Bitter Harvest

by Wendy Tyson

  “It seems out of character, I agree,” Megan said.

  “Maybe he’s not the murderer.” Bibi placed a mug of hot coffee in front of King. “Drink, Bobby. You look like you need it.”

  “Thanks, Bonnie.” King took the mug. He swallowed the hot liquid and placed the mug down on the table with a bang. Coffee sloshed out. “Maybe your grandmother’s right, Megan. Maybe the dog is unrelated.”

  “Then why not just ask for your dog back if you know who has it? This footage proves that someone was watching me. Someone who followed me here and knows I have his dog.” She frowned. “Someone who doesn’t want to risk coming forward. And who looks an awful lot like Jenner.”

  “That he does.”

  Megan stood to refill her own coffee. When she sat back down, she said to Bibi, “When you came across Otto, did you call Jenner?”

  “No. Just the police. Once I could get my darn phone to work right.” Bibi finally sat down at the table. “Why?”

  Megan didn’t answer right away. Rather, she said to King, “Did you call Jenner?”

  “We did. Once we confirmed Otto’s death. It seemed only right, it being his solar farm and all.”

  “How long did it take Jenner to arrive?”

  King’s eyes narrowed. “Not sure—we were kind of busy with Otto. Anyway, I’m the one who called him, and I remember he said it would take a while. He was down near Philly.”

  “Driving around?”

  “In his car. Alone. Why are you asking?”

  “I think you should check the cell tower pings, Bobby. See if you can triangulate his whereabouts when he was called. And maybe the EZ-Pass records. If he came from Philly, he may have taken the Turnpike.”

  “No EZ Pass. We checked. Someone’s already working on the cell tower—as a precaution because it was his property. Why?”

  “I think he was in Winsome.” Megan shared a high-level synopsis of her discussion with Tina and what she’d learned about Scott Hanson, the man who’d attended her open house.

  King’s skin paled, but not as much as Bibi’s.

  King said, “A planned development? Here? That would ruin this town.” He shook his head. “I haven’t heard a peep about development. You’d think I would have.”

  “Not with NDAs in place and lots of money to lose. Look, I don’t have hard proof, but think about it. Sauer’s acting odd—no chickens, no events on his property, yet he gets the sponsorship for Oktoberfest. Why? Someone wants to increase his farm’s profile and value.”

  “Like the sister-in-law of the man who serves to profit,” Bibi said.

  “Right.”

  King took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

  “You think Jenner recommended Ophelia so that he could help put this deal through?”

  “Why not? If you knew you had a lot to lose—likely millions in promotional money just for matchmaking this deal—what better way to highlight the perfection of Winsome than have someone talented do it for you? Oktoberfest wasn’t Jenner’s idea, but it did present a fantastic opportunity to both smooth the way for a developer and build some good will with the town.”

  “It was Otto’s idea.”

  King and Megan turned to look at Bonnie. Her hand was shaking, and her mouth was set in a firm narrow line. Bibi repeated, “Oktoberfest was Otto’s idea.”

  It took Megan a moment to understand what she was suggesting. “You think Otto learned about the plan and confronted Jenner?”

  Bibi nodded.

  King said, “Makes sense.”

  Megan considered the facts. Otto’s anger the morning of his death, his race to the solar field, uncharacteristically bypassing a stranded Brian Porter. Was he heading to meet Jenner? Or Ted? She said, “It does make sense. Otto would have been steamed.”

  King frowned. “You’ve both presented an interesting possibility, but I can’t get any kind of warrant on an intriguing supposition.”

  “You can dig without a warrant, Bobby, and you know it. The cell towers, for one. Once you have your records you can see if Jenner was lying about being near Philly. If he wasn’t, then he couldn’t have killed Otto.”

  King nodded reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You can talk with Sauer too.”

  “If there’s an NDA, he won’t talk,” Bibi said.

  “He will if compelled by law,” King said. “Let me start with Jenner.”

  “Even if Jenner hurt Otto, why Teddy?” Bibi asked.

  “Maybe Ted knew about the deal. Was threatening to go public.” King rubbed his temples. “Otto could have told Ted in the course of their arguments about Oktoberfest.”

  Clarity came on like a floodlight. Megan sat up straighter. “There’s another possibility.”

  They both looked at her, waiting. She shared her conversation with Brazzi. “I confirmed last night that there are liens against the Kuhl acreage, which is located by the Sauers’ farm.” Megan emphasized the last words.

  “So?” Bibi said.

  “I’m afraid I’m not following you,” King said.

  “The Kuhl property is an eyesore. The broken-down trailers, the overgrown fields. What if Jenner approached Ted first, hoping to secure an option for that property—to get it out of the way? But Ted said no. He knew to sell the land he would likely have to satisfy the liens—leaving him no better off than he was before.”

  “And when he figured out what Jenner was up to, and why Otto got the sponsorship over him, he told Otto,” King finished.

  Megan nodded. “All those emails between them, all those conversations.”

  “And Otto got mad,” Bibi said. “He and Ophelia weren’t having an affair. They were having an argument.” She shook her head. “Poor Lana, thinking Otto was cheating on her all that time.”

  “Right. Only Ted never signed an NDA. In fact, maybe it was Ted’s reaction that made Jenner start getting NDAs.” Megan was getting excited. This all made sense. “Jenner wouldn’t have expected him to refuse.”

  “Or Ted had an NDA and didn’t care. He had nothing to lose.” King glanced out the window, toward the barn. “None of this explains who was watching you that night at the Kuhl house. Nor does it explain your dog-petting visitor. Or, for that matter, who was driving the burned-out Honda.”

  Megan sat back, deflated. He was right. There were still holes. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Maybe we’d better tell Emily what’s going on.”

  Megan glanced at her grandmother. “Why do you say that, Bibi?”

  “Whoever killed her father may believe she knows more than she does. She could be viewed as a threat.”

  King’s eyes widened. “You’re right, Bonnie.”

  “Where is she?” Megan asked.

  “She left earlier to run some errands,” Bibi said. “But she should have been back by now. She’s probably up at the barn with Clay.”

  Megan jumped up and looked outside. “Her car’s not here.”

  A quick call to Clay told them that neither Emily nor Lily were up there with him. “Haven’t seen her all morning,” Clay said. “Is everything okay?”

  “We hope so.” Megan dialed Emily’s cell phone. It went right to voicemail.

  Megan looked at King, then Bibi. The look on both of their faces reflected her own anxiety. Megan felt the knot in her stomach tighten. “Bobby,” she said, “I think your people should be looking for Emily.”

  “I’m already on it,” King said. He stood. “Business as usual, please. It will be the best way to flush out whoever is behind this. In the meantime, I’ll give you a call when we find her.” He nodded at Bibi, whose skin was arctic white. “And you do the same. If you hear from Emily, let me know. As soon as you can.”

  Thirty-Three

  It was hard to focus on work with everything going on. Megan arrived at the caf
é at two, after King had left and after she helped Clay and Porter with some chores at the farm. Sammy the lost dog was settling in well, and Denver had given Clay the okay for Sammy to meet Sadie and Gunther. The three quickly became fast friends—and fellow canine conspirators. Their antics, at least, kept the goats in line and Megan’s mind off of other things.

  But at the café, it all came back. They’d had a good-sized lunch crowd, and customers still lingered. The chili cook-off was that evening, and the store smelled of cumin and chili and Alvaro’s sweet homemade cornbread. Megan’s mouth started to water the second she walked in, despite a stomach too twisted for food.

  “Your Aunt Sarah was here looking for you,” Clover said. She was helping Alvaro in the kitchen, and she placed a heaping handful of homemade potato chips on a plate alongside a Cuban sandwich and a small scoop of broccoli slaw. “She said it’s important.”

  “Yeah, she’s been wanting to talk for a while.”

  Clover looked at Megan, questions in her eyes. “You should call her.”

  “I will. Right now we have bigger issues to deal with.” She asked Clover if Emily had come by the café.

  Clover’s unlined brow creased. “No, but Bobby called me. Asked that I call him immediately if I see her. What’s going on?”

  Megan debated how much to tell Clover. She opted for enough to keep her safe. When she was finished sharing, Clover was silent. She took a moment to pull off her gloves and wash her hands. Then she turned to Megan and said, “So…Jenner? I never would have thought him capable of something like that.” Her voice was calm, but her shaking hands gave her away.

  “Nothing’s definite. The police are checking into it. For now, watch your back and keep an eye out for Emily.”

  Clover nodded. She pulled another order from a pile on the counter. After looking around to make sure no one was in earshot, she said, “Is the chili cook-off still on?”

  “Bobby wants to maintain as much normalcy as possible. He’s afraid canceling it now will tip off the perpetrators.”

  Clover smiled. “Perpetrators. You sound like him.”

  Megan left Clover in the kitchen and went in the back to check on Bibi. Her grandmother had seemed listless after King left. Megan knew she felt disheartened that such awful things could happen in her community, but Megan suspected the idea of a planned community had gotten to her as much as anything. There was nothing necessarily wrong with such things, but Winsome was still a small town. People knew each other, they cooperated. Doors were unlocked, kids played in neighbors’ yards. There were no gates. A large development meant strangers—lots of them—and the demands that came with wealthy city people. It would be a change, maybe more change than an old-time resident could bear.

  But Bibi seemed fine. She was gathering spices from the pantry and had an odd assortment of ingredients in a wicker basket. Oranges and cinnamon and walnuts and carrots. When she saw Megan looking, she said, “Orange-spiced carrot bread. For tonight.”

  That sounded delicious. “Will you be okay here at the café?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to stop by Denver’s clinic, and then take a ride to look for Emily.”

  Bibi’s face tightened. “Take Denver with you. Please.”

  “I’ll wait until he’s through with his appointments, and then we’ll go. Promise.”

  The clinic was nearly empty when Megan arrived. She sat in the waiting room, her foot hitting the floor with nervous little taps, until the receptionist told her Denver was free. What if things felt different in the light of the morning? What if she’d made a mistake? She found him in the surgery, washing up. He smiled when he saw her. And his smile melted away her apprehension.

  “Everything okay, Megan? It’s unlike you to come by this time of day.”

  “I was hoping you could do some veterinary hocus pocus and look to see whether anyone has reported Sammy missing.” She smiled. “But mostly I wanted to see you.”

  “Now that I’m a famous country vet.”

  “Ah, Ophelia’s article must have come out.”

  “I’ll be signing autographs this evening, in fact.”

  Megan walked closer. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to wait until then.”

  He kissed her. She felt the now-familiar pull and kissed him back, her hands trailing the length of his back. “For you, maybe an exception.”

  Megan pulled away. “I never asked you about your evening with Ophelia.” The words were out before she could help herself.

  “Indeed. We didn’t talk much, did we? Well, Ophelia and I left my house—turns out she’s not terribly fond of dogs, and the feeling is rather mutual—and went to her office.” He dried his hands on a clean towel and then walked out of the surgery, leaving Megan to follow. In his cramped office, he pulled something out of a folder and handed it to Megan. “I may have had an ulterior motive, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh?”

  “I did some snooping of my own.”

  Megan glanced down. She was looking at a project plan. Details of the Oktoberfest events were listed on the front two pages. Information about the Picnic on the Canal, Concert on the Green, the beer tasting, even tonight’s chili cook-off. Megan had to hand it to her—Ophelia was very organized. The packet contained diagrams of the downtown area, contingency plans, and volunteers’ phone numbers.

  “Check out the last page,” Denver said.

  Megan flipped to the back, to a page listing Winsome businesses, with notes about each. Sauers’ was first, followed by Vance Brewery and Merry Chance’s nursery. A half dozen other businesses were listed as well. Each had a spot on the Oktoberfest lineup—including Denver’s veterinary clinic, Mark Gregario’s farm, and the Washington Acres café. “Priority List” was written at the top. Ideas for promoting Sauer Farm were written along the margins in neat slanted script.

  “The main businesses are within a three-mile radius of Sauer Farm,” Denver said. “The rest, like this clinic, are not. I thought that was interesting.” He slipped on a pair of reading glasses and took the papers from Megan. “Seems to verify your thoughts about Ophelia. That she had a motive for choosing Sauer.”

  “It does more than that.” Megan took the packet back. “You stole this?”

  “I like to think of it as borrowing.”

  “How did you manage…never mind.” As he told it, Denver had been a handful as a kid. An abusive father, trouble with the law. She imagined he knew all too well how to lift something unnoticed. She realized he didn’t know the latest about what they’d found. She recounted as much as she could, as quickly as she could. She wanted to get out there to search for Emily.

  “So the big businesses are land targets to be part of this planned community,” Denver said, comprehending the scheme quickly. “And the others?”

  “Made to showcase the charm of Winsome and its investment value, if I had to guess. For Scott Hanson’s benefit. Or whatever developers Jenner invited.”

  “Sneaky swick. I can’t believe he’d sell out this town that way.”

  “I can’t either.” Megan handed the documents back to Denver. “Won’t she be missing this?”

  “Maybe, but she had other copies. She’s very organized. I understand why Jenner chose her.”

  Thinking of Jenner made Megan think about Emily. “Want to go for a ride with me?”

  “Ye want to look for Emily?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “The only thing predictable about ye, Megs, is that you’re unpredictable. I think about what a sensible woman might do, then I realize ye will surely do the opposite.”

  “That’s not always true. I’m quite sensible.”

  Denver surprised Megan by pulling her forward suddenly. His breath was warm against her ear when he said, “No, you’re not. Not always. But that’s what I love about you.”

 
Thirty-Four

  They drove around for an hour with no luck. Megan called Emily’s cell five times, but no one answered—and the calls went right to voicemail. A phone call to Clay told her that Emily never returned to the farm, and Clover texted her to say there was no sign of Emily at the café or in town. Emily had the baby with her. Had she run, afraid she’d meet with the same fate as her father? Or had she met with foul play? The thought of the latter terrified Megan.

  “What do you want to do, Megan? It’s starting to get late. The chili cook-off will have started and Alvaro and Clover will be missing you.”

  “I know.”

  They were sitting in Denver’s Toyota, parked along the Kuhl property, the windows down to bring in some fresh air. The sun had sunk below the horizon, and beyond the mountain and Potter Hill, the sky was aflame with pinks and purples and an array of blues. Megan took a deep breath. It was a beautiful area. Someone was determined to capitalize on that beauty.

  Denver’s phone rang. He pulled the phone from his pocket and said, “I need to get this, Megs. It’s Mark. His horse is still having issues.”

  “No problem. I’m going to take another walk around.”

  Denver nodded, looking less than thrilled. He reached behind the seat and pulled out a long metal flashlight. “Be careful.”

  Megan slid out of the car and onto the rocky driveway. They’d already looked in the house—Megan still had the key—and back behind the trailers. Now that the day had dimmed, the property once again took on an ominous feel. Megan was carrying the knife she found on Potter Hill and she patted her pocket, taking some comfort in its presence.

  She walked along the property line, remaining in sight of Denver. She could see him speaking animatedly on the phone, no doubt taking in the horse’s symptoms and doling out advice and comfort. She walked on, past the tree line and into the slim band of woods that separated the Kuhl home from the park. The air was cool and moist, redolent with the smells of damp leaves and wood smoke. Now that Megan figured out the development angle, she saw her hometown through a new lens. Its simple beauty became fodder for marketers. Its simpler way of life, an asset to be sold to the highest bidder—undermining, in the end, the very thing that appealed in the first place.