A Deadly Draught

by Lesley A. Diehl

  A good plan, but I’d have to offer Michael some concession with respect to water, or he wouldn’t go for it. Rafe could read my thoughts. “We’ll both talk to Michael. The three of us can work out something—your water, my trucks, Michael’s property. We all have something to gain.”

  “Tell that to Stanley,” I said.

  “She’ll have to get someone up here to do the work for her,” said Jake.

  “I have just the man for you. Bernie,” replied Rafe.

  “Bernie! Why him?” I asked. I remembered serving as his reluctant hostess the night he broke into my place, and I wasn’t eager to have him on my property again.

  “He can do all kinds of work. Handiest man I’ve ever met. With your permission, I’ll have him come up here tomorrow and take a look at the project,” Rafe said. I nodded my consent. I wasn’t happy Bernie would be doing the work, but who else knew how to set the pipe and install a pump? Who else that I could afford, that is.

  “Sounds like you know Bernie well,” said Jake. Rafe looked uncomfortable for a moment, then let out a long sigh.

  “I know you’ve been wondering about Bernie and me since I hired him after he broke into Hera’s place, but he’s not such a bad fellow. I knew him when I was working on the Continent, Germany, to be exact. He was one of the assistants in a small brewery where I was the brew master. It was located in Cuxhaven on the North Sea. A jack-of-all-trades, master of most, he was. Now he’s a bit down on his luck, so I offered him a job until he can get on his feet again.”

  “I guess picking locks is one of his specialties,” said Jake.

  “I expect it is, but he’s very contrite about that, you know. He was desperate. Came here knowing no one, recognized my name, and wanted to get in touch with me. I’m sorry he frightened you,” Rafe said to me. “He’s not big on manners.”

  “It wasn’t bad manners that got him arrested,” Jake reminded him. “It was breaking and entering. When he comes before the judge, and that’ll be soon, he’ll have to spend a few days in the county jail, unless …“

  I thought Jake was going to say “unless you vouch for his integrity,” but instead, he said, “unless I find out he has a record, and I suspect he does. Then we’re talking prison.”

  “Minor things back on the Continent and in England, only minor things.” Rafe seemed eager to assure us that Bernie was a humble working man down on his luck, but I thought he was acting very uncomfortable with the idea of Jake looking too closely at Bernie Fisher’s past.

  Our hike back to my place was like the one up to the well, filled with silence.

  *

  I called Michael that evening, and he sounded as if I were the last person with whom he wanted to talk. When I told him Rafe and I had a proposition for him about water, he lightened his tone. Then, of course, he spoiled everything by suggesting that Stanley be in on the conversation. We arranged to meet later in the evening at his place. Meanwhile I had my homework to do, finding Francine and Sally and having some girl talk with them.

  First, I stopped at Francine’s place. It was on my way into town, where I knew I would find Sally at her bakery. Marsh greeted me as I got out of my truck and told me Francine was out in the supply barn.

  “Looks as if you’re making real progress at fixing this place up,” I said to Marsh. All of the outbuildings had been painted red with white trim, and a new weather vane sat on top of the cupola of the brew barn. “It’s looking good. How’s the set-up coming for the brewery?”

  “Slow. We just got in our fermenter yesterday, and the mash tun is due to arrive this week sometime. We won’t be up and operating until the beginning of July, if then. But we’re getting there, unless another cow decides to visit the barn.” He laughed, and I joined in.

  “The winery is going strong, I guess. Having tours and tastings on Saturdays, then?”

  “Yup. Francine isn’t certain whether she wants to distribute or remain small and sell from here.”

  I wished them the best of luck, but I was still grateful that Francine had no use for that bottler, and she wasn’t in the business of making beer yet. I didn’t need the competition right now.

  “Go on into the barn. I’ve got her slinging some sacks around. Do the woman good. She needs to understand just how much manual labor is involved in a place like this.”

  “Hera!” she called to me when I entered the barn. “Good, now I’ve got a chance to take a break.” Sweat rolled down her face. She had rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, and perspiration caused sheen on her forearms. Her damp shirt clung to her ample breasts.

  “I sure wish I had your build. You look like you could play catch with these bags.” Francine plopped her rounded body onto a bag of malt and pushed damp strands of her thick auburn hair away from her face.

  “I’m not an Amazon, you know.”

  “No, but your height and those stringy muscles of yours must make it easier to do this work than these short arms and legs of mine, to say nothing of the extra pounds I’m carrying.”

  Those extra pounds were pretty attractive on her, I thought. She was all curves with the redhead’s complexion, pale and luminescent with peach cheeks, and coral lips.

  “It’s my own fault. I told Marsh when I hired him I wanted to learn the business from the ground up, and he’s not holding back on me. Don’t tell him, but I’m far less delicate than I look. When I lived at home, I helped out at my father’s winery in Spain. Of course, that was years ago, but I’ll get back into shape. Have a seat.” She patted a sack of grain next to hers and looked at me with curiosity.

  “What can I do for you? Not that I don’t welcome a visit from my brewing friends, but I suspect you have something on your mind other than a friendly chat.” Her brown eyes examined my face closely.

  So this wasn’t going to be a girly chat. She was too savvy for that. I might as well get to it.

  “How well do you know Michael?” I asked. The smile faded from her lips.

  “Who wants to know?” she asked.

  “I do.” Could she tell I was lying?

  “I don’t think so. You grew up with him. I think you’re on a fishing expedition for your deputy friend.”

  Now why would she think that, and how did she know Jake was my friend? “Look, I’m in a real bind. You’re right, I’m here running Jake’s agenda, but I have to find out all I can about it. The bank won’t loan me money so that I can stay in business, because Mr. Culler thinks I had something to do with the murder.” Only part of that was a lie.

  “You know Michael better than anyone around here. Do you think he had anything to do with his father’s murder?”

  “No, but …“

  “I don’t either. Tell your cop pal to look under another rock for his suspect. If we’re going to be friends, and I hope we will be friends, you can be up front with me. I know everyone around here, including Marsh, thinks I’m out of my element, just a rich, dumb, widow. I think you know better. I’d like to have you as a friend, Hera. I can use a woman to confide in. Just don’t lie to me anymore.” She patted my shoulder, and I took another look at her bare forearms. They were more muscular than I first thought. She arose and picked up a grain sack and tossed it onto the pile next to me. It missed me by several inches.

  “Pretty good, huh?” she said. She turned to pick up another one and prepared to send it my way. There was a smile on her face, but her eyes were alight with a fire that could as well have been anger as delight in demonstrating her strength. I had misjudged the woman. There was more to her than the wealthy widow she portrayed in social settings.

  Seventeen

  I’ve put this off long enough, I thought as I pulled my truck up in front of Sally’s store, turned off the engine, and sat there, reluctant to go in and confront her with questions I didn’t like asking.

  I hadn’t seen her since Saturday’s tasting, when small storms moved in and out of the valley, ruining our sales. She had been grouchy early in the day and snapped at me when I began talking
about the water shortage in the valley.

  “It’s just all about your problems, isn’t it?” she said, her face shiny with sweat and her eyes flat with barely suppressed anger. Then suddenly, she changed and apologized, saying she was working long hours, and the shop wasn’t doing well.

  “It’s okay, Honey. I am kind of into my own world lately,” I replied. We both smiled, and that was that. She was her usual perky self the rest of the day.

  Regardless of her mood today, I knew she would see right through me when I began to ask her questions. To Francine, whom I had known for only several months, I had appeared transparent. There was no chance I could slide into girl talk about the night of the murder without Sally calling me on it. Oh, God. I was no good at this sleuthing thing. I propped my arms on the steering wheel and put my head on them. A knock on the window made me jump.

  “Are you coming in to say hello, or are you just out for an afternoon of parking in front of my shop?” Sally wore a blue-and-white-checked apron with an appliqué on the bib that read Sally’s Tea Room and Bakery. Her face looked as welcoming as her homey costume.

  “Oh, so the aprons came in. That’s a nice, friendly look, the blue and the white.”

  “Don’t sit out here in the heat. Come on in, and I’ll treat you to some lavender scones I made earlier today. I’ve only got two left, so you’re in luck.” She opened the truck door and pulled me after her into the shop.

  “Good day, then?” I mentally crossed my fingers for her.

  “Great day. Everyone wants to get out of the heat. They take one look into my shop with its blue and white décor and think cool. See the sign?”

  She pointed to a large chalkboard that sat to one side of her door. Passers-by could clearly see what it said: Sally’s Way to Beat the Heat—your individual twenty-four ounce pitcher of iced tea and choice of a lavender or lemon scone.

  “I ran out of lemon scones about two hours ago. Here, try this.” She set a pastry on a willow-pattern plate, pushed me into a chair, and rushed out to the kitchen. When she returned, she carried a glass pitcher filled with an amber liquid in which pieces of ice floated. I bit into the scone as she poured me the tea. I took a sip. The liquid cooled my throat like breathing in on a cold winter’s day, but it did nothing to make my task any easier.

  She bounced into the chair opposite mine, like a kitten pouncing on its favorite ball, plopped her elbows on the table, and propped her head on them. Drops of perspiration on her forehead told me she’d had a busy day.

  “It was a good day. No, a great day.”

  “You said that. Look, I don’t mean to be a wet …” I began but was cut off when she jumped up to wait on customers who entered the door.

  “Back in a jiff.” She danced over to the next table, flashing her inviting smile at the four ladies who were seating themselves. “I’m out of the scones, but how would you like to try one of my lemon tarts? They’re wonderful with the iced tea, so light and fluffy. Just the kind of sweet delight for such a hot, hot day.”

  The girl was on a roll, bustling around with pitchers of iced tea and pastries balanced on her tray, recommending another confection when the women finished their lemon treat. The front door opened, and yet another set of customers, a family with two young children, entered the shop.

  “Sorry, Hera.” She sped by me with another full tray. “I’ll be right back.”

  I sat at my table for a while, watching the ice cubes melt in the pitcher of tea, and I determined that this was not a good time to talk with Sally. Not only was she busy, but I was losing my nerve for prying information out of her. Michael was, after all, a prickly subject, so why bring him up just to ruin her good mood? What could she possibly know that would have any bearing on the night of his father’s murder?

  I turned at the sound of the door closing and looked around the shop. All the customers had left, and Sally was turning the sign in the window from Open to Closed.

  “So what were you saying?” She picked a crumb of scone off my plate and touched it to her tongue. “They are good, aren’t they?” I nodded.

  “Okay, let me be straight with you. I’m helping Jake on his investigation.” I explained to her about the bank’s unwillingness to loan me money because of their concern I might be involved in the murder.

  “Okay. So how can I help you?”

  “Is there anything I should know about Michael that I don’t already know but you do?”

  A cloud seemed to pass over her sunny features. “Well, you are notorious for sticking your head in the sand when it comes to Michael, but I’m not the one to ask. Try Francine.”

  “Francine? I just came from her place. She didn’t seem to know anything.”

  “Maybe you didn’t ask her the right questions.” Sally dropped her eyes to the tabletop and drew her finger through the condensation left by the tea pitcher. I knew this would be hard for her. Finally, she lifted her eyes to meet mine.

  “You haven’t a clue, have you?”

  “What?”

  “Michael was sniffing around me at Christmas time, you know that. By Valentines’ Day, he was giving Cory chocolates and champagne. Come Easter, his car found parking spaces in two locations, in front of Cory’s house and in Francine’s chicken coop.”

  Francine? That just couldn’t be right. Francine was so much older than Michael and she was a widow. I mentally clapped myself on the forehead. Sally was right. I was so dumb.

  “You mean they’re, uh … sleeping together?”

  “That, I don’t know for certain, but rumor says when he visits, he comes late at night, and he hides his car in one of the barns.” All her former joyousness at the day seemed to have disappeared. She slumped in the chair and picked at the lace on her apron. I felt guilty for ruining her day, but my curiosity made me ignore my friend’s mood, and I pressed on.

  I was gnawing on an idea. Cory’s alibi for Michael seemed to break down when Jake questioned her. She could have been lying to Jake and me. Perhaps Michael had been with Francine that night.

  “When did this, uh, this relationship begin?” I asked.

  “This is just town talk, you know. I think I began to hear of it around the time of the murder. If you want to know more, ask Michael, why don’t you?” Her voice was beginning to take on a perturbed tone, and I knew I had pushed hard enough. She reached across the table for my plate and glass.

  “I need to wash these and ready this place for tomorrow.” She turned toward the back of the shop.

  “Listen, I’m sorry about all of this. I know you must still have feelings yet for Michael.“

  “Oh, don’t be such a ninny. It’s not about my feelings for Michael. It’s about me and what a jerk I was to have fallen for the guy in the first place, given what a satyr he is when it comes to women. I hate being reminded of how gullible I was. Why you continue to moon after that man, I’ll never know. I’m your best friend, and you see what he’s done to me. It’s a matter of character, Hera, and he’s got none.”

  “Cory must be furious,” was all I could think of to say without showing my idiocy.

  “She’s playing dumb about the matter.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she’s recently acquired another admirer of her own, one she believes is more capable of making big money. Stanley Frost.”

  This was all so confusing and contorted. It was probably irrelevant to the murder anyway, but I had to know all the details, even at the cost of upsetting our already shaky relationship.

  “Does Michael know about them?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just passing on what I hear when people come in here. You’d have to ask Michael. You see him more than I do.” She giggled nervously. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t recommend that, especially if he doesn’t know, or it’s just rumor.” She flapped the dishcloth she held in her hand in the air with a snap. “But it would serve him right.”

  “It would,” I agreed. So who was Michael with the night of his father’s murd
er? Cory, Francine, someone else? I stared out the window as Sally rushed around clearing off glasses, plates, and pitchers and wiping down tables. She turned to me with a tray full of dishes.

  “Where are you? You’re off in another world.” One hand supported the tray, the other rested on her hip.

  “Just thinking about Michael and that night. Who do you think he was with?”

  “He said he was with Cory.” She turned her back on me. I began to wonder if my questions about Michael were making her face memories she didn’t want to examine or something else was going on. She didn’t want to meet my eyes. She was hiding something. No time like the present to turn a friend into an enemy, so I plunged ahead with a crazy idea.

  “I don’t think so. I think he was here with you.”

  Sally set down the tray on the counter and walked over to my table. Tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her rosy cheeks, undeterred by the few freckles they encountered on their way toward her quivering chin.

  “I’m such a fool. I still care for him, but I think he killed his father.” She sank down into the chair across from me and buried her head in her apron. I got up and went around the table to her, leaning down and putting my arms around her shaking shoulders.

  “How long have you been carrying around this crazy idea?”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. It’s not a crazy idea. We talked that night.” She wiped her eyes on the apron as I returned to my chair. I gripped her hands in mine.

  “So he was here. Tell me. You’ll feel better.”

  But I was wrong. When she was finished with her tale, neither she nor I felt better. Once I’d called Jake to ask him to come to the bakery, I knew things might get a lot worse for both of my friends.

  *

  “He stopped by here around what time?” Jake sat at the table, his notepad in hand, eyes fixed on Sally’s face. He had arrived a mere ten minutes after I put in the call to him. By the time he walked through shop door, Sally had composed herself. I’d made her a quick cup of hot tea, and she was sipping it while she picked a bran muffin into a mountain of crumbles on the plate in front of her.