“Look.”
Cooper followed Harry’s forefinger to a figure in the corner of the display room, among ghosts, more pumpkins, and little goblins popping out of the pumpkins.
“Jesus.” The officer whistled.
In the middle of this lively display was a scarecrow with a drab undershirt, old pants with a rope belt, worn-out work boots, the sole separating from the left one. A straw hat topped it off. An exact replica of Joshua Hill.
Squares of fabric and seed catalogues littered Cooper’s desk at police headquarters. Peering at her computer screen, she scanned a list of clothing manufacturers.
Eyes watering, she clicked off her computer, got up, stretched, and went outside. She tapped out a long coffin nail, lit it, watched the sky shift colors.
Sometimes taking a smoke break cleared her mind. Along with an increased chance of lung cancer, she’d get better ideas. After a few thoughtful minutes, she ground out the stub, walked back in, tidied up her desk, and left for the day. She’d worked overtime this Tuesday but didn’t mind.
Driving home, she noticed the last of the day birds returning to their nests. A few bats were already out and about. She liked bats; they kept the bug population down.
Thinking about bugs and pests snapped Coop back to this strange scarecrow case. After Harry had pointed out the unsettling look-alike dummy, Coop had sent her on her way, then had gone to the store’s office and asked to see their display person. In Coop’s mother’s day, that individual would have been called a window dresser regardless of what part of the store they decorated.
The display person was named Melinda and the young lady worked in the store full-time. Well groomed, well spoken, she was well dressed, good-looking.
Cooper was good at relaxing people. She sat the light-blonde-haired woman down in the middle of one of her own displays. After a bit of chitchat, she asked Melinda about the scarecrow.
“Don’t you love the boots?” she gushed. “They aren’t as easy to find as you might think and …” She trailed off. “Sorry. I get enthusiastic about these things.”
“No, no, that’s fine. But did you work with anyone else on that particular display?”
“No. I do all the work here in Number 9. The guys help me move the furniture but that’s it. Actually, I like that I can let my imagination go.”
“Would you have any way of knowing if someone asked specifically about that scarecrow?”
“No. No one asked me, but, Officer Cooper, there’s a great volume of foot traffic through these warehouses, especially on the weekends. People come from all over Virginia, even from out of state. Lots of volume.”
“Did you have any particular inspiration for the clothing?”
The young lady thought for a moment. “No. I mean, just the scarecrows I saw as a child.” She grinned. “Can’t be a scarecrow without a big straw hat.”
“Would you mind giving me a list of where you bought the pants, the shirt, the boots, and the hat?”
“Not at all. If you wait a minute, I can print it out for you.” Melinda hurried to her office, returning to Cooper in ten minutes, just enough time for the deputy to see an end table she wanted.
“Thank you,” Cooper said as she quickly perused the list Melinda had given her. “I guess anyone could buy this clothing.”
“That’s the idea.” Melinda smiled.
Cooper smiled back. “I won’t take up much more of your time. Did you know Joshua Hill?”
“No.”
“Do you live in Farmville?”
“No. I live on the eastern edge of Buckingham County and drive in. I’d like to move down here when I can afford it. May I ask you a question? What’s this about?”
“Friday, October 11, Josh Hill, who had an accounting business near here, was murdered in Albemarle County. His dead body was found on Saturday. It was a big football weekend. Didn’t make the front page of the papers until Monday.”
“That’s horrible.”
“He was dressed just like your scarecrow here.”
Melinda’s eyes popped. “How awful.”
“Well, yes, but it must have been a lot of work to dress him up, I would think.”
Melinda paused. “The straw man took me about an hour to get all the clothes on, then make a head, paint on features. He’s not exactly scary or gruesome. I mean, a scarecrow isn’t, but I think a human one would be awful. I wish I could help you, but anyone could have come in and seen my scarecrow, and the clothing isn’t unique or anything.”
“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time.” Cooper handed her her card. “If you should think of something or if someone as to come in here and seem really focused on your display, let me know.”
“I will.”
Later, Cooper replayed that conversation. She felt the young woman was telling the truth. It had been a shot in the dark, but that’s what she did. Lots of shots in the dark, lots of scraps of paper, old receipts, chewing gum wrappers, computer records, if she could get them. The endless gathering of data, most of it useless. But it only takes one perfect clue to point you in the right direction.
After being sent home, Harry drove leisurely through Dillwyn, then west through Scottsville on Route 6. At Route 151 she turned right, right again on Route 250 to head home to Crozet. The late afternoon sun’s magical light enhanced every field and stone wall, even those raggedy few gas stations on the way.
Tuesday, October 15, was just a gorgeous day, the kind that makes one forget the suffocating heat of summer or the soon-to-come frigid winter days.
Hester Martin’s stand stood up ahead, decorated even more lavishly than usual. Two farm trucks were unloading produce and there stood Hester, in witch’s costume, directing the men. Next to Hester a well-groomed black mini schnauzer kept an eye on the men.
Laughing, Harry parked in the lot.
“Woo woo,” Harry called out as she got out of the car.
Hester turned and picked up her broom, to shake at her.
The deliveryman closest to Hester ducked.
“Olin, don’t you dare drop one apple,” she admonished the man.
Jake, in the bed of his truck, leaned over with another wooden crate of plump green apples. “You fly with that broom, Hester?”
“I’ve got my pilot’s license,” she sassed. Then, to Harry, she said, “Girl, you just go on and pick out whatever you want. I can’t leave these boys for one minute. They need constant supervision. Heidi is helping.” Hester indicated the schnauzer. “She belongs to my old friend Cindy Walters, who’s around here somewhere.”
Jake rolled his eyes, saying nothing.
The other fellow on the ground, Greg Perez, carefully carried pumpkins to a pile he was building. No point in having Hester cuss him out, plus she might give him a big tip.
Inside the other truck, his partner, Stafford Schikel, groaned as he lifted another major pumpkin. “Hester, these are the best pumpkins you’ve ever seen.”
“Big,” she replied simply. “Did you cheat and put grow dust on them?”
“No. You know we do everything organic. We lose a lot to worms, birds, and rats because of it and you.” He grinned. “You only buy organic.”
“You charge me enough.” She hadn’t put her broom back.
“You want organic pumpkins, you pay.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She pushed her pointed hat a bit to the side. “You know I go by your fields, I get out and smell everything. I run my fingers over the skins.”
“We know.”
She’d told them this ad infinitum.
Olin picked up another apple crate and asked, “Ever find anything?”
“Not at either of your farms, but let us never forget the owner of the organic store in Charlottesville who got busted for lying. His stuff was no different than Food Lion’s.”
Greg couldn’t help but tweak her. “Food Lion is a good company, and, Hester, not everybody can afford organic produce. It is more expensive.”
“You are what you eat,�
� she forcefully replied. “If you care about your body, you eat right. No processed foods. No foods that have suffered chemical sprays. That’s that.”
Harry joined the conversation. “Well, I am eating this fresh lettuce and I will buy one of your super pumpkins. Think I’ll make a big jack-o’-lantern.” She smiled.
“Fellas, excuse me.” Hester walked back inside to the cash register.
Lolly Currie quickly put down her e-book reader.
“Now, girl,” said Hester to Harry, “it’s time to buy those hayride tickets.” Hester reached next to the old cash register as Lolly slipped out two large glossy tickets decorated with an illustration of goblins riding on a hay wagon drawn by spectral horses. “Two?” Hester asked.
Lolly piped up: “We have lots.”
“I bought my tickets,” Harry reminded Hester, “but I’ll see if I can sell some.”
“Hmm. So you did.”
“Shameless.” Cindy Walters laughed as she pointed her forefinger at Hester. “You’ll chain people to the pumpkin stand before you’ll let them go without a ticket.”
“Well.” Hester blushed, then introduced Cindy. “Harry, this is Cindy Walters from Florida and this little tyke is Heidi.”
“Hello.” The schnauzer barked.
“We met at an environmental conference years ago. Been friends ever since.” Cindy checked the clock on the wall. “I’d better push off.”
“Oh, stay the night,” Hester offered.
“If I get into North Carolina I can make Florida the next day.”
“Wait! You can’t go without buying a Halloween Hayride ticket.”
“And I want to buy your best pumpkin,” Harry quickly interjected.
“I’ll have Greg pick out the biggest and put it in your station wagon. How’s the mileage on that?”
“Good,” said Harry. “Of course, newer cars get even better.”
“Save where you can so you can help the library.” She grinned. “Our two-year book fund is $175,000.”
Harry laughed. “Hester, you’re relentless.”
She nodded. “I know, but this is critical to not just Crozet but the western part of the county. For years Crozet was always the weak sister, but we’re coming up. This library means a lot. Mike Marshall, the Crozet reporter, is coming on the hayride. You know he’ll write about Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. Cindy, don’t you dare walk out of here without a ticket.”
Mike Marshall was the editor and publisher of the Crozet Gazette, so if he covered it, it was news.
“Hester, I’m touched that you remember my cats’ and dog’s names.”
“Family.” She exited with Harry. “Greg, pick the biggest and prettiest pumpkin for Harry.”
“You bet.”
Cindy walked with them, ticket in her hand.
Just then Buddy Janss pulled up front, crates of late sweet corn in the back of his well-used pickup. A minute later, he walked toward them.
Hester turned to Buddy and fired away: “How many acres of late-maturing sweet corn did you plant?”
“Just like I told you last week and the week before, I planted two hundred acres. And those cool September nights just make the late sweet corn taste like candy. I harvest it twenty days after the first silks appear, I put it in huge tanks of ice water, and I bring it to you.”
“Mmm?” She raised her carefully plucked eyebrows. “Long, long summer. You were smart to plant so late.”
“Well, I planted corn every two weeks throughout the summer, but I waited extra long for the Silver Queen. Read my Farmers’ Almanac. Better than the National Weather Service.” He grinned, revealing a slight gap between his front teeth, as he winked at Harry.
“Odd, isn’t it?” Harry agreed. “I find the same thing and I read it every morning.”
A few cars rolled by. One turned in, lured by the display.
“A new customer.” Hester beamed as she walked over to welcome the young man.
Buddy shook his head, smiling. “She asks me the same thing again and again.”
“Yep.” Harry crossed her arms over her chest. “If there’s one tiny deviation in your story or one of mine from one week to the other, she’s like a chicken after a grub.”
“Just her way.” He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Some people can’t fully trust,” said Harry. “They can like you but they can’t accept what you tell them. They have to see it for themselves or check and double-check, just like Hester. Buddy, can you imagine how exhausting that is?”
“Never thought about it.”
“Means you can’t learn from other people, your world becomes very narrow. I guess I thought about it as a kid because I had a great-uncle like that. After all these years, I now believe that trust is the bedrock of a community and it’s the only way we can progress. Each of us doesn’t have to invent the wheel.”
“Harry, how do you think of this stuff?” He took off his ball cap, revealing tightly curled jet-black hair.
“On my tractor. Bouncing along jogs my brain.”
He chuckled. “I’m on my tractor more than you, and I think about how dry the soil is, what is the soil temperature, should I check it, and what’s the chance of rain.”
“Yeah, but your tractor is like a Rolls-Royce. Doesn’t bounce.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it while they both had a laugh.
Hester returned just as Tazio Chappars drove onto the crushed-stone parking lot. Brinkley, her yellow Lab, sat in the car, with the windows rolled down.
Tazio, now in her early thirties, became more lovely with each year. Harry liked her very much but had to wonder what her secret was: great bone structure or an unerring fashion sense? Whatever it was, Harry felt she didn’t have it, but she muddled along and in extremis would smack a full coat of makeup on her face. Fortunately, she, too, had good bone structure.
“Taz!” Harry waved as the gorgeous architect walked in. “It is true! Hester attracts the best people.”
Under his breath, Buddy muttered, “And the most beautiful.”
“Why, thank you, Buddy.” Harry punched him lightly in the stomach.
“Violence! No violence at my stand.” Hester joined in the fun.
“You look happy,” Harry remarked to Taz.
“I just got the green light to redesign the Western Albemarle High School library.” As she looked Hester’s way, Tazio’s gorgeous features displayed the beauty of her African Italian heritage. “And I thank you for that,” she said.
The older lady smiled. “I didn’t do a thing.”
“Yes, you did. You fought for me to work on the new Crozet Library, and what a difference that has made in my career. I thought I’d be knocking out development houses forever and then I prayed I would be once the crash came. I can never repay you, Hester.”
“Sure you can. Buy a pumpkin.”
The neighbors and friends laughed, and Brinkley barked from the car, which set off Tucker in the Volvo.
More cars pulled in.
“Wow. Big day,” Harry noted.
“I’d better go inside and help out Lolly at the cash register,” Hester said. “She’s easily overwhelmed.”
With a pumpkin in the back of the Volvo, Harry smiled all the way home. She glanced in her rearview mirror to see Hester still talking to Cindy and Heidi. Obviously, the good woman hadn’t made it back into her store nor could Cindy get in her car.
Later that evening, Cooper turned in to the driveway to Harry’s farm. The lights were still on. She stopped her SUV at the barn just as Tucker rushed out to greet her. Both Harry’s station wagon and Fair’s truck were parked by the barn.
As Tucker accompanied her, she opened the screened porch door, then knocked on the kitchen door.
Within a minute, Fair, smiling, opened the door. “Hello, neighbor.”
“Hi, Fair. Forgive me for not calling first.”
“Are you just coming home from work?”
“Long day, but you know all about long days.”
He nodded. “Madam is in the living room and I’m on my way to the barn, if you need me.”
Cooper entered the simple well-proportioned room with high ceilings. The fireplace gave off an inviting scent: burning pear-wood. The cats lounged on the back of the sofa.
Harry, board on her lap, was drawing.
Setting that aside on the coffee table, she asked, “Are you still mad at me?”
“No. I got over being mad at you when you showed me the scarecrow at Number 9.”
“Any luck?”
The taller woman shrugged. “No, but I didn’t expect the decorator to come at me with a meat-ax. She was quite nice, actually.”
“Isn’t that weird? I mean, the exact outfit.”
“Yes, it is.”
“So what’s next?”
“Tracking down clients. Rick questioned everyone at Morrowdale the day you and Fair found the body on their property. They were horrified, but no one had driven out that way, so they hadn’t seen it. Everyone on the farm was questioned.” She sat down across from her friend.
“You have a lot of patience,” Harry complimented her. “You’re dogged and determined.”
“I have to be. I live next to you.”
Harry laughed. “Hey, look at my little garden drawing. Maybe I’ll get it right this time.”
“You taught me to plan my garden in the fall or winter, and so I have. Along with trying to focus on this case, I’m going through the possibilities.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“With my garden, I can always use your help. With the case, I live in fear.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“Yes, you are,” Mrs. Murphy said.
“Let’s say you have a way of stumbling onto things like the Number 9 scarecrow today,” said Coop. “What if the killer had been the decorator? Or someone in there observed you studying the scarecrow? Someone involved in this murder. You can’t take chances like that.”
Harry didn’t reply.
“Harry?”
“I know you’re right.”
“Knowing Cooper is right doesn’t mean she’ll stop,” said Pewter.
The Litter of the Law Page 4