Bitter Roots

by C. J. Carmichael

  “That’s too bad.” Her mother patted a spot on her bed and Tiff sat down.

  “What are you reading?”

  “It’s supposed to be a lovely story from one of my favorite authors. Sybil was kind enough to bring it by the other day. But I keep reading the same page over and over... Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.”

  Her mother’s eyes looked small and old, the pretty blue of her irises blurred by a sheen of moisture. Now was not the time to talk about her plans...or to confess what had really brought her home.

  “I’ll let you sleep then. Good night, Mom.” She dropped a kiss on her mother’s forehead. “I love you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Zak was surprised when Justin Pittman showed up unannounced early Friday morning. Justin had changed subtly in the past year, become thinner and gaunter, and he’d started shaving his blond hair. Still, he remained the most handsome man in Lost Trail. Until his quick marriage to Willow a few months ago, he’d definitely been the most eligible.

  “Hey, Zak.”

  “Justin. What brings you to the sheriff’s office this morning?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that young woman who was killed. It occurred to me that a short meeting I had with her once might be of interest to whoever is investigating...” Justin’s gaze roamed the rest of the room, pausing on Nadine who was the only other person who’d managed to make it to work so far.

  Nadine had been watching him with interest since he’d entered. No doubt she was checking out his baby blues and his pumped-up muscles, barely concealed by the slim tailoring of his pants and sports jacket.

  “I can take your statement.” She waved him over.

  “We meet again. No crime scene tape this time.” Justin offered his hand and Nadine shook it.

  “Sorry about that. Standard operating procedure when we have an unexplained death.”

  “No worries,” Justin said, though his expression suggested otherwise. A moment later his smile broadened. “How are you liking Lost Trail. From what my father says, you’re just what this town needs.”

  At his desk Zak rolled his eyes. Yup, turn on the flattery. With guys like Justin it always worked.

  “It’s a good job. I was glad to get it.” She pulled out her notebook. “So you’re a lawyer, right? Where’s your office?”

  “Above the dentist’s, next to the Snowdrift Café.”

  “They have amazing muffins at that café.”

  “So you’re figuring out all the local hot spots. That’s good. I trust you’ve been to the Dew Drop Inn?”

  “We’re intimately acquainted.”

  As they shared a laugh, Zak wondered if Nadine had even noticed the sparkling new wedding band on Pittman’s left hand. Maybe she had, because she finally got down to business.

  “So I heard you talking to Zak at the front desk. You said you had a recent meeting with Riley Concurran?”

  “Yes. She dropped by two Fridays ago just as I was about to lock up for the weekend.”

  “Had you met her before?”

  “No. This was the first I’d seen her, and I was taken aback because this is a small town and I don’t often get strangers dropping in. She was very abrupt. I’d no sooner introduced myself than she asked how much my rates were.”

  “Did she give her name?”

  “No. I only realized who she was when I saw her picture on the morning news today. Based on the way she was dressed—her clothes looked like someone else’s cast-offs—I told her I sometimes work pro bono. She looked confused so I explained that meant I sometimes helped my clients without expecting payment.”

  “Okay. Good. What did she do then?”

  “She asked me something very odd. She said, ‘If someone committed a crime and came to you, would you tell the police?’”

  “Interesting. And you said—?”

  “Not unless someone was in imminent danger of harm.”

  “And did that reassure her?”

  “Apparently not because she took off. I tried to follow her, but she was fast. The next time I saw her was at least several days later. She was coming out of the library carrying a book. As soon as she saw me she ran in the opposite direction.”

  “During that first meeting—did she give you any hint what sort of crime she might be talking about?”

  “None at all.”

  “Did she appear frightened?”

  “Maybe. She was definitely agitated. I’d say more nervous than scared.”

  Zak could tell Nadine was lapping up the story word-for-word. Zak, however, was skeptical.

  Around this town Justin and his father were treated like royalty. They had money, were well educated, and had deep family roots. Dr. Pittman’s grandparents had been one of the original three families who founded Lost Trail.

  In school Justin had been two grades ahead of Zak. He’d been the guy every other male student wished he could be, the guy every girl wanted to date. Smart, athletic, and good-looking, Justin Pittman had it all. Most surprisingly of all, he didn’t appear to lord his superiority over others, which made him even more popular with adults and kids alike.

  When he’d moved home after earning his law degree to hang up his shingle in Lost Trail, everyone talked about what a devoted son he was. The fact that he was the only lawyer in a sixty-mile radius, and would pretty much have the market cornered for business, was never mentioned.

  Zak didn’t buy the sappy reunited-high-school-lovers story circulating town since Justin and Willow’s marriage either. It astounded him that no one else seemed to find it strange for Willow to show up in Lost Trail more than ten years after she’d left, and within weeks, marry Justin and have him adopt her child.

  Something was wrong. But Zak couldn’t put his finger on it. The entire town might believe Clark and Justin Pittman were demi-gods. But no one was that perfect. There had to be flaws.

  Zak’s inability to find even one hadn’t stopped him from believing it existed.

  Take this story of Justin’s about Riley, for instance. Maybe it was all true. Or possibly Riley had come to Justin’s office for a more nefarious reason. Knowing there might be witnesses who had seen her either entering or exiting his office, Justin could have put together this story to try and shift attention from him—and to stop anyone from speculating why a pretty, twenty-two-year-old woman would spend a period of time in his office.

  But he could tell Nadine was taking every word at face value.

  Justin left the sheriff’s office intending to go to work. Instead he picked up a large latte and two apple-cinnamon muffins from the Snowdrift Café and walked the three blocks home. The little bungalow he’d purchased when he’d moved back to open his law practice had seemed fine at the time, especially after he’d renovated the kitchen and bathroom. Now that he was a married man with a child, though, the space was barely adequate. He needed to talk to Willow about moving.

  There were lots of things he and Willow needed to talk about. But every time he broached a subject more serious than what to have for dinner, she retreated.

  Fortunately he was a patient man. Eventually she’d be ready to talk. In the meantime it might help if he tried to act more like a newlywed himself.

  He went in the front way, through the small foyer to the living room on his left. Geneva was sitting on the sofa, wide-eyed and solemn, watching Dora the Explorer.

  When she gazed up at him he kissed the top of her head. “Shhh. I have a surprise for Mommy. There’s one for you too.”

  Her gaze moved to the cup and paper bag in his hands and she nodded. A second later, her attention was back on her show.

  He hesitated, wishing she was doing something more active. Willow allowed her daughter—their daughter—a lot more screen time than he liked. But he was new to this dad stuff and didn’t want to be heavy-handed with his ideas.

  From the foyer, a hallway on the right led to the two bedrooms and a bathroom. Straight ahead was the eating alcove, with the kitchen to the left. As he moved awa
y from the TV he could hear Willow talking on her phone.

  He held out the coffee as he passed through the arched doorway. Willow was at the far counter, looking out the window, so she didn’t see him. She had her phone to her ear and seemed to be listening intently. Just as he was about to clear his throat so she would notice him, she started talking again.

  “Well I did marry him so it’s—”

  He set the cup and bag on the counter and she stopped talking, swirling around, eyes opening wide.

  “Justin.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He was trying to process what he’d overheard, even while knowing the words hadn’t been meant for his ears.

  Willow said a hurried farewell and disconnected the call. “That was an old friend. She’s upset I moved to Lost Trail.”

  “No need to explain. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I just wanted to bring you a little treat to brighten your morning.” He handed her the coffee and muffins. “From the Snowdrift.”

  Willow’s smile was his reward. It was almost like the ones she’d tossed around so easily when they were younger.

  “You’re sweet. Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek, then opened the bag. “Yum, apple-cinnamon. That’s Geneva’s favorite flavor.” She glanced up at him, tilting her head to one side. “But of course you knew that. You’re a pretty special guy, Justin.”

  “Just want my girls to be happy. But now I should dash back to work. Should I pick up pizza on my way home? It is Friday night. We could watch a movie.” It wasn’t much to offer, but the recreational choices in Lost Trail were limited, especially when you had a four-year-old child.

  “Sure. That would be great.”

  Justin left the house with a smile, but soon his earlier sense of unease was back and worse than ever. He and Willow were so good at superficial chatter, but one of them had to have the courage to break through and talk about something real for a change. Like that phone call. And the truth about who was on the other end of the line.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tiff was lazily enjoying her second coffee of the day when her aunt returned from her morning yoga session in the basement of the Anglican church.

  “Something I meant to tell you last night,” her aunt said as she threw the dregs from the pot down the sink and started a fresh brew. “Kenny and I usually have a meeting here at noon on Fridays. Over sandwiches and coffee I sign checks and he fills me in on farm business. How would you like to join us today?”

  So Kenny had lunch here every week. No wonder he felt so at home in this kitchen. Tiff tried to squash her lingering resentment toward the man. He was just doing his job.

  “I don’t remember you having those meetings with Ed.”

  “I used to meet him at the office in the barn. With Kenny I thought it was time to set up a new routine, one that was more convenient for myself—not to mention your mom. This way, if Rosemary feels up to it, she can always join in.”

  But did she ever feel up to it? Tiff doubted it. “I’d be glad to sit in today. Want me to help make the sandwiches?”

  “That would be great. This will be the perfect time to tell Kenny you’re going to take over the accounting for the farm.”

  “She is?” Rosemary stepped into the room, dressed in her housecoat, with her hair up in a messy bun. She looked from her sister to her daughter. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, Mom, I meant to tell you last night but you were so tired. I want to stay in Lost Trail and open my own accounting practice. I was hoping—Aunt Marsha thought for sure you’d think it was okay—that Raven Farm could be my first client.”

  Rosemary swallowed, then sank onto a stool. “So you and Marsha have already talked about this?”

  “Briefly last night.” Tiff felt like the worst daughter in the world as tears filled her mother’s eyes. “Mom. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “I want you here. Yes. It just hurts to find out second hand this way.”

  “Rosemary, don’t be so sensitive. The topic just came up when we were watching TV together. It’s not like Tiff planned to tell me before you. I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee. Let me pour you a cup.”

  “I suppose.”

  Tiff took a fortifying breath then sat down beside her mother. “I’d like to tell you what’s been going on in my life the past six months, Mom. It might help you understand why I want to move back.”

  “Lost Trail is your home. This farm is your legacy. You don’t need excuses for living here.”

  “But there is stuff you need to know.” And soon, before she found out Tiff had already told Marsha all this as well.

  Quickly Tiff outlined the problems she’d been having with anxiety and insomnia, the mistakes she’d made at work, and her decision to lick her wounds while traveling after she was fired.

  Her mom kept shaking her head. Every now and then she bemoaned the fact that Tiff had waited so long to tell her any of this.

  It was a relief when Rosemary decided to take her coffee upstairs to her room. Tiff felt the familiar burden of guilt as she watched her mother leave the room. She wished she could understand why conversations with her aunt were always so much easier than those with her own mother.

  “Try not worry about your mom. She’ll feel better after she has her coffee and a little quiet time.”

  Quiet time was the last thing Tiff thought her mother needed. Before all the tragedies Rosemary had been a regular volunteer at the library, as well as a great mom to her and Casey and a help to her husband on the farm. It would be so nice to see her engaged with her family and community again. Gardening and baking were active, at least, but they were also solitary endeavors that enabled her mom to continue living in a protected bubble.

  Aunt Marsha meant well, but it seemed as if she was enabling her mom’s isolation rather than helping her overcome it. The last thing Tiff wanted was to criticize the woman who had done so much for her family, however, now that Tiff was here to stay she was going to make it her own private project to try to draw her mom out, little by little.

  “What kind of sandwiches should I make?”

  “I was thinking chicken salad. If you’re okay doing the sandwiches yourself, I’ll run upstairs to shower and change.”

  “Sure, I’ll be glad to.” She found cold chicken breast in the fridge, which she mixed with chopped celery, chives, apples, and walnuts. Then she blended in some mayo and a little curry powder.

  She had a plate of sandwiches prepared when she heard a tap at the back door. Kenny stood at the other side of the French doors, dressed in his customary jeans and plaid jacket. His dark hair was unkempt and the scruff of beard on his face looked longer than usual. There was a wild look about the man that should have been off-putting.

  Annoyed with herself—because she wasn’t put off, not even a bit—she waved for him to come inside. He did so, removing his boots and leaving them on the mat by the door.

  “Hey, Tiff. I’m here to meet with your aunt.”

  “I’ve heard. In fact, I’m going to sit in.”

  “Oh really? That’s great I guess.”

  Hearing the reservation in his voice, Tiff gave him a fake smile as she carried the plate of sandwiches to the table.

  “It’s a family business, and I am part of the family.”

  “So I report to you, as well as Marsha. Got it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. If you should be reporting to anyone other than Marsha it would be my mother. She’s the legal owner.”

  “Yeah. But in name only, right? Since I started, I’ve only dealt with Marsha. She’s the one who hired me.” A corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “Though, maybe that’s a decision you’d like to revisit?”

  “Should I?” she countered. “Aren’t you doing a good job?”

  “I am,” he said with quiet confidence, before adding, “At least, until this thing with Riley, I thought I was.”

  Tiff heard the caring in his voice and saw it in his troubled brown eyes. “Why
do you say that? You can’t feel responsible for what happened to her—do you?”

  “Strictly speaking, no. But she was so young and as her boss I should have looked out for her more than I did.”

  “If you shoulder a degree of responsibility, so should my family. We were her employers.”

  Marsha appeared then and the subject was dropped. Kenny produced a sheaf of paper that included a rough monthly cash flow. While they munched on sandwiches they discussed orders, and the timing of deliveries that all needed to take place by mid-November. After that they would focus on local holiday business. Over ninety percent of profits came from the out-of-town orders, but the local business was important too. For over four decades families in Bitterroot County had been coming to Raven Farm for their Christmas trees. Tiff was glad to see that Kenny understood this tradition was important to the family, even if the profits weren’t particularly significant.

  Once they’d finished with the financials and Marsha had signed the weekly checks, Marsha asked how the workers were doing in the aftermath of Riley’s death.

  Kenny rubbed a hand over his jaw, and his gaze met Tiff’s briefly, in silent acknowledgment of their earlier conversation. “The guys are shaken up,” he said finally. “Hell, so am I. I...feel like I failed that kid somehow.”

  “Riley told you herself she came here hoping to make a fresh start,” Marsha pointed out. “Obviously she was running away from trouble. Even the sheriff suspects someone from her past did this to her. You shouldn’t feel guilty. All you did was try to give her a second chance.”

  Kenny nodded, but his troubled expression remained. Tiff wanted to believe it was genuine concern for Riley, but what if it was more than that? Could Kenny be concealing information about the woman or her death—maybe because it was something he felt would make him look bad?

  Tiff didn’t know him well enough to tell.

  Marsha held up the coffee pot. When Tiff shook her head and so did Kenny, Marsha refilled her own cup. “Moving on to the reason Tiff is sitting in on this meeting...” She paused to smile at Tiff. “My niece is going to be starting up an accounting practice in Lost Trail.”