Reap a Wicked Harvest

by Janis Harrison

  DeeDee set a cup of coffee in front of me. “I just t-told you B-Bailey called last n-night, but you’re thinking about that m-murder.”

  I didn’t deny it.

  DeeDee frowned. “If my b-boyfriend was c-coming to see me, I’d be thinking about h-him. Not m-murder.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Boyfriend? That sounded juvenile. I was a mature woman with her forty-sixth birthday due in three days. My hair was more gray than brown. I leaned forward so I could see my reflection in the glass-fronted china cabinet.

  I touched the lines that framed my blue eyes. I liked to think those creases came from smiling too much, not from getting older. Lately I’d taken to smoothing on globs of night cream, which advertised the reversal of sagging, aging flesh into the elasticity of youth. I lived in hope that some morning I’d wake up to a complexion that had the texture of a magnolia blossom. So far the only change I’d noticed was the oily stain on my pillowcase.

  I took a sip of coffee and watched DeeDee check on the quiche. Curious, I asked, “What would you have me do to prepare for Bailey’s arrival?”

  DeeDee closed the oven door and stepped back to lean against the counter. Speaking slowly, she said, “This is the first t-time he has c-come over since the accident. After he called, I fixed s-some s-special treats.”

  I gestured to the refrigerator. “Now I understand the covered dishes. You think we should have a party to celebrate?” When she nodded, I said, “That’s a good plan. I wish I’d thought of it, but the last few weeks have been trying. His daughter made it clear I wasn’t needed while he was recuperating.”

  “Jillian I-left three days ago.”

  “Which is my point. Bailey could have called me earlier in the week. I’ve waited because I don’t want to push myself on him.”

  DeeDee made a face and went to the refrigerator.

  A couple of months ago the truck Bailey and I’d been riding in had been viciously rammed by another vehicle. I’d had my seat belt on. Bailey hadn’t. He’d been thrown from the truck, sustaining a broken leg and trauma to his brain. For several days he’d been in a coma, and I’d visited him daily.

  My cheeks grew hot as I remembered how I’d taken advantage of his condition. I’d used the time to hold his hand and talk to him in total honesty about my feelings for him, and how lonesome I’d been since Carl’s death. When Bailey came out of the coma, I was nervous about seeing him. But he never mentioned those times when I’d sat at his side, pouring out my innermost thoughts.

  Since Bailey owns the cottage that’s located at the edge of my property, it had been convenient to see him as often as I liked, but Jillian had put a stop to my dropping by. The dutiful daughter had guarded Bailey with zealous jealousy, letting me know that my help wasn’t needed, and that I shouldn’t make it a habit of stopping by unannounced. I was hurt that Bailey hadn’t taken a stand. Why hadn’t he told Jillian that I was always welcome in his home?

  I heaved a sigh. I was pretty sure I loved him. He knew and I knew there was something special between us. But his being in the hospital, his lengthy convalescence, and Jillian living in his house had put our relationship on hold.

  For the last few weeks I’ve ached to see him. To gaze again into his coppery brown eyes. To feel the heady rush of being near him. It didn’t make it any easier that he lived less than a quarter of a mile away. Last week I’d finally given in to my urge to see him.

  One evening I’d walked across my driveway and taken the path that led to his cottage. I wasn’t going to upset Jillian by knocking at the door. On tiptoes, I’d approached the window and peeked in. I thought Bailey was asleep in his recliner. I’d stared at him like a love-struck teenager. His hair curled boyishly around his ears and needed to be trimmed. Jillian was seated at his desk, her fingers rapidly tapping the keyboard of his computer. She stopped typing and said something. Bailey opened his eyes and laughed. He turned his gaze to the window, and for a moment our eyes had locked. Bailey could have motioned for me to come in, but he had deliberately shifted his position, giving me a view of his broad back.

  A piece of quiche perched on a saucer appeared in front of me. I glanced up to say thank you, but found DeeDee glaring at me. “What?” I said.

  “Are you still thinking m-murder?”

  I snorted. “Nope. You’ve driven that subject clean out of my head.”

  “Good.”

  I frowned. “What’s good about it? Sid will be here sometime today. I’d like to have my statement straight so I don’t sound ditzy.”

  “You are never d-ditzy. What you really want is to h-have a theory in m-mind so you can get h-him to d-discuss the case with you.”

  I leaned back in my chair to stare at her. “That sounds like manipulation. Gosh, I don’t think I had that planned.” I shrugged and picked up my fork. “But it sounds like an excellent idea.” I grinned at DeeDee. “Thanks.”

  She sniffed disdainfully. “Your s-subconscious is always at w-work. It’s f-feeding you information all the t-time.”

  “And speaking of feeding—” I cut off a chunk of quiche, gave it a couple of puffs to cool it before popping the bite into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I chewed blissfully. “Mmm,” I said after swallowing. “Green peppers, smoky bacon, sweet onions, and tangy Swiss cheese. Delicious. Another culinary masterpiece. How many calories?”

  “Too many, but for b-breakfast, I thought it w-wouldn’t hurt. You have the r-rest of the day to w-work them off.”

  I sighed and cut off another bite. “Wrangling with Sid should raise my metabolism.”

  DeeDee snickered. “Burning with d-desire for Bailey could d-do it, too.”

  I shook my head at her. “Very funny.”

  My fork was loaded with another bite of quiche. I had it poised, ready to pop into in my mouth when the doorbell rang. My hand jerked at the sound. The lump of quiche tumbled down the front of my shirt.

  “Hell and damnation,” I muttered, wiping at the greasy blotch. I gathered up the crumbs and dropped them on the saucer.

  DeeDee started across the kitchen but stopped. In an ominous tone, she said, “Who w-will be at the d-door?” She widened her eyes in mock terror. “The sheriff?” She rearranged her expression, fluttering her eyelashes. She cradled her hands over her heart and put a seductive note in her voice. “Or the prospective lover?” Giggling, she went into the foyer.

  I came slowly to my feet. Sid or Bailey. It didn’t matter who it was at the door. Both men represented an upheaval to my life, just from opposite ends of my emotional spectrum.

  chapter Four

  I peeked around the corner and watched DeeDee open the door. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I saw Sid. Releasing the pent-up air, I walked into the foyer. I wasn’t sure how to greet him. I would be lying through my teeth if I said I was glad to see him. When he was involved in a case he could be as abrasive as an emery board. When he wasn’t involved in a case he could be just as grating.

  Food usually took the edge off his crabbiness, so I said, “Come on in. Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. That would be good,” Sid said as he crossed the threshold. “It’s been a long night.”

  “Do you want to sit out on the veranda or in the—”

  “We’re staying inside. I’ve had my fill of nature. Damned leaves and twigs.” Sid scratched his arm. “I’ve been itching like a son of a—I think I’m having an allergic reaction to some of that vegetation.”

  I looked at DeeDee. “Will you fix Sid a tray and bring it into the library?”

  She nodded, shot Sid a quick glance, and then skedaddled into the kitchen. I led the way into the library and motioned Sid to one of the wingback chairs. I took a seat on its companion.

  He ignored my invitation and slouched on the sofa, staring around him. It was a comfortable room. Moss green, cream, and gold upholstered furniture brightened the dark walnut paneling. An Oriental rug picked up the same colors with a dash of peacock blue for panache
. I hadn’t opened the drapes so the room was shadowy and cool.

  “Nice,” murmured Sid. He closed his eyes.

  I waited a few minutes. When he didn’t move, I whispered, “Sid, are you asleep?”

  He didn’t stir. “Was I snoring?” he asked grumpily.

  “No, but—”

  “Then I’m not asleep.” More minutes passed before he groaned and pulled himself upright. “I guess you’ve had a good night’s sleep and are eager to talk.”

  I shrugged. “We can wait until you’ve had something to eat.”

  “Tempting offer, but I haven’t the time. You can give a formal statement later. Right now I want to hear your rendition of events.”

  I held out my hands. “What can I say? Yesterday went well, as far as I could tell. I didn’t get there until after five o’clock. Everyone was congenial and seemed to be having a good time. I didn’t overhear any arguments or rude comments. I didn’t notice any friction. It was just a relaxing day.”

  “That ended in murder. What else?”

  “The only thing that comes to mind is that Marnie expressed an interest in how I went about solving a mystery. When I asked her what she wanted to know, she tried to act as if it was no big deal, and she beat a hasty retreat.”

  Sid wasn’t impressed. He took his cap off and laid it on the cushion next to him. Running a hand over his springy red hair, he said, “My deputies and I have tracked down witnesses either by phone or personally all night. We have statements out the wazoo. Two hundred people were expected for the Parker celebration, but that many didn’t show up. We still had to contact them all, ask if they attended, and then get verification from those who were there to make sure we weren’t getting the runaround.”

  Sid leaned back and rolled his eyes. “And speaking of the runaround. You won’t believe the responses we got when we asked about the victim.” His tone turned sarcastic. “Accolades. ‘She was thoughtful, kind, and generous.’ I was even told she was punctual.” Sid’s voice was grim. “This was one appointment when it would have behooved her to be less than dependable.”

  My interest quickened. “Appointment? You’ve found out that Marnie was meeting someone in the garden?”

  “Yeah, that bit of evidence was a real kick in the ass. We could have zeroed in on the employees instead of pussyfooting around with the guests, if we’d found that note right at the start.”

  Sid was spouting information like an uncapped volcano. I didn’t want to halt the flow, but I wasn’t clear on this point. Tentatively, I asked, “What note?”

  Without hesitation, Sid said, “About four o’clock this morning, Deputy Meyer found a wadded-up piece of paper under a plant on the path near the crime scene. By that time, we were all sleep deprived, but Deputy Meyer was alert. She brought that scrap of paper to me.”

  Before I could think of a way to finagle the contents of that note out of Sid, he said, “I’ve got the damned thing memorized. ‘Life is precious. There are choices. Meet me at the cornucopia sculpture tomorrow during the fireworks.’”

  “‘Life is precious. There are choices.’ That sounds like an argument to stop a possible suicide.”

  Sid gave me a disgusted look. “The victim didn’t die from a self-inflicted wound, Bretta. By the note saying ‘tomorrow’ I figure it was typed on Friday.”

  He stretched out his legs and sighed. “In the olden days we’d have looked for a typewriter that had a key askew. We’d match up the machine to the owner, and we’d have our man. Only now we have computers. No crooked key to lead us to the culprit.”

  To my amazement, he shot me a grin. “But technology isn’t foolproof. Near the loading dock we found an old dot-matrix printer and computer. Because of the dirt, dust, and humidity of the greenhouses, the set-up is basic—no frills or thrills. That printer has a habit of spitting a dab of extra ink every time it makes the letter ‘e.’ It isn’t a crooked letter, but it’s just as distinctive.”

  I’d been saturated with information. Why was Sid feeding me these facts? Apparently, he wasn’t finished.

  “Because of the wording on that note,” said Sid, “and the location of that printer, we’ve narrowed our list of suspects down to the Parker Greenhouse management team that worked yesterday.”

  Suddenly Sid sat up straight and stared at me. To my utter confusion, he actually expressed a theory. “Maybe what Marnie said to you is important. What if she wrote that note to the killer? What if she made the date to meet in the garden?” He looked at me expectantly.

  Shocked that he would be interested in what I had to say, I mumbled, “Gosh, Sid, anything is possible.”

  He made a circular motion with his hand, encouraging me to continue. Feeling my way, I said, “In my opinion, I think you’re on the right track. I don’t know if Marnie wrote that note, but I thought from the start that she knew her killer and had met him because she wanted some answers to some questions.”

  He leaned eagerly toward me. “Do you have any idea what subject she was tackling?”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t got a clue. But why are you filling me in on this case? Why are you interested in my thoughts?”

  From the doorway, my father said, “That’s obvious, Bretta.” He came into the room carrying a tray, which he carefully placed on the coffee table. “It’s an election year. The sheriff won the August primary last week, but he still faces the November ballot, and his opponent is closing the gap. In town the word is out that if our present sheriff doesn’t solve this case in a jiffy, he’ll be looking for a new vocation.” Dad quirked an eyebrow at Sid. “How’s your appetite … now?”

  Sid scowled. “Go peddle your sleazy gossip somewhere else. I’m taking Bretta’s statement.”

  Dad cocked his head. “Funny, but the only voice I heard in here was yours, Sheriff. Sounds to me like you’re trying to cover all the bases. My daughter has a knack for observation and you know that. Admit it. You want her input. You want to pick her brain, but first, you had to give her something, so she’d feel obligated to reciprocate.”

  I looked from my father’s narrowed eyes to Sid’s red face. My shoulders sagged. Here we go again, I thought. When Dad arrived back in River City, he and Sid had gotten off on the wrong foot. Sid didn’t like the idea of Dad opening a detective agency, and Dad didn’t like Sid’s brusque manner. Last night they’d tolerated each other, but I guess that was due to the situation, not a newfound benevolence.

  In a soothing tone, I said, “Dad, please. Marnie is dead. Her killer has to be found. Regardless of Sid’s motives, I’ll help any way I can.”

  Dad snorted. “The sheriff knows that. What I find annoying is that he didn’t come right out and ask for your help. He’s been skirting the issue.”

  I braced myself for Sid’s angry roar. It didn’t come. He reached for the tray and poured himself a cup of coffee. The only hint I had that he was holding himself tightly in check was the slight tremor of his hand. The man was seething, but he presented a well-controlled exterior.

  Sid sipped his coffee. Cradling the cup in his palm, he finally nodded. “You’re right, Albert. Right as rain. Carl always said I’d come to recognize Bretta’s talents. I’ll admit she’s done some fine work in the past, but she leaps into situations and then wonders if there’s a safety net to catch her. I promised Carl I’d watch out for her. I’ve been her net a couple of times, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be there in the future. If I’m not reelected, the next sheriff might not be so accommodating.”

  Dad threw up his hands. “Who are you trying to kid? You’re not here because of any promise you made to her deceased husband. That’s a bunch of malarkey. You’re here for selfish reasons. You think Bretta can help you.”

  Carefully, Sid set the coffee cup down. He looked at the tray wistfully. The plate contained a thick slice of country-cured ham, two fried eggs, and a blueberry muffin split and oozing melted butter.

  Nodding to the tray, Sid said, “Bretta, the price of that breakfast is too damned ste
ep. I won’t pay for it by taking crap from your father. This time I thought we could work together where it might mutually benefit us.” He stood, picked up his cap, and fit it on his head. “That was a mistake on my part.” Without another word, he strode out of the room.

  I stumbled to my feet and hurried after Sid, but he was out the front door and into his car. I stood on the veranda and watched him speed down the drive.

  “Well, I guess I told him a thing or two,” said my father from behind me.

  I whirled around. “Why did you do that, Dad? Don’t you realize how hard it was for Sid to say those things? He’s a good man. A good sheriff. I want him reelected and if I can help, I’ll do it.”

  “Then my vote will cancel yours because I think Spencer County needs a new sheriff.”

  I didn’t answer but went back into the house. Dad trailed along behind me. I was wondering how I could set things right when the phone rang. I hollered to DeeDee that I would get it. It was Sid.

  “Bretta,” he said in a clipped tone. “Mrs. Parker knew I was coming to see you. She asked that I tell you she’d like for you to come to the lodge as soon as possible.”

  “Sid, I’m sorry—”

  “I’ve given you the message. Good-bye.”

  My father was at my elbow. “What did he want now?”

  “He didn’t want anything. He was passing a message on to me from Natalie.”

  “What was it?”

  “Dad, I’m not in a very good mood right now.” I stepped into the kitchen doorway. “DeeDee, I’m leaving. I’ll be back after a while.”

  She turned away from the bowl she was stirring. “What a-about Bailey? What if h-he comes over?”

  “Start the party without me,” I said recklessly.