by Wendy Tyson
Megan watched him work with the dog, gentle but confident. The pup remained skittish, although she seemed more relaxed in the vet’s presence. He’d come in response to Megan’s frantic call, no questions asked. But now that the dog seemed to be settling down, she could see Denver’s agitation increasing. Once Sammy—which they’d taken to calling the dog—was curled on a fleece blanket in the corner of her penned-in area, Denver leaned against the workbench, arms across his chest.
“Are ye going to tell me why ye went there alone tonight, Megan?”
Megan bristled. She was a grown woman who didn’t feel the need to explain her actions to Denver, Bibi, or anyone else, for that matter. She said as much.
“I’m not asking because I want to reprimand ye. King told me about the stalker up on the hill.” Denver looked pained. He shook his head, ran a hand through unruly auburn hair. The shadow of a beard hugged the sharp planes of his face. The scar between his eyes seemed more pronounced in the artificial light of the barn, making him look sexy and slightly dangerous. “Oh hell, Megan. I’m just worried. Too many bad things happening around here, and knowing that ye put yourself in harm’s way makes me—”
“Angry.”
“Aye. A little.” His face softened. “I care about ye.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want you to treat me—us—as though we are helpless, being here alone.” Megan felt herself soften too. She’d be angry at him, and in retrospect it wasn’t the smartest of ideas to go to the Kuhl place alone. Plus, she should have been truthful with Denver about Potter Hill from the start. But like Bibi, Megan resented having to curb her behavior in her own town. She should be able to feel safe. They all should.
“Ye need to have faith in me, Megan. If this,” he waved his hand in the space between them, “if this is going to work.”
Megan nodded slowly. He was right. “I called King on my way back to the farm. He’s sending a crew over to check on the Kuhl property.”
“Ye think someone’s been staying there?”
“I don’t know. I heard something and felt eyes watching me. And then she turned up,” Megan said, pointing to Sammy. “But maybe it was just Sammy all along.” Megan rubbed her arms, still feeling the goose pimples she’d experienced earlier.
“I guess we’ll see.”
Megan told him about the Sauers’ farm and the empty chicken barn. “Why would his barns be empty?”
Denver frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe they dispatched the whole flock for Oktoberfest?”
“But they were selling Mark’s organic chicken.”
“That’s right, they were.” Denver shook his head. “Either they had some disease wipe out their flock or they’re getting out of the chicken business.”
The Sauer family had been running that farm ever since Megan could remember. Before Glen started selling his poultry to big-box stores and national brands and distributors, the Sauer farm was the source of most local chicken and turkey. Growing up, every non-farming family ate a Sauer turkey for Thanksgiving, and people from surrounding towns placed orders directly with Michael Sauer, Glen’s dad. Megan could remember driving into the Sauer farm with her grandfather as a young girl to buy chicks for their own flock. The hens roamed free, and many roosted in the trees that surrounded the Sauer house, watched over by a pair of matted gregarious Great Pyrenees. No more. Now it felt like a joyless place. At least at ten at night.
Megan glanced at her watch. It was nearly midnight, and they weren’t going to solve this puzzle now. “You should go,” she said to Denver. “You’ve had a long day. Bibi’s waiting for me up at the house.” And she will have a thing or two to say about this adventure as well, Megan thought. No need to fan those flames again.
“I could stay. My aunt can run over and let the dogs out.”
Megan smiled her thanks. She’d love him to stay—but not that way, and not for that reason. “We’ll be fine. Perhaps another time? Under better circumstances.”
Denver moved closer. He smelled of spicy aftershave and wood smoke from Diamond Farm.
“I would like that.”
While Denver gathered his things, Megan gave the dog a last pat for the night. She was a sweet little thing, and she wagged her tail gratefully when Megan sat beside her. Who are you? Megan wondered. And who is sitting up worried about you tonight?
But there was no time for further contemplation. Bibi showed up at the barn looking cross. “King is on the line up in the kitchen. He tried your cell, but you didn’t answer,” she said. Her eyes fell on Denver; she avoided Megan’s gaze. “He wants to talk to you, Megan.”
Here we go, Megan thought, and followed Bibi’s agitated form into the house.
“Someone’s been living in that trailer. Not the one that’s falling apart. The other one.” King sounded out of breath and annoyed. “Bastard got away.”
“Any clue as to who?”
“We’re working on that. Whoever it was left in a hurry, but they mostly cleared the place out. I say mostly because they left behind some garbage and other sundry items. It’s at the lab now.”
“How about dog stuff?”
“Come to think of it, there was a bag of dog food in there.”
“Well then, we have his dog. I say he, but maybe it’s a she.”
“We think it’s a man, Megan.” He paused. “If you have his dog, he may come there looking for it. I think you should ask Denver to take the dog.”
Megan glanced at Bibi and Denver. Both were standing in the kitchen, watching her. “You have any reason to believe he’s connected to what happened to Otto or Ted?”
“We just don’t know.” King said something to someone else. When he came back on the line, his voice became brusque. “We’re going to need to talk with Emily.”
“Now? She’s asleep.”
“The morning is okay. Can you have her meet us at her grandmother’s property? Say nine o’clock?”
Megan’s stomach tightened. “Is she in some kind of trouble, Bobby?”
“I told you I would share what we know—within reason. I can’t tell you why we need to talk to her though. We should meet with her first.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll see to it that she’s there at nine.”
As she hung up, she saw Bibi filling a kettle with water. Her grandmother was feeling restless. Chamomile tea and a shot of brandy or whiskey or rum…Bibi’s remedy for eyes wide open. Megan knew all this was weighing on Bibi: finding Otto, suspicions about Teddy, concerns that someone was watching the farm. She also knew Bibi was tough as old hide leather—and that no one should underestimate her. She decided to hit the issue head on, with Denver there.
“Whoever was at Emily’s could be connected to what happened to Otto and Teddy,” Megan said. “But the police can’t be sure. They want to talk with Emily tomorrow.”
Bibi didn’t respond. She placed a chamomile bag in her cup and added a shot of whiskey, then another. She poured boiling water into the cup along with a heaping teaspoon of sugar. She carried the cup to the kitchen table and sat down.
“Are you going to say something?” Megan asked.
“You let me believe you were going to the Kuhl property with Denver.” Bibi’s voice was even and low—a sure sign of anger. “You went alone, knowing full well that her father may have just been murdered.”
Megan didn’t say anything. It was pointless to argue. She was right, and an apology would only sound hollow to both of them.
Bibi picked her mug up. “I’m going to bed. In the morning, I’ll watch Lily so you can accompany Emily to meet with Bobby.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” She turned, her eyes piercing Megan’s. “You promised. No walking around alone. Don’t break your promises to me, Megan.”
“I should have never made a promise I couldn
’t keep.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I run a farm. I have responsibilities. It’s not practical for me to wait for someone to hold my hand.”
“But you expect that of me?”
She had a point, of course. Being older didn’t make her helpless—or any less resourceful. “I’m sorry, Bibi.”
Bibi nodded. She waved to Denver. “Thanks for coming, Denver.” To Megan, she said, “Get some rest. Morning will come quickly.”
Megan watched Bibi leave. Turning back to Denver, she said goodnight.
“I can take that dog back to the clinic, Megan,” he said. “It would be safer for all of you. In case its owner comes looking.”
Megan shook her head. Whoever had the dog had cared for it. From skin to nails to teeth, the pup had been loved. Her owner might come looking, but perhaps that would be a good thing—an end to all of this, a way of flushing him out. And if not, Megan would rather the dog stayed here rather than be shut up in a cage.
“The dog could stay at my house,” Denver said. “If you’re worried about her comfort.”
Megan smiled. He was a generous man, and she needed to appreciate that. “And put your pups at risk? I don’t think so. We have the barn here—she can safely stay separate.”
Reluctantly, Denver agreed. He promised to check on Sammy the next day. Megan locked the door after him. Sadie followed Megan out of the kitchen, up to bed. A glance back told Megan that Gunther had stayed behind, his body against the door, always the guard.
Megan’s last thoughts before sleep descended were of the Sauers’ farm. She reached for Sadie, who was curled at the end of the bed, her mind grasping for a pattern in the chaos. As her eyes closed, she pictured that empty barn. No chickens. What if Sauer was closing shop? But what did that mean? And how did it fit with Otto Vance and Ted Kuhl?
Or did it fit in at all?
Twenty-Nine
Megan returned to where it all started: with the Breakfast Club. She arrived before eight and found Albert Nunez and Lou Brazzi at the large copper-topped table at the back of the store. Alvaro had made them omelets. Brazzi was still picking at his food and reading a Wall Street Journal. Nunez, half-finished plate shoved to the side, was paging through Field and Stream. Megan sat down with them in the empty seat next to Nunez.
“What can we do for you, Counselor?” Brazzi asked. He smiled. A steel-haired man in his late fifties, Brazzi had the only real estate law business in town. He made his own hours and was picky about the engagements he accepted. Megan had always liked him. Perhaps it was the kinship of lawyers—or the easy way he had around people.
“I want to talk about what happened with Otto and Ted.”
Both faces shut down. Brazzi pursed his lips. Nunez snorted.
“What about it?” Brazzi asked.
Megan thought about how to ask her questions. She knew these guys would be offended by a frontal attack, but she had neither the energy nor the time to beat around the bush.
“In the days leading up to Otto’s death, it seemed like Teddy and Otto weren’t seeing eye to eye. I sensed a lot of tension in the group.”
Nunez gave Megan a wary glance. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I wonder if whatever was between them could have been more serious than any of us thought.”
“Ted died of an allergic reaction,” Nunez said. “Peanuts.”
Brazzi shook his head. “I heard his death is suspicious. Bobby and his people are doing more tests.”
Nunez frowned. “What kind of tests?”
“Not sure,” Brazzi said. “But they’re not certain the peanuts are really what killed him.”
Nunez sat back in his chair looking agitated. He turned to Megan. “Are you saying Ted and Otto were murdered? And it was because of Oktoberfest? Because that’s what all the bickering was about—who got to be the beer sponsor.” He slammed a hand down on the table. “Utter nonsense.”
Brazzi shot Nunez a withering look. “Ted had everything tied up in that brewery. Everything. It wasn’t utter nonsense to him.”
Megan glanced up in time to see Alvaro staring at her. He lifted his chin toward the door, where Glen Sauer was standing alongside his wife, Irene. Sauer, a beefy giant of a man with porcine features and a putty-like nose, was gripping Irene’s shoulder and whispering in her ear.
Megan lowered her voice.
“I’m not saying Ted did anything to Otto, nor am I denying or confirming that what happened to Ted was due to foul play. I’m just worried—and I think there was more to the tension between the two men than anyone is letting on.”
“Spoken like a lawyer,” Nunez growled. “Ted felt like he got the short end of the stick and he was sore about it. That’s it.”
Brazzi stared pensively toward the Sauers. Megan stood. Clearly she wasn’t getting anything new out of this crew. She left them and joined Clover at the checkout counter.
“What do you think?” Clover asked staring at the Sauers. “Why are they here?”
“Looks like they want Lou.”
Indeed, Glen was making his way to Brazzi, Irene’s shoulder still in his grasp. Neither looked happy. Megan and Clover stocked lip balms on the counter, all the while watching the Sauers with quick furtive glances.
“Is it just me, or does Lou Brazzi look carsick?” Clover whispered.
“As long as it wasn’t Alvaro’s omelet.”
Clover laughed. “Lou’s a good egg, but he doesn’t look thrilled to be talking with Glen.”
“I wonder what that’s all about.”
Megan saw Alvaro watching the conversation too. At one point, the cook leaned over the counter and asked Irene if she wanted some coffee. She shook her head, features pinched in distaste.
“Oh, no, she didn’t,” Clover whispered. “She just dissed Alvaro.” Alvaro was the closest thing Clover had to a father figure, and she was fiercely protective. “I don’t like the Sauers. Never have.”
Megan felt the urge to escort them out of her café. She didn’t have to make a choice. After a few minutes, Glen gave Brazzi a curt nod and he and Irene left.
The Kuhl property looked much less threatening in the daylight. It was a cool, sunny October morning, the kind of morning that made you want to sit outside on your porch watching the town awaken with a hot coffee in your hand and a warm blanket around your shoulders. Instead, Megan and Emily traipsed across town in Megan’s truck, leaving little Lily with Bibi and Clay at the farm. When they pulled into the Cape Cod’s driveway, they saw two police cars and King’s unmarked.
Emily climbed out of the truck with trepidation, her slim face a mask of dread. Megan put a hand on her arm.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“I wish I knew what they wanted.” She glanced around. “Why are there so many cops here?”
“I’m sure they just want to give you an update.”
But that wasn’t it. King walked over and handed Emily a warrant to search the property, the brewery, and the apartment on the other side of town.
“I need your father’s laptop too. I believe you have it.”
Emily nodded. “What are you looking for?”
King didn’t answer. He glanced at Emily and said, “Come with me.” Apologetically, he added, “Megan, you’ll have to stay here.”
Emily stopped walking. “I want her to come.”
“She’s not your attorney, Emily.”
“But she could be.” Emily looked at Megan. “You are an attorney, right?”
Megan said, “I’m not a criminal lawyer, Emily. And I’m not licensed in Pennsylvania.” To King, she said, “Does she even need a lawyer, Bobby?”
Bobby sighed. “No, she doesn’t. Fine, you can come too.” He walked off, inside the house, and Megan and Emily followed him. When they got to the kitchen, King pu
lled some photos from a manila envelope and placed them on the stained Formica countertop. He stepped back.
“Do you have something you want to tell us, Emily?”
Emily studied the photos. Her face went from pink to fire engine red. She started to cry. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.” She gulped. “I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have.”
Megan looked at the photos over Emily’s shoulder. They were murky black and whites. “Security footage?”
King nodded. “From the industrial park where the brewery is. Seems Emily was not completely truthful with us.”
The pictures were damning. They showed Emily and a man who looked like Ted Kuhl sitting in Emily’s old Pontiac. Ted’s profile was clearly visible in the third photo. Each photo was time stamped—a match for the day before Ted’s body was found in Mrs. Kennedy’s tool shed.
“I was honest about everything else. Everything. But when I realized where he’d been hiding, I had to talk to him. There’s an abandoned business near the brewery. He was there. The prior owner had given him a key. I found a copy in the safe deposit box.” Emily’s voice was shrill. She looked at Megan, eyes searching desperately for understanding. “Other than Lily, he’s all I had.”
Emily sobbed uncontrollably. Megan left in search of tissues while King stayed with his charge. When Megan returned, the police chief had an arm around Emily and was holding her close. His eyes met Megan’s over the tall woman’s head. They said “help me.”
“Emily,” Megan said sternly. “You saw your father before he died. You need to help us understand what happened after that.”
Emily swallowed. Nodded. “Okay.”
“What did he say to you?” King asked.
“Nothing. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”
King frowned. “You said you’d be honest.”
“He just kept saying ‘they’ll be after you too,’ and telling me to leave and not come back.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“I have no idea. He wouldn’t say.”