Shallow Roots: An Iowa Girl Mystery (Iowa Girl Mysteries Book 1)

by Anomie Hatcher

  She took note of his limp as he walked to the dinner table. She hadn’t noticed it before.

  “I’m surprised you found some flowers still alive, this time of year,” she said, plucking a few dead heads from amongst the white and gold.

  Loki had showered recently, but had been unable to wash away some of the violet paint stuck to his forearms and knuckles. He kept picking at bits of purple acrylic, peeling them off and setting them in a pile on the tabletop.

  “Small group tonight,” Lyle mentioned, reaching for the salad dressing. “Hope that’s not because of me.”

  “Why Officer, whatever could y’all mean?” Loki batted his eyelashes and spoke in falsetto.

  “TomTom is working tonight—she’s a musician—and Tor is at a special city council meeting. Sunflower has some issues with law enforcement that need evolving,” Namasté sighed.

  “Come to think of it, I’ve never met Sunflower.” Lyle’s tone indicated that he was unconcerned by Sunflower’s apparent dislike of his profession. He chewed a bit of carrot thoughtfully. “I’ve been curious about your nicknames. What’s up with that?”

  “Well,” Loki began. “They aren’t really nicknames. They are chosen names that speak to the true spirit of a person. Namasté is a creature of peaceful habit and contemplation. Don’t you think that her name fits her?”

  “Yes,” Lyle said. “I do. What’s your birth name, Namasté?”

  “Beatrice.”

  “See what I mean?” asked Loki, holding his nose. “Does this woman look like a Beatrice? I don’t think so.”

  Namasté laughed. “My grandmother would be disappointed to hear you say that, Loki.”

  “What about the others?” Lyle asked

  “Yes, what about Sunflower?” Maggie added.

  “Tall and topped with yellow, like the flower—she’s a big ball of sunshine, don’t you think?” Loki winked. “That’s irony,” he explained in a first grade teacher voice to Lyle. “She’s actually a total bitch, but we love her anyway.”

  Namasté snorted into her lasagna. Pointing at Loki with the salt shaker she said, “Tell about your name, Loki.”

  “Well, I went through a Nordic phase in my youth. Loved the Viking gods, with their serpents and hammers and rainbow bridges. Did you know that most of the days of the week are named after Norse gods?”

  “Yes, actually.” Lyle’s fork paused midway between mouth and plate. “Tuesday through Friday, they would be Tyr’s day, Odin’s day, Thor’s day, Freya’s day. The other three days kept their Roman, astronomical origins—sun day, moon day, Saturn day.” He resumed eating.

  There was a second or two of silence around the table.

  Namasté exclaimed, “Well! Sunflower really ought to be here. You’re not at all what she’d expect, Lyle.”

  “Liberal arts education. Good for trivia. What can I say?”

  “Why the choice to go into law enforcement?” Namasté propped her chin on a curled hand and peered intently at Lyle.

  “Well, my brother is a lawyer. My dad is a professor. It would have been natural for me to choose something less hands-on, I suppose, but I like what I do. It’s the cowboy in me, I guess. I want to ride in and save the day.”

  His chuckle was a deep, musical sound. Maggie gazed at Lyle, really looking at his face for the first time. Their eyes met over the vase of wildflowers. He was handsome, she thought, not boyishly charming like Ben, but athletic and chiseled. Lyle had long, dark eyelashes that swept his cheeks when he looked downward. “Lashes a girl would kill for,” Maggie’s Aunt Kate would have said. Lyle also had ruby stud earrings in both ears, which Maggie hadn’t seen earlier. Earrings were probably against the Deputy Sheriff dress code.

  Neither Maggie nor Lyle noticed a lull in the conversation, nor did they witness Namasté’s private smile at their mutual study.

  “Do you want to hear about the rest of the names or what?” Loki demanded loudly.

  “Of course!” Maggie blurted, looking away from Lyle quickly.

  “Not you, Mack. Officer Do-Right.” Loki pointed his fork toward Lyle.

  “Mack?” Lyle asked. “Where’d that come from?”

  “Mack used to board with us in her fiery youth. She came out to the fields one day wearing a hat she found in the barn. It said, ‘Mack Truck’ on the front. It was so funny to see this teeny girl with a kickass trucker hat on. Mack goes with her last name, too: MacGilloway. She’ll always be our little Irish lass.” Loki trilled, putting his arm around Maggie. She shrugged him off and got up to refill the water pitcher.

  “Hey, Lass!” Loki yelled over his shoulder to her, still affecting a terrible brogue, leaning his chair back on two legs. “Get me a pint while you’re up!”

  He scratched himself and pretended to spit in the corner.

  Maggie ignored him and spoke to Lyle.

  “I’m not one of the Originals,” Maggie clarified as she came back with the full pitcher. “We’ve only told about three out of the six, right?”

  “I’ll go next!” Namasté jumped in. “I want to tell about TomTom. Her real name is Anabel Jones, which is a lovely name, but she is such a talented drummer that she was bound to end up with a percussion-related name. I met her when I was working as a children’s librarian in Des Moines. She came in to demonstrate various tribal drumming styles from around the world. The story hour kids loved it.”

  “And a Tor is a craggy hill. One look at old baldy and you can see why he doesn’t use David anymore,” Loki said with his mouth full.

  “What about Louise?” Lyle asked.

  The mood at the table shifted down a notch. Namasté finished chewing and wiped her mouth with a frayed cloth napkin adorned with a faded daisy print.

  “Louise had a sickly childhood. Her mother worked a lot and didn’t have the time or the inclination to figure out all her daughter’s maladies. As an adult, Louise got healthier on her own, figured out her gluten problem, started using herbs to heal. She had this garden…”

  Namasté’s eyes filled with tears. She swallowed a few times before continuing.

  “She had this herb garden at the house on Twelfth Street. It was beautiful—so colorful, so rich with fragrance. I used to feel better just going out to sit next to the sage and rosemary plants. She had a knack for medicinal plants. We called her Fennel because of it. She liked fennel best, of all the herbs. The taste of the seeds reminded her of old-fashioned licorice whips, she said.”

  Namasté used the napkin to wipe her eyes.

  The four of them sat quietly for a few minutes. Maggie suspected Loki would not stand the melancholy for more than thirty seconds. She was correct.

  “Well!” Loki clapped. “How about dessert?”

  Maggie knew this set-up. “Pineapple surprise?”

  She waited.

  “The surprise is—there’s no pineapple,” Loki answered. He rubbed his cheeks with his fists in a pretend crying gesture.

  “And no dessert,” Maggie added.

  “Hardy-har, Mack,” Loki said, elbowing her in the ribs.

  “Well, supper was fantastic,” Lyle said. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “Wish you could thank Sunflower, too. She helped. And thank Namasté, too.”

  “Thank you, Namasté.”

  There was an awkward lull.

  “Well, what about you?” Loki asked Lyle. “We all had to explain ourselves, giving up our aliases and deep, dark secrets.”

  “What? You mean my name? Well, my mother was born and raised in Lilburn, Georgia. She split up ‘lil’ and ‘burn’ to come up with names for my twin brother and I—Lyle and Bernard.”

  “You’re a twin? That’s so interesting,” Namasté said. “Are you identical?”

  “Yes, but I’m a little taller, by a half inch or so.”

  “And better endowed, no doubt,” Loki added behind his hand.

  “Loki!” Maggie suppressed a giggle.

  “Well, there’s that, too,” Lyle said with a totally straight
face.

  They were all cracking up when Tor came in.

  “Hey!” Tor called. “What’s for dinner? Hi, Lyle. I didn’t know we had a guest tonight. Too bad I was out. Can you stay a while longer?”

  “I’m here till you show me the door,” Lyle said.

  Tor hung up his coat and stood by the fire for a moment to warm his hands. He came over and made himself a plate of food. “Mm. Smells good, Maggie.”

  “What’s up with the council tonight?” Lyle asked.

  “We were working on a proposal from the Val-U-Shop Corporation. They want to build a store near River City. They need council approval to extend city sewer and water lines, since the plot of land is just outside of town and completely undeveloped. The land itself is under county jurisdiction.”

  “The council will never go for that,” Lyle responded. “River City has worked too hard to keep corporations like Val-U-Shop out.”

  “That’s the thing isn’t it? Val-U-Shop isn’t buying city land. They just need the city to agree to give them water and sewer. The company will pay for the extensions themselves, but they need the government okay to connect to the system. They’re offering some pretty nice economic incentives, lots of new jobs and promised civic improvements,” Tor said.

  “Still,” Lyle answered. “I can’t imagine they’d even consider it.”

  “They wouldn’t have, with Fennel on the council,” Namasté said.

  “Any place Val-U-Shop wants to build would have to be close enough to town to make it worth their while,” Lyle said.

  “Yes, there is some privately owned land just outside of town that they have their eyes on,” Tor responded.

  Maggie noticed Tor didn’t look at anyone directly when he said this.

  “Who would sell to them, though?” Lyle demanded.

  Tor used a full mouthful as an excuse not to answer.

  Maggie’s thoughts flew to the aerial map in the office and she wondered to herself if Tor had a specific reason for not answering.

  When Tor did finally speak, he chose to address the issue of how the council might decide regarding Val-U-Shop’s request to connect with city utilities. “Adams and Douglas are voting yes. I don’t know about Vivian, but I think she’ll go with a no vote. Mayor Green doesn’t say much about it, but he has spoken publicly against Val-U-Shop in the past.”

  “Two for, two against. Who’ll be the deciding vote?” Lyle asked.

  “They’ll have to have a special election to vote someone in to take Fennel’s seat on the council.”

  Lyle lifted his water cup as if in toast. “Here’s hoping this doesn’t end up a political thing.” He took a sip. “I hope they don’t try to be good guys both ways, saying they didn’t actually break with city policy against big corporate interest and also try to claim that they created a bunch of new jobs by letting Val-U-Shop in.”

  “I’m thinking that’s exactly how it will go,” said Tor.

  There was a pensive silence around the table as each person became lost in their own thoughts.

  Loki broke the spell by blowing a raspberry.

  “Major buzz kill, Tor. So anyway, who’s on clean up duty?”

  “I cooked—that makes it my job tonight,” Maggie answered.

  “I’ll help,” Lyle spoke up immediately. He stood and began gathering plates from the table.

  Five minutes later, Maggie was elbow deep in dishwater. A few stray bubbles floated in the air from when she had squeezed the dish soap out a little too hard. She peered into the window above the sink where she could see Tor, Loki and Namasté reflected, all three chatting at the dining room table. Lyle stood ready to dry, with a tea towel draped casually over his shoulder.

  “How long have you known these guys?” Lyle asked softly, so that only Maggie could hear him.

  “Six years or so,” Maggie said. She saw Loki rise and stretch, shaking his lion’s mane and scratching himself on the ribs.

  “Do you mind me asking—what’s your connection?” Lyle continued.

  “Remember? I was a summer boarder during college. Now we’re friends.”

  “Fennel’s death must have been quite a loss. I’m very sorry.”

  “Thank you,” Maggie said.

  She chose not to mention her other, more debilitating, loss.

  The two of them washed and dried dishes quietly for a while.

  Maggie spent the time thinking she ought to find out which land Val-U-Shop was considering for purchase.

  Ten acres seems just about right for a medium-sized store and parking lot.

  The lasagna turned over unpleasantly in Maggie’s stomach. She could not decide if her discomfort stemmed from the idea that solid, dependable Tor might be lying or if her indigestion arose from guilt over having such a suspicious mind. Someone had come looking for Fennel’s journals. Maggie sincerely hoped it had not been Tor.

  “How long will you be staying out here?” Lyle asked.

  “Why?” Maggie asked.

  “Just making conversation,” Lyle said, but he blushed slightly, adding a hint of strawberry to his smooth, café latte complexion.

  “I guess I’ll stay as long as I’m needed,” she answered.

  Chapter 13

  Maggie played with Ben’s ring absentmindedly. Dinner was over and Lyle had gone home. Everyone else was getting ready for bed.

  Maggie was in the office, keeping her movements as hush-hush as possible. She was reading the typed letter she had found earlier on top of the aerial photo. It was paper-clipped to Tor’s father’s will.

  December 27, 1980

  Dear David,

  How are things out East? I hope that you are good. I know I’m not much for writing, but then neither are you. Your mother would’ve been better at it than us.

  You know, she always hoped you would keep up the family farm.

  I’m writing to let you know what the doctor said, and some other things, too. I would’ve called, but that’s mighty expensive. I’m going to have to stop farming, the doctor said. I don’t want to sit around and do nothing, but he said that would be best at my age. I’ve got the arthritis so bad I can’t run the tractor anymore. If I could afford one of those new deal-y bobs with the shiny paint, maybe it would drive itself. Ha! But, no—all we have is old Clanker and she runs about as good as I do most days. You may want to keep her around for the Fourth of July parade as an old-timey relic to show all the kiddies what farming used to be like.

  When do you think you might visit, Son? The roof needs new shingles and I’m sure the attic could use a good cleaning out. I’m getting too old to do these things myself. There’s only you and me now that Mother is gone.

  One other thing I need to tell you is that you can sell some of the land if you need to. I know we’re already a small-time operation, but that’s the way farming was when I was a boy. Selling off a few acres would give you some start up money. You could follow your dream about growing something new. That’s what I’d do if I was younger. Beans and corn—that’s all I know and I don’t know much about that anymore, the way things are going with farming these days. Maybe you could try something special that sells high that no one else is growing. You always did like to be a trendsetter. Ha!

  The only thing I ask is, no matter what you do, don’t sell the ten acres near town. It was close to my grandfather’s heart that this land never be developed. It was his way of keeping a buffer between the city life and the country life, I think. It’s important to me, too. When you think about it, the whole world will get paved over pretty soon and there’ll be no more trees to hold the soil from blowing all over Kingdom Come and turning this place into a desert. Plus, I know a family of badgers lives there, along with a bunch of other creatures that God put on this Earth to need a home. Maybe I’m preaching to the choir here—you’re as good a steward as anyone I ever met. I know I can trust you to do the right thing.

  Your old Dad,

  David Falstaff, Sr.

  Maggie sat holding the yellow
ed letter. Her eyes found the ten acre parcel of land in the photo. The walk she had taken with Loki on that very land had given Maggie a chance to appreciate all over again just how much she loved nature. Just a few steps off the road, she had come across a species that surprised her and reminded her why she fell in love with plants in the first place. David Falstaff Senior had obviously understood the importance of conservation. Maggie wished that she could’ve met Tor’s father. The two of them might have talked plants or tromped around in the woods together.

  Maggie remembered Tor mentioning, many years ago, that he and his father hadn’t gotten along very well. She wondered if Tor had honored his father’s wishes about the land. There was no telling when the photo might have been taken, as there was no visible date stamp anywhere on it. Tor might’ve sold the ten acres already.

  A little voice in Maggie’s head told her that he hadn’t.

  She felt certain that Tor still owned the land and was planning to sell it to Val-U-Shop. Why he would do such a thing was unknown, but it seemed clear that he had been avoiding the question at dinner. Fennel’s death may have cleared the way politically for the store to get city council approval. Maggie wondered how much pull Tor had with his fellow River City citizens. What would the council think about a local—albeit non-traditional—farmer willing to sell land to a large corporation, especially a corporation known for killing off small, locally owned businesses? Had Fennel known about the ten acres? Maggie wondered if the issue had come to light before her death.

  Had Fennel and Tor argued?

  Maggie was determined to research the issue, if only to put her nagging doubts to rest. Between what she had learned about Sunflower’s past and this new, disturbing murkiness surrounding Tor, Maggie wondered what she might find out next.

  If I am going to seriously consider that one of the Originals might be responsible for Fennel’s death, I need to try and be objective. What would I do with any other puzzle? What about the supposedly pest-resistant bamboo that kept dying off? What did I do then?