Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (21 page)

“Okay, okay, don't get your knickers in a knot. I just wanted to see how desperate you are for something to do.” Nina smoothed one of the unfinished arcs. “At least things aren't so bad that you might consider fixing this project as a good use of your time.”

“Never.” Susan dug into the next bag. “Now this I can use.” She held up a T-shirt printed with decorative quilt blocks and a stack of neatly folded fabrics in her favorite colors. “Thank you all. I don't know what I would do without your support.”

Theo watched Tony cleaning up the dinner dishes as she stood, swaying slightly while patting little Lizzie. The poor exhausted baby was fighting sleep. “We had a gathering for Susan today.”

Tony turned to face her. “Did you learn something?”

“You mean besides how awful her life is this week?” Theo considered his question. “She's working on the inventory for the insurance company and trying not to upset the children more than she can help. And, as far as children go, I still can't believe her husband's ex-wife gave away her son like she did.” She snuggled Lizzie closer. “Can you?”

“No.” He poured soap into the dishwasher and turned it on. “But every day I'm flabbergasted by the things people do—to others, to themselves. Maybe she thought having a baby would be less work or more fun or, most likely, didn't think at all.”

“Could she have come back to get the boy? If she changed her mind about giving him away and thought no one was home, she might throw a match or two.”

“I see where you're going with the idea, but it hardly fits the situation.” He gently extricated Kara from the little swing where she'd fallen asleep, curled up like a snail. “I'm pretty certain I know what happened. I'm waiting for confirmation and we're still looking for proof.”

Theo glanced around. The boys were outside arguing over something trivial. “Speak to me.”

“I think maybe the Farquhar brothers went to burglarize the house and got into an argument or something and fought and one of the brothers either died on the garage roof or was knocked unconscious.”

Theo nodded. That sort of behavior certainly would be in character. “And the fire?”

“Why burn the house with your brother's body on it? To cover up the burglary, I guess. If the fight was upstairs, and the body was shoved from the little balcony, it would land on the roof of the garage.”

“So, when the garage burned down, the body fell with the roof.”

“Smart girl.” Kara blinked and smiled at her father. Tony grinned back. “I was talking about your mom, but I think you're pretty sharp too.”

“So, the remaining brothers are thieves and murderers.”

“And arsonists. Don't forget one or both of them stuck around and filled some bottles from the recycling bin with gasoline from the lawn mower can and fire bombed the house. The way they must have gone at it, it's surprising Susan and her kids were able to get out at all.”

“Susan said she heard something pop.” Theo shivered, thinking about the dangerous situation.

“Most likely the pop was one of the bottles breaking or exploding and sending a wave of fire behind it.” Tony's expression hardened. “I haven't argued with Gus or Berry lately. Not like I did when we were younger and they were bossing me around—but killing your brother? I can't imagine.” His voice trailed off.

Theo answered a morning phone call from mayor and funeral director, Calvin Cashdollar. He provided sad news, shocking, but not really unexpected. Ada Walker was dead. Ada had, Calvin told Theo, according to the doctor, gone to bed and never awakened. As a way to die, it was the best. “She had you listed as her next of kin.”

“I'm not really related, but I agreed to oversee her estate.” Theo had to push the words past a huge lump in her throat.

What made the news so shocking was having only seen Ada the day before. Ada had been her usual salty mouthed self. The “how long, oh Lord, must I go on” followed by “Theo, honey, I'll haunt you forever if you don't find a good home for my quilting stuff.” All interspersed with the steady flow of cheerful profanity.

So it fell on Theo's shoulders to arrange the yard sale. Ada herself had already set up the catered luncheon. All Theo had to do was notify the caterer of the chosen date. Theo decided to designate Susan as her official assistant, if for no other reason than to let her have first choice of the items to go on sale. Theo also arranged for Melissa, Susan's usual companion and best friend, to apply pressure from the other side by encouraging Susan to help Theo. The two of them all but dragged Susan into Ada's house.

All Susan's protestations fell on deaf ears. She soon had set aside a rocking chair, some basic quilting supplies, a good floor lamp and two boxes of miscellaneous fabrics and a couple of UFOs—unfinished hand piecing and appliqué projects. Theo would not accept any money.

“Go ahead and take the lamp and this.” Theo handed her an old metal fruitcake box filled with scraps of fabric. “I doubt the rooms at the Riverview Motel have good task lighting.”

Susan's smile was strained, but Theo considered it a victory when Susan surrendered. Susan said, “I'll add these to the gifts the bowlers gave me. I'll have even more to occupy me after the kids are asleep.” Her fingers smoothed the small bits of fabric. “Without them I would have been just staring at the motel television. Filling out more insurance forms. Or crying.”

“You'll earn these things by helping me.” Theo reached up to hug the much taller woman. “If you don't, I might have to employ some of the juicy swear words Ada taught me.”

Ruth Ann appeared to be trying to make sense of the notes Tony left on her desk when yet another distraction hit. Orvan Lundy needed to confess.

“Not again.” Tony rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand hoping to smooth out his thoughts and wipe away the headache forming. “Could he pick a worse time?”

Ruth Ann managed to look sympathetic, but Tony wasn't fooled. He knew she lived for Orvan's confessions. He sighed. “Okay, bring him in.”

Predictably, Orvan had dressed formally for the event. Clean overalls and a blue and gray plaid long-sleeved shirt with buttons on the cuffs. Tony was sure it was the same ensemble he'd worn the day of the Ramp Festival and doubted it had been washed since then. The pervasive smell of ramps still clung to Orvan. Before the old guy could finish his traditional salute and fidget, Ruth Ann and Wade arrived, notebooks and water bottles in hand.

Tony led the little parade to the greenhouse.

“I know you're busy, Sheriff, what with the little problems at the gathering.” Orvan accepted a bottle of water from Ruth Ann, with a heartfelt sigh and liquid eyes. His lips moved soundlessly to form the words, “my angel.”

Tony considered a possible murder a bit larger event than Orvan might describe it. To be fair, he and his department had done a good job of skirting the issue of their not knowing just what had killed Harrison Ragsdale. He pretended to himself that the moment the actual cause of death became official, it would point to the killer, if there was one, like the X on a treasure map. “Go on.”

Orvan futzed a bit with his overalls and then with his water bottle. “I didn't have nothin' to do with it.”

“Now, Orvan,” Tony tapped his fingertips on the table. “I don't believe you're following the rules of confession. You are supposed to tell me what you
did
and leave out everything you
didn't
do.”

The rheumy, cloudy eyes filled with tears. “I cannot go to my grave with you believing I could kill all them.”

“Them?” Tony, Wade, and Ruth Ann managed the question in perfect unison.

“I know I'm an old sinner, but I'm not so bad as all that.” Orvan twisted the lid on his water bottle. “I'll swear on the Bible. Like I said afore, I had nothin' to do with it.”

“Let's back up just a bit, Orvan.” Tony felt as though he'd been blindsided. He didn't usually have to do much detective work during one of Orvan's confessions; translation maybe, but not detection. “What are you talking about?”

Orvan almost had the bottle to his lips. Surprised by Tony's question, he poured a fair quantity of water down the opening between the bib of the overalls and his shirt. He squalled like a baby when the cold water soaked through to his skin. “Don't you know?”

Tony waited for the inevitable tirade. It didn't take long.

“Our taxes pay your salary. I think we're gettin' robbed. Maybe you ought to be a-payin' us.”

In the time since Tony became the Park County sheriff, he doubted Orvan had made much money, and he'd swear the little menace wouldn't pay taxes to save his scrawny neck. “Talk or leave, Orvan.”

Ignoring Tony, Orvan gazed at Ruth Ann. “Does he treat you right, my angel?”

Considering he'd never once, at least not recently, told her to do her manicures at home instead of at her desk, Tony thought he'd get a decent, if not glowing, review. He certainly hoped so, or neither Wade nor Orvan would ever let him live it down. And Ruth Ann would own him.

Tony watched Ruth Ann do a fair imitation of Blossom Flowers “thinking,” her index finger pressed against her chin just below her lower lip. Feeling somewhat sour, Tony wondered if she and Gus practiced together.

“He's a good man, and fair.” Ruth Ann finally made her pronouncement. “I think you should tell him what he needs to know. Otherwise . . .” Ruth Ann let the word hang between them, the promise or threat too much for Orvan to stand.

“It were Nem.” Orvan grasped the edge of the table with both hands. “Not me, never me.”

Tony's fingers itched. “And what foul deed are you laying at Nem's door?”

“Oh, it were a good deed.” Orvan released the table and clasped his twisted hands together. “He buried 'em all right and proper. Even built 'em coffins.”

“Coffins, plural?” Wade's voice went slightly higher than his normal baritone. “How many coffins are we talking about?”

Orvan bobbed his head and began a silent count on his fingers. He got to four, stopped, backed one off, added one. The suspense building in the greenhouse was palpable. Tony leaned forward, watching Orvan's lips as the old guy worked his way through his list. He recognized one name.

“Roscoe?” Since Tony had seen the man just minutes earlier, he was certain Nem hadn't built his coffin, or at least he hadn't used it. “Why does Roscoe need a coffin?”

Orvan threw his hands into the air and gave Tony a look clearly calling him dumber than dirt. “For that bear.”

“Has Baby been located?” Ruth Ann looked at each man in turn before what Orvan was saying sank in. Her voice trailed off to a whisper. “Is she dead?” Tears glistened in her dark eyes.

“Not that we know of.” Tony reminded her of Roscoe's frequent visits asking about the bear. “He would have been crying all over the place. You know how tenderhearted he is.” He turned back to Orvan. “Have you got anything else to tell us? No Martians landing on the highway and poking holes in the road signs with their magic fingers? No birds flying backwards?”

Orvan blinked hard as if puzzled by Tony's questions and his cranky attitude. “Guess not.”

“Okay, let's all get back to work. Ruth Ann, if you'll show our guest the door. And Wade, follow me.” Ignoring Orvan's whine as he was ushered away, Tony returned to his office and moved behind his desk, sorting the stacks and files. “Have you noticed a pattern here?”

“You mean the missing or dead pets?” Anger flashed in Wade's eyes. “Those pets are all the family some of our citizens have.”

“I agree.” Tony dropped into his chair. “So, assuming Ragsdale killed the pets, does that tell us who killed him?”

“No. Do we even have a definitive cause of death?” Wade studied his notes. “Last I knew, he was stabbed, and yet Doc Nash didn't think he could do the autopsy.”

“The stake didn't kill him.” Tony lifted the file from the top of the stack. “I just received this and haven't made my way through it all. It looks like the wooden stake was not the ultimate cause of death but it might have prevented Ragsdale from seeking help that could have saved him.”

“What does that mean?” Wade looked up.

“In a word, Ragsdale was poisoned.” Tony reached for his antacids. “The type of poison is unknown, and we don't know how or when it was administered.”

“So, why stab him?”

“Good question.” Tony chewed slowly, mulling over the facts. “Did it seem like he wasn't being affected by the poison? Did someone not know about the poison and wanted to kill him, or was someone trying to cover up for the poisoner?”

“What a mess.” Wade glanced up. “Killing someone in broad daylight in a crowd takes nerves of steel.”

“Or someone who has nothing to lose.”

Tony turned to another page of the report. “This notation is odd. The stake used in the attack was chestnut wood.”

Wade didn't look impressed. “Quite a few of the older homes still have pieces of chestnut in them. Especially some of the older cabins. There's some young trees in the area as well.”

“True.” Tony leaned forward. “But which of those people at the festival would come carrying a stake to shove into Ragsdale?”

“Maybe there's someone who routinely carries a stake around.” Wade half-laughed at his own suggestion. “As a form of self-defense.”

“You might actually have a good idea. We've got a large impoverished population. So many poor people with a grudge. Why not carry a sharp stick? It's effective and not as hard to conceal or use as a knife.”

Theo left the girls with Jane and Martha so she could run a few errands and the ladies would stop begging for baby time. She stopped at the grocery store and spent as much time explaining why she didn't have the twins with her as she would have spent tending them. Sigh. Still she managed to fill the cart with some of the desperately needed necessities. Fruit, especially bananas, vanished the moment she unloaded her bags. Peanut butter, the biggest jar possible, cream for her coffee and an extra carton for the shop. She swept through the store, realizing her list was only the tip of the iceberg. They were out of everything. Now her family would have bread and milk, and she could do the laundry. Mountains of it. She wondered if there was a detergent delivery service that could bring it to the house each week, like milk used to be delivered.