I wondered if Rafe’s cash flow problems would be resolved in time for him to begin purchasing water from beyond the valley. I didn’t ask him what was going on, but he was my friend, and I worried about him. As for myself, I was doing well for now. Once the restrictions were in effect, I wouldn’t be making much beer.
I remembered Dad saying there was an old well on the property, and I wondered if finding it would allow me more water. The county might set a limit for my business regardless of the number of wells I had. I put in a call to the county supervisor to get an answer. He wasn’t available, but the secretary said he’d call me. Why was I bothering to consider that well? I’d have to buy a new pump and piping, and I certainly didn’t have the funds for that.
My cell rang.
“Thanks for getting back to me so soon. Here’s my question.“
“It’s Jake.”
“Oh, sorry. I thought it was the county supervisor.” I told Jake about the old well.
“It’s worth a try, anyway,” he said. My, but he was being congenial, agreeing with my assessment of Claudia this morning and now being supportive of my attempts to keep my business going. I felt a twinge of guilt about what I was keeping from him. I shoved it to the back of my mind. It was so silly to keep these secrets and for what reason? Did I really think I could beat Jake at the game of cops and killers? Did I want to?
“Still looking for those letters?” he asked.
“Nope. I’m convinced they’ve been pilfered.”
“What’s your afternoon shaping up to be?”
“Quiet, just watching my brews ferment and doing a rain dance in the yard. Why?”
“Since we proved to be such a good pair in talking to Claudia this morning, I thought maybe you’d like to interview someone else. I’m revisiting everybody, especially if I think their stories might change or be altered with a little encouragement.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Cory Andrews, Michael’s girl.”
“She doesn’t like me much.”
“That’ll work.”
I hesitated. “Is this some kind of test?”
“What?”
“You told Claudia this morning that alibis can be made and broken, and Cory’s only connection to this case is her role as Michael’s alibi. Obviously, you think she’s lying, and you’re asking me to help destroy my old friend’s alibi. Right?”
“It’s not a test. I want to gang up on her, and if that means Michael is left without an alibi, then he’d better start explaining himself. Interesting, if she denies being with him, and it may be important, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he killed his father. It does mean he’s a liar, but I think you already know that. This getting too tough for you? You want to back out of our deal?”
“Pick me up in ten minutes.”
*
I thought Cory would live in one of the more upscale neighborhoods in town, but her house was a ranch-style home located in a subdivision built in the fifties. All the houses were small, most owned by retirees who kept the yards neatly trimmed and the houses in good repair. Cory’s was the only one on the block in need of painting.
“Huh,” I said. Jake turned off the engine and looked at me.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“It’s not what I expected, but now that I see the house, I’ve got some ideas about the girl.”
“Go ahead. I’d be interested in what you have to say.”
“I’d say she’s very interested in Michael’s money.”
When she came to the door and saw me on her porch with Jake, Cory put her hand on her hip and stood in that defiant posture with the door closed behind her.
“What’s she doing here?” asked Cory.
“Her truck broke down nearby, and since I was on my way to see you, I thought I might as well give her a ride and talk to the two of you together. Saves me time,” Jake said. And Cory bought the excuse. Or was it an excuse? Jake could just as well play the two of us off one another and poke holes in both our stories. The sly dog.
“How’d the golf game go the other day?” I asked.
“Great. I broke one hundred.” I wondered if that was her score or the number of clubs she damaged.
She ushered us into a dim living room, furnished with overly large furniture in a Mediterranean style. Heavy brocade drapes hung on the front window, the swags held in place by curved bronze bars with marble balls at their ends. Cory gestured toward the red and gold gilt couch while she took a seat in an overstuffed chair upholstered in orange silk.
A window air conditioner roared at us. I sank into the couch and continued to descend until my knees were at eye level. The room made me feel small and insignificant, smothered by too much texture and pattern. She may have thought this was the height of luxury, but I thought it was the epitome of bad taste.
Jake, seated beside me on the sofa, attempted to extract his notebook from his back pocket, but he had to stand up to get at it. He remained standing.
“Let’s go over the night Michael’s father was killed. You and Michael were together here. Is that correct?”
“Right. I told you all this before. Nothing’s changed.”
“None of the neighbors remember seeing his car in your drive.”
“We used my car.”
“So then you had to drive him home. What time was that?”
“I don’t remember.”
Jake tapped his pencil against the notebook, then flipped it shut and gave Cory a disappointed look. “When we talked before, you said he left around three in the morning. Now you say you drove him home.”
“I mean, he drove my car home.” Cory got out of the chair and walked to the window. She began to smooth out the drapes, flicking off invisible flecks of dust, her back turned to us as if her furnishings were more deserving of her attention than were her uninvited visitors.
“Your neighbors did say your car was here the next morning.”
“They must be mistaken, then.” She began braiding the large tassels that hung from the drapery pull-back.
“Don’t you own a silver Mercedes convertible?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the car they saw here in the morning.”
Cory dropped the tassel and spun around. “Look, unless you intend to arrest me or something, I’ll have to ask you to leave. Now!”
“Just a few more questions,” Jake said. He ignored her, opened the notebook again and flipped through it. He looked as firmly entrenched in her living room as a dandelion growing in the front lawn.
She stalked past him, picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed. “Michael, that cop and your skinny blonde friend are here harassing me about the night of the murder. You’ve got to do something.” She paused and listened, then hung up.
“He’s calling the family lawyer, who will be here shortly.” She sat back down in the chair with her arms across her admirable chest. “We’ll just wait.”
“Never mind. We’re finished here. Sorry to inconvenience you.”
*
“I can’t believe she backed you down that way,” I said. We were in the car headed out of town.
“She didn’t. I just let her think she did. I’ve got a better idea, anyway.” Jake pulled into the drive to the Ramford house.
“Claudia won’t be happy to see us again today. There’ll probably be no tea this time.”
“I don’t want to see Claudia. We’re stopping by to chat with Michael.”
“Michael? No way. I’ll just walk the rest of the way home from here.”
“You want to help on this case? I’ve seen the way Michael looks at you. He’s embarrassed to parade Cory or Stanley or his other weaknesses in front of you. Maybe you’ll shame him into telling the truth today.” Jake grabbed my arm and propelled me along with him to the house. We didn’t need to knock. Michael slammed through the front door and confronted us on the steps.
“What’s the idea, treating Cory like that?” he asked.
&
nbsp; Before Jake could speak, I interrupted. “She’s a big girl. She was doing just fine until Jake tripped her up about the car on the night of the murder.”
“What about the car?” Michael had that look on his face, the one from grade school days, when the teacher asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to.
Again Jake seemed prepared to speak, but I put out my arm and raced on. “She said you drove your car to her place when Jake first questioned her, but when Jake told her none of the neighbors saw your car there, she said it wouldn’t start in the morning, and you had to call a tow truck to take it into the garage. She then said she drove you home. So what towing company was that?”
Lies, but who cared, if they got me what I wanted. Jake kept quiet, gazing at me with something like astonishment and admiration on his face.
“She said that?” Michael shook his head and muttered something under his breath.
“What did you say?” Jake asked.
“We need to talk somewhere,” he said.
Jake and I started up the steps.
“Not here. Stanley’s in the office, and Mom’s around someplace. Let’s try the barn.”
We followed him to the brew barn, and we all took up positions leaning against the racks in the gift shop.
“I know you don’t like her,” Michael looked at me when he said this, “but Cory is a great girl.”
“Loyal,” offered Jake.
“Yes, she’s loyal, and that’s more than you can say for me. She offered me an alibi for the night of my father’s murder. I never asked her to lie for me, but I think the girl’s in love.”
The girl’s in love with your money, was what I was thinking. Jake caught my eye.
“She may even think I killed my father, and she just doesn’t care. She’s crazy that way.”
“I’m going to repeat what I asked you when I first questioned you. Where were you the night of your father’s murder?” asked Jake.
“I can’t tell you that,” Michael said.
Sixteen
The next morning, I tuned into the weather channel but flipped it off in disgust. The forecast promised some rain on the weekend. Yeah, right, like the piddling little bit we got last Saturday, just enough to keep the tourists away from the tasting, but not enough to raise the water table.
The head of the county board had called back earlier in the day, saying he could not dictate how much water I used, nor how many wells I drew from, but from his tone of voice I could tell he was unhappy that I was considering opening up the other well.
“We’re talking about the need for water conservation here,” he said.
And I’m talking about whether I stay in business, I thought. I needed him as an ally, so I tried to reassure him that I shared his concerns about water usage.
“I appreciate that, and I certainly wouldn’t consider taking this step if I thought I’d be directly affecting the water table here. The old well is on a long finger of property that extends east beyond the Butternut Valley. A water resources expert from the college in town told me it was more likely the well was tapping into the aquifer associated with the Chenango River. The population density is far less there, and they have fewer commercial interests needing water for their operations.”
“That’s not solving the water problem,” he said.
“I’m well aware of that, but neither I nor any of my brewing colleagues can solve the problem.” I was trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “All of us are behind your water conservation plan. We intend to do our part and not be greedy, but we have to stay in operation. We’re a significant part of this county’s economic health.”
We danced around one another for a few more minutes. He agreed that I was more than considerate to contact the board about what I was contemplating with the old well. I emphasized that I understood his position and the seriousness of the drought.
“You do whatever you think best for now, Ms. Knightsbridge,” he said.
“I’ll keep you posted on my plans.”
Just what were my plans? I had a vague recollection of my dad and me hiking out to that well when I was a kid, maybe age seven or so. I remembered it was beyond the ridge to the east, away from any of the breweries and in a small glen surrounded by pines and maples. An old hunting cabin stood at the edge of the trees, but that might be gone now, fallen down over the twenty-plus years since I had visited the spot.
My cell phone chirped at me while I considered the county map laid out on my kitchen table.
“Jake here. I thought we could get together and exchange notes on the case. Did you get a chance to talk with Sally and Francine yet?”
I hit myself on the forehead. Damn. I’d forgotten Jake gave me a sleuthing assignment last night after we left Michael. I was supposed to visit Sally and Francine. Jake assumed they might be more comfortable talking to me woman-to-woman. The casualness of the get-together might loosen up some memories or thoughts about the night of the murder, thoughts that had to do with Michael especially. I hadn’t contacted either of them.
“The assignment too tough for you? Don’t want to spy on your boyfriend?” Jake asked.
“It’s not that. Michael’s reluctance to provide information about his whereabouts that night got me curious. I assumed it was because he was cheating on Cory with some new woman.”
“Or hiding something to do with his father’s murder,” Jake reminded me.
I didn’t think that was the case. I knew Michael well, and he was too much like his father with respect to the fairer sex. He obviously liked Cory and wanted to keep her in his back pocket, but if there was anyone else, she’d be furious.
“I had more pressing things to do,” I said to Jake. “There’s the little matter of water, you know, the main ingredient in making beer.”
“You’ve got water.”
“For how long, though?”
“What are you going to do to change that?” he asked.
“I’m going to take a hike and ask Rafe to join me.”
“When?”
“This afternoon, I guess, if he’s free.”
“I’m free. How about I accompany you two on this jaunt and see what you’re up to. Rafe won’t mind.”
“I know the two of you were getting to know one another, but since Bernie came into the picture, he’s been less than anxious to be around you. He knows you think it’s odd he hired the guy, rounder that he is.”
“You think it’s odd, too. Don’t you want to know why?”
“Yes, I guess so.” I thought about Rafe’s odd behavior of late—hiring Bernie, contending suddenly that he had no money, and being secretive about his financial situation after he had been so forthright with me about his past.
But then, I owed Jake. I hadn’t talked with Francine and Sally, and it wasn’t because I was protecting Michael. I was a little miffed Jake thought I’d be willing to use my friendships to leverage information out of them, and I was feeling guilty about the secrets I was keeping from him, especially with respect to Ronald. I had tried to contact Ronald and got no response. Telling Jake what I knew or didn’t know about Ronald’s whereabouts wouldn’t change anything, or so I told myself.
“Okay, you can come along. Be here around two, and wear hiking shoes.” I snapped the phone shut and then flipped it open again to call Rafe. He said yes to looking for the well this afternoon. I didn’t tell him Jake would be accompanying us. That wasn’t wrong, was it?
*
Rafe looked at me with curiosity and concern on his face when Jake appeared at my barn in the afternoon, but he recovered his composure when he learned Jake would be joining us to look for the well and said he was glad to have the company. Jake merely nodded. The three of us were quiet on the hike up to the site.
I was right. The old cabin was merely a pile of rotten logs now. The only structure left standing was a stone fireplace, and many of the rocks making up the chimney had let go and were scattered around the hearth. I remembered once Dad and I
hiked up here and spent an overnight. Part of the cabin was still standing at that time, but we had lain under the stars in our sleeping bags and stared into a clear, October sky. Dad pointed out the constellations and taught me their names.
Jake’s hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present. “Is that the well over there?” he asked.
I nodded. It stood fifty yards to the east of the fallen timbers. It was an old-fashioned well, made from rocks also, probably taken from the same source as those used in the cabin’s fireplace. Weeds had grown up, but by standing almost on top if it, you could see down into its depths. Was there water down there? I grabbed one of the smaller stones on the ground nearby and tossed it in. A second later it made a lovely splash.
“You’ll have to sink a pipe down there and put in a pump, but it sounds like water to me,” said Rafe. He seemed almost as excited by this find as I was.
“So why did you stop using it?” asked Jake.
“We never did use it. This property wasn’t part of the original parcel purchased by my dad. He bought this one several years later. I think this well provided water for the cabin. Dad planned to renovate it and move in here when he retired. He never got to that,” I said. I turned away from the men so that they couldn’t see my eyes fill with tears.
“Any ideas about how you’re going to get this water to your barn?” asked Jake, who looked skeptical about the project. “If you run a pipe out of here, you’ll need to cross the glen, the ridge we hiked over, and then run it down the side of the hill to your barn. That’s a lot of piping.”
I felt depression settle in on my shoulders. What was I thinking? I’d never find money for all that pipe.
Rafe turned about in a circle, perusing the small valley we were in and the ridge the pipe would have to cross.
“She won’t need pipe. I can get my water truck up here with little trouble, that is, if Michael will let me cross his property. Otherwise, I’d have to run around behind his place and mine and use the logging trail to the west.”
A Deadly Draught Page 13