by Rae Davies
Selling the Antlers behind her back was, I knew, the least of Richard Danes’ offenses. But I wasn’t the person to fill her in on his other crimes.
A young couple entered the store and Betty, looking disgruntled, went to help them. Probably realizing, with Leslie’s announcement, she was at a distinct disadvantage in the contest to sell, she grabbed the woman and led her to a display of salt and pepper shakers that were not part of the Antlers’ windfall turned bust.
“There’s more than this,” I explained. “The rest is in a friend’s garage.”
“A garage? That doesn’t sound safe.”
The suggestion that Rhonda’s garage wasn’t an appropriate storage place startled me. “Helena has a very low crime rate.”
Her face turned skeptical. “Really? What about all those protesters walking around naked and harassing people?”
I didn’t see the connection between protesting eating meat and thievery, but I could see by the pinched expression on Leslie Danes’ face that arguing the point would get me nowhere.
“And then there are the two women who died, including our tenant. No one has said yet what killed them.”
Seeing an opening to see if her story stayed consistent with what she’d told me on the phone, I asked, “Did you know Tiffany?”
Leslie’s body tensed. “No. I didn’t.”
Her stiff delivery of the words made me wonder if she knew more about her husband’s relationship with the chef than others might have thought.
“It was a tragedy. That’s for sure,” I offered. “And especially sad on such a big night for her.” I ran my hand over the top of one of the seats, knocking some dust off its velvet covering. “I talked to some wives of other ranchers who were at the opening. Were you there too?” No need to mention that I’d been in attendance and already knew she hadn’t been.
“No. I was at the spa.”
“Oh, yes, they mentioned that one of their friends got a spa trip as a gift from her husband. I guess that was you.” I gave her a dazzling, aren’t-you-lucky smile. “Did your husband go?”
“No. He dropped me off at the spa and wasn’t able to make it to Helena in time for the dinner.”
Same story. Damn it.
“And now you’re opening your own business.”
We talked a bit more, setting up times for her to pick up the Antlers’ items from both Dusty Deals and Rhonda’s garage, and by the time she left, I was feeling even more confident that neither she nor her husband had killed Tiffany.
Honestly, I just didn’t think she would lie to cover for him. In fact, I expected that there was more to their story and that when her spa did open in the Antlers, Richard Danes would no longer be a factor in her life.
Which left me with who? Carl Mack? If he’d killed Tiffany for the Antlers, what would he do when he heard that Leslie Danes had just taken it and its furnishings off the market again?
Chapter 23
After Leslie left, I called Rhonda to let her know that the Danes were authorized to empty out her garage.
Then I sat at my desk and stewed. I really didn’t think Carl had killed Tiffany. Yes, he loved Helena history and had wanted the Antlers restored to its original condition, but obviously, killing Tiffany was not the way to that goal. And killing her as revenge for what she had done to the place seemed beyond unlikely, at least for a sane person.
And wacky as Carl might seem to anyone not as into antiques as I was, he really was sane.
Plus, there was the added fact that Hope was dead too. I hadn’t heard that her death was a homicide, but the conditions were suspicious at best.
And what connected Tiffany and Hope?
HA!
I stared at the cow calendar hanging on the wall above my desk. Today was Memorial Day. The last day of the Beef Ranchers convention and the last day, I guessed, that HA! could be sure of being in Helena.
I picked up the phone and called the grocery store. The clerk who answered claimed all the HA! members were out, but some digging on my part got her to tell me that Eric Handle was doing some P.R. work for them to help pay off the HA! grocery and accommodations debt.
“He’s leading a workshop on foraging.”
“Foraging?”
She sucked in a breath. I could tell she was being patient with me, earth-endangering idiot that I was. “It’s a movement. Why waste water on a garden when you can eat what grows on its own. Eric wrote a book on it.”
“On foraging.” Kiska foraged on a daily basis. Who knew he was part of a movement?
“And other ways to live off of what occurs naturally, but the group he is leading is on foraging.”
I squeezed one eye shut and forced both lips to stay closed, at least until whatever politically incorrect comment that was about to bubble out of the depths of my uneducated soul had sunk back below the surface.
This apparently took a little longer than I thought.
“Are you still there?”
“Oh, yes. That sounds very useful. Are there still openings?”
Shockingly, there was. In fact, no reservations were required.
It was my lucky day. Even more lucky, the foraging site was the same campground that Ben had been staying at, the one near my house.
With that in mind, I took Pauline and Kiska with me.
When we pulled into the campground, most of the campsites were still occupied, but signs that people were getting ready to return to their regular lives were everywhere. Pickup trucks were being loaded with rolled up tents. Campfires were smoking rather than blazing, and trash was being lowered from tree branches where it had been hung to discourage furry foragers, aka bears.
There was also a group of men, women, and children gathered to one side, all bearing backpacks, canvas bags, or, in one case, a woven bushel basket.
Eric Handle stood in front of them, apparently going over some of the do’s and don’ts of foraging for humans.
Kiska and Pauline in tow, I lined up next to a little girl carrying a bright pink backpack with a unicorn on the front.
She eyed my companions with suspicion. “This is supposed to be for people. Using animals is cheating.”
I hadn’t realized this was a competition. I opened my mouth to say as much, but the girl’s mother grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out of my cheating range before I could set the adorable little rule-keeper straight.
Kiska, unaware he’d been insulted, grinned at them. Pauline, however, had the good sense to sniff and turn her back.
I followed the goose’s lead and turned my attention to Eric who was now handing out sheets with pictures of some native plants he claimed grew in the area and would make for tasty eating.
When he reached me, he blinked. “You’re Ben’s sister, aren’t you?” He glanced at Pauline. The goose confirmed my identity with another sniff.
“I live near here.” I motioned in the general direction of my house and hoped the explanation was enough.
“So you’re here to forage?” he asked, holding the paper just out of my reach. His gaze, like the little girl’s, went to Kiska and Pauline.
I grabbed for the paper, jerking it from his hand. Settled back on my heels, I smoothed my hair and tried to look like someone dying to be introduced to the fine art of... I glanced at the sheet... fireweed gathering.
I pursed my lips. Anything with “weed” in the name did not strike me as something that I wanted to add to my diet.
Seeing the direction of my gaze, Eric said, “The grocery has recipe cards for fireweed if you’re interested. The flowers are great in jelly, but you’ll need to come back in spring for that.”
Good to know. I smiled and tried not to look too disappointed that fireweed jelly would not be included in my afternoon plans.
While Eric offered a few more personal bits of advice to various foragers, I selected one of a few canvas totes the grocery had supplied for the unprepared forager and waited for a good opportunity to sidle up to Eric and pump him for information.
As the group headed down the trail, out of the main campsite, I got my chance. I lengthened Kiska’s leash line and let Pauline free roam with her lead trailing behind her in the worn down grass.
“Pauline should be a pro at this,” Eric offered. “Ben takes her foraging a lot.”
“Really?” Maybe the little girl had been right to be suspicious. Maybe I had brought a ringer.
As if worried about her reputation, Pauline spotted a bug of some type and gulped it down.
Apparently undisturbed by Pauline’s take on foraging, Eric walked a few feet off the path to a huge overgrown weed with massive leaves. With a small set of clippers, he chopped free four of the leaves and tucked them into his bag.
“Burdock,” he explained. “This old it needs boiling, but it’s still good. I’d take the roots, but I don’t want everyone pulling up plants today.”
Well, of course not. Why would you do that when a weed whacker would get rid of the unsightly thing a lot faster?
We moved on, with Eric stopping occasionally to pull some tuft of grass and place it in his bag or to brush aside pine needles at the base of a tree.
“It’s getting late, but we still might find chanterelles,” he explained.
I nodded and moved some pine needles around with my toe. Kiska, thinking I’d found something, shoved his nose into the spot and inhaled.
As Eric continued to talk, I pulled Kiska’s head back and tried to look knowledgeable.
“That’s interesting,” I said, having no idea what the HA! founder had just said.
We moved on further, Eric’s bag becoming ever fuller while mine remained 100% empty.
Unicorn girl and her parents came into view, and Eric made a move to leave the path to join them.
“Terrible about Hope,” I blurted out.
He stopped as if hit with a stun ray, and his face paled.
Seeing his obvious distress, I felt two inches tall.
“Yes, it is horrid,” he replied.
I expected him to bolt away from me and my clueless mouth as quickly as he could, but instead he readjusted his bag on his shoulder and studied me.
“How is Ben?” he asked. “I would have gone to see him, but with his ties to HA!...”
What? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t.
“He seems fine.” At least he had the last time I’d talked with him. Realizing how many days ago that had been, I swallowed hard and tried to hide that I was the worst sister in the world by picking up a bug and holding it out to Pauline.
The goose gazed at me with the same suspicious glint that unicorn girl’d had. Feeling like a bug myself, I dropped my offering. A few seconds later, she snapped it up.
“How does his attorney feel about their chances?” Eric asked. He sounded casual enough, but there was something about the question that made me pause.
“I haven’t talked to Gregor.”
“But you’ve talked to the police?”
“Not recently. Not about Ben.”
A question appeared in his eyes.
“About Hope actually. I found her.” I said the last as quietly as I could, as if that would soften the circumstances of why I’d been talking to the police about her.
“Oh, yes. I guess I knew that.”
Had he? It hadn’t been in the News that I’d seen, and I hadn’t seen Eric at the cattle drive either.
Which, actually, I realized, was odd.
My need to be considerate forgotten, I lowered my empty bag to my side and asked, “Were you there?”
“Where?”
“At the drive.”
“Oh. No. Not when Hope was found. I’d left long before that, unfortunately. If I’d stayed around, maybe I could have prevented what happened. It was a horrible accident.”
“Was it?”
His head tilted.
“I mean, no one has said how she died.”
“She was found under a ton of hay.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean...” The look of horror on his face caused me to pause. “I just hadn’t heard an official cause of death. That’s all.”
“And you think there was something besides the hay?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t help myself from answering. Maybe it was crass, considering how well he knew Hope, but I didn’t believe her death was an accident.
“And what about Tiffany? Do you have any theories on what killed her?”
Feeling comfortable that I wasn’t upsetting him with the conversation, I went into a few of my theories, knocking a few others out as I did.
“You knew her, right? Hope had said that she was a member of HA! from the beginning.”
I’d meant the statement as a warm-up to asking about Tiffany’s possible drug problem, but he seemed to take it another way.
“There have been a lot of members of HA! A lot who have left.” His voice turned hard.
“Of course.” I glanced around, wishing my unicorn-loving friend and her parents would wander closer and save me from the suddenly awkward conversation.
“What else did Hope tell you about Tiffany?” he asked.
I glanced around. Unicorn girl and her parents were nowhere in sight. In fact, no one was anywhere in sight except Eric, Kiska, and Pauline. And the last two were too occupied with their own foraging to pay any mind to me.
“Not a lot. Just that she was in HA!, and that she thought you and Tiffany had a... friendship.”
“A friendship? Well, I guess you could call it that.” He walked a few feet off the path and pulled a flower out of the dirt. “Do you like onions, Lucy? There is nothing better than a wild onion.”
I looked at the plant, confused. On the bright side, finding the flower seemed to have brightened his mood. However, he now seemed to expect me to take it.
“I thought you didn’t want us pulling up roots.”
He shook dirt off the plant’s bulb and laughed. “Just don’t tell anyone about it, and I’ll get you a recipe card to use with it.”
After that, with his bag full and mine containing nothing except the lone onion, we walked back to the campground where unicorn girl, her parents, and the rest of the foragers sat on the ground going through their finds.
It all looked like weeds to me, but I nodded and expressed unfelt envy at each dirty, buggy clump of grass or shriveled, stinky bit of fungus until finally it seemed our adventure was over. Then, as unicorn and company wandered off, I picked up Pauline’s leash and tugged her and Kiska back toward my rig.
“Lucy, wait!” Eric jogged toward me, an index card held above his head. “The recipe.”
Oh, yes, the recipe. I placed my hand on the tote bag, checking to see if the wild onion was still inside.
He handed me the card, his smile broad and warm. “Try this tonight. Trust me, you won’t regret it. And tell Ben that if there’s anything I can do for him just to let me know.”
I took the card, nodded appropriately, and bit down the question as to why he was suddenly willing to risk HA! in support of my brother. Then I got in my rig, along with Kiska and Pauline, and waited as Eric pulled out of the parking lot ahead of me.
I was just ready to turn onto the main road toward my house when I glanced down at the card and the reality of what Eric had given me hit.
A recipe card, very much like the one I’d seen Phyllis stick in her purse while we were at Tiffany’s.
Dilated pupils. Pale skin. Definitely signs of being high, but also signs of being poisoned.
I reached in the bag and pulled out the onion.
Eric Handle had killed Tiffany, and now he was trying to kill me too.
Chapter 24
I burst into Stone’s office waving Eric’s “wild onion” over my head. “Set Ben free. He didn’t kill Tiffany, but I know who did.”
Stone, his ear pressed up against his phone’s receiver, cursed and waved at me to be quiet or settle down or something. I honestly didn’t know what he was trying to tell me, and I didn’t care. I was too jacked at having
saved the day and my brother.
I waved the onions under his nose. “These are not onions. I don’t know what they are, but I know if I ate them I’d be deader than disco.”
Stone dropped the receiver onto the phone and placed his hands flat onto the top of his desk. “Who have you been talking to?”
He didn’t wait for my answer.
“George,” he yelled.
I’d never seen Stone yell. He got superior and testy with me plenty, but he’d never lowered himself to actually yell.
It felt good to have pushed him this far. I’d found his weak spot—having case-solving evidence waved under his nose.
I wiggled the onion again for good measure.
He jerked it from my hand.
“Hey,” I objected, but Stone wasn’t listening to me. He’d moved around the desk and out of his office. I could hear him yelling more, this time adding Peter’s name to his bellows.
I plopped down in the closest chair and waited. He’d come back eventually. He’d have to if he wanted to learn who had planned to add me to his victim list.
Five minutes later, Stone returned, and he wasn’t alone. George and Peter both followed. George, looking sheepish and worried. Peter, looking tried and not as tolerant as one’s boyfriend should, quite honestly.
Peter opened the conversation. “Lucy, what are you doing?”
He left off the now. Basking in my success, I decided to give him points for that.
“I know who killed Tiffany, because he tried to kill me too,” I declared, trying to stay at least somewhat humble. I didn’t mind showing Stone up as publicly as possible, but George and Peter were also police officers, and, while the case wasn’t theirs, they could easily have felt they should have solved it before me.
“With this?” Stone waved the “onion” at me.
I sat up primly in the chair. “Yes.”
“Someone tried to kill you with a wild onion?” Peter asked.
George turned to the side and stared at the doorframe.
I flicked a length of hair from my eyes and stared the two disbelieving detectives down. “It only looks like an onion. I don’t know what it is, but whatever it is—”
