Bitter Roots

by C. J. Carmichael

  Nadine compressed her lips while she thought about this. Then she asked, “Any chance the dad’s death wasn’t an accident?”

  Zak narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

  “A death like that following so soon after the loss of a son...surely suicide has to be a consideration.”

  “Maybe. Except his wife and sister-in-law were in the vehicle with him. Between them they were all the family his daughter Tiff had. What kind of father would risk leaving a ten-year-old child alone in the world?”

  “Point taken,” she said but she didn’t sound convinced.

  Zak was tempted to pull out the file and prove her wrong. But older cases were locked up in the basement and they had enough real work to do today. Better to stay focused on that.

  By noon, Rosemary still wasn’t out of bed, and Tiff wasn’t sure if she should be concerned. Her aunt was working today, and Zak would be here soon. She decided to wait until after Zak left to check in on her mom. Tiff made egg salad sandwiches and met Zak at the front door when she heard his truck drive up.

  The November air had a bite, so she pulled on one of her aunt’s heavier coats. After years of living in Seattle her wardrobe was definitely inadequate for the upcoming Montana winter. She’d have to do some online shopping soon...which reminded her of the unhappy state of her bank account.

  Later this afternoon she had to talk to her mom about her business idea.

  Zak stepped out of the car, and immediately his light brown hair was whipped up by the wind. He wasn’t a tall man and with his light runner’s build and pleasant but unremarkable features, he’d never been the type of guy to stand out in a crowd.

  That fact had never seemed to bother him, though. In fact Tiff suspected he liked blending in.

  When he was close enough she handed him a sandwich. “Lunch. You okay to eat while we walk to the barn?” A tidy, woodchip-lined path led the way, little more than a football field’s length away from the house.

  “Hell yeah. Thanks for this. The bread looks homemade.”

  “You know my mother.”

  “I’d forgotten, but now that you mention it... Any chance I can score some cookies later?”

  “That won’t be a problem.” She only hoped that if her mom was awake by then, she’d also be dressed and in a somewhat presentable state.

  Zak fell into step beside her, and as they were both around eight inches above five feet their strides matched almost perfectly. Zak had his sandwich finished in about five bites, or so it seemed to Tiff. He certainly had a healthy appetite.

  “I’m sorry I’ve forgotten to ask before, but how is your family?” She broached the question carefully. Zak had never been one to discuss problems at home, but she knew there had been some. His father, normally a gregarious and charming man, had a town-wide reputation for being a mean drunk.

  She knew from her aunt that the older Waller boys, and sometimes their mother, had been taken to the clinic many times with suspicious injuries. A few times Child Welfare had been called in, but somehow the Wallers always smoothed things over.

  She wasn’t sure if Zak, himself, had ever been physically abused at home. He’d never talked about it with her. And yet she suspected that as the youngest of four boys in a rough-and-tumble household, he’d perfected the talent of making himself almost invisible as a survival technique.

  “After my father liquidated his store, it was a pretty ugly scene for a while, as he began drinking pretty heavily. Then my mom’s father died and left her some property, a grain farm in South Dakota. They moved a few years ago. Dad’s going to try and make a go of it. My brothers Curtis and Jake went with them. And Matt signed up for the army.”

  “So you’re the only Waller left in Lost Trail.”

  “Yup,” he said cheerfully.

  They were at the barn then, and Zak paused to take in the view. “Impressive place. I remember when we used to play hide-and-seek in here.”

  “Lots of nooks and crannies.” She’d played with her brother, too, though Dad was always cautioning them not to run too much. “Did you and your family ever come out at Christmas time?”

  “Never. We had an artificial tree. Dad special ordered it when I was just a kid. It was white and silver.” He noticed her shocked expression and chuckled. “I thought it was god-awful, too, but Mom was glad she didn’t have to water it or clean up a mess of needles when she took it down.”

  “In my family admitting you have an artificial tree is on par with saying you don’t like puppies or kittens. Honestly, Zak, nothing makes a house smell like Christmas more than a fresh-cut pine tree.”

  “I guess love of Christmas trees must be in your blood.” He scanned the area around the barn. “So where is all the staff?”

  “They’ll be inside, eating lunch. That’s why I suggested you come at this time.”

  “Smart woman.” He followed her toward the door, but paused before entering. “This barn is in great shape. When was it built?”

  “My great-grandfather built the original during the Depression. Every generation since has made their own improvements. My grandfather added a large bathroom and a mini kitchen for the staff, while my father upgraded all the public areas, including an indoor fireplace with a seating area for customers to enjoy their apple ciders and home-baked cookies.”

  In the city when she told people her family owned a Christmas tree farm in Montana, she was met with disbelief. When she asked them where they thought their trees came from, most just shrugged and admitted they’d never thought about it.

  But Tiff was proud of the family business, and the way they’d weathered the various economic highs and lows of the past eighty-odd years. The idea of a farm where you grow Christmas trees might seem all Norman Rockwell to some people, but she knew it took a lot of planning, hard work, and smarts to make a business like this survive for so long.

  The main door was on a track and Zak pushed the paneled door open so they could go inside. Tiff guided him through the public gathering area, pointed out the store where she and her brother had worked so proudly, then led him into the kitchen area.

  Here, as she’d expected, they found the workers. Only Kenny was missing from the group sitting at the rectangular wooden table, eating their various packed lunches. They’d been chatting companionably when she opened the door, but now they fell silent.

  “Hey, Bob.” She greeted the eldest man at the table, the only one she recognized. In his forties now, Bob was a heavyset man, with a dark complexion and rough, slightly oversized features.

  “Hi, Tiff. I heard you’d come home again. Let me introduce the guys...”

  Bob said the names so quickly, Tiff wouldn’t have kept them straight if Zak hadn’t already prepped her. Robin Wilson was a tall, gangly youth, still battling acne, and too shy to look her straight in the eyes.

  Jacob Bradshaw, the married guy in his thirties, had a thick, dark beard and a calm, assured manner. If he was hiding any secrets, he was doing so masterfully.

  Belying his fun-loving nature, the third guy Bob introduced—Rusty Thurston—looked like he had a weight on his mind. He was clean-shaven, with several ear piercings and a tatt covering one side of his neck.

  “So, Zak, what brings you out here?” Bob asked, once the introductions were over.

  “Haven’t been here since I was a kid. Tiff’s giving me a tour of the place. I guess it’s busy season for you guys, huh?”

  “Sure is, but it’s been hard to focus the last few days,” Bob said. “We can’t stop thinking about that kid, Riley.”

  “She was way too young to die,” Jacob agreed.

  “She didn’t die. She was murdered,” corrected Rusty.

  “She was such a little thing. Must have been one sick bastard,” Jacob said.

  Everyone nodded and after a pause, Tiff asked another question. “Did she ever talk about friends, or guys in her life?”

  “Nope. She said she was done with romance. Made me laugh, since she was so young and
all,” Bob said.

  “We teased her, and sometimes we could make her laugh,” Rusty added. “But mostly she was quiet. We tried inviting her to the bar after work on Fridays but she always said no.”

  “She was small,” added Bob. “But she was tough. And a hard worker.”

  The men all nodded.

  Zak raised his eyebrows at Tiff and she realized he wanted her to keep asking questions. “Where did Riley live?”

  “It was pretty obvious she was sleeping in her car,” Jacob said.

  “That’s right,” Rusty said. “I called her on it one day and she admitted it. But with the weather getting colder, she realized that wasn’t going to work much longer. My buddy and I have an extra bedroom in the house we’re renting. Riley was going to move in November first, after payday.”

  “You have an ulterior motive in offering her a bedroom?” Zak asked. “She was pretty cute, right?”

  Rusty gave a good-natured shrug. “Hell, I admit I hit on her. She let me down easy, though.”

  “And that didn’t affect her decision to move in with you?”

  “It was a strictly roommate agreement. She’d even paid us a month’s rent. What should I do with the money?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that right now,” Zak said. “So far we haven’t found any next of kin. Did she ever talk about her life back in California?”

  “Nope. That kid didn’t talk about anything.” Bob got up from the table and threw his sandwich wrapper in the trash.

  “Except TV shows,” Robin said quietly, speaking up for the first time. “We were working together last week and she couldn’t stop talking about Orange is the New Black.”

  “Where could she have watched TV shows?” Tiff wondered. Living in a car, Riley wouldn’t have access to Wi-Fi.

  “I don’t know,” Robin admitted.

  “She had to hang out somewhere when she wasn’t at work,” Tiff said. “Do you guys have any ideas where she went?”

  Everyone looked blank and then a sound at the door caused them all to turn. In strode Kenny, yanking off his work gloves. “Damn but it’s cold out there today.”

  Immediately the men put away the last of their lunches and began filing out to resume work. Unperturbed, Kenny went to the fridge and pulled out a big, meaty sandwich.

  “How long do the guys usually take for lunch?” Tiff wondered if they’d gone over their allotted time, or if they just preferred to avoid their boss.

  “Thirty minutes usually. Nothing’s been on schedule since we heard the news about Riley, though.” Kenny went to Zak and held out his hand. “Don’t think we’ve met. I’m Kenny Bombard.”

  “Good to meet you. I’m Zak Waller. Tiff and I went to school together.”

  It was an interesting contrast seeing the two men standing next to one another. Kenny was probably only three or four inches taller than Zak but with his athletic, muscular build, he made her poor friend look like a bit of a weakling. To his credit though, Zak didn’t seem intimidated.

  “So what’s up?” Kenny asked casually, glancing from Zak to Tiff.

  “Zak’s an old friend. I was just giving him a tour of the barn.”

  “Is that right?” Kenny turned back to Zak, his eyes narrowed and voice measured. “So where is it you work, Zak?”

  “Dispatcher for the sheriff’s office. Speaking of which, I ought to get back. Thanks for the tour, Tiff. Maybe I’ll buy a real tree this Christmas.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Have you finished your preliminary autopsy, Dad?” Justin asked, after the server, a young man named Cody, took their dinner orders.

  Justin and his father had been going to Lolo’s Pizza on Thursday nights ever since Justin’s mother died when he was only six. Franny always had a weak constitution was what people often said about his mother.

  His father, however, was still going strong at fifty-nine. As the town’s only doctor, Clark Pittman worked long hours at the clinic in addition to his duties as the local coroner.

  “I have. Stopped in at the sheriff’s office on my way here. Ford was just about to give a statement to the press.”

  “Was it pretty conclusive?”

  “I can’t say yet if she had any alcohol or drugs in her system, but the cause of death is straightforward enough. Subdural hematoma with resulting cerebellar tonsillar herniation and brain stem compression.”

  Used to his father’s medical jargon, Justin rolled with it. “Caused by a blow to the head?”

  “Two blows actually. I’d say the first was the result of a right-handed punch from a very strong male, which probably rendered her immediately unconscious. He must have hit her quickly with a second punch, before she collapsed.”

  Justin winced. “Do they have any idea who did it?”

  “None. The woman was new to town. Didn’t know many people other than her co-workers at Raven Farm. But apparently they didn’t socialize outside of work.”

  “To be killed like that...someone must have really hated her.”

  “Or else someone must have really loved her, which amounts to the same thing in extreme cases.”

  Justin grimaced. “I hope they find the bastard. Do you think Sheriff Ford is up to the job?”

  His father cleared his throat. “You know my views on Archie Ford. All he cares about is getting re-elected. He’s already figured out it’ll be best for him and the community if he can pin the death on someone from the victim’s past. Someone with no connection to Lost Trail.”

  “That’s a theory that can let us all sleep soundly tonight.”

  “Exactly.”

  Justin glanced out the window. The road and sidewalks were quiet now, but for most of the day there’d been a TV crew from Missoula, and another from Helena, trying to dig up news on the homicide. This was not the sort of publicity Sheriff Ford would want for his county. “But I hope the sheriff’s office is still going to investigate other possibilities.”

  “What? That someone from this town killed her?” Clark shook his head. “My guess is Ford and Butterfield will go through the motions of asking around town, and then try to shuck this off to the victim’s home state of California as soon as they can.”

  “What about that new deputy they hired? She looks pretty capable.”

  “Yeah, but she’ll have Ford fighting every move she makes if she steps out of line. It’s too bad about Zak.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Zak Waller is a bright man, with a good heart, who had the bad luck to be born to the wrong family. His dad and older brothers were pretty rough. I’d like to see him take some initiative in the sheriff’s office—but I’m afraid he’ll never have the balls to stand up to our sheriff.”

  Cody came with their pizzas then, and for a few minutes Justin and his dad concentrated on eating.

  After their first slices were gone, Clark downed a long drink of beer. “Marsha was working at the clinic today. She told me Tiff has come back to town. Marsha thinks it’s more than a visit.”

  Justin put down his fork. “Yeah, I’ve heard and I’m surprised. Things seemed to be going so well for her when we visited her in Seattle last fall.”

  Lost Trail sure didn’t have much to offer a university-educated woman like Tiff. If not for his father, Justin sure wouldn’t be living here. But when he was growing up his father had always been there for him. And he’d been so delighted when Justin suggested he might start his own law practice in Lost Trail that Justin had been compelled to follow through.

  “Lots of kids crave the big city. A few years of pollution, miserable traffic, and long commutes is the best cure.”

  “I don’t think Tiff wanted the big city life as much as to leave the place her brother and father died.”

  “Bad things happen everywhere. And you can’t get over a broken heart by changing your address.”

  His father’s philosophy explained why he hadn’t moved after his own wife’s death. When he was a kid Justin had taken his father’s widowed status for gra
nted. As an adult, though, Justin wondered if his father ever considered remarrying. He seemed to have a close relationship with Marsha Holmes.

  Marsha was only a few years younger, intelligent, attractive, and Justin knew his father respected her abilities at work. Yet the few times Justin had hinted about the possibility of a romance, his father had practically shuddered.

  For a few minutes they ate in silence, Justin enjoying his vegetarian pizza on a thin crust and his dad chowing down on his deep-dish meat-lovers.

  “So how are your new wife and daughter doing? They could join us on Thursday nights, you know. This isn’t a sacrosanct father-son thing.”

  “I appreciate that, Dad. Maybe next week.” Having a wife and child was so new to him. But his father was right. It was up to him to blend the new family with the old, even though Willow and his father had never gotten along very well. Willow found his father stodgy, while Clark had never approved of Willow’s adventurous spirit. But now that Willow was his wife, he hoped they would both make an effort.

  The one common bond among them all was Geneva. His dad was as thrilled to be a grandfather as Justin was to be a dad.

  “Is Willow planning to find a job? I imagine she finds it dull being a stay-at-home mom.”

  “She’d like to next year, when Geneva starts kindergarten.”

  “What sort of work does she do?”

  Justin chose his words carefully. “She studied general arts in college. Majored in Women’s Studies. And she’s a talented amateur photographer.”

  His father maintained a neutral expression. “Not too many jobs in Lost Trail for people with those qualifications.”

  “No.” Especially not for one who had graduated ten years ago and hadn’t held a steady job since.

  Justin had pruned and shaped his history with Willow to make his sudden marriage more understandable for his dad. He’d invented a college romance, elevating Willow from one of his best friends, to his lover.