Ryan sighed. “Help me carry these tomatoes to her, will you?”
Becca gathered up an armload of tomatoes and followed him to the back porch.
“Mee-Maw…I’m afraid that vine’s spread to your garden. I had to destroy some of your plants, okay? I’m sorry, but if you want a chance at salvaging the rest of it, the host plants had to be burned.”
Mee-Maw’s face sagged, and suddenly Becca could see the woman’s years. “Here, let me get a pan to put ’em in. We’ll fry the green tomatoes, and the ripe ones needed picking anyway.” She cast a nervous glance at Ryan. “You keep an eye on that fire. Should have got an old barrel out of the—”
“Yes, ma’am, Mee-Maw. I know. I should have.”
The old lady hustled into the kitchen for a pan, shooing Ryan away as soon as he’d dumped his cargo. “You go on back to the fire.”
Becca, though, followed her into the house, the dog at her heels. “Is it okay? The dog, I mean?” she asked. She piled the green tomatoes down atop the red ones. “They’re beautiful tomatoes. It’s a shame.”
“Wilbur’s fine. He likes to loaf, but he stays inside mostly. Thank you, ma’am, ’bout my tomatoes. Some of ’em are turning, looks like. You like fried green tomatoes?”
Becca nodded, gazing out the window over the sink at Ryan as he poked at the fire with an iron rake. When she turned her attention back toward Mee-Maw, she saw the woman was looking out the window, as well. “Yes, ma’am. My grandmother sure could make a mean fried green tomato.”
Mee-Maw sank into her chair at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands. “First I lose Mac, and then J.T. has to leave the day after Mac’s funeral…then that blamed vine starts springing up. Bad enough it got into the cotton, but now the vegetables? And with money so tight!”
“Mac?”
“My husband. Ryan’s grandfather. Mac’s daddy gave us this little corner of land to build the house on. He was in the Pacific, Mac was, during World War II. Spent the whole entire war surrounded by water. Swore if he could ever make it back on dry land, he’d nail his feet to the ground, and he just about did. Don’t get me wrong—we battled hail and sleet and drought and floods and just about everything, but I never thought I’d see anything like this…this awful vine.”
“Is J.T. one of your sons?”
“J.T.?” For a moment, Mee-Maw looked a little startled. Her face resembled Ryan’s as it closed down, defensive and wary. “No. J.T. helped us out around the farm. Me and Mac, we were no spring chickens, you know, and we needed someone with a strong back. Ryan was on the road with that chemical company back then, and Jack’s always so busy with his insurance agency.”
“So your children…”
“Jack’s dad got killed in a wreck, oh, ten years ago. And Marshall, Ryan’s dad—he’s my youngest—he’s teaching at the agricultural college. That’s a good three hours away.”
Mee-Maw sighed again. “I didn’t know what I’d do when J.T. had to leave. I thought for sure I’d have to give up this place. But then Ryan came back and helped me keep the farm going. He’d been itching to for years, but he kept putting it off. Besides, he didn’t want to seem like he was pushing his gramps out of the tractor seat.” She snorted. “As if anyone could have, even if he’d wanted to.”
“Why did J.T.—”
But before Becca could get the question out, Mee-Maw had pushed up from the table and crossed to stand beside Becca at the white enamel sink and drainboard, muttering something about Ryan and the fire.
“Ma’am?”
“Fire. Hate the stuff. Lost everything we had to a fire when I was a kid. An old cookstove messed up—ain’t nothing sadder than to stand outside in the middle of the night and see every stick of furniture, every scrap you own, everything you worked for…gone. Makes me the pack rat I am, I guess.
“Go on out there, will you? Make sure he banks that fire. I know he will, mind you, but just humor a silly old woman.”
Becca crossed the backyard to the bonfire—and stopped in her tracks.
Ryan had stripped off his T-shirt and laid it aside. The fire lit the planes of his chest, highlighting well-developed pecs and a firm, flat abdomen.
His skin was damp from his exertion and the heat of the flames licking over the dodder vine at his feet. Ryan seemed intense, focused, apparently unfazed by the smoke and the crackle of sparks that shot up from the wood into the dark night sky.
The sight made Becca’s belly flutter. She tried to quench the butterflies with a good dose of common sense.
First she’d mooned over his scent and now she was ogling him? Her dad would yank her off this case so fast… She knew better than to get involved with the target of an investigation.
But you’re already involved.
“Mee-Maw said to be sure to bank the fire.”
Ryan jumped. “You scared me. I figured you’d gone by now.”
“No. You know, I should have gotten pictures of the vine before you burned the plants.”
“Yeah, well, chalk that up to my thinking it was more important to get a harvest than an insurance settlement.”
Or was it to cover something up? She silenced her dad’s whisper in her head, but it was there for a reason. While she’d always prided herself on being objective and open-minded, she had enough of her father in her to avoid being led down many a primrose path.
“Ryan…” Becca fought the urge to touch him. It was so hard to act as though she’d only just met him. “Before I close out this investigation, I’m going to need detailed time lines, to establish where this vine first popped up, how it spread. Your claim forms are pretty scant on details like that.”
“You see how it spreads!” He scowled and gave the fire a jab with his rake, sending off an explosion of sparks. “It’s like toadstools—one day it’s not there, the next, it’s strangling half a garden. Fill out all the blanks and check all the boxes you want to on your forms, but it all comes down to the same thing—I don’t know how it got here. I can speculate, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m fighting something here—we’re all fighting something—that could wreck agriculture in this part of the state.”
“Whoa. A bit of hyperbole, isn’t it?”
“No. Another farmer who has this stuff in his fields says it’s resistant to the one herbicide that ought to kill it.”
“I thought you said if you kill the host plant—”
“If you starve it out, sure. But in his case, the vine just found something else to latch on to. Look—I know insurance companies don’t want to pay out claims. They’ve got shareholders, and I know whose tune those insurance execs are marching to. But rather than send us someone to investigate us—” this he made sound like the basest of insults “—why not send us someone to solve the problem?”
“And who might that be? What experts have you called in?”
Again, Ryan gave her a look that screamed his discomfiture.
“Well? Surely you—”
“I’ve put in calls to every expert that might have the faintest clue of how to get rid of this vine. They all say the same thing—drag a firebreak around the affected acreage, throw in a match and watch what little profit you have left go up in smoke. Believe me, I’ve been tempted. And tonight…tonight I’m
past temptation.”
“No! You can’t do that. It could be evidence—”
“See? You do think I’m running a scam.”
“Evidence can prove you either guilty or innocent, Ryan. But if you destroy it, you destroy any chance of me helping you.”
“You? Helping me? Why would a hired gun from Ag-Sure want to help me?”
Frustrated, she ground her teeth. “I am not a hired gun. The outcome of this case—at least from my point of view—is not a foregone conclusion, okay? But you’re being so paranoid that you’re sure acting guilty.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m just frustrated, okay?”
“Okay. But believe me. I’m here to help. Surely you can’t have tapped out all the experts on this sort of problem.”
The flicker of hope in his face died, and the corners of his mouth twisted. “You might as well know since you’ll find out sooner or later—if you don’t already know.”
“What?”
The bonfire crackled as the flames fed on the pine resin. Bits of ash rained down on Becca and Ryan, but she waited. She tried to read anything but misery in Ryan’s expression.
She couldn’t.
“One of my last projects with the ag chemical company I worked for was on a farm in Texas with this same dodder vine. I didn’t have a clue what to do to help them, and neither did anybody else. And I sure,” he bit out, “don’t know how to get rid of it here. I was there, on-site, equipped with means and opportunity to bring the vine east. So, you still think this case has no foregone conclusion?”
* * *
[email protected]: Have you ever wondered about me? I mean, what I look like, who I am? If you’ve ever passed me on the street?
[email protected]: I know pretty much everybody on the streets I’ve been on, but I’ve wondered, yeah.
[email protected]: What would you say if you met me, but you weren’t sure it was me? If we did meet up?
[email protected]: I probably wouldn’t say anything—what if it wasn’t you? She’d think I was nuts.
[email protected]: So do you think one day we ever will meet?
[email protected]: Maybe…but part of me doesn’t want to spoil the way things are.
CHAPTER SIX
RYAN’S PATH WAS BLOCKED by a four-foot-ten-inch pixie with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Charlotte, I promise. I don’t know where J.T. is,” Ryan told the diner waitress. “I haven’t heard from him in months—since Gramps’s funeral. You just need to…”
Ryan tried to swallow the anger he felt whenever he thought of the disappearing J. T. Griggs. The man had taken advantage of at least two women—Charlotte and Mee-Maw—left them high and dry, and still they defended him.
“You just need to forget J.T.”
Charlotte Hooks shifted her weight from one rubber-soled foot to the other, the carafe of hot coffee sloshing dangerously in her hand. “I can’t. He was a good man. I—I just don’t understand it, Ryan. J.T. just wouldn’t vanish this long without telling me where he was going. He wouldn’t leave Mee-Maw in a crunch, leaving right after Mr. Mac’s funeral. He had respect for Mr. Mac, and you know that. He flat worshipped the ground that man walked on.”
“Maybe he went back to Texas?”
Her brows drew together in an even darker frown. “They have phones in Texas, last I heard. If he’s that tight for money, he could at least send me a postcard. Besides, J.T. said he wasn’t ever going back there. Wasn’t anything there for him, he said.”
Ryan eyed the glass door leading to the private dining room, the one where Murphy was holding court—and waiting for him.
He didn’t need to be here. He needed to be out plowing—and making sure that vine hadn’t taken any more potential harvest.
Ryan had been on a tractor, in fact, when Murphy had called this impromptu meeting this morning. Some people didn’t apparently have to work for a living.
But calls from Murphy—what with his web of connections to local politics and his big fat checkbook—were the equivalent of a command performance. Mee-Maw—and what she might have done to protect Gramps’s memory—was part of this equation, as well. Ryan hated the doubt and suspicion that had clouded his thoughts about her lately.
Besides, Ryan had a few things to unload on Murphy.
Not that it would do any good.
First, though, he had to get past Charlotte.
“Scout’s honor, I have no clue where J.T. is. He hasn’t called me, hasn’t written, hasn’t left a crop circle or a message in skywriting. But if he should, you’ll be the first to know, okay? I know…I know you miss him, Charlotte.”
Her mouth twisted, and tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m worried. That’s what I am. He had so much going for him. He was finally getting his life together. He wouldn’t throw it all away. He wouldn’t.”
Maybe he didn’t have a choice.
Ryan shook off the dark thought. “That’s right. I’m sure he’ll let you know where he is and what he’s doing. How about getting me a cup of that coffee and bringing it to me in the back dining room?”
“That’s another reason why I thought… You never come here anymore. I thought maybe you knew something and weren’t telling me.”
I never come here anymore because I’m flat broke and even a dollar for a cup of joe is hard to come by.
“If I find out anything about J.T., I’ll tell you. Now, how about that coffee?”
After Charlotte trudged off for a cup, he proceeded back to the dining room.
Murphy looked up from his plate of grits, eggs and bacon. “’Bout time you got here. We’ve been waiting on you.”
The we included a motley crew of area farmers, some clearly straight from the fields as Ryan was, others in pristine golf shirts free from any signs of true labor. Murphy was part of the latter, his white knit cotton stretched taut over a big belly. Five minutes in a tractor and that shirt would have been history.
It also, Ryan realized with a sick twist of his stomach, included Jack.
Ryan pulled out a chair and sat down. He gave Jack a penetrating look, but his cousin merely shrugged in reply. The other men stared at Ryan, waiting for him to speak. When he didn’t, Murphy forked in another bite of fried egg, chewed, cleared his throat and spoke.
“The fellows here are hoping you can tell them what to expect from that lady investigator. Understand she started with you last night. And stayed pretty late.”
“Now you’ve got me under surveillance?” Ryan glanced Jack’s way. Had his cousin told Murphy?
“Small town, Ryan. You know that. A gnat can’t fart in this town without someone knowing about it.”
The crude comment evoked a titter of uneasy laughter from the men at the table, but it did nothing to ease the tension.
“Well? Tell us about her. What’s she like? What’s she askin’?” a farmer named Steven Tate finally blurted out.
The whole scene did not sit well with Ryan. He hated feeling as if he was a spy.
“Ryan, your grandfather knew how important it was for all of us farmers to stick together. You could learn a thing or two from Mac.”
That not-so-subtle warning from Murphy served to goose Ryan into reluctant action. “She’s nice enough. She asked the obvious questions—when did it start? How did it start? What had I done about it?”
Nobody spoke, not until Murphy had sopped up his grits and cheese with a bit of biscuit. “She seem satisfied with your answers?”
Translation: was Becca Reynolds going away anytime soon
?
“For now…but she wants to nail down a detailed time line of the spread of the vine. She really wants to know how it got from Texas to here.”
That last bit was inspiration on Ryan’s part. Maybe he could force Murphy into revealing just how he’d pulled that trick. Murphy had been hinting for weeks that Gramps had had a hand in it…and the threat had a way of keeping Ryan in line.
But Murphy simply spat out a foul curse. “Detailed time line? What’s the point? It’s here. She could see it. You showed her, right?”
“You have to admit, Murphy, it looks suspicious. No reports of infestation between here and Texas? Of course the first question the insurance company is going to ask is what train it rode in on.”
“Maybe we could buy her off,” offered Doug Oliver, who fidgeted with his cap. “She look like the type who could come to some sort of understanding?”
Murphy shot a quelling look at Oliver. “It’s too soon for that. But it raises a good question. She the type, you think, Ryan? If push comes to shove?”
“No. And I won’t be a part of it.” Ryan’s blood hissed in his ears.
Murphy’s answering chuckle was a short, sharp bark. “You’re already a part of it. You’re here, aren’t you? This dodder vine was your idea, wasn’t it?”
Ryan made to push his chair back. “I’m here out of respect for Gramps’s memory and his long association with most of you. You keep saying this whole thing was my idea, but I don’t have a clue why you think that. I had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Nope. Not a clue. Didn’t tell Mac anything about a slam-dunk way to get crop insurance to pay off, did you?”
Ryan seethed at the way Murphy was twisting the truth. He would have shot back a reply, but Murphy had moved on.
“What’d you tell her? What’s she got planned?”
Believe me. I’m here to help. That’s what Becca had said to him last night, and he believed her. But why? Why would she go out on a limb for the likes of him? What made her think he could be saved—was even worth saving?
Seeds of Trust Page 5
