Candy Canes & Corpses

by Abby L. Vandiver

  The next pop-up was of six grey and black geese nesting along the edge of a beautiful blue pond surrounded by various types of brightly colored flowers.

  Underneath it was a poem:

  On the sixth day of Christmas,

  Six geese they are a-laying.

  With water low, they had to go.

  But now they are a-staying.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” said Char. She grabbed another cracker and a piece of cheese. “What do you suppose it means?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s talking about the preserve.”

  “I don’t think so. We already know that’s where Rachael ended up. It’s got to mean something else, maybe a lake or something,” said Char, looking over at Tess. “Let’s look at the next one.”

  Tess nodded and turned the page to the next pop-up. It was of the same pond with the six geese nesting along the edge of the water. But this one had seven white swans swimming in the pond, and around the edge of the water, in addition to the flowers, there were a variety of fruit trees filled with different colored fruit.

  The poem underneath it read:

  On the seventh day of Christmas,

  Seven swans they are a-swimming.

  No need to roam from their new home.

  Fruit baskets are a-brimming.

  The two women stared at the pop-up, and Char said, “Obviously, number six and number seven are referring to the same place.” She looked over at Tess. “Shall we keep going?”

  “Okay,” said Tess. “One more.”

  She turned the page to the next pop-up. It was of the same pond with the geese and swans, but in the foreground of this one, eight ladies dressed in blue overalls milked eight black and white cows.

  The poem underneath it read:

  On the eighth day of Christmas,

  Eight maidens set to milk.

  From city flair to country air,

  Donning denim instead of silk.

  The two women sat there, staring at the pop-up. If there was any uncertainty before in Tess’s mind, this one solidified that these last three were referring to the same place, but she had no clue as to where that might be.

  “Hmm,” said Char, staring intently at the pop-up.

  “What?” said Tess, looking at her.

  “This looks similar to one of the flyers I saw in the window of Mr. Dovelin’s office building.” She sucked in a breath and looked over at Tess, her eyes wide. “I think I know where we’re supposed to go next.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The two women followed Partridgeville Road. Instead of turning onto Blackbird Lane and going to the Wild Wood Forest and Nature Preserve, they continued straight and followed it around the park’s border until it came to a long gravel driveway, leading up to the farmhouse the two had seen in the distance from the cut in the fence.

  They paused briefly in front of a “For Sale by Dovelin Realty” sign stuck in the ground right by the mailbox. A red “Sold” sticker had been stuck diagonally across the listing.

  “You think this is the place the book was referring to?” said Tess, staring up the long drive.

  “I think it might be,” said Char. “The flyer had a picture of the house, the pond, and it talked about a grove of fruit trees.

  As they got closer to the house, they passed by a large wooden sign planted in the ground that read, “Welcome to Bountiful Farms. Organic fruits, vegetables, jellies and jams.”

  A moment later they pulled up in front of a small wooden structure that had been turned into a fruit stand and market. Behind it stood an old white farmhouse and a large barn. To the left of it was a grove of some kind of bare trees, and to the left of that sat a large pond.

  “This certainly looks like it could be the place,” said Tess as she put the Durango in park.

  The two exited the vehicle and walked over to where three women were painting the outside of the fruit stand.

  As they walked up, one of the women dressed in a pair of Levi jeans, a green flannel shirt, and a denim jacket looked up and smiled at them. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Bountiful Farms.”

  “Afternoon,” said Tess and Char in unison.

  Tess glanced around the property, not exactly sure what she was looking for or why they were there, but the book seemed to be leading them to this place, so there must be something there pertaining to Rachael Warren’s murder. She just needed to find it.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re not open yet,” said the same woman and set her brush down across the top of the paint can. “Won’t be for another couple of weeks.”

  Tess glanced back over her shoulder at the fence in the distance bordering the preserve and then turned back to the woman and said, “We noticed coming in that this place was for sale.”

  “Yes, it was,” said the woman with a smile. “My husband and I bought it a week ago. I guess they forgot to come back and pick up the sign.”

  “You got the place a week ago? So, you were here this past weekend?” said Tess.

  “No, I wasn’t,” she said as she picked up her brush and continued to paint. “But my husband was. He’s been here fixing the place up.” She gestured to a large pile of old wood. “Some of the things, like the chicken coop and parts of the barn were in real need of repair, and he wanted to have them fixed before we came out here.”

  “When did you get here?” asked Tess.

  The woman gestured to the other two similarly dressed women. “My mother, my sister and I, and my daughters came out from the city yesterday.”

  “The city?” said Tess.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “The Big Apple.” She took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Ahhh, it smells so good out here. Thought we’d try to make a go of it out here in the country.” She gestured around her. “We figured living out here with the animals, the trees, the pond, and all this open space would be good for our daughters.”

  “Hey Mom, look what we found!”

  They looked over just as five girls, varying in ages ranging from elementary age to possibly late teens, ran up. One of them carried a basket in her arms.

  “I wondered where you girls had run off to,” said the woman, setting her brush down. She looked in the basket and smiled. “Those eggs are beautiful! Go take them up to the house and put them in the fridge.”

  As the girls clamor excitedly about their findings, Char leaned into Tess and murmured, “Well, there are your eight maids a-milking.”

  “Mm-hmm,” whispered Tess. “From city flair to country air.”

  “Donning denim instead of silk,” replied Char, quietly.

  The woman smiled. “Sorry about that. My girls are so excited about this place. Being from the city, they’d never even seen a live chicken before yesterday.” She picked up her paint brush. “So, was there something I can help you with?”

  Tess glanced back at the fence, and when the girls were gone from ear shot, she looked back at the woman, lowered her voice and said, “Were you aware that a woman’s body was found Sunday afternoon just beyond that fence over there?” She knew she was probably overstepping her boundaries, since, as far as she knew, Detective Curtis hadn’t even told the Whispering River Daily Chronical yet.

  “Oh no!” The woman threw a hand over her mouth, and both of the other women rushed over and huddled next to her. “Who was she? Do they know?”

  “The woman’s name was Rachael Warren. She was a local artist.” Tess pulled her cell phone from her purse, pulled up the newspaper website and scrolled through the story until she found a picture of her. She handed the phone to the woman and said, “The police believe she was murdered somewhere, possibly on your property, and then her body was dumped inside the nature preserve over there.” She gestured with her head.

  “Inside the preserve? How do they know that?” the woman said, her hand now over her heart. She looked back over her shoulder at her daughters as they entered the house, talking and laughing.

  Tess told her about the cut in the fence and said, “
Maybe your husband saw something, maybe someone wandering around over there. Or maybe he saw a car parked alongside the road.”

  “It’s possible he saw something,” said the woman. She stared down at the picture of Rachael again. “But he sure never mentioned anything about this to me.”

  Tess glanced toward the house. “Well, maybe we could talk to him. Is he here?”

  “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “Merle, that’s my husband, went into town to run some errands.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  She shook her head. “I really don’t know. He had a lot of stuff to do: get chicken feed, some fertilizer, canning supplies, drop off some wood . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “He could be gone for hours.”

  Tess reached into her purse and pulled out one of her Husker’s Engineering business cards and handed it to the woman. “When he gets back, would you mind having him call me?” She gestured to herself. “I’m Tess, by the way. Tess Langley.”

  The woman looked down at the card. She studied it for a moment and then frowned. “Wait a minute. You’re not with the police department?”

  “No, I’m not,” said Tess. “I’m a cartographer with Husker’s Engineering.”

  “If you’re not with the police, then why are you here asking all these questions?” The woman looked at Tess and folded her arms across her chest. Her warm demeanor had suddenly turned as cold as the weather outside.

  Tess glanced at Char and then back at the woman. She let out a breath and said, “Because I’m the one who found her.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  They pulled out of the gravel drive and turned right onto Partridgeville Road just as an old, red pickup truck coming from the other direction, turned onto the gravel road and headed toward the farmhouse. Maybe it was Merle, the woman’s husband. At the moment, Tess was just too tired and hungry to turn the Durango around and find out.

  “Now what do we do?” said Char.

  Tess shrugged. “Let’s pick it up tomorrow. I need to finish unpacking.”

  “You want me to help you?” offered Char. “I can call Charlie and have him come pick me up at your place in a few hours.”

  “Nah,” said Tess. “I’ll drop you off at home. I need to go into town and get a few groceries anyway.”

  Char looked over at Tess. “You doing okay? You seem down.”

  Tess let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “What?” said Char.

  “I feel like we just dumped a 1500-piece jigsaw puzzle out onto the table, and now I’m looking down at the mess and thinking, ‘where do I even begin?’”

  “Tess, we’ve already started putting the puzzle together.” She tilted her head, her voice encouraging. “We know more about Rachael today than we did yesterday.”

  “Yeah? Like what,” muttered Tess.

  “Well, we know that she and Max were at the French restaurant Friday night. We know she went to the Golden Gloves boxing ring Saturday morning. We know that Mr. Dovelin didn’t approve of Rachael and Max junior’s relationship . . .”

  “That’s not much to go on,” said Tess.

  “Well, maybe not,” said Char, “but we also know that based on the cut above the boxing guy’s eye, Rachael could defend herself.”

  “A lot of good that did her,” muttered Tess.

  “Maybe she put up a fight, you know, got one good kick in before . . .” Her words trailed off.

  Tess shook her head. “I just feel so helpless.”

  “I know,” said Char and then paused as if thinking. “But, remember, we still have four more pop-ups to go through.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Tess, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. It was already close to five o’clock. “I don’t think I can look at any more clues tonight.”

  “Okay,” said Char. “I’ll come over tomorrow around nine.”

  Tess dropped Char off at her house, and even though she was tired, drained, and ready to just go home and watch some mindless TV, she drove into town to Tops Friendly Market, just for a few basic essentials and a couple more cans of Campbell’s Chicken and Rice soup.

  As she loaded up the groceries in the backend of the Durango, she happened to look across the road and noticed Detective Curtis getting out of his car. He had parked in front of Hannigan’s Pub & Grub.

  She closed the rear hatch and yelled out, “Detective Curtis!”

  The detective turned around, stared at her for a moment and when recognition set in, he smiled and waved. “Ms. Langley.”

  He started to walk across the street, his limp noticeable, so Tess hurried over to meet him.

  “What are you still doing here in town?” she said. “I thought you’d be back in Rome by now.”

  “I’ve just finished doing some work on the case, and I thought I’d grab a bite to eat before heading home.” He shifted his weight onto his good leg. “You want to join me?”

  “Well, I uh . . .” Tess casually ran a hand over her short, blonde hair, smoothing down the cowlick in the back. “No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

  “Oh c’mon. You gotta eat,” he said and smiled at her. “My treat.”

  Even though she was sure the detective hadn’t meant it in that way, it felt kind of like he was asking her out on a date. Something she was not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle right now.

  She glanced over at the pub. The place was nothing fancy, but it did have killer burgers and fantastic homemade potato chips, and she was famished.

  “Well . . .” she said and glanced over at her Durango. She hadn’t gotten any perishables and the cans of Campbell’s Chicken and Rice soup could sit out there for a hundred years and not spoil.

  “I talked to Mr. and Mrs. Warren today,” he said.

  That was all Tess needed to hear in order to sway her decision. “Sure, I’ll join you for dinner, but you don’t need to pay for mine.”

  “I wouldn’t be,” said the detective as they both slowly walked toward the entrance to the pub. “Rome Police Department would.”

  Hannigan’s Pub & Grub was a local hangout, filled with young and old. Known for its ample servings, it was the place to go for some good old-fashioned comfort food.

  Even on a Tuesday, the pub was packed.

  The two entered the eatery and were immediately struck by the cacophony of dueling TVs and loud groups of after-work partiers, there for a pint of their favorite beer, some good food, and some casual conversation.

  Tess glanced around and saw that all the tables were already full. Spotting a couple of empty seats up at the bar and knowing that they’d go quickly if she didn’t act fast, she said, “Follow me,” and then she snaked her way through the crowd.

  She slid into one of the chairs, put her purse on the other and turned around to make sure the detective hadn’t gotten knocked off balance. He had paused behind a young guy holding a pint of beer and yelling at the television with his buddies. When he looked at Tess, he rolled his eyes and then smiled.

  It caused a tingling to rise up in her belly.

  She immediately closed her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t even go there,” she murmured to herself.

  “This place is busy,” said Detective Curtis as he grabbed her purse, set it on the bar and slid into the chair next to her.

  “It always is,” said Tess. “It’s pretty much the only game in town.” She grabbed two of the bar menus and handed one of them to the detective. “Luckily, the food’s great.”

  “What can I get you two,” said the bartender as he placed a bar napkin down in front of each of them.

  “A Guinness,” they both said in unison.

  Detective Curtis looked over at her and arched his eyebrows. “You like Guinness?”

  “Love it,” she said. “Plus, it’s a lot less calories than an IPA.”

  He looked her up and down and smiled. “You don’t look like you need to worry about counting calories.”

  Tess cou
ld feel her face flushing. “Well, thank you, Detective. Even though I know you’re just being nice.” She grabbed the menu and quickly buried her face in it.

  “So, what’s good here?” he asked.

  “Everything,” she said without looking over at him.

  “Do you two know what you want to eat?” said the bartender.

  The detective perused the menu for a moment and said to him, “I’d like the sliders and a basket of the homemade potato chips, please.”

  “Ditto,” said Tess, and then they both handed their menus to the bartender.

  “You got it,” said the bartender.

  While they waited for their food and drink, Tess said, “You mentioned that you talked to the Warrens.” She wanted to tell him everything that she and Char had found out about Rachael, but then the detective would want to know how she came by the information, and then she’d have to tell him about the book.

  She still wasn’t ready to do that.

  “Yes. I talked to them this afternoon,” he said.

  “Here you go, guys,” said the bartender as he set the beers in front of them. “Your food will be out shortly.”

  “Thanks,” said Detective Curtis. He waited until the bartender left and then added, “They told me that she had recently started doing sculptures with recycled wire.”

  “So, maybe she had a pair of wire cutters on her,” said Tess, picking up her beer.

  The detective nodded. “We think so, too.” He picked up his beer and took a sip. “Mr. Warren said that he’d gotten her a nice heavy-duty pair of NWS wire cutters from Germany with a red and silver custom grip. We suspect the killer used them to cut the fence, and since we haven’t been able to find them, we think that he—or she—either disposed of them somewhere else or might still be in possession of them.”

  Tess knew she had to be strategic in what she said next. Too much information and the detective would know that she and Char had been meddling in the case.

  “I wonder if she had planned on showing her pieces somewhere?” said Tess and took a sip so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact.