Bought The Farm (A Rainy Day Mystery Book 1)

by Jeff Shelby

  Then I found the bottle of bourbon I’d unpacked a couple of days earlier. I wasn’t a hard alcohol drinker, but I always kept a bottle or two on hand, just in case any visitors ever wanted something other than wine. I dug out a small paper cup from the cabinet and filled it to the brim. I stared at it for a moment, then tilted my head back and drained it. The liquid burned a hot path down my throat and I crumpled the paper cup in my fist, tossing it in the trashcan.

  I figured a fire on your farm was justification enough for a shot of booze in the middle of the day. Especially since I’d rushed home from town without stopping for groceries and the only thing now consumable in the house was alcohol.

  I went to my bedroom and pulled out a pair of old jeans, a tattered T-shirt, and the one pair of work boots I owned. I changed into them, cleared some space on my phone for photos, then headed outside.

  The black remains of the bungalow looked haunting against the green grass surrounding it. The smoke was gone, but water still dripped from the little amount of wood that was left, like a leaking faucet. It smelled like a campfire that had burned for hours.

  I took pictures of it from afar, then more as I got closer. I worked my way around it, capturing the mess from every possible angle. I zoomed in on any remaining structural things I saw. I didn't really have any idea what I was doing, but I knew how to be thorough, so I was focused on that.

  I did two circles around the remains, making sure I hadn't missed anything. An ancient, rusted out wheelbarrow was parked near where the back corner of the bungalow had been, the fire having apparently had mercy on its old, decrepit soul. A thick piece of wood that I thought might have been part of the supporting structure still stood in front of it. It was only about two feet tall, the other fifteen feet or so of it having fallen victim to the flames. It was rooted in a concrete block buried in the ground.

  I moved behind the wheelbarrow to try and get a shot of the remaining post, but couldn’t get the camera positioned correctly. I set my phone down, picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow, and pulled it back so I could get a clear angle.

  And then I saw the melted can.

  The wheelbarrow had been resting on a small concrete pad behind the bungalow. Now that the wheelbarrow was gone, there was a square can that had melted to the concrete, the heat having had its way with it.

  I squatted down to get a better look.

  The red cap on top of it had melted into what looked like putty. The bottom of the can had turned into a soft mound of molten metal, like it was trying to work its way into the concrete pad. The can had been about a foot tall and maybe two inches in width. The logo on the front of the can was indiscernible.

  I squinted at the top half of the melty mess, making sure it was what I thought it was.

  There was no doubt in my mind it had been a can of lighter fluid.

  I reached out my hand to touch it, then pulled back. I wasn't sure if it was still hot and I didn't want to move it even a fraction of an inch. But not just because of the potential it had to burn me.

  I stood up, the hairs on my neck standing with me.

  I couldn't be absolutely sure, but it felt to me as if someone had set my bungalow on fire on purpose.

  FIFTEEN

  I finished taking pictures, went back inside the house, and downed another shot of bourbon.

  Arson.

  It was a strange feeling, thinking that someone might've burned the building down on purpose. Was it to scare me? Hurt me? Or had it been done just to be spiteful? I didn't know for sure that it was arson, but finding that can of fluid in the remains seemed fairly damning to me.

  I called Sheriff Lewis, but got a voicemail. I left a message without details, just asking him to call me back. I then dug out my insurance paperwork, called in and reported the fire, and made an appointment for the following morning.

  Then I sat down on the sofa and called Mack Mercy.

  Mack owned Capitol Cases, a private investigations firm inside the Beltway. I'd worked for him for nearly 20 years as his administrative manager and he knew more about most things than anyone else I knew. He could be a pain, but in the way that family members could be a pain. I knew he'd give me straight answers if he had them.

  “Let me guess,” he said when he answered the phone, not even bothering to say hello. “You hate the farm life and you're calling to ask for your old job back.”

  “Wrong and wrong.”

  “I'm rarely wrong twice in one minute,” he said.

  “I don't recall anyone ever saying that.”

  “I just did,” he said. “And, by the way, the new woman? Your replacement? She's a bit too chipper most of the time.”

  “I'm sure you'll wear her down soon enough.”

  “I've got a meeting in 20 minutes,” he said, chuckling. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  I stretched my legs out in front of me. The second shot of bourbon had relaxed me, which was a good thing. I’d been wound pretty tight after discovering the can of lighter fluid. “Trying to figure out if a sheriff is just incompetent or if I'm being overly paranoid.”

  “Sheriff? Why?”

  I spent ten minutes explaining to him what had occurred in the previous 24 hours. By his silence, I knew that his wise-guy persona was morphing into his serious investigator persona. Which was what I'd been hoping for when I'd decided to call him.

  “Maybe you should come and take your old job back,” he said when I'd finished.

  “Too late for that.”

  “Never too late,” he said. And then, in a gentler voice, he added, “I'm sorry it's been a mess.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But I would say your sheriff is most definitely incompetent,” he continued. “Even if he didn't know what kind of bones you found, he should've operated under the idea that they were human and shouldn't be touched by anyone other than forensics people.”

  “I don't think he has any forensics experts in his employ.” I actually didn’t think he had anyone in his employ, but I didn’t say this out loud.

  “But the county or state does,” he said. “There's no excuse. Any competent law enforcement officer would know that. He shouldn't have a job.”

  “I get the feeling he's been in the job so long, no one wants to fire him.”

  “So? That's not an excuse. He's doing everyone a disservice.”

  It was everything I thought before I'd called him. I just needed to hear it from someone else—someone who knew what they were talking about.

  “And there should already be an arson investigator on his or her way,” Mack said. “The longer they wait, the harder it will be to figure out the cause, no matter what you found.”

  “I agree,” I told him. “But no idea if or when that will happen.”

  “That's garbage, Rainy,” he said. “Step on their throats until they move.”

  It was Mack's way. He had a knack for leveraging people to do things he needed them to do without coming off like a bully, even if he talked like one when they weren't listening.

  I did not have the same knack.

  “We'll see,” I said.

  “You want me to come down there? Ruffle some feathers?”

  My eyes widened in horror. “No,” I said quickly. “But thank you for offering.”

  “I’m serious. I’ll come down today.”

  I shook my head, forgetting for a second that he couldn’t see me. “I'll get it worked out. I just needed to hear that I'm not losing my mind here.”

  “You're not losing your mind here,” Mack assured me. “You're just apparently surrounded by people who don't know what they're doing.”

  “So it's just like being back in D.C.,” I said.

  “Ha. But that's a different kind of incompetent.”

  I started to ask what the difference was, but the doorbell chimed.

  “I need to go,” I said. “Someone’s at the door. Again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah. I think everyone who lives here has
come by.”

  “That sounds horrible.”

  In my mind, I could see him cringe in horror. I smiled. “Thank you for calming me down.”

  “Anytime,” he said. “And you know that if you ever did come back you could have your old job back in a heartbeat.”

  “You say that now,” I said. “But the new woman's enthusiasm might grow on you.”

  “Like a fungus,” he said. “Call me if you need me.”

  SIXTEEN

  Reverend Declan Murphy held up a hand in greeting. “Hello, Rainy.”

  “Hi...Declan,” I said, still not comfortable calling a man in full pastor regalia by his first name. “What can I do for you?”

  He gave me a tight smile and put his hand behind his neck, like it was sore and he needed to rub it. “I heard about the fire. Figured I should come by and check on you.”

  I wasn't part of his flock, but he certainly seemed to think I was.

  I waved him into the house and guided him toward the sofa.

  He sat down on the edge, setting a grocery bag next to his feet. He folded his hands neatly into his lap. “You're alright, I take it?”

  I nodded. “I wasn't home when it started. Just saw the finale. But, yeah, I'm fine.”

  “Good, that's good. The bungalow, I take it, is not?”

  “It's not. It's gone. Completely.”

  He winced, as if it hurt him to hear that. “I'm so sorry. I really am.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Me, too.” I leaned back into the couch, suddenly exhausted. “I'm just...a little overwhelmed.”

  “Probably so,” he said. “Not only have you moved to a new place, but you've already had to deal with quite a bit.”

  “And then some.”

  “You're being tested,” he said. “You just need to hang in there.”

  I'd moved to be tested, but in a much different way. I wanted to experience a new place and new people and a new home. I hadn't wanted to be tested by a dead body and a raging fire.

  “I’m trying.”

  He reached for the bag. “I brought you leftovers. From our church supper last night.”

  “Church supper?”

  “Ham and au gratin potatoes. Some strawberry pie, too. Ethel Williams made it. She’s the reigning pie queen, or so I’ve been told.”

  He pulled out a couple of containers as if to prove to me that the food was actually in there. And I didn’t know if it was because I was emotional over the fire or because the bourbon was still coursing through my blood or if I really was that grateful for his kindness and concern, but my eyes suddenly welled with tears.

  Declan gave me a worried glance and then reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling it gently between his own. They were warm and firm and strong, and the tears slipped down my cheeks.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I just want to know what's going on,” I told him. “Is it just coincidence? Is it bad luck? Or is there something else at work here that I'm missing?”

  “I guess it's hard to say right now.”

  “Because I'm not really buying the coincidence idea after what I found after the fire.”

  His hands tightened around my own. “What did you find?”

  I hesitated for a moment. I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share with the man sitting next to me. I'd easily confided in Mack because I'd known him longer than I'd known my own kids, and I trusted him implicitly. Even though the whole idea that I was being targeted had me a little unnerved, I wasn't sure I should just start spitting out details to anyone who would listen. Declan, though, had done nothing but shown me kindness, and I didn't want to start acting any more paranoid than I already felt.

  “A can of lighter fluid,” I finally said. “Out behind the bungalow. It had melted in the heat and flames, I guess. I was taking photos for my insurance company and I found it.”

  He let go of my hand and laid his own flat against his knees. “Oh, wow. That...that doesn't seem good.”

  “I mean, it could’ve just been left there by the old owner. I have no idea.” I threw up my hands. “But it's just getting to be a bit much right now.”

  “I would imagine so,” he said. “I don't blame you for feeling that way.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. “I’m starting to wonder if this place is cursed. I didn't really do much background into the place. I just came out here, saw it, and bought it.” I paused. “And now I'm just babbling. About curses. To a pastor.”

  “It's why I came by,” he said, smiling. “In case you needed to babble.”

  “Well, thanks,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He nodded, almost relieved. “Of course.”

  “I know you haven't been here much longer than I have, but did you know anything about this farm?” I asked. “Were you ever out here? Before I moved in, I mean. Did you hear anything about it?”

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I did stop by the farm, of course. I went door to door introducing myself to everyone in town.”

  “Door to door? Really?”

  He nodded. “Door to door. My job is to build up our community, and I figured the best way to do that was to introduce myself to everyone.”

  “That must've taken a while.”

  “It did, but I considered it my job,” he said. “Mr. Konrath was not terribly interested in having a conversation with me, though, and he dismissed me pretty quickly.”

  I frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  I couldn’t imagine anyone having an issue with Declan. He was kind and soft-spoken, not a religious zealot shoving pamphlets down people’s throats.

  He shrugged. “It's part of the job. Can't take it personally. And he did show up to church, so I guess I didn’t make him too angry by popping over.”

  “I would. Take it personally, I mean”

  “Oh, I do a little.” He smiled at me. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t. You just have to pretend like you don't.”

  “That would be...hard.” I eyed him. “And isn’t pretending the same thing as lying?” And isn’t lying a sin, I wanted to add.

  He winked. “Semantics. Anyway, Mr. Konrath was not terribly interested in having a conversation so I wasn't here that long. That was the one time we interacted. Like I said, he comes to church, but he just shows up for the sermon. He’s never wanted to chat.”

  I hadn't really expected him to offer any information that might explain why things were happening, but I still felt disappointed. I wanted someone to be able to clue me in on whatever I was missing.

  “I did hear one thing about the farm, though,” he said.

  I glanced at him. “What was that?”

  “Yours wasn't the first offer.”

  “It wasn't?”

  He shook his head. “No. My understanding was that someone made an offer on the property the day it was put up for sale.”

  “So it was a bad offer?”

  He shook his head again. “No. Just the opposite. The offer was over what Mr. Konrath was asking.”

  I frowned. The property had already been overpriced when I made my offer. I knew that. I knew it would appraise at what I was offering, but it wasn't worth significantly more than what I was going to pay. My offer was fair.

  “So why wouldn't Konrath have taken it?” I asked. “Why would he turn down money?”

  “I don't know,” Declan said, shrugging. “That was just the story I heard.”

  Turning down an above-asking price didn’t make sense. “Where did you hear it?”

  “I was having lunch at The Wicked Wich,” he said. “Overheard a conversation.”

  “Ohhhh,” I said. “Gotcha.”

  He studied me for a moment. “You've been there?”

  I nodded. “Yes. And I don't think I'll be welcomed back.”

  “Why's that?”

  “The woman who was working behind the bar didn’t care for me talking to her husband,” I explain
ed. “And she let me know it.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Dawn?”

  I nodded. “One and the same.”

  “And you were talking to Martin?”

  “He sat down next to me,” I said, trying not to sound as defensive as I felt. “I think he was just being friendly. Everyone knows I'm the new person in town, so I think he was just being polite and making conversation. She nearly threw my food at me when she saw him sitting there. I didn't even get a chance to apologize because then I got the call about the bungalow being on fire.”

  He scratched the top of his head, like he was pondering that. “Well, Dawn can be a little prickly, but I wouldn't make too much of it. And Martin really is a friendly guy. So maybe they were just having a bad day between them or something.”

  I appreciated his willingness to look on the sunny side of things, but I wasn't sure I bought that idea. Not when my burger and fries had almost ended up in my lap.

  “But, anyway, that's where I heard about the offer,” Declan said. “I don't know who made the offer or why Mr. Konrath refused it. Like I said, I'm afraid I'm not much help.”

  I patted him on the knee. “I wouldn't say that all. Just the fact that you haven't treated me like Hester Prynn has been a big help. Thank you.”

  His face reddened. I wasn't sure if it was The Scarlet Letter reference or the patting of his knee, but I'd definitely embarrassed him. Was I not supposed to touch a pastor? I thought it was only Catholic priests that did the whole celibacy thing, but maybe I needed to read up on what was appropriate behavior around men of the clergy in my own home.

  He stood quickly. “I should get going. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

  I stood. “Thank you. I am. I'll be fine. And thank you for the food. I meant to grab groceries while I was in town but my visit got cut short…”

  “I’m happy it will be put to good use. Make sure you try the pie. Tastes best with ice cream, but it’s pretty darn good on its own, too.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Maybe I’ll live a little dangerously and eat dessert first.”

  He smiled at that.