Corpse on the Cob

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

“Here it is: Clement Brown. Looks like it’s on the same road as the Blue Lobster.”

  Digging a pen and scrap of paper out of my purse, I wrote down the address and phone number for Clem Brown. At least with a name like Clement, there shouldn’t be an issue of contacting the wrong person.

  We were about to leave when my cell phone rang. It was Dev. “Should I answer it?” I asked Greg.

  “Don’t be silly, of course you should. He’s our friend.”

  Friend, yes, but at times like these he was usually an angry friend.

  When I hesitated, Greg said, “I’ll get it, if you’d prefer.”

  “No, I’ll do it. He’s calling me, and I need to face the music.”

  I flipped open my phone just before it went to voice mail and said hello.

  “It’s Tuesday,” Dev said without preamble. “You’d better be back in Cali.”

  I squared my shoulders before responding. “Well, I’m not. In fact, Greg’s here with me now.”

  “Greg flew out there?”

  “Yes, he’s here right now. I’ll put you on speaker.” I pressed the speaker feature and held the phone out between us.

  “Hi, Dev,” Greg said. “Not to worry, I’m here with Odelia and keeping an eye on her.”

  “And who’s keeping an eye on you?”

  “Very funny. But we’re fine. We had a barbecue with Odelia’s family yesterday.”

  “What about the murder and her mother?”

  “Murder is unsolved, but the police don’t seem to think Grace did it.” Since Greg was doing such a nice job side-stepping the situation, I didn’t interrupt.

  “Well, that’s a start.”

  “How’s your case going? Double homicide, right?”

  “Easy one. Family member cracked as soon as we brought him in. All locked up except the paperwork. Had a minute and thought I’d check on Odelia.” There was a pause. “You two sure you’re okay?”

  “We’re fine, Dev,” I said. “We should be home in a day or two.”

  “Good. When you get back, dinner’s on me. I want to hear all about your trip. Is Greg’s cousin still with you?”

  Greg looked at me and smiled. “I think he’s addicted to the blueberry muffins here. Might never get him to leave.”

  “He’s even found a lady friend,” I added.

  Dev chuckled. “Well, if he has time for blueberry muffins and romance, and you’re going to family barbecues, I guess there’s no need to worry.”

  The home of Clem and Tara Brown was not only near the Brown farm, it was on the Brown farm. The house was located on a private road called Farm House Road that connected with the main road just about a mile from the intersection that held Busters, the Blue Lobster, and the ice cream stand.

  “There’s the Blue Lobster, and over here is the vegetable stand,” I said to Greg as we passed by. Of the three, only the vegetable stand appeared to be open.

  Farm House Road was really a long driveway that ended at the top of a small hill with a cluster of farm buildings, including a large old farm house and farm buildings. About halfway up on the right side, a shorter drive branched off and led to a single-level, ranch-style house painted blue. Closer to the main road, on the left-hand side, was another driveway that led to another single-story ranch home in white. Both homes were landscaped with nice yards and trees. Acres and acres of farmland surrounded the residences. I spotted a silver minivan parked in front of the garage belonging to the white house.

  “That looks like the van I saw last night at the North Woods.” I pulled the car over to the side of the main road and studied the layout. “But I hadn’t planned for all this togetherness.”

  Greg agreed. “It could make it difficult to see her without anyone noticing.”

  “Buster and his wife are gone. Clem could be out in the fields, but I’m sure they have other farm workers besides just them. It’s too big of a place not to have hired help. I’m also not sure if Clem and Tara have kids.”

  “Most kids will be in school today.”

  “That’s true, but they could have older children who are home or in the business with them, or little ones, which means someone will have to be home to care for them. Also, there’s Mrs. Brown, their mother. I got the impression she’s a widow, but who knows where she is.”

  At that moment, I wished we’d assigned this task to Willie and that Greg and I had taken on the task of watching my mother.

  As soon as he’d finished dressing, Willie had come downstairs with his laptop and his duffle bag and announced that he had a plan.

  He dropped his bundles by the door and handed me an envelope of cash. “I’ve already paid Mrs. Friar for Saturday and Sunday nights,” he explained. “This is for last night and tonight.”

  “So you’ve decided to go?” Greg asked.

  “Sort of. My bags are packed, and I’ll keep them with me in case I need to vamoose. If so, you can give Mrs. Friar my apologies for giving her no notice and this money. If not, I’ll stay one more night and leave like a normal guest tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

  Greg nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. We’ll tell people you got called to New York a bit early.”

  “Okay,” I said, happy with the solution. “That’s settled. We’re on our way to track down Tara Brown. What’s on your agenda for today?”

  “I have a bit of personal business to do.” Willie gave us sly look. “Then I want to drop by Mrs. Rielley’s.”

  That piqued my curiosity. “You going to drill her about the drugs?”

  “Yes and no. You see, when I was fixing her faucet, she mentioned a few other things that needed repairing around the house. Seems Mr. Rielley doesn’t see that well anymore, and money is tight, so little fix-it things have gone to pot—so to speak.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I thought I’d go by and surprise her, providing she’s home.”

  I gave him a sly wink. “And while you’re there, you can have a cup of tea and a nice chat. Right?”

  “Brilliant,” Greg announced.

  Willie held up an index finger. “Ah, but wait, there’s more.” He paused for dramatic effect. “At the same time, I can keep an eye on Grace’s house in case that skunk Grady drops by to try and cash in.”

  “Thank you, Willie.” I sighed with relief. “That’s something I’m worried about. It sounded like whatever plan he and Brenda had, it’s happening in the next day or so.”

  “I might even drop by and see if little mama senior needs a handyman, although with Clark around, I doubt it.”

  As my eyes surveyed Farm House Road for signs of life, I tried to figure out our next move. “I wonder where Cathy lives? Clark said she and Grady had a place near the farm. One of these could be theirs.”

  “Sweetheart, this isn’t near the farm, it’s on the farm.”

  “Hmm. Maybe we should visit the vegetable stand and have another little chat with Cathy.”

  “Not a bad idea, but what’s your reason for stopping by when you just saw her yesterday?”

  I dug around in my brain for an excuse to stop at Buster’s. When I grinned at Greg, he knew I had one.

  There were only two vehicles in the parking lot when we pulled into Buster’s. One was the old truck with the Brown Bros. logo and the other was a late-model silver sedan. As Greg and I were getting him situated in his wheelchair, a gray-haired woman in a denim skirt and green tee shirt sprinkled with daisies came out of the stand with two big bundles and climbed into the sedan. That left just the truck.

  “At least she won’t be busy,” I whispered to Greg as we entered the building.

  Looking around, I didn’t see Cathy, or anyone for that matter. Greg and I poked around the few aisles. From behind the counter came the German shepherd I’d seen before. He walked up to Greg, who cooed at the animal and cautiously held out a hand for the dog to sniff. When its tail started to wag, Greg scratched it behind its ears.

  “Good boy,” he told the animal.

  “That’s Clem’s dog,” I told
Greg in a whisper.

  “You folks need help?”

  It was Clem. He came through the back lugging a crate of fresh green beans. When he saw me, he stopped and glared. “What do you want?”

  “I just stopped by to see Cathy a minute.”

  Clem Brown’s eyes trailed from me to where Greg was patting the happy dog. “Digger, here.” The animal immediately left Greg and went to his master.

  “This is my husband, Greg Stevens.”

  Greg gave him a nod. Without a word, Clem returned his eyes to drilling through my head.

  “What do you want to see Cathy for?” He carried the green beans to one of the displays and dumped them out on top of others already in place. “Thought you folks all got together yesterday.” He mixed the new beans into the others with his hand.

  “We did.” I took a few steps closer. “But I forgot to give her my contact information. We’re going home soon, and I wanted to stay in touch with her.” I gave the surly farmer a big smile. “After all, she’s going to be my sister-in-law soon.”

  Clem scoffed. “Don’t bet on it.”

  “What do you mean?” Greg moved towards us.

  “What I mean is that I doubt Grady and Cathy are ever going to get married.” He walked over to the register and started fiddling through some receipts.

  I followed. “Has something happened?”

  Clem slapped the receipts down on the counter. “Do you see Cathy here?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “That’s because she’s home worried sick, leaving me to do this instead of my own work. Seems Grady left shortly after they got back from the Littlejohns’ last night and never came back.”

  I glanced over at Greg. The two of us went wide-eyed at each other, knowing what we knew.

  Turning back to Clem, I said, “Did she try the station or his mother’s?”

  “Don’t you think she’s smart enough to do that early on?” His lined face twisted like an annoyed pretzel.

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” I took a deep breath before I hit him with another question. “Did they have a fight?”

  “According to her, they didn’t.” He started for the front of the stand. The dog followed. We followed behind the dog. “Who knows why he took off. Even the chief doesn’t know where he is.”

  “Where does Cathy live, Clem? I’d like to drop by and see if there’s anything I can do.”

  Clem turned on me with vicious speed. “There’s nothing you can do, Miss Nosy.” When I looked surprised, he continued. “Yeah, I know you’ve been buddying up to Cathy and Troy. Asking them questions about that murder and about us.” He moved closer. “Better be careful, or you could get hurt.”

  With astounding speed, Greg got between us, pushing me several steps back while he faced a red-faced Clem Brown. “That’s my wife, Mr. Brown. So just back the hell up!”

  Clem looked down at Greg in angry surprise, his fists clenched. The dog went on alert, a low growl emitting from its gut. I noticed Greg’s back stiffen and his hands go tight. If Clem Brown threw a punch at Greg, wheelchair or no wheelchair, dog or no dog, Greg would respond in a like manner. I’d once seen Greg get so angry he threw an able-bodied man into a wall. The man had been J.J., my ass of a stepbrother.

  It was Clem who backed down first. “Get the hell out of here, both of you.” As we retreated, he called after us. “And tell the whole Littlejohn family to stay away from us.”

  “I think you should forget about Tara Brown, Odelia.”

  It was the first words either of us said after leaving the vegetable stand two miles back in the dust. I pulled off the road into the empty parking lot of a small church and let the engine idle.

  “Greg, I’m worried that Grady and Brenda have already put their plan into play. If so, Mom might be in danger.” I looked at the clock on the dash. “I doubt Willie is at the Rielleys’ yet. Let’s give Clark a call.”

  Clark still didn’t know where Grady was. In addition to not coming home last night, he hadn’t reported for work this morning. Unofficially, Clark had people on the lookout for both him and Brenda, including cops from other districts.

  “He’s a grown man,” Clark told us via the speaker on Greg’s cell phone. “If he decided to run off with that chippie, not much we can do about it. But I’m pretty angry about him not showing up for work today. My ass is on the line enough over him, and we’re swamped. And Mom’s worried as hell.”

  “Do you think he’ll stop by Mom’s? She might be in danger if he comes by to get the money.”

  “I really don’t think he’d hurt her, Odelia. Take the money, yes, but Grady’s never been the violent type. By the way, I asked Mom about the money, told her what you overheard. She told me it was all nonsense. Said she’s never had fifty thousand dollars in her life.”

  “You believe her?”

  “Not sure. I don’t know who or what to believe anymore.” We heard him say something to someone in the background. “Sorry, I’m being called into a meeting. Don’t worry about Mom. I’ll send someone over to look after her.”

  “Joan Cummings?”

  “Not until I know what she’s hiding. Besides, she’s on vacation today. There’s a woman I hire once in a while to take Mom shopping or stay with her when I go out of town. I’ll call Mrs. Spaulding and ask her to stop by the house for a few hours.”

  “We could go over,” Greg offered.

  “I’d rather you two stay out of it and keep low. You’ve already kicked up the Browns, and, believe me, you don’t want to do that.”

  We called Willie and gave him an update. He said he still planned on swinging by to see Mrs. Rielley and would meet us at the inn later.

  Greg closed his phone. “Guess we should head back to the inn and wait.”

  I stared out the window of the car while I mulled over what we knew and what we didn’t know. I felt like there was still something missing, like I’d baked a cake but forgotten an important ingredient. My hands clutched the steering wheel—one hand in concentration, the other in frustration. Waiting wasn’t my strong suit.

  “Oh, no,” Greg said with a shake of his head. “I know that look. We’re not going back to the inn, are we?”

  I looked over at my husband and gave him a coy smile, or as coy a smile as it was in my power to muster. “Honey, would you mind terribly if we made one teeny-weeny little stop?”

  “Who are we going after?”

  Without a word, I put the car in gear and turned out of the parking lot, heading back in the direction we’d just come.

  “Back to the vegetable stand?”

  “Nope. I have questions for Tara Brown, and I’m going to ask them.”

  With my foot heavy on the pedal, I covered the two miles back to Buster’s, but instead of stopping, I continued on to Farm House Road. Once again, I pulled over to the side and looked up the drive. The silver minivan was still parked in front of the white house.

  Greg craned his head this way and that. “Doesn’t seem to be much activity from any of the other houses.”

  I pointed to the group of farm structures at the end of the drive. “I just spotted someone going in and out of those buildings, but they’re probably busy with their usual chores. Not even sure if it was a man or a woman. Most of the workers could be in other fields.”

  I nosed the car up the drive and turned towards the white house. “Not exactly any place to park and sneak up, is there?”

  Parking behind the minivan, I got out and helped Greg. We approached the house like we were simply making a social call. After ringing the bell twice, Tara Brown opened the door. She was dressed in jeans and a baggy shirt that looked like it might belong to her husband. Her blond hair was pulled back, and she looked tired. One arm was clutched around a loaded laundry basket, which she balanced on a slim hip.

  “Hi,” I said in a pleasant, perky voice, like I was delivering a Welcome Wagon basket. “Do you remember me? I was in the corn maze with you on Saturday.”

  She
looked at me, then poked her head a bit out the door to look up and down the road. I wasn’t sure if she was worried someone might spot us or if she was afraid I’d brought reinforcements.

  “I remember you.” Unlike the other Brown family members, her voice was quiet and timid. “You’re related to the Littlejohns, right?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. And this is my husband, Greg Stevens.” On cue, Greg gave her one of his award-winning smiles. “Can we come in, Tara? We’re going home soon, and I’d really like to clear up some things before we do.”

  I’d added the part about going home because I thought it might encourage her to talk. After all, what harm could I do if I was back in California?

  “I don’t know. Now’s not a good time.”

  “It won’t take long.” I indicated the laundry. “You can throw that load of clothes in and visit with us while it’s washing.”

  I could tell she wanted us to disappear, but she didn’t have the gumption to say so. Questioning her might be easier than I had thought, or at least easier than I had hoped it would be. I didn’t want our rental car sitting outside her house any longer than was necessary.

  I made a slow move towards the door. Looking past her, I saw that the house looked tidy and that there were no toys strewn about. Nor did I hear the sounds of any young rugrats. “You have children?”

  “No.” She dipped her head slightly and knitted her brows in thought. When she raised her head, I could see in her eyes she’d made a decision. “Why don’t you come in—but just for a minute.”

  She backed away from the door, and I helped Greg guide his chair over the small lip of the entry. Once inside, Tara guided us through to the back, where there was a large family room that opened into a big modern kitchen on one side and a deck on the other. The deck was small compared to Clark’s, but the yard was large and sloped. The view from the deck was of farmland. In the far distance, I could see a tractor pulling something behind it. The house was homey, with large, open rooms. Photos were scattered about in frames on various surfaces. One large photo showed a young Tara and Clem on their wedding day.

  Tara put the laundry basket down on a nearby table. “Is this about Grady’s disappearance? If so, I don’t know anything about it.”