by Anne Canadeo
“It’s a knock-down. No question,” she whispered back. “I’ll just take a few pictures so I won’t insult him.”
“I don’t mean that,” Lucy whispered back hoarsely. “I mean, about him and Ridley.”
Suzanne glanced down the stairs and put her finger to her lips. Lucy caught her meaning. Walter Kranowski was sharper than he looked and could very well be listening.
Suzanne quickly peeked into the bedrooms and pushed open the bathroom door with her pen. She made a few notes on her pad, while Lucy waited in the hallway.
They walked down a back staircase and emerged in the kitchen—another disaster area, Lucy thought. Suzanne found the surveyor’s map of the property on a small wooden table and led Lucy out the back door.
Lucy gratefully breathed in the fresh air, then followed Suzanne to the barn. One of the big doors was ajar, and Suzanne pushed it the rest of the way open. A few chickens sat in a wire coop or scratched around the dirt. A skinny tabby cat ran out from the shadows and startled them.
The property did not boast any cute, gingerbread-trimmed cottages, studios, or country shops like the out buildings found on Ellie’s pretty farm. It was all very drab and utilitarian, Lucy thought.
Except for the glorious acres of fields that stretched out behind the barn. The two women stood along a rail fence and gazed out to the horizon.
“He’s got land. It’s better than gold, and he knows it. They ain’t making any more of it,” Suzanne said simply.
Lucy couldn’t argue with that.
They gazed out at the fields a few minutes more. When Lucy turned and looked back at the house, she thought she saw a curtain stir at one of the back windows, but it quickly snapped into place again. Was Mr. Kranowski spying on them? It wouldn’t have surprised her, though he portrayed himself as practically immobile. It all happened so quickly, she didn’t even bother alerting Suzanne.
When they came back inside, Mr. Kranowski appeared to be dozing in his recliner. He roused with a start and then looked up at them as if they were burglars. Lucy wondered if he really had been napping all this time, or was just play acting. Had she just imagined someone at the window before? That seemed possible now, too.
“It’s just me, Suzanne Cavanaugh. From the real-estate office?” Suzanne reminded him.
“Oh, yeah, Susan . . . right.” He’d gotten her name wrong but nodded to himself. “You’re still here? What time is it?” He stretched out his arm and squinted hard at his watch.
“About noon. Can we get you anything before we go?” Suzanne asked him.
A very kind and brave offer, considering the state of the kitchen.
“Me? I’m fine. Football game is on TV today. . . . So, what do you think of the place. Nice, right?” he asked, perking up a little.
“You have a fine piece of land, Mr. Kranowski. Prestige Properties would be proud to represent this listing. I’m going to work up some figures and call you next week with the details.”
“For selling as a subdivision, right? I’m waiting on that vote about the zoning. If they vote to keep the laws intact, I know a group out here willing to sue the village,” he confided. “I hope it doesn’t come to that,” he added. “Lawsuits take time and I’m not getting any younger. My kids want me to sell, and my hands are tied until this zoning business is settled. But it doesn’t hurt to have your ducks in a row, right?”
Or your potatoes, Lucy added silently.
This was the first Lucy had heard of a group ready to sue the village if the vote didn’t go their way. But it made sense. If the open space laws remained intact within village limits, residents like Kranowski, who were itching to sell, were bound to protest. And the Friends of Farmland would probably go to court if the laws were lifted.
The issue could take years and a lot of legal fees to figure out. There were a lot of moving parts here, Lucy realized, and a lot of money at stake and passionate feelings in play.
Suzanne chatted with Walter Kranowski a few minutes more about business matters, took a few more photos of the front parlor, and left him her card.
As soon as they got into the front seat of Suzanne’s SUV and had closed the doors, Suzanne whipped out a big bottle of hand sanitizer. She quickly poured a puddle in her palm and passed it to Lucy.
“Ewwwww!” they said in unison as they briskly rubbed their hands together.
Lucy finally glanced at Suzanne, while still madly rubbing her hands. “I’m sure you’ve seen some messy houses, but that one could be in a special episode of Hoarders: ‘Buried Alive.’ ”
Suzanne shook her head, her big earrings jingling as she started up the SUV. “I don’t judge ’em, I just try to sell ’em, so let’s not even go there. I’d like to enjoy some lunch before I head back to the office.”
“Fine with me. There’s plenty more to talk about. Like how much he hated Justin Ridley.”
“‘Truly, madly, deeply’ I think covers it,” Suzanne replied. “And he just happens to have the same spindle that was used as the murder weapon lying around in that indoor garbage dump. I know a lot of people took those spindles. But I doubt any of them hated Ridley as much as Kranowski claims to.”
“Detective Walsh probably wouldn’t believe us if we told him.”
“True. But seeing is believing, Lucy. While I was taking photos for the appraisal, I just happened to get a nice shot of the spindle . . . which I left in a convenient spot on the coffee table.”
Lucy turned and stared at her friend in admiration. “Wow, you are good. No question.”
“Thanks. . . . An inspired moment, I have to say. I’ll tell you something else, that gout story? I’m not buying it. My father-in-law has a touch, and a person can be immobile one day and feel perfectly fine the next.”
“Ready to tap-dance with glee if he hears good news?” Lucy couldn’t help recall Farmer Kranowski’s own words about his reaction to Ridley’s death.
“Exactly. Maybe he tap-danced over to the woods that night, too.”
“Who knows if he even has gout . . . or even needs the walker. That could all be an act. While we were outside behind the house, I thought I saw someone watching us from behind a curtain. The window was pretty far from the living room where we had left him, too. But when we came in again, there he was, sound asleep in his recliner,” Lucy added. “Do you think the police checked all this stuff out or just took Kranowski’s word?”
Suzanne didn’t answer right away. She kept her gaze fixed on the road as they left the farm and turned onto the main road.
“Hard to say. I guess Dana could find out. But I will get that photo of the spindle to the police. One way or the other. Maybe that will help Walsh start thinking outside of the box.”
“Do you really think Ridley had an inside deal? I’ve never even heard of a special land protection fund.”
“Oh, that part is true. I didn’t even think of it,” Suzanne admitted. “But there are county funds set up to buy back land at market price, or below, for the purpose of conservation. It would be a very clever real-estate scheme to exploit that system. A real reversal of the typical trickery, which is called flipping,” she explained.
“Run that by me again. . . . I’m a little slow with this stuff,” Lucy admitted.
“People flip properties all the time, just to make a profit. They buy something run down, fix it up, and sell it quickly. But there’s another kind of flipping that’s more like insider trading. For instance, when you buy land that isn’t zoned for development—but you have inside knowledge that it will be. So you get in early for the sole purpose of selling to the highest bidder once the laws change.”
“That’s what Ridley accused Ellie and Ben of doing,” Lucy recalled. “He kept calling them flippers and squatters.”
“Exactly. But Kranowski was saying that Ridley was trying to do something very much the same under the guise of preserving the land. He wanted to buy up land in this area with the purpose of making a killing by selling back to the county at an inflated pri
ce. One he was fixing with a county official willing to make a secret deal.”
“Maybe that’s why he was so intent to buy Ellie and Ben’s farm. And so angry when they beat him out of it.”
“Exactly.” Suzanne nodded. “I’m sure this type of scam has been pulled before, somewhere. Wherever the government leaves a substantial pile of money sitting around, there are people up nights, figuring out how to get their hands on it. But it does take a certain kind of contrary genius to think of such a convoluted scheme,” Suzanne added.
“Ridley was a contrary man, if nothing else. If we believe his passion to save the environment was just an act, then I think he would have definitely been capable of it. Ridley was a cipher. Everyone who knew him has a different idea of his character. But now we know something we didn’t know before.”
“We know a few more things,” Suzanne said. “It was well worth the ride out here. Even though Farmer K. is just jerking me around about that listing. He’ll never give it to me.” Suzanne turned to Lucy a moment and smiled. “I’ll put out some feelers about Ridley and the Friends of Farmland trying to scam the county. Maybe somebody in my office or around town heard the rumor, too.”
“If it’s true, that would be a real game changer. And a new direction for the investigation. One that leads away from Ben,” Lucy added.
That was the most important thing right now. To steer the police away from Ellie and Ben and onto some new suspects.
Chapter Ten
When they arrived in town, Suzanne called her office to say she was picking up some lunch and would be back soon. She forgot to tell her boss that she planned on eating with her friends, at Maggie’s store.
Lucy and Suzanne walked into the shop with their bags of takeout just as one of Maggie’s classes had ended and a wave of women was leaving. Lucy did a quick side step to avoid bumping into some very pregnant moms-to-be.
She leaned over and whispered to Suzanne, “Looks like we just missed Bibs, Booties, and Beyond.”
“But not the boobs and bellies,” Suzanne whispered back.
Lucy walked back to the worktable, which was now deserted, and put her bag down.
“What are you two giggling about? You sound like two middle schoolers.” Maggie stood at the table, sorting out the supplies from the class. She swept a few bits of yarn off the table with her hand. “Come on, share the mirth.”
“Nothing important.” Suzanne put her lunch down and took a seat across from Maggie. “We do have loads to report from our visit to the potato farm. Walter Kranowski was a talker. He did not hold back.”
But before Suzanne could say more, they heard Dana’s voice from the front of the shop. “Wait for me. . . . I want to hear this, too.”
Dana scurried back to the table and took a seat next to Lucy. She was dressed for yoga, with a denim jacket on top. Her blond hair was swept up in a ponytail, and little blond wisps were plastered on her forehead. She took a large paper cup out of a paper bag and stuck a straw in the lid.
“Okay, shoot.”
Suzanne gave her a look, then quickly related their conversation with the potato farmer, his allegations about Ridley, and the incriminating spindle she’d spotted under his favorite sitting chair.
“She should get a medal for sticking her hand under there and fishing it out,” Lucy added. “You have no idea what that house was like.”
“I mostly used the tip of a pen. Didn’t want to smear any fingerprints,” Suzanne explained.
“Or catch any antibiotic-resistant germs,” Lucy noted.
“A spindle from the fair? That could be significant. Too bad you couldn’t take it with you,” Maggie said.
“I didn’t want to arouse his suspicion. It was there all right. Here’s the picture I took.” Suzanne held out her phone for everyone to see.
The spindle, identical to the murder weapon, sat on a tissue among a random assortment of odds and ends on Walter Kranowski’s parlor coffee table.
Maggie put on her reading glasses for a better look. “Yes, I see the imprint from the farm very clearly.”
“And it’s not even blown up.” Dana was also leaning over to the photo and now leaned back with an expression of awe. “Bravo, Suzanne.”
Suzanne bowed her head slightly and smiled. “Finding it was just dumb luck. Sneaking the photo while I appraised the house . . . now that was an inspiration.
“After his tirade about Ridley, it gave me the creeps to see it just sitting there while we talked,” Lucy admitted. “He hated Ridley. He made no pretense or apology for it. He said he would have done a tap dance when he heard Ridley had died . . . except for his gout.”
“His gout? Was that his alibi?” Maggie asked curiously.
“I suppose he was telling us that,” Suzanne replied. “He needed a walker to get around and kept complaining about the pain. But that could all be an act. Lucy thinks she saw him spying at us from a window on the other side of the house when we were outside. But he was back in the living room when we came inside again. That would have been an Olympic dash on a walker. How do we even know if the police checked that gout story?”
“He’s a big man, and looks like he’s still strong to me,” Lucy added. “I wouldn’t want to run into him one night in the woods, with or without his walker.”
Dana had been sipping from the straw in her big cup—a frothy, dark green concoction that was healthy for her, Lucy had no doubt. She paused and looked up at Suzanne again. “Did you ask why he had the spindle?”
“He said his daughter came to visit and went down to see the fair. He didn’t say much about Ellie and Ben. Only that he felt sorry for them and the farm is jinxed or something.”
When Maggie frowned with disbelief, Lucy rushed in to convince her. “He’s lived there his whole life. He’s seen families come and go from that property. He rattled off a long list of former owners and their sad histories.”
“Someone being killed on the back pasture isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened over there,” Suzanne added. “Though it’s fairly high on the list of unfortunate events.”
“I don’t think the police give a fig about local folklore and jinxed property. But they might be interested in this photo,” Maggie mused. “Though they’ll be annoyed with us for snooping. Maybe there’s some discreet way to do it.”
“If we go straight to Walsh, he’ll go ballistic. It might even make things worse for Ellie and Ben, once he knows we’re all friends,” Dana speculated. “Jack probably knows someone we can call who won’t get all bent out of shape. I mean, we’re basically just a few concerned citizens who want to see justice done.”
“How nicely you put that,” Maggie commended. “I think she’s the one for the job,” she told the others.
“I second the motion,” Lucy said between spoonfuls of chicken soup.
“Take it away, Dana. I never get very far with the police. I can’t even talk a fine down on a parking ticket.” Suzanne shrugged and, with a few taps, sent the photo to Dana’s cell phone.
“I’ll have to wait until tomorrow night to ask him. He’s away tonight on a little golf trip. I couldn’t deny him, with the colder weather moving in.” Dana adjusted the straw and returned to sipping her drink.
“I’m not even going to ask you what you’re eating.” Suzanne was eating a turkey-and-Swiss on rye with lettuce and tomato, and coleslaw. She had flung off the top piece of bread and bunched the rest up onto one exploding slice.
“Same here,” Dana replied, looking askance at the sloppy mess in Suzanne’s hand. “That reminds me, Maggie: What are you doing tonight? Want to join me for dinner and a movie?”
Maggie smiled over at her. “I’d like to say I already have a date . . . but that sounds good to me. It’s been so slow here today—everyone must be in their backyards, raking leaves. I was thinking of closing a little early anyway.”
“Let’s see what’s playing.” Dana took out her iPhone and tapped a few times on the screen.
The phone rang,
and Dana checked the number. “Hi, Ellie. How are you?” Dana said cheerfully.
Lucy watched her expression quickly change from a relaxed smile to somber concern.
“They did? When did that happen?” She paused, listening, and then said, “Gee, that’s too bad . . .” She stood up and walked away from the table—to have some privacy, Lucy assumed.
She talked with Ellie for a few more minutes. She seemed to be listening mostly and using a comforting tone when she did speak.
Dana returned to the group at the table before hanging up. “Why don’t you come into town and hang out with me and Maggie? We were going to go out to dinner and a movie. You can even stay over—Jack is away,” Lucy heard her say.
She paused, waiting for Ellie’s answer, then said, “Let me ask her and I’ll call you right back.”
Dana ended the call and turned to Maggie. “Ellie and Ben had a big fight. They’re under so much stress. I’m not surprised. I asked her to come into town, but she can’t leave the farm. Dot has to go to her other job tonight and won’t be back until tomorrow. I’m sorry to change the plan, but she sounds so upset. I really don’t want to leave her alone.”
Maggie also looked concerned after hearing the story. “It’s fine with me. I don’t mind visiting Ellie. We can bring some takeout and a DVD. Cheer her up a bit. . . . But won’t Ben be coming back? It might be awkward,” Maggie added.
Dana shook her head. “I don’t think so. Ellie said he packed a bag. She thinks he went to visit his mother, in New Haven.”
“Uh-oh. Whenever luggage is involved in a marital spat, it is not a good thing.” Suzanne shook her head as she gathered up her trash and tossed it into a basket.
“It does sound like more than the usual disagreement,” Dana agreed quietly. “Ben is emotional. He has a temper. They’ve been under a lot of stress, and it seems the police have been digging into his past and uncovered some unsavory information. It doesn’t prove anything about the murder, one way or the other,” she quickly pointed out. “But it puts him in a bad light.”
