“What?” Feeling like I might drop, I fell back onto the chair.
“It’s true. He was buying up all that land, but not to re-rent the places back to the tenants. He was going to sell it for a casino.” The expression in Adam’s eyes changed from hesitant to excited. “Those people would have been booted out of their homes.”
Mine remained wary. “How did you find this out?”
“On my way back home after our lunch, I got to thinking about what you said about the Leever thing seeming suspicious. And Picklemann was involved, so I asked Frankie to check into it. He has access to records and people you could never get to. If it turned out to be nothing, then I could forget about it. If Frankie found something suspicious, then I would have to risk telling you about it, even if you never talked to me again.”
Maybe his betrayal wasn’t as bad as I first thought. “So you didn’t hire Frankie to take over the investigation? Just to check out Leever?”
“Well, and one other thing. I asked him to look into Picklemann’s finances. He’s working on that right now.”
“But you said—”
He held up a hand. “No way you could get that kind of information, and it could be important.”
“And that’s it. You stopped there, and you’ll never do anything remotely like this again without talking to me first?”
“Exactly.” He forced a tiny smile to his lips, the scar moving a mere fraction.
I looked at him. Really looked at the man I thought I might be interested in. His eyes neared panic level, and his hands twisted. Could I let him take this one little step? Could I trust him not to dig deeper?
He must have sensed me wavering as he smiled like a little boy pleading for something from his mother, and my resolve to end our budding relationship faded.
I was thirty-four years old. If I ever wanted to enter into a relationship that lasted more than a week, I would have to figure out how to let people who cared about me help with my problems.
And, more to the point in my life right now, I was also going to have to track Charlie down first thing in the morning for sure. Between what Walt told me and what Adam just said, if this was the secret Charlie threatened to expose, he had full motive to stop Bud, any way he could.
Chapter Twenty
“This is Harly Davison, your host of KALM’s exciting new show, Wacky World of Motorcycles, asking you to join me on Friday at nine o’clock, when I’ll be broadcasting a special show live at Pickle Fest. And for those gardening fans who’ll miss the regularly scheduled Through the Garden Gate, I say, “quit wasting your time digging in the dirt and get a Hog to do it for you.”
As much as I wanted to talk to Charlie, in all the commotion the night before, I forgot to set my alarm and had to rush to arrive at the station on time. With my truck at the shop, I jogged down Main Street, grooming my hair as I went. I was a mess, but the show was moving along just fine. Not one wacko had phoned, and even if one had, my rejuvenated Lisa would have kept him at bay.
Her usual little finger to her mouth, a silly I-love-my-husband grin in place, and her thumb to her ear, signaled the next caller was on the line.
“You’re on Through The Garden Gate with Paige Turner, caller,” I said, catching Lisa’s enthusiasm and concentrating it into my voice.
“This is Weed Whacker, and this will be my last time calling you.” Her tone bordered on bitter and accusing.
What did my parents tell me about things that were too good to be true? I should have known a normal show was too much to expect. “What’s wrong, Weed Whacker? You sound upset.”
“I am upset. I followed your advice, and what did I get from it? My life falls apart all around me.”
I could certainly sympathize with her as my life was disintegrating, too, but I would never admit that on the air. Her problem was another story. She’d called, so I felt no guilt in prying. “Is everything all right with your husband?”
“No it’s not, and it’s all your fault.”
She did it. She killed him, and it was my fault. “Oh dear, what happened?”
“Remember I told you I was digging that big hole?”
“Yes, a hole that required a backhoe,” I clarified for the listeners, and unfortunately clarified in my own mind that we could be talking about a grave here.
“I did just like you said. I rented the stupid backhoe and made the hole six feet deep. Well, Earl is a sleepwalker, and the night after I finished digging, he wandered into the garden and fell into the hole. He broke his leg and spent the whole night calling for me. I didn’t find him until the morning. He was good and mad. Said he had plenty of time to think about things. When I pulled him out, he was convinced that I had no real gardening purpose for such a big hole. That I planned to kill him and bury him there. Have you ever heard such a crazy idea?”
I cut a sheepish look at Lisa, whose eyes were as wide as mine must have been. “In Earl’s defense, I can see how he might think that.”
“I can’t, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He said I’ve become obsessed with gardening. Let it take over my love for him, and he’s gonna leave me.” She sighed, and her emotions ripped through me.
I wasn’t responsible for her murdering Earl, but I had somehow been responsible for ending a marriage. I had to find out how. “So, Weed Whacker, I have to ask. Why did you need to dig such a big hole, anyway?”
“I was just following the notes I took from your show on planting lily bulbs.” Her surprised tone took me aback.
Eyes furrowed, I looked at Lisa again, and we both shrugged. As Alice said, this was getting “curiouser and curiouser”. “I think you might be a little confused. I would never suggest digging a hole that deep to plant lilies.”
“You did. It’s right here in my notes. Word for word. Dig a trench—remember you said it’s easier to lay out bulbs in a trench if you have a lot of them to plant?—and dig a hole six feet deep to be sure the bulbs are buried at the optimum depth.”
“Wait, Weed Whacker, hold on. I think you made a mistake when you took notes. I said six inches deep, not six feet.”
“Oh. . .well. . .I guess that makes more sense.” She sighed, sending her pain whispering over the airwaves. “No wonder Earl didn’t believe me.”
“Listen, Weed Whacker, if it would help get you and Earl back together, please have him call me, and I’ll explain about the hole.”
After I disconnected, Lisa and I shared a grin that I had to fight from turning into peals of laughter. I no longer felt any responsibility for Weed Whacker’s marriage fiasco, and even though I seriously hoped Earl didn’t call me, if he did, I would do my best to convince him to go home to his wacky wife. Perhaps I’d even suggest he listen to the show with her in the future so she didn’t make another life-altering mistake.
And speaking of life altering, I left Lisa the moment we went off the air and rushed off to find Charlie. As it turned out, I didn’t have to search for him. He and I literally bumped into each other as I ran around the corner of Oak and Main. Happy for the collision, I stepped back and smiled. “Good morning, Charlie.”
“Paige,” Charlie grunted and moved to push past me.
Wait, what? He couldn’t leave so fast.
“Was the fact that Bud owned Leever the secret you mentioned in the park?” I blurted out without much thought.
His saggy eyelids tightened as his eyes grew to the size of headlights on the big SUV parked at the curb. “Picklemann owned Leever?” His mouth dropped open.
So what if Charlie seemed like he didn’t know about Leever. I wouldn’t stop. I needed one single clue to pan out. Oh, how I needed one. “Come on, Charlie. Fess up. You knew Bud owned Leever.”
He searched my eyes for a moment. “I don’t appreciate the way you keep trying to make me out to be a killer. I will say that I had no idea Picklemann was up to something with the land deal.”
“You fought him on it. You had to know.”
“Look at me, Paige.” He held his hands out, p
alms up. “I’m an old man. Too old to change. I’d never let anybody own my house and by virtue of that, own me.”
His voice was solid and sure. Even if I hooked him up to a lie detector machine, he couldn’t be any more honest. Too bad he didn’t lie. The thought of connecting Charlie, who wouldn’t ever give me a straight answer, to a machine with current running through it, was appealing. Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally tell me the truth without mechanical means. “If this wasn’t the secret, then what was?”
He folded chubby arms across a wide chest. “Tell me about Leever.”
I sighed and considered my options. If I told him about Leever, he might feel obligated to share his news with me. It was worth the risk. All through my telling he kept shaking his head, and his face grew so angry and rigid that I was afraid he might have a heart attack or stroke.
Before another man died this week and left me holding the bag, I said, “Okay, so I told you what I know. Now you tell me your secret.”
He shook his head and took a step away. “Told Lawson. He’s the only one who needs to know.”
Man! This guy must never have gone to preschool or kindergarten. He didn’t have a clue how to share.
“Please, Charlie, answer one question for me,” I called out, stopping him.
He turned, and his face had cleared.
So we would not be overheard, I closed the distance between us. “You won’t tell me what the secret is, and I guess I have to respect that. If you told Mitch about it, you must believe this secret has something to do with Bud’s murder. Do you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Just answered Lawson’s questions about my visit to the park with you and Picklemann, and my argument with Rachel later in the morning.”
“So you and Rachel fought about this secret?”
He gave a clipped nod.
“You said you didn’t think the secret had anything to do with the murder. Have you changed your mind?”
“Don’t know. I need to think about what you told me about Leever and see if it changes things.”
“And then you’ll tell me?”
He groaned. “We’ve been all through this, Paige. It’s none of your business.” He turned and marched off.
I set out for The Garden Gate. I needed to know what Charlie was protecting, and there was no way Mitch would tell me what it was. I was sunk on that front. I could only wait and hope Charlie rethought his loyalty to the person he promised to keep the secret for.
Heart slightly downtrodden, I gave myself a pep talk. I would not succumb to pity this early in the morning. I still had one ace up my sleeve. The reporter. I guess he was more like a joker at this point, but he could turn into an ace. I hoped for a king at the very least. And who knew, I might learn something more about Stacey that would give me reason to move her up on my suspect list from possible to viable.
Rounding the corner, my cell chirped with a text message. I pulled out the phone and scrolled down the screen. My appointment with Mitch was set for five thirty. Adam would meet me at the police station. I had a whole day to prepare snarky comebacks to what I imagined Mitch might say.
I entered the shop and spotted stacks of containers near the counter. My intuition told me things were coming to a head on the investigation, and I wanted nothing more than to run off to the newspaper office to follow up on the reporter, but I couldn’t. Not yet. I had to think positively. Keep believing I wouldn’t go to jail, and that meant working at The Garden Gate to keep it running. When the workload here lifted, I’d go.
Between dealing with the customer traffic that always picked up on Thursdays and creating the luscious containers for the Pickle Fest, Hazel, Teri, and I spent the full day rushing around the shop. Now, nearly five p.m. and closing time at the Serendipity Times, I shuffled through the stacks of papers on my desk until I located an advertising bill and my checkbook. I didn’t want another day to pass before I investigated Zac Young, and I had just enough time before I met with Adam and Mitch to do so.
I rushed out the back door and headed straight for the newspaper office. I hurried down the street, clutching the checkbook and bill as if they were the lifeline I so needed. I don’t know what I’d do if this turned out to be another dead end.
At the door, out of breath and excited to hear good news, I paused.
Deep breaths. Calm down, Paige. Won’t do you any good to let the wily reporter see you like this.
When my heart returned to normal, and I was sure I could control my voice, I pushed through the door and into the shop. The strong scent of newsprint and ink permeated the disorganized space. I worked my way through piles of old newspapers and haphazard stacks of boxes. A long wooden counter stained with ink ran the width of the shop. Behind it sat Jack, the paper’s editor and one of my mom’s dearest friends. His fingers clicked away on a keyboard, and his focus was riveted on a computer monitor.
“Hey, Jack,” I said with a genuine smile for an old friend. “I’ve come to pay my bill.”
“Paige, good to see you.” He smiled, and his face looked like a road map with all the deep lines running through it. “How are you holding up?”
“Okay, I guess.” I laid the bill and checkbook on the counter and scribbled the amount due on the check. “Say, Jack,” I said in an offhand manner, “I was reading old council minutes at the library and saw a bunch of articles by a Zac Young. He work for you?”
Jack came to my end of the counter, planted his elbows, and leaned forward. “Sure enough. He was a smart young man. Ambitious, too. Started working for me right out of college. Said he wanted to learn the newspaper business from the ground up and no better place to do it than in a small shop like mine. He did some fine work here. Was sorry to lose him.”
I ripped out the check and flipped the register pages until I located a blank line. “I heard he left for the bright lights of the big city.”
“You heard right. The really big one. New York.” Jack’s tone bordered on awestruck. “Works for the Post covering business news. I see his byline quite often. Sends me a fruit basket every Christmas.”
Trying to keep from getting excited over the possibility that Jack knew how to contact Zac, I slowly wrote the amount in the register and said, “Sounds like the two of you were pretty close.”
“Sort of thought of him as a son. That’s why, when he up and left unexpectedly, I made sure we kept in touch.”
I closed the checkbook and looked at Jack. “Unexpectedly, huh?”
“That’s right.” Jack fanned the check as his eyes turned dreamy. “I remember the day like it was yesterday, except it was a Tuesday. Zac attended the monthly council meeting the night before and stopped by late in the afternoon to give me the copy. Said he didn’t have another job yet, but he’d made the decision to move on. Surprised me. He never mentioned wanting to leave until he quit. Gave me two weeks and then took off for New York. He musta saved most of his pay when he lived here, ’cause he didn’t get a job in New York for almost a year. Of course I don’t know what kind of place he was living in. Still, it costs a lot to live in the city.”
Hmm, left right after a council meeting. Perhaps the one where Nancy Kimble attacked Bud. Had enough money to live in New York for a year. I definitely needed to talk to the lad. “You know how I can get a hold of him?”
“Well, sure.” He grabbed a notepad and wrote down Zac’s contact info. “Why all the interest in Zac?”
“Like I said, I’m trying to find out who killed Bud. I figure if I talk to everyone who came in contact with him, I’m bound to find a lead.”
“Zac’s been gone for over ten years now. How could he have anything to do with Picklemann’s murder?”
My first instinct was to share the information I’d learned about Fulcrum and Leever. Jack was a good friend of my mom’s, and I was pretty sure he’d keep it quiet. “Pretty” was the operative word here. I wasn’t 100 percent certain of his silence, so I had to keep mum. “Oh, I don’t think he had a thing to do with the murder.
Just might give me some background information about how Bud related to the council members.”
“You think one of the council members did Picklemann in?”
“I don’t know, Jack. Could be anyone around here. Could be you for all I know.”
He erupted with a crackly and gruff laugh. “You’ve always been such a kidder, Paige. I wish your mom could have lived to see how you turned out. She’d be proud for sure.”
Wishing my mom were here, too, I left Jack with a hug and a promise to come to his house for dinner real soon. Neither of us acknowledged the heavy thought that hung in the air. . .if I didn’t go to jail. And if I didn’t want to go to jail for failing to follow Mitch’s demands, I best head over to the station for my appointment.
As I walked in the cooling night air, I dialed Zac’s number only to get voice mail. I left an urgent message and made sure I had plenty of charge left on my phone in case he called back soon. Stowing the phone, I pushed into the police station.
An officer who looked like he wasn’t old enough to shave sat behind the desk that a receptionist manned during regular business hours. I walked up, leaned over the counter, and read his name badge. “Officer Riley, I’m here to—”
“I know why you’re here. Take a seat. Someone will be out for you.”
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not talking to Mitch until my attorney gets here.”
He shrugged and swiveled his chair. “Paige Turner’s here,” he called into a microphone on the desk.
Lamenting the fact that Mitch’s bad manners appeared to be contagious among his men, I sat in a faded armchair next to a table holding a wilting pothos. They sure didn’t care for their plants here. If I survived this whole ordeal, I would offer to stop by weekly and tend to them. That might be too late for this parched baby. She needed an infusion of water quick. Barring a call to 911, what could I do? I heard a gurgle and remembered a water dispenser sat just behind the reception desk.
Only my love of plants would send me back to talk to the officer. “Can I get a glass of water?” I asked him.
Nipped in the Bud Page 18