News and Nachos

by Carly Winter

  13

  After clocking in a few hours at the office, I arrived home just before the sun set. My breath caught as I pulled into my driveway. Gone was the forest of death. I'd become so used to gazing at the burnt trees, to catch sight of the pristine, clear land, shocked me.

  I slid out of the truck and walked toward the back fence. For the first time, I could see the old Rupert house... or I should say the new York home. It seemed far away but really, the distance was only about four acres.

  Tinker trotted next to me, and I was so enthralled with my new view, I didn't watch where I put my feet. I lost my balance and fell to my hands and knees. Pain shot up my ankle and into my shin as I turned and sat down. I'd twisted my foot in a hole Tinker had dug in the grass. She stared at me with her tail wagging.

  "You know better than to dig, Tinker," I said, rubbing the side of my calf. Nothing seriously hurt; just another accident that would require some ibuprofen and possibly an ice pack.

  She lay down next to me and placed her head on her paws, her big brown mournful gaze trained on me. I had a feeling she wasn't apologetic that she'd dug the hole, but sorry that I'd gotten caught up in it.

  "It's all right," I said with a sigh as I tapped her head. "I still love you. I hope you got whatever you were looking for."

  I staggered to my feet and continued my trek to the back fence when I noticed Minnie dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt crossing her pasture toward me, Tulip and Sunflower at her heels. Her legs were so thin, I wasn't sure how they held up the rest of her body.

  "The last person I want to see," I muttered as I smiled and waved. Tinker also saw them approaching and ran for the chicken coop. Apparently, she didn't like the cows, or their owner, either.

  We met where the fences merged.

  "Hi, Tilly!"

  "Hey, Minnie."

  Even though it was cold enough for a light jacket, Minnie's face was covered in a sheen of sweat. Obviously, she'd been exercising.

  "I’d just finished my second workout for the day in the barn when I saw you," she said, dragging her sleeve across her forehead. "How are things going?"

  "Good. Everything's great. How about you?"

  "Excellent."

  Tulip and Sunflower sandwiched Minnie and leaned their heads over the fence to get a sniff of me. I pet them, hoping they'd back off a bit once they'd gotten a noseful.

  "What do you think of the Ruperts' place?" Minnie asked.

  "It certainly looks different," I replied. "I do miss the orchard though. Not the burnt version, but the one with the flowering trees."

  Minnie glanced over at the barren plot of land. "I know Tulip and Sunflower miss the nectarines, but I'm glad the trees are gone. They played havoc with my allergies when in bloom."

  Tulip and Sunflower should never have been in the orchard, but often found their way there thanks to Mrs. Rupert loosening the fence and her hatred of the trees.

  "Well, it was nice of Derek to take it upon himself to buy the property and clean it up," I said. Tulip nudged my hand again.

  "Oh, yes. He's an excellent neighbor. So much better than his cranky father."

  I absently pet the cows and tried to figure out a way to end the conversation. The only reason Minnie thought Mr. York had been cranky was because he didn't like Tulip and Sunflower in his yard eating his flowers. Minnie and her cows had no boundaries.

  "I was wondering if you heard what happened today in Cedarville."

  "No," I replied. "I was in Little River most of the day."

  Minnie crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, then grimaced in disgust. "There was another anti-Mexican protest outside of Martinez's Mexican Fiesta."

  I stared at her a moment, unsure if I’d heard her right. "Another anti-Mexican protest?"

  "Oh, yes. Same people as last time."

  "Last time?"

  "About six months ago. Don't you remember that?"

  I scrounged my memory, trying to figure out what exactly she was talking about. Were the protestors angry about the food or the people?

  For the life of me, I couldn't recall any mention of an anti-Mexican protest at the restaurant. I would think Carla would have said something since that had been back when she actually spoke to me on a regular basis and didn't ignore my calls.

  "What happened?" I asked. "I don't remember anything about any of this."

  Minnie rolled her eyes and shifted her weight. "Tilly, you're supposed to be the reporter around here. How can you not know these things?"

  I smiled and wished my good upbringing allowed me to be just as rude. "Enlighten me, Minnie."

  She began with a loud sigh. "About six months ago, I was eating at Jake's Mexican Fiesta with a friend from out of town. The place was mildly crowded—about half-full. All of a sudden, we heard loud shouts coming from outside. There was a group of people in the parking lot holding signs and chanting, ‘Go Home! Go Home! America is for Americans!’ Garbage like that. I honestly couldn't believe it."

  I couldn't either. It always shocked me when I heard there were people alive today who acted in such a disgusting manner.

  "Now, I'm not for open borders or anything like that, but—"

  "How many protestors were there?" I really didn't care about her views on immigration.

  "Oh, maybe five. But they were quite rowdy. The guy in charge was the loudest."

  "Did you know him?"

  "Oh sure," Minnie replied. "It's Tucker Browner."

  I'd never heard of him. "Funny he's a racist with that last name."

  "Don't I know it," Minnie replied with a snicker. "He's a farmer in Cedarville and as cranky as a summer day is long."

  "What happened next?" I asked.

  "Well, the owner, Jake, went outside and really got into Tucker's face. I thought fists were going to fly. The yelling, the language... it was a sight to see. Tucker kept screaming at Jake that he needed to go back to Mexico. Jake warned that if he didn't get off his property, he'd make him very sorry."

  "What did he mean by that?"

  "I don't know." Minnie stroked Sunflower. "He didn't specify."

  "What was Tucker's response?"

  "He said, and I quote, 'The only good Mexican is a dead one.'"

  Bile rose in my throat as the ugly words sank in.

  "So you were outside during the whole thing?"

  "Oh, no. Jake had those little windows open to let the summer breeze blow through. It carried the conversation, if you could call it that, right into the restaurant."

  "That's awful. Did anyone call the cops?"

  Minnie shook her head. "No. The whole thing was over in minutes. Jake came back into the restaurant and apologized profusely to everyone. Someone said something about calling the police, and Jake asked them not to. He then turned up the fun mariachi music to drown out the idiots in the parking lot, closed the windows, and had margaritas and fried ice cream delivered to all the tables."

  I let out a long breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "It sounds like a horribly tense situation."

  "Oh, it was. But Jake quickly muffled it all with alcohol and sugar. Of course, I didn't have any of that."

  Of course. Minnie's desire to be fit and thin seemed to override any fun that may come into her life.

  "And Tucker was back at it again today in front of the restaurant?"

  "Yes! I can't believe you didn't hear about it."

  "Like I said, I was in Little River most of the day. How did you know about it?"

  "One of my friends had lunch there this afternoon and phoned to tell me about it."

  "And did anyone call the police today?" I asked.

  "My friend didn't say. She was leaving as they started their disgusting chants. But something needs to be done about Tucker. The man's a disgrace to our community."

  I fully agreed, but people couldn't be policed for their beliefs, only their actions. And if Jake hadn't wanted to prosecute Tucker during the summer and no one had called the sheriff earlier, there was
nothing that could be done. Maybe the police could have arrested him for disorderly conduct, but I couldn't think of much else, although there was probably something. I wasn't a cop. Perhaps trespassing? I didn't know the laws on such matters.

  Minnie looked over at the Ruperts' land for a long moment, her head tilted to the side as if she were in deep thought. "Do you think Tucker Browner could have killed Jake?"

  The only good Mexican is a dead one.

  "I... I have no idea," I said, my heart thundering. The thought wasn't something I'd considered, but it definitely should be explored.

  "Well, someone should tell the sheriff about it." Minnie ended her comment with a nod and narrowed gaze.

  "You're right," I replied. "Someone should."

  I had a feeling she was volunteering me.

  "Let me know what he says," she said. "I should get back to the house. It's time to give my babies their vitamins."

  Tulip nudged my hand again, then sneezed. Snot shot out her nostril and landed on my shirt and arm. She then turned and followed Sunflower and Minnie.

  I hated those stupid cows.

  With a sigh, I walked back to my own house. Minnie was right—the cops should know about Tucker's protests and what he'd said.

  I also couldn't help but wonder if Jake wanted to take matters into his own hands with Mr. Browner, and that was why he hadn't wanted the police called. After what I'd learned about how he’d sent Darryl Hill out of business, I wouldn't put anything past him.

  What if Jake had retaliated following the initial protest, and the whole dispute escalated into Tucker killing Jake?

  Or what if Tucker simply did believe the only good Mexican was a dead one and he'd followed through? Did that mean Sophia and José were in danger as well? Would he be coming for them next?

  Darryl Hill, Sophia, José, Jerry the farmer... they were all on my radar as possible killers, but now it looked like I had another one to add to the list: a racist with an ugly heart.

  14

  The next morning, I popped into Debbie's to check in. The bakery was crowded with only one table available, so I hurried through the swarm of people and grabbed it. At the next table, I found Mrs. Markle, a woman in her seventies. Born and raised in Oak Peak, she was a town treasure and commanded respect wherever she went.

  "Hi, Mrs. Markle," I said as our gazes met, her clear, blue eyes shining with kindness.

  "Hello, Tilly. Lovely day, isn't it?"

  The woman also seemed to know everyone. I'd had a couple of encounters with her, and she always called me by my name.

  "It is," I replied. "Winter is around the corner, though. I can feel it in the air."

  "Agreed. When you get to be my age, you feel it in your joints."

  We chatted a few more minutes and she returned her attention to her coffee.

  I waved at Debbie as she served her customers. Although she smiled and chatted briefly with everyone, she had deep bags under her eyes. She definitely needed some help, and I wished she wasn't such a control freak so she could actually hire someone and allow them to do their jobs without hovering over them.

  Twenty minutes passed before everyone had their order. When the crowd thinned out, Debbie walked over and sat down across from me. She pushed a coffee with cream toward me.

  "Good morning," I said.

  "Is it really still only morning? I feel like it should be about six at night."

  "Sorry. It's not even nine."

  "Oh, my word. It's going to be a long day." She glanced around the store, then leaned in and lowered her voice. "I have some information for you."

  "What's that?" I asked, bringing my voice down to almost a whisper.

  "There's a farmer over in Cedarville. His name's Tucker Browner. Yesterday, he was over at Martinez's Mexican Fiesta with a few other folks chanting things like go back to Mexico, and the only good Mexican is a—"

  "Way ahead of you on this one, Debbie," I said. Leaning back in my chair, I took a sip of coffee, satisfaction rolling through me. "I heard about this yesterday."

  Debbie stared at me for a long moment, her eyes wide. Finally, she blinked. "You knew this?"

  "Yes. I beat you to it."

  I couldn't help but giggle at the look of horror that came over her face.

  "Good Grief. I'm slipping. Who told you?"

  "My neighbor, Minnie."

  Debbie rolled her eyes. "And how did she find out? Was she there?"

  "No, but her friend was."

  "So a direct source of knowledge—not word on the gossip vine. Okay, you win."

  We both grinned and drank our coffee.

  "What do you make of it?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure," I said with a sigh. "Except it's ugly and I'm shocked that there are people in this world who can still look at another's skin color and have such hatred."

  "Agreed."

  "But this isn't the first time Tucker Browner has protested the restaurant."

  "That's what I heard," Debbie said. "Last time, he and Jake Martinez almost came to blows."

  "Excuse me," Mrs. Marple said from the next table. Both Debbie and I turned. "I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but there's something else you should know about that horrid man, Tucker Browner."

  She smiled politely as the light shined through her gray bouffant giving her an angelic, halo-like appearance, yet, her eyes gleamed with the mischief of someone about to reveal a secret.

  "What's that?" Debbie asked.

  The older woman looked around the store as if to make sure no one heard what she had to say. Her family had been one of the original founders of Oak Peak, and when she spoke, people listened.

  She pulled her chair over to our table and sat down with her coffee. "Tucker Browner used to also picket Darryl Hill's restaurant up in Little River until he found out Darryl was white."

  "Really?" Debbie asked.

  "Yes," she whispered. "My daughter, who works in a bar up in Little River said she overheard a conversation between the two about Jake Martinez."

  "What did they say?" I asked.

  "Well, Tucker Browner apologized for thinking he was Mexican because he owned the restaurant. A really vile man, if you ask me. But he bought Darryl more than a few drinks and, according to my daughter, they decided they were going to devise a plan to get rid of Jake Martinez for good."

  Debbie and I exchanged looks, and I noted in her gaze she thought the same thing as me: we may have found our killer, or in this case, killers.

  "Did they actually say they were going to murder him?" I asked.

  "She didn't hear that, but the bar was terribly busy that night. They like to get their drink on up in Little River."

  "But she heard them conspiring to do something?" Debbie asked. "She's just not sure what."

  "That's correct," Mrs. Marple said. "They had imbibed far too much and staggered out of the bar together, both boasting they were going to take care of Jake Martinez once and for all. But what that meant, no one knows. Based on what my daughter told me, I'd be surprised if either even remembered having the conversation."

  I let out a long breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

  "Someone should tell that no-good sheriff," Mrs. Marple said, then took a sip of her coffee. "Everyone realizes he wants to have this murder solved by election time so he can brag about what a great cop he is."

  "When did your daughter hear that conversation?" I asked.

  Mrs. Marple narrowed her gaze as she stared at the table. "Maybe a month or two back."

  "So, long after Darryl's restaurant had been shut down."

  "Oh, yes. Tucker began holding his silly protests out in front of Darryl's restaurant almost immediately after it opened. He put a stop to it once he realized Darryl was white."

  "Did they come into the bar together that night your daughter witnessed?" Debbie asked.

  "She didn't say. It could have been a chance meeting, or they could be thick as thieves."

  "Well, that certainly adds a new dimension to fi
nding out who killed Jake Martinez," Debbie said.

  "Are you trying to find out who murdered him?" Mrs. Marple asked, her gaze firmly on me.

  I didn't want to admit that I was looking into it, so I tried to deflect. "Why do you ask that?"

  "Because you solved Henry York's murder."

  Under Mrs. Marple's intense scrutiny, I felt like a child about to be caught in a lie.

  "The police in this area aren't smart enough to find the killer, dear," Mrs. Marple said as she rested her bony hand over mine. "They're good for rounding up cows and changing tires for stranded motorists, but murder is above their pay grade."

  Mrs. Marple slowly stood and gathered her purse from the back of her chair. "Sheriff Connor will want someone in custody before the election, even if it means that person isn't guilty of this crime."

  "He's already focusing on my friend who worked for Mr. Martinez," I said. "But I don't think she did it."

  She nodded and pursed her lips together. "Then it's up to you, Tilly Bordeaux, to find out who did. You can't allow your friend to go to jail."

  "Thanks for letting me know about Tucker and Darryl's meeting," I said. I appreciated her vote of confidence, but I wasn’t ready to admit I was actively trying to discover who had committed the murder.

  "Of course. Be careful in your pursuits of the truth," Mrs. Marple said with a smile. "You're treading in dangerous waters, dear."

  As she turned and walked out of the bakery, I sat down again. "That was interesting."

  "Yes," Debbie replied with a yawn. "That woman doesn't like the sheriff one bit."

  "You're right about that. She's not the only one. Harold is running a piece in the paper on him, as well as his opponent. It should be exciting to hear what people think, and I hope they want him gone and new blood in the office."

  "I'm looking forward to reading about it," Debbie said. "I think the office needs someone new, but the person also has to fit into our community and have our values."

  "The guy running is from out of town. I think I heard Chicago?"

  "Well, I'm not sure he'll do well here with that background. We'll have to see what the voters say."