by Liz Mugavero
“Of course, the kids.” Em wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just have to go get that tractor squared away. Ted is coming over later to oversee the evening milking. Roger has been here since five this morning—I can’t ask him to stay too late. And Tyler is doing what he can to help out. He’s not much for getting dirty, though. Maybe he can help you sort through some things in here?”
“Sure, whatever works,” Stan said. She was anxious to get going on a few tasks. She really didn’t want to be at the farm all night.
“Okay.” Em took a deep breath and pulled her gloves back on. “I have to go to the funeral home and drop off a suit for Hal to wear. The funeral’s Wednesday.” She looked like she would rather stay here and scoop cow manure. “Do you have any experience with funeral homes?”
Please don’t let her ask me to plan a funeral, too. I only do animal parties. “No. When my dad died, my mother handled the details.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”
“No, almost eight years ago now.” Had it really been that long?
They were both silent for a minute, thinking of the ones who had left them. Stan wondered if Em’s thoughts of Hal were as generous as hers for her dad.
“Well,” Em said briskly. “I’ll send Tyler in shortly. He’s just finishing something up for me in the house. But he’ll know the most important vendors to pay and the other critical tasks.”
“Great,” Stan said. “In the meantime, I’ll . . . try to find the desk.”
Chapter 15
Only one of the three piles of papers had fallen when Em shut the door behind her. Already a small victory. Stan gritted her teeth again—she had to stop doing that—and yanked the chair away from the desk, hoping not to see bugs scurrying for safety.
She didn’t, so she bent and picked up the first stack. An invoice on top from Sal’s Feed and Grain for $800. An electric bill. Her eyes widened at the amount: $4,567.93. That had to be a mistake . . . didn’t it? The door slammed behind her and she jumped.
Leigh-Anne Sutton gave her a sheepish smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I just didn’t feel right not offering to help.” She glanced over her shoulder as if afraid Emmalee would throw her out if she discovered her in the office. “Is there anything I can do?”
“That’s very nice of you to ask. Honestly, I don’t know.” With a helpless laugh, she looked around. “I guess I have to sort through the paperwork first.”
Leigh-Anne gazed doubtfully at the stacks. “That looks like a big job.”
“Sure does,” Stan said. “If you’re not busy—which it sounds like you are—you could always help me with this. But if you have other things to do—”
“Nonsense,” Leigh-Anne interrupted. “I know what it’s like to be put in this situation with no guidance. In my case, I took over for my husband when he passed away. It was a learning process, and a lot of it was painful. If I can help even make sense of anything for you, I should do that.”
“Okay,” Stan said. “Great, then. Want to take this stack?” She passed over a pile of files.
Leigh-Anne took them from her. They worked in silence for a while, creating piles of statements, old bills, current bills. One invoice was addressed to Pristine Fields Dairy Farm, Attn. Ted Brahm. Stan held it out to Leigh-Anne. “What do I do about this?”
Leigh-Anne studied it. “Ted must’ve bought some parts for Hal for the feed truck. That has to be paid. Looks like it’s overdue, though.” She pursed her lips and sighed. “Ted hates overdue bills. That should go at the top of the stack.”
Stan put the invoice to the side. “Is that common? In co-ops, I mean. To buy stuff for each other.”
“Sometimes. Different partnerships do things differently. In our group . . .” She trailed off, looked behind her again. Dropped her voice a notch. “Our group could be difficult. We don’t all see eye to eye.”
“But it works—doesn’t it?”
“It works . . . in different ways. Take Ted, for example. So laid back. Loves dairy farming. Perfectly content to let Hal run things. Now, Peter, on the other hand . . .” She shook her head. “Peter fought Hal tooth and nail every step of the way. He only signed on because his farm was going under. He had no choice. And his wife was about to kill him.” She stopped, covering her mouth with her hand. “What a poor choice of words. Anyway, you know what I mean.”
“Sounds like Asher fought with Hal, too,” Stan said.
“Asher.” Leigh-Anne smiled. “It’s complicated with Asher. He’s very rigid. Put it this way: Hal wants to make a buck. Asher wants to do everything right. You see how they could disagree?”
“I do.” Stan placed an empty folder in a new pile for recycling. “How did you feel about Hal’s style of running the business?”
“Oh, putting me on the spot now, eh?” Leigh-Anne crossed her pink boots and smiled. “Honestly, I understood Hal. Businessman through and through. Smart, smart, smart, too. He’ll be missed.”
They both spun as the door clattered open again. Tyler Hoffman walked in. His gaze went to Leigh-Anne first, assessing, then slid away without acknowledging her. He looked at Stan, nodded. “S’up.”
“Hey, Tyler. How’s it going?” Why am I asking this kid how he’s doing when his father was brutally murdered a few days ago?
The boy looked different than he had Friday night after the murder. He had been jazzed up then, worried about his mother, full of angst and impatient to see the police solve the case. Today, he looked weary. Beaten down. Like he’d rather be anyplace but where he was.
But he didn’t articulate any of that. “Going fine. My mom said you needed help, but it looks like you have it.”
“Oh, no,” Leigh-Anne said. “I was just keeping Stan company until you got here. I have to get back to a few other things anyway.” She stood, handed Stan her remaining folders. “Thanks again for helping.” And she slipped out, catching the door behind her so it didn’t slam.
Stan watched her go. Tyler didn’t. He looked around the room the same way his mother had. He looked like Emmalee. His brown hair, cropped short, was her color, and he had the same facial features. Full lips, big, dark, expressive eyes. Stan figured Em had been attractive, at least when she was younger. Now, she looked old beyond her years. But her son was very handsome.
Tyler shook his head ever so slightly and headed for the desk. “I’m not real sure what my dad did in here.”
“Does he have a computer?” Stan asked.
Tyler looked around again. “He had a laptop. It’s not here?” He peered around the files on the desk’s surface, checked in the rickety drawers. No laptop. Tyler swore under his breath, then caught himself. “Sorry.”
“I have been known to use foul language on occasion,” Stan said dryly. “No apologies necessary. So. What do we do if there’s no computer?”
“I’m gonna go check in the house,” Tyler said. “But if you want to look through those papers for any recent bills, that’s where I would start. Then we can figure out if they ever got paid. I doubt it. I think my dad was a little behind.”
“So he wouldn’t have marked them ‘Paid’ or filed them somewhere special?” Stan asked.
“Doubt it.”
Well then. “He must’ve been busy,” Stan said.
Tyler smirked. “Yeah. He was busy all right. None of it had to do with the farm, though.” He closed his mouth abruptly, as if he’d said too much. “Be right back.” Instead of using the door, he vaulted over the washing machine and into the basement, giving Stan a glimpse into the darkness beyond. Stan heard him pounding up the stairs.
She busied herself with the first stack. A lot of the papers were packing slips. She separated those into a pile with a sticky note she’d found in one of the drawers and wrote “Toss?” The monthly bills—and there were a lot, most overdue—went into their own pile. Repairs, food, gasoline, the insane electric bill. After Stan was sure she’d gotten all of them, she went through and totaled them up using the
calculator on her iPhone. When she hit the equal sign, her jaw dropped. The farm owed about fifteen thousand dollars by the end of the month. Less than two weeks away.
No wonder Em was hosting doggie birthday parties and running corn mazes.
Stan picked up the top folder of another pile. It was crammed with bank statements. She glanced at the top statement and checked the balance in the checking account. Nine thousand dollars. That wouldn’t cover the bills. Perhaps there had been deposits since then. Stan put the folder into its own pile. She looked around for a filing cabinet. Nothing. How did they keep any records around here? Silly question. She was looking at the system they used—and it was sorely lacking. And since no one could seem to figure out how Hal had been attending to business, exactly, she was limited in how she could help.
So, she’d do what she could.
She went through the next few folders and found notes from board meetings with the other Happy Cow farmers. Those looked like they might be interesting, so she tucked them under her coffee mug to remind her to go back and read. A pamphlet of information on large animal veterinarians. Hal must have been considering changing providers. She found drawings of the buildings on the farm, and drawings of what looked like new buildings. Maybe Hal had planned to upgrade pieces of the facility, or expand it. Maybe the co-op was doing well, and Hal saw that as his farm’s future. Stan wondered what Emmalee thought of that. She didn’t get the vibe from Emmalee that she was overly excited to be milking by committee.
It was another ten minutes or so before Tyler returned with only a checkbook in his hand. “I’m gonna have to track down the laptop,” he said. “It might be in his car. How long are you here?”
“I’m not sure.” Stan checked her watch. It was already four. Did she get to knock off at five like the rest of the population of office folks? “Did he back up to a cloud? That way, if you have the passwords, it can be accessed from any computer.”
That smirk again. “I don’t think my dad was that computer savvy. But I’ll ask my mom. In the meantime, here’s a checkbook. But I doubt there’s money in the account.”
“I just saw the last bank statement. If everything is reconciled, there’s some, but not enough to cover.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“You mean there’s more than it says? That’s great news.”
“No, I mean don’t count on there being much money in there in the first place.”
Stan’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean? How do I pay the bills if there’s no money? How will the farm run?”
“My mom probably thinks there’s plenty of money. I’m telling you how it really is. There probably isn’t any.”
“How do you know this?”
“I just do.”
Stan watched him carefully. He spoke very matter-of-factly. Stan couldn’t help but wonder if he was the reason there was no money. If Hal didn’t pay attention, which seemed to be a fair observation, would his oldest son take advantage? She immediately pushed the thought out of her head. She didn’t know this boy and she had no right to think he would hurt his family and their business like that. Then again, when you considered all the crazy stuff you heard on the news every day, nothing was a stretch. Or, was he telling her that Hal had spent all the money?
He watched her, those dark eyes unreadable. Stan suddenly felt uncomfortable in this tiny room alone with this angry boy. And, he was blocking the exit. Unless she wanted to vault over the washing machine.
When she spoke, she tried to make her voice low and soothing. “Tyler. If there’s something your mother needs to know—”
“My mother doesn’t need to know anything,” he burst out. “She’s got enough going on. Besides, she should know how bad it’s gotten. She just doesn’t want to admit it. Why do you think we have a corn maze now? And those parties where she rents out the yard? It’s absurd. Every day she works on this damn farm. For nothing.” Tyler’s eighteen-year-old frustration with his family was clear. Stan could also tell he’d left his teenage years behind a long time ago. It couldn’t have been easy, growing up like this.
“I don’t think it’s for nothing, Tyler. She seems to love it here.”
“Yeah, well, she does,” he said bitterly. “And I don’t get it. She loves it more than he ever did, and it was his family farm. She’s getting too old for this crap. She has to get a knee replaced. We don’t even have health insurance.”
“No health insurance?” Stan was horrified. How did they take care of the kids? “Did your dad at least have a life insurance policy?”
Tyler jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “My mother won’t talk about it.”
“Maybe she’s not ready. This has to be killing her. Killing all of you, actually.”
Tyler watched her for a long moment, appraising. “She has to be ready,” he said. His voice was harsh. “This is her reality. I loved my dad, but he had other things going on. Things that didn’t include us. I think he hoped those things were his ticket out of here. But he never made it.”
Chapter 16
Stan walked home slowly as dusk fell around Frog Ledge, her mind spinning as she replayed her conversation with Tyler Hoffman. The boy was sharp, and he seemed to have a lot of insights into his father’s life that even Em may not have had. Would he eventually share those with her if she kept coming around? Clearly this kid understood his parents did not have a storybook marriage, testimony that would not bode well for Emmalee if Jessie Pasquale continued down her current path of investigation—which she would have to, if that’s where the evidence led.
As Stan climbed her front porch steps, she heard Henry’s and Scruffy’s frantic barking from inside. It made her smile.
Stan pushed the door open and had to brace herself to withstand Henry’s bulk as he launched himself at her, his tail wagging and his tongue nearly drowning her. Scruffy, much smaller in size, had to settle for standing up against Stan’s thigh and wooing at her.
“Hi, guys! I missed you, too.” She dropped to her knees and gathered the dogs in hugs. “Where’s Nutty?”
“Begging for treats.” Brenna appeared in the doorway. She’d found one of Stan’s aprons and carried a wooden spoon. “The treats came out rockin’. Wanna try one?”
Stan laughed and got to her feet. “That’s good news. I’d love to try one. It’s funny; I know they’re made with ingredients humans eat, but I don’t usually tell people I sample the animal treats. It makes me think of that saying about people who don’t save for retirement and have to eat Alpo when they’re old.”
Brenna stared at her for a second. “You’re kinda weird.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m good with it.”
“Jake’s kinda weird, too, so it’s a good match.” Brenna winked and turned to go back into the kitchen.
“Hang on a second.” Stan hurried after her, the dogs trotting obediently behind her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you know. You two will eventually stop dancing around each other.” Brenna slid a tray of cookies out of the oven.
“How do you—” Stan was about to argue the point—she’d never admitted to anyone that she sort of liked Jake—when she noticed the batches and batches of treats heaped on the counters. “Holy cookies. How many batches did you bake?”
“I got a little carried away,” Brenna admitted. “They were coming out so good. So I foraged in your cabinets and came up with a few more experiments. Nutty and the dogs have been willing guinea pigs. But I think all the orders are covered. And some extras. Maybe I can bring a few home for Duncan.”
“Of course. Wow, Bren. Thank you. I didn’t expect you to bake all of them.” Stan saw Nutty then, lounging on his side on her kitchen table, waiting for the next kind to be done. He lazily cleaned his paws, eyes not meeting Stan’s.
“How many cookies did you have, Nutter? Jeez. You guys sure know how to party when Mom’s not home.”
“Yeah, they like a good party. So how was Em’s?”
Stan was
n’t sure how to answer that. “She set me up in the office, which looked like Hal hadn’t set foot in it in a year. Leigh-Anne came in to help. Then Tyler showed up and Leigh-Anne left in a hurry. Tyler realized the laptop was missing and went on a mad search for it. Couldn’t find it. So I ended up sorting through the piles of paperwork and pulling the bills that needed paying. But when I asked how they wanted me to pay them, he told me there probably wasn’t money in the account. It was very strange.”
“Really?” Brenna turned the oven off. “Wow. I knew things were bad but . . .” She shook her head. “I know you’re not supposed to speak ill about the dead and stuff, but I’m sorry. Hal didn’t deserve his family. He was a jerk.”
“Yeah, I got that from you yesterday. What was he doing with all their money?”
Brenna kept her back to Stan and pulled a batch of treats out of the oven. “Who knows. Probably spending it on girlfriends. Definitely gambling. He went to the casinos at least once every week. And ‘investing’ in real estate.” She spat “investing” like it was dirty.
“How many people in town agree with your assessment?” Stan tried to keep her voice light, but her brain had accelerated into overtime. If Hal wasn’t popular, that should widen the suspect pool pretty quickly. And that might save Em—unless she really did it.
“Not enough,” Brenna said bitterly. “He had quite the following. But there were some who saw right through him. Look, I just know he didn’t treat his family right. I babysat for them, remember? I saw a lot of things no one probably thought I saw.”
Stan pushed a bit. “So did your sister get what she needed from you about Em?”
Brenna snorted. “My sister needs to get a life.”
Stan stifled a chuckle. A few months ago, she’d shared exactly the same sentiment, but it probably wasn’t wise to voice that. “She’s just doing her job, Bren. And it seemed like she was trying to find every way possible to alibi Em. I don’t think she really believes Em would kill her own husband.”