“Any blood?” Zoey asked.
“I don’t see any.”
We turned the shirt this way and that. There were more snagged threads wrecking the otherwise neat weave, but nothing worse than that.
“A twig,” Zoey pointed out. Its broken tip was peeking out through the fabric.
“Looks like Rita’d been in the woods,” I said. Of course, Lucas had said Rita had been in the woods when he’d found her unconscious and carried her back to the house. But the clothes she’d been wearing for that jaunt had gone with her to the hospital. These clothes indicated that she’d spent time in the woods prior to the night she was hit on the head.
I laid the shirt aside, untangled the coat hanger from it, then hooked the jeans and lifted. The jeans were a mix of damp and dry. They were also coated here and there with caked mud that crusted off to dapple the otherwise clean surface of the shower’s floor.
I blew out a low whistle. “Mud.”
I’d been in the woods too. Like Rita’s, my clothes had also gotten torn, but they hadn’t gotten caked in mud. Whoever buried Dougie Dan head first would have had to deal with mud, though, and lots of it.
“What are you thinking?” Zoey asked.
“I’m thinking Rita did it. I’m thinking that either Michael had planned to kill Dougie Dan and that Rita beat him to it, or he wrote that confession letter after the fact in order to take the blame in the event Rita’s dirty deeds came to light.”
Discovering this didn’t make me happy. I’d hoped for a different outcome. On one hand, I cheered the young woman for stopping the ruinous path of such a terrible person, but on the other hand I knew the price she’d have to pay could hardly be worth it. Dougie Dan had cost her so much already, and now her inability to let him and the past go had taken the rest.
“What if it wasn’t Rita and Michael?” Zoey said.
“What do you mean?”
“What if it was Rita and Lucas?”
“Ohhh… He does love her, at least that’s what he said. Could’ve been a lover’s pact. They could’ve planned it together and done it together.”
“No one would question Lucas having muddy clothes since he’s the fix-it guy. Maybe we should search his place too.”
I balked. “Maybe the cops should search his place instead of us.” I didn’t want to tangle with a guy who had done things bad enough to have extradition papers lobbied against him.
“You still think Dougie Dan was drowned at the spring house?” Zoey asked.
Nothing had been confirmed by the police department yet, and nothing had cried out to me during my cold night in that place that a murder had so very recently been carried out there. But that didn’t mean much. The light had been dim, and I’d been more focused on surviving the night than on searching every nook and cranny. Plus there were the surrounding grounds. The place could be lousy with hair, blood, or who knew what else.
“I think the spring house is still the best bet,” I said in answer to her question, though it did throw a monkey wrench into things. “Any idea how Rita could have gotten Dougie Dan’s body from the spring house to those holes?”
“You mean if she were on her own?”
“Yeah. She’s the only one we can definitively say was probably there when Dougie Dan got planted.”
“She’s stout,” Zoey said.
“Huh?”
“Stout. The girl’s got shoulders. Plus she’s a volunteer firefighter.”
I gasped. “I’d forgotten that. And I know that I wandered all over the place trying to find my way back, but the spring house ended up being only a couple of valleys over from where he was found.”
We heard sounds in the hall, then voices. They soon faded.
“Ready to go?” Zoey asked. She paused and looked back when I didn’t step with her toward the bathroom door. “What’s wrong? You don’t look happy. The murder’s solved. Mostly. You did it.”
“Dougie Dan was such a jerk.” Ugh. I hated this. “If Rita killed him…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t want it to be Rita, but what I wanted didn’t matter. It didn’t have any place in who did or did not kill Dougie Dan.
“If Rita killed him,” Zoey said, picking up my unfinished sentence, “she made her own bed. It was a choice, a conscious choice. I’m not judging, but we still gotta tell.”
“Why?” I asked. Zoey’s decision-making matrices weren’t exactly the moral compass by which laws were created. She bent the rules all the time. I was pretty sure there were some she outright smashed.
“Because it’s who you are,” she said.
That took a moment to sink in. “Oh,” I finally said when I realized she was right. “That sucks.”
“Come on. Let’s go.”
I sighed, dropped the jeans back in place, and returned the shirt to its position on top. There was no way around what was to come next. It was time.
“Let’s go find Brad.”
Chapter 36
I deflated in my seat when I saw Brad. “Of course he’s with her,” I growled at the sight of Brad headed our way across the B&B’s lawn with Sheriff Palke at his side.
“I’m on it,” Zoey said. She detached herself from her chair and headed out the tent’s makeshift door.
She broke into a jog and snared Sheriff Palke in her web by doing some theatrical arm waving. It soon became an all-body pantomime. Best I could tell, Zoey was either having a seizure or Godzilla was on his way.
I held my breath when Zoey tapped Brad on the shoulder and flung a hand in my direction. Fear gripped me that Sheriff Palke would trail along, but I needn’t have worried. Zoey kept Sheriff Palke enthralled while Brad continued the trek across the yard to the tent and to me.
“You tell her she could do that?” Brad asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder when he stepped in through the door.
I frowned. “Tell her she could do what?” People didn’t tell Zoey to do anything. They said a small prayer and then politely asked for her assistance.
“She’s telling Sheriff Palke about the time you got locked outside the café in nothing but your underwear and had to climb the fire escape to break back into your own apartment.”
“I never!”
Brad’s grin was lopsided and more than a little bit cheeky. “Good. I was afraid I’d missed out on something special. What’s up, Red?” He settled into the chair Zoey had vacated.
I gave a vamoose chin lift to the geek squad stragglers in the tent, and they funneled out.
Brad’s brows lifted. “That bad?”
“Maybe. Depends on how you look at it.” I took a deep breath. I still didn’t feel good about what I had to say, but it was time to rip off the band-aid. “Rita killed Dougie Dan.”
“Rita? The girl lying comatose in the hospital?”
“Yeah. She’s got some torn and muddy clothes in her bathroom.” I took another deep breath. “But there’s a complication.”
“Okay…” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His full attention was on me. It felt better than good to be in that spot again. It felt great, despite the news I was giving him.
“Her dad wrote a confession letter claiming responsibility for Dougie Dan’s murder, but he was real indirect about it. He doesn’t come right out and say it in the letter.”
“Oh, yeah? So what makes you think Rita did it and Michael didn’t?”
“Her muddy clothes and the way she’s been acting. She’s been manic, unhinged even. She’s… She’s not been right. I think maybe she needs help. Professional help.” Even the man who loved her said that she was crazy. I wasn’t sure he meant literally, but it didn’t speak well of her ability to make good decisions right now.
“And her getting hit on the head?” he asked.
“A coverup. I think she got either her dad or the handyman, Lucas, to hit her to get the suspicion off of her. But whoever it was, they hit her too hard.”
“Lucas? Why him?”
“He’s in love with her.” I filled Brad i
n about Lucas’s real identity.
“Messy.” His lips thinned, and he looked me up and down.
“What?”
“You trespassed. You tampered with evidence. You might have even obstructed an investigation.”
“I did not!” I’d readily raise my hand to the first two, but I didn’t do the third. A girl had to have her standards.
“She might want to arrest you.”
I didn’t have to ask who the “she” was. I already knew. “You like her, don’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Don’t change the subject.” His grin was back. He was enjoying himself.
“If I’m going to jail, I’d just as soon go knowing how you feel about her,” I shot back.
His grin quirked bigger. “You’re not going to jail. And how I feel about you is much more interesting than how I feel about her.”
My eyes went wide. “Really?” I asked, my voice tentative.
He chuckled. “How can someone who always figures out the answers be so clueless?” He lifted from his chair, kissed my temple then stood. “I’ll tell her the info about Rita and Michael came from an anonymous tip.”
I stood and followed Brad to the door. The man was as good-looking walking away as walking toward you, and I blushed a little at the thoughts that filled my head.
He still liked me. I was still his girl. Knowing that had me on cloud nine despite poor Rita and what was coming down the pike for her.
My stomach grumbled, and I cast a longing eye on the grass-worn path leading to the porch stairs. Just beyond lay a warm and inviting kitchen with untold deliciousness and recipes to explore.
I considered waiting, but Zoey didn’t seem interested in leaving Sheriff Palke’s side. Brad was back, and the conversation that would lead to Rita’s inevitable downfall was underway. I was glad Zoey was staying within earshot. She’d fill me in on what was said later.
My stomach grumbled again, urging me into action. There was no point staying put. The tent was empty. The equipment was so rigged that it was a wonder no one had gotten electrocuted. And the stashes of picked-over food looked far from appetizing.
I headed for the kitchen.
“But this is how you said you wanted it,” Tim was saying as I made my way into what had to be the best smelling kitchen on planet Earth. Poor Tim sounded frustrated and a tad overwhelmed. Mama Hendrix wore an expression of pained patience.
I did my best to remain unobtrusive as I made my way to the refrigerator. I was hoping for some leftover quiche, but just about anything would do me.
“That’s the largest section where the harvest failed,” Mama Hendrix said, speaking with exaggerated slowness. “You need to cut down the trees I’ve marked.”
“But Doug said their sap would be good and strong next year and to leave them.”
“Did he now?” Mama Hendrix said, pulling back and narrowing her eyes. “Hmmph, I recall him saying something different to me.”
“And I don’t want to get into any trouble,” Tim went on.
“Trouble for what?”
“For, you know, destroying property,” Tim said.
“You’re stumping me. What are you talking about?”
“The trees…” Tim waited a beat, looking at Mama Hendrix as if him saying “the trees” would magically explain it all. When she didn’t respond, he went on. “They’re not yours.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said, throwing up a hand. “Go on out of here. The trees can stay, and we’ll see how they perform next year.”
Tim did an effortless, understated military grade about-face and headed for the door with eyes locked forward. The man was all focus, all about getting things done—and not letting anything stand in his way.
I shifted my gaze to Mama Hendrix. I wondered if it was a trait she appreciated in the man.
I wondered if it might be a trait she’d adopted for herself.
Chapter 37
“Kylie, dear, you put that piece of cheese back in there and let me get you something decent to eat,” Mama Hendrix said. “Go on now. Sit down.”
She plucked the piece of fresh mozzarella from my fingers, giving me no other choice but to do what she said if I wanted to stop my stomach’s nagging grumble. I sat in my usual spot next to the wall and watched as she popped the piece of cheese in her mouth and returned to the fridge.
“You want salmon cakes? I can cook ‘em fresh for you. I’ve got the mix already prepared, even have some dill sauce made. Or if you want something lighter, I’ve got some blueberry pie. I can put a nice scoop of maple pecan ice cream with it.”
I had to chuckle at her idea of “lighter,” but both options sounded delicious. “I’d love some pie,” I told her.
She got busy fixing me a plate, and I pondered my thoughts. Tim had said that Mama Hendrix didn’t own the trees. In addition to that, Dougie Dan had told Mama Hendrix one thing while he’d told Tim something altogether different. He’d told her that a bunch of trees weren’t producing syrup. Syrup was a source of income for Mama Hendrix’s B&B.
I wondered what other things Dougie Dan had told Mama Hendrix about her business’s sources of income. Maybe he’d messed with the apple trees here too.
“Mama Hendrix, what led you to put Dougie D—” I stopped myself short of tacking on his birth name. “What led you to putting him in charge of your orchards?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Things just worked out that way,” she said, getting the ice cream out of the freezer. “I originally hired him on as just a seasonal worker to get the apples in and processed, but a couple of my full-timers quit before the season was up. It just made sense to hire him on when that happened.”
“They just up and quit on you?”
“Well, I let one of them go. He hit a stream of bad luck, one thing after another, making mistakes. I had to let him go when a batch of five hundred gallons of cider got ruined. I didn’t want to, but those kinds of mistakes are just too costly to look past.”
She would’ve been out the cost of labor on top of the loss of income. A painful double whammy.
“Did the worker admit to the mistakes?”
“He admitted to some of them or at least agreed that it could have been him.”
“And the mistake of messing up all that cider, did he admit to that one?”
Mama Hendrix didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was tight. “No, not that one.”
“Did he say who he thought had done it?”
“This piece big enough, dear?” she asked, showing me the pie plate and indicating a slice a generous few inches wide.
“More than enough,” I said, my mouth already watering.
But I noticed Mama Hendrix didn’t answer my question.
It was time to press a hunch. “Mama Hendrix, how much did Doug pay you for the rights of your orchard?” My guess was that Tim was not misinformed in his comment about her not owning the rights to the orchard. It was also a hunch that the amount Dougie Dan paid for the rights was a figure suspiciously close to what he’d stolen from his and Rita’s wedding fund.
Mama Hendrix’s back was to me, and it stiffened. Someone might as well have taken a steel rod and hammered it right down her spine. She then leaned forward and twisted to look out the window into the side yard before looking the other way as well. “I never could stand a busybody,” she said.
She turned to face me, her eyes dark and unflinching. There was no humor in them. They were cold and flat, and the way she looked at me made me uncomfortable. Yet I pressed on.
“Was Rita a busybody too?” I asked, my voice coming out small and timid.
Mama Hendrix seemed to grow in stature at the sound of my unfortunate uncertainty. She nodded her head in answer to my question. “She was. That… That…” A string of very descriptive and non-flattering words flowed effortlessly from Mama Hendrix’s lips. She ended it by saying, “I hate that girl. How did she end up back in the yard? Did you do that?” She practically spat the words.
>
“No, not me.” I demanded my nerves settle their screaming and pretended not to notice as I continued to question her. “Why do you hate her? What did she do?”
“She buried Doug head down in the dirt,” she yelled.
I wondered if—nay, hoped—somebody heard.
Mama Hendrix’s voice dropped back to normal when she continued. “How was I supposed to know that idiot girl had followed Doug out to the spring house? I’d told that no-good sack of horse manure that I had plans for the place, that I wanted to convert it into a tiny chapel to use as a wedding nook. I told him to meet me out there. That idiot girl followed.” Her face turned red as she spoke. “When I saw him planted in the dirt like that… When I saw what had been done to him…”
“You didn’t know who’d done it?”
She shook her head. “Not until she followed me back out there. But it’s just as well.” She smiled. It was not a nice smile.
“Why is it just as well?” I asked.
“Because I was going to blame the murder on her anyway. She actually made that easier,” she said with a mirthless laugh.
Ug. Poor Rita! She just couldn’t catch a break. “You’re the one who hired Lucas,” I said.
Mama Hendrix’s eyes went big, but not big surprised. They went big angry. “Can’t anyone do anything right?” she exclaimed. “Everybody’s got to run their mouth, don’t they? Nobody understands what it means to be all in anymore.”
“You hired Lucas to tell Rita and her dad where Doug was so that they’d come here, so that they’d be here when you killed Doug. And you did kill Doug, right?” My voice trailed off.
Mama Hendrix’s lips thinned. “I hired Lucas to find some dirt on Doug, then I made a plan. Plans are good.” She wagged a finger at me. “They’re important. A person’s got to have a plan and a willingness to see it through. Telling Rita and Michael where Doug was, that was just one step of the plan.” She opened a kitchen drawer by her hip, glanced down at its contents, then closed it again.
“But I don’t understand how?”
“How what?”
“How did you drown Doug?” Doug had been relatively young and pretty fit. Mama Hendrix wouldn’t even win an athletic contest against people in her own age range.
A Berry Horrible Holiday Page 20
