Starr Tree Farm

by Ellen Parker

  After reading more than he wanted to know about a daughter at Missouri State University, he marked the account and closed it for the night. Tomorrow morning before his public workday, he’d try again to crack the delivery driver’s account.

  “Jason Young,” he repeated his new name as he paced a route between the computer, living room and kitchen. “That’s a name I could get used to. It spills out of my mouth easier than mother’s favorite.”

  Standing in the dim living room he looked out into the night, the fine snow descending earlier now stopped. The night was turning deep cold and clear. In a couple of hours — in that span when all but one percent of the community slept — conditions would be perfect.

  Chapter Eleven

  Laura glanced at the dashboard clock an instant before turning off Roger’s truck. “The morning’s half gone and I’m just arriving at the shop. Not the sort of beginning to the day I planned.”

  She stepped out into cold, still air and a thin layer of fresh snow on gravel. Nature seemed to be demonstrating the difference between hill and valley this morning. Her chores were accompanied by a brisk morning wind stirring last evening’s dusting of snow. There were no tiny drifts and swirls in the shelter of the valley. She turned and shrugged at the sidewalk. Several sets of footprints pressed snow against cement. Mayor Miller’s teasing conversation with Myles popped into her mind and she moved sweeping the front entrance to the top of her “to do” list.

  My delay at the farm included business. She managed to convince herself that the phone calls to arrange electric and phone service for the shop were a good use of an entire hour this morning. A moment later, with her tote bag over a shoulder and a plastic sack of clean rags in her hand, she tramped up the rear steps. Her new key slipped in easily and moved the bolt with a soft “click.” A gentle push and she stepped over the threshold.

  “What?” Laura gasped before retreating one step. She blinked, and still the distinctive shape that didn’t belong remained. Her hand gripped thin plastic handles until her nails dug into her palms. “Who put a dead cat in my shop?”

  Somehow she managed to stash the rags and her tote against the wall with trembling hands. She slid her hands against her thighs, gathering a little strength from cool, quiet, porch air, and approached the still creature.

  An adult, yellow cat rested on gray vinyl tile in the hall between the entrance to the restroom and storage area. One tentative nudge with a sneaker toe confirmed the animal was dead.

  Is that a collar? Pets don’t wander through locked doors to die. She stepped around to the feline’s head and squatted down. An old-fashioned package tag was fastened around the animal’s neck with a length of thick, red yarn. She froze. “Laura” in bold black marker taunted her.

  A full minute later, she retrieved her smartphone and dialed 911.

  “I want to report vandalism.” Laura stayed on the enclosed porch with her back to the scene in the hallway while she gave her location and a summary of the situation. Despite the calm female voice on the other end, Laura couldn’t hold the questions at bay. Who had the new keys? Did some teens have a warped sense of humor bordering on criminal? How could she have made enemies in a mere week? How did you dispose of a dead animal in winter?

  A flash of red — a male cardinal changing tree branches — signaled the normal world remained. She completed a description of the cat for the third time. “Yes, I’ll meet the officer in the parking area.”

  She left a voice mail for Daryl and then spent a long moment trying to imagine his reaction. Would he merely raise one eyebrow in mild confusion? Or would her disjointed sentences manage to create a small crack in his shell built during twenty plus years with the Secret Service?

  Deputy Kingman arrived fifteen minutes later. Intelligence and professional attitude radiated off him from his close-cropped sandy hair to the polished thick-soled shoes. “Dispatcher says you have an animal situation.”

  “Yes.” Laura introduced herself, willed her voice to remain steady, and led the officer inside. “I’ve recently rented the downstairs commercial space. Mr. Anderson from the hardware store installed new locks on the rear door and customer entrance less than twenty-four hours ago.”

  He asked for specifics on the number of keys and their distribution as he studied the locks. Then he used a gloved hand to push the door open and nodded. “Give me a moment to get the camera.”

  The deputy went to his cruiser and she paced an oval on the enclosed porch. All the times last January she spent waiting on law enforcement came back in a rush. The memories halted her feet. She pulled in a deep breath, rested her eyes, and counted to three. The simple action called up Detective Wilson’s image. Calm. Polite. Insistent.

  She tried to banish the first interview with him. No amount of manners from either of them could eliminate the small, shabby interview room or the implication she was a suspect as well as the spouse. “That’s over. We’re almost friends now,” she whispered.

  “Pardon me?” Deputy Kingman burst her memory bubble.

  “Nothing to concern you.” She longed for a moment of cold air to put a wall between the past and the present. After all, a dead animal now — a full year and six hundred miles away from Scott — shouldn’t have any connection at all. Then why did the sight of a yellow cat named Laura give her the same physical reaction as the nightmare of Scott’s slumped body?

  “Were you expecting company?”

  “What?” Laura pushed away from the portion of back porch wall she’d claimed and looked down the hall past Deputy Kingman. A man in a black overcoat tested the front door. “That’s my uncle. I called him. I’ll go around and let him in.”

  A few minutes later, Laura huddled over the deputy’s preliminary report while Daryl made a silent inspection of the display area. She nodded at the officer’s choice of words and signed where he pointed.

  “Will they find anything on the tag?” She pointed to the sealed evidence envelope.

  Deputy Kingman cleared his throat. “We’ll send it to the state lab. Any criminal over the age of ten that’s ever seen a cop drama on TV avoids leaving a fingerprint though. So don’t count on a quick solution.”

  “I gave up on speed from police and lawyers a long time ago.” She pressed her lips to prevent further explanation. This officer didn’t deserve bitterness. He had no reason to know about the accumulated stress and frustration of crime touching her a year ago.

  “Case number’s on the second line. Use it if you call with questions.” He handed her the third copy of the form. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “A word, please.” Daryl stepped up to the deputy. “Private.”

  He makes this morning sound like a spy movie. Laura sighed as the two men exited the front. Chores begged for her attention. An unplanned addition topped her list. It appeared as if double bagging the dead animal and putting it in temporary storage outside fell to her.

  By the time Daryl returned she was tying the knot on the first heavy-duty trash bag. “So what urgent business did you have with the officer?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be private.” He set his hat on the counter.

  “You and I,” she snapped a second black bag open, “need to talk.”

  “Excellent idea. I’m listening.” He crossed his arms.

  “A real conversation this time. Where you give answers. Real ones, related to the question.” She stared at him, failed to see even a twitch that might be a nod of agreement. “I’m tired of having you soak up all my words as if you’re a gigantic sponge. Then you turn stiff and refuse to drip out any meaningful response. I’ve given you facts, my impressions of events, even the files Detective Wilson doesn’t know I copied.

  “And you give me nothing. Oh, I can see that you’ve organized or memorized everything from a spark in your eyes for an instant here and there. I want on your ‘ne
ed to know’ list.” She ended loud enough to startle any human on the premises.

  “Feel better?”

  She looked away from him, glanced at the bag at her feet, and pursed her lips. A pound or two of unanswered questions and puzzles that had grown in the last few days shifted. “You could start with your first response to this morning.”

  He tapped his left foot in either impatience or deep thought.

  Laura knelt down and began to ease the second bag over the first. “Do I get answers?”

  • • •

  “Are you sure you want to mediate a family dispute?” Laura hesitated two steps inside the mayor’s cheerful kitchen.

  “I raised three children and lived with my in-laws for a year. What I walked into at your shop a quarter hour ago barely moves the needle on the ‘family squabble’ meter.” Kathy Miller scooped coffee beans into a small grinder and gestured her guests to the table. “Not much in this world that can’t be solved over doses of caffeine or chocolate.”

  “Chocolate contains caffeine.” Daryl turned away and checked his latest text message.

  “Thank you, Mr. Precise.”

  Laura bit back a smile. When Kathy arrived in the shop she’d assessed the situation and taken charge within less than two minutes. Without accepting excuses from either of them, the mayor insisted they come to her home and talk it out.

  “Do you want help?” Laura offered while removing her coat.

  “Sit. Be a guest. I don’t put people to work the first time they cross my threshold. I wait for the second.” Kathy’s full smile turned into a scowl directed at Daryl’s phone.

  “What? This is work.”

  “And the woman standing within an arm’s length of you is your niece. Unless that thing spits out the name of a particular murderer you better give her due attention.”

  “See what I put up with.” Daryl shrugged and pulled out a chair for Laura. “She thinks she can order me around like one of her patients.”

  “My patients follow directions better. Including the half deaf ones,” she continued to arrange homemade cookies on a plate.

  Laura immediately formed a picture of the elderly care center residents obeying Kathy Miller, RN. Her clear speech and smiling eyes would be difficult, even futile, to resist.

  “My employee is out of town on delicate business. I’m following the action long distance.”

  “He’s capable. Trust him.” Kathy banged a cupboard door as punctuation.

  “Employee? I understood Frieberg Investigations to be a one-person agency.” How many secrets can one uncle keep?

  “That changed recently. Brad passed the exam in November.” He returned Laura’s stare.

  She forced her mouth to close and stay tight. Brad wore another hat? Big Ears Brad grew up complicated in addition to handsome. She glanced away from Daryl’s investigative gaze until she could spin her thoughts back to the topic at hand.

  “A man can’t devote a lot of time to a pro-bono murder investigation unless a second person helps find the deadbeat dads and assorted missing persons.”

  His tone made her feel like the naïve student who didn’t read the entire assignment. “I wasn’t aware.”

  “Because he never says a word before a project is complete.” Kathy turned an empathic smile to Laura. “It’s not easy to keep a secret in this town. But Daryl manages better than most.”

  “Now that,” Laura nodded, “I find easy to believe.”

  “So. Shall we address the topic of the day? You go first, Laura. Start at the beginning. I’ve got the entire day to listen.” Kathy set the cookie plate mounded with three variations of chocolate chip in the center of the table.

  “I’m not sure where the beginning is.” She pushed up her sweatshirt sleeves and stalled for time. “I think I’ve made someone angry. The way my mind adds things together at least one person views my business as a threat.”

  “Specifics?”

  “The traffic stop on Monday might be the start of it.” Laura found Kathy’s face more inviting than Daryl’s closed expression. “I’ve been thinking about it. When I renewed my auto registration in October, I checked and all four screws were on both front and back plates. Early Tuesday, when I moved the remaining license plate to the back, even the screws were missing. All of them. Does this county have a problem with theft of out-of-state plates?”

  Daryl met her gaze and rubbed an index finger behind his ear without saying a word.

  She continued her account of a warning ticket and visit to the Missouri Department of Revenue website to purchase a replacement. “That’s one reason I’ve brought Roger’s truck to town yesterday and today.”

  Daryl nodded. “That’s a good temporary solution. It might be a prank.”

  “Alone I’d agree.” She blew across her coffee. “I haven’t told you about the phone calls.”

  “When?” Kathy settled in the chair beside Daryl.

  “Monday. Well, maybe Sunday. The landline collected half a dozen ‘dead air’ calls during the afternoon and evening. When I checked the machine Monday evening, a man laughed. He mumbled ‘city girl’ and a few other phrases that could be taken as hints to go back to St. Louis.” She gripped her coffee with both hands and managed to keep her voice from breaking. “I can’t leave now. I’m committed to this more than ever. Bridge went out on the road back.”

  “What’s changed, Laura?” Daryl swallowed a bite of double chocolate chip cookie. “Aside from losing considerable money with the store deposit, why do you sound trapped?”

  “Friday,” she drew a deep breath and stiffened her arms against the table edge, “I signed for a letter from Data Diagnostics. That’s the computer services firm I’ve worked at for the past four years. They’ve gone out of business. Nothing to go back to even if I wanted.”

  “Did you suspect anything?” Kathy leaned forward.

  “In hindsight I can see it. We lost a large contract in June. Rumors a few months ago hinted the owners were looking for a new partner.” She sighed. Neither of her table companions offered anything so she plunged forward. “I stayed preoccupied with my own problems. I put my job in a separate box and opened it only when scheduled. My own time was filled with prodding police, and getting frustrated with Picket Fence Insurance. Have you … ” Laura pressed her teeth into her lower lip at the memory of Kathy’s widowhood and stopped in the nick of time. Of course she had her share of delayed insurance claims stories. “Sorry, where was I?”

  “Spending your summer grieving,” Kathy offered.

  “Thanks,” Laura nodded. “Somewhere along the line I started to put my energy into carrying out our dream. I found out fast I couldn’t put the store in any of the places Scott and I considered. Half of them gave me the chills when I drove past. That’s when I began visiting Crystal Springs and related websites.”

  Daryl tapped the table beside his mug. “Keeping secrets must run in the family. Any particular reason you didn’t tell me about the letter?”

  “Nothing you could do about it.”

  “Point made. Now tell me more about the phone calls. Did you recognize the voice?”

  “Male. Distorted. Maybe talking around a wad of gum.”

  “Did he use your name? Mention St. Louis or Missouri specifically? Are they still on the answering machine?” He pulled his smartphone close and started tapping in numbers.

  “Must you?” Kathy walked two fingers toward his phone.

  “I’m going to listen to the messages, my dear.”

  Laura darted her gaze between the couple behaving as marriage partners. “I deleted the first ones.”

  “No problem. I’ll bring the recorder into town later and retrieve them.”

  “I thought they only did that in the movies.” Laura winced as the first of yesterday afternoon’s messa
ges growled into the kitchen.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Where do we go from here, Goldilocks?”

  Tonight? Tomorrow? I’m too tired to think past the next minute. Laura buried her face in a towel. At least she could pretend half of her high color came from the exertion of the three-on-three basketball game they’d just completed. “I’m tired. It’s been a stressful day.”

  “We could stop at Jack’s for a drink or a game of pool before I take you home.” Brad stuffed the last ball into the mesh bag and tied a loose knot.

  “I’ve had enough games for one day.” Which one should she start the tally with? Hide and seek with the correct person at the phone company? Name the dead cat at the shop? Twenty, thirty, or forty questions in Kathy’s kitchen?

  “Okay. I’ll accept that.” He folded his own towel before pushing it into his duffel. “My day ended so well I thought you might celebrate with me.”

  “I’ll take a rain check or snow check unless that offer’s good for tonight only.” Stretching both arms high she wondered how many body parts would ache tomorrow. She’d called on muscles neglected too long while scrambling for the ball and attempting passes around defenders. Shooting free throws in her driveway didn’t begin to challenge her body like this.

  “I’ll make an exception for you.”

  She managed a smile that shrank to minuscule in the presence of his wide grin. A moment later, she finished pulling on her sweats and zipped her bag closed. At the other end of the gym, three women put away the last of the volleyball equipment and the janitor readied his dust mop. Open gym — Crystal Springs’ style — drew to a close for another week.

  “I’ve had a good time. I needed a change of pace in my activities.” Not true. The exercise satisfied her body. Her heart’s desire wouldn’t be found on a basketball court. Add a little luck and the workout tonight might gain her an extra hour of real sleep.

  He matched her stride through the commons and out the main door. In the soft glow provided by scattered lights in the high school parking lot, she risked a glance at his profile. Strong. Protective. Evidence of the soldier. And something more that her mind refused to name.