"This has been the worst week ever," she said, sobbing.
"I heard a little bit about what happened," I told her. "Did this all go down yesterday?"
She nodded. "I left my phone on the kitchen table when I went upstairs to change my jeans—I spilled tomato sauce all over them—and when I got back downstairs, Keith had my phone in his hand." She bit her lip and blushed. "There were pictures."
Even though I already knew that, I winced. "Sounds like a rough week," I said.
"And Randy's gone... his wife killed him, all because of me. I feel so horrible!" There was a fresh wave of tears, and Tobias and I looked at each other.
We were close to the bench where he and I had been sitting when we spotted the truck. "Why don't you sit down here for a moment?" I said. "Tobias and I need a moment."
"You can wear my jacket," Tobias said gallantly. She accepted it, her slight frame swallowed by the warm down coat.
"What should we do?" I asked him when we were a few steps away. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave her alone at the inn. She's pretty upset."
"Let's take her back to your place," he suggested. After a moment, he said, "I'll stay, too."
"Are you sure?" I blurted out.
"Unless you don't want me to," he said quickly.
"No, no... I do want you to," I assured him. "That would be terrific."
He sighed and looked back at her. "I think I'm okay to drive in a few minutes. Let's move your stuff to the back of my truck, and we'll come back and get your truck in the morning. That way if I have an emergency call, I'll have everything on hand."
"Do you need to stop by your place?"
He shook his head. He spent so much time away from home, taking care of other people's animals, that he’d told me he didn't feel right adopting a pet of his own. He didn't want it to be lonely. I was of the opinion that a nice clinic cat would be a good addition but hadn't broached the subject yet. Maybe that would be my Christmas present to him, I thought. It wasn't kitten season, but I was still betting it would be easier to find a kitten at the La Grange shelter than finish knitting a scarf in the next few days.
"Are you okay going back to Lucy's place and staying there?" Tobias asked Rhonda.
She nodded. "If it's not too much trouble..."
"It's not," I said. "I'm not good to drive yet, but if you'll help us move my stock over to Tobias's truck, he'll drive."
"Okay," she said in a little-girl voice. Tobias pulled up next to my truck, and we transferred everything over in just a few minutes. Before long, we were on the road to Dewberry Farm.
"This place is cute," Rhonda said as we bumped up the drive to the little farmhouse. I'd left the kitchen light on, and the house glowed welcomingly. I smiled at the sight of it. I'd spent so much time here as a child that the place was imprinted on me somehow. It felt, deep in my bones, like home.
A cold wind blew from the north as we got out of the truck, and I looked up at the sweep of the Milky Way across the dark, star-studded sky. It was going to be another cold night; I'd need to make sure the animals were warm and cozy in the barn.
Chuck greeted us at the front door, yipping as if we'd left him for a week. "Hey, buddy!" Tobias said, squatting down to give him a good scratch behind the ears. Once he'd greeted Tobias and me properly, Chuck threw himself at Rhonda, who jumped back as if he'd bitten her.
"I'm scared of dogs," she confessed.
"Chuck won't hurt you. He might love you to death, but that's about it," Tobias reassured her as I called Chuck over with a treat. We spent a few minutes taking care of Chuck's dinner requirements—no extra treats with Tobias around, much to the poodle's dismay—stoking the woodstove, and getting Rhonda settled in the bedroom above the kitchen. Then Tobias helped me unload the truck and walked to the barn with me to check on the animals and do the milking. I usually enjoyed the rhythm of farm chores alone, but it was very companionable having Tobias with me, and I had to admit things got done faster.
By the time we headed back to the farmhouse with the evening's milk, it was almost eleven. The last remnants of the Tom and Jerry had worn off, and I was chilled again. I put the milk in the fridge—I'd sterilize it with tomorrow's milk—and headed upstairs to knock on Rhonda's door. "You doing okay?" I asked.
"Fine," she said, cracking the door open. "Thanks again for having me over." She sounded sad, but not like she was going to throw herself out the window, thankfully.
"We'll head back into town by nine," I said. "Breakfast at around eight-thirty?"
"Sure. Thanks again for letting me stay."
"No problem," I said. "Sleep well."
I padded back down the stairs to the kitchen, where Tobias was warming his feet by the woodstove.
"Rhonda okay?"
"Seems so," I said. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm beat. I think I need to go to bed."
"Me too," he said. "I'm glad I don't have any appointments until ten. Let's just hope we don't have any emergency calls tonight." He stood up and put an arm around me, and any awkwardness I was afraid might come up failed to materialize at all. He gave me a soft kiss on the top of my head, and as we walked back toward my bedroom, Chuck followed us, wagging his tail. I wasn't the only one feeling good about having Tobias stay the night.
The next morning dawned cold and clear. The last of the ice had melted away from the branches, but when I let Chuck out to water the roses, the grass was frosted white in places, as if Jack Frost had tiptoed through Buttercup.
Tobias and I had slept in each other's arms all night, with Chuck tucked in between our feet. It was nicer than I could have imagined waking up with my head on his chest, warm and cozy under the duvet. I woke up at seven, but lingered until almost eight, when I knew I had to get moving. I had to get my chores done and then pick up my car before heading to Rosita's, after all. "I'll make coffee," I'd told Tobias, kissing him before slipping out of bed and into my not-very-sexy fluffy bathrobe. If you were dating a farm girl, you had to keep your wardrobe expectations reasonable.
I started the coffee and stoked the woodstove, then pulled on my rubber boots—a perfect complement to the robe—and hurried out into the cold morning to see if the chickens had provided eggs for breakfast. Although laying had slowed down now that the days were shorter, I still got a few, and I was pleased to discover five this morning; with what I had left over in the fridge, we had plenty for breakfast for three.
When I got back to the farmhouse, Tobias was in the kitchen. He looked me up and down and waggled his eyebrows. "Nice ensemble," he said. "Victoria's Secret?"
"Very secret," I replied. "Not even available in stores."
"I can't think why," he told me. "Although you look good in anything. Or nothing," he added in a provocative tone of voice.
I blushed. "Rhonda's right upstairs!"
"Have you heard from her yet?"
"I told her I'd wake her at eight," I told him. "If you'll do the honors on the eggs," I said, "I'll take care of the morning milking."
"In that?"
"I'm sure the cows won't complain," I said, "but I'll probably switch to jeans. I don't like dragging the ends of my bathrobe in the mud." I poured two cups of coffee before heading to the bedroom to pull on a pair of jeans. By the time I got back to the kitchen, Tobias was pulling a skillet out of the cabinet, with Chuck sitting about two feet away from him, looking hopeful. I smiled to myself; his odds of getting a treat out of Dr. Brandt were slim to none.
"Fried, or scrambled?" he asked.
"Over easy for me, please," I told him. "If I'm not back, would you wake Rhonda up at eight-fifteen?"
"I will," he said as I headed out to do my chores, much to the relief of Blossom and the goats, who were anxiously awaiting their morning snack.
By the time I finished taking care of everything around the farm, it was just before eight. The kitchen smelled of coffee and woodsmoke and butter sizzling. My stomach grumbled as I set down the milk pails and pulled off my boots. "No word from Rhonda yet?"
He shook his head. "How do you think she likes her eggs?"
"I'll go find out," I told him.
But I didn't find out. Because when I got to the top of the stairs, Rhonda's door was ajar, and the bed was mussed, but Rhonda was nowhere to be found.
5
"She's not here," I called down to Tobias. "Are you sure she didn't come down while I was out?"
"I've been in the kitchen the whole time," he said. "Unless she flew out the window, I would have seen her."
Remembering her frame of mind the night before, I actually did check the window, but it was closed. The bed was rumpled and the sheets pulled back; it looked like she'd slept there, or at least lain down.
But where had she gone?"
I hurried back downstairs. "I wonder when she left."
"Is the truck still here?" Tobias asked.
"It is," I answered as I stepped out onto the front porch. Frost rimed the wood slats, and the grass poking up through the pavers on the pathway, but there was no sign of footsteps. I hadn't seen footsteps in the grass when I went out the kitchen door, either—although I hadn't really been looking. I walked down the front path, scanning the grass around me for tracks, but there was nothing. It looked like Rhonda either had flown, or left well before morning. I headed back into the house, where Tobias was looking at me with concern. "If she left, it was hours ago, I'm guessing. The frost on the grass is undisturbed."
"But where would she have gone? And why?" he asked.
"Maybe she had second thoughts and called her husband," I suggested. "Maybe he came and picked her up."
"But we would have heard that," he objected. "And Chuck would have barked, wouldn't he? He's a pretty good guard dog."
"He is," I agreed, a little worm of worry in my stomach. "Wherever she is, I hope she's okay."
"Do you know Keith Gehring’s number?" he asked.
"No, and I wouldn't call if I did," I said, thinking it might not be a good idea to tell a potentially violent man I'd sheltered his wife. Both for Rhonda, if she came back, and for me. "Opal would be able to get in touch with him, though."
"Good thinking. I know you need to get to Rosita's; I'll call while you go get ready."
"Thanks," I told him, and he picked up his phone while I headed back to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.
We did a last search around the house and barn, but turned up no sign of Rhonda.
"Where could she be?" I asked as I climbed into Tobias's truck. He hadn't had any calls last night, thankfully, but I knew he had a busy day ahead of him today.
"Maybe she had another friend and he or she came to pick her up," Tobias suggested as he maneuvered the truck around and headed down my long driveway. No tire tracks there, either, I noticed—not that you'd really be able to tell. The frost was starting to disappear where the morning sun kissed it, but there were still swaths of ice crystals in the shadows. It was a beautiful morning, with a clear blue sky. A cardinal swooped in front of the truck as we reached the end of the driveway.
"The thing is," I said, still thinking about Rhonda, "if anyone drove up to the farmhouse, surely we would have noticed. Chuck would have, at least."
"It's a mystery," he conceded as he turned onto the road, then voiced what we were both worried about. "I sure hope she's okay."
"Me too."
We drove in silence on the way to town. He reached over to hold my hand, and I leaned against his shoulder, thankful to be with him. It had been nice having him at the house the night before. Nice waking up next to him, nice sharing breakfast. He'd cooked, so I did the dishes: a companionable division of labor.
The drive, alas, was over too soon. "I told Opal about Rhonda," he said as he pulled in next to my truck, which was parked by the courthouse. "She said she'd pass it on."
"Good.”
"She said she'd call if she found anything out. I'll text you if I hear." He leaned over and kissed me, and I felt myself relax a little bit. "Thanks for having me over last night," he said with a smile that made my heart accelerate. "It was good. I loved waking up in your arms."
"Me too," I told him, feeling warmth flush through me despite the cold. "And thanks for breakfast."
"Let's do that again soon," he suggested.
"I'd like that." I thought of Christmas, just a few days away. We'd never made any official plans; he'd met my parents, but I still hadn't met any of his family members. Was it time yet? I hadn't had the courage to broach the subject. My friend Molly had invited me to spend the day with her husband and four children at their farmhouse, but I was really hoping to spend it with Tobias. The group was planning to meet that afternoon at Molly's; maybe I'd ask for advice then.
I hopped out of the truck, still feeling a swirl of warm feelings for Tobias, uncertainty about Christmas, and downright worry for Rhonda, and waved as Tobias headed off for the clinic.
Rosita's was doing a booming breakfast business when I pulled into the parking lot just after nine. I'd like to think it was because of their breakfast tacos, which they served with a delicious creamy green jalapeño sauce that would knock your socks off and have you coming back for more five minutes later, but I suspected it had more to do with Buttercup's very active grapevine.
"I'm so glad you're here," Mandy said when I ducked into the kitchen, past a horde of gossiping locals. I'd heard the words knife, parking lot, and girlfriend on the way, and could only imagine how it must be for Mandy's poor family.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"I've been better," she said. She looked tired, with her normally shiny hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and dark circles under her almond-shaped eyes. "My family won't even come to the restaurant. I've been trying to keep the restaurant and the Zephyr going at the same time. It was hard enough when I had Isabella helping, but now..."
"We'll get her out," I said with more confidence than I felt. In the kitchen, the line cooks were frantically cooking eggs and warming tortillas, trying to keep up with the press out front, and Mandy had just opened another vat of her grandmother's famous green salsa and was filling little plastic cups for to-go orders.
"Are you sure you just need help with the tamales?" I asked.
"No, but that's what we're going to do," she said, fitting a last lid on a cup and then wiping her hands before drawing me toward a relatively quiet corner in the back of the kitchen. The cooks, busy though they were, stole a few curious glances. I wondered what rumors were floating around that Mandy didn't know about.
"Did you find out anything else?" she asked in a low voice, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening.
"A few things," I told her quietly. "Randy Stone wasn't a very popular guy."
"What did you find out?"
"Well, you know about his girlfriend and her husband, of course," I said. "But he apparently wasn't a terrific businessman, either, and there may have been some bad blood between Randy and his sister."
"That's some useful news," she said, perking up a bit. Despite her fatigue, she had the intense look of a reporter on the trail of a good story.
"Maybe," I conceded. "And in the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you that Rhonda spent the night at the farmhouse last night."
She blinked. "Randy's girlfriend spent the night at your place?"
"Her husband abandoned her on the Square after taking out one of the stalls with his truck, and she needed a place to stay. The thing is, though, she left sometime during the night. And we have no idea where she went."
"Strange. Did she have a car?"
I shook my head. "And we didn't hear anyone come to pick her up, either." My stomach tightened a bit, and I wondered if Opal had gotten in touch with Rhonda's husband yet. I checked my phone, but there were no texts or calls. "I hope she's okay."
Mandy pulled a face. "I don't like her, I won't lie about that, but I'm with you. I hope no harm came to her." She paused for a moment. "Do you think maybe her husband was the one who killed Randy?"
"I
don't know," I said. "The problem is, if the knife came from here, how did he get in?" And why, if Isabella theoretically stayed home the night her husband died, were there tire tracks in her driveway?
"Maybe someone left a door unlocked," Mandy suggested, looking hopeful and almost a little bit excited. "Or maybe it wasn't one of the knives from our kitchen after all. I mean, I'm sure this isn't the only place in the world you can pick up a Henckels knife."
"I don't know how common they are," I said, "but it's worth looking in to."
She sighed. "I guess we should finish making the tamales. I really appreciate you coming to help; as you can tell, we're slammed."
"I've always wanted to make them," I said.
"You won't get to see the whole process, I'm afraid. We made the fillings yesterday, so we just need to wrap them and steam them," she said, leading me to a corner of the kitchen, where there were two enormous bowls, one filled with yellow masa—the corn-flour and lard-based dough that was a staple in any tamale—and the other loaded with shredded beef. I'd eaten tons of tamales; the softened corn husks filled with masa and a spicy filling, usually meat, were a traditional Christmas dish in Mexico, but I'd never made them before. I was looking forward to learning how.
"Where are the husks?" I asked.
"I prepped them last night; they've been soaking. They should be nice and soft," she said, grabbing a bleached husk from a bucket from a nearby counter. "So, this is how it works," she said, taking a softened husk and laying it flat on a cutting board. "You spread on a couple tablespoons of the dough," she instructed me, using a spoon to spread some of the masa. "Not too thick, though, and leave about four inches of room. Then you put a few spoonfuls of the filling down the center, like this." I watched as she spread some of the spicy shredded beef over the masa. "And now, you fold it like this," she said, going through a series of folds that took only a few seconds, but looked as complex as an origami crane. "Voilà!" she said, leaving a perfectly folded tamale on the counter.
Mistletoe Murder Page 4
