"Y'all knew Bud for a long time," Tobias said. "It makes sense that something like this would... stir things up."
"I guess," he said. "It's still kinda hurtful, when your wife says she's in love with another man. Even if he is dead."
"You know she doesn't mean it," Claire said, hurrying over and putting a hand on his shoulder. "She's just... well, she's Lissa.” Her eyes slid to Tobias and me. "Always was a drama queen."
"And always will be," Cyrus agreed. "I'm so sorry you had to put up with her shenanigans, right after losing your husband like that."
She shrugged. "We all grieve in our own ways, I suppose." She reached for the wine bottle and poured herself a glass. "I really don't think it's hit me yet, honestly. We'd been married for fifteen years. It's hard to believe he's just... gone." Her voice had a hollow ring to it.
"I'm right there with you," Cyrus said. "I've known him almost my whole life. It's crazy. One bullet goes sideways, and everything changes."
"Hunting can be a dangerous business," Tobias said. "Is your wife a hunter, too?"
Cyrus gave him a sharp look. "You the police now?"
"No," Tobias said, putting up his hands. "I'm just wondering... maybe she thinks she accidentally shot Bud, and this is her way of dealing with it."
"There were five of us," Cyrus said. "Bud and me, of course, and a couple of other fellas. They're in the living room... I was just about to head back in there. Why don't y'all come join me? We'll give Claire here a couple of minutes."
"No," Claire said, lifting her chin. "I'm fine."
"Well, all right, then," Cyrus said. "As long as you're sure. "Here... we'll introduce y'all to the rest of our guests." He and Claire headed into the living room with Tobias and me—and Sadie and Roscoe—in his wake.
The living room was a massive space, with dark wood trusses and cream-colored walls decorated with antique maps of Texas and bluebonnet-blanketed landscapes of the Texas countryside. Despite the festive tree, which was easily fifteen feet tall and twinkled with hundreds, if not thousands of white lights, the air in the room was not what you'd call festive. Two men and a woman reclined on the enormous leather couches; based on the number of empty longnecks and glasses on the vast, square coffee table, they'd been there a while.
As Claire walked in, the younger of the two men leaped to his feet and hurried over to her. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," she said with a tight smile.
As the younger man put a proprietary arm around Claire and led her to one of the couches, Cyrus took over the introductions. "Y'all, I'd like to introduce you to my neighbor, Lucy Resnick, and her boyfriend, our fine local veterinarian, Dr. Tobias Brandt. He stopped by to take a look at my Sadie, and I convinced them to stay for a drink."
The older man stood up quickly, swaying a bit as he got to his feet. "You've got a fine-lookin' neighbor there, Cy." He reached out and engulfed my hand. "Beau Calhoun. I'm an old pal of Cyrus's from Houston."
"Nice to meet you," I said. Next was the younger man, who gave his name as Luke Harrison. The woman had steel-gray hair and sharp blue eyes, and I recognized her immediately as Marcie Auckland. She was a local judge, and had recently helped out with some elders in the community who had been taken advantage of. I liked her tremendously, and was very glad to see her, if a bit surprised.
"Hi there, Marcie," I said. "I didn't know you knew Cyrus."
"Oh, we go way back," she said. "I worked on a few cases with him in Houston, and we became friends. He's part of the reason I bought a place out here."
"I had no idea!" I said. "How do the rest of you know each another?"
"I work for Cyrus," Luke volunteered.
"We've all met before," Beau said. "Ran in the same circles in Houston."
"Bud too?" I asked.
Marcie nodded. "Shame about what happened."
"It is," I said. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Claire dabbed at her eyes while Luke rubbed her back. He seemed very interested in Claire, I thought to myself. "Freak accident," Beau said, shaking his balding head and taking a swig from a longneck. "I don't know how it happened. I don't even know whose bullet went wild. I sure as heck hope it wasn't one o' mine."
"It could have been any of us," said Marcie.
"I didn't know you hunted," I said.
"I don't always. I'm not a fan of killing, but the deer overpopulation is a real problem; I think it helps a bit."
"And those goldarned pigs," Cyrus said. "They've been tearin' up my creek bed lately." He glanced at me. "You had any trouble with 'em?"
"I just noticed some rooting in my peach orchard," I said.
"Well, I take 'em out any chance I get," he said. "Good on the smoker. A bit gamy. But those suckers are smart; it's hard to catch 'em."
"True," I said. "We saw Bud just before he died," I said. "He was aiming at something on my side of the creek, in my orchard; maybe he spotted a pig?"
"Could be," he said. "He always was partial to pulled pork."
I glanced at Claire; she was tight-lipped, clutching the wineglass in her hand.
"Any issue with treasure hunters on your property?" I asked Cyrus. "I think one of them may have dug up some of my orchard."
"What do you mean?" Cyrus asked.
"There's a rumor going around town that there's buried treasure somewhere along Dewberry Creek," Tobias supplied.
"Another gold mine story?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Bank robbery booty, from sometime in the 1800s. The story is, the robbers were ambushed by Indians somewhere in Buttercup. They buried the treasure in a hurry, then couldn't find it."
"I've heard that kind of story before," Cyrus said. "Folks takin' it seriously?"
I nodded. "The Red and White Grocery's started selling metal detectors and went through so many, they had to reorder. Apparently, there's been a rash of trespassing, and someone almost got shot."
I glanced at Claire; she was tight-lipped, clutching the wineglass in her hand.
"Foolishness," Cyrus said. As he spoke, his face darkened; like the rest of us, he was thinking of what had happened on his property earlier that day. "Think that's what happened?" he asked. "Someone thought Bud was goin' to shoot him for metal detecting, and the other fella shot him first?"
At that thought, the mood in the room lifted palpably; everyone perked up.
"That must be what happened," Luke said. "Nobody here would..." He trailed off, and there was a moment of awkward silence.
"It's a possibility," I said. "I didn't see anyone on my property, but I know there was digging in the orchard."
"I think you should tell the deputy about that," Cyrus said, looking relieved. I would be, too, if I was convinced there was a murderer under my roof, then learned there was a chance I might be wrong. Or if I was a murderer, and another suspect conveniently appeared, I appended.
"By the way, what did y'all do with Lissa?" Marcie asked, scanning the room.
"She went to lie down for a bit," Cyrus said circumspectly.
There was another awkward silence.
"I've got some fruitcake in the kitchen if anyone would like," Cyrus suggested.
"No, thanks," we all said hurriedly, and spent the next twenty minutes talking about everything other than the elephant in the living room.
Which was the man who was murdered down by the creek earlier that day.
5
"That was some house party," I said when we got back into Tobias's truck.
"Not exactly festive," he agreed.
"They put the fun in dysfunctional," I quipped. "Cyrus seems nice, but his wife..."
"She's got a thing for Jack Daniel's, that's for sure."
"And for the guy who wound up dead this morning," I said. "She's not exactly circumspect about it, is she?"
"You can say that again. Cyrus was very tolerant, though. And she was practically shooting daggers at Claire, poor woman."
"Lissa accused Claire of killing her husband, didn't she?"
; "She did. I guess anyone there could have done it, though. Lots of motives."
"Cyrus, of course, out of jealousy. Lissa, out of jealousy over Claire. Claire, also out of jealousy."
"Luke seemed pretty into Claire, too," Tobias said. "Can't rule him out."
"What about that George guy?"
"He seemed almost like a father figure to Lissa," Tobias said. "I have no idea who he is, though."
"Me neither," I said. "And then there's Beau."
"He seems to be the least connected of all of them," Tobias said. "I do wonder about your treasure-hunting theory, though."
"What about it?"
"You said you saw Bud aiming at someone or something in the peach orchard. What if someone shot back in self-defense?"
"It would help if we knew where the bullet came from," I said.
"Good luck getting the sheriff's office to share that information," he said.
"We could always go down to the creek and look," I suggested.
"That's not a bad idea," he said. "We should get a metal detector, too. Just for fun."
"You really think there might be something down there?"
"Where there's smoke, there's fire?" He grinned. "I doubt there's any hidden treasure down there, but we might find some artifacts that would tell us some early history about the farm. The weather's supposed to be pretty good the next few days; if you've got time after the market tomorrow, I'll go with you."
"I know the crime scene folks have been out there too, but it might not be a bad idea to have a look around, just in case they missed anything."
"I guess it's worth a shot," Tobias said. As he turned into the driveway of Dewberry Farm, he said, "I keep thinking about Lissa. There's something seriously off there."
"I know," I said. "Alcohol for sure."
"At the least," Tobias said. "Cyrus seems like a nice guy."
"I do wonder about George, though."
"So do I," he said.
6
The pot roast was as good as it smelled, with a thick, beefy gravy that stuck to your ribs. We enjoyed it with cider, and then some red wine, in front of the fire. Tobias had brought chocolate cake for dessert, so we each had a thick slice, then relaxed by the fire. Although the tree sparkled in the corner and the smell of woodsmoke filled the air, it was still hard to recapture the festive mood we'd enjoyed the night before.
"Do you really think it was an accidental death?" I asked as I sipped my wine.
"If it were, I don't think whoever did it would have checked to see if he was dead and then taken off. Yours was the only 911 call, as I understand."
"True," I said. I snuggled into him, wishing I could forget what had happened. He had taken a breath to speak when there was a beeping sound from outside.
I put down my wineglass and sat up. "Do you hear that?"
Tobias's brow furrowed. "Hear what?"
I put my finger to my lips. A moment later, there was another beep. Chuck, who had been lounging at our feet, heard it too; he stood up, ears perked, looking at the back window.
Tobias stood up and walked over to the window. "There's a light down by the creek," he said. "In the orchard, it looks like. Unless wild hogs have taken to carrying flashlights and metal detectors, I'd say you have a treasure-hunting trespasser on your land."
"What do we do?" I asked.
"Call the police?" he suggested.
"By the time anyone gets here, they'll likely be long gone," I said. I thought about it for a moment. "I think we should be neighborly and see if it's someone who needs help."
"Someone just got shot out there, my dear," Tobias reminded me.
"What am I supposed to do, just sit here?"
"Let's turn on the back lights and see what happens," Tobias said. "Maybe if they know someone's on to them, they'll take off."
"I guess it's worth a shot," I said. With Tobias and Chuck behind me, I headed to the kitchen and turned on the back-porch light. It illuminated the little herb garden in the backyard, all the way out to the picket fence that kept my official lawn from being marauded by my small dairy herd.
Down by the creek, the flashlight beam jerked toward us; for a moment, it was aimed right at us. Chuck let out a loud bark and began to growl. Then the light turned and bounced away hurriedly, toward the hole in the fence and farther along down the creek.
"Can you see who it is?" I asked.
"Too dark," Tobias said. As we watched, the light bounced around the corner and then disappeared.
I reached for a flashlight of my own; I kept two on a shelf by the door.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to see if they left anything behind," I said as I shrugged into a warm coat. "Coming?"
"Of course," he said. "Let me get my jacket. And we'll take a hoe, just in case."
"In case we find some weeds?"
He rolled his eyes. "It's not a shotgun, but it's better than nothing."
Two minutes later, we were heading out the back door, making sure to keep an agitated Chuck inside—neither of us wanted him taking off after our intruder—and heading down to the orchard.
Frost sparkled on the grass in the moonlight as we let ourselves through the back gate and headed down the path to the orchard. I kept my eyes peeled, watching for signs of the trespasser returning, but the only light other than ours was the silver moonlight.
We let ourselves through the gate into the orchard. I was glad to see that whoever had been poking around hadn't had time to do much digging; aside from the area I'd noticed earlier that day, there was only one other new hole, and it was only a few inches deep. It was as if whoever was digging had been interrupted when we turned on the back light. Heavy boot prints surrounded the area; whoever had been here wasn't petite, or if they were, they'd been blessed with large feet. I took a quick pic from my phone for posterity... or later comparison.
"Looks like they got a hit on the detector and started digging," Tobias said as I snapped a second pic.
"That must have been the beeping we heard."
He glanced down at the hoe in his hand. "Should we see what we find?"
"Can't hurt," I said with a shrug. While I kept an eye out for the trespasser, who had evidently exited through the hole in the fence that bordered the neighboring property, Tobias tackled the area with the hoe. Thankfully, it was well away from the nearest peach tree, so I didn't worry about him mangling the roots.
Whatever it was wasn't very deep; the third time Tobias brought down the hoe, there was a clinking sound.
"Sounds like the metal detector was working," I said. "What is it?"
He located the edge of the object, prying it up gently with the edge of the hoe, then reached into the hole and pushed away some of the dirt with his fingers. A moment later, he picked up a small object, about twice the diameter of a quarter. "I'm not sure," he said. "It looks like a star."
"Not a farming implement, but not exactly buried treasure, either," I said.
"I'm going to see if there's anything else here," he said, using the hoe to scrape away a little more dirt. As he worked, something sparkled in the grass.
"What's that?" I asked, aiming the flashlight at the source of the glitter. It was a necklace; a diamond-encrusted "M" on a fine gold chain.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe the treasure hunter lost it?"
"Maybe," I said. "I can't think of anyone I know who wears a diamond 'M,' but at least that narrows it down. Probably a woman. And probably one whose first or last name starts with an 'M.'" I slipped it into my pocket.
After ten minutes, nothing more turned up, and the temperature was dropping quickly thanks to the clear sky, so we hurried back to the house.
Chuck was waiting for us in the kitchen, whining anxiously. I bent down to reassure him, while Tobias washed his hands in the sink, then rinsed off the star.
"It looks like some kind of military medal," he said. "I don't know enough about them to be sure, though."
"Confederate, do you think? Or
from one of the World Wars?"
"We'll have to research it," he said, handing me the star. It was still cold to the touch, and any engraving there might have been had worn away with time. "In the meantime, though, I think we need to report the trespasser to the police."
"I agree," I said. "Preferably while warming up by the fire with a glass of wine and some more cake."
"I can't think of a better plan," he said.
7
The next morning dawned cold and clear. Frost sparkled on the grass outside when Chuck bounded out the front door. He'd barely taken three steps before he spotted a squirrel and raced after it, chasing it up one of the crape myrtles, where it sat chattering at the chunky poodle while he stood with both paws on the trunk, barking.
I did my chores as quickly as possible, then loaded the truck with the boxes of mistletoe and cedar boughs Quinn and I had tied yesterday, along with an assortment of homemade candles, soaps, lotions, and ornaments for my stall at the Market. I had several hours before it started, and I was hoping to get a few batches of pralines, turtles, and butterscotch squares made and packaged before heading to the Town Square.
By ten o'clock I was in the kitchen, with Christmas carols playing and a pot of sugar, cream, and butter heating on the stove. I was making pralines, a Texas favorite, and one of my best-selling new additions to the Market. I'd made a batch of caramel turtles—the recipe for pecans draped in caramel and milk chocolate was so good, I had to keep myself from eating all my wares—but the pralines had been going fast. I planned to make another batch of butterscotch squares too.
I hummed along to "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" as the kitchen filled with the sweet, butter-laced scent of pralines; it only got better when I added a dash of vanilla. A pair of cardinals flitted around the bird feeder as I worked, and beyond it, I could see Blossom, my first cow, reaching through the fence to try to get at a particularly tasty-looking patch of grass. Blossom, along with my goat, Hot Lips, had a penchant for sneaking out of the farm and heading down to the Town Square to sample the geraniums. Or, as they had last year, the candied almonds that made the Christmas Market smell so good. One December not too long ago, Tobias had helped me lure one of my goats out of a tree in front of the courthouse with a bag of nuts. As a novice farmer and relative newcomer in town, it was one of my more embarrassing moments, because practically all of Buttercup was in attendance and watching with both mirth and interest. Although Blossom and the goats hadn't escaped in a while, I resolved to check the fences again. I still hadn't fixed the break in the fence around the orchard, and it occurred to me that it might not be the only breach in the perimeter. Whoever had snipped those wires might not stop at one.
Six Merry Little Murders Page 11