Dead on the Vine

by Elle Brooke White

  “You might not be laughing when I tell you who I’m related to.”

  That did stop Samuel, and Charlotte gave him the rundown on the Finn Family tree.

  “If you look hard enough, there’s probably a bad seed in every family, but that has nothing to do with you or the farm. Wade’s a bitter man, Clark follows him blindly, and Annabel—well she’s messed up in all kinds of other ways,” Samuel said in response to her story.

  “I’m still bothered by the fact that we never found any trace of evidence about who was in the cellar,” Charlotte said. She wanted to tell him about the jars of tomato sauce she’d seen in Wade’s kitchen, but she didn’t want to admit to breaking into his property.

  “Everything echoes down there. Someone would have to be very light on their feet not to be heard.”

  Charlotte’s cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Chief,” Charlotte said after responding to the call.

  “Oh no, that’s horrible. Does his family know?” Charlotte looked at Samuel and slowly shook her head.

  “Okay, and tell her that I’m here if she needs anything.” Charlotte was about to end the call. “Chief? I’ve got a request, and I’ll explain when I see you. Could you have your deputies search especially for any evidence of Wade in Serge’s beating?”

  Samuel motioned for the check and got out his wallet. Whatever had happened, it seemed pretty clear that they should get back to the farm.

  * * *

  “Serge has been taken to the main hospital in Santa Barbara. The chief said that he had been beaten so badly that he was barely recognizable,” Charlotte explained as Samuel drove.

  “Wow …” Samuel had his eyes vigilantly on the road. These curves at night had to be navigated with the utmost respect. “Someone must have been really angry.”

  “I was thinking the same thing, much like the ferocious way that Marcus was murdered.” Charlotte watched the pass turns as well.

  I also can’t get it out of my mind that I stirred the pot with Wade today. Did that send him to Serge to get even for losing his job?

  “We need to get back to the farm and warn the others.”

  Charlotte wished that she hadn’t said that last sentence out loud. With threat of the family in mind, Samuel hit the gas. Charlotte could hardly hold on tight enough for the rest of the sharply curved drive home. When they were finally making their way up the hill to the farmhouse, Charlotte said, “Let’s stop by Joe and Alice’s house. I think that it’s best we tell them in person.”

  Samuel nodded and veered the truck toward the Wong’s house from the lower level. Joe was standing in the open doorway when they pulled up.

  “Everything okay? I saw the lights and figured that it was you, Samuel. Someone been destroying our fields again?” Joe looked concerned.

  “I think that we’d better come in to talk,” Samuel responded, helping Charlotte down from the truck.

  “Sure, come in. Alice was just putting on a pot for tea, Miss Charlotte.” Joe nodded to her.

  They sat down in the living room, and Alice came out of the kitchen, a deep look of worry on her face as well.

  “I think you know that Serge Andersen hasn’t been seen for several days now,” Charlotte began. “The chief and myself assumed that he’d skipped town to avoid being arrested for cheating so many local farmers. And that may still be the case.”

  “That’s odd,” Alice said, shaking her head. “Annabel didn’t mention a thing about him having disappeared when I saw her today.”

  Charlotte’s head did a quick swivel. “Where did you run into her?”

  Alice gave a dry laugh. “Funnily enough, in your root cellar.”

  “What the heck was she doing down there?” Samuel asked, his ire rising.

  “She said that she’d come looking for me, and the cellar was a logical choice. She wanted to talk to me about her yoga classes and why she couldn’t continue teaching in the barn.”

  “When you saw her, did she appear to be unsettled, Alice? A little bit taken off guard?” Charlotte probed.

  “Maybe, but she has such a big personality that it’s hard to say.”

  Now I know why Horse was grunting and squealing so much today when I came back from the station. He was trying to tell me that Annabel had been here. And now I know that she’d gone down in the cellar, supposedly looking for Alice. I still don’t understand why those two are friends.

  “What’s this all about?” Joe rightly inquired.

  “The police found Serge tonight. He was beaten almost to death. He’s in the intensive care unit, and the chief says that chances are less than fifty percent that he’ll survive. That kind of violence is consistent to what happened to Marcus, only hopefully with a better outcome. Something or someone has pushed the killer to act again, and it’s highly likely that it could happen to one of us. I want to put extra precautions in place. Samuel and I spoke about this on the drive back.”

  “We still don’t know what we’re dealing with here because nobody’s exposed a clear motive for wanting Marcus dead.” Samuel turned to Charlotte, who nodded.

  Samuel proceeded to lay out the latest facts and bring them up to speed on the evidence in the case. As he talked, Charlotte found her mind drifting and her thoughts swirling with all the seemingly unconnected things that had happened in the last few days. The more Samuel talked, the less any of this appeared to be tied to Marcus’s murder.

  When Samuel had finished, Charlotte said, “One last question and then I need to call it a night. Alice, how did Annabel know where the door to the root cellar was? And that you worked on your jams and sauces there almost daily? Did she often accompany you down there?”

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Alice asked. “For a brief time she worked for your uncle, did some interior decorating and replaced all the window treatments and floor coverings.”

  I see.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Although she was exhausted, Charlotte decided to make some notes and go over everything with her most revered sounding board, Horse. It was a warm night but Charlotte wasn’t about to leave any of the French doors to the patio open … or unlocked.

  She worked on her tablet because she didn’t want anyone with the nerve to snoop around to find her written notes. To get into the data on the tablet, a password was required.

  “Let’s start by entering the latest event and work backward,” Charlotte told Horse, who sat beside her on the sofa in front of her bedroom fireplace.

  Using the note-taking function, Charlotte started a list.

  1.   Serge was beaten to within an inch of his life. Who had motive?

  – Wade—he lost his job and blamed Serge

  – One or more of the farmers he cheated, including Alice, Joe, and Samuel

  – Annabel, if she found out that he was cheating

  “You got all that, Horse? Do you agree?” He puffed his cheeks out in a smile and nodded his head. “The farmers will be testifying to the police, so I doubt that one of them would risk taking justice into his own hands. But there could be others because we’ve only got a partial list. And I don’t even know if the woman that Serge is having an affair with is married. She looked awfully young. So Wade’s the obvious choice.”

  Charlotte made another entry onto her tablet.

  2.   Who set fire to our trucks filled with produce for market?

  – Serge—revenge, because he knows that he was caught skimming the books. He may think that the fire will scare us out of reporting it to the police, but then, who hurt Serge?

  – Wade. Samuel is convinced that his friends would lie to give him an alibi. Plus I’d seen him on horseback outside my window smoking.

  – Annabel, who had just been told that day that she couldn’t hold yoga classes in our barn without paying a fee. She hates the word “no.”

  “I think that this one is a toss up between Serge and Wade. Serge for obvious reasons and Wade because he continues to harbor hatred and resentm
ent toward Samuel since childhood. Plus, he wants a piece of this farm. It seems like a real stretch that Annabel would be so mad at not being allowed access to the barn that she’d turn to arson.”

  Horse did not react one way or the other to Charlotte’s comments.

  Things aren’t looking so good for nasty Wade, are they Horse?” The pig’s eyes got wider as he studied the screen of Charlotte’s tablet.

  Is he actually reading this?

  3.   Who caused my accident in the root cellar?

  – Alice seems the obvious choice because she is always down there.

  – Joe could have been in on something Alice was doing and supplied her alibi.

  – What the heck was Annabel doing down there?

  – Wade is highly unlikely because he’s too big of a guy to sneak around.

  – Clark is smaller and a possibility. Could Wade have sent him to scare me?

  Charlotte studied Horse’s face and saw that he was getting agitated. He hopped off the sofa and went to the bedroom door leading out to the foyer.

  “What is it, little man? Do you have to go out? I can open the patio door.” Charlotte walked toward it, but Horse remained facing the door into the house and pawed at it. She went to him and knelt down.

  “You’re trying to tell me something, aren’t you?”

  This is the perfect time to test out Horse’s new vocabulary.

  “Do you want me to go to the kitchen?” Horse shook his head. “Is there something in the paddock?” Another shake. “The fields?” No response. “How about the root cellar?” Horse hopped up and down and squealed.

  “Okay, but this time I’m going down there prepared. I’ll finish the rest of my list in the morning.”

  Armed with both her cell phone and a powerful flashlight that could sub as a weapon, Charlotte picked up Horse and began her descent into the cellar. She’d also propped the door into the house open from the cellar side so no one could easily close it. When she reached the stone floor, she started to shiver, remembering the last time that she’d been down here.

  This is déjà vu.

  “Horse, I’m going to put you down, but I want you to stay by my side. Slowly lead me to what you think I should see. Is it Alice that you smell?”

  Charlotte lowered him to the floor, and he started walking toward that iron gate at the back. After a few steps, he paused and looked back over his shoulder to make sure that Charlotte was following him.

  “I’m coming—good boy!”

  Horse had his nose to the floor and was following a specific scent. He totally ignored the field mouse that had frozen in its tracks as the pig trotted by. At points where there was nothing visible to deter him, Horse would stop and suddenly change directions. He finally ended up in the room with the shelves of tomato sauce and jam jars and began poking at the old wooden locker that had turned out to be a blanket chest.

  “Oh Horse, I’ve already inspected that box, honey—it’s just filled with old blankets.” Charlotte tried to hide her disappointment as Horse kept pawing at the back of the locker.

  “We should go to bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I want to be able to enjoy the family shrimp boil tomorrow night.”

  Thoroughly frustrated Horse turned around so that his backside was pressing on the side of the wooden box and with all his might he used his hooves to push it along the stone wall. Once clear he lifted his front hoof and brought down a loose stone. Charlotte bent down and shone a flashlight into the space. The sewer line runs along this wall.

  Charlotte reached through with her arm holding the flashlight and stuck her head in to examine the line more closely.

  “It looks like someone has taken a hacksaw to the pipe but, thankfully, didn’t make it through. I can see shavings on the ground under it,” she told Horse, and he tried to squeeze his head into the already-full space to have a look.

  I hope this isn’t what I think it is … more examples of sabotage.

  “Good job, Horse, good boy. Now let’s quickly get back to the bedroom.”

  Charlotte replaced the stone and slid the locker box back in front of it and picked up Horse. Very quietly she tiptoed up the stairs and headed back to her bedroom.

  “This discovery is definitely something to sleep on, Horse. If someone can access the cellar without our knowing, that is more than a little scary.”

  She looked over and saw that Horse was already asleep. His head was resting on the pillow next to hers, and his face wore a peaceful smile.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  In the morning, Charlotte had decided to do nothing and say nothing about her discovery until after the Saturday barbecue.

  Why turn everything on its ear and ruin a perfectly good party?

  Charlotte spent a good part of the time before lunch working in the Farm Store, getting everything ready. Samuel had assured her that the goslings would be fine for several hours if they were brought up and placed in a pen in front of the store. He was hard at work filling it with straw and making a little house for them to waddle in and out of.

  They’d suspended You Pick ’Em briefly for the rest of the week so that everybody could pitch in. The chief phoned Charlotte just before she was to take a break and let her know that Serge Andersen was awake but so far had no memory of the beating. She was going to try to talk to him again this afternoon.

  Over a quick lunch of fresh bread, cheese, and apricots—Horse loved all three—Charlotte thought about her next move.

  “We’ve got three days until the barbecue fundraiser, and so much needs to get done. When Beau and Diane arrive tomorrow, they’ll take over the food and decorations, and I can then focus on solving this murder.”

  Horse sat on the patio, listening and watching as she compiled her three ingredients into another stack. His half smile made Charlotte think that he was keeping track of the “one for me, one for you” tally.

  “We know so little about Marcus, and that’s why we’re having trouble figuring out why someone wanted him dead. It’s always bothered me that a good-looking guy in his twenties would run a petting zoo all day and then just eat dinner and go to sleep. That would be a sorry existence for a man in his prime.”

  Horse looked to be pondering this, and Charlotte knew that she was confusing him with words he hadn’t heard before.

  “Where would a guy go if he wanted to have a drink and maybe meet some girls, but didn’t want the whole town to see him?”

  Horse climbed up onto an Adirondack chair and balanced on one of the arms. From that position he could look out over the lake and the valley in the distance.

  “You’re right! Why didn’t I think of that before? It’s one in the afternoon—I’ve got to get in the car and head toward town. Horse, I have a strong feeling that you saw or heard something the night that Marcus was killed. I want you to think back and try to remember, maybe retrace your steps. When I come back, we’ll go out and do some recon, Lieutenant Horse.”

  Charlotte saluted him, and he hopped off the chair and trotted out.

  Just a pig on a mission.

  * * *

  When Charlotte passed the last quaint shop in Little Acorn, the road widened and the scenery became characterless and barren. For whatever reason, this land must have been deemed unfarmable and, as a result, no man’s land. A perfect escape from gossip-prone Little Acorn and the bars and eateries for people who cherished their privacy.

  Just as she remembered, about ten minutes later she spotted the helium balloons in the air and the spout of the truck dealership’s fountain. On the other side of the road, fast-food chains and casual dining restaurants had taken up residence. And beyond that her eye caught the neon sign advertising “Whiskey Pete’s Outpost.” Charlotte pulled into the adjacent parking lot and was surprised at the number of cars already occupying spaces.

  It’s happy hour somewhere, I guess.

  Charlotte grabbed her file folder and headed to the entrance. Dressed in red capri pants and a whit
e T-shirt, she perhaps should have considered a wardrobe change before going on this mission. She took off the bandana that had been holding back her rampaging scarlet curls. When she pulled open the door, she saw the squints of some of the patrons looking to see who had let a sliver of sunlight into their surreptitious sanctuary.

  “If you’re here about a waitress job, we’re all staffed up right now, honey,” said the woman behind the bar, who looked a little like the chief if the chief had been twenty years older and thirty pounds heavier. “You can leave your name and number with me, and I’ll call you if things change. You worked a bar like this before?”

  “Hi, I’m Charlotte,” she said, extending her hand over the bar. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “Betty,” she said, giving Charlotte a shake and a warm smile. “What’d I get wrong—you’re not a short order cook, are you?”

  “Hah, if my cooking skills were described in a book, it would be a one-pager. No, I was hoping that you’d be able to answer a couple of questions for me.”

  Betty took a step back from the bar. “We don’t kiss and tell here. If you’re lookin’ to catch your fella in a lie, you’ll have to do it yourself,” she said loud enough for her drinkers to hear. “People come here for privacy and discretion, and that’s what they get.”

  “And watered-down whiskey!” yelled the old geezer at the end of the bar.

  “You seem to like it enough. You spend two-thirds of your day drinking it every day, Ed,” Betty hollered back to him.

  Ed chuckled and swatted his hand at her.

  “It’s not my guy—and besides this one’s dead. I’m trying to find out who killed him.”

  “Whoa, that’s heavy stuff. Sometimes fights can break out here after too many tequila shots, but the guys usually pass out before anyone gets seriously hurt. Plus we toss them out faster than a lit firecracker with a short fuse. You sure he’s dead and not just missing?”