Rhubarb Pie Before You Die

by Gin Jones

  Graham seemed to be getting more and more afraid of the Salesman as the days went on, but the comments remained cryptic, and while Mabel was reasonably sure the nickname referred to Trent, the connection wasn’t spelled out anywhere. She’d pieced it together from what she knew about Trent and from Graham’s description of the client’s allegation against him about revealing confidential information during a divorce proceeding. It was possible, she supposed, that Graham had done the same thing to more than one client, but surely if that serious a breach had happened more than once, he would have been disciplined by the state entity that enforced professional ethics rules.

  Graham eventually admitted in his journal that he’d been having blackouts, and it was perhaps possible he’d revealed confidential information when he wasn’t in his right mind. And while his writing sometimes reverted to delusional detours where he suggested that Trent was part of a conspiracy by the Enforcer to force the sale of the farmhouse, at other times Graham was fully aware that Trent’s accusations were enough, if people believed them, to force the closure of his law practice. No one would hire a lawyer who couldn’t keep a secret.

  Mabel continued looking for references to Trent, until she found something dated three days before the murder. It was a lengthy entry that described a physical confrontation with the Salesman in the greenhouse. It had just involved some shoving, not punching or the use of a weapon, but it had ended with Trent’s threatening to kill Graham if he didn’t contact his malpractice insurer and admit what he’d done. There was even a deadline of the following Monday, the date Graham was killed.

  Unfortunately, even in the depths of Graham’s fear, or perhaps because of that fear, he’d continued to use a nickname for Sam Trent, never mentioning his real name. It seemed obvious to her that Trent and the Salesman were the same person, but the police might be skeptical. Especially when the person bringing the information to them was herself a possible suspect.

  There had to be a way to prove that Trent was the Salesman, not just to her own satisfaction, but beyond a jury’s reasonable doubt. Mabel went over the section describing the shoving match again. Graham had gone into considerable detail, including the fact that Trent had been standing near the wall of tools and had grabbed a pair of clippers to wave menacingly, only to cut his finger on one of the blades and throw it away from him in frustration. Fortunately, the greenhouse was made out of some sort of heavy plastic, not glass that the impact could have cracked, so there hadn’t been any damage. The clippers had fallen between the greenhouse wall and the planting bench, where they were difficult to retrieve, so Graham had decided to leave them there until the spring, when the seedlings would be moved outdoors, making it easier to push the benches out of the way. Graham had seemed almost as annoyed by the temporary loss of his favorite clippers as by the physical threat they’d offered in Trent’s hands.

  Graham might not have had an incentive to retrieve the clippers immediately, but Mabel did. Or at least to confirm that they were still where they’d fallen. If she could find them, and the police could verify that the blood on the blade belonged to Trent, it would be proof that he was the Salesman. Maybe not enough to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Trent was also the killer, but enough to get the police to put him at the top of the suspect list and take their attention off Mabel.

  She had to get to the greenhouse to see if the clippers were still there. She couldn’t go right away, not at—she checked the clock on her laptop—four in the morning. If she went to the greenhouse now, Lena Shaw would undoubtedly call the cops on her, and they might actually take her seriously for once.

  Now that Mabel wasn’t totally immersed in the decoding, she realized the earliest of the early birds had already started their racket outside her windows. She really needed to soundproof her bedroom more thoroughly if she had to stick around long enough to hire a farm manager and make sure he was settled in before she returned to Maine.

  Mabel checked on Billie Jean to find that there were now five kittens, all drinking from the dozing momcat. Mabel wished she could sleep too, but she was too wired in anticipation of finally finding some useful evidence to take suspicion off her. She might as well stay up and finish decoding the journal in case there was anything useful in the remaining pages.

  * * * *

  Mabel decided that seven o’clock was a reasonable time to go to the greenhouse, and then shook her head at the idea that she would ever, under any circumstances, consider anything before noon to be a sensible time to be awake. West Slocum had definitely made its mark on her.

  She tucked her laptop with the scanned copy of the journal into its bag. She’d marked the relevant pages to share with the detectives after she got the clippers. While she’d been waiting for dawn, she’d gone back to look at the journal entries that weren’t specific to Sam Trent, and she’d found that Graham’s friction with both the Enforcer and the Brother had been escalating in the last four weeks before he’d been killed. One entry described how the Enforcer had visited early one morning to threaten having the property condemned if he didn’t make some basic repairs to the exterior of the farmhouse by a specific date, the Friday before Graham was killed. Other times when Graham had mentioned the Enforcer’s threats, he’d done so in the context of how foolish they were and how he didn’t have time to deal with them. That was consistent with Lena’s obvious irritation with having been ignored whenever she complained to Graham. This time seemed different though. Graham had even made a list of the work he thought would satisfy the Enforcer, although Mabel couldn’t find any evidence that he’d taken any steps to get the projects done.

  Another entry, just a couple of days later, mentioned the Brother stopping by with similar demands for repair, but with the added threat of foreclosure on the mortgage. Like the Enforcer, the Brother had given Graham a month to start work on a dozen repairs. That deadline for both sets of demands had come and gone the Friday before he’d been killed. Graham had even noted in his journal that the deadlines had passed without any of the work done, but that he was confident that both the Enforcer and the Brother would understand he was on the verge of a breakthrough in his breeding program. Once he had the perfect cultivar, Graham had written, then he’d have both the time and money to take care of the repairs.

  Mabel wasn’t as convinced that his critics would have been so understanding. Still, it seemed more likely that they’d take the threatened legal action, not attack him physically to force him to get the property cleaned up. Sam Trent, who’d shown his proclivity for both losing his temper and getting physical, was a much more credible suspect.

  She checked on Billie Jean again—the crate still held five hungry kittens in a variety of colors and one exhausted momcat—and fed both her and Pixie before heading out to her car.

  She was halfway to Graham’s house before she remembered how her friends had insisted she shouldn’t go there alone. She called Charlie, since construction work had a reputation for starting at dawn, so he should be awake. He must have been in a meeting though, because he didn’t pick up. Mabel left a message to let him know where she was going and that she thought she had some new evidence. Or would by the time she left the greenhouse.

  She considered calling Terry Earley to go with her instead, since she knew he was a morning person, but he had classes, and even if he didn’t mind missing one, she didn’t want to be responsible for his truancy. She couldn’t ask him to jeopardize his education, not when she was certain the greenhouse would be perfectly safe. All she had to do was confirm that the clippers were still where the Salesman had thrown them, and then contact Detective O’Connor to send his forensic team to get them and look for fingerprints and blood. No reason anyone other than perhaps Lena Shaw would even notice she was there. Certainly not Trent.

  Mabel continued to Graham’s house and parked out front where the car would be safe from Lena’s tow trucks. In the early-morning haze, the property seemed even more run
-down than she remembered. Was that a normal effect of dawn light? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been outside at such an early hour. For all she knew, everything looked abandoned at this hour of the day. She hadn’t paid much attention to what Stinkin’ Stuff Farm looked like on the way down the driveway, concentrating instead on glugging down the iced tea from the travel cup she’d filled and brought with her in the hope of waking up more fully.

  What if it wasn’t just a morning thing or her sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on her, and her subconscious was trying to tell her to stay away? Perhaps she should wait until she talked to Charlie and he could meet her at the greenhouse. In the meantime, she could keep an eye on the property from the safety of her car to make sure no one sneaked into the greenhouse to steal the incriminating clippers.

  She was still undecided five minutes later when a man jogged past her car and into the subdivision with a large dog. It wasn’t on a leash, which was bound to be a violation of the homeowners’ association rules. If Lena was awake, she’d be sure to come out and give the man a lecture.

  Sure enough, less than a minute later, Lena appeared on the sidewalk in a terry cloth robe and teal-colored flannel pajamas, video camera in hand. Just another day in Robinson Woods, Mabel thought. No need to worry about safety, not with Lena Shaw on the job, watching and documenting everything that went on in the neighborhood.

  Mabel finally left the Mini Cooper and headed for the greenhouse, telling herself she could still change her mind and go back to the car to wait for Charlie to return her call if the sinister feeling worsened. She paused at the foot of the driveway, noting that the truck, car, and tractor were all gone. Rob’s tow company must have taken them. The view into the greenhouse was no longer obscured as it had been when Graham was killed. No one would be foolish enough to attack her when they’d be in easy view of the street at a time that probably constituted a rush hour for the subdivision, as commuters headed out to work.

  It wouldn’t take long to confirm that the clippers were still where they’d been thrown, and then she’d be gone before anyone could follow her inside. Besides, Lena was already up and chasing down rule breakers. She would notice if anyone who didn’t belong on Graham’s property showed up. It was a bit odd actually that Lena had noticed the dog-walker, given her claim to not being a morning person, but perhaps she’d been upset that she’d missed the biggest crime ever to happen in the subdivision and had redoubled her surveillance. If anything happened on Graham’s property, Lena would be on her phone, calling the police, at the first sign of trouble.

  Mabel spared a moment to consider whether Lena’s presence was itself a risk. What if the Salesman wasn’t actually Sam Trent? It couldn’t be Lena though, since the nickname referred to a client who’d been getting a divorce. Lena was emphatically single, never married, so she couldn’t be that client. And even if Mabel was wrong about the Salesman, and Lena was indeed Graham’s killer, there was still nothing to fear. Unlike Graham, Mabel knew to stay alert and not let anyone get too close to her in the greenhouse.

  Mabel was bent over the greenhouse doorknob, inserting the key, when she heard a shouted “Hey!” behind her. She turned to see Lena at the end of the driveway, shaking her video camera at Mabel.

  “What are you doing here?” Lena demanded, stalking up the driveway toward Mabel.

  Chapter 23

  Lena looked even worse than Mabel felt. It wasn’t just that Lena was wearing ragged flannel pajamas instead of her usual meticulously put-together outfit that was more appropriate to an office than a rural subdivision. There were dark circles under her unfocused eyes, and she wobbled once as she came up the driveway.

  Had Lena been drinking? Or using some other recreational substance? If Lena were thinking clearly, she would know why Mabel was at the greenhouse.

  “I’m just checking on something,” Mabel said warily.

  “That’s not what you’re supposed to be doing when you’re here.” Lena’s words were irrationally angry, but not slurred with either inebriation or fatigue. “You’ve got permission to take care of the plants, not have parties in the greenhouse.”

  Mabel blinked. “I’m not having a party.”

  “That’s what everyone says.” Lena tapped her video camera. “I’ve got proof. There were a dozen people here an hour ago, way too early and making a ruckus, blaring their horrible music, and clearing out the vehicles to make room for who knows what.”

  Understanding dawned. “That wasn’t a party. That was the towing company putting the vehicles in storage. I thought you’d be happy they were gone. You said they were an eyesore.”

  “They were,” Lena said. “But that’s no excuse for replacing them with a different kind of nuisance. All that noise, waking people up. It’s not right.”

  “Of course not.” Mabel hated early-morning noise at least as much as the next person, probably more. She felt a tiny bit of sympathy for the annoying woman. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Easy enough to promise, since all the vehicles were gone now.

  “That’s not good enough.” Lena stomped up the driveway until she was less than an arm’s length away. She held out her hand imperiously. “Give me the key to the greenhouse. I’ll return it to the police when I tell them you’re not welcome here any longer.”

  Mabel took a step back, bumping against the greenhouse door. “If I don’t visit, the rhubarb seedlings will die.”

  “I don’t care.” Lena shook her hand imperiously. “Give me the key.”

  Mabel hated confrontation, but she couldn’t do what the woman wanted. Perhaps it would be best to just leave and come back another time. She took a step to her right to go around Lena, but the woman moved to block her again.

  “The key. Now.”

  Mabel considered her next move. She was fairly confident that Lena didn’t have a weapon on her. The outstretched hand was empty, and the other one held a video camera that might be a metaphorical weapon of sorts, but not one that Mabel feared. If Lena was still taping, the recording would show Mabel hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Of course, the lack of a weapon didn’t mean Mabel was completely safe. Graham’s killer hadn’t been armed originally either, but had grabbed something close at hand. Then she remembered that while the unsightly vehicles were gone from the driveway, the pile of discarded materials was still nearby, to Mabel’s left, including the broken pieces of metal sidewall supports that were about the same length as a baseball bat and potentially just as lethal if swung at a human head.

  Mabel sidled to her right, away from the pile of debris that was a too-convenient source of makeshift weapons. “I’m willing to leave for now, but I’m not giving you the key. I’m not authorized to do that.”

  “You have to do what I say,” Lena insisted. “I’m in charge here.”

  “No, you’re not,” Mabel said. “You told me yourself that Graham’s property isn’t part of the subdivision.”

  “It will be soon,” she said. “Now give me the key, or I’ll take it from you.”

  There was no room left for Mabel to back up any farther, and there was an overgrown bush to her right, limiting how far away she could get from the pile of potential weapons. What would Lena do if Mabel tried to push past her? Mabel had never been comfortable with physical contact, not even the friendly type like hugs, and an assault would be even worse.

  Mabel leaned forward and without actually taking a step forward, twisted as if she were preparing to push her left shoulder into Lena’s arm and brush past her. Anyone who wasn’t intent on starting a scuffle would have read the body language and stepped back.

  Lena didn’t. She braced herself for impact, and her face took on a triumphant expression. She wanted Mabel to be the one to escalate from threats of contact to actual battery. Then she could tell the police that Mabel had started the scuffle. Lena had probably done the same thing with her neighbors whe
n they’d violated some silly rule and wouldn’t accept responsibility. She probably knew the police wouldn’t back her up unless the other person had done something worse than break a homeowners’ association rule, something that could be labeled a criminal assault.

  Mabel sighed. It was too early in the morning for her in the best of circumstances, and after an all-nighter, she definitely didn’t have the energy to play games. Her head hurt, her eyes were itchy, and she just wanted to find the clippers, tell the police what she’d found, and go back to bed.

  Rather than do what Lena wanted, Mabel leaned back against the greenhouse’s front wall. She was fairly sure that Sam Trent was the most likely suspect, but he hadn’t actually done anything worse than wave the clippers around, as far as she could prove. It was a good lead for the police, but not definitive. So, what if she were wrong? After all, it still seemed odd that Lena hadn’t seen the killer, even more so now that Mabel had witnessed how quickly the woman had responded to the jogger at what must have been essentially the same time of day as when Graham had been killed.

  What if Lena had been this confrontational with Graham, intending to provoke him into assaulting her, but instead she’d accidentally killed him? Mabel had a hard time figuring out how anyone could have accidentally stuck a knife into a person’s heart from the back, but perhaps there had been a struggle, and Graham had turned away, thinking he’d defeated Lena or in a show of not taking her seriously. Then with adrenaline racing through Lena, she’d lashed out, maybe even forgetting she had the knife in her hand.

  It was possible, especially now that Mabel had seen just how unreasonable Lena could be in what she obviously considered her righteous upholding of the subdivision’s standards. As long as they were stuck in a standoff—and Lena didn’t have anything more dangerous than a compact video camera in her immediate reach—it wouldn’t hurt to ask more about Lena’s failure to see anything useful at the time of the murder.