I stroked Carrot, who had settled down since the loss of Cinnamon, but still wasn't quite herself. "I'm still looking," I assured her. I hadn't heard anything from the ad I'd put in the Buttercup Zephyr.
And speaking of missing, I kept thinking about those missing cell phones. Neither Eva nor Jessie had had theirs with them; I presumed the murderer had taken them. Why? And why kill both of them?
As I released Carrot to go rejoin Hot Lips and Gidget, I wondered if Deputy Shames had had any luck looking up phone records, or if she'd done it at all. I had a feeling both Eva and Jessie had gone to see someone, only to meet an untimely end. But who? The yarn store would point to Edward—and Eva was strangled with a knitted scarf—but why kill someone at your place of employment if you were looking to evade arrest? It didn't make sense.
I took a deep breath of cool spring air as I walked back to the farmhouse, trying to clear my mind. I had more cheese to make today, and I should probably dye a few more blown eggs for the Market, but despite my efforts, I found myself preoccupied with Eva and Jessie.
I had just finished putting the milk in the fridge and was washing my hands when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the number: it was Mandy Vargas from the Zephyr.
"Hey, Mandy," I said when I picked up.
"I hear you've been in the thick of things again," she said. "Two bodies this week?"
"Unfortunately, yes," I said.
"And I hear a local judge bought Dottie's land. He's using some company to do it, but it's him."
"What company?"
"Buttercup Holding Company," she said.
Something about the name sparked a response in me. Then I had a thought. "Can you look up what else that company's bought?"
"Sure," she said. "Why? You think it's related to what's going on?"
"I don't know. There's just something about it..." I looked over at the verdant pasture next door. "I think Dottie's son signed the contract; do you know if Dottie can back out of it?"
"I don't," she said, "but I'll see what I can find out. Can you give me any scoop on the two deaths? I understand Eva's was murder; I covered that yesterday. What about Jessie?"
"I don't think it was suicide," I said, "but I don't think I'm allowed to talk about it."
"Yarn store," she said. "I know Eva's boyfriend worked there. Love triangle, do you think?"
"I have no idea," I said.
"Well, let me know what you find out, when you can," she said. "By the way, I heard your place got hit by the storm."
"It did, but it could have been worse."
"That's when you found Eva, isn't it? During the storm?"
"It was," I said. "Hey... I think there may be something going on at Sunset Home in La Grange, by the way. Apparently, Eva was talking about reporting them to the police before she died."
"Sunset Home? I've heard of a few complaints about them, actually."
"The woman Eva tangled with there is named Jerri, apparently. I talked with another former worker, and she wasn't too pleased with the way the organization treated their residents. I'm going over to visit with Dottie shortly; I'll see if I hear anything, but if you could look into it on your end, that might help."
"Think it might have something to do with what happened to Eva and Jessie?"
"Both were connected to Dottie, and Dottie's now living at the place where Eva used to work... I don't know, but it seems like it might be worth checking out. Also... can you poke around and find out more about the sale? I'd go and ask Faith myself, but we aren't exactly fast friends."
"When did it go under contract again?"
"Just this week," I said. "Like I said, I think Jessie must have had power of attorney, because he shipped his mother off to Sunset Home and put the land up for sale the same day. It sold so fast it kind of makes me wonder if it wasn't arranged ahead of time."
"I'm on it," Mandy said. "Sure you don't have any extra details you can share about your discovery?"
"Sadly no," I said. "But if I do, I promise you'll be the first to know.
"You're still a reporter, aren't you? If you ever need a part-time job..."
"I'll think about it," I said, looking at the fridge full of unprocessed milk, "but to be honest, I kind of have my hands full already. And did you put that ad in? The missing kid ad?"
"It's running," she said.
"Thanks." I hung up feeling slightly better.
I made a quick call to the station, hoping I'd get Opal so I could mention phone records, but she wasn't in yet, so I said I'd call back later. As I put down the phone, I thought again about the slip of paper I'd found in Eva's pockets: Cup Holding. Short for Buttercup Holding? If it was, I would be very curious to find out what Mandy found out about their recent activity... I was guessing that would get us one step closer to what had happened to Eva.
I just hoped it would be enough.
Sunset Home was a severe-looking institution several blocks away from downtown La Grange. It was housed in a long, low-slung building constructed of concrete block painted a sullen beige. The only greenery interrupting the drab vista consisted of a few sprigs of grass poking up through cracks in the pavement. The building was dotted with small, high windows that reminded me of a minimum-security prison. Not that the view was spectacular—across the street were a self-storage facility and an auto parts store—but slightly bigger windows would have been at least a tad less depressing.
I pulled open the clouded-glass door and stepped into the reception area. The concrete floor was scuffed, and an unhappy-looking young woman at the front desk gave me a look that was at once bored and disapproving before her eyes flicked back to her monitor. A green vase full of bleached, dusty, fake daisies was the only nod to cheerfulness. I looked down at the vase of larkspur in my hand, thankful I'd stopped to pick some flowers. Sunset Home might be only a few miles away from Dewberry Farm, but it felt like an entirely different universe. A not-very-nice universe.
"Excuse me," I said. "I'm here to visit Dottie Kreische?"
"Do you have an appointment?" the young woman asked, her voice tinged with irritation. This time, she didn't look up from her monitor.
"No," I said. "I just wanted to stop by."
She gave a long sigh and tapped at her keyboard. "Down that hall to the left. Room 123."
"Thanks," I said, and pushed through two metal double doors into a fluorescent-lit corridor.
Dottie's room was about seven doors down on the left. I knocked, and when I heard a feeble "Come in," I opened it.
She lay in a bed in the middle of a small room, looking about ten years older than she had before moving. There were only a few tidbits of her former life with her; a handmade quilt covered her legs, a worn Bible sat on the table next to her, and a picture of Jessie was propped up on a shelf under the window. I set the larkspur down next to it; it added a little pop of color, but not nearly enough to make the room even remotely close to cheerful.
"Lucy," Dottie said, her voice dull. "My son. He's gone."
I walked over and sat down in the cracked vinyl chair next to the bed, taking her bony hand in mine. At the house, she was usually dressed when I saw her; today, she wore a pink dressing gown with a few stains around the collar. "I'm so, so sorry about Jessie," I said.
She gave me a slight nod, but her eyes filled with tears. "I just... I just can't believe it," she said. "My little boy."
I gave her hand a squeeze.
"And Eva. And my home. All gone, so fast. I can't... I can't take it all in."
"I know," I said. "It's a lot, and it's awful."
"I hate this place," she said dully.
"Maybe you don't have to stay here," I suggested.
She turned to me, her eyes hollow. "But my house is gone," she said. "Sold. Gone."
"It's under contract," I said, "but you haven't closed on it yet. Maybe there's still something we can do."
"But Jessie thought it was better for me financially to sell it. What if I can't stay? What if I can't afford it?"
"Let's see if we can stall the sale first," I said, "and find you a financial adviser to help figure out the situation."
"I... I just can't even think about it right now," she said. She looked like she was still in shock. I imagine she probably was.
Still, the clock was ticking. I didn't want to press her, but I didn't want her to run out of time—and options—either.
"I know this is a terrible question to ask," I said, "but do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm your son—or Eva?"
"No," she said. "To be honest, I thought... well, he was so angry at Eva, the thought crossed my mind that maybe something had happened between them. But now..." Her face crumpled. I reached for a tissue and handed it to her, wishing I could do something more to salve the obvious pain in her heart. "I've lost my baby," she said. "I just don't know if I have any reason to go on."
"What about your daughter?" I asked. "And your grandchildren?"
"I just... Jennifer and I never got along too well," she said. "She was always jealous of Jessie, I think. I tried, but I never knew how to fix things with her."
"I know it's hard to even think about it right now, but maybe that's something to work toward," I suggested. "I know she loves you."
"And I love her," Dottie said. "It's just... we've never seen eye to eye on things. She came to visit, but it didn't go well... she was really upset."
"How is it here, by the way? Do you like it?"
"It's horrible," she said in a whisper, but her face lost a little bit of the dead look. There are three women here who were turned out of their homes last month. Someone just swept in and took over everything."
"What?"
She nodded. "There's a woman who says she's the 'guardian' of all of them, but I think all she does is take over their assets and leave them here."
"What about their families?" I asked.
She shook her head. "None of them have children, and their husbands have died. Apparently the court or something decides they can't take care of themselves and then assigns someone to take over for them. And they have no say at all about anything. It's awful."
It didn't sound too different from what Dottie had experienced with her own son… and was in line with what Edward had told me. "Who is the guardian?"
"It's somebody named Jerri," she said. "No one sees much of her, though."
"I heard Eva was thinking about reporting someone to the police. Do you know anything about that?"
"She was on the phone a lot, but I don't know how much was about this place. I know she was upset about Jessie's plans for me," she said. "She and Jessie argued about it; they thought I couldn't hear, but I turned up my hearing aids. Jessie said it was because she didn't want to lose a client, but I know Eva cared for me. I would have kept the house, you know, but Jessie said I couldn't afford to." She sighed. "I loved Eva, but she stirred up a lot of trouble between the kids."
"How so?"
"Like I said, she wasn't on board with what Jessie wanted to do. Finally, I had to stop saying anything to anyone. Including Eva." She sighed again. "I know my son always wanted what was best for me. He's managed my finances for the last couple of years." Which evidently resulted in a fire sale of the house and Dottie being plunked down here, I thought to myself. Not someone I'd be quick to hand over my finances to, that was for sure.
"Maybe your daughter can help you figure things out," I suggested. "Find a way to get you back home."
"But Jessie said I couldn't afford it," she said, her face looking drawn and hopeless. She gave a feeble shrug. "Besides, it's too late."
"I'm looking into that," I told her. "But in the meantime, can you do me a favor?"
"I suppose so," she said. "What?"
"Can you find out more about that guardianship thing from the women you met?"
"Why?"
"I just... have a feeling," I said.
She sat up a little bit. "This couldn't be connected to what happened to my poor boy, could it?"
"I don't know anything yet," I said. Which was true. But I had my suspicions. And although it might not be linked to what had happened to Jessie, I had a hunch someone would be very interested in keeping Eva quiet about what was going on in the nursing home.
Maybe permanently.
"I just got a call about a stray kid," Tobias said when I swung by the vet clinic on the way back to the farm. I'd been planning on seeing if he was up for lunch, but this was much more interesting news.
"You're talking goats, right?"
He grinned. "Right. I was just about to call you," he said. "Want to go check it out with me?"
"Of course!" I said. "Is she in okay shape?"
"She turned up last night," he said. "A little weak, but they've been bottle-feeding her, and she's taking the milk."
"Do you really think it could be Cinnamon?"
"That's what we're going to find out," he said as we climbed into his truck.
As we drove east, I filled him in on my visit with Dottie that morning. "I've got Mandy Vargas looking into the sale; I'm hoping she can tell me if there's anything we can do to stop it. Apparently Jessie said she couldn't afford to live in the house anymore, but I'll believe that when I see the balance sheet."
"Dottie always was frugal," Tobias said. "She takes good care of her stock, but she's not one to buy the latest things. I think some of those dresses she wears belonged to her mother."
"Not a bad way to be," I said, thinking of how my own purchasing habits had changed since moving to Buttercup. I used to have the latest gadgets—flat screen TVs, new phones, you name it—and at least twice a year I went shopping to update my work wardrobe with new shoes and clothes I really didn't need. Now, although I wore through my clothes a lot faster—being on your knees weeding is hard on jeans—I spent more of my time producing things than consuming them. I hadn't reflected on it before, but it was a satisfying change: not only for my bottom line, but for my quality of life.
Not that things were without trouble. I was still worried about my expenses after the recent storm... and hoping that the missing kid would turn out to be Thistle's lost sister.
As we drove, we passed an old barn with what appeared to be graffiti scrawled over the side of it. "Another hit. What do you think the words mean?" I said, trying to decipher the intricate letters.
"It's a feedlot protest, I think. They're popping up all over town," Tobias said. "Someone even graffitied a cow the other day."
"You're kidding me."
"Nope. They seem to be hitting the cattle ranches," he said. "One of the big ranches down the road from Peter's place got tagged a couple of days ago. A few of the ranchers think he's the one doing it."
"It's different from the graffiti at my place," I said. "And I don't have anything to do with feedlots."
"They don't seem to be connected," Tobias agreed.
"The idea that Peter is doing this is crazy, though. I know how he feels about feedlots," I said, "but I can't imagine him taking to painting signs on other people's barns. Besides, he's got enough on his hands at Green Haven right now; it's kind of the busy season."
"I know," Tobias said, "but you know how people get. Peter represents a new way of farming, and not everyone's comfortable with that. He's been pretty vocal about things, and a lot of folks don't like it."
"Change is hard for people," I said as the ranch with its decorated barn receded from view. "When did all this start?"
"About a month ago," he said. "The designs used to be simpler; now they're becoming more elaborate."
"It kind of looked like a stencil," I said.
"I thought so, too," he told me. "The first ones were just spray paint scrawled across the side of barns. They're all signed, though."
"What's the signature?"
"SAAC," he said, grimacing.
"Mandy did a short article about it in the Zephyr a while back, but I haven't heard anything since. I don’t think it’s the same people who spray-painted my chicken coop, though."
"No," he agreed. "It doesn’t fit the pattern."
I sighed. "I don't know who's doing it, but I worry they might get more than they bargained for one of these times."
"I hadn't thought about that, but you're right," I said. People in Texas took their right to defend their property with firearms seriously. I'd considered buying a gun a few years back, when Quinn's violent ex was stalking her, but had decided against it; I just didn't feel comfortable having one in the house. Although most folks used guns for snakes and coyotes—both of which I preferred to coexist with, since as far as I could tell, the critters got to Buttercup long before we humans did—many of my fellow farmers and ranchers wouldn't hesitate to defend their property from animals or humans. Which meant whoever was tagging barns was putting themselves at risk every time they decided to leave their mark. "What do you think SAAC stands for?" I mused.
"I have no idea."
"Not a great acronym if you don't know what it means."
"Maybe it's part of the mystery," he said as we turned into a gravel drive flanked by a limestone gate and tall fences. "Here we are," he said.
"It's kind of far away from Dewberry Farm," I said. "A long way for a kid to go."
"They can be surprising sometimes," he said. "And maybe the twister picked her up and moved her."
"Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz?" I asked. I was trying to keep my hopes up, but I was guessing I was going to be disappointed. "This is a pretty piece of property," I commented, looking at the stately oaks and rolling hills. A bit of blue water glistened in the distance. "Whose ranch is this, anyway?"
"Belongs to Marcie Auckland," he said as we wove through a grove of live oaks. "She was a judge in Houston before she retired."
We turned a bend and came up to a stately house built of the same limestone as the front gate. "There must be money in the family," I said. "Or this is a family property; government work doesn't pay enough to cover this."
Dyeing Season Page 11
