Bitter Roots

by C. J. Carmichael

  Tiff waited up late on Wednesday night, wanting to talk to her aunt about the missing money in the Raven Farm’s account. But by midnight her aunt still hadn’t returned from Hamilton. Tiff took her book to bed where she promptly fell asleep.

  Thursday morning she roused herself at the first sound of activity in the house. She pulled on a robe and went downstairs without bothering to brush her teeth or wash first. Her aunt was eating granola, fruit, and yogurt at the island.

  She looked...tired.

  Tiff wasn’t used to seeing her aunt in anything other than top form. Marsha had been blessed with robust health, lots of energy, and generally put a positive spin on life. But something was obviously getting her down.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course. Just had a long day yesterday. A friend I went to nursing school with was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She was very upset and I wasn’t able to leave her until late.”

  “I know. I tried to wait up for you but couldn’t make it past midnight.”

  “I was glad to help her as best I could. I just wish I didn’t have to go to work this morning.”

  “Maybe more caffeine will help?”

  “You’ve said the magic word.”

  Marsha held out her mug and Tiff refilled it before pouring a cup for herself. She wondered if this was a good time to mention the missing money. Her aunt was obviously exhausted, plus she had a full day of work ahead of her.

  Maybe she should put out some subtle feelers now, then follow up this evening over a bottle of wine.

  “I’m making good progress converting the farm accounts to the computer. At first glance, though, it looks like the farm isn’t making as much money as it used to.”

  Marsha frowned. “Are you sure? Kenny added several new customer accounts within months of being hired. If anything, I expected our revenues to be up.”

  “Revenues have increased. It’s the profit that’s unexpectedly low. But I’ll take a closer look this morning. Could be I’ve missed something.”

  The view out the window this morning was much the same as yesterday. Whenever Tiff recalled her childhood in Montana, she always pictured crisp blue skies, not these heavy, brooding clouds. She turned to her aunt, who was finishing her breakfast without much enthusiasm.

  “I was wondering if we could have my name added as a signatory for the business accounts at First Interstate. What do you think?”

  “Of course. You could take your mother into town to do that if you can convince her to leave the house. She and I are both signatories.”

  “So do you, um, check the bank statements every month? Or does she?”

  Marsha looked at her blankly. “I think they go directly to Kenny.”

  Tiff gripped the coffee mug tightly. With no one checking the actual balance in the farm bank account, it would be so easy for the manager to skim money without getting caught, as long as he maintained enough working capital to keep the business operating as normal.

  “By the way, Tiff. I keep forgetting to bring this up with you, but your mom and I were discussing Riley and what should happen if the sheriff doesn’t locate her next of kin.”

  “Yes?”

  “We believe Raven Farm should pay to have her buried in the local cemetery. It seems the correct and decent thing to do.”

  Tiff nodded. “Want me to tell Zak to let the sheriff know?”

  “Yes, and if it comes to that we’ll have a small graveside ceremony as well. It’s only proper and would provide closure for all of us.”

  “I agree. Thanks for thinking of that, Aunt Marsha.”

  Her aunt left for work then, and Tiff took her second cup of coffee upstairs to drink while she dressed. Even better closure than a funeral would be finding out who had killed Riley. Like so many others her aunt and mother were buying into the theory the guilty party was someone they didn’t know. Someone from Riley’s past life.

  None of them suspected the real killer might be right under their noses...and living here on Raven Farm.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The morning dragged for Zak. He had lots to do, but it was mostly mundane. Homicides were good for producing paperwork, and normally he was fine with the administrative tasks of his job. But today, for the first time, he wished he had deputy status and could strike out on some official investigating of his own.

  Just he and Nadine were in the office today. Butterfield was on patrol again, and the sheriff had business that had taken him to Missoula. Nadine was doggedly following up on potential leads to the man from Riley’s past. She’d been on the phone with Detective Bowering a lot, speaking in a low voice, laughing occasionally.

  Sounded like the two of them were having way too much fun for people investigating a homicide. Easy for Bowering to be Mr. Nice Guy. He didn’t have to work with her every day. Not that Zak cared if they were overly friendly. He went back to his filing.

  Once when Nadine got up to refill her coffee cup, Zak considered running his new theory past her, but the last time he’d done that he’d gotten her in hot water with the sheriff. Better make sure he was right before he started blabbing about his ideas.

  At ten minutes to twelve he got a call from Tiff on his personal phone.

  “Any chance you could meet me for lunch? I’m on my way to town and there are some new developments I need to talk to you about.”

  Since he generally took only thirty minutes, Zak felt torn. “Could you meet me at the library? Maybe we can grab a sandwich at the Snowdrift later?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. See you shortly.” As he slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, Nadine looked up from her work.

  “Lunch date in the library? Doesn’t sound very romantic to me.”

  He was done denying the nature of his relationship with Tiff. “Maybe we’ll check out the poetry section. Read love sonnets to each other.”

  She blinked in surprise, apparently this was not the answer she’d expected to hear, but she recovered quickly. “Love sonnets huh? Wow, Zak, you have hidden depths.”

  “I believe the term is Renaissance man.”

  The Lost Trail library was in a converted two-story home donated to the town about twenty years ago by a bachelor who had died without heirs. Zak went up the stairs to a small porch where visitors were invited to remove their boots and hang their jackets. A large basket containing an array of hand-knitted slippers was positioned near the inside entrance.

  Zak shucked his boots, but forewent the slippers.

  Inside what would have been the living room contained displays of local fiction and nonfiction books whose subjects or authors were based in Montana. An arched opening led to the former dining room, which now contained the librarian’s desk, set amid the reference section. Sybil Tombe, who had been the librarian for as long as Zak could remember, wasn’t at her desk. But Zak could hear movement in the room beyond, so he walked through.

  The former kitchen was now the children’s nook, containing books for readers from age zero to sixteen. Sybil was tidying up the far corner, where books and cushions were strewn on the polished wooden floor.

  “Hello, Zak, good timing. Thirty minutes earlier this place was swarming with preschoolers and their stressed-out parents.” Sybil was a petite woman, under five feet, with a curvy figure, curly grayish-blonde hair, and a penchant for eyeglasses that made a statement. Today she wore dark purple, circular frames that gave her an owlish appearance.

  “Looks like they had a fun time.” He picked up a few of the cushions and added them to the stack in the corner.

  “Oh they did—once we pried their iPads away from them.” Sybil shook her head ruefully. “Today we had a toddler with a bottle in one hand and a device in the other. And the little guy was scrolling like an expert.”

  “Crazy.”

  “I’ll say. Children are being exposed to the Internet and video game world much too young in my opinion. But I guess I should be thankful their parents still think it’s worthwhi
le to expose them to books as well.” She tucked the hardcover book in her hands into the stack on a wheeled cart, then pushed it against the wall.

  “Now how can I help you, Zak? Do you have a book you need me to find?”

  Thanks to Sybil’s help, he’d worked his way through almost the entire reading list of MU’s Criminology program. She kept bugging him to take actual correspondence courses and earn credits, but Zak didn’t figure he’d ever need the degree. But maybe Sybil had a point. It wasn’t too late, if he changed his mind.

  “Not this time, Mrs. T. I’m here to ask about the woman who was murdered—Riley Concurran. But maybe someone from the sheriff’s office has already talked to you about her?”

  He wasn’t surprised when she shook her head. He hadn’t seen her name in any of the investigation reports he’d filed.

  “No. No one’s asked me anything. But I’m afraid I wouldn’t have had much to say if they had.”

  Damn. So much for his hunch. “You never saw her in the library?”

  “Oh, I saw her all the time. She used to spend hours here. I just meant I have no information to help find her killer. She was always alone and so quiet. I tried a few times to get her to open up to me, but to be honest, Zak, she seemed almost scared to make friends.”

  “What would she like do when she was here?”

  “She always headed straight upstairs. Sometimes I’d find her reading in one of the easy chairs in the fiction section. Other times she was at one of the computers.”

  “Can you show me?”

  “Of course.”

  He followed her back to the foyer, but just as they were about to go up the narrow oak staircase, the bell at the front door rang and in came Tiff, wearing a warm parka and black leather boots.

  “Hey there, Mrs. T., Zak.” She unwound a red scarf from her neck. “I hear a big storm front is moving in from the coast. Supposed to bring about a foot of powder tonight.”

  “Oh boy, I figured we were about due for a good old-fashioned blizzard. How are you, dear?” Sybil gave Tiff a hug. “It was so nice to see you at church with your mother on Sunday. I could tell Rosemary was happy to have you by her side.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. T. It’s amazing to me that you and Aunt Marsha never seem to age. What’s the secret?”

  Zak noticed she didn’t put her mother in the same category.

  “Clean living and hard work?” Mrs. T. quipped. Then she laughed. “Oh, we’re aging all right, Tiff, and one day it’s going to catch up with us.” Her expression grew serious. “How have you found your mom since you got home?”

  “Not very well, to be honest.”

  “I’m so sorry. They say time heals all wounds, but it’s not always so.” Sybil patted her shoulder, then added, “I was just going upstairs to help Zak with something. I’ll be right back.”

  “Actually, Tiff might be interested, too,” Zak said. “Riley worked on Raven Farm so Tiff has an interest. And none of this is official business. I’m just asking as a private citizen, Ms. T. I’m just the dispatcher not a deputized officer of the law.”

  “Yes, I know, Zak. A real underutilization of your God-given intelligence and talents, if you ask me. Regardless, I’m happy to tell you what little I know.”

  As they followed Sybil up the stairs, Zak gave Tiff a quick run-down.

  “In trying to get a bead on the kind of woman Riley was, I figured it would help to find out where she spent her time when she wasn’t sleeping or working at the farm. Just today it occurred to me that the library was an obvious choice for someone who doesn’t have a home or much money.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Can’t believe it took me this long.”

  “No one else in the sheriff’s office thought to check out the library,” Tiff pointed out.

  At the top landing, Sybil went past the unisex restroom. The doors to the three former bedrooms had been removed to allow for better traffic flow. In the first room was the nonfiction collection. Sybil bypassed this in favor of the next room, which housed fiction. She pointed to two armchairs located under the double-sash window.

  “Riley would sit here and read for hours on the weekend. She powered through Orange is the New Black in one day. She was no trouble, but I couldn’t help wondering why she spent so much time here instead of home.”

  “She didn’t have a home,” Zak said. “Riley was sleeping in her car.”

  “She did seem so lost and lonely,” Sybil said thoughtfully. “I regret so much that I wasn’t able to earn her trust and get her to confide in me. Young people often think their problems are insurmountable, when in fact, solutions are available, if they would just reach out for help.”

  Tiff brushed her fingers over the chair’s faded burgundy velvet upholstery. “It’s so sad. I wonder if I’d come home earlier, if I’d met her, maybe I could have helped...”

  Zak glanced around the room. There was nothing more he needed here. But if she’d spent time on the Internet, she’d probably left a trail. “Can we take a look at the computers?”

  “Yes. We have three of them in the study room.” Sybil led them to the final and largest room, with two windows facing the street. A long rectangular table with chairs occupied the center of the room. Against the far wall were three computer stations. Sybil indicated the one in the far back corner. “This was her favorite.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. T.” Zak sat in the cubicle she’d pointed out. “Mind if I play around for a while?”

  “Here’s the access code.” Mrs. T. handed him a slip of paper with random letters and numbers. “Go right ahead. I need to get back to my desk now, but let me know if you have any other questions.” With a final warm smile for Tiff she let them be.

  Tiff grabbed a chair from the long table and pulled it close to Zak. “What are you hoping to find?”

  “Not sure. I’m going to review the browsing history. Hope something pops out.”

  He felt Tiff peering over his shoulder. “How helpful that the dates are listed. You can rule out all the searches after her death.”

  “Yup. I figure the key dates should be the last week of October.”

  He pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and a pen. Some of the searches were obviously for school projects. He discounted one for themes in Shakespeare’s tragedies, another on Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, and a third on interesting science projects for middle school students. Lots of searches on weather, travel, and road conditions he also disregarded.

  Anything a bit unusual or interesting he copied down. Soon he had an entire page filled. Tiff read them out loud.

  “Rotten Tomatoes, movies playing in Hamilton, movies playing in Missoula, cupping therapy for pain management, signs of strep throat, signs you have cancer, fetal alcohol syndrome, meth, where to get weed, where to get a hunting license, when is hunting season, how to avoid getting pregnant, what to do if you’re pregnant, single mothers, rights of birth mother, celebrity news, People magazine, US magazine, country music hits, cute animal pictures, funny cat videos, finding a lawyer, recipes to lose weight, exercise to lose weight.”

  And there was a lot more, which Zak felt safe ignoring.

  When she’d read through the list, Tiff asked, “Well? Anything jump out at you?”

  “To be honest, I was hoping to find a name.”

  “Someone she was trying to find?”

  “Exactly. Everyone in this town who knew her, even a little bit, claims she came here to make a fresh start. But why pick Lost Trail? That’s what I don’t get. It’s such a small, out-of-the-way place. She must have had a reason. And in my mind that reason is most likely a person. Someone she knew. Or wanted to know.”

  “Ah...like maybe she was trying to track down her birth father? Something like that?”

  Zak turned to look at Tiff, impressed. “Yes. That’s brilliant. According to the friend whose family took Riley in, her father was never in the picture. That must have weighed on her.”

  “Especially after her mother died.
”

  “But her mother died years ago. Why go searching for her dad now?”

  “Maybe this was the first time she had the money?”

  Zak thought about all those cash deposits from the summer. “You could well be right. But if she was looking for her father you’d think she’d be talking to people—not shying away from them.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Damn. I need to be getting back. Sorry I don’t have time to grab a sandwich. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

  Tiff hesitated. “There are two things actually. The first is easiest. Mom and Aunt Marsha wanted me to tell you that if no next of kin claims Riley’s body, our family will pay to have a service and burial here in Lost Trail.”

  “That’s decent of them. I’ll let the sheriff know.”

  “Thanks...” She fussed with the ends of her scarf. “The other thing...this is just between us, Zak. I’m not sure if I’m over-reacting but there is something suspicious going on with Kenny.”

  “You talking about the possibility he had sex with Riley? And your hunch he might have driven away from the farm the night of the murder?”

  “There’s something else, as well. Just yesterday I found out someone’s been skimming thousands of dollars from the farm’s investment account.”

  Zak tensed. “Kenny?”

  “I can’t be certain yet, I need to go back further into the records. But yes, it’s probably Kenny. Do you think it’s possible he was having an affair with Riley and she somehow found out he was stealing from our business? Maybe Kenny set up a late-night rendezvous with her, trying to convince her to keep quiet, and when she wouldn’t, he lost his temper and hit her?”

  Zak looked at his friend with concern. “Sounds like a solid theory to me. You need to make an official report of this.”

  “I’m not ready to do that yet. I need to check the older records first. But as soon as I’m confident I’m right, I’ll come by your office.”

  “Make sure that you do.”