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

by Anomie Hatcher

  Disappointed, Maggie turned away from the door. She looked at the river, just down the hill. Angry white crests frothed where the water had not yet iced over.

  The door of the museum flew open. A woman who looked to be in her seventies stood beckoning Maggie to come inside. Maggie thought she recognized the woman from Fennel’s funeral.

  “We don’t get many visitors. Come in! Come in!” she said, her brightly painted lips pulled wide in a smile. The wool cardigan around the woman’s substantial middle was stretched nearly as taut as her smiling lips.

  “It’s warm here. Come in,” the woman repeated unnecessarily, as Maggie had already stepped in the door. “Now what can I do for you today?”

  “I can see that you’re not open yet. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “Don’t you worry. I’m here all the time. Those hours are for show.”

  “Well, I was looking for a Vivian Delay.”

  “And you’ve found her! Larger than life!”

  Maggie couldn’t help but laugh along with Vivian Delay, full as she was with joie de vive.

  “I’m Maggie MacGilloway.” She extended her hand, which was eagerly pumped up and down.

  “Nice to meet you, Maggie. Call me Vivian.”

  “Alright. Vivian, I’m considering moving to River City and I was told that you know a lot about the town.”

  Vivian nodded. “I just put on some hot water for tea. Would you like a cup? Let me see now, what flavor do we have today?”

  Vivian didn’t wait for an answer from Maggie. She bustled behind a glass counter and began searching for the box of tea.

  There were several display cases around the cramped room. The walls were hung with local memorabilia and military uniforms.

  One particular plaque caught Maggie’s eye. Leaning closer to read the inscription, she found that a house that once existed on this spot was a station on the Underground Railroad.

  “Did the Underground Railroad really extend as far as Iowa?” Maggie inquired.

  “Raspberry lemon!” Vivian declared, holding up a colorful box. “Care for any?”

  “Yes, please. That sounds good.”

  Vivian smiled broadly and poured a cup for Maggie. “What did you ask, Dear?”

  Maggie took the cup.

  “I asked about the Underground Railroad.”

  “Yes, there are several historical locations around the state. Many farmers and others provided temporary shelter for those poor souls seeking refuge. We’re proud to be remembered as one of the stops along the way.”

  Vivian’s speech had the practiced air of having been repeated often. She pulled two chairs together, sat down in one and indicated that Maggie should take the second.

  “But you’re probably more interested in more recent happenings.”

  “I’m curious about jobs. I’d like to try something new.”

  “Well, I don’t know. What’s your field?”

  “I’m a botanist. Right now I put together plant slides for schools.”

  “Really? You know, my granddaughter works just north of here at Greystone Nature Area. She’s a naturalist there, has been for many years. You see, she just had another baby and wants to go to part time. As a matter of fact, she’s been looking for someone with a good understanding of plants. She knows more about animals, herself. As a child, she was forever dragging home orphaned baby robins for her mother to nurse back to health.”

  A quick flash of memory, Ben saying “How serendipitous.”

  Despite her intended mission, Maggie was suddenly interested in learning more about this potential job.

  “What kind of work does your granddaughter do? I mean, what does the job entail?”

  “Just about everything. They have groups come through for nature walks and she does programs for children. The area itself needs to be looked after, too. Why don’t I give you her number? She hasn’t had much luck finding someone. Maybe the two of you will hit it off.”

  Vivian wrote down her granddaughter’s phone number and handed it to Maggie.

  “Where do you live now, Maggie?” she asked.

  “I’m from Des Moines, but I’ve been staying at Original Farm with friends.”

  “Original Farm? Oh, you mean the old Falstaff place. David Senior and I were sweethearts back in the day. He wasn’t much for settling down. He got married late in life and they had David Junior in their autumn years. Funny how the son is like the father, only years and years later.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Listen to me—what an old gossip I am,” Vivian laughed. “David, or whatever he’s calling himself these days, he was a wild one. Ran his poor mother into the grave, I think. He wanted to see the world, get rid of this dusty little town, just like his father at one point in time. And they both came back to run the family farm anyway. Well, if you can call it a family farm now. I’m not sure. How do you know David?”

  “I was a boarder there when I was younger,” Maggie said.

  “So you knew Fennel.”

  Maggie was surprised to hear Vivian use the name Fennel and not Louise.

  “Yes. I actually met her when I was much younger, because of my dad. They both have celiac. He purchased breads from her.”

  Vivian’s head bobbed up and down vigorously. “I’m about the same. Lots of trouble digesting wheat. Fennel was my saving grace. Doctors had no idea how to help. I was losing weight fast, having trouble with my stomach.” Vivian paused and looked guilty. “You know, I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t give Fennel half a chance when she first started on the council.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, I don’t mean to offend, but they’re so different, aren’t they? A lot of folks around here just click their tongues and chalk it up to hippie business. I think I must’ve acted about the same.”

  “You don’t feel that way now?”

  “Well, I can’t speak for all the people living out there. I’m sorry, I know they’re your friends. But I knew Fennel well. When she saw I was having problems, she took me aside and showed me a whole new way of eating. It wasn’t just the wheat, but I couldn’t handle the dairy either. With her help, I pared my food list down to a few safe foods, then gradually added things back in, one at a time. Pretty soon, I knew what I could eat and what I had to avoid. And here I am today, fat and happy as ever!”

  Vivian patted her waistline with both hands.

  “My dad says he feels like Fennel saved his life,” Maggie said.

  “That’s right. That’s exactly right. I feel the same way. After she helped me, I started listening to Fennel more closely, with a wide open heart this time. She was right about most issues. What a wise lady. So sad she had to die young.”

  “I understand she was against approving Val-U-Shop’s request to link with city utilities?”

  “You know about that, do you? Well, what can I say? Fennel didn’t like them one bit. She had plenty of examples from around the country of small towns losing their mom and pop stores as soon as Val-U-Shop opened up. I had to agree with her. We’ve got a lot to lose here in River City. Most everything is locally owned. Looking at the rest of the state, though, it feels like we’re fighting a losing battle.”

  “I don’t think everyone saw the issue as Fennel did.”

  Vivian pursed her lips and studied Maggie over tinted bifocals. “I see you know about that, too. I’m surprised that they stayed living in the same house.”

  “Fennel and Tor—I mean David?”

  “That’s right. Not everyone knows this, but I happened to overhear a pretty heated argument when Fennel found out just who was planning to sell his land to Val-U-Shop. I’m sorry I stayed late after that council meeting. Good gracious. What a row!”

  Maggie’s broken trust in Tor was feeling more justified by the minute.

  “Why would he do such a thing?” she wondered aloud, knowing already that Tor’s decision to sell the land had to do with money. That was as specific as he had gotten this morning.
<
br />   “There are rumors that David has a gambling problem.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Of all the possible reasons Tor might need money, this seemed the least likely to Maggie.

  “No, I’m not kidding. My dear friend Imogene likes to go to the races once in a while, nothing desperate, she just likes to watch the horses and the free buffets don’t hurt, either. Well, Imogene saw David out at Prairie Meadows, playing the roulette table. He was staring so hard at that wheel, at first he didn’t even notice Imogene. You’d think he’d have the courtesy to at least wave. You see, she used to babysit for David when he was little.”

  “Did it seem like he was doing well?”

  “No, I think he must’ve been losing a bundle. She said he looked like he was ready to explode,” Vivian said. “Of course, that’s just the one time. Imogene hasn’t seen David there since. He might have given up gambling for good.”

  “Maybe,” Maggie said, remembering the bank statements.

  ***

  His dad had often said to Lyle that a person could tell what sort of Iowa winter they would have by early December. If this December was any indication, then they might as well break out the snowmobiles and forget trying to drive cars.

  Lyle was navigating poorly scraped county roads, back from a meeting at the main Sheriff’s station in Adel. He was taking a roundabout path, considering a casual stop at Original Farm on the way.

  He spent the majority of the drive trying to avoid ending up in the ditch and thinking up a good reason for his unannounced visit.

  Maggie MacGilloway had become stuck in his psyche and he couldn’t think her gone. That a woman so smart would engage in such foolishly dangerous activities was bothersome to Lyle. Worst of all, he knew that nothing he said would change her ways.

  Lyle knew that Maggie would wrestle down her demons the way she saw fit, but he didn’t have to like it.

  Rounding the last curve, Lyle met with a distraction. Driving by the Meadows’ house, a flash of purple through the open bard door caught his eye. He slowed his patrol car, then executed a tricky three point turn.

  Lyle pulled into the driveway.

  Walt Meadows looked up, surprised, and walked out to meet the Deputy Sheriff.

  Chapter 20

  Christmas was just around the corner. The tilled garden rows were frosted éclairs which sparkled in the December sun. All the animals—the four and two-legged varieties alike—stayed in their homes. A wary hush settled over the river valley.

  “Wintertime is for contemplation,” Namasté said on a daily basis. She floated around the house in leg warmers and bulky cotton sweaters over velvet skirts. “We should all learn to hibernate.”

  Maggie began to notice a small round bump around her midsection. No one else could really see the change except TomTom, who turned out to be an adept midwife.

  She took Maggie’s measurements each week and calculated when the baby would be born based on her weekly growth, among other things.

  “Sometime mid-June. Around the thirteenth or fourteenth,” she promised. “Hey! A Gemini, like me.”

  TomTom borrowed a hand-held heart monitor from the midwife with whom she had apprenticed. As often as Maggie wished, they lubed up her belly to take a listen. The rapid beats squished on and on, a dolphin symphony that assured Maggie someone was in there, someone she and Ben had created.

  “The kid’s got good rhythm!” Loki said, as Maggie sat listening to her child’s heartbeat for the third time that day. Loki danced around the living room, waving his hands like he was underwater.

  “Here,” TomTom said, handing Maggie the monitor.

  She got up and played her congo drums in syncopation with the rush-rush watery sound of the baby’s heartbeat. Loki continued dancing and was joined by Namasté. Even Sunflower grabbed a maraca to shake.

  Tor was making himself scarce lately. Maggie had noticed that Tor had successfully avoided being alone in a room with her since their money conversation. She had tried to corner him, but he always found a way to escape.

  Mostly, Maggie spent her time agonizing over telling her parents she was pregnant. Christmas was coming and there’d be no avoiding her family.

  Namasté had scoffed when Maggie mentioned this worry.

  “They’ll be so glad for a grandchild they won’t care that you’re not married. Who gives that a thought anymore?”

  “My mother,” Maggie had responded, remembering the baptisms of Keri’s kids and the huge deal it had been choosing godparents. Her siblings were all faithfully keeping up the family traditions. She would be the first single parent, albeit under tragic circumstances, in the MacGilloway clan.

  With holiday celebrations looming nearer, it was only a matter of time before Maggie would have to share her news. If she waited much longer than Christmas, her abdomen would expand to the point of giving her away. Mary would never forgive Maggie for keeping such important news a secret that long.

  As Maggie’s stay at Original Farm stretched on, Loki urged her to let go of the apartment.

  “Our baby won’t like that little space! There’s hardly room to breathe.”

  Loki had taken to referring to the fetus swimming around in Maggie’s uterus as “our baby.” Namasté and TomTom had quickly adopted the term, as well.

  “I think ‘our baby’ is used to a few centimeters of wiggle room, Loki. Anyway, kids can’t walk for about a year, can they? The baby won’t care what size the house is, as long as she’s warm and dry and fed.”

  Maggie didn’t share that she had thought about getting out of her lease. She also didn’t say anything to her friends about looking for a new job.

  Maggie had already called Vivian’s granddaughter, the naturalist. They planned to get together after the New Year. The phone conversation had gone well and both women were looking forward to the meeting.

  She had also spoken to a real estate agent in town about renting a small, inexpensive house in River City.

  Maggie kept these thoughts and activities to herself for now.

  With Ben, the road before them had been clear. The only questions were when and how, not “what if.” Now the path branched out before her in many directions, each way as likely as the next. Maggie didn’t want Loki, or anyone else for that matter, to try and pull her down the path they thought she ought to take.

  Maggie removed the heartbeat monitor from her belly and turned it off. The drum circle continued without the inspiration of squishy heartbeats. She smiled and made her way to the bathroom for the third time that morning.

  The drumming subsided as Maggie came back into the living room.

  “Let’s bake some cookies to take next door,” Namasté suggested.

  “Not this again!” Sunflower moaned.

  “What?” Maggie asked, wanting in on the joke.

  “Every Christmas Namasté takes something to the Meadows’ next door, you know the ones with that obnoxious kid and the mom who’s always calling the cops on us,” TomTom explained. “I think it’s sweet, but it never does any good.”

  “You have to be willing to turn the other cheek, right?” Namasté asked. “I mean, isn’t that what the season is all about? Spreading love around?”

  Sunflower snickered

  “I’ll help bake,” Maggie said. “What kind should we make? Peanut butter?”

  “No—we made those one year and Candy asked if we were trying to kill her husband. Apparently, Mr. Meadows is allergic to peanuts,” Loki said. “Can you imagine? Killing someone with food? Too crazy.”

  “Yeah,” Maggie agreed. “Crazy.”

  They decided to make oatmeal raisin cookies. As she and Namasté baked, Maggie thought about taking some cookies to the Sheriff’s River City office.

  “We should save some for Lyle,” Namasté piped up.

  Maggie dropped the fork she was using to mix the butter and sugar. “What makes you say that?”

  “I ran into Lyle at the grocery today. I invited him to dinner. He couldn’t make it, bu
t he asked about you.”

  “Oh,” said Maggie, then added jokingly, “I thought maybe you were reading my mind.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” TomTom said, coming into the kitchen. She reached across Maggie to grab a bowl from the cupboard. “Once I was sitting right there at the table, thinking how nice it would be to have a cup of orange juice. Namasté came in, opened up the fridge and asked if she could get some for me. When I asked her, ‘what?’ she said, ‘orange juice, of course,’ like I should’ve known.”

  “Weird,” said Maggie, keeping quiet about how a person comes to know the habitual patterns of a living partner.

  “Namasté knows that you’re having a girl.”

  “TomTom! I told you we should ask Maggie first,” Namasté scolded.

  “Sorry, Maggie. It doesn’t matter one way or the other, right? You’re going to love her no matter what. By the by, Namasté’s never wrong about babies.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see. But I’m thinking it’s a girl, too,” Maggie admitted. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling.”

  “Mothers know,” Namasté said, turning away so they would not see her eyes welling with tears.

  Later, Maggie and Namasté bundled up to make the trek next door with a package of foil-wrapped cookies.

  Mule, the Meadows’ dog, woofed out a few warning barks as the two women approached. Then he rushed up to nuzzle their hands, as if to apologize for having to first perform his guard duties.

  “Happy Holidays, neighbor!” Namasté said cheerfully when Candy Meadows opened the door.

  Candy looked less than thrilled.

  “Thanks,” she said, her lips in a thin line. “Merry Christmas is the greeting true Christians prefer. This is a celebration of our Savior’s birth, after all.”

  “My mistake,” Namasté said sincerely. “Merry Christmas, neighbor.”