"Probably," Peter said, still squinting at the house. "Bang or no bang, the house has good bones and lots of history," he told me. "If you need help, I'm happy to give you a hand with the renovation."
"Thanks," I said. "Once I get my water situation taken care of, I may take you up on that." We stood and listened for a few minutes longer, but the only sound was the wind soughing through the grass. The temperature had dropped while we were in the house; I shivered.
"What do you think that noise was?" Quinn asked in a quiet voice.
"Probably something loose upstairs," he said. "The wind must have been knocking something around."
"But all the windows are closed," I pointed out.
"I'm sure there's a rational explanation," Tobias said. "But what I'm more worried about," he continued as he put his arm around me and we turned back toward the farmhouse, "is what we're going to do about your animals."
"Me too," I said. "If we can't get the pumper truck out to fill the stock tank, I'm in trouble."
"If you can't get it worked out, why don't you bring them over to my place until you get things squared away?" Peter asked. "You can come over and help me milk everybody."
"I hate to move them, but that would be great. Are you sure?" I asked.
"Sure. I miss Gidget and Hot Lips, and I'm sure Blossom and Peony would enjoy the company. It'll be like a minigetaway for them. Visiting cousins."
I laughed. "Actually, that would solve a big part of my problem," I said. "If you're sure."
"I'm positive," he said. "I'll bring the trailer over tomorrow, and we'll get them loaded up."
"Thank you," I said, almost forgetting about the ominous noises from the old house and feeling much lighter as we approached my grandmother's yellow farmhouse.
"If we fill the stock tanks, can you use them to water your vegetables?" Quinn asked.
"I sure hope so," I said, surveying my pumpkin patch, which was just about ready to be harvested and turned into pumpkin butter. It was a good thing I had some big pots to make it with; I just hoped the rest sold at market.
"How much do you think filling the stock tanks would run her?" Tobias asked Peter.
"I told Lucy I'd ask about it tomorrow," Peter said. "I'm sure we can get you the friends and family discount, anyway," he added with a wink.
"And I'll ask around for a dowser," Quinn said. "There's got to be a water witch around somewhere."
"Water witch," I said. "What about Serafine? She's a witch."
"Is she?" Tobias asked. "I thought those went extinct in the seventeen hundreds."
"She and her sister are Wiccan," I said.
"What does that mean?" Quinn asked.
"They worship what they call the horned god and goddess," Peter supplied, "and the turning of the seasons, or the wheel of the year." Peter was from Austin, which—aside from the legislature—was the counterculture epicenter of Texas, and he was pretty up on all kinds of things you usually didn't find in small-town Texas.
"Sounds intriguing," I said as we stepped into the pot-pie-scented farmhouse. "I don't know how that relates to finding water, but it's worth asking." Besides, I was curious about Aimee and Mitch; I was hoping I could ask her a few questions.
"The pot pie smells delicious," Quinn said as we all gathered around the kitchen table. Tobias replenished everyone's beers, and I had just finished dressing the salad when the timer buzzed. The pot pie was a gorgeous golden brown, with bits of golden filling bubbling up around the edges.
"And looks amazing," Tobias said as I put it down on the table.
"I'm usually vegetarian," Peter said, "but I make an exception for an occasional pastured-chicken pot pie."
"It's not one of mine," I confessed. "I got it from another farmer at the market." I may have been an investigative reporter in my former life, and I knew my grandmother had been less than sentimental about her animals—with the exception of her favorite cow, Gertrude—but I couldn't bring myself to eat an animal I had gotten to know personally.
"Cheers," I said as I sat down and raised my glass, thankful for the wonderful people around the table with me. We'd all just clinked glasses and were about to dig in when Pip and Chuck started barking wildly from the yard.
"Who's that?" Quinn asked, squinting out the wavy front window.
"Looks like a police cruiser," Tobias said in a grim voice.
"If it's Rooster, I'd better go corral Chuck.
"That's right," Tobias said with a wry grin. "He took a chunk out of Rooster's pants a while back, didn't he?"
I headed toward the front door and called Chuck, who was growling menacingly at our local sheriff. Rooster had stepped out of his Crown Victoria and was eyeing Chuck with suspicion.
"What can we help you with?" I asked once I had Chuck's collar firmly in hand.
"Wanted to talk to Peter and Tobias," he said. "Heard I could find y'all here."
"About what?" Tobias asked.
"About what happened out at that witch's place, at the ball."
My eyebrows shot up, and Quinn and I glanced at each other.
"You mean what happened with Bug Wharton and the anaphylactic shock?" Tobias asked.
"If that's what it was," he said.
I led Chuck to the front door and shooed him inside. Pip followed without being asked. Only when Chuck was safely inside did Rooster squeeze through the gate and into my front yard.
"We were just about to sit down to dinner, actually," Tobias told him.
I smiled and forced myself to be polite. "We were. I just pulled a chicken pot pie out of the oven. Would you like to join us?"
"No, ma'am. This is a business visit, not a pleasure cruise."
"Do you want to talk now, or would you rather we stopped by tomorrow?" Peter asked.
"I'd rather get on with things," he said.
"Did the autopsy results come back, then?" I asked.
"Police business," Rooster said shortly, studying Tobias and Peter. "Which one of you jabbed Bug?"
"I did," Tobias said. "I told you at the time."
"But you handled the thing, too, didn't you?" Rooster asked Peter, adjusting his collar as he spoke. His reddish wattle spilled over the too-tight polyester shirt.
"The EpiPen? I got it out of the glove compartment, yes," Peter said.
"Was there something wrong with the EpiPen, then?" Tobias asked. "Or was it not anaphylaxis?"
"Oh, it was anaphylaxis all right," Rooster said.
"Then why are you questioning Tobias and Peter?" I asked. "If Bug Wharton died of natural causes?"
"I didn't say it was natural," Rooster said. "What made you two decide he needed to be jabbed with an EpiPen?"
"He asked for it, for starters," Tobias pointed out. "And he was exhibiting all the signs of anaphylaxis. It all happened fast; you don't have much time to think in a situation like that."
"I heard he had a dustup with Serafine Alexandre," Rooster said.
"They argued, yes."
"From what I hear, she threatened to kill him," Rooster said. "And then she gave him a drink of that mead stuff."
"She did," I confirmed, "but it came from the same place as everyone else's drink."
"If she knew he was allergic to bees, that would be an easy way to kill someone off. Giving them honey wine," Rooster said.
"Being allergic to bee venom doesn't mean you're allergic to honey," Tobias explained. "It's the protein in the venom that people react to. Honey is primarily sugar, and any proteins in it are different from those in the venom."
"Hmm," Rooster said. "It doesn't seem suspicious at all that she threw his cup into the fire afterward? Sounds to me like destroying evidence."
"Just because Serafine argued with Bug doesn't mean she killed him," I pointed out. "Besides, she didn't know he was going to come up to her. Everyone was drinking from that cauldron."
"You and Bug crossed sabers, too," Rooster said, squinting at Peter. "I hear you weren't a big supporter of his new ranch."
"Th
at's true," Peter said.
"You wrote a letter to the paper about it not too long ago. Pretty passionate."
"I did," Peter acknowledged. Quinn shifted from foot to foot, looking nervous.
"Y'all know anything else about that Serafine woman? Says she's a witch."
"What does that have to do with what happened to Bug Wharton?" I asked. "You think she put a spell on him?"
"I think maybe she put something in that drink she gave him," Rooster said.
"I noticed a twist of paper with a dead bee in it in the front seat of his truck," I said, knowing that my mentioning it would make Rooster far less likely to investigate it, but unable to stop myself. "And the window was cracked open. Maybe someone who knew he was allergic to bees put some of them in his truck so he'd be stung when he got back in."
"Lots of bees around that winery place," Rooster said. "One of 'em probably flew in through the window and got toasted in the heat."
"It wasn't that hot that evening. Besides," Tobias said, "it would be worth checking on. There could be fingerprints on the paper."
"I'll mention it to the lab," Rooster said in a dismissive tone that meant he would do no such thing, and then focused on Tobias again. "You're familiar with EpiPens, right?"
"I've used EpiPens on animals, yes."
"Was there anything different about the one you used on Bug?"
"Not that I noticed," he said. "It was a little hectic; I wasn't focusing on the details. You, Peter?"
Peter shrugged. "I wouldn't know. It's the first time I've seen one."
"Why are you asking?" Tobias asked. "Was there something wrong with it? I researched, and there haven't been any recalls lately. Is that why he died? A defective syringe?"
"Did any of y'all see that Serafine woman before Bug died?"
"We got there at the same time as Bug did," I said. "Peter had a tarot reading done, and then we went to get some mead. As far as I know, Serafine was serving mead the whole time; we weren't there for very long."
"I heard you had quite a reading," Rooster said. "Got a card that looked just like your costume," he said, nodding at Peter. "I also heard you thought Bug Wharton deserved to be shot."
Peter shifted uncomfortably. "I don't remember what I said, but I know I was upset about the game ranch. It's common knowledge how I feel about animals."
"It sure is," Rooster said. "In the paper and everything. Anyway," Rooster said with a smug smile, "I'll let y'all get back to dinner now. But don't be leavin' town anytime soon. I'll be back." He tipped his hat and opened the gate, leaving the four of us staring after him.
"Does he really think Peter might have killed Bug Wharton?" Quinn asked as we watched Rooster's cruiser bump down my driveway.
"Either Peter or Serafine, sounds like," Tobias said. "He said a lot more than he should have if it's an open case."
"Well," I said, "let's go in and get dinner. I, for one, could use another beer."
"I think we all could," Peter said, and I opened the door to the farmhouse. A moment later we walked into the kitchen, where Pip and Chuck were standing on the table and finishing off the last of the pot pie.
8
"Pip! I can't believe you did that!" Quinn gasped. "She’s never done anything like that before!"
"I'm afraid Chuck's been a bad influence," I said. As we stared at the dogs, who were licking their lips and looking completely unrepentant, I turned to Tobias. "See what I'm up against?"
He gave me a wry grin as I shooed both dogs off the table and out the door.
"Damn Rooster," Quinn said. "He ruined a perfect evening. And your beautiful pot pie..."
"We've still got salad, at least. Why don't I whip up some pasta? I put lots of tomato sauce up this summer; we'll just heat that up and have a pasta dinner." I glanced over to where the pecan pie sat on the counter, unmolested. "Besides, at least they didn't get to the pie. Or the apple dumplings." I'd left the dumplings in the pie safe, thankfully.
"Good thing," Tobias said. "I might have to pump their stomachs; pecans aren't good for dogs."
"I learn something new every day," I told Tobias.
As Tobias filled a pasta pot with water, and Peter and Quinn helped me clean up what the dogs hadn't gotten to, the conversation turned to Rooster.
"Why on earth did he see the need to come out here after-hours?" Quinn asked. "Just to ruin our dinner?"
"It wouldn't surprise me," I said as I wiped up another smear of gravy. "It sounds like something was up with that EpiPen, that's for sure."
"I'm wondering if it wasn't defective," Tobias said. "It's been known to happen."
"And I'm wondering if someone tampered with it," I replied. "He sure was treating it like Bug's death was foul play."
"If so, Peter, you'd better watch out," Quinn said. "Everyone in town knows you had it in for Bug."
"He and Serafine weren't on good terms either," Tobias pointed out. "Everyone in town saw the blowup over the cauldron."
"And he died just a few minutes later," Quinn said. "I wish she hadn't tossed that cup into the fire."
Peter finished sweeping up the last of the crumbs. "Well, nobody's been charged yet, so I vote we table it until we have to. I'd rather talk about dealing with Lucy's water problems."
Quinn sighed. "Do you really think the fire department will come out to deliver water?"
"I do," he said. "The problem is, it won't do anything to help the well. Unless the well is dug, it won't hold water. How many stock tanks do you have?"
"Two," I said, "and they're not very big. Plus, I'd need some kind of pump to get the irrigation going."
"Lenny said he was sure it wasn't a problem with the pump?"
"He told me the well had run dry," I replied. "And that I'd either have to drill deeper or put in a new one."
"So much for the quiet, easy small-town life, eh?" Quinn asked with a sidelong grin.
"Exactly," I said, and my mind flitted back to the threat of Jed Stadtler. Neither of us was having a particularly good week.
As if reading my mind, Peter walked over and squeezed Quinn's shoulders. "Whatever happens, we'll get through it."
"We will," Tobias echoed, looking at me.
* * *
Tobias stayed behind once Peter and Quinn had left. Although we'd missed the pot pie, the pasta with homemade sauce was a delicious substitute, and Quinn's pie and my grandmother's apple dumplings made for a satisfying ending—particularly with a scoop of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream.
While Tobias finished drying the last of the silverware, I brewed a pot of decaf. When the last plate was put up, we took two mugs out onto the front porch and sat down in the rocking chairs together, looking up at the stars.
"I have a bad feeling about all this," I told him as he reached out to squeeze my hand.
"I didn't want to say anything to Peter, but I do, too," he replied. "Rooster looks like he's trying to narrow down his suspect list."
I sipped my warm coffee and shivered, despite my heavy sweater. "I may need to check in with Opal at the station or call Mandy down at the Zephyr to see if they've heard anything about the autopsy report."
"I keep wondering what the connection is between Aimee and Mitch Wharton," Tobias commented. "Do you think they were seeing each other on the sly?"
"I'm guessing they were, and if I'm right, I'm sure someone at the ranch knows about it. But if Bug was murdered, what would that have to do with it?"
"I don't know who owns the majority share of the ranch," Tobias said. "Or who gets it in the event of a death. Did Bug have any kids?"
"Not that I know of, but that doesn't mean he didn't."
"The ranch is an expensive piece of property," Tobias said. "It sold for a couple million."
"That's a lot of down payment to come up with."
"They paid for it in cash, actually."
I let out a long, low whistle. "Where'd they get that? A relative in the oil business?"
Tobias took a long sip of his coffee.
"I don't think so. They never talked much about what they did, only that it was something in tech."
"A start-up that did an IPO, maybe?" I mused.
"It's worth checking out. If it is considered homicide, that is."
"Lord knows Rooster isn't going to do much in the way of investigating."
"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," I said. "That way, I can focus on my water problems and my falling-down haunted house instead."
"I'm sure it isn't haunted," Tobias objected.
"Oh, really? What was that banging sound, then?"
"A loose shutter or something."
"There aren't any shutters."
"Okay, a loose something. Once we can get up to the second floor, we'll figure it out. Did you know there was a house just outside of town that was supposed to be haunted? Footsteps on the roof every night."
"On the roof?"
"Exactly. Turned out the goats were escaping their pen and climbing up on the roof to get to the pear tree growing right next to the house."
I burst out laughing. "Really?"
"Really," he said. "They locked themselves back in their pen before morning."
"They're smart little buggers, aren't they?"
"Speaking of smart little buggers, yours have been remarkably well-behaved lately. I haven't gotten a single phone call about livestock chowing down on the geraniums in the Square."
"Don't jinx me," I warned him. Blossom, my first cow, had, unbeknownst to me, been known as Harriet Houdini before I acquired her, and my goats, Hot Lips and Gidget, were talented escape artists as well. Now that everyone had offspring, maybe they would be too worried about their babies to give in to wanderlust. Time would tell.
"I don't mean to pressure you," Tobias said, "but you really need to get that well sorted out. It's supposed to be a La Niña winter."
I groaned. "That means no rain, right?"
"Exactly. No relief in sight." Droughts in Texas, always a problem, seemed to be more and more of an issue the past several years. "It's tough on farmers and ranchers. A lot of folks will be selling their livestock."
"I don't want to be one of them," I said. "But even if it does start raining, I'm going to reach carrying capacity here pretty soon, with everyone calving and kidding every year."
Deadly Brew: A Dewberry Farm Mystery Page 7