Killer Jam (A Dewberry Farm Mystery)

by Karen MacInerney

  “Weird.” Quinn shivered and looked back down at the book. “Okay, here it is. Cheese Kolaches.”

  “What do I need?”

  “Well, more cottage cheese, for starters,” she said, “but other than that, the usual suspects. Yeast, flour, eggs, sugar, butter. Fruit, if you want to add it.”

  “Let’s give it a try tomorrow,” I said. She was silent. “If you’re still here, that is,” I added.

  She seemed to wilt a little at the reminder. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to go home anytime soon.” Anger shadowed her face. “It’s not fair. He’s the one who attacked me. Why should I be the one who has to rearrange my life?”

  “I’ve thought the same thing,” I admitted.

  “I made a bad decision when I married him, and now it feels like I’ll never be free.” I could hear the bitterness in her voice. “And Rooster isn’t doing anything to make sure he’s put away. He won’t tell me, but I know that man. He’s making me pay for not going out with him in high school.”

  “How did he get elected as sheriff, anyway?”

  She sighed. “There’s always been a Kocurek in the sheriff’s office,” she said. “It’s like a town tradition.” She reached for her wine glass—she hadn’t yet moved on to tea—and drank down what was left. “I love Buttercup, but some things about it drive me nuts.”

  “Maybe we can change them,” I suggested.

  She shot me a look of disbelief. “How are you going to change them from behind bars in Huntsville?” She tossed the words off casually, then clapped her hand to her mouth and blanched. “Oh, God, Lucy. I’m so sorry I said that.”

  “You’re just being realistic,” I said, trying to sound casual, but the truth was, hearing her vocalize my fears had hit home. What were we doing leafing through my grandmother’s recipe book when odds were good Rooster Kocurek was going to arrest me for murder—maybe two murders—any day now?

  I got up and stretched, trying not to show how upset I was. “I should probably hit the sack,” I said. “You should, too—you have to get up early.”

  “Lucy,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, and gave her a smile. “See you in the morning.”

  But it wasn’t okay, and both of us knew it.

  It took a long time for me to go to sleep that night. I kept thinking about Nettie’s murder—and Nancy’s—and wondering who was responsible. Who would have wanted both of them dead? Was Nancy killed just because she heard or saw something she shouldn’t have? Or did she die for another reason?

  It was past midnight when I drifted off, Chuck snuffling lightly at the foot of the bed. I was dreaming about giant thumper trucks advancing on the farmhouse, their bumpers bristling with bratwurst skewers, when Chuck growled.

  My eyes shot open just as headlights raked the wall of my bedroom. Chuck barked, and my stomach clenched, adrenaline pumping through my body.

  Tires skidded on gravel as I leapt out of bed and hurried to the kitchen, wishing I had plugged my cell phone in next to my bed. Chuck trotted along behind me, still growling low in his throat. As I reached the last step, there was a pounding at the door that sounded like a thunderclap. The windows rattled, and my mouth turned dry.

  “Quinn!” Jed bellowed.

  I grabbed the phone and dialed 911 with shaking hands as Quinn came down the stairs to join me in the kitchen. The headlights still glared through the windows, making the cozy room look stark and cold. “I’m calling the police!” I whispered.

  “I know you’re in there! You can’t hide from me!”

  The voice on the other end of the phone was a comfort. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

  “There’s a violent man trying to break into my house,” I whispered as Jed started hammering again. The door shook on its hinges; I hoped it wouldn’t burst open from the force. “I need the police, as fast as possible.”

  “What’s your address?”

  I told her.

  “It’ll be a few minutes until we can get someone out there; I’m putting in a call right now. Can you stay on the line?”

  “Okay, but I’m going to have to put you down.”

  “I’ll be here,” she said.

  All of a sudden, the hammering stopped. Quinn and I looked at each other; she looked dead white in the reflected glare of the headlights.

  “Did he give up?” I asked, even though I knew he hadn’t.

  “Truck’s still here,” she said. Her eyes darted around the room and landed on the broom by the back door. She grabbed it, holding it like a sword. “I’m so sorry, Lucy,” she said.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I said. “He’s breaking the law.”

  “Yes, but he’s breaking the law here. Whatever happens, let me handle it. I married the asshole, not you.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to let you face him alone.”

  Before she could answer, there was a crash, and the back door window exploded. Jed kicked the glass out and reached through to unlock the door, looking much taller than six foot two. He thrust it open with a kick, hollering, “Where are you? I know you’re in here somewhere.”

  Chuck, who had been growling low in his throat, launched his thirty-pound bald body at Jed’s leg, clamping onto his calf with his teeth. Quinn’s ex started back, yelling. “What the . . .”

  As I watched, he shook Chuck off and kicked him hard in the ribs. “No!” I yelled as my little dog flew across the room and hit a wall, then fell motionless to the floor. “Chuck!” I called, and started toward him, then stopped myself. This wasn’t over yet.

  “Go home, Jed,” Quinn said. She had pulled herself up and faced him, white-faced in her thin bathrobe, the broom in her hand. Her voice was tight, but rang with authority.

  “There you are, you slut. Tryin’ to hide. Don’t you know you can’t ever hide from me? I’ll always find you.” My stomach turned at the menace in his voice, and at the stench of sour beer and sweat.

  “Go home,” she repeated as he lurched across the room toward her.

  “Sure, bitch. But I’m takin’ you with me.”

  He swung at her, a wide, round swing aimed at her face. She ducked out of the way, and he stumbled forward, crashing into my grandmother’s pie safe. I could hear glass breaking as jam jars crashed to the floor. I backed up against the counter, wishing I’d had time to find a weapon. As I clutched the tile countertop, something bumped against my hand. A rolling pin. I grabbed it as Jed reeled away from the pie safe, knocking a bowl off the countertop. It shattered against the wood floor as he advanced on Quinn, who jabbed at him with the broomstick.

  The first jab took him in the solar plexus, and he staggered back for a moment.

  “You hit me!” he said, sounding shocked.

  “Go home,” Quinn said again. This time, I could hear her voice tremble.

  “Not without my wife,” he said, and launched himself at her again. Quinn jabbed with the broom again, but he caught it, shoving it back toward her and knocking her off balance. She gasped and fell backward; he followed, backhanding her across the face before pinning her to the wall.

  She yelped, but then kneed him, hard. He grunted in pain, but it wasn’t enough to get him to back off. “You’ll pay for that,” he hissed, and I winced as he gave her a vicious hook to the chin. She managed to block it, but only partially. A few drops of my friend’s blood spattered on my rag rug, and anger welled in me, eclipsing the fear.

  I gripped the rolling pin in my hand and advanced, raising it over my head. I was about to bring it down when Jed howled, staggering away from Quinn, one hand covering his face. “My eye!” he said. “You tried to rip out my eye!”

  “Go home,” she said, her voice slurred and breathless. She had crumpled to the floor, her back against the wall. Blood dripped from the right side of her mouth.

  Quinn’s words seemed to make Jed forget the pain. His voice was savage as he turned and advanced on her, fists clenched. “I told you alrea
dy, you bitch. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  My friend pushed herself to her feet, still leaning against the wall.

  “Say goodnight,” he said, and launched a ham-sized fist at her just as I started swinging the rolling pin. Three things happened at once: his fist splintered the wall, the rolling pin smacked into his right temple, and Quinn’s fist hammered the left side of his face.

  He stood upright for a split second before crumpling to the floor, hitting the wood floorboards with a sickening thud.

  “Quinn,” I said, still holding the rolling pin. “Are you okay?”

  “Been better,” she said. I ran over and switched on the light.

  “Oh, Quinn,” I said. My friend’s mouth was leaking blood, and her face was already beginning to swell.

  “Chuck,” she said, gesturing toward the inert poodle. “So sorry, Lucy.”

  I hurried over to my chubby dog, putting my hand on his tummy. It was rising and falling, but there was a streak of red blood on his muzzle. “He’s still alive,” I said. “I’ll call Tobias.”

  I reached for the phone.

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?” It was the dispatcher.

  “I’m still here,” I said.

  “Is everyone okay?”

  “We knocked out the intruder, but we need some medical attention,” I said, looking at Quinn.

  “I’ll get an ambulance out there.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Are the police on their way?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Should be there any minute.”

  “Good. I appreciate all your help, and I hate to hang up on you, but I have to call my vet.”

  I hung up and dialed Tobias. He answered on the third ring.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but Chuck just got kicked into a wall. He’s breathing, but he’s unconscious, and there’s some blood.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  I looked up at Quinn, who had slid back down to the ground and was hugging herself. “Jed Stadtler.”

  “Damn,” he said. “Are you and Quinn okay?”

  “We will be,” I told him. “Police and EMTs are on their way.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and hung up, looking at Quinn’s swelling face. “Those were some pretty awesome moves, my friend. EMTs are on the way, but we should probably get some ice on that.” I dug in the freezer for a bag of frozen peas, which I wrapped in a dish towel and held up to her cheek.

  “Thanks,” she said. “But what about him?” She pointed to Jed, who was sprawled across the floor like a jeans-clad bear rug.

  “He doesn’t get ice,” I told her as I adjusted the peas.

  She gave me a weak smile. “Duh. I mean, what if he wakes up?”

  I grimaced. “I’ll keep my rolling pin handy.”

  Tobias arrived just as Deputy Metzger cuffed Jed and half-dragged him out to the patrol car. Rooster, thankfully, had been off duty. It had been bad enough dealing with Jed Stadtler tonight. I didn’t need another hostile man in my home. Quinn’s ex had started to come to just before the deputies arrived, and was still spouting obscenities at my friend as the deputies struggled to get the cuffs onto him and read him his rights. I hoped this incident would land him in jail, so that this couldn’t happen again anytime in the near future.

  Tobias knocked on the door just as the ambulance bumped up the road, its blue and red lights illuminating the dark pasture. At least they didn’t have their sirens on, I reflected, although I knew news of tonight’s events would have circulated through Buttercup by the time I finished my first cup of coffee the next morning.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, taking in the deputies, the dented pie safe, and Quinn’s swollen face.

  “I think we’ll be all right,” Quinn said, sounding as if her mouth was stuffed with cotton, “but I’m worried about Chuck.”

  As the EMTs came through the open front door, Tobias hurried over to where my little poodle lay. My attention was torn between my friend and my dog; I prayed both would be okay.

  “Did you move him at all?” Tobias asked.

  “No,” I told Tobias. “I was afraid to.”

  “Good call,” he said, palpating Chuck’s side and looking at his bloodstained muzzle. Poor little dog, I thought; he was just trying to protect us. “He looks like he’s got some broken ribs,” Tobias told me. “I’m hoping the lung hasn’t been punctured.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to make him okay,” he said. My heart squeezed as I realized he hadn’t said Chuck would be fine. My poor dog couldn’t be in better hands, though, I reminded myself. “I’ve got a board in my car,” Tobias said. We’ll slide him onto that and strap him down, and I’ll take him to the clinic for X-rays.”

  “Go with him,” Quinn said as a young EMT shone a light into her right eye.

  As much as I wanted to be with Chuck, I knew I couldn’t leave Quinn alone. Tobias knew it, too. He gave his head a small shake. “Stay here with Quinn,” he said. “I’ll take care of him and call you with updates.”

  “Thank you so much. I’m sorry to call so late . . . ”

  “Don’t be.” He reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. The contact sent a zing of excitement running through me, but was also deeply comforting. “I’m glad you called. Please don’t ever hesitate—particularly in a situation like this.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and my heart seemed to expand when he smiled.

  By the time Tobias drove his truck down the driveway with Chuck on the seat next to him, the EMTs had finished examining Quinn; although she’d have bumps and bruises, there were no broken bones, and she’d somehow escaped a concussion. Both she and I gave our statements to the deputies as the EMTs packed up their gear.

  “She looks a lot better than the other guy,” Deputy Metzger said as he closed up his notebook.

  “We should probably check him out, too,” the young EMT said.

  “Why don’t you follow us down to the courthouse?” he said. “We’ll get him in a cell and you can take a look at him there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” the EMT said.

  Deputy Metzger lingered at the door for a moment. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, Miz Resnick, but the sheriff’s working on getting a warrant.”

  “A warrant?”

  The deputy grimaced. “An arrest warrant,” he said.

  My stomach turned to ice. “How long do I have?”

  “A day or two,” he said. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Quinn drew in her breath.

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling sick as my friend and I followed him out the door.

  “That Stadtler’s truck out front?” the deputy asked, pointing to the huge truck parked askew in the gravel drive.

  Quinn nodded, still holding the bag of peas to her cheek.

  “Good thing he was too drunk to remember the gun rack,” the deputy said. “He’s got a shotgun and two rifles back there.”

  I shivered, thinking of how much worse it could have been.

  Tobias didn’t call until 3:00 a.m., but the news, thankfully, was good.

  “He’s got two broken ribs, but he’ll mend,” he told me as I sank onto a chair, limp with relief.

  “Thank you,” I said. “What was the blood on his muzzle?”

  “He lost a tooth, but it isn’t anything that’ll keep him from the food bowl.”

  “That’s great news,” I said. “Thanks again for coming out so late, and for taking such good care of him.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied. “How’s Quinn?”

  “She’ll be okay, at least physically,” I said, “but I’m guessing she’ll be sore in the morning.”

  “You two really handled things well last night,” Tobias said. “Things could have turned out a whole lot differently.”

  I told him what the deputies had said about the gun rack in the back of Jed’s truck, and he let out a long, low wh
istle. “You did get lucky, and so did I. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed anyone’s company as much as yours; I’d hate for something to happen to you.”

  I felt a flutter in my stomach. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m still a murder suspect, though. The deputy said Rooster’s working on getting an arrest warrant.”

  “Well then, we’ll just have to clear your name,” he said easily. “I’m not going to give up our lunch date that easily.”

  Relief washed over me. “It’s good to know someone in town is on my side.”

  “Always,” he said. “I’m going to hit the sack, but I’ll keep an eye on Chuck. You can come visit him tomorrow, but I’d like to hold onto him for a day or two to make sure he’s doing okay. He’ll be on reduced activity for a while.”

  “He’ll love that,” I said. “No more forced marches to the mailbox.”

  “He’ll be back on duty soon,” Tobias said. “Whether he likes it or not.”

  We talked for a few more minutes before hanging up. When I climbed between the covers, despite the harrowing events of the night, I was smiling.

  I had just finished milking Blossom and was cleaning the milking equipment in the kitchen sink when Quinn limped down the stairs into the kitchen. I had sent her to bed immediately the night before, then cleaned up the glass near the back door and tried to push the dents out of the metal sheets in my grandmother’s pie safe as I waited for news from Tobias. It was the second time in a week I’d been brushing glass into a dustpan thanks to Jed Stadtler, I reflected. I hoped he went away for a very, very long time.

  My friend looked terrible. Now, despite the ibuprofen and the ice, her face had swollen so much she looked like a hamster storing sunflower seeds. I poured her a cup of coffee, then headed for the freezer to retrieve the bag of peas.

  “How’s Chuck?” she asked as she lowered herself gingerly onto a chair.

  “He’s doing okay,” I told her as I handed her the bag. “Two broken ribs, and he lost one tooth, but no organs were punctured. He’ll be up and around in no time, according to Tobias.”

  “I’m so sorry, Lucy.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You aren’t responsible for Jed’s actions,” I said.