Bitter Roots

by C. J. Carmichael

  “No, Dora!” Geneva wailed.

  Before Justin had time to react, the puppy then grabbed one of Geneva’s boots and began softly growling and tussling with it.

  “Stop it, Dora! Stop right now or you’ll make me sorry you were ever born!”

  Justin had just scooped up the dog, but he froze and stared at his daughter. Suddenly he noticed Willow, standing at the point where the hall joined the kitchen. Her face was white, and her nostrils flared as she shook her head slowly at her daughter.

  Gently Justin eased the boot out from Dora’s teeth and handed it to Willow. Dora wiggled, wanting freedom, but he didn’t set her down.

  Willow went to her daughter, took her hand, and crouched so their eyes were level.

  “Honey, I know you’re upset with the puppy. But you shouldn’t speak to her that way.”

  “She peed on my coat! And bited my favorite boot!”

  “Dora is still a baby. We need to teach her how to behave. It’s going to take a lot of patience and she might end up wrecking some stuff as she learns. Would you rather we took Dora to the animal shelter?”

  Justin moved closer, bending so he was on the same level. Geneva was still pouting when she looked at Dora, then slowly she eased her hand closer and stroked the puppy’s head. “I’m mad at her. But I want her to stay.”

  “I’m going to set up some barricades to keep the dog in this section of the house,” Justin said.

  “Good idea,” Willow agreed.

  Soon Geneva was playing with Dora again. When Willow went to put her daughter’s coat in the washing machine, Justin followed.

  “That was quite the scene.”

  Willow added a scoop of detergent to the machine, without comment.

  “Where did she learn to talk that way?”

  Again Willow didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. It must have been Paul. Thank God Willow had finally left him. If he’d spoken to Geneva that way, Justin only wondered why she hadn’t done it sooner.

  “The puppy was a good idea, Justin. I just wish you’d asked me first.”

  “I’m sorry, but it all happened so fast. And you have to admit, she’s pretty adorable.”

  “You’ve got such a kind heart.” Willow touched the side of his face. “I’m afraid it’s always been your weak spot.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Heart pounding, Tiff awoke on Wednesday from a disturbing dream about Kenny Bombard. She stared at the pink walls of her bedroom seeing instead Kenny’s face, dark and handsome, up close to her own. In the dream he’d been clutching her tightly and she’d felt scared, threatened, but also strangely excited.

  She sat up and stared out the window, hoping a jolt of reality would clear her head. But the view didn’t help. Heavy steel-gray clouds pressed down on the countryside this morning, and the snow—which had been so sparkling and fresh two days ago—now looked old and dull.

  Western Montana hadn’t yet experienced one of the wicked blizzards that usually struck before the holiday season, but it looked as if one might be brewing. Yet her weather app on her phone forecast only cool temperatures, low cloud cover, and moderate winds.

  In the kitchen her mother was rolling out pie dough with maniacal speed. “Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away.”

  “Almost three weeks,” Tiff pointed out as she helped herself to coffee. “Want a refill, Mom?”

  Her mother shook her head. “Pies take a lot of work. I’m making apple today, tomorrow will be huckleberry. Pumpkin has to wait for the day before the holiday. You can’t freeze pumpkin pie.”

  “Sounds like a lot of pie. How many are you expecting?” For as long as she could remember her family had invited the farm manager, and all the staff, as well as their families for Thanksgiving dinner.

  Her mom consulted an open notebook on the island countertop. “Kenny of course. Bob and his wife Janet and their two sons.” She glanced up at Tiff. “The boys are at that difficult age, so they could always refuse to go at the last moment. But I’ve got to prepare as if they’ll be here.”

  Tiff’s first sip of coffee went down like a tonic, clearing the last of the morning fog from her brain. Absentmindedly she listened as her mom continued with her list.

  “...Jacob is married, but Rusty and Robin are not. So in total, counting the three of us, that makes ten adults and two teenagers.”

  “I guess three pies isn’t so outrageous then.”

  “Three? I’m making six. Two of each type.” Rosemary set down the rolling pin and lifted the delicate circle of pastry from the counter, expertly dropping it over a ceramic pie plate.

  She made it look so easy, but Tiff knew better. “Want some help? I could peel apples.”

  “That’s fine, dear, I know you have real work to do.”

  “Baking pies is real work too, but you’re right—I’m a lot better at accounting.” Tiff topped up her coffee and grabbed a cinnamon bun from the counter. “Where’s Aunt Marsha?”

  “She had appointments in Hamilton. Said she might not be home until after dinner.”

  “Must be a lot of errands.”

  “Oh, she’ll probably drop in on some friends, as well. A couple of the women she went to nursing school with live in Hamilton. She visits them regularly.”

  It was painful to contrast her mother’s life with Aunt Marsha’s. Besides her work at the medi-clinic, Aunt Marsha practiced yoga, belonged to a book club, and had a full circle of friends...

  “You went to college too. Do you keep up with any of your friends from those years?”

  “Just Sybil. But then we’ve been friends forever.”

  “You and Sybil should go on a trip sometime.” Tiff tried to think of something that would tempt her mother. “What about a gardening tour of England?”

  “Maybe.” There wasn’t even a spark of interest in her mother’s eyes as she smiled vaguely.

  Tiff tried not to feel frustrated. “Well, think about it. I’m off to the barn now. I’ll try to make it back for lunch.”

  As she left the house, her thoughts quickly shifted from her mother’s mental well-being to curiosity about what she would find in the office after Kenny’s late night visit.

  Spade caught up to her just as she opened the barn door. She waited for him to enter first.

  “After you, sir.”

  She could have sworn he gave her a polite nod before slipping inside and taking the familiar route to the office door, where he sat and looked at her expectantly.

  “Hang on. I’m coming.” Once again she’d arrived after the workers had already gone out to the fields. Traditionally all the hardest work of the year would be finished by Thanksgiving, which made the annual feast even more of a celebration.

  Once Tiff let Spade into the office, he went immediately to the rug and settled with contentment. Tiff stood in the center of the room, swiveling as she surveyed every corner. Nothing was out of place or missing that she could see. One by one she opened the filing cabinets. All looked to be perfectly in order. If any were missing, she wasn’t familiar enough with them to tell.

  What had he been up to last night? The puzzle nagged at her, but since there was nothing more she could do to find out, she might as well try to be productive. At least she didn’t have to worry that he’d snooped on her computer, since it was password protected.

  As she worked she sipped at her coffee and nibbled her way through her mother’s raisin studded cinnamon bun. After a while the numbers began to blur and she sought the escape of Facebook.

  Seeing nothing much of interest in her news feed she went to her messages.

  Nothing here either.

  She was about to move on, when she decided to reread her old messages from Derick. When she was finished, her sense of unease for her friend deepened. There was such a difference between the friendliness of these messages and the cool reception he’d given her the other night.

  Why was he shutting out, not only her, but according to Zak, his other friends, too? She understo
od he didn’t have much free time with a new baby in his life. But she’d been right there, at his door, and he still hadn’t invited her inside.

  Maybe it was time she took away his options.

  She closed out of her Facebook account, and logged off the computer. “Keep sleeping, Spade. I won’t be gone long.”

  The Sparks Construction office was halfway between Lost Trail and the intersection with Highway 93, at the turnoff to the Lost Trail ski hill. The small family resort wouldn’t open until they’d had enough snow, which typically happened by early December. Then this narrow mountain road would be busy, especially on weekends, as skiers took advantage of the hill’s famously sweet powder and dazzling sunshine.

  Some of these visitors would make their way to the Dew Drop Inn, Lolo’s Pizza, and the Snowdrift Café to fuel up before and after their day on the hill. A limited selection of food and beer was available on the hill but the burgers and fries weren’t nearly as tasty as those in town.

  It had been years since Tiff had been skiing. When she was younger, every weekend of snow season her parents would take her and Casey out to the hill on Saturdays. Her mom would pack sandwiches and hot cocoa in a Thermos, with fruit and cookies for dessert.

  Both her parents had been very good technical skiers, so she and Casey had never needed lessons, they’d learned organically by watching their mom and dad, and benefiting from the occasional tip or correction.

  Because of his heart condition, Casey had to restrict himself to the easier hills. But even before she started grade school, Tiff was flying down the intermediate runs with her dad, and eventually the black diamond runs as well.

  Those ski days were another family tradition that had ended with her dad’s and brother’s deaths.

  Maybe if she’d pushed her mom to get back out there, things would have gone better for them. The fresh air and exercise might have helped bring her back from the darkness. Her mom had always laughed going down her favorite: the roly-poly run.

  It would be nice to hear that laugh again.

  Tiff was blinking back tears when she parked in the Sparks Construction parking lot. She should know better than to let her thoughts meander to the past like that. Smarter to focus on the present, and what she would say to Derick when she finally saw him.

  As she got out of her vehicle, she wondered how Derick felt about working at the family business. The office was beautiful, a two-story log building that served as a gorgeous prototype for the vacation homes the company was renowned for designing and constructing. A hand-carved eagle with his wings spread wide—the company logo—was astride a large wooden sign engraved with “Sparks Construction.”

  A half dozen vehicles were parked in the side lot, three of them white trucks with the company name and logo painted in dark hunter green. Tiff took the concrete path—brushed completely free of snow—to the entry.

  She’d driven by this building countless times in her life, but had never been inside.

  It made an excellent first impression.

  The fieldstone fireplace at the center of the room extended a full two stories to the vaulted ceiling. A balcony with a log railing ran the perimeter of the second story, providing access to a row of individual offices. On the main floor, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair in a stylish bob sat behind a reception desk to the right of the fireplace. Behind her were massive windows looking out to the Bitterroot Mountains.

  After tearing her gaze from the view, Tiff realized she knew the receptionist. Nora Morgan was married to the local vet.

  “Hello, Tiff. I heard you were back. Are you planning to build a new house?”

  “Hey, Nora, yes I’ve been home a few days now. No plans to build a house, yet, but I would like to say hi to Derick if he’s around.”

  “He’s awfully busy these days.” Nora was suddenly shifting papers on her desk. “Why don’t you phone and set up a meeting?”

  “Oh, I’ll just be a few secs.” She’d sized up the main floor and noticed two large offices to the far left of the fireplace. She could see bronze plaques on the doors and, though she couldn’t read the names from here, she was willing to bet one of them was Derick’s.

  Tiff moved swiftly, ignoring Nora’s polite request that she please wait a moment. When she was within reading range, she veered toward the door with Derick’s name.

  Ignoring her own qualms about her boldness, she tapped on the door and then opened it.

  Derick was standing at the window, looking out at the dreary weather. As he swiveled to face her, she saw tears gleaming in his eyes. He immediately turned away, pulled out a tissue, and blew his nose.

  “Damn, Tiff, you surprised me. Don’t get too close, I have a cold.”

  Like hell.

  She rested her hands on her hips and studied him. He looked utterly exhausted and stressed, totally unlike the carefree guy she’d known in school.

  “Derick, what’s wrong? Why are you cutting yourself off from all your friends?”

  He moved around her, closing the door. “I’m not. I’ve just been busy.”

  “You didn’t look that busy when I walked in.”

  He ran his hands through his hair and bit out in frustration, “Okay. I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your messages. Will you accept my apology?”

  “I didn’t come here for an apology. I’m here because I’m worried about you. The last time we communicated, you sounded anxious to see me. You said—”

  “Can we please not talk about those messages I sent on Facebook? Do me a favor and delete them. If Aubrey knew I’d shared all that with you she’d kill me.”

  “Why? You didn’t say anything bad about your wife. You just shared how desperate you were to have children. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “What a fool I was. I thought a baby would solve what was wrong between me and Aubrey. I thought it would make my parents happy and get them off our backs. Instead, the baby has made everything so much worse!”

  Derick was not a guy prone to exaggeration. Yet it was hard to see how one baby could really be responsible for so many problems.

  “I’ve heard it takes a while to adjust to a new ba—”

  Derick swore. And that took her aback, too, because Derick had never been one of those guys who threw around F-bombs to demonstrate his toughness.

  “Don’t talk to me about adjustment periods. Things are not going to get better.”

  Derick pushed up to his feet and strode back to the window. She wanted to offer him a hug, but his stiff posture was too hostile.

  “I’m sorry. I’d like to help, if I could. And so would Zak. You have good friends in this town, Derick. I hope you remember that.”

  He kept his gaze trained out the window, jaw tense. “I have a wife to worry about now and a child. This isn’t about me anymore. I should never have talked to you on Facebook. If you want to help me, keep quiet about all of it. And leave me alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By Wednesday life was pretty much back to normal at the sheriff’s office. The press had backed off, since there’d been no new developments in the homicide investigation to feed the story. For the first time since Riley’s murder, the sheriff checked in at his usual time—about an hour after the start of official office hours, no explanation offered for why he was late. Butterfield, who had a talent for taking his desk about five minutes before his boss, was the first to wish him good morning.

  “Hey, Sheriff.” Butterfield smoothed his tie over his rotund belly. “Was thinking I’d patrol through the Forest Reserve west of the ski hill today. We haven’t done any patrols out there since hunting season started.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Zak knew Butterfield’s idea of patrolling the forestry reserve involved heading to Trappers, a bar and supply shop catering to hunters and fishermen in the expansive forestry reserve to the west of the ski hill. He’d stop a few vehicles on the way, check for hunting licenses, maybe slap out a few fines, then spend the rest of the day drinking
coffee and shooting the breeze with the attractive Shoshone woman who owned the establishment.

  The sheriff stopped in front of Nadine’s desk. She’d arrived at work the same time as Zak, and had been quietly making calls all morning trying to dig up details about Riley’s life during the years between living with her friend’s family and her move to Lost Trail.

  “So? Any luck finding that Connor scumbag?”

  Nadine squared her shoulders. Since her dressing down the other day she’d been coldly professional whenever she spoke. Zak doubted the sheriff would either notice her effort or appreciate the fact that he’d been too hard on her.

  “I found the bartender who worked at Jack’s Cellar when Riley was there,” Nadine reported. “Claimed she was a quiet kid who worked hard, but didn’t get good tips because she wouldn’t flirt with the customers. She only lasted six months. He has no idea where she worked after that.”

  “My guess is that no-account Connor had his hooks in her by then,” Butterfield offered.

  “I’m still trying to find someone who knows Connor. The bartender claims he doesn’t remember anyone with that name.”

  “You’ve checked into the homeless shelters and food kitchens in the area?” the sheriff asked.

  “The ones closest to the bar have no record of Riley Concurran. Of course, she may not have been using her real name.”

  “Maybe Detective Bowering and his team will have more luck flashing her photograph around the area. Keep on it from this end, though. We need to show we put in the proper amount of effort.”

  Nadine flashed a look at Zak, clearly surprised the sheriff made no mention of needing to find the killer, or get justice for Riley. Just make sure no one can say the sheriff didn’t do his job. Zak raised his eyebrows at her. See what we’re dealing with here?

  “I’ll keep on it,” Nadine said.

  Zak didn’t envy her assignment. Riley had lived off the grid during those years. No fixed address, no assurances she hadn’t left San Francisco for that matter. All the identity she’d clung to had been her driver’s license address, but she could have assumed another name in all her other dealings.