“Really? Now that’s a motive for murder,” she said. “Particularly if his wife found out.”
“It would explain why they broke up.”
“Maybe a jealous wife did her in,” Quinn mused. “Who would have had access to Molly’s friendship bread card?”
“Good question,” I said. “I know Opal got a loaf, and Molly said she gave out ten loaves, but I need to get a list.”
“Does Rooster know about all this?”
“Most of it, anyway,” I told her. “But he didn’t want to hear anything from me. He pretty much ran me out of the station,” I said as I opened the fridge and located the bacon. I set up the griddle and cut the package open. “Did Krystal ever mention her sister?”
“Not that I can remember,” Quinn told me, sliding a batch of cut potato off her cutting board and into a bowl. “Like I said, she didn’t talk much about family.”
“Brandi left her car in front of the cafe,” I said.
“Her car?” Quinn set down her knife. “Are you telling me she drove here?”
“Parked the car half on the sidewalk. Just like Nettie Kocurek used to do—only Brandi drives a Kia, not a Cadillac.”
“It’s a miracle she didn’t kill herself—or someone else—on the way here,” Quinn said, picking up her knife and neatly halving another potato. “Still . . . I feel terrible for her. She thinks she’s coming into town to share in her sister’s good fortune, and instead she finds out she’s dead.”
“I get the feeling it wasn’t a super close relationship,” I said as I laid the bacon onto the griddle. “Brandi seemed to love Krystal, but I got the impression they hadn’t talked in a long time.”
“All Krystal talked about was her wonderful, nameless boyfriend.”
“But she never said anything about them breaking up?” I asked as I laid the last piece of bacon on the pan.
“No,” she said. “Then again, maybe it’s recent; she’d been off work the two days before the house fire. She might have stayed home because she was in a funk about it.”
“Or because she was poisoned,” I pointed out. “You don’t usually get out much when you’re dead.”
“True,” she said. “I keep thinking about Buster and his treasure hunting. Do you think maybe he and Krystal found some buried money, then Brandi stole it and killed her sister?”
“Why would she come in and tell us about it, then?”
“Because she’s drunk?” Quinn suggested. “But honestly. You’d think if there were any treasure in Buttercup, somebody would have found it by now.”
“And if they had, why would they still be digging behind my house?”
“Maybe it wasn’t Buster who was digging,” Quinn mused. “It could be someone who heard Buster had found those two coins, and was looking for more. Still . . . I can’t believe anyone found anything in Buttercup.”
“You never know,” I said. “They’re still finding Roman antiquities in fields in England.”
“Yeah, well, there aren’t a lot of amphorae turning up in Texas.” She bit her lip and grabbed a bunch of the green onions I’d brought her yesterday and rinsed them under the sink.
I checked the bacon; it was turning golden brown on the bottom. “None of it makes sense. I just wish we could talk to her ex-boyfriend.”
“You think he knows she’s gone?”
“If he did her in, I’m sure he does. Plus, if he lives anywhere nearby, he probably knew fifteen minutes after I did. Did she ever say if he lived in the area?”
“I got that impression, but I don’t really know,” Quinn said as she began dicing the onions.
Krystal sure hadn’t said much, I reflected as the bacon sizzled. Her life was pretty much a mystery.
“How’s the puppy doing, by the way?” Quinn asked.
“I haven’t had a chance to check. She was okay two nights ago.”
Quinn scraped the diced onions into the bowl with the potatoes. “How did it go when you talked to Tobias?”
“It was a bit tense,” I said, adjusting the heat on the griddle as the bacon continued to sizzle. “He told me there was nothing going on with Mindy, at least.”
“No? Why’s she here, then?”
“The official story is that she’s looking for property, but Tobias implied there’s something more.”
“Sounds fishy to me,” she said.
“Thanks for the support.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking . . .”
All my worries about Tobias came flooding back. I sighed. “At least the puppy seems to be stable.”
“That’s something, I suppose,” she said. “What are you going to do if she pulls through?”
“We’ll have to find a home for her,” I said.
Quinn was quiet for a moment. “Can I meet her?” she asked.
I looked at my friend. “You’re thinking about getting a dog?” I asked.
“I don’t sleep well at night,” she confessed. “Even though I know Jed is behind bars, I still have a hard time relaxing.” She opened the fridge and reached for a stick of butter. “I keep thinking about how Chuck warned us when Jed showed up at the farm.”
How could I forget? I also remembered how Jed had kicked Chuck into a wall and attacked Quinn.
“Knowing Chuck is there does help me sleep more soundly,” I told her. It had been eerily quiet the first few nights at the farm; it had been easier to drift off with my little apricot-colored protector at the end of the bed. “I think it’s a good idea.”
As she plopped the butter into the pot to melt, Quinn said, “I don’t really have a yard with a fence.”
“I didn’t in Houston, either,” I told her. When I’d worked for the Chronicle as a reporter, I’d lived in a small condo. I’d taken Chuck for walks by the bayous every night, and that had suited him just fine. “You can take her for walks around the square, or visit Chuck at the farm and let them romp together.”
“I’ve never had a dog,” she said.
“Well, then, I think it’s about time you got one. Let’s finish up this soup and go visit the one Peter saved. Okay?”
“But I’ve got all the bread to bake, and the market opens at six . . .”
“The stall’s already set up, and I can help you carry the breads and cakes out. You can take an hour off. Come on . . . what happened to the slow pace of small-town life? This isn’t Houston—or New York!”
She poked at the butter with a wooden spoon and grinned. “We’ll finish this up and go visit the puppy.”
“And then I think we should check out Krystal’s house—or what’s left of it.”
She looked at me and nodded grimly.
Tobias’s young assistant, Jon, greeted us at the front door of the Buttercup Veterinary Hospital when we stopped by a half hour later on the way to Krystal’s house.
“Is Dr. Brandt here?” I asked, feeling butterflies in my stomach.
“He’s out on a call at the Chovaneks’,” he said. “But the puppy just woke up.”
“Can we go see her?”
“Sure!” We followed Jon to the back of the hospital. The little black puppy’s nose was pressed to the front of the crate, and she was whining.
“She’s adorable!” Quinn said, squatting down and touching her fingers to the front of the crate. The puppy’s pink tongue popped through a hole in the crate, licking her fingertips.
“I think she’s going to be okay,” Jon said. “She’s still a bit wheezy, but she’s doing much better.”
“Can I take her out of the crate?” Quinn asked.
“Of course,” Jon said. Quinn sat down and unlatched the front of the crate. As soon as the door swung open, the little puppy bounded out, then nestled into Quinn’s lap. “She’s so sweet!” my friend said, caressing her silky ears.
“She’s got a great temperament,” Jon told her, smiling. He’d recently moved from Houston, and Tobias had told me he was really happy with Jon’s work. “And she seems to really like you!”
“You think?”
“I do,” he said. “By the way, I’m sorry about that young woman who worked at the cafe.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I just wish we could figure out what happened to her.”
“Well, I’ve got to go give some immunizations, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
Quinn didn’t even hear him; she was too busy baby talking to the little black puppy, who had turned over to present her pink belly to my friend.
It was love at first sight, I thought, grinning.
“She looks like a black Lab, don’t you think?” Quinn asked.
As I was about to answer, the bell above the front door jingled, and I heard a woman’s voice ask, “When’s Tobias going to be back?”
The hair on the back of my neck bristled. Quinn looked up at me.
“I’ll be right back,” I told her, and walked to the front of the hospital.
It was Mindy, wearing a pencil skirt and a silk blouse that showed off her fit figure. Jon’s eyes widened, and he looked back and forth from the blonde to me.
“You must be Mindy,” I said, extending a hand.
“How did you know?” she said, shaking my hand.
“I’m . . . friends with Tobias.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said coolly.
“I hear you’re looking for property.”
“Looking for a weekend place,” she said. “I was thinking of staying for Christmas . . . just for old time’s sake,” she said. “I forgot how cute the town is.” She smiled, making fetching little crinkles at the corners of her eyes. “And it’s been fun catching up with Toby.”
I smiled, but I don’t think my eyes crinkled. “So,” I said, trying to sound friendly, “it must be nice to have parted on such good terms.”
“Good terms? Of course we did! We didn’t split because we didn’t love each other . . . it wasn’t an acrimonious divorce. We just wanted different lifestyles.” She turned slightly pink. “Why am I telling you all this, anyway? I haven’t even asked your name.”
“Lucy,” I said. “Lucy Resnick.”
“Good to meet you,” she said, and I got the impression she’d never heard the name before. Which meant she either had a terrible memory for names, or Tobias—Toby—hadn’t mentioned me.
“Likewise,” I told her, trying to sound like I meant it.
“Well,” she said, turning to Jon. “Tell him I swung by, and that I’ve got some work to do, but that I’m still up for dinner tonight.”
“I’ll let him know,” the assistant said, looking uncomfortable.
She turned to me. “Nice to meet you, Nancy.”
“Lucy,” I corrected her.
“Lucy. Right . . . sorry. Anyway, I’m off. See you later!” she said, and pushed through the door, her heels clicking on the tile floor.
“Has she been here a lot?” I asked the assistant.
“A bit,” he confessed.
“I see,” I said. “Thanks.” I drifted back to where Quinn and the puppy were drooling all over each other, feeling slightly sick to my stomach.
“Do you think I’d be crazy to adopt her?” Quinn asked when we left the hospital thirty minutes later. The festive lights strung up around Buttercup didn’t seem quite so festive anymore; the afternoon had turned gray, and my mood matched it.
“I think you’d be crazy not to,” I said. The puppy had whined when Quinn closed her back in her crate, and her cries had followed us to the front door. “I love having Chuck for companionship—and I think you’ll sleep better knowing someone else is keeping watch.”
We were quiet as we crossed the railroad tracks. I was trying to be upbeat, but it wasn’t working. “How are you doing with the Mindy thing?” my friend asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know just what I mean. I didn’t want to bring it up at the hospital in case Jon was listening.”
“They’re having dinner tonight, apparently. And she didn’t recognize my name,” I said. “Called me Nancy, actually.”
“Tobias didn’t tell her about you?”
“If he did, she forgot.” I shrugged. “We never really made anything official, anyway, so I shouldn’t be complaining.”
“I’m sure everything between you will be fine.”
“I haven’t seen much of him lately, frankly.”
“It’s the holidays,” Quinn reminded me. “Everyone’s busy. Plus, he’s covering two clinics right now.”
“You’re right,” I said, and looked out the window at the overcast sky, trying to put Tobias out of my mind. Brittany was out there somewhere . . . I wished I had some idea where. “Do you think Brittany will come back now that her mother’s been arrested?” I asked.
“I hope so,” my friend said grimly.
So did I, I thought, saying a brief prayer for Brittany’s safety—and Molly’s.
It was a short drive to Krystal’s house. The fields were green; cold as it was, I knew the bluebonnets that would bloom in the spring had already sprouted, even though we were in what passed for the depths of winter in central Texas. A lazy spiral of smoke swirled up from the chimney of an old farmhouse, and as we passed Peter Swenson’s Green Haven, I spotted a few goats nosing the hand-hewn gate.
“How are the new goats, by the way?” Quinn asked as we passed Peter’s place.
“They haven’t escaped yet,” I said.
“Milking going okay?”
“It’s not milking time yet,” I said. “It won’t be until they have their kids.”
“Well, get the hang of that chèvre when it is,” she said. “I’ve got some new recipes I want to try.”
“Can’t Peter supply you?”
“He’s got too many customers in Austin already clamoring for his goat cheese,” she said. “I snag a few tubs of it here and there, but you’ll be much more dependable.”
I smiled. The truth was, Quinn could probably get anything she wanted out of Peter; she was just trying to support my nascent farm. We’d known each other less than a year, but Quinn was the best friend I could ever have asked for.
I turned at Skalicky Road; it was only another quarter mile to Krystal’s property. The blackened remains of her little house were a blot on the verdant landscape. I pulled my truck in at the end of the driveway; the gate was locked, but we hopped over it easily. There was no sign indicating that it was a crime scene, and Rooster had clearly already been through the place, so I decided not to worry about trespassing.
The pasture around us was pockmarked. “I see what you mean about the holes in the ground,” Quinn said as she surveyed the place.
“Maybe Krystal did dig up some gold,” I said.
“Her sister sure seems to think so,” Quinn said as we walked up the driveway. Although pieces of the house’s walls were still standing, the windows were burned out, and smoke damage streaked the remaining siding. The door still gaped open from where Peter had kicked it in. We stood looking at what was left of Krystal’s little home in silence for a moment. “If Krystal did find something,” Quinn said finally, “what do you think she did with it?”
“If it was in the house, it should still be here—if it was gold, anyway. Paper might have burned. That is, unless someone stole what she found.”
“Listen to us,” Quinn said. “People have been searching for hidden treasure for more than a hundred years, and I’ve never heard of a single person finding any, but we’re talking as if she really found something.”
“Well,” I said softly, surveying the ruined house, “with the exception of a possible love triangle, it’s the only reason I can come up with that someone might want to kill her. What’s that on the front porch?” I asked, pointing to something red and green.
“A bouquet of carnations,” Quinn said as we walked up to the house. “It looks like a tribute.”
“From her ex-boyfriend? Or Dougie Metzger?”
“Or the murderer?” Quinn suggested.
“Could be the same p
erson.” I shivered. “Maybe we can ask around at the Word of the Lord Church,” I suggested. “Hopefully someone will know something about her mystery boyfriend. Plus, I want to ask one of those church ladies a few questions.”
“About what?”
“One of them—Wanda—was about to say something at the Blue Onion, but Brandi barged in just before she could finish.”
“About Krystal?”
I nodded. “There may be more to Krystal than we realized,” I said, walking up to the empty frame where the front door had been. “Somebody wanted her dead, after all.”
I stopped at the top step. The inside smelled like campfire and burned plastic. “Not much here,” I said, peering at the interior. “Still, I should probably check it out.”
“I’m afraid you might fall through the floor if you go in,” Quinn said. “If there was anything valuable, I’m sure Rooster’s already found it.”
“It doesn’t hurt to look,” I said. “Just haul me out if I get stuck. Or call Peter to come help.”
“Are you sure, Lucy?” Quinn asked as I stepped inside.
“I’ll only be a moment,” I told her.
Although the back half of the house—the bedroom area, I guessed—had burned clear to the ground, the front was largely intact. A cold wind blew through the doorway, ruffling the damp, charred papers scattered across the floor. An electric bill, a few circulars, and an old copy of the Buttercup Zephyr.
“Find anything?” Quinn asked from the door.
“Not yet,” I said. “But I don’t see any sign of investigation, either.” The living room—what was left of it—was sparsely furnished. A blackened overstuffed couch sat next to a shattered glass coffee table, and the remains of an orange rug lay melted on the floor.
In the kitchen, the top cabinets had burned, but the counters, while a bit scorched, were largely intact. Miraculously, an undamaged mail sorter sat a few feet away from a plastic lump I was guessing used to be a phone. Not a cell phone—a landline phone.
Fatal Frost (Dewberry Farm Mysteries Book 2) Page 11
