Deadly Brew (Dewberry Farm Mysteries Book 3)

by Karen MacInerney

  "What kind of business were they in?"

  "Some kind of government contract work, I think. I'll look it up."

  "I heard something else, too," he said. "Guess who inherits the ranch?"

  "Mitch Wharton?"

  He nodded.

  "Does Rooster know about that?"

  "I don't know."

  "You might want to mention it to him," I suggested. "He won't want to hear it from me."

  "One more thing... I heard a rumor that Quinn's ex is working at the ranch."

  "Jed Stadtler?"

  He nodded. “I hear he wants to be back in town."

  "Why can't he just stay away?" I asked.

  "He's bad news, I know," Ethan said. "He was down at the station the other day complaining about Quinn."

  "What did he say?"

  "That she made it all up, got him thrown into jail for nothing."

  "I was there when he attacked her," I said. "If he'd had a gun on him, neither of us might still be here."

  "Bad news," he said. "Is she still having trouble with him?"

  "He's been trouble since the day they met," I told him, feeling a sense of foreboding.

  "I'll keep an eye out," he said. "Tell her if she needs to learn to use a gun, I can help."

  "I'll pass it on," I said. I knew she was against having a gun, but with Jed in town, she might change her mind. "What do I owe you for the water, by the way?"

  He waved it away. "It's nothing," he said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Happy to be of assistance," he said, and swung himself back into the truck. "Thanks for helping Serafine. I feel better knowing you're on it."

  "I'll do what I can," I said. I just hoped it would be enough.

  12

  I had just finished cutting up pumpkins and sterilizing a batch of Mason jars for pumpkin butter (thank goodness for bottled water) when there was a knock at the door. It was Maria Ulrich.

  "I hope you don't mind my coming by," she said, "but Molly told me you found something at the house."

  "I did," I told her. "Sit down and I'll grab them for you. Can I get you some tea? I was just making pumpkin butter."

  "I'd love to, but I can't stay long. I just wanted to see what you found—and where you found it."

  I rinsed my hands and retrieved the diary and the cameo from the hutch in the living room, handing them to Maria, who received them as if they were holy artifacts.

  "This is amazing," she breathed. "It was in the house the whole time, and I didn't know! Molly said you found these under the stairs?"

  "The top riser had a hidden compartment behind it," I told her. I hesitated before adding, "There was a knife in there, too, but I left it." I didn't mention the blood.

  She leafed through the onionskin pages. "It's German, all right. The handwriting is flowery, but I can read some of the words."

  "What does it say?"

  "It's hard to decipher without a dictionary... but can I take it with me?"

  "Of course," I said.

  "And this cameo,” she said, touching it reverently. "I wonder which one of my ancestors this belonged to?"

  "Maybe the diary will tell you," I said.

  "And maybe the secret of what happened to Ilse Ulrich will finally be solved," she said.

  If Comanches had abducted Ilse, I thought it highly unlikely they'd paused to give her time to record the event in her diary, but I just smiled.

  She looked up and sniffed the air. "What smells so good?"

  "Pumpkin butter," I told her. "I sell it at the markets on weekends."

  "Oooh, that sounds terrific. I'll have to pick some up at the market this week," she said.

  "Or you can take a jar with you now. I sterilize it, but it has to be refrigerated, just in case," I warned her.

  "It won't last that long anyway," she said, taking another appreciative sniff and then hugging the diary to her chest. "Do you mind if I take a look in the house to see where it came from? Maybe there's something else hidden there."

  "Of course. I'd go with you, but I'm kind of in the middle of things here," I told her. "The riser is at the top of the stairs."

  "Thanks. I'll be back!" she said.

  As Maria stepped outside, the phone rang. I rinsed my hands with a bit of bottled water and picked it up, smiling when Tobias said hello. "How are things at Dewberry?" he asked.

  "Better," I told him. "I just got water!"

  "Terrific! No word from Lenny, I presume?"

  "Of course not, but Ethan filled up the stock tank for free. And I found out the name of the company Bug was working for; Ethan is pretty anxious to get Serafine off the hook."

  "He's sweet on her, isn't he?"

  "He sure is. And Maria Ulrich is down nosing around the house." I told him what I'd found. "She's going to translate the diary; maybe it'll shed some light on who's causing all that banging."

  "I think that banging has a more scientific explanation," Tobias told me.

  "Well, when you show me what's causing it, I'll be happy to go with it. How's the oryx?" I asked.

  "Better today," he said, "but I'm heading out to the Safari Exotic Game Ranch to check out some new livestock, and I thought you might want to go with me."

  "Absolutely I would," I said.

  "I've got a few things to take care of, but I'll be over in a little bit."

  "I just have to finish up this pumpkin butter and I'll be ready to go."

  I had cut up several pumpkins; now, I weighed them before putting them into a big stainless-steel pot I'd picked up at the antique fair, then stirred in brown sugar, cardamom, allspice, and cloves. Before long, the mixture in the pot began to simmer, making the kitchen smell deliciously of pumpkin pie. As the pumpkin cooked down, I pulled Google up on my computer and typed in TechGenerator.

  Whatever it had been, TechGenerator was no longer in operation; there were a few business listings, and it was described as a software company, but there was no indication of what kind of software the company wrote, and the website was defunct. I searched "IPO TechGenerator," but came up empty. Either the name had changed with no fanfare, or the Whartons hadn't gotten rich off selling a start-up.

  I gave the pumpkin a stir, adjusted the heat, and then ran a search on Bug Wharton. His real name, as it turned out, was Jerome; although I wasn't a big fan of the name Bug, I could see that some might think it was better than the alternative. I got a listing for him living in Ohio; I wrote down the address and looked it up on Zillow, expecting a mansion, but it appeared to be a modest house in a modest neighborhood. I checked on the pumpkin—it was cooking down nicely—and saw he'd lived in Ohio for fifteen years; before that, there was an address in Houston and one in Smithville. Was Evelyn an old flame from his Houston days?

  After petering out on Bug, I looked up his brother, Mitch. To my surprise, four news articles popped up at the top of the screen, and I immediately knew where the money had come from.

  The pumpkin butter was just about done by the time I'd exhausted my research capabilities, and I processed each batch in the blender, then transferred the spicy, deep orange butter to the sterilized jars and put them in the refrigerator. As I licked the spoon, savoring the rich fall flavor, I heard Tobias pull up outside.

  Chuck trotted to the door to greet him, barking excitedly as the veterinarian headed up the walk. "Come on in!" I called when he got to the door.

  "You ready?"

  "I am," I told him as he joined me in the kitchen and kissed me on top of the head. "I found out how the Whartons made their money."

  "How?"

  "Mitch won the lottery in Florida," I said.

  Tobias looked at the screen and let out a low whistle. "Five million dollars? That'll buy you a lot of oryxes."

  "It sure will," I said.

  "But I thought Bug was the one with the money," Tobias said. "Mitch always seemed like a sidekick."

  "I got that impression, too," I said. "No wonder they were able to afford the ranch, though."
/>   "If Mitch was the winner, that kind of takes him out of the equation as a suspect, don't you think?" Tobias commented. "If anything, it'd be more likely for Bug to want to kill Mitch."

  "Who bought the property?" I asked. I pulled up the website for the ranch, wincing at the photo of a dead springbok surrounded by a smiling family, then typed the address of the appraisal district website for Fayette County.

  "Jerome Wharton," I said. "It's the only name on the deed."

  "I'd ask if they had wealthy parents, but word around town is that they grew up dirt poor."

  "Maybe Jerome did make money from his company," I speculated, "and Mitch spent all his lottery winnings and became dependent on his brother."

  "Did you find anything out about his company?"

  "Not much," I answered, showing him the websites I'd pulled up. "Nothing but a few addresses and a Better Business Bureau listing in Ohio. The last listing was from about two years ago."

  "When did Mitch win the lottery?"

  I flipped to the other tab. "Eighteen months ago," I said.

  "Unless he's the one who funded the ranch for Bug, he went through that money awfully fast. Even with a big tax bite, that's a lot of cash to go through in a year and a half."

  "Unless he bought the ranch for his brother?"

  "Why would he do that?" Tobias asked. "Besides, I got the clear impression that Bug ran the show."

  "Bug was the older brother, wasn't he? Maybe it's just family dynamics," I theorized. "Maybe Mitch was somehow being controlled by his brother, got tired of it, and did him in."

  Tobias put his hands on my shoulders. "I wish we knew what was in his will. Maybe Mindy could help find out. If the estate is being probated, it might be public record."

  I bristled a bit at the mention of Mindy Flynn, his ex. I knew she was remarrying, but she was gorgeous, and I still felt a jolt of jealousy when her name came up. "It might help."

  "There's something we're missing here," Tobias said. "Let me think on it. But in the meantime, let's head over to the ranch.

  "Let me check in with Maria, and we'll go," I said, doing a last wipe of the counters and putting a jar of the still-hot pumpkin butter into a sturdy paper bag before following Tobias outside. "She's been down there for forever; I hope she's okay."

  There was no sign of Maria when we went outside; she must still be in the little house. "Well, at least the house is still standing," I said. "I wonder if she's pulling up floorboards?"

  "Just as long as she puts them back," Tobias said.

  We had just gotten to the front porch when the door opened and Maria stepped out.

  "Find anything?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "I searched the whole place," she said. "I didn't find anything other than the knife you told me about," she said. "No weird noises, either; I think that whole haunting thing was just a story."

  "We heard some banging the other day, but Tobias here is convinced it's a loose board or something."

  Maria gingerly stepped off the porch, then turned to look at the house. "These walls have seen so many things; I wish they could talk."

  "At least you have a diary now," I pointed out. "Maybe that will solve some family mysteries."

  She looked down at the book in her hand. "It's going to take some work to read, but I'm excited about it. Maybe I could publish it as part of the German Heritage thing? Think Texas A&M Press would be interested?"

  "It's worth looking in to," I told her. "And maybe you'll find out what that cameo and that knife were doing in there, too."

  "I'll let you know," she said. "Thanks again for saving the house; I'm bringing it up at the meeting tomorrow and asking if we can help you with the preservation."

  "Thanks," I said. "I brought you a jar of pumpkin butter, by the way," I told her, proffering the bag. "It's still very hot, though; be careful!"

  Her eyes lit up. "Ooh, thank you. That'll be great on my toast in the morning."

  "It will be," I confirmed. "We're headed out now, but let me know what you find out about the diary."

  "Will do," she said. "And keep your fingers crossed about that meeting!"

  I would. Any help I could get financially right now was more than welcome.

  There were more vehicles than usual parked at the Safari Exotic Game Ranch when we arrived. Tobias passed by the main compound, which was fairly stuffed with luxury SUVs, and headed to the barn. "I wonder if Jed's here?" I mused as Tobias pulled up next to Bug's giant extended-cab truck.

  "I wish he'd just leave town and never come back," Tobias replied.

  "So does Quinn."

  Despite the number of SUVs we'd seen parked near the entrance, there was no sign of anyone in the area of the barn. "If folks are out hunting, do you think it's safe?" I asked.

  "As long as we don't go off into the woods, we should be okay," he said. As he spoke, there was a gunshot in the distance; I jumped, wincing.

  "Those poor animals."

  He grimaced. "I know."

  Together, we headed into the barn. The ibexes that had been there the other day were no longer penned; I found myself wondering if one of them had just been shot. In their place were four kangaroos.

  "Kangaroos?" I asked. "Really?"

  He sighed. "Kind of sick, I know. At least it's a change of pace for me." He looked around. "I wonder where José is?"

  "I'm more worried about Jed," I said in a low voice.

  As if I'd conjured him, Quinn's ex walked into the barn, a bucket swinging from his right hand. Jail hadn't diminished him, unfortunately; if anything, he was more muscular than when he'd been convicted. He was over six feet tall and built like a brick. He stopped short when he saw me. "What are you doing here?" His voice was menacing.

  Tobias stepped between us. "We're here to look at the kangaroos," he told Jed in a firm voice. "Is José here?"

  "I haven't seen him," Jed said, surly. He jabbed a finger at me. "Why is she here?"

  "She's helping me," Tobias informed him. "If you haven't seen José, we'll go look in the office."

  Jed said nothing, but watched as Tobias and I left the barn and headed for the trailer José used as an office.

  "He gives me the creeps," I murmured.

  "He should," Tobias told me as he mounted the two steps to the trailer door. "He's trouble." He was about to knock when he noticed the door was ajar. "José?" he called.

  There was a groaning sound from inside the trailer. Tobias looked back at me.

  "That doesn't sound good," I said.

  He pushed the door open, and I followed him in to the small, dark space. There was another groan from the corner, where José lay crumpled on the floor.

  13

  Tobias rushed over to him. "What happened?"

  "Coffee... sick..." he moaned. I looked up at the cluttered desk; there was a half-drunk cup of coffee.

  "Call 911," Tobias told me. I reached for the phone and dialed.

  As I relayed our location and the information to the dispatcher, Tobias checked José's vitals and then sniffed the coffee. "It's bitter," he said. "I don't know what it is, but I'm guessing he might have been poisoned." He grabbed his bag and pulled out a bottle and a dosing cup.

  "Can you drink this?" he asked José.

  José, looking pale, nodded. Tobias filled the cup with a steady hand and turned to me. "Help me prop him up?"

  "Of course," I said, and helped him sit up as Tobias guided the cup to his mouth. He gagged, but it went down. Tobias grabbed the metal wastepaper basket from next to the desk just in time. After he'd emptied his stomach, Tobias pulled a jar of charcoal capsules from his bag and glanced around the little office, his eyes fixing on the water dispenser in the corner. He hurried over and filled a cup, then offered José several black capsules.

  "Take these," Tobias ordered.

  "But..."

  "Just try," he said. "It'll help neutralize whatever was in the coffee." José obeyed, managing to stomach what Tobias gave him, and sagged back against me.
/>
  "Am I gonna die?" he croaked.

  "We're doing everything we can for you," Tobias said. "How long ago did you drink the coffee?"

  "Ten minutes, I think." José made a gagging noise.

  "Just relax," Tobias said. "See if you can keep it down; it should absorb the poison, if that's what it is. Any other symptoms?"

  "Stomach cramp," he said, doubling over. "Bad."

  "Easy, José," Tobias said in the strong, calm voice I had heard him use with animals. "The paramedics are on their way."

  "Where did you get the coffee?" I asked.

  "From the pot over there," he said. There was about an inch of murky liquid left in the glass coffeepot. I sniffed the cup, which had been doctored with creamer; there was a bitter, acrid scent that didn't smell like coffee. Then I grabbed a Kleenex from the box on the desk and used it to ease the coffeepot out from the machine without disturbing any fingerprints, taking a whiff of the contents. No bitterness.

  "Is this the creamer you used?" I asked, pointing to the canister of Coffee-Mate next to the pot.

  He nodded.

  "Does anyone else use creamer?"

  "Yes," he said. "But not Splenda." He pointed to the yellow bag on the shelf above the coffeemaker.

  "Do you have any latex gloves?"

  Tobias handed me a pair from his bag; I put them on, then took the bag down and gave it a sniff.

  "It smells bitter, but I'm not sure if that's normal," I said.

  "Let me take a whiff," Tobias said. I offered him the bag, and he sniffed at it. "I don't know either," he confessed. "We'll make sure it gets checked out, though. We should send a sample to the hospital; I'll fill a syringe with some of the coffee, too, just so they have something to analyze."

  I set the bag of Splenda on the cluttered desk and glanced around the trailer. It was a mess; there were piles of paper everywhere, with shipping notices from Africa and invoices from feed company. I accidentally brushed a pile of credit-card statements on a beaten-up credenza. As I picked them up, I noticed some very large charges from a resort called Coushatta, in Louisiana. It must have been a luxury resort; there were at least two charges in excess of ten thousand dollars. As I gathered the rest of the statements, I heard footsteps on the stairs to the trailer. A moment later, the door opened and Mitch Wharton burst in. "José..." he began, then trailed off when he saw me standing by the credenza with a pile of papers in my hand. "What are you doing here?" he asked, and his eyes flicked to the yellow bag, which I'd set down on the desk. "Where's José?"