Trimmed to Death

by Nancy J. Cohen

  They had a pleasant and romantic interlude that evening, followed by the long drive home on Monday. Dalton immediately went to work while Marla unpacked and proceeded through her household chores.

  She was refilling the dogs’ water dishes when a loud thud sounded from the front of the house. Her pulse rate rocketed. What was that?

  Hastening into the dining room, she peered outside. Nobody stood on their stoop, but she noted a white car zooming away down the street. The house’s windows were intact, so whatever had hit them hadn’t penetrated. Their hurricane impact windows were designed to resist high winds and were nearly impossible to break.

  After peeking out the peephole in their front door, she opened it cautiously. A rock with a note tied to it rested on the front porch. Should she call Dalton or bring it into the house?

  Prudence propelled her to obtain an evidence bag. She put on her kitchen gloves and gingerly placed the rock into the bag. Dying to know what the note said, she brought the package inside and was about to shut the door when she spied Brianna walking home from the school bus.

  “Hey, Marla, what’s going on?” the teen asked, submitting to Marla’s brief hug.

  “Come in. I found this on our front stoop. Somebody drove by and threw it there.”

  “No kidding.” The girl’s dark eyes regarded her with worry. “Could it be related to your trip north? How did that go?”

  “We learned a lot about the olive growing process and about fraud in the industry. I’d like to see what that note says.”

  “Have you notified Dad?”

  “Not yet. He said he’ll be home for dinner.”

  “You should call him. I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” She slung her backpack onto the floor and turned toward her room.

  Marla texted Dalton to phone her. As soon as he did, she related what happened.

  “Take a photo of it from different angles, then use those gloves I’d brought home and untie the string. Read me what’s inside.”

  Chills ran up Marla’s spine as she scanned the message.

  Mind your own business or you’ll be next.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “It looks as though the message was printed on a sheet of white computer paper.” Marla snapped a photo and sent it to Dalton. Then she refolded the paper and stuck it into the evidence bag along with the rock and piece of string. “Do you think this is a result of our trip north? Could our inquiries there have riled someone?”

  “Possibly, but who else knew about it besides Ben? Guess I’ll be late coming home after all. I want to pay another visit to Zach Kinsdale without further delay. He’s the only other person who would know about our visit to the olive farm. Ben must have notified him after our visit.”

  “I’d love to hear what he has to say,” Marla remarked.

  “Hey, me too.” Brianna sashayed into the room, clad in jeans and a sweater. She dragged her backpack along and plunked it onto the kitchen table. “Why don’t we come along?” she said, loud enough for her dad to hear. “It might be safer than staying here, since the person who threw that rock knows where we live.”

  “Your daughter has a point,” Marla told her husband. “We can always sit in the car if you prefer.”

  “All right,” Dalton conceded with a sigh. “You’ve already shown up with me at their house, so it won’t be so unusual. This isn’t normally how I conduct police business, though. Don’t tell the chief I’m letting you go along when I interview persons of interest in a case.”

  Oh, like Captain Williams doesn’t know already? Marla thought with an amused smile.

  Forty minutes later, Zach ushered them into his living room after they exchanged pleasantries. He wore dark blue pants and a plaid shirt. His hair was damp as though he’d just come from the shower. Cooking aromas emanated from the kitchen, where his wife must be preparing dinner. Marla hoped this visit wouldn’t take long.

  “What brings you back that’s so dire, Detective?” he asked, settling onto an armchair while the three of them sat on a sofa.

  “We got a rock thrown at our window with a note attached to warn my wife off the case. It came right after we visited your cousin Ben. He seems to know something about your property, Mr. Kinsdale, and I’m tired of beating around the bush on the subject. Will you come clean, or do I have to get a subpoena for your lawyer?”

  Zach’s shoulders slumped, and a haunted look entered his eyes. “Very well. My brothers and I had always believed we owned the farm. But after Pop died, I couldn’t find a deed. What I did find was a fifty year lease with an option to buy at fair market value. I tried to contact the landholder, but he had passed away without any apparent heirs. I hired a real estate attorney to see how we could go about making a claim.”

  “So you don’t own the farm?”

  “That’s correct. We’ve been paying property taxes, which should count for something. It’s kind of a legal tangle, but our attorney has filed an adverse possession claim. We’re hoping this will work in our favor.”

  “What’s that?” Brianna asked. She’d been quiet up until now but couldn’t suppress her curiosity. Her eyes shone with zeal as she listened in to their conversation.

  Zach regarded her with a frown. “Adverse possession means we’re occupying property belonging to someone else with the specific intent of taking ownership. Several conditions must be met to qualify. There are two types of adverse possession filing. With color of title, we have to be in possession for at least seven years. In addition, we must be cultivating or improving the land and protecting it with enclosures. Without color of title means we’ve been paying property taxes and any liens on the property, as well as meeting the other conditions. Besides occupying the place for a minimum of seven years, we have to be in open use of the property, essentially acting as the sole owner.”

  “You’ve certainly met those conditions,” Marla said.

  “Yes, and once our claim is accepted, we can file a Return of Real Property in Attempt to Establish Possession Without Color of Title. Whew, that’s a mouthful. Then the courts will rule as to whether we are now the legal owner and occupant of the property.”

  Dalton lifted his eyebrows. “It sounds as though your attorney has a handle on things.”

  “I’m hoping so. My brothers don’t know about this problem, Detective. I haven’t wanted to worry them. We’ve put so much sweat and energy into this land that it should be ours.”

  “Did Francine find out?” Marla asked. “She’d planned to write an exposé. Was your farm the subject?”

  Zach gave a rueful chuckle. “Oh, she knew about it all right. That woman was smart, but her interests lay elsewhere.”

  “Did she also know about the accidents on the farm, like the silo incident?”

  His lips compressed. “That’s merely a rumor. Farm accidents are a hazard of our industry. Things happen all the time around machinery. But that silo fatality couldn’t have happened at Kinsdale Farms since we don’t store grain.”

  Brianna nudged Marla. “Ask him about the other woman,” she told Marla in an undertone.

  “How about Alyce Greene?” Marla asked. “The food blogger supported your sustainable methods. Did she discover you didn’t own the place?”

  “I have no idea, unless Francine told her. The two of them had more in common than people realized. They shared similar views on the food industry and often ended up at the same functions. They greeted each other with an easy familiarity.”

  Marla had gotten the impression they were casually acquainted from the bake-off contest. It made her wonder how long the two women had known each other. Did they share a closer connection than she’d thought?

  “Look, I’m afraid of losing the farm if someone else comes forward to claim the title,” Zach said, wringing his hands. “Maybe the former owner had a will and named an heir other than a relative. If word gets out, the town might seek another site for the spring harvest festival. That event brings in a lot of business.”
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br />   “Is that why you invested in the olive grove?” Dalton asked. “As security in case you lost this property?”

  Zach cast a glance toward the kitchen as though wondering at the sudden silence. Likely his wife was listening in to their conversation. Did Grace know about his secret? If not before, she did now, Marla concluded.

  “That’s only one reason,” Zach admitted. “The Florida olive oil industry is just beginning to thrive. It could become a lucrative business, and I wanted to get in at the start. We can’t grow the crop here, so we needed a property up north. My cousin loved the idea when I proposed it to him.”

  He leaned forward and regarded each of them with an earnest look. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep a lid on things until I straighten out these issues of ownership. I’m still hoping we can make a claim if no one else stands in the way.”

  Marla gave him an assessing glance. Was he telling the truth about Francine and Alyce? Or had they gotten in the way of his plans?

  “What if you lose out?” she asked him. “If you don’t get the deed to the land, would you move your farm elsewhere? Are there any fields left further to the west?”

  “Not really. You’d run into the Everglades. I could buy out someone else to the north. There’s lots of property up that way. But we’d lose our customer base here as well as our crops.”

  “I understand you buy imported products for your marketplace from Amalfi Consolidated,” Dalton said.

  “We have a contract with them, yes. They haven’t missed a shipment yet.”

  “So you’re pleased with how Tony Winters handles the account?”

  “That’s right.” Zach gave him a puzzled glance. “Are you implying there’s something wrong in that direction?”

  “His Italian partners are paying him a visit. Have you ever met them?”

  “They came by with him once. Can’t say I took a liking to that bunch. I could tell Tony was uncomfortable with them. They seemed to be haranguing him.”

  “You’re pleased with their products, then?” Dalton persisted.

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be? Do you know something I don’t? Oh wait, I get it. You’ve been talking to my cousin about olive oil scams. He’s into that kind of thing. It’s also a way to convince you to buy locally produced goods.”

  “True, but he may have a valid point. I’d consider getting a bottle of Amalfi’s extra virgin olive oil tested if I were you.”

  Zach stood with an air of dismissal. “Is that all, Detective? Because I think our dinner is ready.” Sounds had resumed from the kitchen, dishes clanking and sink water splashing.

  Dalton rose, as did Marla and Brianna. “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Kinsdale. Please let me know how your legal issue resolves. I hope things work out in your favor.”

  Grace bustled from the kitchen to say farewell. She shot her husband a questioning glance. Marla could imagine the conversation that would follow their departure.

  “So do you think Zach can be eliminated as a suspect?” she asked Dalton during the drive home. Her stomach growled. The food aromas in Zach’s house had made her hungry. That was a good sign. Perhaps her sensitivity had gone.

  “The Kinsdales have a lot at stake here, but Zach may be right in that Francine’s interests lay elsewhere.”

  “Maybe she meant to drag Amalfi Consolidated’s dirty dealings into the light. Tony Winters might have gotten wind of it and silenced her. Or Janet could have done it to protect her standard of living. And then Alyce discovered their secret while researching food sources for restaurants.”

  “We can’t overlook other possibilities,” Dalton told her. “Francine didn’t have any close relatives to inherit her estate. But someone must be listed as her beneficiary. My team is looking into it to see if she had a will. Otherwise, that distant aunt is her only living kin.”

  “Alyce’s death has to be related,” Marla added. “It must be something they’d both discovered, which would have nothing to do with an heir. I get the feeling we’re missing something important.”

  “How about the fellow who drugged you?” Brianna asked her dad from the backseat.

  “Colin’s alibi checks out for Francine’s death,” he replied. “And I can’t think of a motive for him to go after Alyce.”

  “Have you considered Alyce’s acquaintances?” Brianna suggested. “Are there people she might have offended in her blog, like that newspaper critic you’d mentioned? And what about her family?”

  Marla addressed her husband. “Did you ever interview Alyce’s husband, Jon Greene? I remember you’d sent Sergeant Langley to see him after the hit-and-run accident.”

  Dalton nodded, his grip firm on the wheel. “He was proud of his wife’s blog and her efforts to educate people about the food industry.”

  “Did he have a burial service for her yet? I didn’t even think about it. I would have attended.”

  “It was on Sunday. Langley went, since we were out of town.”

  “What about the brother? He gave Alyce’s husband a starter loan for his food truck operation. Alyce hoped to win the bake-off prize to pay him back. She told me Steve’s firm manages Tony Winter’s accounts and there might be something fishy about Amalfi Consolidated.”

  “Such as?” Dalton shot her a quick glance, his brows raised.

  “Alyce wouldn’t tell me more, because she wanted to get evidence. Remember?”

  “Guess I’ll have to pay the brother another visit.”

  “Maybe Steve has met Tony’s colleagues from Italy. If his firm does the books for this end of their operation, they may include him on their must-see list while in the country. Let me know if you want me to sound him out on my own.”

  “Nix that idea, sweetcakes. You’d better focus on taking care of yourself.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be safe.” Was that what he’d meant, or did her husband refer to her stomach problems? Did he share the same suspicions regarding the true source of her ailment?

  “How’s your fundraiser coming along?” he asked, effectively diverting her attention.

  Her face had heated under his scrutiny. Glad for the change in topic, she replied in a chattier tone than intended. “We’ve been concentrating on publicizing the event. Robyn has made up flyers for customers, and she’s collecting emails to send a newsletter. Janet is handling the outside publicity. Hey, maybe we can get Raquel involved. A mention on her TV show would give us a boost. I’ll give her a call myself.”

  ****

  Marla touched base with her team on Tuesday at work. Robyn and Janet both thought it was a great idea to contact the food show host. Yet Marla hesitated to make the call. Had Dalton spoken to Raquel since the hit-and-run incident? Did she have an alibi for that afternoon?

  She checked in with Becky instead via cell phone and proposed her idea. The museum curator replied in a gushing tone.

  “It’s a wonderful proposal. I’m sure Raquel will be glad to help us. Do you want me to ask her?”

  “No, I’ll get in touch with her. Is everything good at your end for the event?”

  “Sure is. I’ve got a supply of flyers from your receptionist, and we’ve been handing them out. I can’t wait, Marla. You’re such a peach for pitching in.”

  “We’ve gotten food donations from Arnie at Bagel Busters and from Teri at the chocolate factory. And I spoke to the person at Eat Well Now magazine who’s taken over Francine’s position. She’s willing to send a reporter to cover our event regarding the food tie-in angle and how we’d all met at the harvest festival. It’s too bad Alyce can’t be here, too. She would have promoted our cause to her blog readership.”

  Becky’s tone cooled. “I can’t say I’m sorry. She’d have put a negative spin on things. If you’re going to talk to Raquel, you’d better not mention that woman’s name.”

  “Thank you for the advice. I’ll let you know what she says. Oh, we’ve put a poster in our front window, too.”

  “That’s great. I’m sure we’ll have a terrific turnout. By
the way, you and Tally have to come by the museum again. We just put up a new exhibit on wartime in Palm Haven. It goes through the major conflicts and how our town fared.”

  “My husband would love that one. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Before she could put her plan into action and call Raquel, Marla’s next client arrived. The rest of the day flew by, although Nicole found a moment to corner her and get the latest news. Marla related their trip to the olive grove. The slim stylist soaked it up, her eyes alight with awe.

  “I love it, Marla. You get to do the coolest things. But if you don’t think that local farmer is involved in the murders, who’s your main suspect?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Marla cleaned her station while they spoke in low tones. “Becky and Raquel seem to have a mutual admiration society. Francine’s successor at work isn’t ruled out. We have Alyce’s family and the people she’d offended, like Carlton Paige. Tristan the pastry chef seems innocent, but his executive chef or the restaurant owner at The Royal Palate might be involved in an olive oil scam with Tony Winters. I’d say he’s the main guy in my mind.”

  Nicole tapped a painted fingernail to her chin. A set of bracelets jangled on her arm. “Your husband has his work cut out for him.”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you about the rock thrown at our door. It had a note attached.” She repeated the message as Nicole’s eyes widened.

  “You must have upset someone with your inquiries.”

  “I know, and it came directly after our trip north. Nobody else knew about that excursion other than Ben Kinsdale. He must have notified his cousin Zach right after we left.”

  In a thoughtful mood, Marla squirted her counter with cleaning solution and wiped it down. The shampoo girl came by to sweep cut hairs off the floor.

  “Our job sure would be easier if we had one of those modern vacuum systems,” Nicole remarked. “You brush the hairs into a vent in the wall, and they get sucked into a trash bin by the rear exit.”