Rachel had rarely heard Billy Bob bark before, and now he’d done it twice in a couple of minutes. “Wow, you really didn’t like them, did you? Well, I’ll try to make sure you never see them again.”
Although she wanted to give Joanna moral support, she hadn’t planned to attend the Saturday afternoon meeting because it would probably involve a lot of shouting between different factions. But now nothing would keep her away. She couldn’t bear the thought that Lincoln and Marie Kelly might have been killed because of divisions created by her slimy visitors and their bosses.
Would the Kellys’ killer be at the meeting, she wondered, looking as ordinary as everybody else while he made mental notes of which side people were on?
Chapter Eight
“Wow,” Brandon said.
“Yeah, wow.” Standing at the bottom of Marie and Lincoln Kelly’s basement stairs, Tom surveyed a thriving crop of marijuana plants growing in pots. They sat on tables that lined the walls and crowded the space in the middle of the basement. In one corner a thick layer of flower buds lay drying on a screen. The fruity aroma in the air made Tom think of pineapple and cherries.
Black plastic taped over the half-windows blocked the view from outside. Tom raised a hand to partially shield his eyes while they adjusted to the glare of the fluorescent lights hanging above the tables.
Dennis angled his camera to get a wide shot of the plants. “What would you say, maybe fifty altogether?”
“We’ll need a truck to get them all out of here.”
“And plenty of muscle to move them,” Brandon said. “These pots look like they weigh a ton. Man, this is wild. Who would’ve thought?”
Tom stepped over to the nearest table and brushed a hand along the bright green, fern-like leaves. “I hope Jake Hollinger was right about them growing this stuff for medical use.”
“It hasn’t got that skunk smell I’m used to when we confiscate pot,” Dennis said. “I’ve read about these really mild varieties for cancer patients on chemo who have trouble with nausea.”
“Let’s hope that’s what we’ve got here. If they were selling it to a dealer, that puts a whole new slant on the murders.”
“Hollinger said there’s more out in one of the fields,” Brandon reminded him.
“I doubt anything’s growing outdoors this late in the season. But let’s see if we can find anything else before we get somebody out here to move it all.”
Before leaving the house, Tom turned out the lights over the plants and the three of them sealed the basement door with crime-scene tape. They did the same with the front and back doors. The Kellys’ son and daughter had both told Tom they wanted to stay in the house while they were in Mason County, but they would have to make other arrangements. This was a crime scene in more ways than one.
Taking Brandon and Dennis along, Tom drove out into the fields toward the center of the small farm. Hollinger had described a spot away from the road, where tall corn disguised the marijuana plants growing between rows. Now, in mid-November, nothing remained of the corn except dried stalks, but when Tom and the deputies walked the field they found a few small marijuana seedlings struggling to survive in the chilly weather.
“How many people do you suppose know about this?” Dennis laughed as he snapped a picture of one marijuana plant. “Everybody in the county but us?”
“And why didn’t Hollinger report it?” Brandon added. “He sure didn’t get along with Mr. Kelly.”
Tom kicked a rock out of the way and tugged on one of the cannabis plants. It offered a little resistance, but when he yanked with both hands it came free with clumps of clay soil clinging to the roots. “I think we’ll find out Marie and Lincoln helped Sue Ellen Hollinger when her cancer was terminal. They would have been happy to help ease her pain. And Jake wouldn’t stand in the way of his wife getting some relief just because it came from the Kellys.”
They pulled up five more small plants, carried them to the cruiser and tossed them into the trunk.
***
Rachel braked in the middle of Main Street and stared at the building across from Mountainview Animal Hospital. When she’d left earlier in the day the storefront space had been vacant and dark. Now a small moving van sat at the curb, the door into the building stood open, and two men in coveralls worked inside, positioning three desks and chairs in a semicircle. A sign taped to the plate-glass window read PACKARD RESORTS.
“They’re really moving in, aren’t they?” No one was around to hear her except Billy Bob, and he lay snoring on the back seat.
When she pulled into her parking space in the vet clinic’s lot, she realized half a dozen clients with dogs on leashes had gathered outside the door, all of them focused on the activities across the street. A couple of women called out questions as she opened her car door. She ignored them for the moment, while she roused Billy Bob and helped him down from the Range Rover.
The women repeated their questions when Rachel approached with the bulldog.
“Do you have any news about the Kellys?”
“Does the sheriff know who did it?”
The other dogs, big and little, swarmed Billy Bob in a flurry of sniffing and tail-wagging.
Rachel held up a hand. “Please don’t ask me anything, because I don’t have any answers. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Tom. Marie and Lincoln Kelly were killed today. That’s all I know about it.”
“Well, I can tell you what I think.” This came from Mrs. Wilson, an elderly woman with snowy hair and a sharp little nose in a pinched face. Her spotted mutt strained at his leash to get closer to Billy Bob.
“We can always count on you to tell us what you think, Oline,” said another woman of about the same age, rolling her eyes heavenward as she spoke.
Ignoring her, Mrs. Wilson pointed across the street. “There’s the cause, right there.”
All the women started speaking at once, their words tumbling together. The woman who had chided Mrs. Wilson raised her voice above the others. “That company’s the best thing that’s happened to Mason County in a hundred years. Nobody’s got a right to stand in the way of all those jobs coming in here. We need to think about what’s best for everybody.”
“I can’t believe somebody killed the Kellys because they didn’t want to give up their land,” another woman said. “I refuse to believe anybody’s that evil.”
Rachel didn’t want to listen to their gossip and speculation. She started edging through the clump of women to the entrance.
Rachel’s young assistant, Holly Turner, appeared on the other side of the glass door and pushed it open to let her and Billy Bob in. The last thing Rachel heard from the group behind her was, “It’s going to get a whole lot worse before it’s over, you can count on that.”
With the door closed and the babble of voices shut out, Holly blurted, “It’s all anybody’s talkin’ about, that nice couple gettin’ shot.” She leaned to pet Billy Bob, her long black hair falling forward over her cheeks. “And you were out that way when it happened, weren’t you?”
Rachel sighed. Shannon, the plump blond receptionist behind the front desk, had also turned her way, wide-eyed and expectant. “Yes, I was out there, but I can’t tell you anything. Now I need to check on my surgery patients—they’ll need to be ready to go home when their owners come in.”
She walked past the front desk and down the short hall to her office, where she planned to leave Billy Bob while she examined her patients. She was pulling on a white lab coat when Holly came in and shut the door behind her.
“I don’t mean to pester you,” Holly said, “but my grandma’s been good friends with Miz Kelly as long as I can remember, and she’s already called me, all upset, askin’ if I know anything about what happened.” Holly was a beautiful young woman with the dark olive skin that marked her as Melungeon, like Tom. Like Marie Kelly. Unlike either of them, Holly had br
illiant blue eyes that made a startling contrast to her hair and skin coloring.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they were friends. But I really don’t know anything you could pass on to your grandmother. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” Rachel stepped around Holly to open the door.
Holly stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I think Grandma might be the one that’s got somethin’ to pass on. I think Tom ought to talk to her about what she knows.”
Chapter Nine
Tom wanted to question the rest of the Kellys’ neighbors before the day ended—and while the shock of the murders was fresh enough to prompt honest emotions and unguarded statements.
“The two oldest Jones sisters are the worst snoops I’ve ever come across,” he told Brandon as they headed over to the women’s home. Their property lay between the Hollinger farm and the land belonging to Tavia Richardson, and it was twice the size of either. “Summer’s not so bad, but Winter and Spring probably know more about their neighbors than anybody else does.”
“When I was a little kid,” Brandon said, “we all thought they were witches. If you got on their wrong side, they’d put a curse on you. Turn you into a frog or something. If we saw them downtown, we’d cross the street, pronto.”
Tom laughed, as appalled as he was amused. “What made you think they were witches?”
“Oh, you know. All living together, none of them ever got married, keeping to themselves. Who knows what they’re up to? They could be holding black masses and sacrificing babies for all we know.” Brandon chuckled as if dismissing an absurd idea, but he didn’t sound as dismissive as he probably thought.
“I’m pretty sure they’re harmless. Winter and Spring were both good teachers. I had Winter for English and Spring for history in high school. Summer was a nurse at the hospital until a few years ago. She worked with my mom. But she didn’t take to Dr. Hall when he bought the place, and she started doing private duty nursing. I’m not sure she works at all now.”
“They had another sister, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.” Tom had never known her, but he’d heard occasional references to her through the years. “Autumn. She was a year or two younger than Summer. She was in nursing school, then their mother got cancer and she dropped out to take care of her.”
“Their dad was a doctor or something?”
“A dentist. He had a big practice, with an office in town. Very successful, made a lot of money.”
“Didn’t he die in somebody’s barn?”
“Yeah. Jake Hollinger’s barn, in fact.” Tom tried to summon the full story, but the details wouldn’t come. “All that happened before I was born. For some reason Jones was in the loft, something to do with getting a sack of grain for their horse, I think, and he lost his balance and fell out the door of the loft, into thin air. Broke his neck when he hit the ground.”
“Jeez.” After a moment of silence, Brandon asked, “And Autumn, wasn’t she the one who—”
“Yeah.” Tom let the subject drop. He didn’t know that story in detail either, and in any case the tragedy of Autumn Jones had no bearing on their job today.
He swung into the Jones driveway, passing a pretty post-mounted mailbox in the shape of a Swiss chalet. The sisters lived in a Colonial-style farmhouse, spacious and handsome, painted a creamy white with blue shutters and fronted by a broad porch. Every detail spoke of meticulous upkeep. Late-blooming asters and chrysanthemums filled flower beds in front of the foundation shrubs, and not a single fallen leaf marred the still-green lawn. A blue jay drank from a pedestal birdbath under a bare-limbed maple.
Winter answered the doorbell, wiping her hands on an apron tied round her waist. Before Tom could tell her why they were there, she pushed open the storm door and said, “Hello, Thomas, Brandon. Come right in. We’ve been expecting you.”
She led them into the living room, where the mossy green walls and green and cream leaf-patterned fabrics made Tom feel like he was walking into a shaded garden. Spring and Summer stood by the sofa as if they’d been rooted there for a while, awaiting the arrival of the police. The aroma of warm chocolate wafting from the kitchen made Tom’s mouth water.
“I’m not sure we have anything of value to tell you,” Winter said, “but of course we want to help. I don’t mind admitting this situation scares me out of my wits, a killer being loose among us.”
“Can we bring you something?” Spring asked, her hands clasped under her chin in an oddly girlish manner. The youthful touch of long nails painted to match her red sweater only served to emphasize her gnarled, arthritic fingers. “Summer made a batch of brownies, and they’re still warm. Would the two of you like some?”
Brandon threw a hopeful glance Tom’s way. Tom didn’t want to conduct an interview while licking chocolate goo off his fingers, but he was suddenly ravenous and guessed that Brandon was too. “Yeah, thanks. That’d be great.”
As Summer scurried off to fetch the treats, Winter gestured at the armchairs facing the sofa. “Make yourselves comfortable, please. Let’s wait until Summer rejoins us, why don’t we? So you won’t have to repeat any of your questions.”
Winter and Spring settled at the two ends of the sofa and regarded Tom and Brandon with sorrow-tinged expressions. Tom found their silence interesting. Patient restraint wasn’t what he’d expected from these inveterate gossips. While Brandon grew fidgety, bouncing a knee up and down, Tom glanced around the room. His gaze settled briefly on the photos that lined the mantel. The sisters’ parents stood stiff and solemn in an old studio shot. The pretty young Autumn Jones smiling from what looked like a high school picture. All the pictures looked decades old.
Although it felt longer, the wait lasted three or four minutes until Summer bustled in with a tray and placed it on the coffee table. She’d brought two tall glasses of milk to go with the brownies. “There you go. Enjoy.”
Brandon grabbed a plate that held two big, thick brownies studded with pecans. “Thanks.” He took a bite from one, swallowed and nodded. “Mmm. This is great.”
Settling into the space between her sisters, Summer beamed. “That’s quite a compliment coming from someone whose parents own such a wonderful bakery.”
The women sat in identical postures, their spines straight without touching the back of the couch, their hands folded in their laps. Although they had different haircuts—Tom wouldn’t say any of them had a style—and Spring’s vivid clothes and dyed blond hair stood out, the Jones sisters made a set which would be broken up only by death.
Tom took a bite from a brownie but resisted the temptation to devour the whole thing. Wiping his fingers with a napkin Summer had provided, he got down to business. “I heard that you stopped by the Kelly place earlier, so you know what happened.”
“We know that Lincoln and Marie have both been murdered,” Winter said.
A sound that could have been a gasp or a sob escaped from Summer, but she stifled the surge of emotion and ducked her head. In her lap, her folded hands shifted and the fingers locked in a grip tight enough to turn her knuckles white.
Winter ignored her sister and continued in a brisk tone. “But we don’t know any details. Do you have any idea who could have done it?”
“We’re just beginning our investigation.”
Brandon reached for one of the glasses on the tray and swallowed a third of the milk in one gulp.
Spring shook her head. “Guns are an abomination. I’m so glad we got rid of all our father’s weapons after his death. When somebody has a gun, it’s too easy to use it to do harm. Think of all the people who are killed with guns every single day. If nobody had a firearm, that wouldn’t happen.”
No, Tom thought, but people had plenty of other ways to commit murder. He didn’t hold out much hope that the human impulse to kill one’s own kind would vanish if guns disappeared. “Where were all of you when it happened? You might have he
ard or seen something that could help us.”
“Spring and I were here in the house,” Winter said. “Summer was out collecting the last of our blueberries, but she came running back to the house after the shots were fired. We assumed a hunter was in the area, and we know better than to be outside when we hear gunshots. We drove into Mountainview to do some shopping, and we stopped on our way home because we saw the Sheriff’s Department cars on the road. That was the first we knew of what really happened.”
“Such a sad thing,” Summer murmured.
“Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary before you left? Or any other time this week?”
The sisters exchanged looks, and Tom had the sensation of witnessing a three-way silent consultation as they compared notes. Why were they so reticent? He’d expected them to be brimming with speculation and opinion about the Kelly murders.
Summer gave him an apologetic smile. “It’s not likely we would hear anything while we’re inside the house. Hearing problems run in our family. I’m the only one who doesn’t use a hearing aid.”
“You need one, though,” Winter said. “I’m growing weary of having to repeat everything I say.”
Summer’s face betrayed a flash of irritation, promptly squelched and replaced with a tight little smile. “My sisters don’t like wearing theirs, and most of the time the hearing aids are on their dressers, not in their ears.”
“Well, it’s uncomfortable.” Spring touched a finger to her left ear, and for the first time Tom noticed the small plastic device that was partially obscured by her hair. “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, Summer.”
Winter cast a raised-eyebrow glance at her sisters. “I can hear what I need to hear. And I can tune out the useless chatter.”
Tom felt like he was getting lost in a thicket. What were they like with each other, he wondered, when they were alone? He tried to drag them back on topic. “Have you noticed anything unusual going on around here in the last few days?”
Poisoned Ground Series, Book 6 Page 5
