Deadly Row to Hoe Page 7

  I chose to answer the last one and duck the rest. “No doubt it will be in the Cadyville Eye tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t know who she is?”

  She shook her head with real regret. “Gosh. No. Sorry.”

  As she left, Allie passed her in the doorway. Her face was pinched with distress, but she seemed a little less vague than when I’d left yesterday. The shock of a dead body in the compost had worn off, but now an aura of deep anxiety surrounded her.

  “Tom said you have another picture to show me,” she said.

  “I do.” I held it out. “How are you doing with all this?”

  Allie grimaced. “Awful. I’m glad Hallie took Clarissa out. I don’t think I’m very good at hiding how worried I am.”

  “It’ll all work out,” I said.

  She looked me straight in the eye. “Thanks for your kindness. Really. But you can’t know that. You just can’t. We put everything we have into this farm. If it goes under, we won’t have anything left.” Tears threatened, but she swallowed and clenched her jaw. “Doesn’t do any good to think like that, though. I have to have faith.”

  “Faith is good,” I said, feeling a little lame.

  “It sure is. And a lot of that faith rests on your husband’s ability to find out why that woman was killed, and who did it. Barr has to fix the reputation of Turner Farm.”

  That was a lot to ask. I didn’t say that, though, only nodded. “First he has to know who she was.”

  Her hands were shaking as she looked at the updated bird lady. She stood in the light of the doorway and looked at it for a really long time before giving a single, abrupt shake of her head. “I don’t know her. I wish I did, but I don’t.” Her voice was tight. “We haven’t gotten to know that many people. We spend all our time keeping things going here.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She covered it with her own hand and hung her head. We stood there for a long moment.

  Finally, she swallowed audibly. “Okay. I have to get back to work. Thank you, Sophie Mae.”

  Allie trudged back toward the farmhouse, and I watched her go. Something was off here, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was only the fear of losing everything they’d worked for.

  Everything is a lot.

  Eleven

  I made mental notes of what to tell Barr as I tracked down the yard cart as Tom had suggested and pulled it out to the nearby field of popcorn. Arnold Ziffel tried to follow, but I explained he wasn’t allowed in the corn field and shut the gate in his face. Soon more cars arrived, so I returned to the distribution shed to quiz more members about the bird lady. It was fun to meet some new people and see old friends, but no one seemed to know who she was. Most really tried to be helpful, though a couple got kind of pale, and one roundly chastised me for showing the pictures at all. I would have felt better about the whole thing if the two different pictures didn’t cause more confusion than anything else. I silently berated myself for wasting Meghan and Bette’s time earlier in the day. Not to mention my own. All that silliness about me being good at finding things out must have gone to my head.

  I didn’t advertise that the body had been found about a hundred yards away at the bottom of the Turners’ compost pile, but my discretion went out the window when Jake Beagle showed up with his booming voice and big personality.

  Fortunately about half the members had already come and gone by that time, but he began regaling the few still loading up on vegetables with details from the day before. They’d already denied knowing who she was, and it didn’t seem right to keep gossiping about the details of the body’s unearthing. I also felt protective of the Turners and their farm—even more so after talking with Allie. The CSA might not be able to withstand a bad reputation just as it was getting off the ground. Never mind that the town newspaper would give plenty of details about where she’d been found. At least it only came out once a week.

  “Um. Jake,” I interrupted.

  “What? You were here.” He laughed. “Well, of course you were here!”

  “Take a look.” I shook the pictures in his face, hoping to distract him.

  “What’s this? Oh, this is what Felicia was talking about last night.”

  I remembered Barr had told me Jake’s wife had seen the autopsy photo. “You weren’t home, then?”

  “My week at the Walk-In Clinic.” He fished a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and peered at both versions of the bird lady. “Well, now.”

  My heartbeat quickened.

  “Why are these so different?”

  “Meghan remembered her from four or five years ago. So we made a few alterations to match her memory.”

  “Huh.” Mr. Gossip seemed at a loss for words.

  “Do you know her?” I prompted for the umpteenth time.

  He snapped his fingers, and I jumped. “Patient. I bet she came to see me for some malady or other. Must have been a while ago, though. You know, I’m not so great with names, but I never forget a face.”

  I tried to hide the irritation that always surfaced when I heard someone brag about that. Faces without names weren’t much good in the best of circumstances.

  Jake left soon after, and I found myself alone in the dusty shed. I straightened the scales, tidied the piles of vegetables, and folded a few empty bags. In between showing the photos, I’d haggled for more green beans, so I took them out to the Rover. The sky had grown overcast, cooling the late summer afternoon significantly. A vee formation of Canada geese honked their way south overhead, and I paused to breathe in the scent of growing things.

  A little after six o’clock, I emptied the second load of popcorn into the small storeroom behind the farm stand. Straightening, I saw a plume of dust on the road and then the sporty red Camaro that caused it. It pulled into the driveway of the Turners’ house at the edge of the farthest field. Hallie and Clarissa removed a shopping bag from the trunk and took it inside.

  I debated whether to go talk to Allie’s sister and track down Nate while I was at it. Only a half dozen people still had to pick up their shares, and I sure hadn’t had much luck so far. My phone rang, and I hauled it out of my pocket.

  It was Barr. “How’s it going?”

  “Crappy. Dull. Lonely. You got my message about your victim being interested in birds?” I asked.

  “Yeah, thanks. That’s progress at least, and now I’ve got someone going through missing person reports looking for a female ornithologist in her mid-to-late twenties. Lonely? Isn’t there anyone else there at the farm?”

  “I saw Hallie pull up to the house, and Tom and Allie are here. Nate, too, though I haven’t seen him yet.”

  “When I agreed to your plan I thought there’d be lots of people around. I don’t like you being there by yourself.”

  “I hear something outside.” I craned my head and looked out the door. “It’s Bette, on her bike. Feel better?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Listen, I left you a copy of the picture she updated—or backdated, really—on our bed. Are you going home soon?”

  “Soon enough. How’s your temperature?”

  I swore. “I forgot to bring the thermometer today.” So much for tracking my basal body temperature.

  “Well, either way I’ll see you later. If you know what I mean.”

  Oh, yes. I knew what he meant.

  Bette was already in the distribution shed when I returned, her lower lip clamped between her teeth as she carefully weighed out her portion of basil.

  “I see a caprese salad in our future,” I said by way of greeting from the doorway. “How about you?”

  She looked up, startled. Then she smiled. “Maybe I could buy some of your homemade mozzarella?”

  “Oh, I think we could work out a trade of some kind. Listen, would you do me a favor?”

  A now-what? look crossed her face.

  I laughed. “Don’t worry. Nothing like earlier. I was just wondering if you could stick around for a few minutes
while I run up to the house. And if any other members come in ask them to wait for me? I’m trying to make sure everyone gets a look at both of those pictures.”

  “So no one’s identified your mystery woman?” She quickly counted out tomatoes and placed them carefully in her bike pannier, on top of the acorn squash.

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I’d love to stick around and help, but I’m afraid I’m meeting a friend for dinner. I’m late as it is. Sorry, Sophie Mae.” She topped the tomatoes with the herbs, and, looking harried, gave me an apologetic wave and rushed out to fasten the pack onto her cruiser.

  Fine. I found the marker Allie used to list the share particulars and added a note on the bottom of the dry erase board. Must talk with all members. Please wait. Be right back.

  But about halfway to the farmhouse, another car pulled in. I turned around and retraced my steps down the dirt road as Daphne Sparks got out of her Jetta. She waved when she saw me and went inside. When I walked in she was standing with her hands on her hips, looking at the sign.

  “Hi, Sophie Mae!” She gestured toward my note. “Any idea what that’s all about?”

  She was tall, in her early twenties, with straight, blue-black hair and bright green eyes. I wasn’t surprised she’d joined the Turners’ venture, as she was finishing up her horticulture studies at Evergreen Community College, and I knew for a fact she had a special affinity for plants, especially herbs.

  The hope that I’d really discover the bird lady’s identity had given way to simple stubbornness. I removed the photos from the envelope and laid them in a clear space next to the peppers. “This is what it’s about. You know the woman we found yesterday? These are pictures of her. I’m trying to find out if any of the CSA members recognize either one of them.” By now my rote words tumbled out without much expectation.

  Hesitantly, she approached. “Do I have to look?”

  “Well, I can’t make you. But if you know her, wouldn’t you want to help find her killer?”

  She blanched. “Killer?”

  “It looks like it. But the police don’t even know who she is.”

  Another few beats, then she took another step toward me. “Okay. I’ll look. But karma will catch up with whoever did that to her. You know that, right?”

  Karma might be a bitch, but I was too impatient to wait for her.

  “Oh, my God.”

  I held my breath.

  “You need to show these to Nate.” She held up both pictures.

  “Who is she?” I asked, trying to remain calm.

  Daphne shook her head. “I could be wrong—I never saw her up close. But Nate will know for sure.”

  Twelve

  I swiped my note off the dry-erase board, grabbed up the photos and trotted out the door, tossing a “Thank you!” over my shoulder. But Daphne was in for a pound now, and hurried to join me. We practically ran to the house—well, I practically ran. My companion was tall enough to outstride me by half. At a little after seven o’clock, the sun was lower in the sky, and increasing cloud cover created a false twilight. The motion sensor light over the front door flicked on as we neared.

  Daphne pulled at my arm. “Nate’s probably in his trailer.”

  We went around the side of the house. The silver Airstream gleamed, and cheery yellow light spilled through the red gingham curtains that covered the open windows. The savory smell of cooking onions drifted out on the sound of rattling pans.

  “How could you?” The harsh feminine shriek from inside the trailer stopped us in our tracks.

  Daphne and I exchanged looks. Her shoulders drooped.

  “You know I’ll never give up. And I’ll never give up because I know you really do love me.”

  A low male murmur in response.

  My heartbeat quickened.

  “Remember how much fun we used to have?” The voice cajoled. Yick.

  Another murmur.

  I darted a look at my companion, but she just rolled her eyes and started for the trailer. Clutching at her arm, I pulled her back to the corner of the house. I held my finger to my lips and gave a slight shake of my head.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “We don’t know what’s going on in there,” I whispered back, reaching into my pocket. “I’m calling the cops.”

  Confusion mixed with anger on her face, and she shook off the hand which still gripped her elbow. “What for? It’s just Hallie.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. Who do you think it is?”

  Oh, I don’t know. Another potential victim?

  “Why is she so upset?” I asked.

  Daphne looked at me like I was missing a few bolts. “Because she’s Hallie. And she’s out of her freaking mind when it comes to Nate.”

  Now I was confused. “I didn’t even know they were dating.”

  “They’re not.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Then why—”

  “No!” exclaimed the voice from the trailer. “You need to remember how it was between us. It can’t be that way between you and Daphne. It just can’t. You wouldn’t be cheating on her if it was.”

  “That won’t work,” Nate’s words were clear now. “You’re not going to break us up with your lies. I’ve had enough. Please just go back home, and leave me alone.” His voice cracked on the last three words. “Please.”

  “You creep!” Hallie shouted.

  Daphne took off, running toward the trailer. I was right behind her.

  But before she could get to the door, it opened. Hallie stumbled out of the trailer. Her face was crimson with anger, and tears shone from dark, wild eyes. She snarled at Daphne, pushing her roughly out of the way, and ran past me to the house. The back door to the farm house slammed behind her.

  “I thought she was going to stop that nonsense,” Daphne said from behind me.

  I turned to find Daphne had gone into the trailer, and now she and Nate were thoroughly wrapped around each other. She was about four inches taller than he was, the crown of her head almost touching the low ceiling. His baby blues rose and looked at me over her shoulder.

  “Er,” I said, and stepped into the cramped interior of the trailer.

  Blushing, Daphne let go of him. He was red, too, and shuffled his feet. “Hi, Sophie Mae. Did you, uh, did you hear any of that?” He gestured vaguely toward the farm house.

  I nodded and waited expectantly. Sometimes if you just kept you mouth shut other people feel compelled to fill the silence.

  Nate broke first. “See, Hallie seems to think she’s, well, in love with me.” His color deepened. He looked at Daphne, who looked disgusted. “She’s not, of course,” he rushed on. “Or if she is, it’s not my fault. We went out for a while, when she first came to stay with Tom and Allie, but she was way too intense for me.”

  Daphne took over. “Nate broke it off with her. Said he wanted to stay friends.” Her expression betrayed what she thought about that.

  “I figured we live too close to be enemies,” he said in a quiet voice.

  She stroked his arm. “I know, I know.” Her attention returned to me. “But Hallie didn’t take it well. It’s been over a year, and she still wants to get back together.” She shot an affectionate look at Nate. “We’ve been dating for four months, and it makes her crazy.” Daphne paused, then shrugged. “She really hates my guts. Do you know she followed us to the theater in Monroe last night? Sat right behind us. God, I could have killed her.”

  Interesting word choice. At least I knew where Hallie had been the night before when Barr had brought out the picture.

  “We had it out in the parking lot afterward,” Daphne continued. “I really thought she’d back off after that, but no.” Frustration and anger leaked out of every word.

  “You ‘had it out’?”

  “Oh!” She shook her head. “Nothing physical or anything. I just told her in no uncertain terms to lay off of Nate and me. She’d already tried to convince me Nate was seeing someone else.” She
glanced at him. “Which is why I brought Sophie Mae to see you, honey.”

  He looked confused.

  I was equally bewildered. This drama had something to do with the bird lady?

  “Show him, Sophie Mae.”

  Gesturing Nate toward me, I took out the pictures. They looked pretty ratty by now, scuffed and bent and smudged by all the fingers they’d been through. And after a horrible night’s sleep and a long day, I was tired as all get out. Without preamble, I shoved them at him and stood back to watch his face.

  He blinked at the two pieces of paper in his hands. Held them closer, his gaze flickering between them, and took a deep breath. “Oh,” he said. Daphne hovered at his side.

  “Do you recognize one of those?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Which one?”

  Nate blinked a few more times, and I realized he was holding back tears. “Both.”

  Daphne put her arm around his shoulders, radiating sympathy. “It’s the woman they found yesterday. When I saw the picture … it’s her, isn’t it?”

  He nodded again.

  I couldn’t contain myself. “Who? Nate, what’s her name?”

  He looked up at me, grief rolling off him in waves. “It’s Darla. Darla Klick.”

  Thirteen

  If there was ever a time when a bracing drink was in order, this was it. Nate’s fingers curled around a glass of Jack Daniels, Daphne opted for a vodka tonic, and I sipped Johnny Walker from a shot glass with a picture of Elvis on the side.

  The young Elvis. The thin Elvis. Funny how people changed.

  The interior of the airstream trailer seemed bigger than it looked from the outside, but it was still cramped. A built-in table flipped down from the wall, but most of the furniture crammed into the small space looked like something out of a college dorm—wicker papasan chair in one corner, bean bag chair in another, and rough shelves made from cinderblocks and two-by-eight lumber. A futon functioned as both sofa and bed. Nate’s half-cooked kale stir-fry