“We don’t know it’s a grave,” Miguel said, and he was right. We were jumping to conclusions. Shifting gears, I looked again at the photograph still up on my computer screen and touched my finger to the screen. “Maybe we’re looking for something sinister when it’s totally innocent. Maybe they have an irrigation problem, or something?”
Billy picked up the laptop to look closer at the picture. “Could have been a leak.”
“Maybe a burst pipe,” Miguel said.
“Maybe this has nothing at all to do with Hank’s death.” I shifted gears, going back to the other theory I had and the bank-deposit slip found on Hank’s body. “Alice Ryder lent Hank fifty-thousand dollars.”
Billy grunted. “What the . . . ?”
“Right,” Miguel said, giving a low whistle. “That’s a good chunk of change. Maybe enough for someone to kill over.”
Emmaline laced her hands in front of her face, pressing her thumbs against her lips. “Definitely enough for someone to kill over,” she said.
“When Alice found out Hank was missing, she had a breakdown.” I told them about her reaction with the Blackbird Ladies at Yeast of Eden. “She was worried Hank had run off with the money and that he’d never pay it back. And she was worried about her husband’s reaction when he found out.”
“So maybe he did find out,” Miguel said, looking at Emmaline instead of me. “He didn’t exactly look like a killer to me, but then again, does anybody?”
We tossed around ideas for a while longer and then, with Emmaline as the point person, we made a plan. She was going to look into Hank’s bank account, she was going to have Alice and Michael Ryder questioned, and she was going to do background checks on everyone Hank had been involved with.
“What are we going to do?” I asked her, but I already knew what her answer would be.
As expected, she tilted her head; with her expression firm, the look she gave me left no room for argument. “You’re going to bake some bread, walk Agatha, see your dad, take some pictures. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”
I heaved a resigned sigh. I’d given her things to work with—now I needed to let her do her job. A short time later, she and Billy left, his hand on the small of her back as they walked down the front walkway to their car. He opened the passenger door for her and she slid in. Emmaline was a tough woman, full of strength and confidence and intelligence. But she was also a woman in love, and clearly, my brother was mad for her, too.
I stood at the door, Agatha by my feet. Miguel gave me an innocuous good-bye and started to walk out, but then he stopped and stood at the threshold. Slowly, he turned around to face me. “I never should have gotten you involved in this, Ivy.”
Did I wish I hadn’t been involved? I didn’t think so. Hank had been a Santa Sofia icon, and I’d gotten to know him vicariously. I was mourning his death as much as everyone else. “You didn’t know it would turn into a murder.”
“No, I didn’t,” he said, and then he lifted his hand in a slight wave, gave me a faint smile, and left me standing there, one hand still on the doorknob, wondering where we’d gone wrong.
* * *
Left on my own, my mind worked, processing what I knew. My instincts were telling me that Michael Ryder should be the focus of Emmaline’s investigation. I knew she was tackling that angle and if he was, in fact, a murderer, I didn’t want to be the one to confront him. After considering my options, I decided to go to the boarding house. Honing in on the money Alice had lent Hank, and Michael’s reaction to it, was the logical decision. But I still wanted to eliminate Hank’s short-lived roommates as suspects. It was 8:00 and dark out, but I couldn’t just sit here and twiddle my thumbs.
I took Agatha out to the yard for a few minutes, changed into sneakers, grabbed a sweater, and headed to the garage. A minute later, I was driving across town to the old Victorian. I parked across the street, left my wallet tucked under the front seat, locked the car, and crossed the street. As I reached the curb, a truck pulled up, its lights blinding me. It parked, the lights turned off, and a door slammed. My vision cleared and Miguel appeared.
I stared at him as he came toward me and for a fleeting moment, I thought, Oh my God, did he kill Hank? But then I blinked and the ridiculous idea vanished into thin air. “What are you doing here?”
“I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?”
I drew my head back, feeling indignant. “No. You made it pretty clear how you felt. You should be off at the restaurant, telling your sister that I’m out of your life. What, did you follow me?”
“If I did?”
I grumbled under my breath. “What is going on, Miguel?”
Under the street lamp, I could see the grim expression he wore. He came right back at me, his voice low and tight. “What are you doing here, Ivy?”
I balked, irritated. I knew it was due to self-preservation, but I didn’t care. “Why are you answering all my questions with questions?”
Before he could answer, headlights speared through the darkness, coming in our direction. Miguel grabbed my arm and pulled me off the street and onto the sidewalk. I was sure it was instinct, but I yanked my arm free. “I can take care of myself.”
The car zoomed by, the red taillights fading away before he answered. “Things have changed, Ivy. Hank isn’t missing anymore, he’s dead. Emmaline is right: You need to stay out of it.”
I’d put my hair up into a messy bun and the hairs on the back of my neck pricked against my skin. “I want to meet the other tenants. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You have no fear, do you?”
“Of course I do,” I said—there was that indignance again. “Look, I didn’t know Hank, but everyone who did, loved him. How can I sit around idly when whoever killed him is out there?”
“I know the way you think, Ivy—”
My mouth gaped. “You don’t know me at all. I’m not the same person I was in high school.”
He grimaced. “I would hope not.”
Once again, I balked. “What is that supposed to mean?” I thought about what his mother had said about what Laura saw, and Laura’s warning to stay away from her brother. She’d said I’d driven him away, but that was the opposite of what had happened. “Why did you leave Santa Sofia?” I asked suddenly.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes growing dark in the dim light. “Let’s not go back there, Ivy. Water under the bridge.”
I threw my hands up. “But it’s not. Your sister told me to stay away from you. You’ve been friendly. You called me to help with your brochures or menus, or whatever it is you need. So why exactly are you conflicted about me being back in Santa Sophia?”
He cursed under his breath. I didn’t catch it all, but he muttered something about Laura keeping her mouth shut.
“Just tell me,” I said, my patience all but gone. “I want to know why your sister thinks I’m the devil incarnate, because that’s certainly how she made me feel.”
He hesitated, his lips drawn into a thin line, and I could feel the heat emanating from him. Finally, he shook his head with either exasperation or disdain, I couldn’t tell which. “Well, Ivy, it probably has to do with the fact that I was in love with you, and you didn’t give a shit. Granted, it was teenage love, but it still hurt like hell.”
I stared at him, slack-jawed. “What are you talking about? I was in love with you.” Part of me still was. Would always be.
“I thought you were, but apparently I was wrong.” He turned and took a few steps before wheeling back around. “You asked why I’m conflicted about you being here? Because as much as I tried, I never stopped loving you, Ivy. I get that we were teenagers and it’s stupid, but you broke my heart.”
My heart was beating out of my chest. I took a step toward him. “No, you broke mine. You left without saying good-bye.”
“What else could I do? You cheated on me. Laura heard all about it at school. She saw you.”
“Saw me what?”
>
He sighed, looking tired and drawn. “She heard about the guys you were seeing behind my back. She saw you with somebody else. I didn’t believe her at first. I told her you would never do that.” He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. Even after all these years, it was clear that the memory was still fresh in his mind. “But she gave me details. Names. You lied to me. Played me.” He shrugged. “I thought I was long over it, but seeing you again brought it all back.”
My mind reeled, my thoughts going a million directions. I remembered Laura as a jealous little sister. “Laura is the one who lied,” I said. “I never cheated on you.”
He shrugged again. “Like I said, water under the bridge.”
Before I could reply, the front door of the Victorian flew open. Bernard stood there in his bathrobe, beckoning to us. “Come. Come.”
I couldn’t look at Miguel, so I turned and walked down the sidewalk to the walkway, marching up to the front porch. I’d hoped Miguel would just leave, but I felt him behind me.
“Hey, Bernard,” I said, pushing everything else out of my mind.
He didn’t say anything. He stood back, opening the door wide to let us in, and then he walked to the back of the house, straight to the French door leading to the backyard. He yanked it open and practically hurled himself outside.
Instinctively, I wanted to glance at Miguel, but I resisted, instead following Bernard. There was something about the dim light that made the yard look different. Sinister.
Or maybe that was just my imagination.
Bernard stopped in the middle of the yard, bent to pick something up—maybe a rock or a hunk of wood—and chucked it aside. He did it again, crouching low, gathering the debris scattered around him in the dim light, cleaning up the little patch of yard where he stood. A moment later he stood and snapped his gaze up at us. “No, never mind. No. No. You should go. Go now.”
“Are any of your roommates here?” I asked. I’d come here to talk to them, so I had to at least try.
“Go now,” he repeated as if he hadn’t heard me at all.
“Let’s go, Ivy.” Miguel’s voice was cool. Collected. As if we hadn’t just had the heated conversation we did.
I turned to go back to the house, feeling like a thief in the night, when Miguel muttered harshly under his breath.
I stopped, my curiosity getting the better of me. “What?”
He pointed. About two yards to our left was a freshly dug hole in the ground.
“That was not there earlier,” I said.
“You sure?”
I’d been kicking myself at how woefully unobservant I’d been during my photography session here. I might have missed the odd plot of dirt, but there was no way I would have missed a gaping hole in the ground.
“One-hundred percent positive.” I stepped over chunks of wood piled into a mound in order to get a closer look. Miguel was right behind me, never more than a few feet away. I was entirely focused on the mission of finding out more about the hole.
Before I got to it, Bernard hurled himself through the air, careening into me. I yelped, losing my balance, tripping over a rock, and landing on my knees. Bernard landed with a thud beside me.
“Go!” His eyes were wild. “Go now. Go now. Go now!”
But the impact of the hit had pushed me right onto another hard object. It dug into my knee. I shifted my body, grabbing whatever it was to move it aside, but as my hand touched the rough surface, one of the pictures Emmaline had shown me popped into my head. One of the items found on Hank had been a piece of splintered wood. I pulled the object in my hand up, but in the dark, I couldn’t see it. I clambered up, but the ground was damp, the dirt sticky, gripping my sneaker. As if he could read my mind, Miguel stretched out one arm, reaching to help me up. He gripped his phone in his other hand, the flashlight on. I held up my hand, letting the light fall onto it. I gasped. The chunk of wood was rough and splintered. Its jagged edge had dug straight into my knee.
I tried to ignore the staggering pain as Miguel shone the light right into the hole. A wooden box sat cockeyed in the uneven space. Without thinking, I reached for the lid. If I could lift the lip of it, we’d be able to see inside the box.
But Bernard had other ideas. He’d finally managed to stand, and now he held a shovel, pointing it toward us like it was a sword. “Go go go go go go!”
But I had already touched the edge. My fingers pressed against the rough grain. It was cheap wood, full of hairy splinters that drove into my skin, but I didn’t let go. I shoved, lifting the lid enough to slide it out of place and immediately lurched back. It was as if a gust of air had burst from the box, coming at me and forcing me back.
The stench was immediate and overwhelming. I stumbled back, covering my mouth and nose with my hand.
Bernard stumbled backward, dropped the shovel, and ran.
Miguel let out a gruff, indistinguishable sound, bent, and dragged the lid to the box back into place. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up and away. “Call Emmaline,” he snapped, and then he took off after Bernard.
My thought exactly. I dug my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, pressed the home button, and dialed. She answered on the second ring. Emmaline didn’t give me a chance to speak. “Hank deposited a huge amount of money into his account a few weeks ago. Fifty-thousand dollars. And get this. Three days ago, he made a direct payment.”
“To who?” I asked, almost afraid to find out.
“Bernard Washington.”
So my first instinct had been right. “He has a bank account?” I asked, trying to make sense of what was happening. Why would Hank give $50,000 to Bernard?
My brain felt as if it were ready to explode. “Em, I need you to come—”
She cut me off. “Oh my God, Ivy, please don’t tell me—”
“We’re at the boarding house. Bernard is here and we found something,” I said, this time cutting her off. “It’s a grave. With a wooden casket.” I paused, swallowing my nausea. “And a dead body.”
She cursed under her breath, surprised and angry and scared for me, all rolled into a few choice words. To me she said, “Be careful, Ivy. I’m on my way.”
Chapter 24
I kept my cell phone in hand as relief flowed through me and air once again filled my lungs as Miguel prisoner-marched Bernard back to where I stood. Bernard’s dark skin blended into the night, the whites of his eyes practically glowing in the light.
“I am in trouble,” he murmured. Looking to the ground, he swung his head back and forth, frenzied and spastic. His gaze skittered around—at the house, at the yard, over his shoulder to the hole in the ground. “I have to take care of the garden. The flowers. Oh no, I am in trouble.”
“It’s okay, Bernard,” I said, wanting him to stay calm until Emmaline and her people arrived. “Why are you in trouble?”
He kept his mouth shut, and then, from the direction of the house, we heard a door slam. “Bernard!” Mason’s voice bellowed. “You got a party going on out here? Where’s my invitation?”
Mason pushed his walker across the patio, stopping at the edge.
“No. No! Bernard . . . Bernard . . . Bernard get in trouble. No!” He tried to break free, but Miguel held him tightly.
Mason looked at me. “What in the devil is happening here, Ms. Culpepper?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for my response, instead looking at Bernard. “Bernard,” he said evenly. He was calm and rational. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine. The flowers will be just fine.”
I didn’t have a chance to tell him that this was not about the flowers, but another voice yelled, this time Richie’s. “Bernard!”
He appeared at the backlit French door and flipped on a light switch that illuminated the yard. “What the—?” His gaze landed on Mason first, then Bernard—being held by Miguel—and finally me. He charged forward. “Let him go!” His gaze swept over the yard. When he saw the hole, his eyes grew wide. “What is that? What the hell is going on here?”
From
somewhere in the back of my consciousness, I heard a gate close. Long shadows stretched along the ground. Emmaline, flanked by two uniformed officers, came into the yard from a side gate, weapons drawn. I could see her eyes flash and survey the entire space in a matter of seconds.
Richie staggered back. “Have you all lost your mind? This is my property. Get the hell out!”
Everything seemed to slow and I took it all in. Mason leaned heavily on his walker. Miguel, grim, a vein surfacing in his forehead, held tight to Bernard. Emmaline directed her pistol at Bernard. Bernard looked terrified. And Richie had full, unadulterated rage on his face.
A barrage of information cascaded over me, all the little bits of information I’d unwittingly tucked away, suddenly blending together like one of Olaya’s long-rise bread doughs. It all came back to this yard. The freshly dug hole with the body in the box. The body, which by the smell of it, had been decaying for some time.
What if Hank really had discovered something sinister here? What if he’d seen Bernard digging a hole and burying someone? Who was it? A tenant? I remembered someone telling me that one had recently left. A chill ran over my skin. Could Bernard have killed him, too?
If Hank had discovered the body, it would certainly explain why he would have tried to talk Mason into leaving. He would have feared for his former teacher, that Bernard could turn on him. But the leasing fees at Rusty Gates was a lot more money than Mason happened to have. So he’d borrowed the money from Alice to get Mason out of harm’s way. But now that money was in Bernard’s bank account, which didn’t make sense. And where had Hank gone when Richie had seen him get into his truck and drive away?
What had happened between that moment, when Hank was still alive, and yesterday, when his body was found?
Emmaline had pulled her mass of black hair into a fluffy mound on top of her head, changed from her date clothes into jeans and a Santa Sofia sheriff’s-department jacket, and now she stood with her hands on her hips. She motioned for one of the officers to go check out the hole in the ground while the other took Bernard from Miguel’s hold, took each of his wrists, and handcuffed him. He was read his Miranda rights, and then Emmaline asked him, “Do you understand these rights as they’ve been read to you, Mr. Washington?”
Crust No One Page 23
