Shallow Roots: An Iowa Girl Mystery (Iowa Girl Mysteries Book 1)

by Anomie Hatcher

  “Even if I told you I’m probably pregnant?”

  There, I said it. No sense denying it anymore.

  Lyle didn’t even blink.

  “Still interested.”

  He took her hands. His hands were large and warm, while hers were cold and small. His leather boots came to rest on either side of Maggie’s wool clogs. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The waitress returned with the beverages, “I’ve got one hot tea with lemon and one cherry co—” She stopped abruptly, her expression like that of a cottontail caught in oncoming headlights. Maggie’s tea cup jittered on its saucer two feet above the table.

  “Should I come back later, folks?” the waitress inquired nervously.

  “No. Thanks.” Lyle moved his hands to open his straw wrapper and scooted his feet away from Maggie’s reluctantly.

  Maggie dunked the tea bag and warmed her hands over the rising steam.

  Lyle cleared his throat. “How did your fiancé die, again?”

  “Car crash. It was a hit and run, actually. Unsolved.”

  Lyle’s whole countenance snapped to attention. “Early model blue Civic struck by an older pickup truck in Des Moines?”

  “That’s right. Why?”

  “I remember it coming through—hit and runs generally get sent out to all the surrounding authorities. We were on the lookout for a while. Tell me more about the truck.” Deputy Rose leaned forward, all business.

  “I didn’t get a very good look at it. Maybe a Ford or a Chevy—definitely American made, really old. It was rusted and all banged up.” Maggie closed her eyes, tried to picture the truck, but saw Ben’s face instead. She opened her eyes again. “It had the rounded kind of fenders and the hood was a curvy shape, too. I know it’s not very helpful. Normally, I’m much more observant.” She stopped speaking for a moment to stare at her tea cup. “Lately I’m a different person. I’ve never felt so helpless before. Dad said the police couldn’t get a word out of me after the accident. Parts of that time are absent from my mind. It’s sort of like I died, too, for a while.”

  Lyle’s professional stance softened. “I understand. Let me do some investigating, see what I can find. Maybe the perp was from around here. We may have some vehicle registrations in this county that match your description. I’ll give it another look and see what turns up.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m not holding my breath, Lyle.”

  “Whoever drove that truck shouldn’t get away with murder.”

  “That’s true.” Maggie paused and gathered her thoughts together. “That being said, another reason I came out to Original Farm was to help ease Namasté’s mind about Fennel. She feels that there’s more to Fennel’s death than just an accident or an allergy. Judging by what I keep finding, I’m beginning to see it as a possibility as well. And, like you said, no one should get away with murder.”

  “You said that you had something to tell me—is this what you meant?”

  “Yes.”

  Their salads arrived and they settled into eating for a few moments. Maggie’s empty stomach gurgled gratefully at the sight of the food. After devouring the cucumbers from the top of her salad, she shared her findings.

  “Fennel—Louise Carpenter—was allergic to chamomile. I can confirm this with a handwritten account in her own journal.”

  “How did you happen to come by her journal?”

  “I found two journals in part of her room. There’s actually a secret door behind a flower cart leading to a smaller space where she used to write. I know—it sounds like something out of cheesy mystery novel. Anyway, I have the journals hidden somewhere else now.” Maggie paused. “I suspect Tor is keeping something secret about Val-U-Shop and the city council meeting he attended yesterday.”

  Lyle said, “Yes, I thought so, too.”

  “He knew Fennel was against it, that she had the council basically convinced to vote out Val-U-Shop. I also found something else. In the office across from Fennel’s room, there was an aerial photo showing ten acres of land belonging to Tor right next to River City. I’m thinking that’s where Val-U-Shop would like to build.”

  “Whoa. Really? I’m surprised—why would he sell to them? Seems like that would be something Tor would fight against tooth and nail.”

  “I know.”

  The rest of their meal arrived. The waitress removed their salad plates, glancing warily from one to the other.

  “Still,” Lyle took a long sip of soda. “It doesn’t prove anything about Fennel. That could have been an accident. I mean, other than possibly money, what’s his motivation? They were friends for years. I’m sure they ended up on different sides of an argument from time to time. We can’t assume the land issue—if there even is an issue—was worth killing her. Do you realize what you’re saying, here?”

  Maggie nodded. “I know it seems unreasonable, but weird facts keep falling into my lap, like Fennel mentioning in her journal that she had an adrenaline shot in case of chamomile contamination. I think that’s what she was looking for just before she died.”

  “That would make sense.”

  “So where is it? Whoever put the chamomile in her tea mix probably took her medicine to keep her from recovering. Find the adrenaline, and I’ll bet you find the culprit.”

  Lyle frowned. “Doesn’t it make you nervous? Living in a house where you suspect someone of murder? Aren’t these people your friends?”

  “It is strange. It doesn’t feel good to have these thoughts. But I can’t ignore the facts.” Her voice had been rising steadily and she lowered it back down to a normal speaking tone. “Fennel was allergic to chamomile. So allergic, she went out of her way to make her own tea. Someone might’ve read her journals or known about her allergy already. It would have been easy to add chamomile to her tea stash, hide her antidote and let her die, making it look like an accident.”

  Lyle sat for awhile, watching the snowflakes gather momentum outside the diner window. “How much of this has to do with the fact that your fiancé’s murder has gone unsolved?”

  Maggie inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re a smart person. If you truly thought there was someone living there who was capable of killing a friend, you wouldn’t go anywhere near Original Farm. I honestly don’t think you would risk it.”

  Maggie’s mouth fell open angrily.

  “Maggie, chasing after whoever may or may not have done something to harm Fennel—this isn’t going to solve Ben’s case. It isn’t going to make the hurt go away.”

  “You think I’m making all this up to feel better?”

  “No, I think you’re grabbing up some circumstantial facts, trying to sew them into a blanket to hide behind. Do you really think one of your friends killed Fennel? Because if you do, if you really and truly believe that, I want to you pack up your bags and move the hell out of there and let me figure this out, officially.”

  “I must’ve been mistaken.” Maggie tried very hard to keep her lips from trembling. She grabbed her purse and began rummaging through her billfold.

  “About what?” Lyle grabbed his own wallet, racing to pay the bill before Maggie could.

  “About trusting you.” She could only find a ten dollar bill, which she slammed onto the table and stalked out, coat over her arm. Interested eyes followed Maggie’s every movement. Her furious exit caused a lull in the sensational buzzing.

  Lyle caught up with her outside.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the pharmacy, to get myself a goddamn pregnancy test!” she shouted. A mother walking by covered her toddler’s ears with gloved hands. “That’s what I said!” Maggie yelled, turning back toward the diner, its windows full of ogling patrons. “A pregnancy test! A little stick to pee on!”

  She sped away from Lyle and his doubts, away from the small town Nosy Nellies and the smell of fried chicken and homemade pie. In her haste to go, Maggie stormed off in the opposite direction from the pharmacy.

  Lyle res
isted the urge to go after her. He silently kicked himself.

  Deputy Bobby Fowler was waddling over for lunch at the diner and had come along just in time to witness the unfortunate scene.

  “You’ve got a way with the ladies, Rose. Who’s the hottie?” he snickered.

  “Oh, shut the hell up, Fowler.”

  Chapter 16

  Maggie MacGilloway was not a capricious woman, nor was she given to melodrama, but a person could only take so much.

  Who does he think he is? He doesn’t even know me! He knows nothing about my situation, thinks I’ll fall over grateful for his unsolicited advice.

  Maggie stood panting, realizing she was lost. She had marched herself away from downtown, right into an agri-industrial zone. A grain elevator towered above her, its compound shoots and ladders like a giant circus toy suspended high above the ground.

  Scanning from side to side, Maggie saw no one. It was so quiet, a tumbleweed could have blown across the street and it wouldn’t have surprised her. Assuming most people were off for lunch, it didn’t bother Maggie to stand in a relatively abandoned area. She tried to remember where the pharmacy was located.

  Maggie heard footsteps coming and spotted Loki walking around the base of the elevator with another man, so she ducked behind the wheels of a parked semi. If Loki found her lost in River City, he’d never let her live it down. People joked that two steps any direction from downtown had you walking in a corn field.

  “Got it?” she heard Loki ask his companion.

  “Why else would I be here, Larry?” The other man sounded like he had a head cold. He kept spitting on the ground.

  “Don’t call me that,” Loki said.

  “How ‘bout Lawrence?”

  “My name is Loki, dumbass.”

  “Better be nice to me, man, or I’ll stop driving all the way out here to deliver your frigging weed. I’ll have to stop giving you the special discount on account of our personal history and all.”

  “Whatever, Steve.”

  A rustling sound proceeded. Maggie assumed this to be an exchange of paper money and a baggy full of marijuana.

  Funny, she thought. I can’t picture Loki smoking. He makes such a big deal out of physical purity.

  She chose to keep herself hidden. If Loki went to the trouble of meeting his dealer in this currently unpopulated place, he probably did not want his friends to know about this particular habit. She was sure that the blight to his image would mean more to him than the illegality. Besides, Maggie wondered what kind of “personal history” Loki and Steve shared.

  Loki said a quick good-bye and his steps faded away. Maggie waited half a minute, then went out of her way to make it look like she was just passing by, casually strolling around the cab of the semi. She tried to look suitably baffled. Unfortunately, she had never been much of an actress.

  “Um… hi,” she said to a surprised Steve, who was stuffing a wad of bills into his jeans pocket. He took a good look at Maggie and slicked back his sand-colored mullet.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me where the pharmacy is.”

  “Do I look like a tour guide?” The man spit again.

  Maggie did not answer. The dealer strutted toward her and narrowed his eyes, checking out her chest at close range, making his best attempt to x-ray her bulky jacket. He lit a cigarette.

  “I’m not from here,” he said. “Just visiting a friend.” The smoke leaked out of his pock-marked nostrils like auto emissions escaping twin exhaust pipes.

  “I’m just visiting, too,” Maggie said, trying to keep her tone unaffected. “I’ve been staying with friends out at Original Farm. Do you know the place?”

  “Yeah, I know it. Just ran into Loki.” Steve looked suspicious. “Didn’t you see him?”

  “No, I must’ve just missed him. I was looking for the pharmacy.” Maggie was getting cold, standing in the sunless valley of grain bins in the swirling snow. She went for broke and tried blatant honesty. “How do you know Loki?”

  Steve hesitated, all the while staring at her well-cloaked breasts.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “You buy me a burger, I’ll tell you all about Mr. Loki, Sweet Tits.”

  This was more than Maggie had bargained for. She wondered how fast Steve could run. She considered that buying him lunch would mean being in the relative safety of a public place.

  “Okay,” she said. “But not the diner. I hate that place.”

  Can’t risk running into Lyle.

  “The gas station sells burgers. They’ve got seats inside. Couple of blocks down.”

  He held out a hand to show which direction. Away from downtown.

  Maggie nodded her assent and began walking, careful to keep Steve slightly in front of her at all times.

  What am I doing? Maybe Lyle was right. Maybe I have lost my perspective. The thought made her angry. It also made her keep on walking.

  Steve led the way sucking every last draught from his coffin nail, then pulling out another one. He finished the second cigarette as they arrived at the gas station.

  It was a dirty place, with unswept mud tracks on the broken linoleum floor and a cracked, smudgy window. In the back, they sold burgers and baskets of French fries, just as Steve had said.

  Maggie used her credit card to pay for Steve’s lunch. She wondered why he wanted her to pay, since she knew he had the pocketful of bills from Loki. Guess he keeps his business and personal finances separate, she joked lamely to herself, trying to keep her thoughts light, but somehow the exchange of money between them made his asking her here all the more insidious.

  She wondered if it was as simple as Steve wanting to get her into a warm place where she’d have to remove her jacket and he could get a good look at her chest. She kept the jacket on, though the air in the gas station was stifling.

  Steve took his time eating the burger, slathering it with mustard, leering at Maggie over his fries, smacking his lips appreciatively. He chewed with his mouth open the whole while, breathing noisily. Bits of starched white bun and melted cow fat littered the table. Steve didn’t bother to use a napkin, except to blow his nose.

  Maggie perched gingerly on the edge of her chair, ready to run. The gas station clerk smoked and read smutty magazines without glancing over once since ringing up Steve’s order.

  No help there, Maggie thought.

  Finally, Steve leaned back in his chair and lit another cigarette. “You Loki’s girl?” he asked, throwing his match on the floor.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Too bad for Loki, I’d say.”

  Maggie managed a tight smile, “Thanks.”

  “So what do you want to know?”

  “I asked how you knew Loki. I was curious, that’s all. He and I have been friends a long time and you and I never met. Just wondered.”

  “I’m gonna go ahead and guess that the two of you have not been friends nearly as long as the two of us.” Steve pointed to himself. “I’ve known Loki since we were kids in juvie.”

  “Juvie? What did he do?”

  “In juvenile lock-up, it ain’t what you do, it’s who you are. You either got parents who give a shit or you don’t. Loki’s mom didn’t give a shit about her kid, same as mine. We did what he had to, to get by, so both of us ended up in kid jail. Before that, Loki was in foster care a long time. All the poor bastard wanted was someone to treat him right. What he got was a long string of low-life reachers trying to earn easy money. One family actually rented him out to their friends. Larry was turning tricks at eleven, whether he wanted to or not.”

  Maggie felt sick. “Poor Loki.”

  “He got that name in juvie, you know that? He was always so jumpy, moving around, how he does now—full of live wires, like a cat. Some kid asked him: Larry, why are you always so low key, like it’s a joke, you know? Low-key? Loki? Get it?” Steve leaned across the table, his meaty, nicotine breath rancid in Maggie’s face.

  Maggie’s lunch made another uneasy rotation. “I g
et it. Hey, I need to get go—”

  Steve interrupted, “You want to know what he did? Okay, I’ll tell you, since you’re pretty and I got a thing for blondes. In high school, Loki had this boyfriend— I’m not judging, you understand—this boyfriend who had this awesome family. They were super religious and they didn’t know about their kid and Loki doing it. Mommy and Daddy thought they were just friends. They welcomed Loki in with open arms, let him stay for weeks at a time, took him on a family vacation. He got a taste of the good life, finally thought he was fitting in, started to think they were his family, too, till the day Mommy walked in and found them together—you know how I mean. Well, then Loki’s friend was not such a friend anymore. He claimed Loki forced him, made him out to be this sinful, gay bad boy—like it didn’t take two for that game. They refused to let Loki in the house after that. The next time Loki saw his friend at school, the weasel acted like he didn’t even know him. So Loki punched him in the face and broke his nose. That’s how he ended up in juvie. And there he stayed till he turned eighteen.” Steve took a final draw off his cigarette, rasped out a cough. “Just like me.”

  Maggie stood up quickly, before Steve could get in another word. “Wow, I’d better get to the pharmacy before the road gets too bad. That snow’s really coming down!” She backed away, toward the door. “It’s been nice talking with you. Good-bye!” Maggie stepped out into the crisp, smoke-free air, leaving Steve open-mouthed at the gas station table.

  She sprinted back toward town, not bothering to look over her shoulder to see if Steve was following. She hoped that he would not tell Loki about their discussion. Maggie now had a greater understanding of why Loki lived so much in the moment, and why he always seemed to bounce from one distraction to the next. If Steve was telling the truth, Loki had a lot to forget. Maggie felt sure that she wouldn’t want to recall a past like that, either.

  She found her Beetle still parked in front of the library and got in. The engine tweedled to life, humming as the engine block warmed. Maggie rubbed her mittened hands together with the doors locked. When she had warmed her hands sufficiently, and proved to herself that she had not been followed, she got out and brushed the accumulated snow from her windows.