Roots in Texas

by K. N. Casper

  “I’ll wait until I get Megan off to school. I also want to check the workshop and vineyard one more time.”

  He gazed at her, eyebrows raised.

  She laughed when she realized she hadn’t answered his question. “Probably around eight.”

  “I heard about a small used John Deere coming into the Weed and Feed today. I thought I’d check it out, since our tractor seems to be beyond economic redemption. A cultivator comes with it, which we could also use. If they’re any good, they’ll sell fast, so I ought to get there early.”

  “Go ahead. I can deal with the sheriff.”

  “You told me Ritter offered to come over. I think you ought to take him up on it. He’s from here. He might be able to help the sheriff figure out what’s going on.”

  Kayla almost smiled. Was her father playing matchmaker? Wouldn’t be the first time since her divorce.

  If the attack on her vineyard was part of a larger plan to destroy the Home Free program, she wasn’t the only one in danger. Other new landowners, Ethan included, were at risk. She didn’t want to be responsible if something happened to his horses or if someone on another parcel of land got hurt.

  “I will,” she promised. “But let me get you and Megan on your way first.”

  She’d prepared Irish oatmeal, which he liked and Megan tolerated, and soon saw them both out the door. She had no doubt her father would stop off at the café in town and indulge in a “proper” breakfast of sausage and eggs, skillet-fried potatoes and biscuits dripping with butter. She smiled fondly. Every time his cholesterol was checked, it was on the low side. Go figure.

  Precisely at eight she telephoned the sheriff’s office.

  She’d met Wade Montgomery briefly when she’d first come to town and again at Zeb’s burial. He seemed like a pleasant enough guy. The question was how competent was he?

  “Hello, Mrs. Price,” he said when the receptionist put her through. “What can I do for you?”

  She explained what she’d found the evening before.

  “I’ll be out in about an hour.” He hung up. He hadn’t asked for any details. Was that a good sign?

  She phoned Ethan. He picked up on the first ring.

  “I’m on my way.” No hesitation.

  She got another mug from the cabinet and set it on the table. Ethan tapped on her back door ten minutes later. She realized, as she opened it, that it would have felt perfectly natural for him to simply walk in. As dangerous as he was to her equilibrium, she didn’t feel threatened by him.

  “Black, right?” she asked as she filled his cup.

  “Yeah, thanks.” He removed his down vest and hung it on the back of a chair before sitting. “You said you couldn’t afford to move the vineyard, that you’ll have to replant in the same place.”

  She took the seat across from him. Why did his shoulders seem so wide this morning? “Right. Too expensive to prepare new ground. It’s also the best location, one I can expand easily.”

  He sipped his coffee. “Since you can’t see it from the house, the only way you’re going to keep it under surveillance is with security cameras.”

  She shook her head. “I told you yesterday I can’t afford that kind of high-tech equipment.”

  “You can’t afford not to have it, Kayla. If whoever’s responsible for this comes back a second time, you’ll be out of business.”

  “And out of here,” she added. “Which apparently is what he wants.”

  “We keep saying ‘he,’” Ethan pointed out, “but this could just as easily have been done by a woman.”

  Kayla raised a brow. “You’re right, of course.”

  They drank their coffee in silence.

  “The town is offering low-interest loans to new buyers,” he said a minute later. “You qualify.”

  “They’re only for building or renovating houses, clearing land, planting crops. I’ve already explained that I don’t want to relocate—” The light came on. “Oh, you mean if I take out a loan for my new vines, I can use my own cash reserves to install a security system.”

  “One that’s monitored 24/7 by professionals. That way you won’t have to worry about trespassers in the middle of the night or when you can’t be home.”

  “It’s a good idea,” she agreed, “but expensive.”

  “Not nearly as expensive as having someone pull this stunt again. I have another suggestion.”

  “What’s that?”

  “List me as an alternate contact if your surveillance service detects trespassers and can’t get hold of you or if you’re too far away to respond.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to assume that kind of responsibility.”

  “It’s no big deal. I imagine the service would want to check with you before reporting violators to verify that the apparent trespassers don’t have a legitimate right to be on the property. Put me and Carter down as alternate contacts. If none of us can be reached within a specified period of time, say three minutes, or we don’t know who the stranger is, they’ll notify the sheriff’s office.”

  She rotated her cup. He was becoming a part of her life, her support system. As agreeable as the idea was, it also frightened her. She didn’t like being dependent. Leaning on her father was one thing... “That’s very generous, but—”

  “This is what neighbors here do, Kayla.” He looked her straight in the eye, and she realized this wasn’t about them. At least, not exclusively. “We look out for each other. It’s really no burden. If a trespasser comes on your place, I can react a lot faster than the sheriff. I also have a vested interest. A threat against you puts me and mine at risk. I have high-dollar horses on my place. I can’t afford to have them poisoned or injured. Once word of this incident gets out—and it will, thanks to Millicent—I could be ruined. Without confidence that the horses people entrust to me are safe, owners won’t bring them and I’ll be out of business.”

  The doorbell rang. Kayla gazed at Ethan for a few seconds, then went to answer it, aware of him following her.

  “Mrs. Price.” The sheriff tipped his Stetson as he stood on her step.

  “Please call me Kayla. Come in. You know Ethan.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Would you like coffee, Sheriff?”

  “Better not. Why don’t you show me the vineyard?”

  The three went out to the scene of the crime. She showed him the damaged leaves.

  “You sure this was done with herbicide? It’s not a problem in the soil?”

  She led him to the workshop, showed him what she’d showed Ethan the night before.

  “I’ll take fresh samples of leaves and stems from various parts of the vineyard now. I’d like you to sign across the seals on the envelopes I put them in. You can also sign your name on the FedEx container, then I’ll get them off to a reputable laboratory in Oregon for analysis.”

  “Thorough. Good chain of evidence,” he said. “I like that. Any idea who might have done this?”

  She shook her head. “Everyone here has been so friendly and supportive. I haven’t had a hint that I’ve been making enemies.”

  “Have you found the source of the herbicide? The bottles or containers it came in, whatever was used as an applicator?”

  “No. Dad and I checked every row but haven’t found anything that looks even remotely suspicious. Except that all my vines are dying,” she added.

  “How about you?” Wade asked Ethan, who’d been tagging along without saying a word, letting Kayla handle it herself.

  “I personally walked our common fence line at first light and came up equally dry. No sign of any trespassers, but I’m on the west, between here and the Four Aces. Whoever did this probably came in from the south, from the properties that haven’t sold yet. It’s all still open range. The only thing separating it from Kayla’s property is a four-foot wire fence—not much of an obstacle.”

  The sheriff nodded. “Easy access. Ever seen anyone?”

  “I go riding out there sometimes and occasiona
lly see kids on off-road vehicles. It wouldn’t be difficult for someone to drive close to her fence, crawl over or under it, poison her vineyard and be gone without being detected.”

  “ATVs are pretty loud.”

  “Not if they stayed in one of the gullies. A bit more of a problem at night, when things are quiet, but if everybody is sleeping and the windows are closed—”

  “We have to keep our windows closed and the air-circulating system going,” Kayla explained, “because of Megan’s asthma.”

  “So you probably wouldn’t hear anybody in the middle of the night.”

  She shook her head. “Not unless they’re exceptionally noisy.”

  “What about during the day? Is someone always here?”

  “Most of the time, but not always. Dad has been spending time in town trying to get our tractor fixed. In fact he’s there now looking at a replacement. And I’m gone for several hours Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons, when I take Megan and a couple of her classmates over to the Broken Spoke for riding lessons.”

  Wade added the information to the notes he’d been scribbling in a small pad. “What are your plans now?” he asked.

  She made brief eye contact with Ethan. “Install a security system with sensors and cameras.”

  “Expensive,” Wade noted.

  “Apparently the cost of doing business here in paradise is sky-high,” she said with an ironic grin. “Now I have a question for you, Sheriff. What are you going to do about this?”

  He closed his notebook and put it in his breast pocket. “I’ll check out the surrounding land, see if I can find anything, file a report, of course, and start asking questions.”

  He rose from his seat. “But I have to be honest with you, Kayla. Without some kind of hard evidence that’ll tie someone else to what’s happened, there isn’t much I can do. It could have been kids having fun or someone out to ruin you, but for all I know, you poisoned those plants yourself. The fact is, I have no proof a crime’s been committed.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Why would I poison my own vineyard?”

  “I’m not saying you did or that you did it intentionally,” the lawman clarified. “It could have been by accident.”

  She felt her blood pressure rise. “You think I’d move here from a thousand miles away, spend tens of thousands of dollars to plant a vineyard, buy select cuttings, devote hundreds of hours in backbreaking work planting them, then be so incompetent that I’d spray with Roundup and kill them all? Having ruined myself, I’d call the law and try to blame it on someone else? Thanks a lot, Sheriff. I can see I’m not going to get much help from you. Sorry I wasted your time—and mine. You might as well leave right now.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “Just go, Sheriff.”

  He looked at Ethan, as if expecting the man to bail him out. All Ethan did was open the workshop door for him.

  “I don’t believe it,” Kayla fumed after the sheriff’s car had pulled out of the driveway.

  “Wade’s a good guy,” Ethan insisted. “He overplayed the devil’s advocate role just now, but he’s on your side.”

  “I hate to think what he’d be like if he wasn’t,” she snapped.

  Before she realized it was happening, he had his arms around her, rubbing her back. She needed to keep her distance from this man. Instead, she found herself pressing her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt, far too aware of the hard chest beneath it. She hadn’t intended to seek physical comfort from him, but she couldn’t resist it when it was offered.

  She started to step back, but he kept her trapped in his embrace. An instant later his lips were on hers.

  She tried to remind herself she didn’t want to kiss him.

  When they broke off a minute later, she still clung to him.

  “We’ll get through this,” he murmured.

  We? she wondered when they finally separated.

  * * *

  LATER THAT MORNING, Kayla dropped off the package of damaged leaves at FedEx for overnight delivery to the laboratory in Portland. From there she visited city hall to apply for a low-interest loan to replace her stock. She was filling out the paperwork when Miranda Wright came into the county clerk’s office.

  “Oh, Kayla, hi. I heard what happened out at your place. It’s absolutely terrible. I’m so sorry. It must be heartbreaking to put in all that work and have it ruined.”

  So the sheriff had informed the mayor. Had he also expressed suspicion that she herself had poisoned the vineyard? “Who would do a thing like that?”

  Miranda shook her head. “I’m as baffled by it as you are. Sheriff Montgomery seems to think it might have been kids.”

  Kayla wondered if he really believed that, or if he was just trying to downplay the situation. Ethan said he was an honest lawman, but could he have some other reason for casting doubt on the incident?

  “I don’t think so,” Kayla said. At Miranda’s quizzical expression, she explained, “It was done too methodically. Only the grapes were touched. I’d expect kids to be more indiscriminate, less organized and neat. There wasn’t any debris, not even the containers the herbicide came in.”

  Miranda pursed her lips. “I see your point, but I really can’t imagine who else would do a thing like that.”

  “None of your other new home owners have had problems like this?”

  “Why should they?” Miranda asked.

  Kayla didn’t miss the defensiveness in her response or that she didn’t answer the question.

  “Just wondering.” Kayla had the feeling Miranda wasn’t being completely candid. “The sheriff better figure it out soon,” she warned. “They got me. They can get other people. By the way, Millicent at the Herald called me this morning. She wants an interview. I’ll probably stop by and give her one later today. I figure the more people who know about this the more alert they’ll be, and maybe someone will remember hearing or seeing something and come forward.”

  “Oh, well, yes, I suppose that’s true.” But she didn’t say it with conviction. Kayla understood why the mayor wasn’t eager to have word of this incident getting out. The Herald didn’t have a very large circulation, but that didn’t mean the story wouldn’t get picked up by one of the bigger media outlets in San Antonio, Austin, Dallas or Houston. Negative publicity could put a damper on the Home Free program.

  After receiving Miranda’s assurance that her loan application wouldn’t be a problem, Kayla stopped by Wade Montgomery’s office in the back of the courthouse. A decent guy who’d overplayed his hand, Ethan had said. She’d probably overreacted, too. It didn’t seem like a good idea to alienate the sheriff of the county she lived in.

  He rose from his chair when she was shown in, then invited her to sit.

  “I’m afraid you misunderstood me this morning,” he said after resuming his own chair, his hands folded on the desk. “I wasn’t accusing you of anything, merely laying out the case as it might look to an outsider.”

  She supposed that was as close to an apology as she was likely going to get. “That’s what Ethan said after you left.” She didn’t remind him that Ethan had held the door for him. “I apologize for jumping to the wrong conclusion.”

  He visibly relaxed. “I didn’t handle it well, but now that you’re here, let me fill you in on the progress of my investigation so far.”

  So he was taking the matter seriously. At least that was encouraging.

  “I’ve checked with our local ranch and garden supply stores to see if anyone has purchased large quantities of Roundup or any other nonselective herbicides in the past ninety days. Maude Higgins bought a quart a few weeks ago, but she hasn’t used it yet. Max Forster bought a quart, too, but that was yesterday. It’s still sitting on his garage shelf. Knowing Max, it’ll probably still be there this time next year.”

  “How about sprayers?” Kayla asked.

  “They’re a special-order item, and there haven’t been any requests in over a year.”

  “So it was
n’t bought around here.”

  “I’m checking gardening shops in San Antonio, but with all the landscapers there...” He shrugged. “Anything less than a pallet probably wouldn’t be treated as an exceptional sale, a lot more than I understand it would take to cover ten acres.”

  He was right. She stood. “Well, thanks for trying.”

  “I haven’t given up, Ms. Price. I still have a few avenues to pursue.”

  “Kayla,” she reminded him. “And they’re all long shots. I understand that. I appreciate your efforts nevertheless, Sheriff.”

  He, too, had gotten up and was coming around the desk. “I am sorry about this morning.” He extended his hand.

  She took it.

  “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Thanks again.” She was almost at the door when she remembered the second reason she’d come to see him. “Can you recommend a good security service?”

  He seemed pleased that she would seek his advice. “Diep Protection handles surveillance for the Four Aces. I’ve gotten calls from them a few times. Always been very professional, though the incidents all turned out to be false alarms. There’s another outfit—” he went to his desk and took out a bunch of business cards from his middle drawer “—Delucca Security. They’re new in this area. I haven’t worked with them, but they have a good reputation.” He handed her the card.

  “Thanks. I’ll check them out and let you know what I decide.”

  The air seemed clearer, the day a bit brighter, when she stepped out of the sheriff’s office. Except that burying the hatchet with Montgomery didn’t change the fact that her vineyard had been wiped out.

  It was lunchtime, so she stopped by Bertha’s Kolaches across from the courthouse for a sandwich.

  The owner, Bertha Golchak, had been running the old-fashioned lunchroom since the Battle of the Bulge—literally. A yellowed newspaper article over the cash register showed her standing beside the entrance more than sixty years before. Her specialty, then as now, was kolaches, small Czech pastries filled with various fruits or nuts.

  At ninety, Bertha admitted she was beginning to slow down. She didn’t do much of the cooking herself anymore, though she still served and collected the money at a cash register that had a crank on the side. She hadn’t rung anything up on the antique in years. “Real good cigar box,” she often claimed.