“But Byron was on the committee,” she said. “He attended the first meeting, then realized he wouldn’t have time for it and quit.”
Aghast, I sat back on the couch. “What sort of accidents did you say he was having?”
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I passed two tickets and a brochure across the counter and smiled. “Here you go. If you have any questions about the exhibits, feel free to ask.”
GD, seated on top of the antique cash register, meowed an agreement.
The middle-aged couple smiled, their eyes unfocused. They’d obviously already hit several wineries. I watched them weave through the crowd, then I returned to my to-do list. It only had two items on it: Byron Falls and Dean Pinkerton.
My lips pursed. Jennifer Fall’s husband had had accidents. That disturbed me, especially if my cowbells were responsible. I wasn’t sure I could talk him out of believing in the curse, but I had to try.
I also had to talk to Dean about Tabitha’s vote on the raw milk controversy. But I probably wouldn’t have time until Monday to tackle either of them. Fridays were almost always busy, and the museum would be hopping all weekend. Plus I didn’t much like the idea of interrogating anyone after hours. My nighttime investigations rarely ended well.
The front door jangled and Leo walked inside. He peeled off his motorcycle jacket. Ketchup stained his black T-shirt. “Hey.”
“Yo.” My stomach growled, and I slid off my high seat. I hadn’t eaten much breakfast and I was long past ready for my own lunch break.
“Anything I should know?” he asked.
“I asked the Historical Association to see if they could find more articles about the original curse. They may call.”
“I thought we’d found the only article.”
“I did too, but now I’m not so sure.”
My cell phone rang in my hoodie pocket, and I fished it out and checked caller ID. It was my mom.
“Hi—”
“Madelyn, this is your mother.”
“Mom.”
“You’ll never believe it, but I’m free!”
“Free?”
“They’ve decided I no longer need police protection, so—”
I straightened. “What? Why? Did they arrest someone?”
“I’ve no idea, but the police are gone.”
Why would they dump my mother’s protection now? Had something changed? “But why—?”
“I thought we could do some sleuthing together. Dean Pinkerton needs a further talking to, and this time, I need to be there.”
“I agree, but Fridays are tough for me.” As were Saturdays and Sundays.
“Of course, dear. That’s why I thought we’d pop over during your lunch.”
My stomach’s growl turned into a snarl. “Actually, I was about to get something to eat.”
“Perfect.” The front door swung open and my mother strode inside. She dropped the phone into the pocket of her quilted blue jacket. “I’m ready to go when you are.”
“But I’m hungry,” I whined.
“We’ll use the drive-through. My rental is parked out front.”
Leo grinned.
Urgh. If I didn’t go with her, she’d go alone. Grabbing my scarf off the wall hook, I bundled up and followed her onto the sidewalk. Dodging holiday shoppers, I hustled to her rental Lincoln.
“Which drive-through?” I asked once we’d settled ourselves inside the giant sofa on wheels. It smelled like new car, and I ran my hand across the burled dash.
“Whichever you like, dear. But that burger place is on the way to Dean’s. It would save time.”
I sighed. “Burger place it is.”
“Did you lose your police protection too?” she asked.
I glanced over my shoulder. A gray sedan followed two car lengths behind. “I don’t think so.”
“I would hope not, not after that attack in front of the museum. Clearly the killer has focused on you. Honestly, I don’t know why they kept the police in front of my house for so long.”
We drove over the railroad tracks. I barely felt them beneath the SUV’s tires.
“You were on the Christmas Cow committee, and at the scene when Bill Eldrich was murdered,” I said. “The killer might think you saw something or know too much.”
“If I’d seen something, I would have told the police by now.”
“The killer doesn’t know that,” I said. “If these murders do have to do with Bill and Tabitha being involved with bribes, maybe the murderer thinks you’re waiting to blackmail him. Or her.” And maybe going to visit Dean Pinkerton without backup wasn’t the hottest idea. I thought of those rusty farm tools and repressed a shudder.
“That would be rather stupid.”
“Maybe we should let the police take this interview.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “We don’t have any proof Dean was involved. And if he is, or if he knows something, he’s going to tell me. Bad enough that Bill and Tabitha are dead and my Lincoln has been reduced to shrapnel. Detective Slate could have been killed!”
“But don’t you think—”
“Here we are!” She swung sharply into the drive-through and stopped in front of the menu. “What would you like?”
“Double cheeseburger and a medium diet cola.”
“As if a diet cola makes up for all those calories.”
“You were the one who suggested burgers.”
“Don’t tell me you were planning on eating anything healthier.”
“Burritos are healthier,” I said. “They’re jammed with healthy beans and veggies.”
“And cheese and sour cream.”
“I always ask them to hold the sour cream.” And add extra guacamole. Avocados are good calories.
A horn brayed behind us, and we edged forward to the intercom. My mom ordered and the Lincoln glided to the front window. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m jealous you can still eat burritos. I used to love spicy food,” she said sadly. “Now I can’t stomach it. And you look quite nice. Have you lost weight?”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to distract me. Going to see Dean alone is a bad idea.”
“I considered that and have got it covered. Dieter’s going to meet us there.”
I yelped. “Dieter? Why Dieter?”
“He’s such a nice young man. And he’ll do anything for Adele.”
“What does Adele have to do with this? She’s not coming too, is she?” I asked, my alarm growing.
“Of course not. It’s still the lunch hour. How could she possibly leave her tea room? I simply mean, every woman deserves to be adored. And so do you.”
I tugged on the seat belt. “This conversation is getting weird.”
“Only because you don’t want to have it.”
“I’m not even sure what we’re talking about.”
The drive-through window slid open and a woman in a striped hat stuck her head out. “That will be $7.85.”
I reached for my wallet, but my mom beat me to it and paid. She took the paper bag and handed it to me. The scent of cheeseburger filled the car. “May we have some extra napkins?” she asked, apologetic, and glanced my way. “It’s a rental. I intend to return it in the same condition I borrowed it.”
The woman handed her a sheaf of paper napkins and my mom passed them to me. We drove out of town, and I managed to eat my burger without ruining the leather seats.
My mother turned off at Dean’s rutted driveway, and the scent of cow grew stronger. We cruised past green pastures. She braked, parking beside Dieter’s rickety truck in front of the white-painted farm house.
Dieter, in a ski cap and sleek jacket, leapt to open my mother’s door. “Afternoon, Mrs. K. Do you want me to come inside with you? Or should I just stand by your car and look menacing?”
&nb
sp; “I think it’s best if you wait here and menace,” she said.
A black-and-white cow wandered to the fence and stared at us. The animal shook her head, her cowbell ringing.
Dieter saluted. “Sure thing.”
My mom headed for the house, and I followed.
“Does Dean know we’re coming?” I asked.
“I called last night and made an appointment.”
“And you’re only telling me this now?”
“I know how busy you are. He’s a busy man as well, which is why we’re catching him at his lunch hour.”
We climbed the porch steps and I rapped on the door.
It sprang open.
Dean filled the doorway. He peered at Dieter, who waved in a very non-menacing way. “What’s he doing here?”
“He’s with us,” my mother said. “May we come in?”
He stepped away from the door and we walked inside the airy, polished-wood entryway. Dean stopped in the foyer, arms crossed over his plaid flannel shirt.
My mother examined the antique farming equipment bolted to the wall. “How lovely. Are these from your farm?”
He rubbed the raven tattoo on the back of his neck. “Yeah. This stuff’s been in the family forever.”
“Such history,” she said. “It must pain you to see so many small dairy farms going under.”
“Mine won’t. Specialization is the key.”
“You mean selling raw milk?” I asked.
He nodded. “To succeed, we need to differentiate ourselves, target niche markets like raw milk.” His mouth twisted. “But the big farms don’t like the competition.”
“No one ever does.” The room was hot, and my mother unsnapped her quilted jacket, revealing a crisp, white blouse. “People think small towns mean small stakes, but when they’re personal, they’re quite high.”
His green eyes flashed. “Like I said before, I didn’t kill Bill Eldrich, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“It isn’t,” I said quickly.
His jaw clenched, and he glanced toward the front door. “What’s this about?”
“Have you heard about anyone on the town council taking bribes?” I asked.
“Bribes?” His dark brows lifted. “No. But I guess it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Farmers understand the world better than most, don’t they?” my mother mused. “The nature of man is fallible.”
“You’re a philosopher,” he said.
“Why wouldn’t bribes surprise you?” I asked.
“Corruption is everywhere.”
“Did Tabitha play a role in blocking the sale of your raw milk?” I asked.
“It wasn’t blocked,” he said. “Yeah, she was leaning toward Eldrich’s view, but no laws or regulations against it were ever passed. I’m still selling my milk.” He scowled. “And yes, I know that could have changed. Their deaths were convenient for my business. But I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Was she always on Eldrich’s side of the issue?” I asked. “Or did her opinion change?”
“It changed,” he said slowly. “When I first started promoting the raw milk, the town council—including Tabitha—was supportive. Some of the other dairies in the association were interested too. Then Bill started lobbying, showing them the error of their ways.” He shook his head. “The council won’t do anything, though. Raw milk is still legal in California.”
“So the change was entirely due to Bill’s lobbying efforts?” I leaned one shoulder against the wood-plank wall.
“I thought so. The Dairy Association is important, and not just to San Benedetto. They carry weight.” He shook his head. “But I can’t see Bill paying bribes to get things done.”
“Where were you last Sunday afternoon?” I asked.
“If you must know, I was at the farmers’ market, selling gallon jugs of raw whole milk.”
My mother and I glanced at each other. She nodded. Someone at Ladies Aid would be able to confirm or deny his alibi.
“Thanks, Dean,” I said. “You’ve been helpful.”
He saw us out, slamming the door behind us.
“He wasn’t that helpful,” my mom muttered. She stared across a pasture at the red barn.
“If we can confirm his alibi for Sunday’s hit-and-run at the museum, we can take him off the list of suspects.” Unless Santa had an accomplice.
Something buzzed past my ear and twanged into a white-painted support beam on the porch. I jerked away.
My mom gasped.
I stared, disbelieving, at the arrow quivering in the beam inches from my head.
“Get down!” Dieter shouted. An arrow struck his truck with a metallic ping and he scrabbled beneath the vehicle.
My mom grabbed my arm. We stumbled across the porch to a wooden picnic table. I knocked it on its side and we crouched behind it. Something thunked into the wood, and I swear the table moved from the force of the blow.
The front door creaked open and Dean stepped out. “What’s—”
I opened my mouth to warn him. An arrow thudded into the door frame. He yelped and vanished into the house.
Two more arrows thumped into the table.
“I think we can safely say Dean isn’t trying to kill us.” My mother’s voice trembled.
Another thunk, and we yelped.
“Don’t worry.” I gulped. “Laurel will be here any second.” Any second now …
“Why would she?” she asked, her face ashen. “Neither of us have called the police. Don’t assume Dieter has.”
Scrabbling in my pocket, I pulled out my phone, dialed 911. “She’s been following me, remember?” I said, shrill. “She’s probably circling around right now to nab whoever’s shooting at us. All we need to do is keep them occupied.”
Two more arrows hit the table.
“What the hell?” Dieter shouted from under his pickup.
“911, what is your emergency?”
I explained, gave the dispatcher the address.
“Are you in a safe place?” she asked.
Another arrow struck the table and I winced. “Relatively.”
“Take shelter. The police will be there soon.”
“Thanks,” I squeaked and hung up.
“Well?” my mom asked.
“The police will be here soon.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
Behind the table, I made myself as small as possible. This was insane! I forced my breath to be steady, pushing away my fear and anger. I had to be calm, to think. And the more I thought, the more bizarre our situation seemed. “Does this seem efficient to you?”
“Hiding?”
“No, the shooting. The killer shot Bill Eldrich, a moving target, at night. He killed Tabitha. But his aim today seems erratic. Whoever it is isn’t going to get to us as long as we’re behind this table. The shooter is either trying to scare us rather than kill us, or—”
“He’s keeping us pinned down.” My mother’s eyes widened. “What if there’s a second shooter, circling us now?”
My breath burst in and out. To the right and left were open pasture, and only a few porch chairs to block us from a potential hail of arrows. “Let’s move the table,” I said.
“Where?”
“We move it in front of the door, use it to cover us as we go inside.”
“That’s clever, Madelyn.” She grabbed a table leg.
I grabbed the other. We scraped the table across the porch. Another heave, and it lay in front of the door.
Staying low, I grasped the screen door, opened it, and shifted around it. Then I went for the wooden door. On hands and knees, the two of us backed inside. I slammed the door shut.
Dean sat against the wall by the door. “I called the cops.”
“So did we.” I glanced
at the wall clock and hoped Dieter was safe beneath his truck. Adele would kill me if something happened to her boyfriend.
In the distance, a siren wailed.
“Oh, thank God,” my mom breathed.
I edged the door open and risked a peek beyond the table. Dieter lay beneath his truck, his hands over his head.
“Dieter?” I shouted.
He waved, not looking up, and I blew out my breath.
A blue muscle car, its dash lights flashing, raced down the gravel driveway.
I sat hard on the wooden floor.
That was Laurel’s car.
She hadn’t been following me in a gray sedan. Laurel hadn’t been watching me. My hands rose to my face.
No one was watching me except the killer.
Dizzying indignation spiraled up my spine and into my skull.
“I haven’t heard any arrow strikes lately,” my mom said. “Have you?”
“No.” Why hadn’t anyone been tailing me? Had my tail been called off when they pulled off my mother’s? Of course it had. Why had I assumed otherwise?
“On the bright side,” my mom said to Dean, “at least now the police will know you’re innocent.”
“On the dark side,” he said, “we’re getting shot at.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “The shooter’s stopped.”
Gun drawn, Laurel scuttled out of her car. She ran, bent double, to Dieter and knelt beside his truck.
He lifted his head, and the two exchanged words.
Staying low, she raced up the porch steps and jammed the table aside, skidded into the house. “Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean said.
“Where’s the shooter?” she asked.
We looked at each other, shrugged.
“Since the arrows hit the front of the table,” I said, “I’m guessing he was facing the house.”
Laurel’s gaze bored into my mother. “This would happen as soon as we pulled your police protection. What haven’t you told us about that night Bill Eldrich was killed?”
“Shouldn’t you be out trying to catch the shooter?” My mother fingered the squash-blossom necklace beneath the collar of her blouse.
“Not without backup,” Laurel said. “Now talk.”
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