The deputy nodded, her face grim. "Did she say anything?"
"She seemed to think it might have been due to a romantic entanglement," I said, "but that's it. She's moving to an assisted living center in La Grange soon, apparently."
"I imagine sooner now that Eva's gone." Deputy Shames grimaced. "Thanks for taking care of her. Do you know how to get in touch with any family members, now that Eva's gone?"
"She talked about calling her son. I know she's got a son and a daughter."
"Should probably get in touch with them," the deputy said.
"I'll see what I can do.
As Deputy Shames talked with Dottie, Quinn fixed some glasses of iced tea while I adjourned to what was left of the front porch to make a few phone calls. I couldn't reach Dottie's son Jessie, but her daughter Jennifer answered on the second ring.
"Oh, no... that's horrible! Is Mom okay?" she asked.
"She's shocked, of course," I said. "If there's anything I can do to help Dottie stay here comfortably, let me know. I worry about transitioning her to a nursing home; she mentioned that might be in the works."
Jennifer was silent for a moment, and I could hear the sound of children bickering in the background. "Kayla... knock it off," she told someone in a stern voice, then said, "Nursing home? Mom never said anything about a nursing home. She always swore she'd never leave the farm unless it was in a pine box."
"Well, it sounds like she may be changing her mind. A few minutes ago, she told me she was talking with your brother about selling the place and moving to an assisted living center in La Grange."
"My brother? You're kidding me. That..." She stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. "She never said anything to me about it," Jennifer replied, the bitterness in her voice palpable. "But she always did think he hung the moon, and he always did make the most of it. I'm going to call and give him a piece of my mind. He can't make these decisions for her, especially not without consulting the rest of the family!"
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings," I said.
"No," she told me. "It's not your fault. I'm glad you told me... I should have guessed he'd be up to something like this." She put her hand over the phone and admonished Kayla again, then got back on. "Sorry about that. I'll head up there as soon as my husband gets off work; I can't leave the kids alone, and I'm not sure I want to bring them if she's that upset."
"One of us will stay with her until you get here," I assured her.
"Thanks," she said.
I gave her my phone number and assured me she could call me anytime. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"No," she told me. "You've been amazing. Mom always liked you... she had us late, and loved when you'd come by and help out with us kids."
"That's right!" I said. "I remember when you and your brother got into the sugar and covered the kitchen floor with it."
"Remember who took the fall for that?"
Jennifer had, as I recalled.
"He always had her wrapped around his little finger," Jennifer told me. "I thought I'd made my peace with it, but I guess I haven't just yet."
"I'm so sorry," I told her. "I hope to see more of you."
"I'll give you a ring," she said. "And call me if you hear anything else about the whole real estate thing, please?"
"I don't know that I'll hear anything, but I promise if I do, I'll let you know."
"Thanks," she said, and we hung up.
"Jennifer won't be here until six thirty or seven," I told Quinn when I walked back into the house. "I probably need to go back and make sure that fence is tight before nightfall, but I don't want to leave her."
"I'll stay with Dottie and wait until she gets here," Quinn said, handing me a glass of iced tea.
"Thanks. I'll see if I have a casserole in the freezer I can drop by for them," I said. Deputy Shames was still talking with Dottie, so we headed back onto the front porch. "What do you think of the Gus Holz thing?" I asked as I settled into one of the painted rocking chairs.
"I don't know," Quinn said, sitting down next to me and biting her lower lip. "I hadn't heard anything about Gus seeing anyone else, and word usually travels fast in Buttercup."
"Have you heard from Flora recently?"
"I haven't," she said. "But I'm not to inclined to say anything to her about it."
"Me neither," I agreed. "But it worries me."
Quinn took a sip of her tea and pushed a wayward curl out of her eyes. "She's had pretty rotten luck in the boyfriend department," Quinn said. "I hope we haven't steered her in the wrong direction. Quinn wasn't wrong; Flora's previous boyfriend had turned out to be a particularly bad apple. When Gus Holz had shown interest at the Christmas Market, Flora had been nervous, but based on what we knew about the bachelor rancher, Quinn and I had encouraged her to go for it. Now, she was completely smitten... I'd even heard her broach the "M" word. Had we steered her wrong?
I pushed that worry from my head; with Eva gone, Cinnamon missing, and my crops devastated, I had more pressing concerns. "Want to come over to dinner later?" I asked Quinn. "I have to head back in a few, but when Jennifer gets here, let me know; I figure she and Dottie can join us, or if they're not feeling up to it, I can drop something off for them, and then you and I can eat together."
"That sounds good," she said. "Do you have anything on hand to make? I'm happy to help."
"I think I've got some enchiladas in the freezer I can heat up. Plus, I picked up some shrimp this week; I was going to make shrimp and goat cheese quesadillas."
"Sounds delicious," she said. "Only thing is, I don't know what time I'll be free."
"It's pretty quick to whip up," I said. "I might even make a margarita or two."
"I'm definitely in, then," she said, grinning.
"Thanks for helping out at the farm today, by the way."
"I'm just sorry it didn't help," she said. "You'll be okay, you think?"
"I think so. I just wish we could find Cinnamon," I said.
"Oh, Lucy, I'm sure she'll turn up."
I wasn't so sure, but I appreciated Quinn's optimism.
6
Tobias had patched the fence while I was gone; although his truck was no longer in the driveway, he'd left me a note on the kitchen table.
Thistle's doing okay for now; just check on her and call me if you see any trouble. No sign of Cinnamon yet but will put the word out. Fence should hold for the night. We'll reinforce it this weekend. Had a few emergency calls so had to head out, but will be in touch when I can. XXX OOO Tobias
I smiled as I read the note—Tobias could have texted, but a handwritten note was so much nicer—then headed out to check on Thistle. She was nestled close to her mother. Carrot was still showing signs of anxiety, no doubt over the loss of Cinnamon, but seemed comforted to have at least one of her kids back with her. The rest of the animals seemed to be past any lingering trauma from the tornado; the cows kept nudging me, hoping for treats, and when I checked on the chickens, they were out in the yard wondering where their lunch scraps had gone.
After calling a few neighbors to check on them and see if anyone had seen our missing kid, I spent the next hour picking up row cover as I walked around the farm calling for Cinnamon. The thin fabric had been shredded by the storm and distributed all over the property, along with torn leaves and uprooted vegetables. As evening drew close, I abandoned the growing pile of row cover and headed down to the creek once more, hoping that maybe I could find the poor baby goat. The water was still rising, making a rushing sound that reminded me a little of the sound of the tornado. I shuddered at the thought of it, and sent a small prayer up for Thistle. And Eva.
Someone had killed Eva Clarke, I reflected as I gathered another tangled mass of row cover from where it was tangled in a tree, piling it up a ways away from the flooded creek.
But who? And perhaps just as importantly, why?
I had just finished cooking the shrimp when Quinn called. "Jennifer just got here," she told me. "She d
oesn't want to eat with us, but she wouldn't say no to enchiladas."
"I popped them in a while ago, and they're ready to go," I said. "I'll be over in a few. Is Dottie doing okay?"
"Actually I think she might have been doing better before her daughter turned up," Quinn said in a hushed voice. "They're not exactly bosom buddies, I gather."
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Jennifer's not happy about the whole nursing home thing," Quinn said. "And she seems to think her brother isn't acting in Dottie's best interest."
"Let me know if you hear anything that might help explain what happened to Eva," I said.
"Will do," she promised.
Ten minutes later, I was back at Dottie's front door with a warm tray of enchiladas. I could hear the raised voices even before I hit the doorbell.
"How goes it?" I asked as Quinn answered the door.
"Not good," she answered as I walked into the front hallway. "I'm kind of afraid to leave them alone together."
"What are they arguing about?"
"Jessie's plan to put his mother in a nursing home," Quinn said as I set the pan on the stove. "Why don't you come say hello? Maybe it will help."
"I'm not sure it's safe," I said as Dottie raised her voice again from the other room.
"I don't want to discuss it!" Dottie said as Quinn and I walked into the living room. When she saw me, she closed her mouth. Her daughter, Jennifer, was standing next to her, arms crossed, her full face flushed.
"Jennifer?" I asked.
Her face softened when she saw me. "Lucy," she said, coming over to give me a hug. Jennifer was much rounder than I remembered, and looked tired. She wore jeans and a faded pink T-shirt, and smelled like sunblock and talcum powder. "It's been so long!" she said as she gave me a squeeze.
"It has," I said. "I'm glad to see you, even though the circumstances could be better."
"You have no idea," she said ominously.
"Hey, why don't you help me with the enchiladas?" I asked, glancing at Dottie, whose mouth was set in a thin line.
"I'd love to," she said, looking relieved at the prospect of a brief break from her mother, and followed me into the kitchen as Quinn fussed with Dottie's blankets.
"What's going on?" I asked quietly.
She let out something between a sigh and a snort. "I asked him about what you told me. Turns out my idiot brother talked her into giving him power of attorney. He's trying to convince her to go into a nursing home and sell the farm. And he did all of it behind my back!"
"I'd think that would be something the whole family would decide together," I said.
"You'd think, wouldn't you?"
"You've got kids, I hear."
"Two," she said. "They're four and three; they run me ragged."
"I'll bet," I said.
She ran a hand through her short hair. "I haven't had as much time as I'd like to check on Mom. I'm regretting that now; Kayla had an ear infection last month that just wouldn't go away, and then Liam got a stomach bug, and I meant to come up and check on her and I didn't. And... well, Bill and I have separated."
"I'm so sorry," I told her.
She burst into tears. "I just feel like I'm letting everyone down all over the place."
I gave her another hug, and she sobbed into my shoulder.
"Life happens," I told her. "Marital strife is hard. It's harder still when you've got little kids."
"I haven't even told my mother," she said. "I'm afraid she'll be disappointed in me. She's always been disappointed in me. And now she probably thinks I've abandoned her, which is why she's relying on Jessie so much."
"I'm sure she knows you love her."
"Sometimes I wonder," she said, glancing at the doorway to the living room. There was a look of sadness in her eyes, and I could see the little girl I'd watched all those years ago. "She was so fond of Eva, as if she were the daughter she'd always wished she'd had..."
"I'm sure that's not what it was," I said.
Jennifer shook herself. "Of course not. I just hope it's not too late to make it right."
"You think she doesn't want to go to the home?"
"I think he's convinced her she doesn't have enough money to stay here," Jennifer said. "She thinks he's an amazing money manager, but she has no idea what's really going on."
"What is going on?"
"He spends every cent he gets; have you seen the car he drives?"
"No," I said as I pulled back the tinfoil on the enchiladas.
"It's a brand-new Cadillac Escalade."
I let out a low whistle. "Aren't those like seventy-five K?"
"They are," she confirmed. "He bought it for himself at Christmas... but I know he got laid off from his job three months ago. I found out from a mutual friend; he hasn't told me about it himself."
"And you think this sparked the push for Dottie to sell the house?"
Jennifer nodded. "I hate that I even have to bring this up, but I really think he just wants access to the money from the sale of the house and land. He spends every cent he gets... I'm sure he doesn't have any savings, and I don't know how he's making the payments on the house and the car. If I didn't know better, I'd wonder..."
"Wonder what?" I asked.
She flushed. "Nothing. It was an awful thought."
"Are you wondering if he had something to do with what happened to Eva?" I asked.
"She never liked him," Jennifer said. "He told me more than once that she was poisoning Mother's mind. It's a ridiculous idea, though," she said, waving a hand as if pushing the thought away. "I shouldn't have even thought it, much less said it out loud."
"It's okay," I said. "You're upset."
"I am," she said, swiping at her eyes and then looking around at the small kitchen. The tiled countertops and wood floors hadn't changed since those summers I'd spent in Buttercup as a child and then a teenager, and the row of porcelain chickens on the windowsill looked just like they had when I babysat Jessie and Jennifer all those years ago. "I just can't believe he could do something like this. We grew up here. This is our family's history!"
"It's not done yet," I reminded her. "Have you talked to him?"
"He says it's none of my business," she said, looking defeated. "He refuses to talk about it. Said if Mother wanted to involve me, she would."
"And what does Dottie say?"
"She says he's handling everything, and she doesn't know any more than that."
I sighed. "That's got to be so hard. Did you tell your mother about the layoff?"
"Frankly, I don't think she'd believe me."
"It's got to be hard to make those car payments on unemployment," I said, thinking out loud. "Is he married?"
"He is," she said, "but his wife Melody works as a receptionist."
"So she's not making the big bucks."
"You could say that," she said with a twisted smile. "I have no idea how they're making mortgage payments, either. But Mother just tells me that he knows what he's doing, of course. Or else why would he be driving that fancy car?"
I sighed. "That's got to be so frustrating."
"It is," she said. "I've been eating Snickers bars like mad. By the way, those enchiladas smell amazing. Chicken and verde sauce?"
"Yup. I used tomatillos," I confirmed. "And probably too much cheese."
"You can never use too much cheese," Jennifer said with mock gravity.
"I like your philosophy," I said with a grin. "Seriously, though. What can I do to help you?"
"Just... talk to her. Maybe suggest she look at the finances herself. She was always good about money when we were growing up. Thrifty."
"I remember she used to use old milk cartons to protect her tomatoes," I said, "and she grew all her own vegetables and canned them."
"She did," Jennifer said proudly.
I sighed. "I'll see what I can do. I'm sorry you have to go through this."
"Thanks," she said, and looked down at the enchilada pan. "I should probably get Mother fe
d and put to bed. It's been a long day."
"It has," I agreed.
"Thanks so much to you and Quinn for coming over to make sure she was okay," she said.
"Of course," I said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "That's what neighbors do. And I'll do everything I can to help your mom out."
"Thanks," she said, giving me a hug. "You always were my favorite babysitter."
I laughed. "I just can't believe you've got kids of your own!"
"Let me show you!" she said, and whipped out her phone. We spent the next few minutes scrolling through photos of her children—a little girl with a wonderful, mischievous smile and a boy with enormous blue eyes—and by the time we headed back to the living room, Jennifer was in slightly better spirits.
"Call us if you need us!" I reminded them both as Quinn and I headed for the door.
"Thank you so much," Jennifer said as she dished up enchiladas. "I'll get the pan back to you tomorrow!"
"Take your time," I said as Quinn and I headed into the soft spring evening. The air smelled fresh and clean; it was hard to imagine that a violent storm had come through just hours before.
And that Eva Clarke had lost her life just a few hundred yards away.
7
When we arrived at my little farmhouse, Chuck just about bowled Quinn over with kisses.
"Hey, Chuck," she said, squatting down to pet him. He wagged so hard he almost knocked himself over. "He seems to be doing okay. How's Thistle?"
"We should probably go check on her," I replied. "I just wish I knew what happened to Cinnamon. I called all the neighbors, but nobody's seen her."
"I'm sure she'll turn up," Quinn said in a tone of voice that was not entirely convincing. "What did you and Jennifer talk about, anyway?" she asked as she peeled off her muddy boots and set them on the porch.
"Well, she told me her brother got laid off a few months ago. And now he's got power of attorney and is pressuring Dottie to go into a home and sell the house."
"Is Dottie in that bad a shape?" she asked.
Dyeing Season Page 4
