“So you’re staying this time?”
His tone struck Tiff as both cocky and condescending. “I am.”
“Her mother and I are so glad. We want her first client to be Raven Farm.”
Kenny leaned back in his chair, his expression suddenly distant. “What does that entail, exactly?”
“I’ll do the bookkeeping, tax returns, payroll.”
“Leaving you to focus on operating the farm and managing the workers,” Marsha continued. “We won’t be adjusting your salary if that’s worrying you.”
Kenny glanced from Marsha to Tiff. As he rubbed his face, Tiff noticed a muscle ticking madly at the corner of his jaw. Finally he let out a long breath. “Can’t say I love paperwork, anyway.”
“Good.” Marsha smiled as she got to her feet. “Kenny, you might as well show Tiff around the office now. Let her get her feet wet.”
“No problem,” Kenny said.
But from his cool tone and stiff posture, Tiff suspected the opposite.
The farm office in the far corner of the barn was another place where time seemed to have stood still after Tiff’s father’s death, showing no permanent mark of Ed’s years as manager. When Tiff and her brother were kids, behind the sofa had been one of their favorite spots for hide-and-seek. Tiff had also loved playing with the adding machine, which still had a place of honor on the scarred surface of the old fir desk.
The office smelled the same as it always had—a combination of clean sawdust and the sharp perfume of evergreen resin. Tiff had tried to find an aromatherapy oil that could compare with the scent of balsams and pines...but nothing in a bottle could match the real thing.
She took a deep breath and smiled, almost forgetting about Kenny until he sat in the brown leather office chair behind the desk.
Was this his way of telling her, she might be taking over the accounting, but he was still boss of the farm? Fine with her.
She could sense Kenny watching as she wandered the room, checking the old photos hanging above the sofa where her dad had sometimes grabbed a quick afternoon nap. The photos dated back to the early nineteen hundreds, documenting the history of the farm from the first field of planted conifers, to the latest barn renovation.
Tiff moved to the bank of black metal filing cabinets on the wall perpendicular to the desk. They were old and dented, but still functional. She slid one open and saw legal files, carefully labeled, most in her father’s scrawling hand.
It was all so very familiar. Too familiar in fact.
She turned to study the desk. There was the old phone, one with a cord and a rotary dial for heaven’s sake! The glass jar she’d painted in kindergarten still held a motley selection of pens and pencils. But—
“Where is the computer?” She couldn’t see a modem either. “We do have Internet out here, don’t we?”
“I can usually catch a few bars from your home Internet. As for a computer, there wasn’t one when I arrived. I use my own laptop.” He nodded at a slim notebook on the corner of the desk. “But not for accounting. That’s still done the old-fashioned manual way.”
“With ledgers?” She’d learned the theory in college but had never worked with them in a real business situation.
“Yup.” Kenny pointed to a line of oversized, leather-covered books on the shelves behind the desk.
“Wow. Unbelievable.”
“I guess neither your dad nor Ed was a fan of computers.”
“I’m not surprised to hear that. But my first order of business will be to buy a new computer. It’s not right that you’re using your own for farm business. Then I’ll convert the manual accounts to a nice, simple farm accounting software. I’ll have to do some research before I pick one.”
“You mean you didn’t have any farming clients in Seattle?”
She acknowledged his dry sarcasm with the faintest of smiles. “Hard to believe, right?”
Glancing back at the desk she noticed something else that was new—a framed photograph Kenny must have brought with him. Four men in backcountry ski gear were lined up on a snow-covered mountain ridge. The sharpness of the focus, the brilliance of the blue sky backdrop, made it hard to look away.
“Is one of these you?”
“Second from the left. The lead guide that day was Rolph Werner.” Kenny pointed to the older man beside him, at the end of the line. “That guy taught me everything I know about backcountry skiing. He had all the skills and knowledge, but also a sixth sense about the weather and the mountains.”
She noted the past tense. “Did something happen to him?”
Kenny looked like he was sorry he’d said anything. “He was guiding a group in Glacier National Park, on a day when the avalanche risk was less than moderate. He’d gone ahead to check a slope that looked a little suspicious to him. I guess he had a sixth sense about it, even though he’d done some slab tests and it all looked good. For once the fates were against him.”
“He triggered an avalanche?”
Kenny nodded. “He was seventy-one and he’d spent his life skiing in the mountains he loved. He was a fearless man, but never reckless. What would have mattered most to him was that none of his clients were injured.”
The man was obviously a hero to Kenny. Yet Tiff wondered if Kenny also felt some envy. Rolph Werner had lived until his seventies doing a job he loved, yet here was Kenny, barely thirty by the looks of him, already sidelined from skiing by a knee injury.
“Do you think you’ll ever get back to guiding?”
“Not likely, even once I’ve had surgery—which I can’t afford right now—I won’t be able to do hard-core stuff like that.”
“But you’ll still get the surgery...eventually?”
“That’s the plan.” He got to his feet after checking the time. “I’ve got to go back in the field. You’ll let me know if you need anything from me? Accounting-wise?”
There’d been the tiniest of pauses between his two questions, as if he worried she might want something that wasn’t related to accounting.
As if.
“Sure. I’ll see if I can get a computer this weekend, then start diving into the actual work on Monday.”
Kenny shrugged, basically reminding her that this accounting gig was her and Marsha’s idea, not his.
Tiff took a last look around the office, absentmindedly straightening a cushion on the ancient sofa. A flash of pink caught her eye and she moved the cushion out of the way.
“What the hell?” Kenny strode forward, snatching the pink bit of cloth and throwing it in the garbage, but not before Tiff saw what it was.
A pair of women’s silky, pink thongs.
Chapter Fourteen
Zak was reviewing crime scene photos when Nadine came in, letting out a showy sigh to communicate her exhaustion.
She dropped her jacket and holster on her desk, then picked up her mug. “Any coffee left?”
The buttons of her regulation shirt strained over her breasts. Sure, she wore a T-shirt underneath, but couldn’t she size-up and give guys like him a break?
He turned his attention back to his computer. “Just the dregs from the afternoon pot. I would have made more but it’s almost six.”
“After I inventoried the items in Riley’s car, I took a look around the parking lot and found traces of blood on the gravel beside the car. It seems whoever hit her did it there, then dumped her off at the medi-clinic.”
“That fits with Dr. Pittman’s preliminary report. He figured she’d been moved after the attack. Did you find anything helpful in the car?”
“Would have loved to find an address book or something, but no such luck. All I saw was clothing, a notebook and pen, some books, a sleeping bag and pillow, a paper bag with a few homemade cookies, empty cola cans, and a stack of napkins from Lolo’s Pizza. I took photos for the files.”
“Anything interesting in the notebook?”
“It was filled with sketches, most of them of a house, from various angles, with detailed drawings of
each room. She was pretty talented.”
“Did you recognize the house? Was it someplace here in Lost Trail?”
“I don’t think so. I’m guessing she was designing her own dream house—”
A dream house she would never live to see, thanks to the brutal actions of someone—but who? Zak didn’t believe this had been random violence. But what had caused the rage in the man—or possibly very strong woman—who had done this?
Nadine cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She folded her arms and looked at him pointedly. “Interesting that you told me exactly where to look for that car.”
If she’d pressed the issue, he would have filled her in. But since she didn’t, he let the question hang.
“So where are the sheriff and Butterfield?” she asked.
“They went to the Dew Drop half an hour ago. They should still be there if you hurry.”
“How about you?”
“I’ll be heading there shortly too.”
“Meeting your friend Tiff again?”
“As it happens—yes.” Tiff had phoned a few hours ago and said she needed to talk to him. He’d been glad to hear from her. He was worried the sheriff wasn’t going about this investigation as thoroughly as he ought to be, and Zak needed a sounding board.
“Sure you’re just friends?”
“Last I checked.”
Nadine made a face at him, then sat down at her desk. “Maybe I’ll type up my reports before I go. Other than finding Riley’s car, though, I didn’t have much luck. I must have covered half the town, but I can’t find anyone who saw her after she left work on Halloween. Surely she wasn’t just sitting in her car from six until two in the morning.”
“Did you try the Dew Drop?”
“The staff there didn’t recognize her photo. Patsy Larkin at the Snowdrift Café says Riley was a regular, but the last time she saw her was Monday morning when she came in for a muffin before heading to work.”
There weren’t many other places in Lost Trail she could have hung out. “Lolo’s Pizza?”
“She was a regular there, too, but she always ordered takeaway.” Nadine started typing on her keyboard, but after just a few minutes she paused. “Any interesting developments here today?”
“Sheriff spent most of the day on the phone with California. He’s lined up a Detective Bowering to check in with the Blake family and interview the staff at the bar where Riley used to work.”
“And Butterfield?”
“Not sure what he was doing, but he managed to make the job last all day.”
“It’s a true gift that man has.”
Zak grinned. It was nice that at least one of his co-workers had a sense of humor.
“So what’s up for your weekend? You and Tiff going to catch a movie in Hamilton?”
Why was she so insistent on making the two of them sound like a couple? “I’ll go for my usual run on Sunday. Not much else planned.”
“You’re a runner. That explains why you’re so skinny.”
Yes. Thank you, Nadine—just the comment every guy wants to hear.
“So what’s your distance?”
“On weekends I like to get in thirteen miles or so.”
Up went her eyebrows. “A half marathon. Impressive. Want some company for the first five miles—that’s my limit?”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I prefer to run on my own.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Maybe you don’t mean to be rude, but actually, you just were.”
His face grew hot. Damn. She was right. “I haven’t had a running buddy since high school, that’s all. If you’re serious, meet me at the beginning of Tamarack Trail at eight.”
“Tamarack Trail...” She raised her eyebrows. “So that’s how you knew.”
Tiff had a pitcher of draft and two glasses on the table when Zak arrived at the Dew Drop at about quarter past six.
“Sorry I’m late again.”
“No problem. I’m guessing you’ve had a busy day. Maybe I should have ordered bourbon?”
Tiff had her hair down tonight, which was hands-down her best look. He could never understand why she seemed to prefer ponytails.
For some reason her eyes always looked bluer when her hair was down. And her features prettier.
He noticed a few guys in the room had their eyes on her. Why was it, in all the years they’d been friends, he’d never felt the urge to try and take their relationship beyond the platonic? He flashbacked to the way Nadine filled out her regulation shirt and felt like groaning. He did not want to complicate his life by having a crush—or worse an affair—with a co-worker.
“Maybe we’ll get to bourbon after this.” He had his first, long swallow of beer, then sighed with satisfaction.
“I told my family about my plans to stay in town and start my own business. Mom and Aunt Marsha seem cool with the idea.”
“Of course they are.”
“And they’ve agreed to let me handle the accounting for Raven Farm.”
“Did you seriously worry they wouldn’t?” Ready to order some food, he tried to catch Mari’s eye, but she walked right by him. “How does Kenny feel about it? I assume you’ll be taking the work over from him.”
“He kept his face deadpan, but I had the sense he was annoyed. Plus, get this, Zak. When I went with him to the farm’s office, I spotted a pair of women’s pink underwear under one of the sofa cushions.”
“Hang on a minute. There’s a sofa in the office?”
“Yes. I didn’t get as far as the office when I gave you the tour, but my dad was known for enjoying a fifteen-minute nap in the afternoon. He hated having to walk all the way to the house, so when Mom renovated the living room, she had the old sofa moved to Dad’s office.”
Zak nodded. Her explanation had given him time to process the significance of the pink panties. “Riley was the only female employee at Raven Farm, right?”
“Yes,” Tiff answered emphatically.
“Is it possible Zak was entertaining a girlfriend in his office?”
“I can’t see that happening. The guest cabin where he’s living is much more comfortable and romantic. Not to mention private.”
“The underwear couldn’t possibly belong to your aunt or your mother?”
Tiff cringed. “Ew. No. These panties were so tiny, just thongs. As soon as he spotted them Kenny grabbed them and pushed them into the trash.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No. And I didn’t dare ask about them. He looked absolutely furious.” Tiff waved a hand at Mari who was hurrying by them again. “Two burgers please—with fries. Sound good, Zak?”
“Sure. No onions on mine though,” he added with little hope since Mari had already turned away. Too many burgers and fried foods wouldn’t be good for his running regime...let alone the alcohol. But after the week he’d just had, Zak felt entitled.
Tiff leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Here’s the thing. If Kenny was sleeping with Riley, why didn’t he tell the sheriff?”
“One pair of underwear doesn’t prove anything, Tiff.”
“If the DNA on the panties was a match, it would, right?”
“Well, we’d have to get a search warrant and we don’t have enough evidence for that.”
“You need a search warrant. I don’t. It’s my home, after all. But guess what—I went back to the office an hour later with a plastic bag and the trash can was empty. Why would Kenny have eliminated the evidence if he had nothing to hide?”
“Hm.” It did sound suspicious.
“Whenever Kenny talks about Riley he refers to her as a kid. I wonder if he’s trying to deflect any suspicion that they might have had an intimate relationship.” Her eyes widened as another idea occurred to her. “Do you think Riley might have been charging Kenny to have sex with her?”
Zak thought back to Justin’s visit to the sheriff’s office that morning, how keen he’d been to get his visit from Riley documented, under his terms. T
wo different men, both having spent time alone with Riley—a woman who had basically admitted to having an unsavory past.
“Given what happened to her, we should probably consider the possibility. It certainly sets up the scenario for her death.” He couldn’t tell Tiff about Justin’s statement, unfortunately, but he could string along the logic. “If Riley was trying to earn some money on the side, it stands to reason she might have arranged to meet a man the night she was killed.”
“My aunt was talking to Dr. Pittman at work yesterday. He as good as assured her that Riley hadn’t had sex the night she died. I suppose the transaction could have gone off the rails before they got to that part.”
“We need more evidence.” He took a deep breath, then leaned in closer. “But I don’t think the sheriff is open to any theory other than his own. And he’s keen to pin the crime on someone from Riley’s past, someone with no ties to Bitterroot County.”
Tiff studied Zak’s face. She trusted her friend, and his instincts. “I remember my aunt saying once that nothing short of an unsolved crime spree could ever prevent Archie Ford from getting re-elected as county sheriff. I can see how it would look better for him if he could prove someone outside the county killed Riley. But would he really put his own self-interest ahead of justice in a murder investigation?”
“In a case where he wasn’t worried the perp would re-offend? He might.”
Tiff nodded. “What about his deputies?”
“Butterfield takes all his cues from the sheriff. The new deputy, Nadine Black, is sharp. But she’s pretty new to be challenging the sheriff.”
“Then I guess it’s up to you to make sure Riley gets her justice.”
Before Zak could respond, Mari arrived with their order, and the aroma of grilled meat and smoky seasonings was completely distracting.
When in South America Tiff had eaten mostly chicken and legumes for her protein. At the time she hadn’t felt deprived. But now that she was home, all she wanted was the Montana beef she’d been raised on. Barbecued tenderloin was her favorite. But the burgers at the Dew Drop—spicy and juicy, served on fresh sesame buns with homemade sauce and caramelized onions—were a close second.
Bitter Roots Page 9
