Bought The Farm (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 1)

by Jeff Shelby

  Konrath’s daughters' place was just outside of town, the last right before the road that went through downtown turned back into a two-lane county highway that led to the next small town. Tiny brick homes lined both sides of Ash Street, framed by towering maples and smaller dogwoods that were losing the last of their white blooms. Soon, the brick homes gave way to empty lots and the road curved sharply to the left and suddenly I was in farm country, where green pastures teeming with black and white spotted cows greeted me. Gunnar had said to drive past the dairy farm and that Darla and DeeDee Konrath’s home would be right after.

  He was right. A white, two-story clapboard house stood at the end of a short, gravel driveway, and a wooden sign mounted above the listing front porch proclaimed “Konrath.” I was at the right place.

  I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. There were two cars in the open garage—an old Chevy Malibu and an even older Dodge Dart. Bicycles lined the side of the house, all different sizes and in various stages of disrepair. Some were missing seats, others handlebars and chains. Flowerbeds bordered the cracked concrete sidewalk that led to the front door, with pink and red tulips holding on to their buds in the brisk spring breeze.

  I climbed the steps to the front porch and pushed the doorbell. Nothing sounded. I tried again. And then, determining the bell was dead, I knocked.

  And waited.

  The curtains at the front of the house were pulled so I couldn’t see inside. I leaned closer to the door, hoping to hear sounds of someone inside, but there was only silence.

  But I wasn’t convinced no one was home. The garage was full of cars, and it was open. Maybe they were out back? No harm in checking, I thought.

  I wandered past the garage and the graveyard of bikes and into the back yard. It was choked with weeds, clover and dandelions strangling what little was left of the grass, and there was a large garden that looked to have been recently tilled. A rusty, sagging trampoline housed a large orange cat, who barely opened one eye to glance at me before readjusting himself in the beam of sunshine he was laying in. There were no wooden crosses marking a new cemetery, no mounds of fresh dirt, and no stack of coffins waiting to be lowered into the ground.

  “Hello?” I called out, a little tentatively.

  A crow cawed in response, startling me. There was a large shed just behind the trampoline, more of a small pole barn, and its doors were open. I headed that direction, thinking maybe someone was in there. After all, it was a Sunday in spring and the garden had been tilled—maybe everyone was spending the day outside, getting ready to plant seeds and take care of all of the other lawn chores the property seemed to so desperately need.

  But the shed was empty, too. Well, at least of people. There were shelves of tools and empty planters and plastic sand buckets and deflated pool toys and bags of birdseed and tools propped on racks. A weed whacker lay on its side, charging, and a red gasoline can sat next to an ancient, grass-stained mower. Someone had clearly been in here recently, doing exactly what I envisioned: preparing for yard work on a nice spring day. Whoever it was, though, was clearly not around.

  I sighed. I wanted to find Len Konrath and do what I’d set out to do: apologize. But it looked like I wasn’t going to find him there.

  I knew it wasn’t the end of the world. I could apologize tomorrow or the next day. But I was sort of an impatient person, and I wanted to do it now. I took one last cursory glance around the large shed, unsure of what I was looking for. It wasn’t as though someone was going to be hiding behind the pitchforks or crouched under the shelves of tools.

  The can immediately caught my attention. I stopped. Turned. Stared at it.

  It was a can of lighter fluid. The same brand as the one that I’d found behind my burned down bungalow.

  I stepped closer. Yes, same label, same design.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

  Don’t jump to conclusions, I warned myself. So what if it’s the same lighter fluid?

  But even as I tried to talk myself out of my suspicions, I felt the questions bombarding me. Because even though I had an explanation for the bones found in the bungalow, the questions surrounding the fire still lingered. And this felt like a pretty big piece of evidence.

  A shadow crossed in front of the door and I sucked in my breath.

  “Who’s there?” A voice growled.

  I glanced around with wide eyes, knowing one thing for certain.

  I was trapped.

  FORTY

  “Hello?” My voice sounded as meek as a mouse.

  Davis Konrath stepped into the shed. His expression wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t friendly, either.

  “Rainy? What are you doing here?” He was dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt covered in oil stains. His hands were streaked with oil or dirt, I couldn’t tell which, and it looked like he’d just come in from the garage or yard. Except I hadn’t seen him in either place.

  I stepped to the side, for some reason trying to put myself between him and the can of lighter fluid. It was silly; he wasn’t the one I was suddenly worried about again. It was his dad. “Um, I was looking for your dad, actually.” And then, because I didn’t want to come right out and accuse his dad once again of something awful, I said, “I came by to…to apologize.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “To apologize?”

  “Yeah, you know, for being so awful to him at the Wicked Wich the other day.”

  He smiled. “I told you, that isn’t necessary.”

  “I know, but I just felt bad,” I said. That statement was true. I had felt bad. But now? Now I wanted to know why the same kind of lighter fluid that might have been used to burn down my building was also in a shed on this property.

  “He’s a tough old guy,” Davis said. “He’s handled a lot worse. Besides, he’s not home. Darla and DeeDee took him and the kids to Winslow for lunch. There’s a place out there, Boone’s, that has the best BBQ this side of Charlottesville.”

  “Kids?” I asked. “Are they yours or…?”

  He chuckled. “Nah. Darla’s divorced, so she and the kids moved in here. DeeDee lost her husband a few years back—motorcycle accident—and was happy to have the company. And then Dad moved in and well…I guess you could say they’re one big, happy family now.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “I mean, do you live here, too?”

  His expression clouded. “No.”

  There was something in his tone that made me perk up. It had only been one word, but it was loaded with anger and accusation.

  “No?” I asked. “I thought you lived here in town.”

  “I do.” He toed the cement floor with his weathered work boot. “Rent a room back in town for now. Hoping to get a place of my own soon.”

  “Oh.” I’d had no idea.

  “Say,” he said, shifting a little closer to me. “I saw you talking to Martin at church today.”

  I frowned. “Yes, we’ve chatted a couple of times. Nice guy, very friendly.”

  “He kept looking at me while he was talking to you,” he said. His eyes narrowed. “He wasn’t talking about me, was he? Spreading lies?”

  I stiffened at the tone of his voice and the accusation in his eyes. This was not the Davis I’d spoken to before. This man wasn’t friendly or kind: he was angry.

  “Talking about you?” I asked, not answering the question. “Why would he do that?”

  “He’s had it in for me since high school,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “Ever since Dawn and I dated.”

  So Dawn had been telling the truth about that.

  “Oh,” I said, shaking my head. “Nope, he was just making sure I was doing okay with everything.” I took a deep breath. “Well, I should probably get out of your way. Looks like you’re busy with some projects and I need to get back home, too.”

  I readjusted my purse and took a step back, trying to pivot so Davis wasn’t directly in front of me. My heel hit some
thing metal, followed by a dull thud and the sloshing of liquid. I whirled around and gasped.

  “Oh my goodness,” I said, watching as the lighter fluid spilled onto the concrete floor. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

  Davis moved in quickly, lifting the can back into a sitting position. He grabbed a ratty, threadbare towel from a shelf and threw it over the growing puddle.

  “It’s fine,” he said, reaching for another towel. “It’s just lighter fluid. Dad doesn’t use it, anyway.”

  “Still. I feel terrible…”

  “Don’t.” He dropped the second towel and used his foot to put it in position. “I bought it for him because he insists on using a charcoal grill instead of gas, but he’s old school and won’t touch the stuff. Doesn’t believe in it. Foolish, if you ask me. This stuff makes anything burn beautifully.”

  My heart was hammering inside my chest and I forced a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady my pulse. Because suddenly everything was crystal clear.

  Len Konrath wasn’t responsible for the bones or the fire on my property.

  Davis was.

  FORTY ONE

  “It was you,” I said softly.

  “What?”

  I swallowed and looked at Davis, my eyes wide. I hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. “N-nothing,” I stammered. “Uh, I need to get going.”

  He took a step back, but he wasn’t doing it to get out of my way. Instead, he planted himself in front of the door.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he announced, his eyes as hard as his voice.

  “I’m not thinking anything,” I said, forcing a smile. “Except that I need to get home. Gunnar’s waiting for me.”

  “Gunnar?” He frowned. “Gunnar Forsythe?”

  I nodded. “Yes, we…we have a date.” Davis didn’t need to know we were building a chicken coop, not going out for dinner and drinks. “He knew where I was going, knew I’d only be gone for a half hour or so. He’s probably getting a little worried.”

  Davis smiled thinly. “If he’s working outside, he’s lost track of time. Trust me. That man doesn’t abide by a clock to save his life.”

  I realized with a sinking heart that this was probably true. If Gunnar was focused on building that coop, it would be the only thing he was thinking about. And even though he knew where I was headed, we’d never discussed a return time.

  Maybe I should've just stuck to stripping.

  “I didn’t set fire to your building to hurt you,” he said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He chuckled. “Come on now, Rainy, stop pretending. You and I both know you’re smarter than that. I figured that out as soon as that little accident didn’t send you running. I thought it might be a little easier, but you proved tougher than I thought.”

  “Look, I really think—”

  “I don’t really care what you think,” he said.

  I stepped back a little, careful not to land in the soaked towels. He moved closer to me, but was still positioned between me and the door.

  “I didn’t do it to hurt you,” he repeated, his voice soft. But there was no regret, no apology there. “I just wanted to scare you. Same thing with the bones. Figured you’d see those and they’d spook you and you’d go running back to the city you came from. Country life isn’t easy for you soft city folk.”

  I bristled at his comments but said nothing. All I was focused on was finding a way to escape.

  “But you surprised me, Rainy Day.” He grinned, and it was like a Joker smile and I suddenly wondered how I’d ever even had a passing thought that he was handsome. “You weren’t spooked at all. Which left me right back where I was at the beginning of all this.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Which was…?”

  “Homeless.” He sucked in a breath, then slowly expelled it. “You see, that farm of yours? It belongs to me. Been in my family for years, and I always knew it was gonna be mine some day.” He snorted. “But then good old Dad decided to teach me a lesson. Told me nothing came for free anymore, or even for cheap. If I wanted the farm, I had to buy it.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Wouldn’t he want to keep it in the family?”

  A scowl crossed his face. “You would think so. But Daddy didn’t take kindly to me spending some of his money…a few investments gone bad. Said he needed to sell the farm so he could retire. He offered me first dibs but he knew I didn’t have that kind of cash sitting around. It wasn’t a real offer, more of a slap in the face.”

  “So you thought you could just run me off.” It wasn’t a question; he’d already admitted as much.

  “Guess that didn’t work, now did it?” His smile returned and my stomach twisted and turned. “So the question is, now what are we gonna do?”

  It was a fair question.

  Because a man whose sanity I questioned was staring at me with an evil grin plastered on his face, contemplating my future, and I was trapped in his shed with no possible way to exit.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Rainy,” he said. He inched closer and I tried to recoil, but I was quickly running out of room behind me. “I like you. But I can’t have you blabbing about what happened all over town.”

  “I…I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, that’s easy to say, now isn’t it?” He nodded as if he were agreeing with himself. “But when people start asking questions? When Gunnar asks what you were up to today, what are you gonna tell him? And how about Martin? Or the sheriff? Or my dad? They don’t know the truth, and the last thing I need is to give my dad one more reason to want to disown me.”

  “Maybe you should have thought of that before you set fire to my property,” I muttered.

  His eyebrows raised. “You’re probably right,” he said, nodding. “I didn’t think things through. But this time?” He looked around. “I think we have all the pieces in place so that people won’t be asking many questions.”

  I stilled.

  “Your car is in the driveway. You told Gunnar you were coming here. Everyone knows you had run-ins with my dad. Maybe you were poking around the shed, looking to cause trouble. You stumbled and knocked over a can of lighter fluid. And, bummer for you, there was an open flame.” He glanced at a shelf directly behind me and I turned slightly, my eyes zeroing in on a propane lamp.

  “I’d just been out here earlier, testing some of the camping equipment for my sister. Her kids love to camp, and summer’s almost here. It was just bad luck that the lamp was lit.” He produced a booklet of matches from his jeans pocket. “And that you stumbled into the shelves and knocked it over.”

  My eyes widened as he pulled a match from the booklet. He had it poised, ready to strike.

  “I was outside working on the chainsaw. Other side of the house, which is why I didn’t see you. I tried to save you, but it was too late.”

  “No one is going to believe that.” My voice shook and I knew he could hear it, too.

  “It’s the only version they’re going to hear,” he said.

  He stepped closer and my heart jack-hammered because I knew I had to make a decision quickly. Try to run or try to keep him from lighting that match. Those were the only two choices because I couldn’t think about the third alternative: being burned alive.

  I gauged the distance between me and the door. I was five feet away. With any luck, I could make it. But Davis was in front of me, and all he had to do was reach over me to grab the lantern and light it. I had to decide.

  And suddenly, standing there with my purse on my shoulder, I knew what I could do. It was a long shot, but it was better than trying to run and better than doing nothing.

  Slowly, I shifted so my purse was in front of my stomach. To him, it probably looked like I was hugging myself, preparing for the inevitable. With my free hand, I reached into my bag, my fingers closing around the thick object I was looking for.

  And just as Davis reached for the lantern, his eyes cast upward as
he searched the shelf for it, I whipped out the Bible Declan had given me and whacked Davis Konrath on the side of the head.

  FORTY TWO

  God is not dead.

  Nor was I.

  Because the Bible did the trick, stunning Davis long enough for me to knee him in the privates and launch myself out of the shed and into the yard.

  I raced to my car, my heart pumping and my breath coming in short gasps, terrified that he would be two steps behind me.

  But he wasn’t.

  I yanked open the car door and shoved the key into the ignition with shaking fingers.

  Still no Davis.

  I jammed the car in reverse, pushed hard on the accelerator, my eyes focused on what was in front of me, and I promptly smashed into whatever was behind me. The sickening thud of grinding metal and breaking glass drowned out my scream.

  I opened my eyes and Gunnar was standing outside my driver's side window. He pulled open the door and reached for me. “Are you okay?”

  “I don't know,” I said. “What happened?”

  “I was pulling in behind you and you backed into me. Are you alright?”

  I nodded and gasped, trying to find my voice. “I-it was Davis. Davis planted the bones and burned my building. And he tried to kill me!”

  “He what?”

  “He was going to kill me.”