Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable

by Barbara Graham

  Theo remembered the night at the Bowling League meeting when Susan told the quilters that her husband had a son before they married he hadn't told her about. To be fair to the man, he was unaware the boy named Zach existed until one day when the boy was about three years old. Susan was pregnant at the time and stunned when her husband brought home Zach, whom he had received, delivered like a package, at his old office. An envelope and a note from his birth mother were pinned to his jacket. Essentially it handed all rights and responsibility to Susan's husband, John. No exchanges, no returns.

  The family had struggled for a while to incorporate Zach into their lives about the same time they dealt with the birth of Nicholas. They succeeded. Now Susan was Zach's “mom” and Zach was a handsome, sweet boy who was in Jamie's class at school and played on his baseball team.

  At the end of the day, and on his way to do his workout, Tony stopped by the jail. This half of the law enforcement center was comprised of several types of cells. Men and women were separate, of course, but there were also accommodations for youthful offenders and exceptionally violent or suicidal prisoners. A large portion of the population was addicted to illegal drugs or medication, which added another dimension to the job.

  If he had to house Slow Jr. in his jail, Tony wondered where the man would fit. He was not a juvenile. He wasn't a hard case. Tony wasn't a doctor, but he guessed insanity wasn't the issue. As the man's name indicated, he was just slow.

  Running on the treadmill, Tony tried to push away his depressing thoughts. He heard the door open and smiled when he saw Wade trudge inside. If anything, his deputy looked worse than he felt himself, which, given Wade's good looks, took some effort. “What happened to you?”

  Wade shook his head, remaining silent. He stepped onto the other treadmill and started his warm up. Tony left him alone. Sometimes he'd felt the same way after dealing with the things people did to themselves and others.

  After about fifteen minutes, Wade broke his silence. “I thought about shooting someone today.”

  Tony nodded. He'd guessed it was something like this. Similar temptations had come to him over the years. “Anyone I know?”

  Instead of answering the question, Wade said, “You mean you've actually thought about handing out punishment without going through the legal system? I always think of you as being better than me.” Wade's troubled expression darkened his blue eyes to black. The skin over his cheekbones stretched tighter than normal, emphasizing their contours.

  “I'm not better than anyone.” Tony remembered wanting to dispose of Possum Calhoun and a few others, specifically people who abused the innocent. Right now the Farquhar clan was on top of the list of residents he'd like to be rid of. “There have been several times both here and back in Chicago when I've been tempted to show someone what it's like to be on the receiving end of abuse. Don't act on it. That would only lower you to their level.”

  Wade nodded. “I wanted him to throw a punch at me.” As if unaware of his actions, his hands flexed wide before balling into tight fists. “So help me, Sheriff, if he so much as touched me with his little finger I'd have decked him first and then cuffed him.”

  “For assaulting a police officer?” Tony sympathized. Every time he thought he'd seen or heard the worst people could find to do to their “loved ones,” someone managed to surprise him. Where did such depravity come from? he wondered. “I'm guessing someone is tormenting a child or a spouse.” Wade didn't disagree, and Tony felt the all-too-familiar frustration and anger surge through him. “You have the authority to place children in protective custody.”

  Wade finally spoke. “Thankfully, it was not a child. I never wanted to learn about the darker side of some of our, so-called, fine, upstanding citizens. Until today, seeing it for myself, I wouldn't have believed someone else if they told me whose secret life is so vicious.” He increased the speed on the treadmill. And ran. His silence broken only by his feet pounding on the belt and his labored breathing.

  Tony finished his workout. As he turned to leave he said, “Go home. Kiss your wife. Don't watch the news. It will only depress you more.” He hoped he could follow his own advice. He was in no hurry to find out who'd done what. He'd read Wade's report in the morning. “I'd hate to have to arrest one of my deputies.”

  After dinner, Theo dug through the overflowing basket of recently washed laundry sitting on the kitchen table. “All these tiny socks and none of them match.” She stacked about ten mateless socks in a pile. “Is the washing machine flushing them into the sewer?”

  Not being particularly helpful, Tony inserted his thumb into a sock. It fit perfectly. “I suppose it could. I know it's chugged out chunks of mud bigger than this.” He put a sock on each finger and waggled them in Theo's face. He grinned. “Puppets.”

  Theo rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. She pointed to the mass of clean infant clothes. “Fold.”

  Fingers still covered, he did. Little socks decorated with elephants, daisies, even camouflage, danced as he folded shirts and onesies and stacked them in neat piles. “Blossom's love life is getting noticed. She's receiving anonymous letters of disapproval.”

  “Poor Blossom.” Theo smoothed wrinkles from a yellow towel decorated with pink bunnies. “She's not hurting anyone. I wish people would let her have some time to work out her personal life.”

  “If it were up to you, would you prefer Kenny or DuWayne?”

  “Neither.” Theo winked at him. “And she can't have you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Tony studied the reports on his desk. Burglary wasn't an unusual crime in Park County. Money was tight and a fair number of the older generation had never gotten into the habit of locking their doors. If they didn't lock them at night, they sure weren't going to do it when they ran to the store. His department received calls about stolen televisions, stolen computers, radios, some jewelry whose owner wasn't sure if it was stolen or just lost, and, not too long ago, a stolen sheep. The sheep was the easiest case to solve. The bright mind behind the theft put a collar on it and staked it out in his own yard, never thinking the owner could identify it. “They all look the same to me,” was not a defense, at least not an effective one.

  Claude Marmot filed a complaint about someone littering at the dump. A sticky note attached to the front of the report was written in Sheila's clearly legible handwriting. “Can you litter at a dump?”

  This list of recent burglaries was disturbing. Several newer homes, ones with good locks and garage doors with coded entries had been victimized. A couple of them had alarm systems that had gone off and alerted his office. Unfortunately, even with the best of intentions, it took them long enough to reach the residences that the burglar or burglars had a chance to take a few expensive items and vanish. So far, Tony and his deputies had discovered nothing but a few small clues about these puzzling crimes.

  Tony wasn't even certain if the stolen items were being sold, pawned out of town, or if they simply became part of the thieves' property. A stolen chain saw would take down a tree branch as easily as one that had been purchased. Jewelry, unless it was an extraordinary piece, could be worn in front of the former owner and might go unrecognized. No one could probably use six televisions but maybe the thief wanted to be able to watch six channels at the same time, or several thieves each got two.

  He suspected either the Farquhar “darlin' boys” or one of the Lundys. Both families produced litters of dishonest children, male and female. They filled jail cells in most of the counties on the eastern end of the state and several had graduated to the state penitentiary in Nashville. Suspicion wasn't the same as proof. Still, his staff was doing the best they could to solve the problem.

  Wade's report told an ugly story of an abusive husband who took great care to not strike his wife in the face. The photographs attached to the report showed massive bruises and contusions on every other part of her body. A footnote on the report listed her address as in care of the women's shelter. Tony suspected she h
ad been moved out of the county by the volunteers led by Mike and Ruby Ott. There was not much hope of hiding someone anywhere in the county. He could only hope she'd participate in the group discussions and learn her husband did not have the right to use her for his punching bag. It usually took more than one rescue before a woman fought through the brainwashing and learned to live free.

  Tony made a note reminding him to have everyone pay extra attention to the husband's whereabouts and activities.

  On his way to the dump, Tony drove past Blossom Flowers' new house. On the surface, the woman looked like an unlikely object of as much male adoration as she had. Large, she claimed openly to be fat. Blossom was sweet but not a beauty. He noticed Blossom sitting on her front stoop with Kenny's little girls while the two men vying for her hand worked together.

  Kenny and DuWayne were putting up a brand new white picket fence around her yard, enclosing the house. The men were using one of the newer vinyl products that came in sections and didn't need painting. They already had the posts set and the men seemed quite well suited to working together. Maybe the months of both of them dancing with Blossom at the same time had taught them a valuable lesson in teamwork.

  Tony stopped, as always curious to see what people were up to and to visit a bit. Over the time he'd been the sheriff, Tony had probably learned more about the criminal activity around the county from casual conversations than in actual interviews with apprehended crooks.

  “Hey, Blossom,” he called to the source of his pie supply. “Kenny. DuWayne.” The men nodded a greeting but kept working.

  Blossom waved from the stoop but didn't get up. One of Kenny's little girls had fallen asleep with her face pressed against Blossom's leg, and the other girl ran toward him carrying a picnic basket. “Want to see the pubby?”

  “Sure. I love puppies.” Tony dodged the men and their fence panel. “I gather the puppy is the reason for the new fence.”

  The little girl nodded, a serious expression on her cherubic face, and she gently set the basket on the ground. She reached inside under a towel and with both hands picked up a very young yellow Labrador retriever puppy. Almost snow white, with chocolate-brown eyes, it displayed the heart-stealing puppy expression used to sell everything from toilet paper to cars. “Her name is Miss Cotton.”

  “Nice name. Did you pick it?”

  “Me and my sister, an' we helped Daddy pick her out too.” She extended the pup toward him. “She's a present for our Miss Blossom.”

  He was thankful neither of his boys was along, because his family needed another dog to go with the hundred-pound dog they already owned and the four children they had like he needed hemorrhoids. Still, he couldn't resist holding the soft, chubby pup with its tiny paws, and admired its teensy toenails. He'd bet in two weeks the paws would grow to be the size of shovels, and those toenails would become big claws capable of digging huge holes in mere seconds.

  Tony glanced at the men. Since the little girl belonged to Kenny, it had to be he who was the gambler. The puppy could sway the affections of the fair Blossom in his favor. Or, if Miss Cotton ate something Blossom treasured, DuWayne might win the day.

  Blossom placed a hand vertically against her face at the corner of her mouth like she thought it would shield the little girls from what she said. “The fence is 'cause we don't want the game warden running over our Miss Cotton a-purpose. He has a house just down the street and we don't want to take chances.”

  “Do you really believe he would?” Tony had heard many unpleasant rumors about the man, but so far, he had not been able to substantiate any of the vile accusations. He saw Blossom's normally cheerful expression turn dark and she nodded. Tony said, “Why do you think so?”

  “I'm mostly in the kitchen at Ruby's, but word gets around. You know, good and bad. It ain't been long since that old woman's cat and Nem's dog was both done away with by him. He coulda swerved, but he didn't try to miss them.”

  Tony decided he would see what he could learn about the game warden, maybe later.

  Tony drove out to the dump. He barely had time to climb out of the SUV when he saw Claude Marmot's head pop up over a rounded piece of scrap metal, the doorless body of a small, rounded compact car. Claude waved his arms over his head like he was signaling someone much farther away than the ten feet separating them.

  “Sheriff, you've got to put a stop to it.” Claude's face flushed almost purple. “See the sign—some idiots have been stacking their trash right next to it.”

  Tony studied the hand lettered sign. No Littering. He had to agree it was clearly stated. A glance at the mess near the pole holding it made him sympathetic to Claude's outrage. Piles of unbagged garbage, a mixture of recyclable items and some nasty smelling stuff. A few long bones attracted flies.

  “It's on my yard!” Tiny droplets sprayed from Claude's lips.

  With a sigh, Tony pulled out his notebook. He wished Wade was with him. His deputy was really much better with paperwork. He took several photographs.

  Claude dived behind his car-part project but continued to provide commentary on everything Tony saw, smelled, and made notes about.

  Feeling like he'd done what he could, Tony sauntered over to watch Claude work. Claude was a wizard at repurposing castoffs. He'd once turned a Crown Vic into a pickup. “What's this going to be?”

  “Making a cover for my motorcycle. I'll have shelter from the rain.”

  After lunch, Tony headed to the museum. The stage construction looked to be well underway, and he wondered if his brother ever got to go to his own home in nearby Townsend.

  He knew there was a plan to the upcoming festival. His mom always had a plan. Some were not bad, others were hideous. He told himself she always meant well. Over the course of the afternoon, this plan included multiple musicians and a few dancers scheduled to perform. Jane had confessed to inviting everyone she could think of who might want to be on a stage and was shocked when everyone accepted. Now she stood in front of a newly erected outdoor table and appeared to be struggling to produce a workable schedule.

  Tony offered to help her weed out the rotten performing apples and turned the list on the table so he could read it. He only had time to read a couple of the names and recognized a few moderately pleasant entertainers. He opened his mouth to protest when his mother pulled the list away from him and planted her elbow on it to keep it in place.

  “You don't need to be involved,” Jane said. “I appreciate your willingness to help, but I asked them and they all said yes. No matter what you think, if they're on the list they get to perform. I'll just have to limit the amount of time each group is allotted.”

  “Well, if they ask you if they can perform, you can allot a mere thirty seconds to the brother and sister singing group called the Elves, and it will still seem like eternity.” Tony gave a shudder and tapped her list. “I hope they're not on this. If you recall, they had a captive audience at the community Christmas program.”

  Jane twitched slightly at the hideous memory and pressed her lips tightly together.

  Tony stared at her. “I had people offering me money if I would shoot the Elves, and if not the singers, the members of the audience just to put them out of their misery. I claimed I was saving all the bullets for myself, greedy soul that I am.”

  “That's not funny, Marc Antony.” Jane tried a reproving glare, but it failed. “They were pretty awful, but I'm sure they've improved.”

  “Is that like saying it would take more than one bucket of rocks to fill the Grand Canyon?” Tony suddenly realized what she had told him. “Are you saying what I think you're saying? Did you invite the Elves?”

  Jane sidled away from him, her eyes focused on the dirt near her feet. It must have been some incredibly interesting dirt because she wouldn't look up.

  “Mom?” Tony leaned closer and bent so his lips were near her right ear. “Tell me you didn't invite them.”

  Her expression told the whole story. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, she nodded.
“But, I also have Pops Ogle and his little group, and there's a husband and wife bluegrass duo and a couple of small groups to play music for dancing.” Jane ticked groups off on her fingers. “I don't remember all of them, but I promise we have lots more entertainment planned. There's even going to be a juggler.”

  Hating the expression of total despair on his mom's face, Tony decided to ease up. “It will be fine,” he lied. “Just set time limits.” He didn't mention that fifteen seconds of caterwauling Elves was much too long for mortals to bear.

  Jane folded her entertainers list and shoved it into her purse. “Enough of that, dear.”

  Out of sight, out of mind? He hoped not.

  Jane gave him a sunny smile. “Tiberius and Calpurnia are coming and bringing the kids. All my grandchildren in once place for the whole weekend. It's going to be splendid. Isn't it?”

  “Yes, Mom.” Tony watched Jane as she trotted toward the office building. He hoped she wasn't going to be crushed if the festival wasn't well attended. He wandered over to the stage area where Gus, Quentin, and Kenny Baines were pounding nails as fast as they could. Between his fencing project and work, Tony wondered if Kenny had time to eat.

  They hadn't gotten around to building stairs, but had a makeshift cover of a blue tarp nailed to poles casting shade on the back of the stage.

  Gus waved a nail gun in his direction. “What do you think?”

  Tony gave him two thumbs up. “What's the tarp for?”

  “If we have some rain showers, I want my tools, especially the electric variety, to stay dry.” Gus flexed his biceps. “I'm much too puny to drive a nail with a plain old hammer.” He proceeded to laugh at his own joke. Both of them knew Gus could drive a nail into a board with a soup can. Tony had seen him do it, but the story made Jane cranky. Evidently their mom still remembered the living room sprayed with tomato soup concentrate when one of Gus's mighty blows sank the nail point down into the board and drove the nail head up into the can at the same time. Then he proceeded to wave the can around, showing off and at the same time releasing a fairly steady spray of soup. Gus had been thirteen at the time and since then had added a hundred pounds of solid muscle.