My heart sank. Maybe there was something to what Dottie said, after all. "Why were they in La Grange?"
"You'd have to ask them," she said, "but they were havin' dinner at Guadalajara."
"Poor Flora," Mildred said, shaking her head but looking slightly gleeful. "Thank goodness she's got her mama's money to keep her warm. She hasn't had much luck in the romance department."
"It was just dinner," I said, too shortly.
They gave me a pitying look.
"But back to Eva," I said. "Anyone else you know who might have had ruffled feathers?"
"Well, she was sore about the Sunset Home problem."
"Really?"
Mildred nodded. "She ran into one of the folks who run the home; she was here at the Blue Onion last week with a prospective family member, I think. Eva said a few words that a lady can't repeat, right in front of the family member, and then stormed out, madder than a wet hen."
"And no idea what they were arguing about?"
"Eva wasn't a big fan of how they were runnin' the place, it seems," Mildred said. "Said she was plannin' on puttin' a stop to it, and that she'd die rather than put a family member in that place."
"What was the nursing home person's name?"
"I don't remember," she said. "She's not from Buttercup, I do know that."
"It's a shame what happened to Eva," Gretchen said. "She and Dottie seemed awfully close."
"Unless you brought up Dottie's son Jessie," Mildred said. "That boy can do no wrong as far as his mother is concerned. Speaking of Jessie," she said, "he's here right now."
"Is he?" I asked.
She pointed over to the corner of the cafe. I recognized our local real estate agent, Faith Zapalac, but I could only see the back of her dining companion's head.
"Always felt bad for Jennifer. She spent her whole life tryin' to get her momma's attention, but Dottie only had eyes for Jessie."
"Mind you, it's not Jessie who's makin' sure Dottie gets to her doctors' appointments and all. I only ever see Jennifer."
"Are you sure about that?" Mildred asked in a low voice. "He's been in Buttercup a few times recently," she said. "I saw his truck parked a few doors down, across the street from the Town Green."
"What do you know about him, anyway?"
"He's got some job down in Houston," Mildred said. "Comes back for a day or two at Christmas, and sends the kids up for a week or two in the summer, but doesn't come back up here nearly as much as his sister does." My eyes strayed to the table in the corner again. Faith and her dining companion seemed in deep conversation.
A moment later, Quinn hurried into the dining room through the swinging door to the kitchen. "Lucy!" she said when she spotted me. "Any word on Cinnamon?"
"None yet," I said.
"What's Cinnamon?" Mildred asked.
"One of my kids," I said. "She went missing during the storm yesterday. I'd like to think someone found her and took her in, but I'm afraid she may be lost." My heart twisted as I said it. I knew keeping livestock meant dealing with losses, but it was hard when you were faced with one directly.
"Poor thing," Mildred said. "I'll keep an ear out, see if she turned up somewhere. Your barn been vandalized yet, by the way?"
I blinked, surprised. Was I not the only one? "Funny you should ask. It was, just this morning, actually. Someone broke into the chicken coop, broke all the eggs, and spray-painted a message on the wall of the barn."
"Real sorry to hear that. Somebody's been spray-paintin' barns the past few weeks. Lettin' Ed Zapp's chickens out, too."
"I heard about the chickens," I said. "I’m glad mine are okay… but tell me more about the vandalism. What was spray-painted on the barns?"
"Big letters of some kind," she said. "Some kind of nonsense. Not sure what they mean."
There hadn’t been any letters in the coop. A cryptic message, to be sure, but not letters. Was it the same culprit? I wondered. Whoever it was, it was creepy.
"Think we have some kind of gang startin' in Buttercup?" Mildred asked.
"That would be a surprising development," I said.
"Well, you never know. Keep your eyes open."
"I will," I said. "Please let me know if you hear of anything... or if you remember anything about Eva."
"If it was foul play," Mildred said in a low voice, "does it bother you that it was practically on your doorstep? I mean, you're right there, and living all alone..." She shivered.
"I've got Chuck to protect me," I said, but in truth her comment did send a frisson of fear through me.
"Dogs are good, but a shotgun's better," Mildred advised.
"I'll think about it," I said, not mentioning that I’d already given it some serious consideration just that morning. "Thanks for chatting. I'm going to go check in on Quinn."
"Good luck finding your stray kid," Mildred called as I headed across the cafe to where Faith and Jessie were huddled. Faith was wearing a particularly bright shade of red lipstick and a plunging neckline, which Jessie appeared to be appreciating. Was this her new marketing strategy? I wondered. She let out a throaty laugh at something Jessie said as I stopped by their table.
"Hi," I said, and they both jumped.
"Good morning, Lucy," Faith said, reaching down to adjust her neckline. She was Buttercup's primary real estate agent, with a nose for business and not a lot of scruples; she and I had tangled before.
"Hi, Faith. Hi, Jessie," I said. Jessie hadn't changed a lot from when I babysat him as a kid, only much larger. I remembered him having round cheeks and a perpetual pout; although he now sported new sideburns and a beard, neither the round cheeks nor the pout had changed. His belly spilled over his jeans, and was only barely kept in check by a button-down shirt. He looked like a heart attack looking to happen. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about what happened to your mom's health aide, and to tell you I'm happy to help in any way I can." I smiled. "It was good of you to come up and look after her."
"I always look after her," he said defensively.
I blinked, surprised. "Of course," I said. "I know Dottie's terribly broken up about Eva—so am I— but that's got to make things difficult for you, too. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"I've got things under control," he said.
"I'm glad to hear it. Looking to buy a place in Buttercup? It'll be nice for her to have you close by; I know how much she loves you."
Jessie looked to Faith as if he needed help answering the question. "We're conducting other business at the moment," Faith said sharply, even though I had addressed Jessie.
"I heard your mom might be putting her place up for sale," I said to Jessie.
Faith tightened her lips.
"I don't mean to pry," I said, although that wasn't entirely true, "but if you do, would you let me know? I might be interested in picking up a few acres."
"We'll keep that in mind," Faith said, which told me the rumors were true. "But parcels usually do better when they're sold intact. Of course, if you're interested in purchasing the entire property..."
"Keep me posted," I said, and looked at Jessie. "I'd hate for that strip of native plants your mom's been working on restoring for all these years to be destroyed; I'd be happy to maintain it."
He said nothing, only fiddled with his wedding ring.
"So, is Dottie going to Sunset Home in La Grange?"
"That's family business," he said.
I got the hint. No more questions about Dottie. "Again, I'm so sorry about Eva," I said. "Did you know her well?" I asked.
"She was an employee," he said, but his face colored.
"Thanks for stopping by to chat, Lucy. Now, if you'll excuse us," Faith said, her expression suddenly hard, "we've got business to attend to."
I glanced down at the papers on the table; the words "Brokers Market Analysis" jumped out at me before Faith pulled the papers together.
"Right,” I said. “Good to see you both."
He nodded dismissively. They both waited unt
il I was out of range before she opened the folder again, I noticed, and Faith sent me a sidelong glance, as if making sure I hadn't installed a spy camera.
Quinn looked up from the sink, where she was rinsing lettuce, as I walked into the kitchen.
"Any luck finding Cinnamon?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But someone vandalized my chicken coop." I told her about what had happened.
"I’m so sorry, Lucy; I know this is not what you need. I hope they find the culprit soon," she said. "This has been going on for a month."
"Whoever it was threatened me. MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS… OR ELSE. They smashed a bunch of eggs, too."
"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" she asked as she shook the colander with the lettuce.
"I don’t know," I said. "Maybe because I found Eva?"
"You do have a reputation for solving murders," Quinn pointed out. "Any other news?"
"I had a chat with Mildred Ehrlich."
"She likes to have the skinny on everyone. Find anything out about Eva?"
"Dottie was right; Eva she had dinner with Gus Holz in La Grange," I said.
Quinn winced. "That doesn't sound good. Still," she said, "It was just dinner. Right?"
"I hope so," I said. "She was dating Edward Bartsch, too."
"I've seen him around town."
"He works at that new wool store, Buttercup Weavers and Knitters; he just moved to town a few months ago, right?"
"He did," she agreed. I'd been to the new wool store a few times, and had spent far too much money there; I knew I'd met him a few times. "I wonder how Deputy Shames is getting on with the investigation?"
"I hope she's the one getting on with it," I said. "And not Rooster."
"He's so lazy he's not going to take over anything that someone else has volunteered to do," Quinn said. "Besides, he's too busy trying to keep Lacey from running to Austin to live with her mother and daddy."
"I thought that was getting better," I said.
"It was," Quinn told me. "But he stayed out all night last night. Apparently he was playing poker and drinking beers and didn't want to drive, but he forgot to call to tell Lacey that. By the time he got home, she'd gone to Austin."
"Well, at least she's not just putting up with it. I guess."
"We'll see what happens," Quinn said. "But hopefully he'll be busy enough that he keeps his nose out of the investigation. Every time he gets involved, he slaps handcuffs on the most convenient person."
"And he's always wrong."
"Exactly," Quinn said.
I sighed. "I'm headed out to Greenleaf Nursery to pick up some replacement plants in a few, but I thought I'd stop in to see if you need a hand with anything."
"Early rush is almost over, and I've got plenty of help," she replied, nodding toward her two helpers in the kitchen. "If I get a chance, maybe I'll swing by tonight and help you out."
"That would be great," I said, "but only if you have time. I know you're busy. How are things at Peter's, by the way?"
"A little bit of hail damage," she said, "but nothing like what you're having to deal with."
"I'm glad," I said. "I guess it was just my chance to win the lottery this time. It could have been a lot worse, though."
"True, but that doesn't mean you still don't have work to do."
"I know. I'm just trying to look on the bright side," I told her. "You sure you don't need me here?"
"I'm good," she said. "Go get your replacement plants, and be careful, okay? I'll come by to help this afternoon if I can! Oh—when I do, I want to show you some things I found in a box in the back of the closet."
"Like what? Shoes?"
"No," she said. "Old papers that were my mom's. The box fell off the shelf yesterday—it was so weird—and it looks like there may be some adoption stuff from my grandmother in there. I was hoping you could help me figure it out."
"I'd love to," I said. "But don't you need to get ready for the Easter Market?"
"I've got help coming in to finish the last of the baking this afternoon," she said. "How about you? Are you ready?"
"As ready as I can be, considering. I'd love to see you and go through the papers," I said, and gave her arm a squeeze. "I should be home in a couple of hours. Thanks for offering to help. You're a good friend."
"So are you, Lucy," she said, a smile crinkling her eyes.
By the time I turned onto Kramer Road toward Dewberry Farm, the bed of my truck filled with seedlings, the sun was dropping toward the horizon. As I crested a rise in the road, I was surprised to see a familiar white SUV at the base of my neighbor Dottie's driveway. I slowed down, feeling my stomach clutch.
I rolled past the house just in time to see Faith Zapalac pounding a For Sale sign into the ground next to the driveway.
9
I pulled over to the side of the road and got out of the truck. "Dottie's selling already?" I asked Faith, who was wearing tight white capri pants and bright red heels.
"She is," said Faith coolly, turning to face me. Her lipstick matched her heels. "If you want a parcel, you should probably put in a bid soon."
"I thought it was still up in the air, the whole selling thing."
Faith shrugged. "I guess not. She listed it today."
I sucked in my breath. "Is she here?"
"She's already gone to La Grange."
"Gone to La Grange? As in moved?"
"Jessie picked her up and took her this morning," she said. "Right before we had lunch."
My stomach churned; there was something off here. "Do you have her number at the new place?"
"No," she said. "You might want to touch base with Jessie."
"I will," I said, and hurried back to my truck. I grabbed the phone and dialed Quinn; she didn't answer, but I left a message. Then I called Jessie: same thing. The truck was slow to start; it took me a few tries, and I made a mental note to get it checked out soon. Once the engine finally roared to life, I put the truck in gear and headed back to Dewberry Farm, feeling a deep sense of loss. I couldn't believe my neighbor was gone permanently, and that the place she'd spent her whole life was about to be put up on the auction block. Who was driving this decision? Was it really Dottie? Or was her son railroading her into selling up and moving to a retirement home miles from her lifelong home?
Despite everything going on with Eva's death and the missing kid and Dottie's farm going up for sale, the first morning of the Easter Market was calm, clear and cool. I ran a load of laundry through the washer as I hurried through my morning chores, thankful that my vandal hadn’t been back, then quickly pegged the wet laundry to the line before loading up the truck.
I busied myself setting up my stall at the market, trying not to worry about all the other things going on. I'd gotten up early to take care of the farm chores before loading up the truck and driving into town. Quinn hadn't had a chance to come over the previous evening, but I'd made good progress putting in the new plants, and was hoping to do some more when I got home this afternoon.
Thanks to the tornado, I didn't have much in the way of produce to offer, but I did have plenty of beautiful products I hoped would sell well. In addition to my normal lineup of beeswax candles, jams, and bar soaps, I'd been making colorful egg-shaped soaps for weeks; they were displayed in little nests I'd woven from the dried grapevine down by the creek. I'd also put up a small "tree" from which I'd hung decorative eggs I'd blown and dyed naturally, using wax to create intricate patterns. Beside them were small kits of natural dyes and wax crayons I'd assembled, including turmeric, ground red onion skins, and beet powder I'd made after dehydrating some of the last crop, so that my customers could experiment at home.
I'd gotten the herb starts under cover in time, thankfully, so I had plenty of fragrant lavender, rosemary, thyme, mint, and sage starts to line up at the front of my stall. I'd picked and bundled some larkspur bouquets from the storm survivors, arranging them in a galvanized bucket near the cash box, and, now that milking was back up to par, I had
some rounds of fresh goat cheeses, several of which I'd decorated with fresh herbs and wildflowers.
As I arranged the candles behind the nests of soaps, I smiled to myself; next spring, with luck, I'd be selling candles made from my own golden beeswax, along with jars of honey produced on Dewberry Farm. I made a note to touch base with my friend Serafine; I'd ordered bees through her supplier, and I needed to set up my hives in the next few weeks; they would be here by the end of April. I also needed to finish tiling the backsplash in the kitchen, and find someone to put in the HVAC system for the little house down by the creek. And I still hadn't finished getting in the last of the tomatoes. Plus, I still hadn't found Cinnamon, and Dottie's abrupt departure and Eva's death were still bothering me. Were they connected?
And who had killed Eva?
I tried to push thoughts of Eva and Dottie and all my undone projects aside and brought myself back to the coolness of the spring morning, and the lovely purples and pinks of the larkspur bouquets. I was going to be hosting a dyeing workshop in the community tent in about thirty minutes, and had arranged for Molly's daughter Brittany to watch my stall while I set everything up. I had just finished arranging the last of the dyed eggs when she turned up.
"Hey, Brittany!" I said. "Ready for your shift?"
"I think so," she said.
I ran through the credit card payment process with her one more time, just to be sure. "The prices are all marked, and here's a calculator if you need help with numbers. Just record the sales in this notebook, and I'll be back in an hour."
"Will do," she said. "Good luck with the egg-dyeing workshop!"
"Thanks!" I said as I gathered my supplies and headed over to the area of the Town Square that had been designated for workshops.
The tables, thankfully, were covered with plastic tablecloths. I'd made dye ahead of time and stored it in plastic milk jugs, and boiled several dozen eggs. I set up several dyeing stations, along with wax crayons, dippers, and small cups of dye. I'd barely finished when a phalanx of families arrived, followed by a contingent from Sunset Home... including Dottie, who was looking a bit shell-shocked in her wheelchair.
Dyeing Season Page 6
