“I’ll go get the lemonade,” Charlotte said, suddenly flustered and overcome with sadness.
* * *
That afternoon Charlotte headed to the hardware store to get the supplies she needed to make the “you-pick-’em” road signs. She hoped that they’d have everything ready by the fundraiser so she could promote the concept of the barbecue to the crowd there. On her way into town, the usually empty road up ahead was full of cars that were not moving. When she reached the last stopped car, Charlotte cut her engine and got out. She walked up to the woman in the minivan in front of her.
“What’s going on? I hope that there hasn’t been an accident.” Charlotte stood on her tiptoes, trying to see up ahead.
“No, nothing so serious, although I sure wish that the cops would put a stop to these guys being allowed to ride in the road and show off.”
“Who are they?” Charlotte asked.
“They are the poor man’s version of the Rancheros Visitadores.”
When Charlotte gave the woman a blank look, she explained further.
“Los Rancheros are a group of wealthy white men on horseback, basically. The tradition started in the 1930s with a ride to honor the ranching life. They do this once a year and trek through the Santa Ynez Valley. There have been all sorts of rumors about what goes on during these rides without their wives, if you get my drift. But the real rancheros have money, and they usually do something for a good cause.”
Charlotte walked around to the side of the road so that she could see past the cars. She saw the men on their horses, marching along in a sloppy formation. They wore cowboy hats of all shapes and sizes, and the same went for their blue jeans. The only common and oddly incongruous part of their attire was that they were all sporting Hawaiian shirts.
There must have been a close-out at J.C. Penney’s.
“In Little Acorn,” the woman continued, “we don’t have a lot of rich men. Believe me, I tried to find one, but we have guys who think that they are ranchers and horsemen. They do their own ride, parading through town for a few days like they’re all that. You hear that howl?”
Charlotte nodded.
“That’s got to be Wade Avery. He thinks that he and his horse can walk on water. He is the original ‘big hat, no cattle’ kind of loser. Sorry for being so blunt.”
“You’re just being honest. I’ve met Wade Avery.”
“There you go then. It looks like they’ve cleared these horse’s arses, and we’re moving again. I’ve got to pick up my kids. Take care.”
“You too—thanks for the history lesson. Little Acorn is certainly more than it seems to be if you are just driving through.” Charlotte waved and walked back to her car.
“You don’t know the half of it,” the woman shouted back and drove off.
That’s what Charlotte was afraid of.
When she reached the hardware store a few minutes later, she saw the Farm’s truck parked in the lot.
I wish that I’d known that either Joe or Samuel planned to come here—they could have saved me a trip.
Little Acorn Hardware was nothing like the big box stores she remembered from the rare times that she’d frequented one. This was like something straight out of The Wonder Years. Aisles were narrow, with shelves on each side built all the way to the ceiling. A library ladder ran along the stacks, but access was denied by a sign strung across the handrails that read “Please ask for assistance.”
There seemed to be a system for how the store was organized, if going by the local shoppers was any indication. They strode with purpose to the items they needed. Charlotte turned the corner and realized that she was in plumbing supplies and ran smack into Samuel.
“You know, if you’re having an issue with one of the farmhouse’s showers or toilets, you just need to let me know, and I’ll fix it. I must be in this place at least twice a week.” He smiled at her, and she tried to decide if he was joking. Samuel had a striking habit of turning from nice to somber in a split second.
“I’m actually looking for supplies to make a few signs to advertise the new You Pick ’Em.” Charlotte tried to sound businesslike about this new venture. She wanted Samuel to take it seriously.
“I can make you the sign frames. Follow me and I’ll lead you to the paint department.” Samuel marched on without waiting for a response from Charlotte.
He sure has some odd social skills.
“Does this mean that you’ve finished ‘processing’”—Samuel drew air quotes—“whatever you and the chief discovered? The farm can get back to life as usual?”
“Hardly, and I’ve been meaning to fill you in, but not in a public place. I keep discovering just how much this town is a breeding ground for gossip.” Charlotte looked around her for listening ears and prying eyes.
“That makes you one step closer to being a respected resident of Little Acorn. Knowing when to talk and when to keep silent.” Samuel watched Charlotte choose some small paint containers, a few spray cans, and a stencil. A set of eight brushes completed her errand.
“Let’s settle this, and then we can talk in my truck. I’ll even treat you to a root beer.” Samuel reached into a standing cooler and pulled out two old-fashioned soda bottles.
“What a sport. How is it that you’re still single, Samuel?” They both grinned to themselves.
When Samuel had finished loading the last of the supplies onto the flatbed, he hopped into the driver’s seat of the cab where Charlotte was waiting.
“I wish I’d known that you were making a hardware run today. It would have spared me from being stuck in traffic while blowhard Ward Avery and his band of sycophants rode through town for their annual horse parade,” Charlotte groused, remembering his hollering.
“It’s that time of year again, isn’t it?” Samuel shook his head and stared out the window in silence for a moment. “Just so you know, Wade’s an equal opportunity a-hole. He’s been a thorn in my side ever since I was a kid.”
“I heard about what he did to you in that race in high school. The chief told me. What a rotten thing to do. He should have been arrested.”
Samuel stared at her with a look of surprise.
“What? Weren’t you just saying that the town gossip was practically a tourist attraction?”
“Yes, but that was so long ago, I’m surprised that people still talk about it. Is that why the chief came by to talk to you? Am I a suspect now?”
Here comes the sudden mood swing. Why would he think he’s a suspect unless he’s feeling guilty about something?
“Not that I know of. The chief and I were looking into my family, which led to a discussion about the Avery boys’ claim that they were named as heirs in an earlier will.”
“That’s a total lie. Wade’s been spouting that story since he was a kid.”
“The chief feels the same way. We were talking about Wade’s rotten character and anger, and she told me what he did to you. Charlotte was hoping that a window was opening into Samuel’s life story.
“He was a bully as long as I’ve known him, always picking on the younger kids. He’s one of those guys who always thought that he was smarter, funnier, stronger, and better looking than he really is.”
“They had no mirrors at his house?” Charlotte was only half-joking. It was impossible to get past the nasty anger in Wade’s eyes.
Samuel just stared into space for a moment. “After Wade won, he trotted back to me, putting on a big show of compassion for the crowd. He lifted me up and demanded that I walk off the track with his help. Wade didn’t want the crowd to give me too much sympathy and forget about his victory. He ended up basically dragging me off. At the finish there were speeches, and by the time my ankle was looked at by a doctor, it was difficult to properly set it. Every morning I wake up to a dull pain that reminds me of that day and what Wade did.”
“That’s awful. I am so sorry, Samuel.” Charlotte put her hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. She saw real pain. “I hope they get him for Marc
us’s murder and lock him up for good!”
“If anybody deserves it, it’s Wade Avery,” he sneered.
Hmm … Samuel was the first one to offer up Wade’s name as a murder suspect …
“You sure have brought a hornet’s nest into town with you, Miss Charlotte.”
“Me? I had nothing to do with all this. A week ago I was in my apartment in Chicago, sipping a latte and looking out over Lake Michigan from my oversized living room window.”
Samuel gave her a sarcastic laugh and shook his head.
“I wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t until I left the city that I came to realize that I never really belonged there.”
With that Charlotte turned her body toward the door and jumped down from the truck. When she landed, she looked at Samuel and was about to deliver a few final carefully chosen words to him. That was, until her eyes caught something stuck under the seat that looked out of place. She pulled it out a bit and immediately recognized that it was a rag with dried blood on it. She quickly shoved it back under the seat and walked away, hoping that Samuel hadn’t seen.
Why does Samuel have a bloody rag stuffed under the seat of his truck?
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte arrived home fuming and thoroughly confused. It was unpleasant to witness how easily Samuel could switch moods, but could he really be capable of the rage to kill? He can be sullen and broody, but I’ve never felt afraid around him. Then there was that rag. Charlotte knew what dried blood looked like.
Charlotte needed Diane’s wisdom. She looked at the time and hoped to catch her before her shift began. It would be close.
“You answered!” Charlotte brightened immediately.
“I’ve literally got four minutes, but they are all yours, Char.”
“Mostly I just want to hear a friendly voice tell me that I’m the sane one in this field of hard-to-read townspeople. And they say big-city people are aloof.”
Charlotte gave Diane a much-abridged version of the latest news and events. “It is unsettling to think that Samuel could be setting up Wade as the murderer, because he does carry a vendetta against him. And if I recall correctly, Samuel was the first person to tell me about Wade’s claims to inheriting the farm. Or was it Joe? Could Samuel have it in him to frame a possibly innocent man? And then there’s the rag with dried blood that I found in Samuel’s truck. It could be like that for a million reasons.”
“Right. He’s around animals and machines and wire and thorny plants all day, Charlotte. You have to remember that you are living in an environment where people cling to predictability. They know their planting cycles, their irrigation systems, their crops, and what they will yield. Even the weather—that’s how they make their living as farmers. Oh sure, droughts, fires, and floods can impact them greatly, but those for the most part are nature driven. Now you come along, find a man murdered in your field, have the police looking at locals as suspects, and every day it seems that a new revelation surfaces. No wonder they see you as a kind of pariah.”
“How did you get so smart, Diane?” Charlotte asked. “We both brushed our teeth with the same water, breathed in the same Midwest air. And how do I fix this? I’ll never be able to make a go of this farm if everyone is against me.”
“You need to start over and make friends. Treat everyone like they are your closest pals. Give them a reason to trust you enough to confide their thoughts. Because ultimately this will only go away once they’ve found the murderer. Separate the wheat from the chaff. Pun intended! Which reminds me that I spoke to someone at the Olive and Whistle Inn about Hera, and there is still one old waiter there who they thought would remember her last name. I’ll call again and see if I can get him on the phone. Oops—I’ve got to go, honey. Call me later tonight if you need to talk more.”
“I’ll be fine, and we’ll be together Friday in person.” Charlotte waited for confirmation that Diane was coming up to the farm for the weekend.
“I’m afraid not. Since I missed some shifts, I’ve got to make up the time Saturday and Sunday so other chefs can get a break. But we’ll talk over the phone, and I’m pretty sure that Beau is driving up to Little Acorn. I’ll make sure that he confirms. I’ve got pots boiling over so bye for now!”
Diane rang off, and Charlotte felt lonelier than she’d ever felt. As if sensing her distress, Horse trotted over to the sofa she was perched on in front of a fire in her uncle’s bedroom.
“Hello, my dear pink friend. You’ll help me solve this murder so that we can get on with our summer, won’t you? You’d tell me if it was Samuel … wouldn’t you?”
He looked at her for a long time, studying her face before responding. It almost looked as though Horse was going through the steps in his mind for how to lead Charlotte to the killer. Finally, he hopped up on the sofa and shoved his snout under her hand. He bobbed it up and down, looking at her, and then jumped down and headed to the doors to the patio.
“Tomorrow, Horse. I get it. You want to show me something. We’ll go—after all, tomorrow is another day.”
* * *
“Good morning, Alice. How are you today?” Charlotte asked in a rosy, friendly tone that was going to be her mien from now on.
“Good, thank you. Miss Diane emailed me some recipes for next weekend’s barbecue, so I’m going to be testing them today. I know that you’re going out to lunch, but I can serve you a tasting menu for dinner. This is so exciting!”
“I’m going out to lunch?” Charlotte’s mind was a blank.
“That’s what Annabel Andersen said. She’s really looking forward to it.” Alice nodded to Charlotte and then disappeared into the kitchen.
I never agreed to go. They really don’t take no for an answer. And isn’t it interesting that Annabel and Alice are in constant contact …
Charlotte was about to ask Alice for Annabel’s phone number to call and cancel, but then she remembered Diane’s words from last night. This would be a perfect opportunity to pump her for information. Charlotte decided to show Annabel the proper respect for a lunch date with such a “sophisticated lady” and picked out the fancy Neiman Marcus ensemble that she’d bought for the advertising awards luncheon. The navy and light blue shell and matching flounce skirt were even a little loose on her, what with all the exercise that she got around the farm. She added dusty-rose medium high heels and a blue-gray clutch to complete the look. Right at noon she heard a car in the drive and looked out to see Annabel’s BMW. The windows were darkly tinted, so Charlotte couldn’t see what Annabel was wearing, but she hoped getting all dressed up would be seen as a sign of respect. Charlotte caught one last glimpse of herself in the mirror and almost changed into the more casual, comfortable attire that she was getting very used to. But then she reminded herself that it was information that she was after from Annabel, and she’d use her fancy dress and perhaps a little attitude to get Annabel to want to impress her with her local knowledge.
“Alice, I’m off to lunch,” Charlotte shouted as she opened the door. Call me if you need anything from town.” Horse followed Charlotte out onto the patio. “You need to stay here and guard the farm while I’m gone, okay?”
Horse wagged his tail and watched as Charlotte reached for the car door handle.
“Grrrrrr.” Horse let out a menacing growl.
“Shh!” Charlotte patted her flat hand in the air and then raised it to her lips. “Quiet. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
Charlotte quickly got in and shut the door before Horse could make his disapproval felt again.
“This is so nice of you, Annabel. I’ve been looking forward to lunch with you all week.” Charlotte settled into her seat after spreading out her skirt. Inside she cringed that right off the bat she was being disingenuous. She felt around for the seatbelt.
“You can tell her yourself when you see her,” said a male voice that made her scream.
“Clark?” The younger Avery brother. “What are you doing here? You scared me half to death!”
“You sure did look surprised. My sister, Annabel, was running late and asked me to pick you up.”
“I didn’t know that you were on speaking terms.” Charlotte tried to relax.
“Barely, but she couldn’t find Serge anywhere, so I guess she was desperate. I help her out when I can.” Clarke grinned.
“You are family after all. It would be nice if you could spend more time together. I bet under that rough cowboy exterior you’re a real sweet guy.”
Oh boy. I hope I’m not laying it on too thick, but Clark’s my best bet for getting dirt on Wade.
“Maybe,” he said, and Charlotte realized that he was actually quite shy.
This was Charlotte’s first opportunity to get a good look at the youngest Avery. She had to look very closely to find the familial resemblance, but it was there in bone structure and complexion. Unlike Wade and Annabel, Clark had dark hair, almost jet black and wavy. His eyes didn’t betray anger or envy or greed, but something even more upsetting to Charlotte: fear and skittishness. Like a dog that had been abused. Sure, he presented himself as a renegade without a conscience, but today Charlotte saw how much of a façade that actually was.
“Do you work on the farm behind mine with Wade?” Charlotte noticed him wince just slightly at Wade’s name.
“Sometimes I do, but I have my own stuff too. Like helping Serge with distribution.” Clark was gaining confidence with each word.
So Clark is literally playing both sides of the fence. He may be the smartest of the lot of them.
“That’s great. So you’ll be a master of at least two trades. That must double the opportunities. Is this the working life you’ve always wanted, Clark?”
He looked at Charlotte and thought for a second while they waited at a stop sign for a farmer and his sheep to cross the road.
“Kind of … except—” He caught himself before continuing.
“Except what? You can tell me, Clark. I promise that this will go no further.”
Dead on the Vine Page 13
