Bitter Roots

by C. J. Carmichael

  At noon the sheriff emerged from his office, placing his hat squarely on his head.

  “I’m meeting the Stillman brothers for lunch. Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.”

  “An email just came in with the details from Riley’s bank account,” Zak said.

  “I’ll look at it later. Or let Black take a gander if she has time.” A moment later, the sheriff was gone, the door closed, the office silent.

  About a minute after they were alone, Nadine let out a long sigh. “So who are these Stillman brothers? I take it they’re important?”

  “Eugene and Clayton are two of the sheriff’s staunchest supporters. When their mother—Lacy Stillman—passes on, they’ll jointly own the biggest, most successful ranch in the area.”

  “Ah, that says a lot about the sheriff’s priorities. Damn it, Zak. Why didn’t you tell me what an idiot he was?”

  “I tried to.”

  “Don’t be so polite next time? Just flat-out say it. The sheriff is a lazy SOB who cares more about politics and his public image than solving crimes.”

  Zak laughed. She did have a way with words. “So you’re not pissed off with me anymore?”

  “I can’t afford to be. You’re the only other sane person working here.”

  “In that case, want to check out this email? It’s encrypted. I’m opening it right now.”

  “You bet I do.” Nadine stood behind him, crouching so she could peer at the screen. “Frankly I’m impressed the sheriff had enough foresight to make the request for this.”

  He hadn’t. Zak had merely noticed Riley’s debit card from Bank of America, drawn up the paperwork for a warrant, given it to the sheriff and said, “I suppose you’ll be wanting to subpoena her financial records from the bank?”

  The sheriff had grunted and signed, and Zak had taken over from there.

  “To be honest, I wasn’t expecting to get anything for at least another week. But it looks like her affairs were so simple, it didn’t take long.” Zak scanned the statements, then hit “Print.”

  Two pages spewed out from the printer on the credenza by the coffee maker. Nadine collected them, and then perched on the corner of Zak’s desk.

  Zak averted his gaze from her firm thigh, just inches from his hand.

  “Jeez, Zak, this account wasn’t even opened until early July of this year. And look at the money!”

  She was close enough for him to catch a whiff of a soft, herbal scent. Was it her shampoo? As usual she wore her blonde hair securely in a bun.

  He cleared his throat. Focus. “So about four months ago?”

  “That’s right. Riley opened her savings account with a deposit of five thousand dollars. After that, every week another deposit of five thousand... Where the hell would she get that kind of money?”

  It seemed doubtful she’d earned that much on the street, and Zak was pretty sure she hadn’t been quietly saving up under her mattress. “A drug deal?”

  “It’s possible, right?” Nadine glanced back at the pages. “The deposits continued until the first of September, and then they stopped.”

  “The bartender at Jack’s Cellar described her as a quiet girl, too shy to flirt. You think a few years later she was doing major drug deals?”

  “More likely she was around people doing deals and saw an opportunity to get her hands on some cash.”

  “You mean she stole from a dealer? That could explain why she left the city so quickly. But she didn’t move to Lost Trail until the beginning of October. So where was she in September?”

  “There’s an ATM withdrawal in Missoula on September twenty-eighth. But nothing before that.”

  Zak was reading the same information on his computer screen. “Right. Next transaction isn’t until October seventh when she withdrew another hundred in Lost Trail. And two weeks after that she deposits her first paycheck from Raven Farm.”

  “She had a lot of dough, but was living in her car. What’s up with that?”

  “Remember that notebook with those drawings of a house? Maybe she was saving up to buy one.”

  “At the rate her bank account was accumulating she already had enough for a down payment.”

  “I’m going to pinpoint the bank address for her branch.” Zak opened Google maps on his computer. “That will give us an idea where she was living this summer at least.”

  “Good thinking.” Nadine moved behind him, so she could see the screen. He could hear her breathing, feel her warmth, as he zoomed in on the location.

  “It’s in South Beach, near the AT&T baseball stadium,” Zak said.

  “That’s in the heart of the tourist area. How close is that to Jack’s Cellar?”

  He dropped a pin for the bank and compared it to the pub. They were more than ten miles apart.

  Nadine groaned. “Looks like Riley was hanging out in an entirely different neighborhood than we thought. I’ll let Detective Bowering know about this.”

  “Unless, of course, she deliberately picked a bank well out of her normal stomping grounds.”

  Nadine rolled her eyes. “You’re right. We need to consider that possibility too.”

  Zak watched as she headed back to her desk to call San Francisco. She may have quit the rodeo, but she still moved like an athlete, surefooted and lithe. He felt slightly buzzed, as if he’d just had a quick beer.

  Nadine was smart and she was driven. It was a novel diversion to work with someone of her caliber.

  But that didn’t explain all his feelings for his new colleague.

  Not good. He had to be careful.

  Tiff raced out of the Sparks Construction offices, not wanting Nora, frowning behind her receptionist desk, to see the tears filling her eyes. She couldn’t believe Derick would speak to anyone like that—let alone her. Once in her car, she clutched the steering wheel and waited for her whirling thoughts and emotions to calm.

  She took deep breaths, turning her gaze from the building to the mountains beyond. Eventually her heart rate slowed, and her mind stopped replaying the awful things Derick had said. His goal hadn’t been to hurt her. He was acting like a man backed into a terrible corner...but what was the root of the problem?

  Maybe part of it was the new baby, but there had to be something more. She could think of lots of possibilities. Financial pressures with the business, disagreements between himself and his father, or deep-rooted issues in his marriage. Perhaps even all three?

  She flashed back to the bruise on Aubrey’s cheek. Before today she never would have believed Derick capable of hurting his wife. After what she’d just witnessed, she could no longer be so sure.

  Finally she started the car and headed for home. As she drove along Tumbleweed Road toward the highway, she fought the urge to turn around for the sheriff’s office. She’d love to talk to Zak and get his take on the situation.

  But Derick had begged her to keep quiet and she’d already shared so much—probably too much—with Zak.

  Before she knew it she’d reached the turnoff for Raven Farm. The drive had passed in a blur, proving she wasn’t as calm as she’d hoped. Maybe she should work on the accounts for a bit before she went in for lunch with her mom.

  What Tiff loved about accounting, what had drawn her to the career in the first place, was the way the application of logic always led to the correct answer. Emotions were not part of the equation. On a good day work brought her to a place of serenity that her personal life rarely provided.

  That sensation of calm was what she was after as she settled at the scarred fir desk. She flattened her hands on the old wood and imagined her father sitting here and before him, her grandfather. So much family history was tied up on this land and in this farm.

  Maybe the screw-ups that had led her to come home hadn’t been such tragedies after all.

  She lifted her gaze to the window, to a view that—even when gray and dull—was beautiful to her. After a few deep breaths she was ready. She opened her laptop prepared to pick up where she’d left off.


  That morning she’d finished inputting all the opening balances for the Raven Farm assets, liabilities, revenues, and expenses. Now she ran a trial balance and studied the results. The farm’s profits were not looking as healthy as she’d expected.

  Maybe she’d made a mistake inputting data?

  One way she could check the reliability of her numbers would be to reconcile the balance in the cash ledger with the most recent bank statement.

  She went to the bank’s website only to discover the farm didn’t have online banking set up. How archaic. Fortunately she had all the information she needed to rectify the situation. As she pulled up the balances on the farm’s checking and short-term investment accounts her jaw dropped.

  According to her trial balance there should be over ten thousand in checking and two hundred and fifty thousand in savings. The actual amount in the checking account was within a thousand—that difference could probably be accounted for by checks that had been written by Kenny but not yet cashed by the recipient.

  The difference in the savings account—a staggering eighty thousand dollars—was a different matter.

  There was no reasonable explanation for the discrepancy. Where the hell was all that money?

  Tiff went over the handwritten ledgers several times, to be sure she hadn’t made a transposing error. Once she was certain the mistake wasn’t on her end, she called the bank, only to discover banking hours had ended fifteen minutes ago.

  Shoot. She hadn’t realized it was that late. She’d totally blown off lunch with her mom.

  Tiff went over the numbers again, then got up from the desk and walked to the window. Resting her forehead against the cool glass, she tried to think calmly and rationally.

  Since the farm didn’t have online banking set up before today, the bank must have been mailing Raven Farm monthly statements. A thorough search of all the filing cabinet drawers didn’t reveal them though.

  So where were they? Was that what Kenny had been up to the other night? Finding and concealing those statements?

  If so, he obviously knew the account was out of whack. Which explained why he’d been resistant to the idea of her taking over the accounting. He was afraid of her discovering he’d been skimming cash—and a lot of it. She recalled him saying something about needing money for an operation to fix his knee. Was this how he planned to finance it?

  Tiff thought about the pink underwear, and an idea occurred to her. Could Riley have found out Kenny was stealing from the farm? Maybe it was Kenny she’d met the night of her death. She might have threatened him, and he could have reacted in anger...

  That would explain the sound of the vehicle her mother had heard on Halloween night.

  Tiff turned from the window, suddenly anxious to clear off her desk and get back to the house before dark. She needed to talk to Zak and tell him her theory. He’d know what to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Justin made a pit stop at the Snowdrift Café on Thursday morning. He’d had a bad night and needed a cappuccino and fresh muffin to right himself. The puppy had been part of the problem—crying every few hours, needing to go to the bathroom, or just to be cuddled.

  But his worries about Willow had been worse. He’d been foolish to think offering her his home, and his steady support for her and her daughter, would be enough for her. She was growing increasingly restless, and while he didn’t believe married couples needed to be in each other’s back pockets, he did feel she was keeping too many secrets.

  He tried to be patient as a young mom with a baby in a stroller tried to decide what she wanted. Finally she got her mochaccino and bagel and joined the other young mothers and babies hanging out by the gas fireplace.

  “Be right with you, Justin,” said Patsy. “I have to pull some fresh muffins from the oven.” A few moments later she set a tray on the back counter, and then turned to him.

  “You look tired,” she said frankly.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbing out the sleep from his eyes. “Rough night. We got a new puppy yesterday.”

  “Ah. One of Lacy’s mutts?” Patsy didn’t bother asking what he wanted. She knew. She turned on the coffee grinder, and grabbed an extra-large cup.

  “Yeah. I thought a dog would be good for Geneva.”

  “Lucky girl. Darby and Trevor were relentless last night trying to convince us we should get one of those puppies too.”

  Patsy and her husband Chris had two kids, fourteen-year-old Trevor and a much younger daughter, Darby, who was six.

  “You didn’t give in?”

  “Probably would have. But Chris is allergic. That didn’t seem to matter to the kids though, selfish brats.” Patsy smiled, showing no hard feelings. “Want a muffin with your latte today?”

  “Make it two. No time for breakfast this morning. And since I took yesterday off to buy puppy supplies in Hamilton, I’ll probably work through lunch.”

  “You’ve got it.” She popped two muffins into a brown paper sack, then added a dollop of foamed milk to his triple espresso shot.

  He paid, leaving a generous tip, and was about to exit when he noticed Willow and Geneva walking on the opposite side of the street.

  Feeling uneasy, he paused at the window to watch. His wife and daughter had been sitting at the breakfast table when he’d left for work, in their pajamas, but now they were both dressed. In her black leggings, smart boots, and tailored jacket, Willow looked like she belonged in a big city, not this one-horse town.

  She had their daughter by the hand but Geneva was lagging. Willow paused, said something to the little girl, then took off at a march. Geneva had to skip to keep up.

  Justin couldn’t say why he didn’t open the door and call out to them. Instead, he moved closer to the window to follow their progress. At first he thought they were headed for the library, but then he realized it was the day care.

  Feeling sheepish for spying on his wife and daughter, Justin finally made his way to the street. A cold wind whipped against his face, bringing instant tears to his eyes. He had talked to Willow about using the day care if she ever wanted free time to go shopping, or to work on her photography. But with the new puppy at home, surely she wasn’t planning to be out for long. He wished she’d mentioned her plans to him before he left for work.

  That being said, with the puppy needing to be fed and taken out for pee, their morning had been a lot more chaotic than usual.

  He could slip into the day care now, but it would probably be smarter to wait to see what Willow had to say at dinner. He didn’t want her to feel he was keeping tabs on her. Even if he sort of was.

  Five minutes later Justin was at his desk drafting the codicil to Lacy Stillman’s will. He didn’t think about the puppy, Geneva, or Willow again, until many hours later.

  On his Thursday morning run, Zak’s thoughts whirled between stressing over the Riley Concurran case, and obsessing about the new deputy. Usually running cleared his head. Not today.

  He couldn’t help worrying that the sheriff was already washing his hands of the case. If law enforcement in San Francisco didn’t turn up any leads—and Zak had a feeling they wouldn’t—Riley’s death would soon be forgotten.

  Why he cared so much, Zak couldn’t say. He was just the dispatcher, after all. And yet, he did care. Maybe he was more passionate—and ambitious—about his career than he’d thought.

  Mind racing a lot faster than his body, Zak struggled his way along the familiar route with his lungs burning and his legs about as cooperative as two lumps of concrete. Checking his stats on his watch during his cooldown he wasn’t surprised to see his pace was off by more than ten minutes.

  This put him in a terrible mood and matters weren’t helped when he had to line up for fifteen minutes to buy his morning muffin. Generally Patsy was very efficient at moving customers through her café, but the tall, distinguished-looking man ahead of Zak this morning seemed to have totally flustered her. First she mixed up his request for an Americano, b
y adding foamed milk—which meant she had to begin all over. And then, when the man—clearly a tourist, and a wealthy one, judging by his slick leather shoes and designer jeans—asked for directions to some of the popular hiking trails, she got out a piece of paper and drew him a map.

  Zak wondered if Patsy would have been nearly as helpful to a homely man in a generic plaid jacket.

  Finally Zak got his muffin, which he’d wolfed down by the time he was out on the street again. He glanced up and down Tumbleweed Road, trying to imagine the town from Riley’s perspective. Everyone—including the sheriff and her boss at Raven Farm—seemed to take Riley’s decision to make a fresh start in Lost Trail for granted. But why had she chosen this out-of-the-way town?

  And what had she done, where had she hung out, when she wasn’t at work or sleeping in the back of her hatchback? She wasn’t a regular at the Dew Drop, according to Patsy, she rarely lingered in the coffee shop, and Cody said she always ordered her pizzas to go. It was almost as if she hadn’t wanted to be seen around town.

  But if that were true, why come here in the first place?

  Zak studied the storefronts on Tumbleweed one more time. When he reached the corner of Carter Street, he noticed, and almost immediately discounted, the library.

  However, there’d been books in her car so she must have liked to read. And hadn’t Justin Pittman said last week, when he reported his meeting with the murder victim, that he’d seen her leaving the library?

  Riley had received a scholarship to college, so she was no dummy. Plus the library had other advantages beyond books. First, it was warm. It was also free. And there was Wi-Fi.

  One of Riley’s co-workers—he thought it was Robin—had mentioned she loved Orange is the New Black. Maybe it wasn’t the TV show Riley had liked...but the book.

  Zak glanced at his watch, wondering if he could squeeze in a quick visit with Sybil Tombe. Unfortunately, due to the time he’d lost on his run and the line-up at the café there was no way. He’d have to wait for his lunch break to follow up on his hunch.