Dead on the Vine
Page 9
“I’m going to ask Alice about this arrangement. It seems awfully disruptive to you and the animals. Unless Alice is getting paid for renting out the space. You would know that, Samuel, wouldn’t you? If that’s the case and expenses are being covered, then I could let it go. I don’t want to appear to be undermining Alice’s initiative.”
“Hah!” The farmer guffawed and led Charlotte away from the barn. “You clearly haven’t met Serge and Annabel Andersen. ‘Free’ is what they expect. I’m sure that Annabel is getting paid a nice sum for her classes, but she isn’t passing anything along to Alice. Alice is allowed to participate at no cost, but she’s usually too busy.”
“Then this needs to stop. Besides we’ll need the space for our you-pick-’em business.”
“You really think that’s going to help Charlotte?”
“First Alice, then you, Samuel. Why are you giving up without a fight? Whether I stay or not, I’m for sure going to make this the best farm that I can. Better than I remember it, which was already pretty great.”
“I understand, but—”
“Would you look at that gorgeous red hair!” shouted a woman approaching who Charlotte guessed was Annabel. “The men must just go weak at the knees every time they see you. But who needs men, right?” She was looking at Samuel when she said that last sentence.
“Samuel, wait and finish what you were saying,” Charlotte said. But he ignored her and moved back to the paddock fence.
“I’m Annabel Andersen, and you, lovely one, must be Charlotte!” She said this last part as if she’d just discovered the missing link. The goats followed her out and appeared to be having a confab with Horse about the yoga session.
“Yes, I am. Pleased to meet you, Annabel. I see that your class is over. How often do you have them here?”
“It depends on the sign-ups but lately, twice a week. Everyone wants to partake in the total relaxation of goat yoga!”
This woman says everything in the form of a major announcement.
“I’ve heard so many lovely things about you,” Annabel continued. “I’d be honored to take you to lunch in town and introduce you around a bit. I know the one place that can make a good Crab Louie salad, and they add grilled goat cheese!
Charlotte noticed that as soon as the words “goat cheese” were uttered from Annabel, the goats went crazy. They ran around the paddock, hopping and jumping in the air, and made loud noises. They then kept circling Annabel’s legs.
Samuel, who had been watching from the paddock rail, laughed. “They get fed whenever they’re milked to keep ’em calm. They’re going to follow you around now that you said ‘goat cheese,’ Annabel, and they expect you to give them something to snack on. Goats are as clever as dogs, and they can learn words.”
While Samuel had been talking, Charlotte was able to notice the telltales that Annabel sported to signal a more sophisticated lifestyle: manicured nails, a designer yoga bag, diamond jewelry. Serge must be doing well in the distribution business.
Where was her bedazzled water bottle?
“That’s a very kind invite, Annabel, but with the murder still unsolved, I doubt that the locals are pining to meet me. Perhaps when this is all settled.” Charlotte hoped her declining the invitation was gracious enough.
“Oh yes, that. I heard about the pitchfork. Someone must have really hated that boy.”
Horse joined the goats and sniffed at Annabel’s bag, making her recoil and scream.
“Sorry about that. He probably smells something edible in your bag. He’s cute and harmless, really.” Charlotte picked Horse up before he could cause any more trouble.
“My fault entirely—I overreacted. You just never know what you’ll encounter out here in the fields.” Annabel quickly gathered her composure.
“Didn’t you grow up on a farm?” Charlotte asked, thinking again about Wade’s claims on her place.
“Me? Goodness no, I’m more like a city girl. The boys worked summers on a neighbor’s fields, but I stuck to reading and fashion.”
This woman clearly isn’t an animal lover, so what is she doing hanging around goats?
“How’s this coming Thursday for lunch?” Annabel brightened and returned to the present. “I’ll let them know we’re coming, and I can swing by and pick you up in my Beemer! About noon?”
She doesn’t take “no” for an answer.
Before Charlotte could respond, Annabel, who was indeed limber, had started speed-walking up the hill, with the goats close on her heels.
As she watched, Horse let out a low, guttural growl, something Charlotte had never heard him do before.
“Odd that she’d be spooked by a lovable little thing like you, Horse.”
He smiled back at Charlotte, seemingly happy to be cradled in her arms.
* * *
“We’re heading off to the Garden Center. Either of you want to join us?” Charlotte found her friends on the front porch, where Diane was planning menus, and Beau was using Charlotte’s computer to do research for an upcoming event.
“I’m good. I have to text these thoughts to my chef, so he has them when he comes into the restaurant around five today.” Diane continued scribbling.
“I’m working remotely, even if I am exploring what it takes to rent an elephant for an evening.” Beau hadn’t even looked up from the screen.
“Okay, but please stick around the farm until I get back,” Charlotte told them. “I guess we’re on our own, Alice. Do we need to take the truck?”
“Probably a good idea. I have a list from Samuel of items that he needs to check the pump for the lake.”
“I met Annabel today,” Charlotte said to Alice as they drove into Little Acorn.
“That’s right—she had a yoga class. I never seem to be able to make those.”
She sounds casual, but she won’t look me in the eye.
“How did all this come about Alice?” Charlotte thought it best to hear her version of the story before she put an end to the practice.
“I’m trying to remember. I think that her husband, Serge, was at the farm, working with Samuel, and noticed the goats. He must have said that Annabel teaches yoga and insisted that she be allowed to try out one of her classes in the barn with the goats. She’d seen a story about a studio doing this in Los Angeles and was dying to try it. As is typical, after she came once she just assumed that she could make a habit of it. Joe is furious that Samuel won’t put a stop to it.”
Wow. Those are two extremely different stories. Samuel and Alice are pointing the finger at each other.
Charlotte wasn’t sure what to do with this and decided to file that knowledge away and perhaps talk it over with Diane and Beau. Diane was the voice of reason, and sometimes Beau could be incredibly intuitive. And maybe she’d press Joe sometime when his wife wasn’t within earshot.
“What is her husband, Serge, like? Since Annabel tries to deny being related to Wade and Clarke, I’m guessing Serge belongs to a very different type of family. Danish origins, right?”
Alice laughed.
“Yes on the Danish part, but not so much about his family being different. They moved away from the traditional Danish town of Solvang to seek out the American ideal of getting rich quick. Serge’s family moved around to areas where they saw better financial opportunities, and with a little success, they became greedy.”
“So Annabel thought that she was moving up, but in truth it was just a different side of the same coin?” Charlotte asked as they pulled into the gravel parking lot of the Little Acorn Garden Center.
“That’s a good way of putting it, but you can decide for yourself. There’s Serge standing at the entrance to the center.”
Charlotte followed Alice’s gaze to a blond man who looked to be in his early forties, dressed a bit like a used car salesman in a short-sleeved white shirt and too wide tie. A gold pinkie ring put the icing on the cake.
Alice grabbed a flatbed cart on the way in, and when they reached Serge, she introduc
ed Charlotte.
“Such a terrible thing, having somebody killed right on your property. That kind of stigma could stamp a place for years. I expect that you’re anxious to sell that farm and get back to your life in the big city, aren’t you?” Serge held onto Charlotte’s hand after the shake, for his entire speech. She noticed that his nails were manicured and painted with clear polish.
Ew. I wonder if he’s the one who sent Mr. Lurvy?
“You know, Serge,” Charlotte said, yanking her hand out from between both of his, “for someone who’s known me for all of—what, six seconds?—you sure must trust your intuition.”
“That’s why I’m in sales. You got to be able to read a customer even before the conversation starts.” Serge’s voice had gotten louder as he noticed some people around them had stopped to listen in. It was clear that Serge loved an audience.
“First of all, I am not your customer. That was my uncle’s arrangement, and I am reviewing all of his decisions. Second, I said that you must trust your intuition—I said nothing about whether yours about me was correct. But if you’re wondering, I’d suggest that you talk to our farm’s pig. He seems to know me very well in the few days that I’ve been here, and he can set you straight. His name’s Horse.”
“Because he eats like one,” Alice explained to the crowd around them that seemed totally amused by the exchange.
“Does anyone shop here often enough to give me some pointers?” Charlotte asked the group at the entrance and got several volunteers.
“How kind. We’ve been talking about having a shaded picnic area outside a carport that we are converting into a gift shop and a mini antique mart. I think that we have the trees, but we’ll need some landscaping to make the area pleasant for families to visit for a while. And ladybugs—we need lots of ladybugs!” Charlotte saw but didn’t respond to Serge shaking his head in disbelief at her comments.
He’s someone to keep an eye on.
Chapter Eight
With the weather having turned so warm, Diane’s plan for dinner was to grill burgers outside. Samuel wasn’t in his cabin, and Alice and Joe had their own plans, so the three friends and Horse sat around the large barrel grill, on Adirondack chairs, sipping homemade iced tea.
“It sounds like you really showed him,” Beau said after Charlotte had filled them in on her encounter with both Andersons during the day. He was setting out coals and building a chimney of fuel to get the fire started. This brought back wonderful childhood memories of the three of them spending long weekends camping at Horseshoe Crab Lake, near where they grew up. She could almost taste the fresh-caught trout. Beau had probably perfected his fire-building skills from the man he idolized, his dad, who was known almost throughout Chicago as the “Smoke Daddy of Cook County.”
They ate under the stars on a crystal-clear night and then sat back to digest their food and get lost in their thoughts.
“Do you really think that this Serge clown could have set up Mr. Lurvy?” Diane asked.
“It’s possible. He’s well aware that I know nothing about the area or, for that matter, farming. Perhaps Serge thought that he would swoop in and take it off my hands for a bargain-basement price. He is certainly someone who is always trying to make a buck.” Charlotte was thinking aloud.
“But then a dead body was found, and now everything is in limbo,” Beau said, popping the last bite of meat, cheese, and bun into his mouth.
“Maybe Serge is trying to squeeze me until the money runs out, and then he’ll show up to take it off my hands for pennies on the dollar. I’ll admit these first three days on the Finn Family Farm have been anything but dull.” Charlotte sighed.
“True, that,” Beau agreed, and got down on the grass to nestle with Horse.
“Be careful of Mrs. Robinson,” Charlotte warned. “She’s sleeping behind his left ear.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
Charlotte got lost in thought for a moment.
“I need to take control of my life and this murder investigation. It is one thing to sell the farm for a fair price to people who will appreciate it’s beauty, and quite another to practically give it away to a shifty con man. I could never forgive myself. I think it would help if we went over some of the mysteries that we need to solve. I may be new to all this, but the farm has been loved and cared for by my family for generations. I am going to save this farm, and I’m not about to let anyone try to steal it from under my nose.”
Diane sat up in her chair at Charlotte’s suggestion and quietly applauded.
“Great. Diane, would you mind taking dictation on your phone, and I can start?” Charlotte volunteered. “Okay, just what do we think that Wade and Clark Avery are up to? They claim that there’s a will stating that they should have inherited the farm.”
“Right, but they haven’t shown any proof over all these years. If they had anything, don’t you think that they would have produced it by now?” Beau asked.
“I wonder where they got this harebrained idea in the first place?” Charlotte stared up at the stars. “It sounds like this rumor goes back a long time, because everyone seems to have heard about it.”
“So do we ignore it and hope it goes away? It hasn’t so far.” Diane thought for a moment. “Or should we get ahead of it and find out if there is anything plausible in the Avery’s premise?”
Charlotte nodded to Diane. “We can’t ignore any clue, no matter how far-fetched it seems. Chief Goodacre is dealing with the evidence her department gathered from the crime scene, but we have the inside track, and I strongly suspect that the answer to solving this murder is right here in this house or out in the fields. The farm, I believe, brought the murder victim here, and when we can establish a connection to one of the suspects, then we’ll have our murderer.”
“I volunteer to do some genealogy research on that clan of miscreants. I’ll let you know what I come up with,” Beau said while playing with Horse’s ear.
“Perfect—thanks, Beau. It may help put a rumor to bed, or it might just lead to more questions. But it seems to me that we have a long list of possible killers, and any evidence that will help winnow down the number would be greatly beneficial.” Charlotte tapped her feet on the floor a couple of times. “You know, Joe and Samuel alternate nights doing a patrol of the farm in the hopes of catching whoever is vandalizing our property.”
“They really care about this farm, don’t they?” Beau said, primarily to Horse, who smiled and let out a happy sigh.
“Where are you going with this, Charlotte?” Diane had lowered her voice, sensing that this was going into a touchy area.
“The night of the murder, it was Joe’s turn to patrol. It just seems to me that with all that violence, he would have heard or seen something. I hate even saying this, but the Wongs could be looking for ways to protect their home. It’s true that if I sell, I can’t guarantee that they will be able to stay here.” Charlotte bit her bottom lip.
Diane nodded. “True, and then there’s Alice. Where was she the next morning when Lurvy showed up? And what is she always doing in the root cellar?”
“Alice and Joe know this farm inside out, perhaps even more than Samuel because they keep the books and can see our dire financial situation. In a way, they’re the ones who have kept the place going for this long.” Charlotte took in the last vermillion shades of the sunset. “They must have been disappointed, maybe even shocked that Uncle Tobias didn’t leave at least part of the property to them.”
“It would be only natural, and the Wongs must know where the bodies are buried, pun intended.”
“Beau!” Diane and Charlotte exclaimed.
“What? It’s the truth.”
“Since I spend so much time in the kitchen with Alice, how about I try to get her to share some farm experiences with me and discretely ask her about this Marcus guy?” Diane offered. “I have always thought that she knows more than she lets on.” Charlotte accepted the offer with a gentle squeeze of Diane’s shoulder.
“Story of my life.” Beau got up and returned to a chair. “And I’d like to know more about the elusive Samuel Brown. He seems to be very accomplished at managing the crops and keeping the farm in good working order. With those skills, how can he be satisfied working for someone else?”
“He did say that the financial part of this business wasn’t his thing. Maybe that has scared him off?” Charlotte looked around to make sure that he wasn’t lurking in the moonlight.
“He could get someone to manage that aspect. It sounds as if Joe would be an ideal candidate. He does walk around angry about something; maybe he resents being passed over as well,” Beau pointed out.
“Are you saying that Samuel thinks he should have been the one to get Uncle Tobias’s farm, Beau?” Charlotte asked.
“He’s never said that to me in so many words, but he sure is perpetually cranky about something!”
“This is giving me a headache.” Charlotte sighed again. “Let’s not forget the aphids that I tripped over in the field. If that box hadn’t been found when I fell, the produce could have been in real trouble.”
“Let’s put Mrs. Robinson on that one. She can get all the ladybugs that will be released tomorrow to spy for her.” Beau laughed and Charlotte joined in as she studied the sleeping beauty on Horse’s head.
“And there’s the biggest question of all, of course.”
Diane and Beau looked at Charlotte for clarification.
“Who killed Marcus Cordero? And why?” Charlotte almost shouted.
“Thank goodness, the lord made us pretty,” Beau said scratching his head and slumping his shoulders.
“Then I suggest that we all get our beauty sleep. We want to look our best when we catch a murderer!”