Dipped to Death

by Kelly Lane

  “Babydoll, I know you better than that. Never kid a kidder. You were snooping, big-time.”

  “I was not snooping!”

  “You were snooping. You stayed up North too long. A good Southern belle would’ve never gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar like that. You’re out of practice, babe.”

  “You are too funny.” I made a face. “So when are you going to clue me in about the tax maps?”

  “Not my place to tell.”

  “Oh! So now all of a sudden, you do know what they’re about.”

  Buck shrugged. “I wouldn’t be much of a sheriff if I didn’t know what’s happening in my own county, now, would I?”

  “I’m not sure that I believe you even are the sheriff. And if you are, then I wonder what sort of nefarious forces put you in place. It certainly explains why Eli Gibbit is so mad at you and determined to take you down. You disappeared after I left town, then waltzed back after a pile of years and got the sheriff’s job that Eli Gibbit had worked to get during his entire career. From what I hear, everyone in town thought he’d be the next sheriff after Sheriff Titus retired.”

  “And would that have made you happy? Would you rather see Eli as your sheriff?”

  “No. It’d be awful. He’s a louse. And I don’t think he is at all good at what he does. But still, it hardly seems fair . . .”

  Buck let out a hearty laugh. “I love the way your little mind works.” He tapped a finger on my temple, just like Ian had done earlier. “Always overthinking. And now, everything must be fair. It must be agony in there. Ever take a vacation from all that fret and bother?”

  “You ever take a vacation from all that pompous hot air?”

  Buck laughed again. “Lost your manners while you were up North, too, I see. We’ll have to do something about that.”

  Dolly jumped off my lap and onto the vehicle floor to sniff under my legs. I looked out the passenger window and crossed my arms. We were at the bottom of the Greatwoods drive. In front of us, automatically, a pair of massive wrought iron gates slowly opened. Buck pulled out onto the main road. The gates closed behind us.

  “You’re so full of stories. I never know what to believe,” I said.

  “Likewise. But mark my words, I aim to get to the bottom of all your stories.”

  Dolly scrambled back up into my lap.

  “Ugh, Dolly, come on!” We rode in silence the rest of the way home.

  CHAPTER 37

  Buck pulled into the parking area at the big house. In another hour or so, it’d be sunrise. Without a word, I flung open the SUV door, and Dolly hopped out, trotting across the lawn to the cottage. I jumped out and started to follow her. Then, about ten steps later, when Buck hadn’t yet pulled away in the SUV, I decided to turn back. I could see that he was on the phone inside his vehicle. I went around to the driver’s side where he had the window down.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “I promise. I’ll be there soon,” he said on the phone before ending the call. He ran his hand through his short-cropped hair and shook his head. He looked tense.

  “Yes?”

  I banged my hands on the SUV door. “What about the tax maps!”

  Buck stopped and shifted the vehicle into park.

  “What about them?”

  “Can’t you tell me anything? After all, I’ve helped you solve two murders since I’ve been home this summer. Surely, that’s worth something?”

  “Why do you want to know so bad?”

  “I don’t know. I just do.”

  Pieces of the conversation I’d overheard in the olive grove just hours earlier filtered through my mind. Then I saw the maps on Ian’s desk, with the red circles. And I remembered Ian standing in the field a day earlier.

  “Look,” I said, “I really want to know what’s going on. This community means a lot to me; the fact that I haven’t been around for years has made me realize what a special place this really is. Besides, if something is going on, maybe I can help.”

  “That’s a nice thought. But there’s nothing you can do.”

  I remembered the notations on Ian’s maps.

  “Does it have something to do with the Dicers?” I asked.

  Buck didn’t answer. However, I’d seen his eyes flicker. I knew I was onto something. I pressed on.

  “Dickey?”

  Buck shrugged.

  “And Debi?”

  Buck smiled.

  “I knew it! Everyone says those two are up to something. But what is it?” I leaned my elbows on the window frame of the driver’s door and stuck my head in Buck’s open window.

  “Babydoll, I haven’t admitted anything.”

  “I know you, Buck Tanner. You don’t have to say a word.”

  “Really? Perhaps then I need to brush up on my secretagent skills. Anyway, given the maps are property maps, and the Dicers are in the real estate business, I’d say there’s a natural connection.”

  “That’s not what I mean. And you know it. There’s something fishy going on.”

  “Leave it alone.”

  “I can’t. Besides, would it change anything if I told you that I think Debi may be trying to kill me?”

  Buck burst out laughing. “What on earth? You really are desperate for information. Debi’s tough as nails, but she’s not homicidal.”

  “You men are always the last to know.”

  I put my hands on my hips. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think about some of the accidents I’d had that summer, but Debi’d known all about every one. And she’d sure made certain that I thought she’d been trying to kill me. Apparently, that notion was out of the realm of possibility for Buck. And for a moment, I wondered who was really a means to an end, Debi to Buck, or Buck to Debi . . .

  Buck was still laughing.

  “Just wait till she tells you she’s pregnant.” I crossed my arms and smirked. “She and your mother have it all worked out, by the way.”

  That’ll give him something to think about.

  Buck raised his eyebrows. “Well, I daresay, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been hoodooed, now, would it?” He gave me a long, purposeful look. “Speaking of my being hoodooed, why don’t you fill me in on your ex-fiancé . . . Mister Codman.”

  We’d circled right back around to where we’d started when we were in Ian’s driveway. I didn’t like it. I thought I’d finished it. And I was determined not to say any more. Dex was dead. What had happened between us was over. I needed it to be over.

  All of it.

  Did Buck consider me a suspect for Dex’s murder? It would be just his style . . .

  Had Buck been playing me all night?

  Argh! I hate men!

  “Tell me what you know about his business,” Buck said. “What, exactly, did he do at the paper company?”

  “Why?”

  “Just humor me. You owe me that much.”

  “Maybe we can trade? I’ll tell you about Dex’s business if you tell me about the property maps.”

  “Alright.”

  “Promise you’ll share?”

  “Sure. I give you my word. Now, what can you tell me about his job . . . at the paper company?”

  “Dex was Perennial Paper’s acquisitions manager. Kind of a ‘front man’ for procurements. Usually these were full-blown businesses, land for new operations, or investment properties.”

  “Go on.”

  “He’d first head up a market analysis study and work up growth potential studies for emerging markets. Then he and his team would identify potential acquisition locations. After that, he’d build an acquisitions team—like the group here, for example: Wiggy, Claudia, Spencer, and Coop. As far as I know, he was still doing that sort of stuff when he came here this week.”

  “I thought you said the group was here on vacation. You don’t t
hink the group was vacationing?”

  “That’s what they’ve been telling everybody. Still, I definitely do not think that’s why they came here. Not a one of them is remotely interested in nature or bird-watching. In fact, it’s so preposterous, it’s almost funny.”

  “Almost.”

  “They’re cutthroat corporate raiders. I’d venture to say that none of them ever stop working, let alone make time for bird-watching.”

  “Okay. So, what else?”

  “Well, after building his team, Dex and his group would visit their intended targets and start building relationships with local communities, especially key commercial brokers, bankers, property owners, appraisers, lawyers, contractors, and the like. Dex used to brag all the time about how good he was at snowing unsuspecting ‘marks.’ People just loved Dex. He had this way . . .”

  “It’s called a con. Go on.”

  I furrowed my brow and gave Buck a look. “No, a con would be illegal. This was more like . . . what I’d call slick business.”

  “Slick business?”

  “Yes. Sure. Anyway, Dex and his ground team would identify prospective properties, choose one if there was a fit, then submit a letter of intent to the seller. If the letter was accepted, a deposit was made before a six-month or more study period, during which time the team conducted inspections, surveys, audits . . . all that stuff. If everything worked out, the money deposit would go hard, and soon after, the deal would be closed. Perennial Paper acquired a new asset.”

  “For example . . .”

  “A forest to cut trees for paper. Or land to build a processing plant. Or both. Land with river or railroad access is prime.”

  “So these people who came with Dex Codman—they all worked for him?”

  “Claudia did. She was Dex’s administrator and right-hand man, so to speak. And she was loyal as a mama tiger. In a sense, she really ran the show.”

  “I see . . .”

  “No, really. She’s the one who coordinated everything and pulled all the details together while Dex got all the credit. He was really more like the front man. I’ve always thought Claudia was the real brains behind his business team. It’s just that no one has ever respected her enough to give her any credit.”

  “Got it. What about the big guy . . .”

  “Wiggy. Er, sorry, John Cabot Wigglesworth. He’s the acquisitions asset and operations manager. He worked with Dex, not for Dex. He reports directly to an operations director, but he was assigned to Dex. He’s the guy who would take over and manage the asset after Dex and his team made the purchase.”

  “Okay.”

  “And in similar fashion, Spencer Fisk reports to a financial director. He manages all the finances leading up to an acquisition. And Coop Tarbox, that’s Norcross Cooper Tarbox—”

  “The Second. I know. I got that.”

  “Right. Well, he reports to the legal director, and he manages all the legal business for an acquisition.”

  “So, all together, the group would seek out and set up a property for the paper company to purchase, then afterward, once the property was acquired, three would move on and the Wigglesworth guy would take over operations.”

  “Right. At least for a while, anyway. Eventually, Wiggy would turn the operation over to someone else, then he’d back out, returning to corporate to begin work on another acquisition.”

  “And you think your man and his team were up to some sort of acquisitions deal here in Abundance?”

  “Please, don’t call him ‘my man.’ And yes, I’d stake my life on it . . . They’re up to something. Why else would they be here? Dex was the man who wanted to marry me because he needed a good-looking young woman on his arm and someone to hostess business parties for him. And he openly admitted it to me, thinking that was a perfectly acceptable reason to marry someone. He was all business. Cold as ice. He doesn’t . . . didn’t . . . take vacations.”

  Buck stared at me for a moment. I hadn’t clued him in before as to Dex’s motives for wanting to marry me. Even to me, when I’d said it out loud, it sounded preposterous. Still, Dex had said it, not long after I’d run off with him. And I’d almost taken him up on it.

  Almost.

  “Right,” Buck said, finally. “Cold as ice. And why did he and his paper people come here, do you think?”

  “I have absolutely no idea. It’s a paper company. Abundance is full of trees. And compared to a lot of other places, land is cheap here. And we’ve got a river for processing. As well as railroad tracks that could be upgraded . . . all the kinds of amenities they look for in a property.”

  “I see. Anything else?”

  “That’s all I know about Dex and his business. After all, before this week, I hadn’t seen him in sixteen years.”

  I shrugged. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say about the conversation I’d overheard in the olive grove earlier that night. I still wanted time to process it all. So I didn’t say anything. And I wanted to change the subject before Buck could ask me more about what had happened between me and Dex.

  “So now it’s your turn. Tell me what you know. Tell me about the maps in Ian Collier’s library.”

  “It’s not my place.”

  “Oh, come on! You promised.”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Babydoll. You know I can’t stand it.”

  “Buck Tanner, you gave your word!”

  Buck’s phone buzzed. He looked at it and sighed before resting it on the seat beside him, unanswered.

  “Christ,” he whispered under his breath.

  “Don’t you need to get that?” I asked.

  “It’ll keep.”

  “It’s probably Debi.”

  “Probably.”

  “You’d better answer it then.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because if you don’t she’ll come over here. I’m telling you, she’s stuck a tracking device on your vehicle. You’ll never get away from her. Maybe she wants to tell you she’s pregnant. You’ll have to marry her right away.”

  “You’re very amusing.”

  “I’m serious. She’s crazy jealous.”

  “I know that.”

  “Now that we’ve established that your girlfriend—or whatever she is—is a paranoid, conniving, homicidal nutcase, are you going to answer my question? What about the maps?”

  “Okay.” He sighed. “It somehow may all be connected.”

  “Or not.”

  “Or not. Still, consider these facts,” he said. “Farm and open land in the United States has become a hot commodity not only for American businesses, but also for foreign speculators. Including many foreign entities who have no experience or interest in agriculture.”

  “Is this going to be complicated?”

  I leaned in the SUV and inadvertently inhaled a whiff of Buck’s spicy, powdery scent. His brown eyes took me in for a moment. They were all business, not the warm, melted chocolate I’d seen earlier. Still, he looked sexy as hell.

  “Eva, you asked for this. I’m only going to spell it out once. So, listen up.”

  Elbows on the car door window frame, I put my chin in my hands. “Fine. I’m listening.”

  Buck’s phone buzzed again. He glanced down at it on the seat next to him and then snapped off the ringer.

  “Someone must be eager to talk with you . . .”

  “Not now.”

  I raised an eyebrow and gave him a teasing look. He didn’t crack a smile.

  “GPS. GPS. GPS,” I chanted.

  “Okay. You want to hear it. Pay attention,” said Buck. “Wealthy international investors and businesses are purchasing land in the United States at astronomical prices per acre,” Buck said. “No local farmer has a chance to compete with these foreigners. And because no one local can afford to pay those prices, these transactions change our f
armers from landowners to tenants.”

  “Not good, right?”

  “Not good. Or in some cases,” Buck continued, “foreigners are repurposing land altogether, so we lose out on cropland.”

  “What do these foreigners want the land for?”

  “Different things. More than half the foreign-held land is in timber or forest. Other buyers want land for crops and pastures, often because their own countries don’t have enough water to grow and sustain enough crops for their populations. This impacts our food supply, soil, and water tables. Also, crop- and pastureland is long-term leased for foreign-owned wind companies. And foreign banks and investment firms are buying land simply as long-term investments. They rent the land back to corporate farmers to cultivate and maintain their investment.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Skyrocketing prices for commodities like corn and soybeans have driven up farmland prices so that farms are worth around four times more than they were at the peak per-acre prices during the seventies and eighties. That was just before the big farm crisis.”

  “And Ian Collier is involved because . . .”

  “Ian Collier is one of a handful of concerned citizens who believe that, if gone unchecked, these massive land grabs pose a threat to our national security, as well as our economy and food base. And Georgia happens to be one of the top states for foreign land investors.”

  “Really?”

  Buck nodded. “Plus, some folks are convinced that there are a few factions out there who—on a much smaller scale—use the land for illegal purposes.”

  “Such as?”

  “Cultivation of illegal substances.”

  “Drugs?”

  Again, Buck nodded. “And there is worry about extremist cults and training camps.”

  “Training camps? You mean, like, terrorist training camps?”

  Buck raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

  “Here? In this country?”

  Buck shrugged. “If not today, then tomorrow. If you hadn’t been in the woods and witnessed the drop tonight, you’d never have known all those troops were out there, now, would you? Some terrorist training is no different than what you saw goin’ on tonight. Just a different team. Although nowadays, all it takes is a big truck to terrorize innocent folks . . .”