A Deadly Draught (16 page)

“Saw you hide something. Maybe your peeping Tom thought you were hiding jewels or money, but when he retraced your actions at his convenience, he found only those letters. Why would the person want to take your letters? Who knew you found them anyway? Only Sally, right?”

“She wouldn’t tell a soul.” A thought occurred to me. “I know! Claudia had them stolen. Remember, she said she had ways of finding out things.”

“How did she find out your Dad kept those letters? And she wouldn’t know where they were. She did know about them, though, didn’t she?” Jake paused a moment, then snapped his fingers. “The peeper took them, read them, and then offered them to Claudia for a price. The Mata Hari persona she was giving us was probably the booze and the pills throwing her alter ego into warp drive.”

“You know, I just remembered something about Claudia I thought odd at the time it happened. Years ago, it must have been when I was in high school, Claudia sent a quilt to the state fair. Everyone was certain it would win first place, but it didn’t. A bunch of us teenagers attended the fair, and Michael and I decided to find his mother and see how her quilt had done in the competition. No one was in the judging barn when we arrived except for Claudia, who was wielding a knife and slashing the winning quilt. She merely turned, looked at us, and walked out. Michael said, “You didn’t see that,” and neither he nor Claudia ever mentioned the incident.”

“The lady is wrapped a little tight, you’re saying.”

“I think she wanted us to believe it was widowhood and drugs making her behave the way she did. Well, okay, it might have been partly due to drugs, but there’s more to her than I ever suspected, more than anyone thought.” I rifled through all the drawers in the desk in case the thief, not finding what he wanted, stashed the letters in another place. I found old tax returns, past issues of
Brewing Monthly
magazine, and faded family photos. No letters.

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight. You think your father had an affair, but you think a befuddled middle-aged woman is lying about it and employs spies who steal for her and snoop? Correct?”

I thought for a minute. “Yes,” I said. Now it was Jake’s turn to reflect on what I said. His answer surprised me.

“I think much of what you’re saying is right. Claudia is not what she seems.”

*

I watched the truck from Rafe’s place lumbering out my drive, its belly filled with water. Before I visited Claudia, I had driven over to Rafe’s for a load of barley and hops. Now Rafe was getting his part of our deal—water. We both knew this exchange couldn’t go on too long. The day after the county board meeting, people began reporting their wells were going dry. I raced to produce as much brew as I could, knowing mandatory restrictions would limit the amount of water I could draw from my well.

I wondered if Rafe’s cash flow problems would be resolved in time for him to begin purchasing water from beyond the valley. I didn’t ask him what was going on, but he was my friend, and I worried about him. As for myself, I was doing well for now. Once the restrictions were in effect, I wouldn’t be making much beer.

I remembered Dad saying there was an old well on the property, and I wondered if finding it would allow me more water. The county might set a limit for my business regardless of the number of wells I had. I put in a call to the county supervisor to get an answer. He wasn’t available, but the secretary said he’d call me. Why was I bothering to consider that well? I’d have to buy a new pump and piping, and I certainly didn’t have the funds for that.

My cell rang.

“Thanks for getting back to me so soon. Here’s my question.“

“It’s Jake.”

“Oh, sorry. I thought it was the county supervisor.” I told Jake about the old well.

“It’s worth a try, anyway,” he said. My, but he was being congenial, agreeing with my assessment of Claudia this morning and now being supportive of my attempts to keep my business going. I felt a twinge of guilt about what I was keeping from him. I shoved it to the back of my mind. It was so silly to keep these secrets and for what reason? Did I really think I could beat Jake at the game of cops and killers? Did I want to?

“Still looking for those letters?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m convinced they’ve been pilfered.”

“What’s your afternoon shaping up to be?”

“Quiet, just watching my brews ferment and doing a rain dance in the yard. Why?”

“Since we proved to be such a good pair in talking to Claudia this morning, I thought maybe you’d like to interview someone else. I’m revisiting everybody, especially if I think their stories might change or be altered with a little encouragement.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Cory Andrews, Michael’s girl.”

“She doesn’t like me much.”

“That’ll work.”

I hesitated. “Is this some kind of test?”

“What?”

“You told Claudia this morning that alibis can be made and broken, and Cory’s only connection to this case is her role as Michael’s alibi. Obviously, you think she’s lying, and you’re asking me to help destroy my old friend’s alibi. Right?”

“It’s not a test. I want to gang up on her, and if that means Michael is left without an alibi, then he’d better start explaining himself. Interesting, if she denies being with him, and it may be important, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he killed his father. It does mean he’s a liar, but I think you already know that. This getting too tough for you? You want to back out of our deal?”

“Pick me up in ten minutes.”

*

I thought Cory would live in one of the more upscale neighborhoods in town, but her house was a ranch-style home located in a subdivision built in the fifties. All the houses were small, most owned by retirees who kept the yards neatly trimmed and the houses in good repair. Cory’s was the only one on the block in need of painting.

“Huh,” I said. Jake turned off the engine and looked at me.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“It’s not what I expected, but now that I see the house, I’ve got some ideas about the girl.”

“Go ahead. I’d be interested in what you have to say.”

“I’d say she’s very interested in Michael’s money.”

When she came to the door and saw me on her porch with Jake, Cory put her hand on her hip and stood in that defiant posture with the door closed behind her.

“What’s she doing here?” asked Cory.

“Her truck broke down nearby, and since I was on my way to see you, I thought I might as well give her a ride and talk to the two of you together. Saves me time,” Jake said. And Cory bought the excuse.
Or was it an excuse? Jake could just as well play the two of us off one another and poke holes in both our stories. The sly dog.

“How’d the golf game go the other day?” I asked.

“Great. I broke one hundred.” I wondered if that was her score or the number of clubs she damaged.

She ushered us into a dim living room, furnished with overly large furniture in a Mediterranean style. Heavy brocade drapes hung on the front window, the swags held in place by curved bronze bars with marble balls at their ends. Cory gestured toward the red and gold gilt couch while she took a seat in an overstuffed chair upholstered in orange silk.

A window air conditioner roared at us. I sank into the couch and continued to descend until my knees were at eye level. The room made me feel small and insignificant, smothered by too much texture and pattern. She may have thought this was the height of luxury, but I thought it was the epitome of bad taste.

Jake, seated beside me on the sofa, attempted to extract his notebook from his back pocket, but he had to stand up to get at it. He remained standing.

“Let’s go over the night Michael’s father was killed. You and Michael were together here. Is that correct?”

“Right. I told you all this before. Nothing’s changed.”

“None of the neighbors remember seeing his car in your drive.”

“We used my car.”

“So then you had to drive him home. What time was that?”

“I don’t remember.”

Jake tapped his pencil against the notebook, then flipped it shut and gave Cory a disappointed look. “When we talked before, you said he left around three in the morning. Now you say you drove him home.”

“I mean, he drove my car home.” Cory got out of the chair and walked to the window. She began to smooth out the drapes, flicking off invisible flecks of dust, her back turned to us as if her furnishings were more deserving of her attention than were her uninvited visitors.

“Your neighbors did say your car was here the next morning.”

“They must be mistaken, then.” She began braiding the large tassels that hung from the drapery pull-back.

“Don’t you own a silver Mercedes convertible?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the car they saw here in the morning.”

Cory dropped the tassel and spun around. “Look, unless you intend to arrest me or something, I’ll have to ask you to leave. Now!”

“Just a few more questions,” Jake said. He ignored her, opened the notebook again and flipped through it. He looked as firmly entrenched in her living room as a dandelion growing in the front lawn.

She stalked past him, picked up the phone in the kitchen and dialed. “Michael, that cop and your skinny blonde friend are here harassing me about the night of the murder. You’ve got to do something.” She paused and listened, then hung up.

“He’s calling the family lawyer, who will be here shortly.” She sat back down in the chair with her arms across her admirable chest. “We’ll just wait.”

“Never mind. We’re finished here. Sorry to inconvenience you.”

*

“I can’t believe she backed you down that way,” I said. We were in the car headed out of town.

“She didn’t. I just let her think she did. I’ve got a better idea, anyway.” Jake pulled into the drive to the Ramford house.

“Claudia won’t be happy to see us again today. There’ll probably be no tea this time.”

“I don’t want to see Claudia. We’re stopping by to chat with Michael.”

“Michael? No way. I’ll just walk the rest of the way home from here.”

“You want to help on this case? I’ve seen the way Michael looks at you. He’s embarrassed to parade Cory or Stanley or his other weaknesses in front of you. Maybe you’ll shame him into telling the truth today.” Jake grabbed my arm and propelled me along with him to the house. We didn’t need to knock. Michael slammed through the front door and confronted us on the steps.

“What’s the idea, treating Cory like that?” he asked.

Before Jake could speak, I interrupted. “She’s a big girl. She was doing just fine until Jake tripped her up about the car on the night of the murder.”

“What about the car?” Michael had that look on his face, the one from grade school days, when the teacher asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to.

Again Jake seemed prepared to speak, but I put out my arm and raced on. “She said you drove your car to her place when Jake first questioned her, but when Jake told her none of the neighbors saw your car there, she said it wouldn’t start in the morning, and you had to call a tow truck to take it into the garage. She then said she drove you home. So what towing company was that?”

Lies, but who cared, if they got me what I wanted. Jake kept quiet, gazing at me with something like astonishment and admiration on his face.

“She said that?” Michael shook his head and muttered something under his breath.

“What did you say?” Jake asked.

“We need to talk somewhere,” he said.

Jake and I started up the steps.

“Not here. Stanley’s in the office, and Mom’s around someplace. Let’s try the barn.”

We followed him to the brew barn, and we all took up positions leaning against the racks in the gift shop.

“I know you don’t like her,” Michael looked at me when he said this, “but Cory is a great girl.”

“Loyal,” offered Jake.

“Yes, she’s loyal, and that’s more than you can say for me. She offered me an alibi for the night of my father’s murder. I never asked her to lie for me, but I think the girl’s in love.”

The girl’s in love with your money,
was what I was thinking. Jake caught my eye.

“She may even think I killed my father, and she just doesn’t care. She’s crazy that way.”

“I’m going to repeat what I asked you when I first questioned you. Where were you the night of your father’s murder?” asked Jake.

“I can’t tell you that,” Michael said.

Sixteen

The next morning, I tuned into the weather channel but flipped it off in disgust. The forecast promised some rain on the weekend.
Yeah, right, like the piddling little bit we got last Saturday, just enough to keep the tourists away from the tasting, but not enough to raise the water table.

The head of the county board had called back earlier in the day, saying he could not dictate how much water I used, nor how many wells I drew from, but from his tone of voice I could tell he was unhappy that I was considering opening up the other well.

“We’re talking about the need for water conservation here,” he said.

And I’m talking about whether I stay in business,
I thought. I needed him as an ally, so I tried to reassure him that I shared his concerns about water usage.

“I appreciate that, and I certainly wouldn’t consider taking this step if I thought I’d be directly affecting the water table here. The old well is on a long finger of property that extends east beyond the Butternut Valley. A water resources expert from the college in town told me it was more likely the well was tapping into the aquifer associated with the Chenango River. The population density is far less there, and they have fewer commercial interests needing water for their operations.”

“That’s not solving the water problem,” he said.

“I’m well aware of that, but neither I nor any of my brewing colleagues can solve the problem.” I was trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “All of us are behind your water conservation plan. We intend to do our part and not be greedy, but we have to stay in operation. We’re a significant part of this county’s economic health.”