“Cell?”
“Oh, right.” No electronics. I should have remembered. Overhead a single bulb dangled from the beamed ceiling, along with bundles of herbs she’d probably collected in the fields and hung from the rafters to dry. “Well, suppose we leave it this way. I’ll give Mr. Ridley your message, and if he’s interested, we’ll contact you. Will that work?”
“Makes no never mind to me. I’m set on selling, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“You want to end up in jail?”
My only answer was the rock-like set of Violet’s chin.
With a “thank you for your time,” I said goodbye, and careful not to step on the dogs, I stomped off the porch. How on earth did the ol’ girl manage to live way out here with no modern conveniences? That sure proved how tough she was. I guess she had to be tough to survive this long. And though little more than a bag of bones with a lined face, she looked like a woman who intended to live on for a good long while yet.
Chapter Sixteen
Matt was still standing by his cruiser, not looking like he was in a hurry to patrol the highways or anything.
“I’m surprised you’re still here.” I headed over to him.
He gave me one of those easy smiles, the kind that built sort of slow but was worth waiting for. “Thought I’d stay on for a while, tell you how much I like your hair that way. Nice shoes too.”
I tapped one of those shoes in the dust. “Get to it, Matt.”
He let the smile go and cleared his throat. “Until this killer is found, could you sell houses on the other side of town for a while?”
My foot tapping picked up speed. “Suppose the killer is never found? You said there are no clues, no evidence. In the meantime, I have to earn a living.”
“The operative word is living.”
I pointed to Violet’s cabin, where a thin spiral of smoke rose from the chimney. “If it’s dangerous out here, then everybody who lives on the pike’s at risk.”
“Some folks don’t have the luxury of avoiding the area. This is their home. But you have options. And one of them is to act like you’re smart.” He touched a finger to his hat brim and spun on his heel.
“Matt.”
He looked back, stony faced.
“I’ll only come out here again if I have to.”
He nodded, expression unchanged. “If and when you do, call me first.”
I was grateful he was looking out for me, but damn it, I sold real estate. That meant I had to chase sales. Every day. Still, he was right. No need to be foolhardy about it.
After following Matt down the rise, I swung onto Pea Pike and headed back to town. As I passed Sloane’s acres, I nearly lurched to a stop. There was Saxby Winthrop, wearing a blue pin-striped suit with a red bow tie under his chin, hammering a SOLD sign into the ground.
Damn. I needed to talk to Sam. Faced with this news, he might agree to handle Violet’s sale, if he could talk her into having the soil tested first. Maybe he’d even offer to pay a geologist himself. Or, double damn, he might decide to forget about the whole rocky ridge and let Saxby outfox us one run-down farm at a time. I didn’t like that idea at all, but either way, we needed to talk. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I dug the cell out of my purse.
Mrs. Otis picked up on the first ring. “The boss isn’t here, Honey. Said he’d be delayed until around ten.”
“Please tell him I’ll be in then. We have to talk. It’s important.”
“Will do.”
I rang off and dropped the cell on the passenger seat. Delayed? Humph. In bed with Lila, more than likely. Well, he needed to put his pants on and get to work. Things were heating up around here.
At the corner of Main and Sycamore, I lucked out and found a parking spot near Josie’s Diner. Just two eggs last night and nothing this morning had left me hollow. Inside the diner, the aroma of coffee and hotcakes perfumed the air. As usual, the place was hopping. With all the booths taken, I slid onto a stool at the counter between a Sears delivery guy and a housepainter, judging from his splattered overalls.
Josie sauntered over to me with her order pad at the ready.
“A hamburger, Josie, with mayo. Well done. Hold the lettuce and tomato. And a tall cola. No ice.”
“For breakfast? What’s the matter with grits, a few home fries, and a couple of easy-overs? And what about some coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“Tommy Lee’s got a light touch with eggs. He makes ’em good.”
I shook my head. “I’ve been eating a lot of eggs lately.”
“A burger’ll mess up his morning griddle, but maybe he won’t mind for just one patty.”
“Thanks, Josie. I need the reinforcement.”
She yelled my order over to Tommy Lee. When he yelled back, “No way,” she hollered, “Just do it, T.L.” Tugging a bar towel from the waistband of her apron, she took a swipe at the countertop, studying me like I was some kind of school subject. “How’re things going? You look a little peaked today. And why’s your hair done up in that itty-bitty bun?”
“Big hair’s out.”
“Sez who?”
“Everybody.”
She snorted. “Not that I’ve heard.” Done with her swiping, she bent over the counter to whisper, “Got a hot tip for you.”
“Oh?”
The painter had tossed some loose change on the counter and left. The Sears guy was too busy scarfing down his grits to listen.
She kept on whispering anyway. “Word’s out that Violet Norton’s putting her place on the market.”
I nodded. “So I heard.”
“Know what else?”
“No.”
Josie glanced left then right. “Rumor is the land’s worth a fortune. There’s diamonds on it.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Josie. When did you hear that?”
“A few days ago. Her nephew, Earl, comes in here regular-like. Couldn’t wait to tell me.”
So, Violet, the sly old vixen, had known about those stones all along. She was playing a head game with everyone, including me. Figured. Josie got busy serving donuts to a couple of regulars, and I sipped my soda for a while.
“One burger, comin’ up!” Josie slid a plate along the countertop. It skidded to a stop right in front of me.
“With wrists like that, you should be in the Olympics.”
“Missed my callin’, I guess.”
“You believe Earl’s story?” I said as she refilled my glass without being asked.
“Not so you’d notice, but I’m not surprised.”
I salted my burger real good, but before taking a bite, I paused. “Why not? A claim like that’s pretty unusual, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not for somebody married to Henry Norton all those years. He used to go down to that diamond field in Murfreesboro every chance he got. You know, the one where for a few bucks they let folks dig around looking for gold and stuff. Gems, too. Emeralds and the like.”
Josie poured herself half a cup of coffee and took a sip. “You ask me, Henry should’ve forgotten about that prospectin’ tomfoolery and taken better care of his fields. His place got run-down pretty bad. Violet hasn’t had it easy, I can tell you that. So if she wants something out of life at last, can’t say as I blame her. But I dunno, almost sounds like Henry found a few gem stones and sprinkled them around his farm.”
Henry, hmm. Maybe that was the answer.
As she spoke, I made good progress on the burger. “Not to worry about Violet, Josie. No upstanding real estate agent will touch the place until it’s inspected.”
She polished off her coffee. “I don’t know about that. Saxby Winthrop was in here the day Earl spouted his story, and he acted mighty interested. Said he’d go out there and take a look around.”
I finished the burger, every bite, washed it down with another soda, and said goodbye to Josie. Sam should have his pants on by now.
In our company parking lot out back of the building, Sam’s black Lexus sat in the “R
eserved for Owner” slot. Good. When I stepped inside, he was pacing the outer office like he was upset or something. A tiff with Lila? A nasty thought that I put down as soon as it reared its ugly head. I wanted him to be happy, didn’t I? Yes. But in my heart of hearts, I didn’t believe he’d find true happiness with an uppity bitch like Lila. And that thought I refused to kill as he hurried over to me.
“Honey, I’ve been waiting for you and getting mighty impatient doing so, I’m afraid. You never did tell me what happened yesterday.”
“No, I didn’t have a chance. It was five o’clock somewhere.”
One of his brows quirked up. “I almost called you last night, but I don’t like to bother employees on their off hours.”
Employees. Right then, my pleasure at seeing him went straight to hell. “It would have been fine if you had.”
A hand on my elbow, he steered me into his office, though I could have found my way there blindfolded. “Begin at the beginning,” he said, “and don’t leave anything out.”
So I did, telling him nearly everything, even my alias. What I didn’t mention was the senator’s phone call to IP. That could have been about anything, or nothing. I had my suspicions, but that’s all they were, suspicions, and the man was practically Sam’s father-in-law. So I just stuck to the facts as I knew them. Anyway, he listened without interrupting, staring past me at the far wall, elbows out, hands cupped behind his head.
“Okay.” He sat up straight and lowered his arms when I finished. “Let’s start with International Properties.” He held up a finger. “Number one, Charles Ames stretched the truth. Said he was self-employed, but in reality he’s working for his brother, buying properties in his name and flipping them to IP. Not illegal, but sneaky. And as you know, a good way to buy on the cheap, one parcel at a time. The owners think they’re selling to separate individuals when all along one buyer with megabucks and a hidden agenda is snapping up neighboring land at below market value.”
“Two.” Another finger. “Saxby has apparently sold Sloane’s acres, presumably to this same Mr. Ames. A fact that can easily be verified. If so, IP now owns two rocky farms adjacent to each other. Combined, that makes for a large tract that, up till recently, was fairly worthless.”
Third finger. “Now another parcel on that ridge, the Norton place, is going on the market soon, and from what Josie told you, Saxby is hot on the trail. An educated guess tells me he has an interested buyer in his pocket. This same Charles Ames, maybe, fronting for IP. Not knowing for certain bothers the hell out of me. I don’t want to see our neighbors screwed over by some big brother. The question is if IP’s in on it, what’s their game?” His blue eyes darkened. “Does it have anything to do with that poor girl’s death?”
I didn’t butt in or try to answer his questions. He was thinking out loud, hoping to make sense out of a puzzle with pieces missing.
“As for Violet,” a twinge of humor colored his voice, “the old girl’s salted her land, has she?”
“Suppose she hasn’t and—”
He snorted. “Not a chance. Does she think we just came off the pig farm? Henry Norton chased the magic rainbow his whole life. Sounds like his widow’s picked up where he left off.”
“Until that’s proven—”
“I know. Don’t worry, I won’t leap to judgment.”
“So what are we going to do then? Sit back and let Saxby scoop up her farm for IP?”
Male pride, that’s what you had to appeal to. A lesson I learned before grade school, but that’s another story.
“No!” Sam slapped his desktop. “We’ll have the soil tested at my expense. Once the issue’s settled, we’ll convince Violet to sell the place for fair market value.”
He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I’m showing the Triangle Office Building at noon. It’s been hanging fire for so long I don’t want to cancel the meeting.”
He shrugged a navy blazer on over his white shirt, setting off his tan to a fare-thee-well. The tan, I couldn’t help but notice, hadn’t faded a bit. So, how much time had he and Lila spent by that New Orleans pool, anyway?
Halfway to the door, he paused and turned back. “Sounds like you’ve gained Violet’s trust. So why don’t you give her a call and tell her about my offer? I know you’ll come across as sweet as a birthday cake.” He held up a warning finger. “If she refuses you, tell her that should the property be misrepresented to buyers, we’ll notify the authorities.”
My jaw sagged. “You’d call the cops on Violet?”
“Not on Violet. On Saxby Winthrop.”
Ha! My jaw snapped right back up where it belonged.
As he hurried off, I remembered something. Violet didn’t have a telephone.
Chapter Seventeen
After that sweet birthday-cake compliment, there was no refusing Sam’s request. But it did mean a trip back out to the pike. And it also meant canceling a lunch-hour appointment.
My clients, both doctors at the Eureka Falls Emergency Care Center, were interested in what some folks might call a tarted-up cracker house. Maybe it was, but without lying a bit, I can testify that sassy-looking house had everything a heart could desire: an interior of nine thousand square feet, sky-high ceilings, custom-made built-ins, and granite surfaces everywhere. Not to mention a three-car garage and an in-ground pool. For someone in my business, clients like the docs, eager to tour a McMansion like that, were as precious as, well, diamonds.
Still, I did call and rebook, all the while apologizing up one side and down the other. For Sam was right. If we didn’t act fast, Saxby would be all over the Norton farm like ants at a picnic. He needed to be stopped before he sold the place as a diamond mine or else told someone a pack of lies and let them snap up the property on the cheap, thinking they’d made the steal of a lifetime. Fabulous commissions paled in light of sneaky doings like that. At least that’s what I told myself.
Then, as promised, I called Matt. His voicemail came on, with instructions to call 911 if this was an emergency. It wasn’t, so I left him a message. If he had a mind to, he could find me back at the Norton place.
The golden afternoon, smelling of fresh-mown grass and sun-warmed fields, was perfect for a jaunt on a Harley. Oh well. No bad-boy wheels. With a sigh, I tossed my suit jacket on the Lincoln’s backseat, lowered all the windows, and ramped up one of my favorites, Kenny Chesney belting out “Living in Fast Forward.” In MHO that’s classical at its best. Anyway, singing along with him—off-key, as usual, since not a soul in my family ever could carry a tune—I rode out of town more lighthearted than in days. Beautiful weather can do that for a person, make you forget life’s problems, if only for a little while.
In light midday traffic, I made good time and sped past Saxby’s SOLD sign with hardly a glance. Up ahead, I turned off the pike onto the rutted road leading to Violet’s front yard. The rooster was nowhere in sight. Neither was Matt’s cruiser, and neither were the dogs, though they sure were howling. I stepped out of the car and listened. Low, short yips then a long, drawn-out wail.
“Yip, yip, yaooooOOO.”
“Yip, yip, yaooooOOO.”
The hair at my nape prickled. Confident Matt would be here soon, I shrugged off the unease and hurried across the front yard to the house. The dust kicked up by my heels rose in the warm air. I sneezed. And then again.
One of the dogs, the one more brown than white, came loping around the side of the house, greeting me with another, “Yip, yip, yaooooOOO.”
“What’s the matter, boy?”
At the sound of my voice, he hightailed it out of sight. A second later, both dogs took up the chorus.
I climbed the porch steps and rapped on the door. No answer. Maybe Violet couldn’t hear me over her noisy hounds. I rapped again. Then, in true country fashion, I let myself in. “Violet?”
My only greeting was the aroma of drying lavender and rosemary, and another herb I couldn’t name.
Feeling like a snoop, I peeked around. Not much to s
ee, just a cramped bedroom and a bathroom that belonged in a museum. No sign of Violet. Where could she be? Out wandering the woods and meadows, gathering herbs? I huffed out a breath. After canceling a showing that might have earned Ridley’s a major sale, I hoped this wouldn’t turn into a fruitless visit.
At least the dogs were quiet. I sat at the kitchen table for a while, a fly buzzing at the window, a clock ticking on the wall. Where was Matt, anyway? So much for police protection. The unease I’d felt earlier gradually crept over me until, unable to sit still any longer, I got up and strolled out to the porch.
If I didn’t have on heels, I could’ve hiked up a well-worn path into the hills and maybe found her, but in my beige pumps, that wasn’t a good idea. I slumped onto the porch’s top step and sniffed the air. What a perfect day, May melting into June. Trees a fresh, new green, wildflowers peeking out of the grass, birds flitting from branch to branch, belting out their latest hits.
Straight ahead in the scrubby front patch, dusty tire tracks caught my eye. From the look of them, Violet had visitors recently. Who? Saxby?
One of the woe-begotten hounds, the brown one, came slinking around the house, tail dragging. I expected him to erupt into that eerie howling again, but as silent as a shadow, he came over to me and laid his head on my lap, looking up with pleading eyes.
I stroked his fur, hoping it wasn’t full of fleas. “Where’s your buddy? Roaming the hills with Violet?”
No answer. I didn’t need one. The other hound peered around the edge of the house but came no closer. Sinking onto his haunches, he stared at me, unblinking, as if willing me to go to him.
Well, I couldn’t wait all day, and with a final pat for my new friend, I lifted his head off my lap and got up from the porch. I’d toot the car horn a few times. If Violet heard it, she might think she had a visitor and come home.
The instant I got to my feet, the dog lurking by the house leaped up, tail wagging.
Murder on Pea Pike Page 8
