Gracie unlocked the door, motioning for Roscoe to make his escape. Smelling of sweat, onions, and grease, he stepped gratefully inside.
Receiving the lecture of a lifetime about not feeding wild animals, even if they were cuddly and cute, Roscoe sat properly chastised in a brown vinyl chair, surrounded by three disapproving faces. After the impassioned speech by Gracie, he sheepishly admitted he’d been letting the family of raccoons eat and play in his car since he’d been camping behind the kennel. Among his reasons for letting them become squatters in his car was that they were intelligent and polite.
He hadn’t realized they were sleeping under the pile of bags when he’d picked up lunch on his way to see Jim. The hitchhikers had decided to help themselves to lunch just as he pulled into the kennel’s driveway.
“You are sooooo lucky,” Trudy stood, shaking her pretty head at the exceedingly disheveled man. “Raccoons can have rabies. Oh, my gosh! Did they bite you?”
“No. No, I don’t believe they inflicted any bites on me.”
Roscoe shoved his glasses back up his glistening nose while inspecting his arms for marks. His usual hair explosion was damp with sweat and lying flatter than Gracie had seen it.
The four gathered around the front windows to watch the raccoons finish the meal and walk single file back to the Geo. One by one they jumped through the open windows.
“I’m calling animal control,” Gracie said, grabbing the phone. “They need the witness relocation plan, plus they should be checked for rabies.”
The animal control truck rumbled into the driveway 20 minutes later. With Jim’s help, the animal control officer rounded up the sleepy Wild Bunch, confining them to cages. They were now headed for the county lockup. They’d be quarantined to make sure no one was rabid. Roscoe was instructed to clean his car and campsite. The officer reiterated that it was not a good idea to allow wild animals of any sort in his vehicle or tempt them to stay around his campsite. A very subdued Roscoe drove out after the animal control vehicle to get checked out by a doctor. Gracie figured it would serve him right if they started rabies shots on him. What a dope!
Haley was obviously disappointed she’d been held captive inside during all the excitement. The windows, however, were covered with her nose smears. Her tail drooping and her head low, she finally gave up trying to get out the front door.
Gracie gave her a butt rub as she went by. “Sorry, girl. A little too much excitement for you to be involved in.”
Ignoring her mistress, Haley flopped onto her bed in the office, rolled on her back, and with an irritated snort, went to sleep.
The Clarks were pulling into the driveway when closing time came. Jim had already left to check on Roscoe’s status. Haley loped off to meet and greet. Gracie sighed when she saw her mother carrying a casserole dish. It could only mean she was worried that Gracie wasn’t eating healthy or something like that. A hot bath and an early bedtime would have been her first choice tonight. Apparently her plans had changed.
“Hey, parents!” she called out.
Haley was slobbering on her father’s pants, while receiving a good scratch behind the ears. Her mother held the casserole at eye level, anticipating Haley’s interest.
“We thought you might like a little company tonight, and I’d already made this big dish of mac and cheese,” her mother started. Gracie decided to accept defeat and save time discussing.
“Sounds good. I can make a salad to go with it.”
She pulled a bag of greens from the refrigerator while her mother snugged the foil on the large brown casserole dish. Theresa switched on the oven and bent to slide the dish onto a rack.
Her red hair had now faded to a sedate auburn with prominent strands of gray. Mother and daughter were about the same height, although Gracie was sure she was at least a half-inch taller. Gracie’s eyes were her father’s, as was her nose. Her brother, Tom, was the spitting image of their father, except for the red hair that their mother had generously passed on to both her children. Theresa was an avid walker, who worked at staying fit. For a woman who had just turned 64, she was in pretty good shape. Bob, on the other hand, was always wrestling with his weight. Gracie understood that struggle herself. A fortieth birthday looming in a month and jeans that were a little too tight were her reminders.
Supper with her parents proved to be informational when the topic got around to Isabelle’s strange visit of the day before. Aunt Marlene, who was the family’s self-appointed gossip hotline director, had informed Theresa about the difficulties the bank had encountered dealing with D. B.’s estate. D. B. had promised them Greerson’s Meadow. The board was feeling serious pressure to make the wind farm deal happen. The land, of course, was the big holdup and a major inconvenience for Isabelle, who was scouting properties for them. Greerson’s Meadow was currently the only acceptable property because of the elevation. Nothing on the Jackson farm was remotely in the running.
“Isabelle told Marlene that this Mitch Allen of New Energy Strategies Team made it clear to her in a meeting that N.E.S.T. didn’t especially care who they did business with now, it just needed to happen,” Theresa finished.
Gracie was still mulling that bit of information over, when her father chimed in with news about the Memorial Day activities.
“This N.E.S.T. company is sponsoring a carnival for the whole village after the parade this year,” he offered, pushing back from the table after two generous helpings of everything.
“A carnival? That’ll put a different spin on the day,” Gracie said, shoving the last bit of macaroni, with the wonderful crunchy breadcrumb topping, into her mouth.
“I guess we’ll find out all about it next week,” said Theresa. “You will be there, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. It’ll be a chance to find out more about this N.E.S.T. mess.”
Chapter 13
“If he hadn’t assaulted a police officer, I could get a bail hearing,” the young and earnest Gary Haskins, Esq., told Jim.
“I understand,” Jim said matter-of-factly. “I tried to tell you, Toby. I wish you’d listened to me.”
Jim threw a worried look at the attorney. Thrusting his hands back in his pockets, he began pacing again. Everything about being in the jail area made him feel like a trapped animal. Toby must be feeling even worse, he reasoned.
Toby, who sat in a straight-back chair in the empty visitors’ area, nodded, looking glumly at his feet.
“I know. I know. It’s my own fault.” He leaned back in the chair to face Jim and his lawyer. His eyes were weary with fatigue and uncertainty.
“However,” the attorney continued, “the sheriff’s department is continuing their investigation. With the statement from Roscoe Myer and his recording checking out, we stand a good chance that the murder charge will be dropped today. You need to tell me if you saw or heard anything unusual that night. Did you hear a gunshot?”
“Not that I remember. My trailer’s a good ways from the field. I guess I could’ve heard somethin’ if I was outside, but me and Roscoe was in the trailer for the whole time, except for when he left. I walked him out to that little car of his, but that was pretty late.”
The young attorney nodded, snapping his briefcase shut. “All right. If you think of anything, call me. I’m due in court right now. It was nice seeing you, Mr. Taylor.” The sandy-haired man in the navy blue suit stood to leave.
“Thanks. You too.” Jim stood to shake the attorney’s hand, then quickly returned to his seat by the glass partition. He hoped he could jog something loose in Toby’s memory of that night. Before he could ask his next question, a male voice behind him greeted Toby.
Jim turned to see a well-dressed man with a neatly trimmed beard approach them, smiling confidently.
“You must be Jim Taylor,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Ben Richter.” Jim stood, hesitantly accepting the extended hand.
*****
Investigator Hotchkiss exited her county SUV, quickly surveying the manicured
lawns and gardens. A patrol car turned into the driveway and parked behind her. Giving the deputy a quick wave, she pulled out her notepad. The athletic investigator climbed the broad steps to the front door of the Jackson home, with the deputy close behind her. The doorbell chimed pleasantly when she pressed the ornate brass button. The heavy door, decorated with a simple grapevine wreath and silk apple blossoms, swung open almost immediately. A young woman with long brown hair, who appeared to be in her late 20s or early 30s, stood looking at them with questioning eyes.
*****
Kim’s hands trembled as she punched in Gracie’s cell phone number. She took a deep breath to steady herself. From the living room bay window, her daughter Sara watched the deputy carry two shotguns and a box of shotgun shells to his cruiser. Investigator Hotchkiss frowned and looked back at the big house as she slid behind the wheel of her car.
*****
“Slow down, Kim. Now, what did they ask you, exactly?” Gracie strained to understand what Kim was telling her.
Between sobs, words piled over the top of one another. She could barely understand what the frantic woman was saying. Gracie bent her head in concentration, pressing the cellphone hard against her ear and shoulder. Pulling a potholder from a drawer, she opened the oven door and pulled out a pan of muffins. Tipping the pan over, the fragrant blueberry muffins tumbled onto the cooling rack. Haley stirred from her bed and trotted to the kitchen door. The dog woofed half-heartedly as Jim’s truck rolled in, crunching over the gravel driveway. Gracie, still listening to Kim’s tearful discourse, walked to where Haley stood panting and thumping her tail against the kitchen cabinets. She pushed the screen door open, motioning Jim to come in.
“All right, Kim. I’ll be over this afternoon. You’d better call your attorney before then. I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about. The police have to investigate everyone. It’s just standard procedure. You can’t be an actual suspect.” She paused, listening intently again. “Yes, I’ll be over right after lunch.”
She ended the call and stuffed the phone in her jeans pocket. Jim was already in the kitchen, helping himself to coffee and a steaming blueberry muffin.
“Ouch! These are hot!” He dropped the contraband, blowing on his burnt fingers.
“I just took them out of the oven. Give them a minute or two.”
Jim scowled in displeasure, opening the refrigerator door to snag a carton of half-and-half. He dumped a generous amount into his coffee before attempting to pick up another muffin.
“I gather that was Kim Jackson on the phone,” he said.
“You gathered correctly,” Gracie affirmed.
She sat down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, carefully picking up a hot muffin for sampling. She broke it in half, watching the steam rise before taking a bite.
“The sheriff’s department was up there a little while ago, questioning Kim about where she was the night of the murder. They also took two shotguns that D. B. had in his office.”
“Well, that confirms what Toby’s lawyer said about them continuing the investigation.” Jim sat down on the other stool, slurping a mouthful of coffee.
“I can’t imagine they’d seriously consider Kim a suspect. It’s just ridiculous.”
“We might think so, but you don’t know what’s really going on with people.”
“There must be other suspects, like that Ben Richter. Kim tried to tell them that. Her impression is they’re not too interested.” She took another bite of the cooling muffin.
“Funny you should mention him. He offered his legal services to Tobias today while I was there.”
“Really,” Gracie said. “I just heard he was an attorney the other day from Midge. Why would he want to represent Toby? He doesn’t have any money to pay him.”
“Toby and I asked him the same thing. He says he’d work out a reasonable payment plan to make it easy on him. He went on about defending the rights of the little guy and noble ideals—things like that. Of course, there was a mention of protecting the Meadow too. It’s a bunch of hooey, if you ask me, but Toby’s thinking about it. He’s just not very comfortable with the public defender guy.”
Haley’s wet nose suddenly appeared on Gracie’s thigh, sniffing hopefully.
“Hey! No begging. Scram!” Gracie pushed the disappointed dog away.
Haley merely switched humans, locking her sights onto Jim.
“This Richter could end up being investigated, so I’d let Toby know that,” Gracie continued. “He and D. B. had a couple of pretty heated arguments. Of course, D. B. started the first one.”
“How did he do that?” Jim asked, slyly slipping a piece of muffin to the waiting Haley.
“Kim told me that D. B., apparently being in jerk mode, ‘accidently’ dumped a load of manure on the Richters’ front yard.”
Jim shook his head. “Sounds like D. B. Was this before or after the lawsuit?”
“It was the day D. B. was served with the lawsuit papers. Richter was up to the farm in a flash, yelling and carrying on. He even took a couple of swings at D. B. Threatened to ruin him and take him out.”
“D. B. did love a good fight.” Jim brushed the crumbs off his hands, showing Haley that there were no more sneaky treats to be had. “Sounds like Mr. Richter has a bad temper too.”
“It does look that way,” Gracie agreed, finishing her coffee. “Kim also said that Dean and D. B. were pretty sure someone tampered with the temperature on the bulk tanks. They had to dump a lot of milk because of it. D. B. naturally went ballistic, which isn’t surprising. I would have too. But he and Richter got into a shouting match outside of Midge’s. Dean had to break it up before they went at it.”
She got up to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Jim stood, looking out of the kitchen window toward the kennel. His brow was furrowed.
“D. B. wasn’t an easy guy. In fact, he could be a downright … well, you know. Michael and I had a few disagreements with him,” he added thoughtfully.
“I know what you mean,” Gracie replied. She began wiping down the counter. “Michael was pretty upset about that equipment sale. D. B. really did pull the rug out from under us.”
“Exactly. We needed that front loader and had worked out the deal with him. When we went up to get it, he’d taken it to one of the other farms. Told us it was no longer for sale.” Jim scowled, remembering the incident. “I think if the cops start digging, they’ll find quite a few people who may have had it with D. B.’s antics.”
Gracie glanced at her watch. “I’d better check on a couple of dogs before I go see Kim. We’ve got two who need meds right now.”
“Good. I’ll make sure Tracey is doing okay.”
*****
Kim and Gracie finished looking over the settlement papers from Renew Earth. Kim’s attorney recommended that she accept the settlement and fast. He didn’t want it withdrawn from the negotiating table. Gracie’s head was swimming with “whereofs,” “heretofores,” and “forthwiths.”
“I don’t feel right about accepting this. There’s something hidden in all of this legalese if you ask me.” Kim stood next to Gracie at the kitchen counter, staring at the blank signature line. “Dean and the kids want me to sign it too. What do you think I should do?”
Gracie had no intention of supplying an answer. There was no way she wanted to be responsible for Kim signing or not signing the document. She drummed her fingers on the counter, stalling for time.
“I really can’t tell you what to do, Kim. I have the same concerns as you do. I’m not a lawyer though. Is there a time limit on the offer?”
“I don’t think so, but Nolan wants me to sign it soon. By the end of the week, he said, and that’s tomorrow.” Kim twisted the rings on her left hand nervously. Her face showed the strain of the mounting pile of decisions along with the earlier police visit. “I just don’t know what to do,” she half-sobbed.
Gracie’s stomach went cold, remembering she’d said the exact same thing when she and Jim h
ad discussed selling the farm.
“What if it’s the wrong thing, and somehow the farm is harmed by my signing it? I can’t make a mistake on this.”
“I’d stall for more time, if you’re really not sure,” Gracie said, chewing her bottom lip. “If there’s no real deadline, maybe a few more days will give you time to think.”
Kim pulled a tissue from the box on the counter, wiping her swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
“Maybe,” she said finally, blowing her nose on the sodden tissue. The exhausted woman sat down heavily on a spindle-back chair next to the broad farmhouse table. “But what if I’m in jail by then?”
Chapter 14
Theresa stood in the Blooming Idiot, Deer Creek’s only florist, waiting for the urn. Every year without fail, either Theresa or one of her siblings brought the urn to be refilled that stood guard by their parents’ headstone from May to October. With the loss of her sister, Shirley, and her brothers living in another county, it would be her turn every year, most likely. Esther Smith, the proprietor, came from the back of the greenhouse, hauling the heavy pot. It was filled with bright red geraniums, vinca, and the obligatory spike. A small American flag was stuck in the center. The short, round woman heaved the urn up onto the counter with a heavy sigh.
“Another beautiful job, Esther. It’s perfect,” Theresa said, smiling as she wrote out the check. “Has Gracie called you for anything yet?”
“No. I don’t think so. How’s she doing anyway?” Esther’s cheerful ruddy face, glistening with perspiration, smiled up at Theresa.
Fly by Night (A Gracie Andersen Mystery Book 3) Page 7