I reached the hilltop, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.
Then I opened my eyes, and instead of the majestic bison, I saw a pair of surveyors. One, wearing an orange safety vest and an orange hard hat, was holding up the stick while the other, in khaki with a white hard hat, was bending over and peering through the scope. The llamas, who were always fascinated by human activity, hovered nearby, two at each surveyor’s elbow. Not for the first time, I wondered if we could possibly train the llamas to deal with trespassers. Not to hurt them, of course, just to loom menacingly and spit at them a few times until they left the premises.
I strode toward the trespassers.
“What are you doing here?” I said, when I got close enough. I cringed when I realized how much like my mother I sounded. Then again, sounding like Mother had its uses. Both men snapped to attention.
“You must be Ms. Harrison from corporate,” Orange Hat said.
I wasn’t about to tell a direct lie, but it occurred to me that they might be more forthcoming if they thought I was this Ms. Harrison. So I did my best to look corporate.
“I said, what are you doing here?” Faint accent on the “here,” as if I had expected to find them somewhere else. And I tapped my foot in irritation. I didn’t have to fake the irritation—they were trespassing.
“We already finished surveying the condo site down by the river,” White Hat said. “We thought we’d get a head start on the golf course location.”
“Golf course location?”
“See that run-down old farmhouse up there?” White Hat was pointing at our house. “That’s the proposed clubhouse location.”
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I wasn’t sure which made me angrier, the fact that they’d just applied the word “run-down” to the house we’d spent so much money renovating, or that some corporation thought they could tear it down to build a clubhouse.
And you couldn’t have a clubhouse without a golf course surrounding it, of course. I had no idea how large a golf course was, but I figured you’d probably need at least a hundred acres, and that meant they also had designs either on Mother and Dad’s farm behind us or Seth Early’s across the road. Maybe both. And I didn’t think either property owner would take kindly to the idea of turning those acres of rich, prime farmland into a golf course.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
I’d counted well past ten and it hadn’t helped much, so I opened my eyes and glared at the two of them.
“Get off my property,” I said. I didn’t raise my voice, but something in my tone made the surveyors flinch, and all the llamas took a step or two back.
“Ma’am?”
“That run-down old farmhouse is my home, and this is my land, and I want you to get the hell off my property,” I said. “Go back and tell whoever sent you that they’re wasting your time and their money. There’s no way in hell we’re selling our land to build a golf course, and they have a lot of nerve sending someone to survey the land before even asking us if we were interested in selling.”
“But ma’am—” White Hat began.
“You are trespassing.” I spoke as loudly and distinctly as I could.
“Hey, Meg!”
It was Rob, approaching rather more rapidly than his usual pace, no doubt because he was being pulled along by Tinkerbell, the wolfhound. I frowned at the interruption. I turned back to the two surveyors and was irritated to see that they looked relieved. I glared at them until Rob drew near.
“Hey!” Rob said, a little out of breath. “What’s up?”
“You’re just in time, counselor,” I said.
Rob’s eyes bugged out at the word “counselor,” but he was smart enough not to say anything. Or maybe just too surprised to speak.
“These two gentlemen appear to be lost,” I went on. “They’re trying to survey some land where their employer is planning to build a golf course, and they wound up here by mistake. And they were just leaving.”
“Look, lady—” White Hat began.
“Because they really don’t want me to call the police and report them as trespassers,” I said. “Much less set my dog on them.”
I glanced at Tinkerbell, who was staring fixedly at them. Which probably meant one of them had some food in his pocket, or perhaps had wiped greasy hands on his work clothes at lunchtime—I’d already observed that Tinkerbell was a chowhound, not a watchdog. But the two of them didn’t know her. They both looked anxious, and one of them took a half step backward.
“Look, lady, we’re sorry.” White Hat again. I pegged him for the senior member of their team. “We thought you knew about the project. That’s what my boss said—that the mayor had informed the landowners whose property was affected, and we should go ahead and survey. But if that’s wrong, we can come back later.”
“Just how—” I began. And then I stopped. If the mayor was involved, then something sneaky was afoot.
I noticed that the llamas were creeping closer again. Apparently Tinkerbell’s presence didn’t bother them. Given her size, they probably just thought she was a new, rather odd-smelling llama.
“It’s called eminent domain,” Orange Hat said.
White Hat glared, as if he wished Orange Hat had kept quiet.
“I’ve heard of that,” Rob said.
We all looked at him. From the looks on the surveyors’ faces, they clearly didn’t think much of my attorney’s expertise.
“That’s nice,” I said. I wanted to add that I was relieved to know Dad hadn’t paid all that money to a law school that would let him graduate without taking a single class in property law, but I held my tongue. No use showing the enemy that we had dissension in our ranks.
“I meant I heard a rumor the mayor was thinking of using it,” Rob said. “I didn’t hear where,” he added quickly, with a glance at me.
“But eminent domain is the government seizing private property if it’s in the public interest, right?” I asked.
Rob and the surveyors all nodded.
“Just how do condos and a golf course serve the public interest?” I said. “I thought eminent domain was mostly used to build roads and dams and such.”
“Kelo v. City of New London,” Rob blurted out. He had a look of pleased surprise on his face, as if he wasn’t quite sure where the reference came from. “Went to the Supreme Court. They upheld taking someone’s property for redevelopment that would increase the city revenues.”
“Economic development,” White Hat said. “Lot of jurisdictions are using eminent domain for that these days. Sorry, ma’am. Can we get on with our work?”
“No,” I said. “Just because the mayor’s thinking about doing something doesn’t mean it’s done. For one thing, we’re not in town—we’re in the county, and the town and the county don’t always see eye to eye on everything.”
In fact, the town and county were almost sure to disagree when it came to the subject of development.
But the mayor knew that. If he had some kind of sneaky plan to get around the county voters’ longstanding passion for protecting the farmlands …
“My boss isn’t going to be happy about this,” one of the surveyors said. “Can I have him call you to discuss this?”
“No,” I said. “If he needs to discuss it with anyone, he can call my attorney.”
They both glanced over at Rob.
“Not me,” he said. “I’m just her brother. And not actively engaged in legal practice at the moment,” he added hastily.
I had pulled my notebook out of my pocket and was scanning the pages where I kept useful names and numbers—specifically the several pages of lawyers who were either members of the Hollingsworths, Mother’s vast extended family, or had gone to school with Mother, or were otherwise indebted to her. I found the name and number I was looking for and scribbled on a slip of paper.
“Here.” I handed him the paper, and was gratified to see his eyes widen. Yes, someone who worked for a property development company might well hav
e heard of Cousin Festus Hollingsworth.
“And just who shall I say will be calling him?” I asked.
White Hat fished in several pockets before finding a battered business card, and he had to borrow my pen to cross out his own name and add that of his boss.
“I guess we’ll be going now,” he said.
Rob, Tinkerbell, and I watched as the two surveyors trooped back to an SUV parked far enough down the road that I’d never have seen it from our house. Maybe there wasn’t anything sinister in that. Maybe it was simply the most convenient spot to where they wanted to survey.
Then again …
Tinkerbell whined slightly as they went and strained a little at the leash, causing the surveyors to glance back nervously over their shoulders. The llamas were following them, and to my great delight, just before they reached the fence, Groucho, the largest of the llamas, nailed White Hat with a gob of smelly green llama spit. Maybe they weren’t such bad watch animals after all.
“Tinkerbell wouldn’t really have attacked them, you know,” Rob said when they were out of earshot.
“I didn’t say she would,” I said. “I said I’d sic my dog on them. You know Spike would jump at the chance.”
“Yeah.” He sighed, then patted Tinkerbell as if appreciating her more mellow temperament. I winced. I was resigned to the possibility that Rob might emerge from this whole adventure with a dog of his own, but did he have to pick the largest one possible?
“I think in Virginia these days you have to have blight,” he said.
I waited for some explanation that would make this remark comprehensible. Rob just beamed at me.
“What do you mean, ‘you have to have blight’?” I asked finally. “Because I’d really rather not if it’s all the same.”
“For eminent domain. I think the new law says that you can’t seize property for economic development unless it’s blighted.”
“Well, we should be fine, then,” I said. “Does our property look blighted?”
“No, no,” he said, a little too hastily. “It’s looking better all the time.”
Great. My own brother thought our house looked blighted. Who knew what someone with real standards would think?
I’d worry about that later.
“Did you need me for something?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said. I sighed. I knew Rob well enough to translate. “Not really,” probably meant, “Yes, but I don’t want to admit it, so I’m going to make you drag it out of me with pliers.”
“Just spit it out,” I said. “You made points, helping with the surveyors. You’re in my good books right now. As long as you don’t make me play twenty questions.”
He visibly braced himself.
“Should I tell the chief that I’m not completely alibied for all of Thursday night?” he asked.
I closed my eyes and said nothing for a few moments, mainly because the only words that sprang to mind were ones I was trying to expunge from my vocabulary long before the boys began talking.
“Meg?”
“Yes.” I opened my eyes. “You should definitely tell the chief. Better for you to tell him than for him to find out from someone else. Just how did you happen not to have an alibi? I thought you were all together for hours.”
“We were,” he said. “Most of the time. But Clarence and I went to the shelter early, around nine thirty, so he could get the animals crated before Dad and Grandpa got there. And pretty soon we realized we didn’t have enough crates. There were like a dozen or so more animals than there were the day before. Clarence thinks maybe someone tipped off the Clay County Animal Shelter and they dumped most of their animals on us at the last minute.”
I winced. Neighboring Clay County’s budget crisis was even worse than ours, so it made sense, both that the animal lovers would leak news of the planned burglary and that Clay County would seize the chance to find new homes for their unwanted animals. But it would further expand the chief’s list of people who knew Parker might be in his truck Thursday night.
“Interesting,” I said. “But what does it have to do with you not having a complete alibi?”
“Clarence sent me back to his office to get more crates,” Rob said. “It took a while to find them and load them. I didn’t get back till a quarter of eleven, just before Dad and Grandpa got there. So for the first hour or so that Grandpa said we were all together, actually we weren’t. He and Dad were, and he probably thinks Clarence and I were, too. But we weren’t, so I don’t have an alibi for all of that time.”
“And neither does Clarence,” I pointed out. “And I expect nine thirty to ten thirty won’t be the critical part of the alibi. After all, Parker was supposed to meet you at midnight, maybe a quarter hour’s drive away. Why would he go to his truck before eleven thirty or so?”
“You’re right!” Relief washed over Rob’s face. “So I don’t have to tell the chief!”
“No, you should still tell the chief,” I said. “He’s unlikely to suspect you, but the more he knows about what happened the night of the murder, the better his chance of solving it. While we’re on the subject of what happened that night, why the melodramatic midnight rendezvous at the graveyard?”
“Parker said he couldn’t meet us any earlier,” Rob said. “And of course once we set the meeting for midnight, Dad insisted on the graveyard.”
“Of course,” I said. “What I meant was, why the rendezvous in the first place? Why not just drive Parker’s truck up to the shelter and load the animals directly? Wouldn’t that have saved a lot of fuss and bother?”
“Beats me,” Rob said, with his characteristic shrug. “Maybe everyone was afraid people would start to wonder if they saw that big furniture store truck backed up to the shelter loading dock.”
“No, not a lot of fine furniture deliveries to the shelter,” I said. “Of course, there were a bunch of smaller trucks there.”
“Two pickups and a van,” Rob said. “I bet every other vehicle in the county’s either a pickup or a van. Maybe Parker wanted a buffer between him and the actual burglary.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Still—meeting at midnight to load the truck. Maybe you and Clarence are night owls, but it’s hard on Dad and Grandfather. Did he give a reason why he couldn’t meet you earlier?”
“No.” Rob snickered slightly. “He was a little secretive about it. We all figured he had a date or something.”
“A pity he was secretive,” I said. “If he’d boasted a bit, maybe you’d know who killed him.”
Rob nodded.
“So tell the chief,” I said.
“Okay,” he said. “First chance I get.”
He began loping off, half following Tinkerbell and half pulled by her.
Should I tell the chief myself?
Probably best to give Rob a few more hours.
And what if I was wrong about when Parker went to his truck? What if the time of death fell within the window of time when neither Rob nor Clarence was alibied?
No matter how unlikely I found the idea of either of them killing Parker, if their alibis failed, the chief would have to consider them suspects. The chief would know that Rob had been interested in a woman romantically involved with the victim—he’d have to wonder if the murder was the result of a lethal love triangle. And I had no idea what Clarence’s relationship with Parker had been.
Damn.
I looked around to see if I could spot any of the bison. No such luck. And even if I had spotted any, I wasn’t sure they’d work their usual magic on my mood.
Though I did rejoice to see that the llamas had clustered by the fence and were spitting vigorously, using the surveyor’s SUV as their target. I made a mental note to reward them each with an apple or two for an evening snack.
I called Cousin Festus’s cell phone number and left a message on his voice mail. Then I turned and strode back toward the house.
Chapter 10
I was still fuming as I threaded my way through the sheds and th
e shrubbery that cluttered our yard.
Chill, I told myself. I needed to find something to distract me until Cousin Festus called back. I made a quick stab at seeing the place through the surveyors’ eyes. The house, I decided, didn’t look bad. It was all the sheds, plus the general lack of anything even beginning to approach landscaping. All the more irritating that Randall Shiffley and his two workmen were busily making repairs on one of the largest and most ramshackle of the sheds. We were already having a hard time deciding if that particular shed should go or stay. Now we’d probably feel obliged to renovate it to go with the new roof. Far better to tear it down altogether. It blocked the best view. If it were out of the way I might occasionally catch a glimpse of the bison from the kitchen window. It was time to thin the shed herd.
I spent the next hour cleaning as if spit and polish alone could save the house. By the time I had the nursery and several of the bedrooms tidy and gleaming again, I felt much calmer. Especially after Cousin Festus called and promised he wouldn’t wait for Monday to start finding out exactly who had designs on our property.
“As it happens, I’m down in Yorktown right now, visiting Mom and Dad. Would you like me to run up to Caerphilly tomorrow to strategize about this?”
“That would be excellent,” I said.
I strode downstairs feeling reinvigorated and determined. Mother was sitting at the kitchen table, looking poised and elegant as usual. She was supervising as Rose Noire and one of the other Corsicans made more sandwiches.
“But the barn is so … dirty,” Mother was saying. “Should the boys really be spending so much time out there?”
“It’s all right,” Rose Noire said over one shoulder. “Studies have shown that children raised in an environment with at least one animal have better immune systems and a lower incidence of asthma.”
“Great,” I said. “The boys will grow up healthy as horses with this menagerie around. Even in the short term,” I added, lest anyone think I was volunteering our barn for long-term animal shelter duty.
The Real Macaw Page 9