I stared at her. Her hair was artfully tangled and her outfit, including a bright rain-jacket, was color-coded. Teal blue, this time. She had gone home from the farm and changed clothes.
"Where are we going?" She whipped out her lip gloss.
"Aho's. I want a decent sandwich."
"Is that private?"
I glanced at my watch. "It will be by the time we get there."
Aho's is the best bakery on the Peninsula. It ought to be downtown, but the owners opted for a boring mall on the edge of Kayport. I drove to the mall, and we went in. Carol wanted a cup of cappuccino. I ordered turkey on whole meal dill and a hazelnut latte. There were only three booths. As we sat, the four businessmen occupying the booth nearest the display case rose and crowded around the cash register. We watched them leave. Apart from Carol and me, they were the last customers.
Larry Aho, the baker, retreated to make my sandwich and left us alone with our coffee.
"Okay," I said. "Out with it."
Carol took a sip of cappuccino. "You're married to a cop, right? I mean, Professor Dodge, he's working with the police."
I explained that Lisa Colman was the detective in charge of the murder investigation and that Dale Nelson was doing most of the field work.
"Yeah, but your husband--"
"Jay is a reserve deputy, and the sheriff's department sometimes hires him as a consultant."
She looked blank, so I went on, searching for short words, "He's not doing anything official on this case, because the Dean wants him to keep an eye on you and the other students, in case you need help."
"Cool." She looked relieved.
"Do you?" I prompted. "Need help, I mean."
"Uh, yeah--"
"Turkey on dill."
I got up and retrieved my sandwich. "Thanks, Larry."
Carol had stuck her perfect nose in her cup.
I sat. When Larry disappeared into the back room once more, I said, "I ought to warn you, I guess. Jay won't withhold information from the police, and neither will I. If you tell me something incriminating--"
"Well, it's not, that is, not exactly." She twiddled a strand of hair.
I took a bite of sandwich.
"It's about the day Hugo was killed. I mean, you know..."
I chewed. "A week ago Sunday."
She nodded.
I was a little slow, but I was beginning to understand that Carol felt embarrassed. "You were out with somebody. A married man?"
"I was with Angie."
I narrowly avoided choking.
Carol said dreamily, "She's so cool."
I felt a large twinge of disappointment in Angie Martini. She had been so self-righteous with Del about coming on to students, so scrupulous. "You had a date?"
Carol blushed. "Gosh, Lark, I'm not gay."
I drew a long breath. "Then why all the secrecy?"
"Well, we figured, I mean, she figured the cops would react the way you did, so she said she'd just tell them she was out looking at nurseries, and she was, only I was with her."
"All afternoon?" What with his trip to Seaside by whatever means, Hugo could hardly have reached the farm before one or two. Dale now thought the murder had occurred between one and four.
Carol said, "I want to open a nursery--you know, the kind with a flower shop--and my Dad's going to finance it, but he said I should learn the business first."
"And Angie is your mentor?"
"I guess." She eyed me doubtfully.
"She's showing you the ropes."
"Ropes?"
"How to run a greenhouse."
She beamed. "Yeah. She says I don't have to be organic if I'm careful with pesticides, but I'm not supposed to say that to Bianca. Or Hugo, only Hugo's dead now."
"And Angie asked you to lie for her?"
"Well, it wasn't a lie, exactly. I just said I was out with somebody." She wriggled. "I can't help it if the cops thought I meant with a guy, can I?"
I went back to my sandwich, partly to give myself time to think. Angie was paranoid--or was she? Dale had called her a dyke. Her impulse to conceal an innocent meeting with a female student was understandable, if not very wise. Surely being suspected of sexual shenanigans was preferable to being suspected of murder.
I patted the mayo from my lips. "You should ask to speak to Dale Nelson. Tell him the truth. If you want to warn Angie, go ahead. Or I'll tell Jay, if you like."
She looked hugely relieved and thanked me several times, though I had just pointed out the obvious course. When we got back to the bookstore, I let her use the phone. She called Angie first, then Dale. Dale came to the store and took her amended statement. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't hard on Carol, probably because he was glad to be able to eliminate two suspects from his list.
That blotted up the afternoon. At three forty-five I closed up and drove to the depot to wait for Trish. I didn't have to wait long. She waddled down from the bus, and I got out of the car. She seemed surprised to see me instead of Bianca but not upset. I found her overnight case and tucked it into the trunk.
She squeezed into the passenger side and wrestled with the seatbelt while I got in. Seatbelts are mandatory in Washington. When she finally fastened hers, she gave her huge belly a pat. "One more week, then thank godalmighty I am free at last."
I laughed.
"If my bladder holds up that long."
I said, "Do you need to use the restroom?"
"Always." She cast a dubious glance at the bus depot.
"Let's make a pit stop at the bookstore. We have time."
She smiled. "Thanks."
She used the loo and declined a cup of tea, and we got back into the car.
She leaned back against the headrest. "I'll be glad when the service is over."
I pulled out onto Main Street. It was raining a little.
"But it was nice of Bianca to organize it." She shifted in the seat. She sounded doubtful.
I stopped at the solitary red light. Bianca had said Trish needed closure. Maybe Bianca needed closure. The dynamics of the relationship baffled me.
"Tell me about the commune," I blurted.
"What?"
"The commune. Isn't that where you met Hugo?"
"Oh, no. Hugo and I went to high school together. We met Bianca and Keith at the commune."
"What was it like?"
She gave as much of a shrug as the seatbelt allowed. "A big old farm. The house was falling down. So was the barn. There were about a dozen of us. We lolled around and smoked dope and listened to Keith's guitar. We were just a bunch of kids trying to put off growing up."
I reached the highway, stopped, and looked both ways. A log truck rattled past with the trailer up on the truck bed. Going home. I said, "Except Hugo."
She nodded. "Except Hugo. He was the only grown-up around, and he was barely twenty-one."
"So how did you live?"
"As in the clichés. We mooched off Bianca, who had a generous allowance from her mother. Hugo grew vegetables. As long as we had brown rice and Hugo we weren't going to starve."
"It sounds kind of boring."
Trish chortled. "It was. I'm a book person. Every time Keith drove his rattletrap pickup to town I'd hitch a ride with him. I'd pad into the public library in my earth shoes and granny dress and check out as many books as the law allowed. Hugo used to tell me I was rotting my brain."
Silence. The windshield wipers swished.
"Hugo wasn't bored," she added, sad. "Neither was Bianca. He taught her everything he knew about gardening, which was a lot, and she worked at it. Really worked. Even when she was pregnant with Fiona."
"That's impressive, considering her background."
"The hotel?" Trish nodded. "She may be a hothouse plant, but she's tough. She's a leader, too. Bianca organized the commune. Otherwise, it would have folded after six weeks. Hugo could have organized things, but he wasn't about to give anybody orders--or take them."
"He did what he wanted to do?"
> "It was the only way he could function." She cleared her throat. "One of the best things Bianca did for Hugo when he came to work for her at Meadowlark Farm was to give him a free hand. On the commune, Bianca was the leader. She could do that for two reasons. She had the people skills to get us to work--she bullied and cajoled and flattered and threatened. Of course she had money, but it wasn't just that. She was also a believer."
I glanced at her.
She was frowning. "What do you know about utopias?"
"Uh, Sir Thomas More and Amana."
"Right, and Salt Lake City and the Amish and the Hutterites. After we left the commune, I read up on American utopias. They succeed when there's a strong central ideal. It's usually religious. In our case, it was organic farming and environmental purity."
"Kind of vague."
"No. There's a solid body of literature and a surprising amount of research. Bianca and Hugo read everything, and they were believers, Hugo for obvious reasons. I never quite understood why Bianca was so passionate, but she was. Bianca's a leader," she repeated, as if she couldn't summarize her perception any other way.
A gust of rain hit the windshield, and the wipers whined. "How did Hugo learn about plants?"
"He grew up on a dairy farm. He was the youngest of six. His mother taught him to garden. His dad was an old-fashioned German Gauleiter, a real tyrant. He bullied those kids something awful, worked them before and after school. Hugo hates ...hated cows. Bianca bought one when she found out she was pregnant. Hugo taught her how to milk it and told her she was on her own."
I smiled.
"He wouldn't even drink the milk. We made really awful natural yogurt." She shifted in the seat again and loosened the seatbelt. "He wouldn't eat that, either."
I glanced at her. She had teared up. "What about Keith McDonald?" I asked by way of distraction.
Trish gave a shaky laugh. "Good old Keith. He never changes."
"I suppose you mean he's just a kid at heart."
"I suppose so. Keith was our troubador. He looked like Donovan."
"Who?"
"Such is fame." She sounded amused. "Donovan was a Sixties singer--fake folk. He was good-looking in a baby-faced way, with big soulful eyes. Keith looked like Donovan, sounded like him, dressed like him. All the women buzzed around Keith like flies going for flypaper."
"I know from flypaper."
She chuckled. "We were all very careful of Keith's hands. He got out of a lot of work because he didn't want to ruin his hands. I think he slept with every woman on the place." She added, rueful, "Including me."
"Good heavens."
"It was a different era."
"Must have been. Wasn't, er, anybody jealous?" I was thinking of Bianca.
Trish said, "Hugo? You bet. That's why I decided Hugo and I had better get married, even though it was against my principles."
"And Bianca married Keith?"
"Yes. I always thought I got the better deal."
An early tourist passed me going eighty. Muddy spray blanked the windshield. I squirted detergent and increased the speed of the wipers. "I understand that Keith still, uh, plays the field. Why does Bianca put up with it?"
Trish didn't answer.
I added, "He came on to me. That's why I ask."
"You didn't like it."
"He's not my type," I said, a bit defensive. "And I didn't like the circumstances."
Trish gave a sigh. "I told you Keith has never changed. Time passed him by. Hugo kept growing and changing. So did Bianca. So did I. I guess Keith didn't see any reason to change." As I pulled off and we passed below the Meadowlark Farm sign, she added, "He can be very charming. There are the kids to consider, too. And of course, Bianca has a thing about divorce because of her father."
That made sense. I drove around behind the house and parked by the stairs to the mudroom.
Bianca and Marianne came out to greet Trish, and Marianne took her in for a cup of tea. Bianca invited me to join them.
I stayed firmly behind the wheel. "I need to get home. I'll see you later."
She said she had called the workshop speakers and explained about the murder investigation. Both had agreed to come anyway. I wondered what she had really told them.
When I got home, Jay was marinating a flank steak. Potatoes were baking in the oven. He had rinsed greens for a salad.
I gave him a large kiss. "Wow, a major production."
He returned the kiss with interest. "If I'm going to have to listen to Keith McDonald sing, I want to be fortified."
"Will he do that?"
"Do you doubt it? They're holding the service at the farm, and Bianca is in charge. She's sentimental about the commune. McDonald was the official minstrel."
"Horrors," I said, but I was curious. I hadn't heard Keith sing. Jay's favorite singer is Leadbelly. I told Jay about my conversation with Carol, but he wasn't surprised. Dale had phoned him.
At half past six we turned off onto the drive to Bianca's huge house. It was lit like the QE II, lights twinkling through what had turned into a steady rain. We were not the first arrivals.
"Looks like a stock car rally," Jay muttered. Half a dozen extra vehicles already jammed the asphalt lot beside the car barn. Jay let me out. "I'm going to turn the car and park it so we can get away from here. Tell Bianca she ought to send somebody to direct traffic."
"Okay." I held my purse over my head and dashed for the side entrance. I could feel my hair frizzing.
Marianne and Trish were sitting in the kitchen. I think I startled them, but Marianne nodded, and Trish gave me a constrained smile. I explained about the jumbled cars. Marianne went off to find Mike.
"Where's Bianca?"
Trish toyed with her cup. "With the priest."
I sat in one of the kitchen chairs. "Priest? Will there be a religious ceremony?"
Trish said, "Not if I have anything to say about it. Hugo was very bitter about Cardinal McIntyre."
I stared.
"The good cardinal saw Vietnam as a holy war. Hugo didn't desert the Church, the Church deserted him."
"Oh."
"I'm afraid I disgraced myself." She didn't look repentant. "The priest said something gooey about Hugo's child, so I told him Hugo and I weren't living together."
I controlled the urge to smile.
Trish said through her teeth, "I told him to say whatever he says about lapsed Catholics, that he must have some words for them because there are so many of them."
"Wow."
"Bianca is mending fences."
"Is she Catholic?"
"Lapsed."
I didn't envy the priest. In the distance a door chime sounded.
Trish cocked her head. "More people?"
"Gardeners," I said. "I called a bunch of them myself."
She relaxed a little. "Well, that's all right."
At that point Jay entered, and I introduced him to Trish. Then I excused myself and went in search of Bianca. It sounded as if she needed propping up. The first person I ran into was Del Wallace.
Chapter 11
I went in through the dining room where we had eaten with the staff on our first visit to Meadowlark Farm. Del was standing by the sideboard, wearing a gray suit and looking lost.
He blinked at me. "Where's my wife?"
"Marianne went to get Mike." I explained about the cars.
"Oh, yeah, okay." He drifted past me to the kitchen. I smelled whiskey, but Del didn't sound drunk, just confused.
I could hear conversation from the living room and Keith's voice in the front hall. I headed for the living room.
Bianca and crew had transformed it. They had removed all the furniture from the center of the room, and replaced it with padded folding chairs of the sort that can be rented for wedding receptions. Thirty chairs, five deep, were arranged to focus on the fireplace with its raised hearth. A fire crackled. Soft music played on the sound system. Perhaps a dozen people, scattered in twos and threes, were talking in subdued voic
es. When I stepped down into the room, they looked at me. I nodded and smiled.
I didn't see Bianca at first. Then I spotted her with a fifty-ish man I took to be the priest, though he wasn't wearing a dog collar. He sat in an alcove near the French doors, and Bianca, in solemn brown, stood facing him. They were talking. She glanced around, caught my eye, and gave a half-hearted wave. I decided not to intrude.
Keith ushered an elderly couple in and seated them near the front. The woman was wearing the stereotype of all Garden Club President costumes--a pink lace dress of a kind I didn't think was sold outside the Midwest. She looked to be in her seventies. The man, bent over a cane, was older.
When he got the couple settled, Keith beckoned to me. I followed him out into the hall.
"Will you take over the front door? Angie's supposed to, but she hasn't showed up yet. I need to tune my guitar." Keith was wearing dress slacks and a sweater over an actual necktie. The tie picked up the blue of his eyes. He looked somber.
I said, "Of course. What do I do?"
"Welcome people, take their coats, show them where to sit."
"Does it matter where?"
"No, though the Dean should sit in the front row. He's going to speak."
I must have winced because he flashed me a grin. "Briefly."
"Thank God."
He nodded and went off in the direction of the family apartment.
Over the next quarter hour, I ushered in half a dozen elderly gardeners and the Dean. He had come without his wife, which meant the service was second level priority. When the governor spoke at Shoalwater C.C., the Dean's wife tore herself away from her tax-consulting firm and made an appearance. Hugo didn't rate that, at least not at the end of March.
I smiled at the Dean, and he smiled at me. I thought he might balk at the first row, but he came meekly enough. The door chimed. As I went back into the hall, I saw Bianca, the priest trailing her, surge across the Berber carpet to greet the Dean.
More elderly gardeners. The Peninsula is rapidly turning into a retirement community, and retired people have time for gardens. I tried to visualize Hugo lecturing to them in a group. I failed. He had to have met them individually.
I seated them, and noticed that the Carlsens and Carol had slipped in the back. Jason and Bill were missing. And Mary, of course. It was interesting that there were no farmers--"real" farmers, Del would have said--and no politicians. Bianca was not trying to use the occasion to make points. These were people Hugo had met face to face.
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