by Lesley Diehl
The individual in the doorway stepped forward, and I changed my mind about kissing him. It was Risley, and he did carry a weapon, a large carving knife.
“Give me the phone.” He held out his hand.
“No.” I ran out of his reach to the other side of the room, then I hit the button to connect me to the sheriff’s office. I put the phone to my ear, waiting for the sound of the call going through, but nothing happened. When I glanced at it, I saw I had no juice. I had forgotten to charge it last night.
Twenty-Two
Marshall turned his head to see what was happening, then tried to get up. Risley quickly stepped behind him, dragged him to his feet and held the knife at his throat.
“I’ll cut him. You know I can.”
I did know it. Risley was a master at knife skills. I’d seen him demonstrate them often enough when I dropped by his classes.
“Okay. What do you want?”
“You. You’re going to be my ticket out of here. Your boyfriend Tony called the cops. They were all over my place. I had to hike all the way out here. I overheard you and Tony talking. You’re wrong about me. I didn’t kill Bruce, and I didn’t mean to cut your brake lines. I was trying to cut Davis’s lines. Your trucks looked so much alike.”
Oh, so he tried to kill the wrong person. I shouldn’t be concerned? I had to calm him. One slip of that sharp blade, and Marshall would be dead. And me next.
“Okay. Let’s figure this out. You don’t want to do anything to get into more trouble. Let him go, and I’ll come with you.”
Marshall couldn’t speak with the knife at his throat, but his eyes signaled me he thought going with Risley was a bad idea. It was, but I had no good alternatives.
“Drop the wrench, and come over here.”
I hesitated.
“Now!” He moved his arm slightly, and red showed at Marshall’s neck and began to stain his shirt collar.
I placed the wrench back on the shelf and walked toward him.
“Out to the truck. We’re leaving.” He pushed Marshall away from him and shoved me out the door, slamming it behind him.
“I’ll have to get the keys from the barn. They’re hanging on the hook just inside the door by the fermenter.” I stood only inches from him, the knife and air the only things separating us.
For a moment he looked frantic, almost frightened, but the kind of frightened that turns a wild animal from flight to attack. He twisted me around and prodded me in the back with the blade. “Walk.”
I entered the barn, stepping into the dimness of the space, a space I knew intimately. I could have walked it with my eyes closed. I hoped this was my advantage, a little time to slow him up.
“Dark in here,” said Risley.
“The keys are right here.” I reached around the door frame to my right as if to pull the keys off the wall. “Right here on this nail.”
Instead I grabbed the stainless steel mash paddle. It wasn’t much of a weapon, only several feet long, but I whirled around and stepped back from Risley. Then I used it like a prod, punching him in the stomach. I heard the air go out of him, and he staggered backward, but the knife was still in his hand. He stepped toward me but stumbled as his foot hit a loose drain cover. This time he dropped the knife as he reached for the side of the fermenter to break his fall. By then I had picked up the flashlight that always rested inside the door. I hit him over the head. He went down and lay still. I hadn’t intended killing him, but at that moment I didn’t care to find out if I had. I looked up to see Marshall staggering out the door of the bottling area and toward me. He seemed to gather strength as he approached.
I slammed the door and bolted it, then ran toward the entrance opening into the tasting room. I’d exit that way and make a dash for the house where I could use the landline to call the sheriff. I threw open the door. Marshall stood outside, something in his hand. I expected a gun. It was a cell phone.
“I called Cliff,” he said.
~
Marshall and I stood over Risley’s body. He moaned but didn’t wake up. Marshall leaned against the barn wall, his air of sophistication diminished a bit by the morning’s events. He seemed eager to talk. I let him.
“I’ve had a lifetime of pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I didn’t know until after I’d come forward to claim Ramford’s estate that he wasn’t my father. Mom drinks too much and finally confessed the other night. We could have gone ahead with the DNA analysis, but my heart wasn’t in it. I’ve met some terrific people around here, so different from my family, and that includes my uncle. I let him talk me into making a play for you and then acting like I wanted to buy your brewery.”
“What was that all about? Your uncle and you trying to get into the beer business?”
“Simple. He wanted the brewers in our pocket when we went after the gas leases.”
“And Sally?”
He wouldn’t look at me for a while, but when he raised his eyes, I could see the pain in them.
“At first I intended to use her as a way of cementing my claim on the estate. My lawyer thought it was a good play. Then it got out of hand. I really fell for her and the baby.”
“But she rejected you.”
“Yup.”
I was taking a chance here, but I had another question I had to ask him. “Did you know Bruce was trying to blackmail Senator Loftus?”
Marshall grimaced. “That idiot kid was so out of his league. He thought politicians will cave just because you discover some unfortunate associations, in this case between Loftus and the gas industry. Bruce’s father and the senator sent me to visit Bruce and convince him he was in over his head.”
“You were here the night of the tastings.”
“Yes, and Bruce and I had a little talk.”
“No more than that?”
“No more than that.”
We heard a car come up the drive. Risley began to stir.
“Cliff’s here and just in time,” I said.
Now I could get back to doing what I did best, brewing beer. Or could I? I still didn’t know who Bruce’s killer was. And where were Megan and Sara?
~
The day of the formal custody hearing arrived, but Sara was still missing. Kathleen met me outside the courtroom. Her eyes were glued to the door, but there was no sign of Megan and Sara.
“I have to go in now. We’re about to begin. Megan knows how important this is. I thought for certain she would show.” There was despair and anger in Kathleen’s voice.
“Unless something happened to her and Sara.” It was a fear I didn’t like sharing out loud.
As we were about to enter the courtroom, Father and his followers pushed through the front door and walked up to us.
“No Megan? No Sara? I am shocked. Someone has kidnapped my ward, and I’ll see that person in jail for what he,” Father turned his eyes on me, “or she has done. If that child came to any harm …”
“Oh, shut up, you old blowhard. I am so tired of your self-congratulatory and self-righteous pronouncements.” I was shocked at the words coming out of my mouth, but I couldn’t hold them back. Father looked horrified but was smart enough not to say anything more. I think I put the fear of God in him. I chuckled to myself at the thought.
Kathleen did her best to hide her smile. She grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled me away from Father. “Let’s just get in there before you say something he’ll make you regret.”
“Or before I deck him,” I whispered to her.
The judge entered the chambers and asked if we were ready to begin. Kathleen stood reluctantly. The courtroom doors banged open, cutting off her words.
“We’re here,” said Sara in a loud voice.
“And no thanks to that man.” Megan was right behind her, pointing her finger at Father. “One of his men ran us off the road on our way here. It’s lucky we weren’t killed.”
Pandemonium broke loose. The judge rapped his gavel on the bench several times to quiet everyone down. Father began
to inch his way toward the doors, attempting to squeeze past Megan, but she reached out and grabbed his robes.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
He tore his robe free of her grip and pushed open the door, only to run straight into the arms of Cliff. “Good question. Where are you going?”
There was no one left to support Father’s case for retaining custody of Sara. All his followers left the room quietly, all except for the young hooligan Megan identified as the one who swerved into the path of Jeremiah’s car and attempted to run them into the river. Cliff arrested both of them. After everyone had settled down, it was only a matter of the judge deciding with whom Sara would live. I was a witness at Deni and Ronald’s recent marriage. Since county social services had cleared them as foster parents, there was no longer any reason for the judge not to place Sara with them. They indicated they would begin adoption proceedings as soon as possible.
“Where were you?” I asked Megan and Sara after the hearing.
“When I saw Marshall at my parent’s house, we left and went to stay with Jeremiah’s sister. I had to find a place Father wouldn’t think of to find us.”
“I don’t think Marshall had anything to do with Bruce’s murder. He was at the barn to have a talk with him because your father and Senator Loftus asked Marshall to point out the folly of his blackmail plan.”
“Why would you believe him,” asked Megan, “and why would he do anything for my father and the senator?”
I told her of Marshall’s and my conversation at the barn and how he came to my aid with Risley.
“You think he was telling the truth?” asked Jeremiah.
I nodded.
“If he’s had such a transformation in character, then he’ll give up Claudia Ramford’s power of attorney, don’t you think?” Jeremiah asked.
It was a question I could not answer.
Twenty-Three
Thanksgiving was rapidly approaching and with it, Jake’s return for a few days’ break from his K-9 work. We talked on the phone often, and I heard no more of the woman’s laughter in the background. I asked myself if I was relieved or not. I wasn’t ready yet to make a marriage commitment, but that didn’t mean I was willing to let him find someone else. I talked this over with Sally one evening when she invited me for dinner.
“You love him, yet you don’t want the commitment of marriage. Why not?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve never seen a marriage I thought worked well, plus I don’t think I’m marriage material. I don’t even know any more if I still want to go on brewing beer. I’m so confused!”
“I don’t suppose Rafe has anything to do with this, does he?” Sally held baby Michaela in her arms cooing to her as the baby sucked her tiny fingers.
I was startled at her question. “What are you implying?”
“I don’t think anyone else has noticed, but I have. Rafe has a thing for you, always has. I assumed you knew.”
I thought back on Rafe’s words to me the night I had dinner with Tony.
Sally was right about Rafe but not about his being my source of confusion over Jake or my chosen profession.
“It’s not Rafe. I consider him a friend only, a good friend.”
“All these men, Hera—Rafe, Jake, Tony. No wonder you’re confused.”
I shot back at her with good humor. “All these men, Sally—Marshall, Cliff, your lawyer.”
“My lawyer?”
I shocked her with that one.
On the way home from Sally’s, a truck pulled in front of me at the main intersection in town, and I had to slam on my brakes.
I blew my horn at him, but he blithely sailed on up the road. Something hit the back of my foot when I braked. I pulled over to the side of the road to see what it was. It was the stuff I’d shoved under the seat once before. This time I took a closer look at it. It was mail addressed to Martin Davis. The dealer never took the time to clean up the vehicle before I bought it. I checked my watch. It was only eight at night. I read the address on one of the pieces of mail and decided to swing by his place and drop it off. None of it looked important, mostly ads, catalogues, and second class mail, but I thought he might like to have it back.
I saw a light on in the back of the house when I pulled up to his place. I ran up to the door and rang the bell. Someone turned on the porch light, and as the door opened I glanced down at the mail in my hand. Hmm. Several seed catalogues.
“Ah, Ms. Knightsbridge.” Davis appeared, the usual smile on his round face. “Come in, come in.”
“I can only stay a minute. I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening, but I bought your truck, and this mail was in it. I thought you’d like to have it back.” I handed it to him. He took it and waved me in. I stepped into the living room, which opened through to the kitchen. I could see a small greenhouse attached to the back of it.
“Come see my babies.” He gestured toward the glassed-in area. “I grow orchids.”
I walked with him into the warmth of the greenhouse. There were plants everywhere. They hung from the ceiling, sat on the wooden floor and perched on tables running the length of the glass building. I felt as if I couldn’t catch my breath, as if they were taking away my air as well as my space. I wanted to spin around and run out of the house.
“They’re quite beautiful,” I lied.
“Please, have a look around.” He led me down the rows of blooming plants. The roots of those suspended from the ceiling made me particularly claustrophobic. As I turned to look at one of the varieties he pointed out, I felt something touch my hair and shoulder.
“What the?” I batted at it, only to find it was a large purple orchid with roots so long they seemed to reach out and grab me. “Ugh.”
“I can see you don’t have the same attachment for them that I have.” Davis reached out and touched the plant with almost a lover’s caress.
“I guess I like them better when they’re in a corsage.” I backed away and bumped into yet another cluster of roots. It was worse than being caught in a spider’s web.
“Perhaps I can visit some other time when I’m not so rushed. I’ve got some, uh, ale that needs me.”
“Certainly. Thanks for dropping off my mail. Very kind of you.”
“Sure thing.”
We returned to the kitchen, and I felt better able to breathe. The place gave me the heebie-jeebies with all those trailing things around. “I guess I’m not a plant lover,” I confessed to Davis as I left.
“You just have to get to know them, my dear.”
Not in my lifetime, I thought. I almost ran for the truck.
On the drive home I had to admit to myself it wasn’t only the orchids that creeped me out but the fact that Davis was such a gardening fanatic. Could he have killed Bruce? But why? It made no sense to me. I dismissed the idea. The feeling crawling up my spine was orchid phobia paired with my concern that a killer remained out there somewhere.
The next morning, I extracted my newspaper from the tube out front of my house, unrolled it and noted the headlines with surprise.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said when I entered the brew barn.
“What’s up?” asked Jeremiah.
“Look at this.” I slapped the newspaper headline as I showed him the paper.
The headline read, “Libertyville Bans Natural Gas Drilling.” The article went on to say all forms of gas drilling were prohibited. The vote in the village council meeting was five to one with only the bank president voting no on the measure.
“Who paid for his vote?” asked Jeremiah, chuckling.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard for a while. I hope the upcoming statement from the DEC doesn’t undermine this. The state could allow drilling, and then what would that do to land usage laws established in each municipality?”
“This ban, along with ordinances passed by other towns and villages, will send a strong message to the capital that we’re opposed to drilling.”
I sighed. I
t wasn’t a done deal yet. The gas and oil companies had powerful lobbies and lots of money, and then there were the land poor farmers who needed the gas leases. They believed the leases would save their farms, their houses, their land. I worried they would destroy the clean water around here and allow the heavy machinery to pollute the air and demolish the roads.
“Hera, hey Hera! Where are you?” Jeremiah’s voice brought me back to the present. “You can’t solve every problem all at once, you know. Take a break. Let’s make beer.” Jeremiah clapped me on the back and grabbed the paper out of my hands.
“Right. Uh, could you take the truck and run into town to pick up a new shovel? The handle on the old one broke this morning when I tried to shovel some mash.”
“I’ll take Megan with me and drop her off at Deni’s and Ronald’s so she can visit with Sara while I run errands.”
“Good plan. She needs to get out of the kitchen, and I should try my hand at cooking something.”
Jeremiah looked skeptical. “Better let Megan do it. You continue crafting beers.”
“My mother was a great cook. So was Grandma. It runs in the family.”
“Must have skipped a generation. Maybe your kids will be better at it.”
There wasn’t much I could do while my winter ale fermented, and I was caught up on bottling product, so I gathered copies of Gourmet magazine and contemplated a dinner which Megan and Jeremiah wouldn’t reject. I found one. Chicken with dumplings. I’d serve it with my IPA and an endive salad.
I was so eager to show off what I was certain were my buried culinary skills that I called Sally, Cliff, Deni, Ronald, Sara and Tony and invited them. I hesitated, then called Rafe. No answer. I left a message on his cell.
“It’s a meal to celebrate clean air, clean water, and the triumph of green over gas,” I announced to everyone.
When I called Tony, he chuckled. “I’ll stash some pizza in the back of my truck just in case.”
No one had faith in my cooking abilities.
I put chicken breasts into the oven to roast while I dashed back to the barn. I’d almost forgotten I needed to clean the brew kettle from an earlier batch of our winter ale. I set up the kettle for CIPing, slipped on my apron, gloves and safety glasses, and headed over to the container holding the caustic. I stood in front of the barrel and drew the liquid slowly into my pitcher. It looked like such innocent stuff, yet Megan was lucky it missed her retina. She could have been blinded.