“Oh, that’s devious,” he said. “Do you really think she’d …? Never mind. That kid is too smart for her own good.”
“No, she’s too smart for our own good. Sure you want your very own?”
His eyes softened. “I still do if you do.”
“How long do you think you’ll have to work tonight?” It sounded like I was changing the subject, but I wasn’t.
“Zahn said something about an all-nighter, but I think I can talk him out of that at least. He’s very enthusiastic about stepping in since Robin left.” Referring to Detective Robin Lane, his erstwhile partner who’d up and transferred. She was smart, which was a gain for the crime lab, but tactless, so working away from the public was good, too. It was a win for everyone except the Cadyville Police Department and my husband’s workload.
“The main problem right now is we don’t know who she is.” Barr gestured toward the tarp with his chin.
“No identification?”
“Nothing in her pockets at all.”
I tugged on Barr’s sleeve, and we moved away from the group. “Shoot,” I whispered. “I was hoping you wouldn’t have to work that late.”
He laughed. “Well, you’re the one who called this in.”
I scowled.
“What’s wrong?” he said. And he wasn’t talking about the wrongness of a dead body laying seventy-five feet away from us.
I pulled the thermometer out of my pocket. When he saw it he raised his eyebrows.
“Is it time?”
“Maybe.”
“I thought the whole idea was to be precise about the best time for conception.”
“Keep your voice down! You have to keep records for a while. At least I think so.”
“That’s vague.”
“Hey, I’m new at this! Would it be so bad to try tonight?”
He kissed me on the forehead, which was pretty daring considering how dirty I still was. “Don’t be daft. Maybe you should wait up for me after all.”
I harrumphed but felt better.
A woman’s voice snagged our attention. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve seen plenty of dead people. Let me take a look.”
I peered around Barr. Sergeant Zahn had his hand on the arm of my favorite septuagenarian and spinning mentor, Ruth Black. Yesterday she’d mentioned coming by the farm with a few of her favorite canning recipes for the CSA members—I wanted the one for pickled beets in particular. I hadn’t even noticed when she’d pulled her ancient, mint-green Buick into the parking lot.
Now she shrugged off the sergeant’s hand, ducked under the yellow tape and stood next to the body, her recipe cards still clutched in one hand. Her short white hair spiked around her head in a furry halo.
Zahn followed close on her heels. “That’s fine ma’am, but we can’t have you disturbing anything.”
Ruth bristled. “Even I can tell the whole area has already been disturbed. Now do you, or do you not, know who that poor thing is?”
“Not yet, ma’am.” The muscles worked along Zahn’s jaw, but he managed to work up a smile.
“I know a lot of people in this town, Sergeant, so I might be able to tell you. Just let me get a good look at her face.”
He sighed and glanced over at Barr. My husband went and joined them inside the tape, and I moved to stand between Hallie and Daphne. My husband positioned himself next to Zahn to effectively shield the tarp from onlookers’ curious eyes. He stooped and his arm moved, presumably pulling it back a few inches.
A long silence ensued before Ruth said, “No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before. I don’t believe she’s from around here.” She gazed down. “Poor darling. She’s not very old, is she?”
Barr murmured something and his arm moved again. He stood up. A somber Ruth trudged back to our group. Sidling up next to me, she leaned close. “I wish I could have helped.”
I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “It’s okay. Thanks for trying.”
Dr. Beagle called out, “Is there anything I can do, Sarge?”
Sarge? Oh, my. Zahn had to love that. I looked at Barr, who had pasted on a perfectly neutral expression. His poker face was so much better than mine. I turned away so the sergeant wouldn’t see the grin tugging at my lips. Exchanging glances with Ruth, I saw my amusement echoed in her eyes.
“I think we have everything under control, Doctor,” Zahn said. “The medical examiner’s office will be here soon. He’ll be able to determine cause of death.”
“Could it be an accident?” I asked. Hoping.
Despite everyone’s assumption that I liked being involved in murder cases, I really didn’t. I just felt like sometimes I had to step in because other people couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. So I wanted this to be an innocent death—horrible as it was. I looked at the shrouded figure, so recently covered with compost as if she were a bone buried by a giant dog.
Barr caught my eye and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. Looks like she was hit in the head.”
“That could still be an accident,” I insisted.
But deep down, I knew better.
Three
My cell phone rang as they were loading the body into the morgue van. “I found Erin,” Meghan said. “She’s fine.”
“Where was she?”
“Eating ice cream. Listen, I’ll see you at home, okay?”
Which meant she wanted to unload but not in front of her daughter.
“You bet. I’m going to finish the tomatoes, and then I’ll be there.”
We said our goodbyes as the van drove away, smoothly accelerating once it hit pavement. I watched until it was out of sight, then turned and strode into the greenhouse. The sound of doors slamming in the parking lot drifted through the opaque plastic. There were still tomato vines trailing on the ground, and I had time to finish the job before I needed to be back at the house to pack up the waiting wholesale orders for my Winding Road handmade soap and bath products.
Oh, right. Who was I trying to fool? Barr was up at the main house, talking with Tom and Allie Turner. Hallie lived with them, and Nate Snow lived in the cutest vintage Airstream trailer in back of the farmhouse. If anyone knew the dead woman, you’d think it would be someone who lived on the property where she was found. My reluctance to get involved notwithstanding, I was curious enough to want to know who the owner of the Timberland boots had been.
I’d finished with the tomatoes and was returning the remaining strips of soft cloth and a pair of clippers to the tool shed when Barr and Sergeant Zahn approached. The latter frowned down at the ground as he walked. My husband’s expression was outwardly placid, though I recognized the tightness around his eyes. They stopped in front of me and Zahn raised his head, scanning my face for a few seconds before saying, “So. You found another one.”
I shook my head emphatically. “Meghan Bly found her. You remember Meghan, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Good friend of yours.”
“Yes. Barr and I have a little apartment on the upper level of her house.”
“The same house where you make your soap.”
With a lopsided grimace, I sighed. The first time I’d ever met him had been in my basement workroom, a dead body at our feet. It had been the first time I’d met Barr, too, so something good had come out of it. Come to think of it, a lot of good had come out of those sad circumstances, including my friendship with Tootie Hanover and the eventual good riddance of Meghan’s slimy ex.
I suddenly wished Tootie hadn’t taken off on an Alaskan cruise with her boyfriend. Aren’t ninety-somethings supposed to stick closer to home? It was hard to complain about her and Felix having fun, though. They’d certainly earned it. But they sure had bad timing. This was exactly the kind of situation that drove me to Tootie for advice.
“Where were you when Ms. Bly found this body?” Zahn asked.
I gestured with my chin. “In the distribution shed. Any idea how long she’s been there?”
“We won’t know for sure u
ntil the M.E. gets back to us,” Zahn said. “Do you have any ideas?”
I shot a glance at Barr, who blinked back at me. No help there. I regarded Zahn with suspicion. Since when did he ask my advice about anything? He’d always been kind of snotty about my involvement in anything remotely resembling a police matter. But now he waited for me to speak with an expression of apparent interest.
“Well,” I began, ready for his interest to turn to ire. “She was pretty well buried except for her foot. The Turners let their pigs out to root through the compost regularly, though, and I saw a couple of them working that edge of the pile earlier today.” I swallowed, remembering that pigs will eat almost anything. In fact, hadn’t some serial killer fed his victims to his hogs? Or maybe that was just an urban—or rather rural—myth.
I hoped so. Ick.
He nodded, slowly. “Ms. Black insisted on looking at the body.”
“Hmm. I saw that. Ruth isn’t fazed by much.”
“She said she didn’t think the woman was from around here.”
“Well, if anyone would know, she would.”
“Would you be willing to take a look? See if you recognize her?”
Barr’s head swiveled toward his superior. “Sergeant, I don’t think—”
Zahn held up his hand. “Of course. Sophie Mae doesn’t need to look at the actual body. But we should have a decent picture by tomorrow morning.”
“Okay,” I said. If Ruth could look at the body, I could manage a picture. At least I thought I could. After all, I’d already seen three dead bodies up close and personal. In situ, if you will. None of them had been pre-buried, though.
Barr said, “We’ll be able to show it to everyone associated with the farm, then.”
Again with the slow nod from Zahn. “Naturally. But I’m especially interested in what your wife has to say.”
“Why?” Barr’s response was blunt.
The sergeant smiled. “Because Sophie Mae has a knack for finding killers. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Uh …”
“And wouldn’t you agree that being down one detective, we can use all the help we can get?”
“Uh …” I was surprised to see Barr at a loss for words.
At least I wasn’t. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll take a look at that unfortunate woman’s picture, just like everyone else. But I’m not getting involved in any police work. That’s all done and over with, Sergeant.”
His response consisted of a small sound in the back of his throat and a slow blink of skepticism.
“It just wouldn’t be right,” I insisted. “After all, I’m going to be a mother!”
His eyebrows shot up at that.
Almost as far as Barr’s did.
_____
“And then I had to backpedal and explain that I’m not actually pregnant yet,” I told Meghan. “I thought Barr was going to die. I’m pretty sure he hadn’t shared anything about our baby plans with his boss.”
“Good heavens, Sophie Mae. Why would he?” Her clean hair was still damp, and she wore white shorts and a skimpy pink tank to show off her tan. When you managed to get a tan in the Pacific Northwest, you showed it off. She seemed to have reclaimed some of her Zen, too.
I’d come home later than I’d planned. Putting off the Winding Road orders, I showered away the muck and donned a light cotton skirt, T-shirt, and flip flops. Now we were in the kitchen cutting up tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, zucchini, and onions for ratatouille. A whole chicken soaked in orange juice brine on the butcher block table, soon to go onto the barbecue’s rotisserie. A pot of orzo roiled on the stove for pasta salad. A fragrant bouquet of herbs lay on the cutting board, ready to be chopped and added to the salad, along with homemade feta, scallions, and carrots.
The door to Erin’s room was pointedly closed.
I got out the grater and started on the carrots while Meghan smashed a few heads of garlic and tossed them in a Dutch oven with the onions and peppers. She ignited the burner under the stew pot and drizzled olive oil and a bit of kosher salt over the vegetables. Soon the pungent aroma of sautéing garlic filled the room. I breathed it in, reminding myself this was the kind of simple moment that made me grateful to be alive.
“No reason,” I said. “I wouldn’t have said anything if Zahn hadn’t been pushing me to help.”
“I’m glad you said no.” Her voice was soft but decisive. Meghan liked things nice and predictable. Sometimes being my best friend was a little hard on her.
After a few minutes I ventured, “Where did you find Erin and Clarissa?”
She made a pffft sound. “In the Pie Shop. Erin said they started taking a walk and ended up all the way in town, but Clarissa came right out and said they were meeting a couple of boys for ice cream.”
“Any sign of the boys?”
“Nope. Maybe she was making it up. Or maybe they were late.”
“I don’t suppose Erin suggested that if she had her own cell phone you could have been in contact.”
Meghan’s eye’s narrowed. “Funny you should mention that. How did you know?”
“I didn’t, not for sure. What did you tell her?”
“That I’d think about it.” Our eyes met, and I saw barely contained fury in hers.
I let out a whoosh of air. “Boy, this has been one crappy day for you, hasn’t it?”
She held her combative stance for a few moments longer, then her shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “Monumentally.” Given her usual determination to be upbeat, that was a huge admission.
“Is Kelly coming over for dinner?”
My housemate shrugged as if there were a lot more than spaghetti straps on her shoulders.
“How ’bout I call him?” I asked.
A moment of hesitation, then a nod. “But I’ll call. He should know what he’s getting into.” Then a small smile.
Which I returned. “I don’t think he’ll mind if you’re in a bad mood. He’s pretty smitten, after all.”
Her expression softened. “Yeah.”
So smitten, in fact, that Kelly O’Connell had moved his private investigation firm—can one man claim to be a firm?—all the way to Cadyville from New Jersey to be with Meghan. They’d done the long-distance relationship thing for over a year, and I was glad to see things progress.
I’d lived with Meghan and Erin Bly for five years before meeting Barr. Then I’d lived with them when we were courting, and after Barr and I got married we’d renovated Meghan’s house so that we had a little apartment upstairs to ourselves. Still, Barr and I spent a lot of time in the main areas of the house. I ran Winding Road Bath Products out of the basement, and Meghan practiced massage therapy in the former front parlor of the big Victorian.
The Bly girls were precious to me, and I wanted the very best for them both. Kelly O’Connell was a good guy. Meghan deserved a good guy after her disastrous marriage to Erin’s father. He didn’t even send child support anymore, and she’d stopped trying to get it, considering it a small price to pay to have him out of their lives. Kelly was smart, stable, possessed a kind of rugged handsomeness, and was devoted to my friend.
It was about time.
Meghan went out to the entryway, and I heard the melodious beeping of the phone as she punched in the numbers. Soon her murmurs drifted from her client waiting room where she’d sought out a little privacy. I finished with the carrots, drained and rinsed the pasta with cold water, and chopped the herbs to go into the salad. I stirred chunks of zucchini, eggplant, and tomato, along with more olive oil and salt, into the ratatouille and popped it all into the oven to stew for a couple hours. Then I wiped my hands on a towel and went down the hallway to Erin’s bedroom.
The closed door gave me pause. It was unusual, and definitely contained a message. A message I decided to ignore. I knocked lightly on the wood.
Four
“Go away.” Erin’s voice was faint but firm.
“Erin?”
A few beats of quiet, then her voice came
again, louder this time. She’d moved closer. “Sophie Mae?”
“Yeah. Can I come in?”
After several moments the door opened a crack. One gray eye peered at me through the opening. “Did she send you to talk to me?”
“If you mean your mother, nope.”
The eye blinked, bright with the thoughts that swirled in her precocious mind. Then she stepped back and opened the door. I walked into her bedroom, and the latch snicked closed behind me as she shut it again. At the foot of the bed Brodie, Erin’s Pembroke Welsh corgi, raised his graying muzzle. He sniffed a few times, decided I didn’t have anything interesting to eat and went back to sleep. On the desk I spied the leather-bound, blank book I’d given Erin for her birthday in May. All summer she’d filled the pages with her fantasy novel. Needless to say, I was anxious to read it when it was finished.
If it was finished. Her attention did tend to drift from one interest to another.
Crossing my arms across my chest and leaning against the wall next to her overflowing bookcase, I considered her. She was practically my adopted daughter, since I’d lived with them since she was five. Still, I wasn’t her mother, and right now that seemed like a good thing. Not because I didn’t love her to death, but because—
at the moment at least—I wasn’t “the enemy.”
Dark curls now grown down to her shoulders framed almond-shaped eyes, a slightly turned-up nose and pixie-bow lips which often opened into a wide grin. She wasn’t grinning now, though. Suspicion lingered in her gaze as she sat down on the bed, her slight frame barely disturbing the log cabin quilt covering it. A smudge of glittery eye shadow and pink spots of blush on her cheeks betrayed part of her activities with Clarissa Turner that afternoon.
Looking beyond the makeup remnants, I realized with a shock that Erin Bly was going to be a stunningly beautiful woman. Given how she took after her mother, that shouldn’t have surprised me. And Meghan was a clever bear, too, but Erin had something else going on, a liveliness that danced behind her pupils and a sharper wit that was beginning to manifest as she got older. It would make her a formidable adult.
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