Wicked Harvest

by Karen MacInerney

  "Sorry about that, Blossom," I said, touching her soft nose, then headed out to the truck to lug one of the bags of feed in. I plopped it on the floor and eyed it suspiciously. Should I use it?

  I pulled out my phone and called Tobias, but the call went to voice mail. "Hey, sweetheart. I just bought some cattle feed at Heinrich's Feed today; I'm not sure if I should use it or not. Can you give me a call back?"

  When I hung up, I debated for a moment. Tobias seemed to think there might be some issue with the feed, and this bag looked different from the others. Was it possible that contaminated feed was the problem? And was what I'd bought today the same feed the others had used? Blossom gave me an impatient moo and stamped her feet, and I decided to risk it; it was only a little bit, and if there was a problem with the feed, the store would have pulled it, right?

  I cut the top of the bag with the pocket knife I kept handy and scooped some of it out for Blossom, who set to gratefully. The milking went smoothly—Hot Lips was the main culprit when it came to kicking, and she was settling down more every day—and I had led Gidget into the stall and was about to finish up when there was a ruckus from the chicken coop. Russell was crowing louder than I'd ever heard him.

  "Sorry, girl... I'll be right back," I said, patting Gidget and hurrying to the door of the barn, just in time to see a gray tabby streaking away from the chicken coop, Russell crowing indignantly and ruffling his feathers.

  As I watched her disappear through the fence and slip like a shadow into a stand of wild plums, I wondered what to do about her... and if there were any other kittens hidden somewhere near the farm.

  I returned to milk Gidget, who was giving me an accusing look from her golden eyes, and got everyone settled for the night before taking the milk into the kitchen and heading out to the coop, my eyes straying to the dark mass I knew to be a thicket of plums.

  She was still here, it seemed. And I still had to figure out what to do about her.

  * * *

  I had just finished processing the goats' milk and was in the middle of making another batch of mozzarella cheese with the cows' milk when a truck bumped up the driveway, headlights bouncing. Chuck let out a low growl and headed to the door, barking, the kitten trailing in his wake. The headlights were too low to the ground to be Tobias's. Who was visiting me after dark, unannounced?

  Adrenaline pulsed in me, and I reached for the baseball bat Tobias had insisted I keep in the umbrella stand by the front door, just in case.

  The car screeched to a stop, and I recognized it as Teena's Honda Civic.

  I relaxed and slid the bat back into the umbrella stand, then opened the door to greet her, Chuck and the kitten at my feet.

  "What's up?" I asked. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," she said. "I just... I feel like I need to talk to you."

  "About what?" I asked.

  "That's the thing," she said, scraping her long hair back out of her face with an agitated gesture. "I just don't know."

  "Well, come on in and we'll figure it out," I said.

  18

  I led her into the kitchen. As she sat down at the big pine farm table, she was mobbed by the animal contingent of the house. "Who are these cuties?" she asked as Chuck jumped up on her and the kitten looked up and meowed.

  "This is Chuck," I said, gesturing to the overexcited poodle, who was loving the head scratches Teena was doling out, "and the kitten is a new arrival. We found her in the chimney, and Chuck seems to have adopted her."

  "She's adorable!" Teena cooed, reaching down to pick up the little gray fluff ball, who started purring immediately.

  I smiled as the kitten half-closed her eyes in apparent ecstasy. "Do you want a glass of iced tea?" I offered. "Or a ginger beer?"

  "I'll take a ginger beer," she said as she followed me into the kitchen, the kitten in her arms and Chuck at her heels. I popped the caps off two bottles and handed one to her before taking a swig out of the second.

  "I was just going to process this milk," I told her. "Maybe when I'm done, we can go down to the Ulrich house and you can see what you think?"

  "We can, but that's not why I'm here," she said, sitting down and stroking the kitten. "Whatever I'm here for has to do with something else. Maybe Felix." Her eyes welled with tears again, and as she said Felix's name, a strong, sharp smell of lavender filled my nostrils.

  "Do you smell that?" I asked.

  "Your grandmother's here, isn't she?" Teena asked with a dreamy smile. She set the kitten down to play and looked around my cozy kitchen. "I used to come here from time to time when I was small. I haven't been here since your grandmother passed, but her presence is still strong." Her eyes were unfocused. "She's glad you're here."

  "I feel that too," I said.

  "She wants to help," Teena said. "She told me to check by the cistern."

  "By the cistern? What's by the cistern?"

  Teena snapped back into focus. "I don't know. It's just what she said."

  "We'll look when I'm done," I said, feeling goose bumps spring up on my arms. I rubbed them down, then gave the curds on the stove a stir with a wooden spoon and checked the thermometer. "In the meantime, I wanted to ask you about Nick."

  She blinked. "Nick Schmidt? What about him?"

  "Has he ever asked you out or anything?"

  Teena's cheeks turned a shade of pink. "Yeah," she told me. "He's kind of had a thing for me for a while. I'm just not interested, but he still keep trying."

  "That's got to be frustrating," I said. "How has he kept trying?"

  "He's always... well, hanging around. Watching me. And when he found out Felix and I were seeing each other..." She shivered, and her eyes grew big. "Wait. He got upset with one of the guys at the brewery the other day, too. I was talking to him at the brewery, laughing about how crazy Felix was about people touching the Dubbel Trouble barrels, and Nick... well, Jack touched me on the shoulder, and Nick came up and told him he was out of line." She swallowed. "He threatened to beat him up, but Jack backed away and told him to chill."

  "Wow," I said. I hadn't seen any of that behavior from Nick. "That's got to be uncomfortable."

  "It is," she said. "I felt him watching me at the brewery the other day, and I'm pretty sure I've seen him drive by my house a few times lately. Do you think maybe..."

  "Maybe what?" I asked, hoping she wasn't coming to the same conclusion I was.

  "Do you think Nick killed Felix and Billy?" she asked in a small voice.

  "I don't know," I said. I knew he'd been angry enough to put sulfur in Felix's beer... but was he capable of murder? My heart hurt at the thought of someone so young being driven to such an awful act. Then again, his behavior regarding Teena had been far from acceptable, from what she had told me. Bordering on stalking. "What do you think?" I asked in a level voice.

  She closed her eyes. "He's angry. But there's someone else who's angry, too. I get red and white."

  "Red and white," I said. "Like someone at the Red & White store?"

  "I don't know," she said. "That's all that's coming for now." Again, that strong whiff of lavender. "It's about history," she said, eyes wide open. "Making sure it doesn't repeat itself."

  "That's what you said when you fainted at the brewery," I said.

  "It's what keeps coming back," she said.

  "Right. So we've got the Red & White and making sure history doesn't repeat itself," I said, trying to figure out what that meant. "The only history I can think of is the names Max Pfeiffer wants to keep. What was his family's brewery called?"

  "The Bluff Springs Brewery," she said. "It started in a historic site that's now a park; he wanted to put it there, but the property belongs to the State of Texas now."

  I gave the milk a stir and checked the temperature, then grabbed my laptop from the counter. "Bluff Springs Brewery?"

  "I think that's what it was called," she said. I typed in the name.

  "Found it," I said. "It was started in the late 1840s by Heinrich Pfeiffer. He wa
s a mason from Germany; he managed to build the first brewery in Texas that kept things cool enough to make the first lager."

  "How did he do that?" she asked.

  "Evidently he built some kind of tunnel system that kept the temperature down even in hot weather," I said, reading. "He had 'Frisch Auf' parties, with dances and drinking, that the whole community came to; Bluff Springs Beer was a huge success for a while there."

  "That's the slogan Max Pfeiffer was upset about," Teena said. "Frisch Auf."

  "Right," I said.

  "What happened to the brewery?"

  "Apparently a rival brewer set up shop nearby and took over half their sales. They were about to go bankrupt when Heinrich died."

  "How?" Teena asked.

  I looked up at her. "Crushed by a load of stones."

  "Just like Felix," she whispered.

  "It was ruled an accident, but there was an inquest," I said, reading on. "The other brewery started brewing lager and Bluff Springs Beer faded away."

  "History repeating itself..." Teena said.

  I got up and checked on the milk, which was coming along. "Max Pfeiffer was angry at Simon and Felix for using some of his family's brewery's trademarks, even though they weren't officially trademarks," I said. "And apparently Max interviewed Billy for a job this week."

  "Wait a moment," Teena said. "Are you thinking Max Pfeiffer killed Felix and Billy out of some kind of retribution? It doesn't make sense if he wanted to hire Billy. Why kill the person who's supposed to bring the recipes to your company?"

  "Maybe Billy refused?" I suggested. Honestly, based on what she'd told me, Nick seemed like a more likely candidate. But as far as I knew, the only history I could connect the current crimes with involved the Bluff Springs Brewery. And I still couldn't figure out what any of it had to do with the Red & White.

  "I'm going to go talk with Max Pfeiffer tomorrow," I said, giving the milk a stir; it was close to coming to temperature.

  "About what?" Teena asked.

  I thought about it for a moment. "I'll tell him I'm considering growing hops, and see if he's interested in buying any."

  "That sounds like a plan," she said. "But be careful. Do you want me to come with you?"

  "You work for his archenemy," I said. "Probably not."

  "True," she said. "But I don't like you going there alone. You know, in case."

  "I'll figure something out," I said. We hung out in the kitchen for a few more minutes until the milk came to temperature. Then I turned down the stove and put a lid on the pot. "This is finally done. Let's go check out the cistern."

  "Got it," she said. I grabbed a flashlight and headed out the kitchen door, leaving Chuck and the kitten inside.

  The breeze had picked up since I was last outside. "Do you think we'll get some rain?" Teena asked as we walked to the back gate.

  "I hope so," I said.

  "I heard you lost a lot of your pumpkins and cucumbers," she said. "Sorry to hear that; I know that's a lot of work."

  "The joys of farming," I quipped. "Hey... do you know what went wrong with the barley deal Adriana made with the brewery?"

  "Oh, that," she said, rolling her eyes. "That's been just a nightmare. They were all excited about the agreement, but you know how we had a wet spring?"

  "I remember it well," I said. The rain—both too much and too little—this year had been part of my problem.

  "Well, barley's a cool-season crop here. And apparently, under the right conditions, it can be infected with some kind of fungus. Felix told me it had something to do with something called Saint Elmo's Fire back in the Middle Ages. Made people go crazy, was mixed up with witch burnings, I think he said."

  "I thought Saint Elmo's Fire was a weather event."

  "Maybe I got the name wrong," she said as we closed the gate behind us and headed down the path to the old cistern, "but it was something like that. Anyway, he couldn't use the barley—said it would make everybody sick—but Adriana didn't believe him. She threatened a lawsuit, but finally backed off."

  "So some bad blood there."

  "For sure," Teena agreed. "I heard she finally sold it, though, so maybe he was wrong."

  "Do you think maybe he was just trying not to spend the money?"

  "Felix wasn't like that," Teena said. "Simon was always after him to keep ingredient cost lower, but Felix always refused to compromise on quality."

  I didn't tell Teena that Felix and Adriana had had a relationship prior to (and perhaps during) their courtship—after all, it would just cause more pain—but I filed what she told me away.

  As I flashed the light toward the cistern, something gray streaked past us. "What was that?" Teena asked.

  "Mother cat, I think."

  "Does she have any other kittens?" Teena asked.

  "I don't know," I said. "Chuck and I kind of searched the perimeter, but we didn't find anything. We think she was in the smokehouse, and a raccoon came in and tried to steal her babies. Our best guess is that she put this one into the chimney to keep her safe, but we have no idea if there are any others."

  "Where's the cistern?" she asked.

  "Over here," I said, hitching a left at the side path leading to the cistern. "We found it not long ago; it must have been built a hundred years ago. It was all grown over."

  When we got there, the lid was ajar.

  "Is it always like this?"

  "No," I said. "That's dangerous." As I went to push it, there was a small mewling sound from deep inside. I aimed the flashlight down. Roots lined the dark pit; and at the bottom, clinging to a branch just above the water, was another kitten.

  "This is what she was talking about, then," Teena breathed. "What do we do?"

  "She's too far down to reach," I said.

  "How deep is it?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Stay here; I've got a rope emergency ladder in the barn." I'd kept it at my old condo in Houston in case I needed to make a second-floor escape.

  "What are you going to attach the ladder to?" she asked.

  "That tree," I said, pointing to a pecan tree growing about ten feet away from the cistern. "I'll need some rope to tie it, though."

  "I hope you're good with knots," Teena said as I hurried back up the path to the barn.

  The ladder was in the loft where I remembered leaving it, thankfully—I should probably move it to the house anyway, I reflected—and I grabbed the coil of rope I kept on a hook by the door before hurrying back down to the cistern, the rope looped over my shoulder and the ladder clutched under my arm.

  "I hope this is long enough," I said as I dropped the ladder next to the cistern and took the rope to the tree. I looped it around and tied it, then headed back to the ladder.

  "How does this work?" Teena asked.

  "We unfold it like this," I said, undoing the strap that kept it together, "and then lower it gently into the cistern to see how far it goes. Can you hold the end and I'll drop it down slowly?"

  "Got it," she said, and grabbed the top hooks as I began feeding the ladder down the cistern. When it was fully extended, it was still five feet from the kitten. Teena looked up at me, her face reflected in the glow from the water below. "Now what?"

  "We'll have to use the rope to extend it," I said. I measured out about five extra feet on the rope and tied it to the top rung of the ladder.

  "I hope you're good with knots," Teena repeated.

  "Thanks for the encouraging words," I said as I tied the best knot I could and lowered the ladder down.

  "What do I do if you fall in?"

  "Try to fish me out? And call for help if you have to," I suggested.

  "Okay," she said, not sounding too confident about things. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

  "No," I told her straight out. "But I don't have any other ideas, so this is the one we're going with."

  As Teena watched, I pushed the lid the rest of the way over and lay down on my stomach, inching myself feet-first until my toe hit the top rung of the ladd
er. I scooted down until both feet were on the top rung and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing," I said, and put my whole weight on the top rung, holding onto the rope for balance. I swung back and forth a few times, praying the rope would hold, while Teena made anxious noises from somewhere above me, shining the light right in my eyes. I looked down and away. Then I took a step down, and another, my eyes fixed on the kitten, who appeared to be an orange tabby and was (thankfully) still clinging to the root. The end of the ladder dangled two feet above the kitten; I was going to have to hold onto the ladder and reach down to scoop him or her up.

  "Hang in there, sweetheart," I murmured, as much to myself as to the kitten, as I took another step down. The air was cold and dank and earthy smelling, and the wall of the cistern was slimy. Who had built it? And had anyone else fallen down it? I shivered and put the thought out of my head; even though my grandparents had owned the farm for as long as I remembered, there was still a lot I didn't know about it.

  After what seemed like an hour, I reached the last rung. The kitten was just a few feet beneath me, looking up at me with green eyes that matched his or her sister's. "I've got you," I said gently, and squatted down on the last rung to grab the little creature. I had just closed my hand around the kitten's thin little body when the ladder gave way, dropping both me and the kitten into the cold, dark water.

  19

  It felt like being dunked in a bucket of ice water. I instinctively held the kitten up over my head, keeping it above water, but I inhaled what seemed like a gallon of water and came up spluttering.

  "Lucy!" Teena called from far above me. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine for now," I called back, "and so is the kitten, but we can't stay here for long."

  "The knot must have come loose. What do I do?" she asked, sounding panicky.

  "Call Tobias, for starters," I said. "Is the rope long enough to go all the way down to me?" I thought so, but I hadn't actually measured it.

  "Are you going to climb it?" she asked.

  Rope-climbing had been my absolute nemesis in elementary school gym class, but I could only hope that the work on the farm had increased my upper body strength. Or, failing that, that adrenaline would do the trick.