by Lesley Diehl
“Skipped out on you, did he?” I could have bitten my tongue.
She raised her eyes to meet my gaze. “No, he did not. He decided he didn’t want to go through with his petition for a part of the estate.”
“At this time,” John said. “He said he’s reserving the right to reconsider his petition at a later date. I told him that might be difficult, but he persisted in his decision.”
“So where is he now,” I asked, “and why are we here if he backed out?”
“We still need to establish that Sally’s child is Michael’s rightful heir,” said Cliff.
“Right.” I was furious at Marshall for leaving us all here. Stronger than my anger was my concern he might have fled the area because of his role in Bruce’s death. I needed to get Cliff to one side and talk to him about what I knew. Sally, who only yesterday had supported Marshall and his claim, seemed sanguine about Marshall’s absence.
“Well, if it’s just about Michaela and the Ramford estate, you sure don’t need me.” I turned to leave the room but stopped at the doorway. “I need to talk with you when you’re done here, Cliff.”
Sleeping Michaela began to wiggle and fuss. Sally shifted her around in her arms, and the baby quieted. “Cliff, would you mind?” She passed the baby to him, then took my arm and pulled me out the door.
“Aren’t you even remotely curious, Hera?”
Was she talking about whether the DNA established Michael as my father’s son if I gave a sample, or was she referring to why Marshall backed out today?
I shrugged my shoulders.
“About your relationship to Michael, I mean.”
I didn’t feel totally comfortable talking about the possibility that Michael and I were siblings, but if it could delay or avoid discussing Marshall, I was all for it. If my DNA and Michaela’s, who I never doubted was Michael’s daughter, held markers in common, it meant my father had had an affair with Michael’s mother, something that gave me great pain to think about even after all this time.
“I don’t really care if Michael and I are related. He’s dead, gone, and so is whatever was between his mother and my father, if anything.” Brave words I didn’t wholly believe.
“Oh, I think you do care. I think you care so much you don’t want to know. You don’t want to face an unpleasant truth.”
She was right, of course. Sally often cut through my barriers to what was in my heart.
“Okay. I’ll be brave for you and Michaela.”
She leaned forward on tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “You are such a dodger, Hera.”
Before I turned the knob to reenter the room, Sally stayed my hand. “Marshall asked me to marry him. I said no. I think my reply took him by surprise, and I think his reaction to being refused also astonished him. He seemed to have some real feelings toward me and the baby.”
I gave her a skeptical look. “If you had said yes, it would have sealed the deal for him with the Ramford estate.” Before I said more, I shut my mouth. Did I really want to shove it to Sally by telling her he was just using her and Michaela?
Sally seemed to have read my thoughts. “So why did he not come today, if he’s such an opportunist?”
I had an answer for that, too: Because he’s a killer, and he’s trying to get away.
I kept my lips closed. The individual who deserved to hear my suspicions was Cliff, not Sally.
Sally and I reentered the room and had our mouths swabbed for the test. Sally placed baby Michaela in my arms, and I held her while the technician touched the swab to her mouth. She popped open her eyes and tried to suck on the cotton tip.
“Oh ho,” said Sally. “I think it’s time for her feeding.”
“You can use my office, if you need,” said Cliff. He gulped and looked at me. “I mean, Jake’s office.”
I touched his arm. “It’s your office now.”
“I’ll bet you lovebirds can’t wait until he returns.” Cliff smiled at me, then at Sally. His face reddened, and so did hers. John took in the exchange, and anxiety crossed his face.
Hmmm, I thought to myself, no wonder Sally turned down Marshall. She’s got a thing for Cliff and he for her. Where does that leave John’s crush on her?
“It will take a while before we get the results of the DNA analysis,” said Cliff, “about Christmas, if then. I’ll just get Sally settled in my office and be right back. You wanted to talk with me, right?”
While I waited for Cliff, I paced the room. The technician and John stood outside the door talking with some officers, their conversation a humming backdrop behind me. As I passed by the window, I spotted Father and his two goons approaching the station. Now what the hell did they want here?
I disliked Father enough that avoiding him was more satisfying than finding out what he was doing here. I stayed put in the room. I could ask Cliff later, and maybe he’d tell me. Congratulating myself on curbing my curiosity, I took a seat, hoping for a short wait on Cliff. The buzzing of the voices beyond the room changed, punctuated by yelling in a voice I knew to be Father’s. What now?
“You need to do your duty. Arrest her for kidnapping and murder. She’s a danger to the community.”
Oh, crap. He had to be talking about me.
I threw open the door. “Tell it to my face.” I strode over to Father and confronted him. I was nearly as tall as he. His bodyguard closed in on him, and I laughed. “I see you brought protection.”
Cliff stepped between us. “He’s not looking for you. He means Megan. He says he has proof she killed her brother.”
Twenty-One
“Proof? He’s just pissed Megan reported him to the authorities and got the court to consider removing him as Sara’s guardian.” I continued to stand toe to toe with Father. The smell of garlic that rolled off him was as strong as tobacco off a heavy smoker. I refused to step back but took shallow breaths.
“I have these.” He held out his clenched fist and opened it to reveal several twigs resting in his palm.
Cliff and I looked at the small branches. I reached out to finger one of them. Oleander.
“Where did you find these?” asked Cliff.
“They were with her things. I asked the women to go through her belongings today. When we were certain she would not return, I wanted to see if there was anything there others might find useful. We try to reuse anything we can. We’re not a wealthy group, you know. These were wrapped in a scarf of hers.”
“How convenient.” No one could have missed the sarcasm in my voice.
“I’ll send these off to the lab. I need to talk with the people who found them as well as look at Megan’s room.” Cliff was doing his job, although he didn’t sound happy about it.
Father and I gave each other a parting look, his punctuated by a triumphant arch of his eyebrows. I suppressed a growl of dislike. Cliff escorted Father and his goons out of the station while I went off to find Sally and Michaela. When I entered Cliff’s office, she had just finished feeding the baby and was burping her. I filled her in on what was happening.
“You’re right. Father’s finding is too convenient. I hope Cliff won’t be taken in by the man.” She patted the baby’s back and was rewarded with a loud burp.
“You’ve changed your mind about Megan, then?”
“I can’t say that, but I am reconsidering. Jeremiah seems to like her.”
“Oh, my God. How could I forget? I’ve got to get in touch with him.”
Sally gave me a squinty-eyed look. “You’re hiding something. Did you know where the girls were this entire time and not let anyone know?”
I shook my head. “I’ll tell you later.” I hugged Sally and baby and ran out of the room.
I flipped open my cell on the way to the truck, but the call went to voice mail. I left a quick message for Jeremiah. Perhaps he was busy with cleaning or bottling and didn’t hear the phone ring, but he usually put the phone on vibrate when he was working. I had to get back to the brewery anyway. I’d check when I got home.
I jumped i
nto the truck and was about to pull out of the station parking lot when my cell rang. I noticed I was low on charge, but the call connected.
“Jeremiah?”
“No, it’s Tony. Where are you?”
“I’m at the sheriff’s department about to head back home. Why?”
“Can you stop by the restaurant for a minute? I’ve got something I need to tell you. I think it’s important.”
“Sure. Be right there.”
I pulled up in front of the restaurant, fed the meter and walked in the door. Tony was behind the bar, a shot glass in front of him.
“It’s a little early for a drink, isn’t it?” I slid onto one of the bar stools.
“I know, but I just had an unpleasant confrontation with one of my employees, your Mr. Risley. I fired him.”
“Fired him? What for?
“The bum was stealing from me. He set up some kind of scheme with one of my food suppliers to bill me for more than I received. I paid the bills, but I’ve also been checking those invoices against supplies, something Risley did not think I’d do. The supplier took the extra money and gave Risley a kickback.” Tony poured himself another shot of whisky, but before he could drink it, I took the glass away from him.
“This is not the way to handle the problem. Call the sheriff’s department. What Risley did is criminal. The supplier, too.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Now. Call them now. I’ve got to get back and find Jeremiah.” I jumped down from the stool and headed for the door.
“My firing Risley is not why I wanted to talk to you. There’s something else.”
I walked back to the bar and leaned against it.
“The brakes on your truck. I think Risley cut the hoses.”
My hands gripped the bar. “Why do you think that?”
“I found a tool kit in the kitchen. I asked him about it, and he admitted it was his.”
“So what? It could come in handy.”
“That’s what he said, but after I fired him I remembered the night your truck went off the road. He was out back for a long time. In fact, he left a béchamel sauce unattended and burned it.” Tony shrugged his shoulders. “I could be wrong.”
“Why would he cut my brakes?”
“Because he’s a nasty man. He didn’t like you. That was reason enough for him.”
I thought about what I knew of Risley. He was mean and vindictive. I saw what he did to Martin Davis and his students, denying them the recipes necessary for the cooking competition, but cutting my brake lines meant he was capable of murder.
“I know what you’re thinking. If he tried to kill you, maybe he killed Bruce.”
“You said he was here that night.”
“He was, but he could have slipped back to your place.”
“He worked in a nursery. He probably knew about plants, even poisonous ones, and he certainly didn’t like Bruce. I guess finding someone annoying is motive enough for Risley. Damn. I wish Jake were here. I could run this by him.”
Tony sighed. “I thought for a minute last night you were rethinking your relationship with Jake, but I can see you really miss him.”
I did miss him. “I miss him as a cop. That’s all.”
Tony laughed. “Do you always lie to yourself, Hera? I mean if you only missed his cop-like abilities, may I remind you we can take this to Cliff. He’s a pretty damn good cop, too.”
I had had about all the bone-deep honesty from friends I could handle in one morning. First, Sally emphatic that I did care whether Michael and I were siblings, and now Tony insisting I missed more than Jake’s law enforcement abilities. They were both right, of course, but it was more than I wanted to process. Megan and Sara’s safety was on my mind, and I had two possible suspects in Bruce’s killing: Marshall, who might also go after Megan, and Risley, who might decide to renew his efforts with me. Would Risley want to take on Tony? He had to be pissed at getting fired.
“You’d better call Cliff. Be careful yourself. Risley now has reason to dislike you. You’ve got the proof to put him behind bars for stealing.”
I didn’t wait for Tony to reply. I had to get home and find Jeremiah. He might have heard from Megan. If not, maybe he had some ideas about where she might take Sara to hide now.
When I arrived, the brew barn was empty, and it looked as if no one had been there since I left this morning. Where was Jeremiah, usually so reliable in his habits? I walked over to the bottling line and decided to begin bottling my new ale. There was nothing I could do to find him or Megan and Sara. I might as well keep myself busy. The weather was cold, but there was little snow on the ground, and the roads were clear. I told myself I might even get customers coming by for a tour and a tasting.
I turned on the bottler and listened to the clanking and grinding of my old line, crossing my fingers, as always, wondering when it would fail and freeze up. If I thought the racket might drown out the tangled thoughts rushing around in my head, I was wrong. The bottling noise joined with the insistent clatter of my worries. I clapped my hands over my ears, but it didn’t help. There was as much tonal clutter inside my head as outside. I turned off the machine.
The barn was so still I thought I could hear the blood rushing through my body. I felt cold air climbing over my back and encircling my shoulders, like an icy hand reaching for my neck. I turned, expecting to see someone behind me, but there was no one. I laughed. The outside door was wide open, allowing frigid air to penetrate the bottling room. I’d closed it, but it must have blown open. I shrugged and walked toward it.
A figure stepped into the open doorway, backlit by the winter light pouring into the barn.
“Marshall! What are you doing here?”
He stood there for a moment, tall and menacing in the dim light. He didn’t appear to be armed, but I couldn’t see his hands clearly. His right hand was inside his coat pocket. I backed up against the metal track of the bottler, reaching behind me for the wrench that usually lay on the ledge just to the right of the capper. My hand touched nothing but air and the metal shelving. I was the one who left tools lying around. Jeremiah must have picked it up and put it away. For once I cursed his tidiness.
Marshall turned and closed the door. “Cold. Sorry about that.”
“Where were you this morning?” I hoped he didn’t catch the fear in my voice.
“That’s why I had to come here, to explain.”
“What about Sally?” I took a half step to my right. Perhaps Jeremiah had only moved the wrench over.
He moved forward. “I know you don’t like me. I always assumed it was because I brought back memories of Michael for you, but it’s more than that, right? You know about me, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I shifted my position once more. Still no wrench.
“You know. Say it!” This time Marshall’s voice quavered with barely controlled anger. I had to do something before he went over the edge and took action.
“You say it, Marshall. It’ll feel so good to get it off your chest.”
I watched his body tense up, then slowly relax.
“I could have established myself as a Ramford, you know. The DNA would have proved it.”
“I’m sure that’s what you believe.” Across the room, I spied the wrench sitting on the shelves near the door. Marshall was right beside it. “Let’s go to the house and have a cup of coffee, warm up. It’s freezing here.”
“I’m not staying long.”
“Okay, no coffee then, but the house is warmer than here.”
“I don’t want to be warm.” His words came through gritted teeth. “Let me say this and then … Let me just say this.”
I nodded, keeping my eye on the wrench wondering if I could rush him and get to it before he knew what I was doing.
“I’m not Michael Ramford Senior’s son. I’m the son of his half-brother. So you see, Hera, my DNA would have proved I was a Ramford.”
Ramford Senior had a half-brother? I
didn’t think anyone knew that.
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. If anyone cares to check, they will find a Harold Mercer. He was the bastard son of Ramford’s father and a woman he never married. Harold was my father and the half-brother of Ramford Senior. I don’t think Senior even knew about his brother.”
Good Lord. The I guess philandering began with Ramford men certainly had a way of getting around the county. Granddad Ramford, and Senior just carried on the tradition.
“You think I knew about this?”
“Didn’t you?” He must have caught the truth in my expression. “Well, no matter. I assumed you or that sheriff fellow Jake would have tracked it down at some point. As good a liar as my mother is, she tells the truth if she’s threatened or offered money. You do know who my mother is, right?”
“Yes. I found Mrs. Clement’s message to you on your Facebook page. When I asked her about it, she told me her husband is your mother’s brother.”
He lifted his hand and wiped it across his face. “You know a lot, probably too much. Uncle Clement would not be pleased, but … I just wanted to get this over with. I’m so damned tired, Hera.”
I took small steps toward him. “Yep. You’ve been busy since you got here. Posing as Ramford’s son, coming on to me, courting Sally, but first you tried to endear yourself to the Clements by being the supportive nephew. That was after you killed their son, right?” I was only feet from him now—and feet from the wrench. All I had to do was reach out for it and swing. Suddenly the door opened inward, knocking Marshall off balance. He dropped to his knees while I grabbed the wrench.
“Get up, Marshall, and don’t move. I’ve got a pretty good arm on me.” I stood over him threatening him with my weapon. His body began to shake, and I realized he was laughing.
Someone stood just beyond the doorway, but I couldn’t see who it was. The sun’s angle created a glare obscuring the person’s features. I wanted to kiss whoever it was for saving me.
Marshall looked up at me still on his knees. “Have you got it wrong. I’m a schemer, you’re right, but I’m not a killer.”
I didn’t believe him. I flipped open my cell. “I’m calling Cliff.”