“If I hadn’t been here . . . ”
“I’m glad you were here and not in town; he had two of us to contend with, not one. And now that he’s in custody, you can rest easy.” I shook two pills out of a bottle of ibuprofen and handed them to her. “I’ll make scrambled eggs in a moment—they don’t take too much chewing—but take these with your coffee.”
“Thanks,” she said, wincing as she applied the bag of frozen peas to her swollen cheek. “That rolling pin was good thinking.”
“I backed up against the counter, and it just bumped against my hand.” I looked at the pin, which was standing up in the crock I used to store baking tools. “Although it shouldn’t have; I put it back in the crock after I made those strawberry pies the other day.”
“Are you sure you didn’t grab it out of the crock?”
“I’m sure,” I said. My skin prickled. Why had that rolling pin been on the counter—and why had it rolled into my hand?
“Well, whether it was on the counter or in the crock, I’m glad you thought to use it.” She grimaced. “And I’m glad Rooster wasn’t on duty last night.”
The mention of Rooster reminded me of my dilemma. “Unfortunately, if I don’t get this Nettie Kocurek business figured out soon, I’m afraid he’s going to show up on my front doorstep with an arrest warrant.”
“You think so?”
I poured myself a second cup of coffee and sat down across from my friend. “Unless I figure out who killed Nettie, I am more than likely going to jail. And I’ll lose the farm, and the next twenty years of my life. Maybe more.” I took a sip of coffee and looked at Quinn. “If that happens, will you take care of Chuck?”
“It’s not going to happen,” she said fervently. “We’re going to look at that list from Brethren Church and talk to everyone on it. And we’re going to go down to the Zephyr and look at every picture Mandy took at the festival. Maybe she caught the murderer coming out of the jam tent—who knows?” She kept going. “Maybe someone will have jam on their clothes. There are so many things we haven’t looked into yet.”
My heart expanded at my friend’s offer to help. “Thank you for that,” I told her.
“I mean it.” She looked at me hard. “I’ll do anything I can to help prove you’re innocent. Because you are.”
My first trip to the newspaper office wasn’t particularly fruitful; there was no sign of Mandy at the Zephyr, so I left her a message and headed over to Molly’s house to see if I could pick up the picture she’d called about.
I spotted a few cows grazing contentedly in the flower-studded fields as I drove up to the Kramers’ farmhouse. Molly’s old Buick was parked out front, and she came to the door a moment after I knocked, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Hey, Lucy! I was hoping you’d stop by. I heard about what happened last night; is Quinn okay?”
“She’s doing all right,” I said. Despite my protests, Quinn had headed into the cafe to work, claiming she’d rest if she felt she needed to. I doubted it, but I couldn’t force her to go to bed, so I sent her off with ibuprofen and orders for more frozen peas.
“Scary,” Molly said. “But I hear you gave better than you got.”
“It was mostly Quinn and her karate,” I said. “But I’m hoping he’ll be off the streets for a while, and Quinn can relax.” I handed her a jar of jam. “This is for you, by the way. Thanks so much for tracking down that picture.”
“Thanks!” she said. “Come on in. It’s in the kitchen with the list; I’m just cleaning up from breakfast.”
“Need help with the dishes?”
“Nah. Sit down and relax,” she said. “After last night, you deserve a break. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
“Sure,” I said, thinking I needed all the energy I could get. “Only if there’s some made.”
“There’s plenty,” she said, pouring two mugs. “Milk and sugar?”
“Both,” I told her, and a moment later she handed me a chunky blue mug and gestured to the kitchen table. I thanked her as I sat down, then mentioned that the cow looked like it had recovered.
“It has,” she said, “but I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. It might be worthwhile talking to Tobias and seeing if he’s seen a trend.”
“I’m going to see him at lunch today,” I said. “I’m wondering if someone’s trying to drive people out so they can pick up property.”
“Are you thinking of the Kocureks?”
“Yes, but evidently their farm was hit, too.”
She shrugged. “Could be a decoy.”
“Expensive decoy.”
“No kidding. We’re still paying for repairs.” She put up the last dish and hung the dish towel on the fridge, then retrieved the list and a four-by-six photo from a stack near the phone. “Here’s the picture I told you about,” she said. “Father Mikeska let me borrow it to make a copy, but I promised I’d bring it back.”
“I’ll scan a copy at the library and return it for you,” I told her, peering at the photo. There were about fifteen people in the picture, and I recognized most of them. All were wearing bright red sashes with a golden lamb pinned to the shoulder.
“At least that narrows it down a bit,” I said. I recognized Edna Orzak, the owner of the Red and White, along with Faith Zapalac, Nettie, Flora, and even Rooster.
I sighed. “I was hoping this would narrow things down more.”
“Peter Swenson isn’t on there,” she pointed out.
“That’s true,” I said, brightening. “But every other possible suspect is.”
“Except you,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but Rooster won’t admit the lamb pin as evidence.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Because he’s a turkey, that’s why. I do not understand how that man continues to be elected.”
“You know, I was thinking about it on the way over here. Where did the bratwurst skewer come from, anyway?” I asked.
“From George Skalicky’s booth,” she said. “He runs it every year—it’s about three tents down from the jam tent—and he makes all the sausage himself from an old family recipe.”
“I thought he just raised cattle.”
“He raises a pig or two, too. Keeps enough for his family, and sells the rest at the Founders’ Day Festival. All the proceeds go to the town beautification fund.”
“Who would have had access to a skewer?” I asked.
“From what I remember, he grills the sausages behind the tent and keeps a big can of skewers back there.” She shrugged. “Anyone could grab one.”
“So that’s no help,” I said. “Although if it were three tents away, it sounds like there’s premeditation, doesn’t it?”
“Yes . . . but why kill her at such a public event?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Lots of available suspects.”
“And lots of potential witnesses,” she pointed out.
I sighed. “Any more word from Brittany on Roger and that waitress down at Rosita’s?”
“She hasn’t mentioned it since the night you came over to dinner, no. I can ask her, though.”
“I thought I might go down there for lunch,” I suggested.
“I did hear a rumor about Flora and Roger, though,” she said.
“What?”
“I was down at the Red and White yesterday, and Mary Elizabeth down at the Enchanted Garden was talking to Flora about the wedding flowers. Apparently Flora’s ordered a whole mess of yellow roses, since Roger calls her his yellow rose.”
“Romantic,” I said dryly. “They’re not wasting any time getting married, are they?”
“No,” she said. “Apparently Nettie didn’t change the will before she died.”
I perked up. “Really?”
“That’s what Alfie’s cousin Willa says. She’s a probate attorney, offices in La Grange.”
“She shouldn’t be talking about clients like that.”
“The will’s public record now. But that’s not the point.”
“No?”
“Guess what Edna Orzak said when I picked up a pork roast yesterday?”
“What?”
“She said she wondered if Flora or her fiancé might not have hurried Nettie along somehow. So they could have their wedding cake and eat it, too, so to speak.”
As encouraging as it was knowing that not everyone in town thought I was a murderer, unfortunately Edna down at the Red and White wasn’t the person with arresting authority. “Does Rooster know all of this?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but if he’s not checking with Nettie’s attorney, he should be. If Edna is right, and she was going to make Flora choose between Roger and her inheritance, then Flora had motive in spades.”
“I wish I could talk to Nettie’s attorney,” I said.
“I wish Rooster would talk to Nettie’s attorney,” Molly said.
“I could always call Alfie’s cousin and suggest that if Nettie was in fact planning to change her will, it could be germane to the investigation.”
“You think she’ll call Rooster?”
I shrugged and took a sip of my coffee. “I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot.”
It had been a good visit, I thought as I climbed back into the truck a half hour later and headed toward the library to scan the photo. Molly always managed to lift my spirits; she was an eternal optimist. As I bumped over the railroad tracks and passed the train depot, I waved to Bessie Mae, who was in her customary folding chair under the shadow of the roof. She raised a wrinkled hand solemnly in response, then lowered it slowly. I wondered if Flora would follow in her mother’s footsteps and continue to help care for Bessie Mae along with a lot of other folks in town. For someone as mean as a snake, Nettie did have a soft spot for the older woman. It made me think better of her, even though it seemed out of character. People can be surprising.
I had just pulled up outside the library when my cell phone rang. I smiled when I saw the number was the vet clinic.
“Hello, Dr. Brandt,” I said.
“Hello, Ms. Resnick,” he responded. I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Your ears must be burning,” I said as I engaged the parking brake. “I was just talking about you with Molly.”
“Good things, I hope.”
“Always,” I laughed, glancing over at the property listings page sticking out of the top of my bag. “How’s Chuck?”
“Begging for food,” he said.
I laughed. “So, almost back to normal, then?”
“Not quite, but I think he’ll be just fine.”
“Thank you so much for coming out in the middle of the night,” I said. “He looked so bad last night; I thought I’d lost him.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “Are we still on for lunch?”
“That would be terrific. I wanted to ask you about cattle poisonings around town.”
“Cattle poisonings? I must confess that I’m disappointed.”
“Sorry about that,” I said, feeling my face heat up, “but I heard yesterday that the Chovaneks lost a hundred head of cattle and were selling up.”
“It was a tragic case,” he said. “I still haven’t figured out what they got into. We’re looking into everything.”
“Have there been a lot of sudden cattle deaths the last few months?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Come to think of it, we have had quite a few recently. I put it down to the wet spring, but do you think there might be something else to it?”
“Somebody’s been vandalizing tractor engines, too,” I said. “Smaller farmers, mostly.”
“Why?” he asked.
“This is just a wild guess, but could it be that someone’s trying to make a land grab.”
“By wrecking equipment and poisoning cattle?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” I said, “but with the drought we’ve had the last few years, a lot of farmers are really struggling right now. That’s the only reason I was able to afford Dewberry Farm, to be honest. We’ve been really lucky with rain this spring, which has helped the farmers; but maybe that put a kink in the works for somebody who was hoping to buy a lot of land cheap.”
“Like who?” he asked.
“I think Faith Zapalac might have an idea,” I said.
“I guess that makes sense. She’s the only game in town, isn’t she?”
“Yup.”
“It’s an interesting thought,” he admitted. “There have been an unusually high number this past year. This morning’s pretty open for me; I’ll go through the files and pull any poison cases, and we can take a look at what we find. See you soon for lunch?”
I glanced at my watch. “That sounds terrific,” I said. “Only not at the Blue Onion, please. I don’t want to make anything harder on Quinn than I already have.”
“We talked about Rosita’s. Will that work?”
“That sounds perfect,” I said. If I was lucky, I might run into Roger and his waitress friend, too. “Noon still good?”
“See you there,” he said.
I pulled up outside Rosita’s about five minutes before noon, parking under the red-painted sign proclaiming that the restaurant served “Down-Home Mexican.” The restaurant was right next to Hruska’s Bakery and Gas Station, right on 71, and had a good mix of out-of-towners and locals. They were doing a brisk trade today; I had to park in the back.
As I walked up the Saltillo tile walk to the front door, I noticed the F-150 truck from the Kocureks’ house parked three spots from the entrance. I glanced in the back out of curiosity, but the manure bag was gone. Was Roger dining with Flora? I wondered. Or stopping in to say hi to one of the pretty waitresses?
The smell of sizzling fajitas greeted me as I opened the door and stepped inside. A green, white, and red Mexican flag was draped on the wall behind the bar—a refreshing change from the ubiquitous Czech flags that dotted Buttercup. I scanned the tables, looking for Tobias, and was not surprised to see Roger in a booth near the end of the front bank of windows, smiling at an attractive young woman with short, dark hair.
“Table for one?”
I turned to see the waitress, who was holding a menu and looking at me inquisitively. I didn’t recognize her, and with relief, I realized she didn’t seem to recognize me. It was getting hard to be constantly eyed with suspicion.
“Two, actually,” I said. My eyes turned back to Roger. There was an empty table next to his. “Can we sit in that booth near the end?”
“Sure,” she said, and I followed her down the aisle, seating myself so that my back was to Roger. I was worried he’d recognize me, but fortunately, he was too focused on the waitress standing by his booth to notice.
As I settled into my booth and opened the menu, I focused on the conversation occurring behind me.
“So, are you working this weekend?” he asked.
“Saturday night,” she said. “Why? You going to bring your girlfriend?”
“She hates Mexican food,” he said. “Takes after her mother that way.”
“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” the young waitress replied. “I thought she’d live forever.”
“Me too,” he said.
“So now you’re going to be married to a rich lady,” the young woman suggested.
“Looks like it.” I could practically feel him puff up in the booth behind me.
“Lucky for you,” the waitress said. “I hear someone stuck the old bat with a skewer.” I could almost hear her shudder in delight. “Who do you think would do such a thing?”
“The cops think it’s that woman who bought the Vogel place,” he said.
“What do you think?”
“If I’d put my life savings into a piece of property only to have the woman who sold it to me turn around and turn it into an oil well, I’d want to kill her, too.”
“So, she stuck her with a skewer? I heard they found a jar of her jam on the scene, too. Broken.”
“I heard that rumor, too,” he said. Before he could say
anything else, I heard my name and looked up to see Tobias walking to the table, a big smile on his handsome face.
Roger and the waitress must have heard it, too, because as he approached, she hurried away, glancing over a shoulder at me with wide eyes. I sighed internally. If the hostess hadn’t known who I was before, she certainly would now.
“Hey,” I said as he slid into the booth across from me. Tobias wore jeans and a green plaid shirt, and smelled of laundry detergent and hay. Our knees brushed, and again I felt that tug.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” he said. “I had to field a call on my way out the door. Chuck’s doing great, by the way; he’ll be back to his old self again in no time.”
“That’s a relief. What was the call?”
“Nothing urgent,” he said. “Mitzi Karp’s orange tabby is pregnant, and she just needed reassurance.”
“How’s the golden retriever who was hit by a truck, by the way?”
“Recovering nicely,” he said. “He’ll be good as new in no time.” He slid a folder across the table to me. “You were right about the poisonings. There were two the year before last, one last year, and six this year.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said, pulling out a map of Buttercup. Several tracts were circled. “All of this year’s are right on the edge of town.”
“Where were the previous poisonings?” I asked.
“They were scattered,” he said.
I grabbed the sheet of listings out of my bag and slid it across the table to him. “Any of these?”
He looked at the list and his eyebrows rose. “Yes,” he said. “At least four of these had poisonings on them. All pesticides, all beef cattle—they must have grazed on some contaminated grass.”
I was about to reply, then realized that Roger was still behind me and had probably heard every word we’d said. I had no idea if the Kocureks had anything to do with the dying cattle, but there was always a chance. I folded up the map, jerked my head toward Roger, and said, “Well, I guess these things come and go.” Tobias looked puzzled, and I pulled a pencil out of my purse and scrawled on the back of the map “Roger Brubeck behind me.”
Killer Jam (A Dewberry Farm Mystery) Page 20