.” It’s best to be direct with my oldest sister. She is sort of like a small child or a dog that way. My mother listens better the longer you speak, like an old-fashioned radio that needs to warm up to tune in. Celadon would rather receive her messages as telegrams. It’s like she thinks there are only so many words you are allowed to hear in a lifetime and she doesn’t want to outlive her supply.
“Not without you. Mom’s a complete basket case and your little discovery today at the police station is threatening to ruin Thanksgiving for everyone.”
“My little discovery. What about you? Did you already know about the two of them?” I sat upright on the couch. If anything, the situation was getting even worse. Was it possible members of my family knew about this all along and deliberately decided to keep it from me? Celadon dragged her hands along the walls until she encountered a light switch. Leave it to her to make an already difficult situation even more unpleasant. My eyes were bleary from all the crying and the light only made them sting even more. At least she had the grace to look a bit sheepish before pulling on her indignant mask and going on the offensive.
“As a matter of fact, I did. I encouraged it even. After all, both of them have been missing the same man. Who better to understand that aching spot than each other?”
“I don’t want to hear another word about Mom consoling her aching spots with Dad’s best friend. And I don’t want to hear anything else from you either. I can’t believe you knew about this and didn’t tell me.” I felt another sob trying to burble to the top of my throat, but I didn’t let it. It was a nice catch, I can tell you, considering how little distance there is to travel along my very short neck.
“They’re both grown people entitled to a little happiness. It would do you some good to grow up, too. Do you think any of us have liked keeping this from you?”
“Any of us? Does everyone else know?” I felt even sicker. I would never have thought my grandparents would be in on something like this. After all, Dad was their son. “Did all the rest of you know about this?”
“Everyone except the children.”
“So I’m still one of the children?” It was something I had struggled with all my life. Every family has a way of behaving; everyone has a role to play no matter how much time has gone by. The mother’s helper, the Goody Two-shoes, the athlete, the black sheep, all continue throughout life when spending time with family. In mine, I’m the baby and everyone else tells me stuff last, trusts me least to act like an adult, ladens me with unsolicited advice. This was the most egregious example, but I had been almost surprised that anyone had even told me about my father’s death and hadn’t tried to keep it from me thinking it was grown-up business.
Drizzled with Death (A Sugar Grove Mystery) Page 15