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

by Anomie Hatcher

  When the potatoes were ready to eat, no one ate any but TomTom.

  “We can make latkes in the morning,” she said, piling the mountain of leftovers into miscellaneous containers.

  The few dishes were washed, dried, and put away.

  Any minute Lyle might call or pull into the driveway.

  “Where could Toby be in this storm? The roads are so bad school’s been cancelled every day this week. How could he have gone anywhere?” TomTom asked.

  “Maybe he was out of town before the storm hit and got stranded. Maybe his truck is in the shop and he was sleeping when Loki called. Maybe his overprotective mother is screening his calls,” snapped Maggie.

  Seeing TomTom’s hurt face, Maggie apologized.

  They all went back upstairs, tunneling cold toes down into the knapsacks that had been dragged out earlier.

  Loki roasted marshmallows over the fire.

  Tor and Sunflower played a half-hearted game of chess.

  The snow stopped, but the wind did not, and still no word from Lyle.

  Tor turned on the television set, which was a rare act for anyone at Original Farm, and they watched an old Vincent Price movie.

  The end credits rolled.

  Namasté said, “I should call Lyle.”

  “You already did,” Maggie said.

  “Again, I mean.”

  “We should hit the hay and let the man do his job,” said Tor.

  The slumber party had turned out to be less than festive. They eventually drifted off to sleep. Maggie was uncomfortable on the floor, but glad for the company of nearby bodies and the warmth of the glowing embers in the fireplace.

  The next day, Lyle still had not called.

  Namasté did try calling him again, but was unable to get through. Deputy Fowler would only say that Lyle was working a case and could not be bothered.

  Tor went out to plow the driveway.

  It was evening again by the time they saw the headlights of a car coming up the drive. Namasté ran to pull back the curtain.

  “It’s Lyle,” she said.

  Before Lyle could knock, the door swung open.

  “I need to speak with Ms. MacGilloway,” Lyle stated in his Deputy voice.

  “Lyle, please. I’m the one that called. What’s been happening?” Namasté pleaded.

  Lyle’s face underwent a visible struggle. “May I come in?”

  The door was wide open. Warm inside air rushed out the open doorway.

  “Yes, of course.” Namasté shut the door.

  “It appears that you were right, Namasté. I discovered evidence that links Toby Meadows to Louise Carpenter’s death. Granted, these are circumstantial facts. Until Toby regains consciousness and can talk—”

  “Regains consciousness? What happened?” Maggie asked.

  Lyle sighed deeply. “I called, but didn’t make it over to the Meadows’ last night. Apparently, Toby was asleep in bed so I decided to wait until this morning. When I went to speak with Toby, his mother told me that he had gone sledding with friends in River City earlier in the day. The friends hadn’t seen him. He hadn’t returned home any of the times I called Mrs. Meadows to check in today. Given the bad weather, his parents began to worry and insisted we send out patrols. We have only two deputies, plus Sheriff Blodger, and the weather was not cooperating, so it took us awhile to find Toby. His truck went into a ditch along a county road north of here. He slammed into a tree and sustained head injuries due to his not being restrained by a seat belt. We’re not sure how long he sat out there in the cold. He’s currently in the ICU at Mercy Hospital in Des Moines. We found physical evidence in his vehicle that links Toby to Louise Carpenter. To Fennel.”

  The room was quiet as they absorbed the news.

  “You found her medicine, didn’t you?” Namasté breathed softly.

  “I really shouldn’t share that. I’ve already said more than I ought to,” Lyle responded. “Maggie, I need you to come with me.”

  Loki sounded angry. “Why do you need Maggie? ”

  “What’s going on?” TomTom asked, looking frightened.

  “You’ll need to wear your warmest clothing,” Lyle said, directing his comments and his gaze at Maggie.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Please. You’re the only one who can do this.”

  Maggie scanned Lyle’s face for some indication as to what was going on. All she could read there was extreme fatigue and a hint of something more, something that was clearly distressing to Lyle.

  “Okay, I’ll come with you.”

  They did not drive into town. Instead, Lyle followed what seemed like an endless maze of county roads. None had been plowed well and it took them nearly an hour to reach their destination.

  A half mile ahead, Maggie saw the flashing orange lights of a tow truck. As they drew nearer, she noticed deep ruts in the snow leading off the road. Lyle’s headlights reflected off the taillights of Toby’s pickup in the ditch.

  “Why did you bring me here, Lyle?”

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, Maggie. Can you step out of the car?”

  “Why?”

  “Please. Come with me.” Lyle opened his car door and walked toward the truck in the ditch. Maggie got out and followed him.

  “We’ll be done here in a minute,” Lyle called to the driver of the tow truck.

  Done with what? Maggie wondered.

  They walked in the ruts made by the pickup truck’s wide tires as it had skidded into the ditch. Lyle motioned for Maggie to leave the relative comfort of the tamped down snow to wade with him through a deeper drift. The loose snow came up to her thighs in places. She could barely move.

  “Lyle, what is going on?”

  He shined a flashlight onto the hood, which was dented by the large cottonwood tree with which the truck had collided.

  “Take a good look at this truck, please.”

  Maggie struggled further into the drift to get a better view.

  It was an old truck, with rounded fenders. Although it shimmered bright purple in the beam of Lyle’s flashlight, the encounter with the tree had made scratches in the new paint. Underneath the purple, the truck was a muddy, rusty red.

  Expecting to lose it, Maggie was surprised by her own calmness.

  “This is the truck that killed Ben.”

  “I thought it might be. Are you okay?”

  “Toby killed Ben?”

  “It looks that way. Maggie— ”

  “But why would he do it? Toby didn’t even know Ben.”

  “I noticed this truck one day when I was driving by the Meadows’ place. I stopped and asked Walt about it, but he wasn’t sure about talking to me at the time. I wish I’d had more to go on, for a warrant, then maybe this accident would never have happened. As far as Toby’s connection to Ben—I went back over the accident report. An eyewitness observed that the hit-and-run driver was dressed in a fur-lined parka and ski goggles. Toby was wearing a get-up just like that when the paramedics pulled him out.”

  “Still. Doesn’t it seem a little strange to you?”

  “All crime seems a little strange to me. I don’t get why people do the things they do. They have to answer for their crimes, regardless.”

  “But why would he do it, Lyle? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “When we first met, you pointed out that life doesn’t always make sense. People kill for their own twisted reasons.”

  “Twisted reasons are still reasons. Fennel, I can understand. Kind of. With her he had a motive, to protect himself from getting into trouble. But Ben? Lyle, Toby didn’t even know Ben.”

  “Yes, you keep saying that. You’re shivering, Maggie. Let’s get back in the car and get warm.” Lyle held out a hand to help her navigate the snowdrift.

  In the car, he turned on the heater full blast. It was difficult to speak over the noise, but Maggie tried anyway.

  “I just don’t understand. It’s too coincidental,” she said loudly.

  ***


  Lyle reviewed his training on dealing with emotionally distraught victims. Nothing came to mind to aid in this particular situation. He had expected tears and screaming and maybe, if he was completely honest with himself, some grateful embraces from Maggie. The collected individual seated next to Lyle left him wondering how to proceed. He switched the heater fan to a lower setting.

  ***

  “Perhaps you’re in shock,” he suggested.

  “I just need you to give me a reason. Any reason. I’ll probably believe it. Why would Toby do it? Why would he drive into Des Moines, run into Ben’s car and take off? How would he even have known where we’d be?”

  “It was probably an accident, like you said—a coincidence. The pickup is an old farm truck that Toby’s dad let him have to practice driving on their property. It isn’t registered—no plates. I was looking for a registered vehicle in trying to help solve Ben’s case. Explains why I missed it. Toby may have gone joyriding in Des Moines just for the hell of it. I wouldn’t put it past him. You can see why he wouldn’t stick around at the scene of an accident. Driving an unregistered vehicle at top speed in a residential area, hitting an innocent person.”

  “I suppose I can buy that.”

  “Also, Toby was high when he got into the accident today. His tox screen came back with excessive levels of marijuana and PCP. He could have been high when he hit Ben—yet another reason to run.”

  “Huh,” Maggie answered, staring blankly past the tow truck. She watched it back up carefully toward the rear end of the pickup. The driver got out and began to loosen the winch.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Can you take me home now?”

  “Of course.” Lyle turned the patrol car around and headed back the way they had come. Neither of them spoke on the return drive.

  When they arrived at Original Farm, Maggie touched Lyle lightly on the arm.

  “Is Toby going to be okay? He’s just a kid.”

  “He’s almost seventeen.”

  “Right. Just a kid.”

  “I don’t get it, Maggie. I thought you’d be happy or crying, jumping up and down to finally know the truth about the guy that killed Ben.”

  “Is it the truth? I feel like I’m missing something. Sometimes an answer is only one piece of the solution, not the whole tamale,” she said. “We were growing this pest-resistant bamboo in our greenhouse at grad school—”

  “What? Bamboo?”

  “Yes. Bamboo. It kept dying off. We checked the soil pH, kept strict watering records, the whole nine yards. But it wouldn’t flourish. The nitrogen levels kept falling and it was dying. I added compost and the nitrogen levels went back up, but the bamboo wasn’t getting any stronger.”

  “Does it all come back to plants with you?”

  “It helps to work from what you know, right? This is how I solve problems.”

  “You’re not upset? Maybe you’re just bottling it up inside.”

  “I’m not bottling, just… discombobulated.”

  “Okay, I guess. So what about the bamboo?”

  “I tried repotting it as a last resort. Not very scientific, I’ll admit, but it’s been known to help. It was then I found out that a neighboring plant had sent a very thin root runner up through a hole in the bottom of the bamboo’s pot. It was literally sucking all the life from the soil and, therefore, from the bamboo. Marie Chen, a fellow grad student, joked that the neighbor plant was jealous of all the attention the bamboo was getting—”

  Maggie sucked in her breath and clapped her mittened hands together. Lyle was ready with open arms, sure this was the moment she would break down.

  Maggie opened the car door instead.

  “Thanks, Lyle. I should be going now.” She slammed the door and started walking up to the house.

  She heard Lyle say to the empty car, “Always glad to save the day.”

  Maggie waited till Lyle drove away, then sat on the old church pew on the front porch. The wooden seat was cold and hard, but she barely noticed. The truth which had just hit her was much harder and colder.

  She could hear voices inside the house, low at first, then rising.

  “She might want to be alone! She’ll come in when she’s ready.”

  “It’s below zero out there!”

  Maggie rose and went in the house to stop the argument. Namasté greeted her with a hug and the offer of a spot close to the fire.

  “Everything okay?” Loki asked.

  “Where’ve you been all this time? Did Lyle drag you down to the station to make a statement?” asked TomTom.

  “Yes. We drove to the station,” Maggie lied. She stared into the fire, avoiding a direct gaze at anyone in particular. She could not look the murderer in the eye just yet.

  She had to fasten her feelings down to the deck.

  A nasty squall was about to hit.

  “Maybe we can talk more in the morning,” Namasté said, but her tone indicated she’d like to talk right this minute.

  “Yes, there’s nothing else we can do tonight,” said Tor. “Now that Maggie is home safe, we might as well go to bed and talk in the morning.”

  “Good idea,” Loki agreed.

  “I guess,” Namasté said reluctantly. “Maybe that’s best. We’re all tired.”

  After a while, everyone said goodnight. Maggie walked upstairs to her room. She dug in her luggage for a small mechanical device and checked to see that it was working. Next, she got into the hidden cookbook cache on the flower cart and pulled out a few pieces of paper.

  Maggie waited for fifteen minutes. When the house was relatively quiet, she tiptoed downstairs to the second floor to speak briefly to a friend. Then she went down to the first floor to wait in the dark for a killer.

  She heard soft footfalls and pushed a button on her digital recorder. She set the small machine soundlessly on the table beside her, her thumb over the red LED, careful not to cover the pick-up mike. Maggie did not speak till the sound of footsteps traveled behind the burgundy armchair in which she sat.

  “Loki,” she whispered. The footsteps paused.

  “Mack? What’re you doing?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

  “So you’re sitting down here in the dark?”

  “Not just sitting. I was waiting for you.”

  Loki reached to turn on the lamp.

  “No,” Maggie soothed invitingly. “I like the dark. Leave it off.”

  “You’re being weird.”

  “Loki, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Okay.” Loki came around the chair, drew up the footstool so their knees touched, as he had months before. Bile rose in Maggie’s throat.

  “I’m pretty sure I know where you’re going, Loki.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I needed a drink of water.”

  “You were on your way to Des Moines. To see Toby at the hospital. I understand.”

  Loki’s body tensed. She could feel an electric charge where their knees touched.

  “What?”

  “I know why you were going to see Toby.”

  “Why would I be doing that? It’s two in the morning, Mack.” He used her nickname, but his voice had changed, had become lower in pitch and more deliberate.

  “I’ve been thinking, Loki.”

  “You think too much.”

  “I know, I know, but this is good. I feel like you saved me, bringing me to Original Farm, making me part of your family. I was lost before I came here.”

  Loki’s knees relaxed.

  “You’re one of us, Mack. You and the baby can live here forever.”

  “I know this will sound strange, but sometimes… it almost feels like I replaced Fennel. She died, Ben died, and here I am, like it—” Maggie swallowed hard. “Like it was meant to be.”

  Loki leaned forward and whispered, “I knew you’d see that way, Mack.”

  Maggie continued, straining for what she hoped sounded like sincerity, “I’ve been so h
appy since I came here. It’s not like living with Ben. I could tell that wasn’t going anywhere. I needed more than he was willing to give. I needed somewhere to belong.”

  “You and I, we’re kindred spirits, poor kids left to fend for ourselves. We know the real deal when we see it, right? The family you make for yourself is the only true family you have in this world.”

  “Fennel didn’t see it that way, did she?”

  “No. Fennel didn’t see it. Maybe she did at one time, but she changed.”

  Maggie knew she had to let Loki talk now. She counted in her head, forcing herself to keep quiet.

  One—one thousand, Two—one thousand, Three—one thousand, Four—

  “I tried to talk her out of starting her own bakery. She had a good thing here, but all she could see was that our kitchen wasn’t clean enough. Too many times wheat got into her baking. She cared more about the customers than about her own family. And if she left, TomTom and Sunflower were going, too. Namasté would’ve been next. She couldn’t stay away from TomTom for long. That would’ve left me and Tor and no women. A family can’t survive without strong women can it, Mack? First lesson we learned in life. One weak-willed mama willing to turn her back and the family suffers. It falls apart. Fennel didn’t listen to me. I couldn’t let her break us up.”

  one thousand, Nine—one thousand, Ten—

  “I remembered Toby telling me about Fennel’s cubby hole and her journals. Secret thoughts, mostly useless bits of information and—what’s this? A fatal allergy? I couldn’t believe my luck. It’s what you said. Like it was meant to be. You’d think she’d have found a better method of hiding the key, though. She was so easy—a creature of habit, fragile like a China cup. She practically killed herself. She drank her special tea and died, leaving the rest of the family intact.”

  Thirteen—one thousand, Fourteen—

  “Mack, I knew you wouldn’t come as long as Ben was around. I know you liked him, but you’ve gotten over that, right? I’ll bet you had no idea I was such a great listener, huh? Came in handy, all that brotherly listening. I was like: a car appointment where? Oh, great. Thanks. I’ll meet you halfway.”