Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (24 page)

“I've encountered Vic a few times.” Wade pushed his sunglasses down from his head to cover his eyes. “He has motive and it makes a great suspect, but dirt's smarter. I'm not sure he's got the brains to pull it off.”

Tony couldn't dispute it. “Jessica's got brains. I'd love to know when and how their relationship began.”

“If we can find a video of either of them giving food to Ragsdale,” said Wade, “it might not matter how they met. Love, money, and murder create a classic triangle.”

“What do you mean, Tony?” His aunt narrowed her eyes at him. “Of course people were using video cameras, scads of them. There's no way to give you all their names.”

Tony narrowed his eyes right back at her. Why was his aunt being so difficult? “Don't pretend you don't know what I'm asking. Did you have someone make an official video or not? It's not a crime you know.”

She cleared her throat and looked away. “It might be.”

“Why?”

“Well, one of the groups did say they didn't want anyone recording them. Something about not wanting the new song broadcast on the Internet.”

“Have you done that?” Tony knew the answer. Neither his aunt nor his mother was really computer savvy enough to upload a video.

“Well, no, of course not. And we don't intend to.” Martha did meet his eyes then. “It's just for us to enjoy.”

“Excellent. Then you can give your unofficial video to me.” Tony thought examining the videos might take weeks. All those hours of recording would need minute examining to discover someone slipping a little something extra into Ragsdale's food.

It wasn't just this video he thought they might have to study. Lots of people were using cameras and fancy telephones to record portions of the afternoon.

Tired of watching videos of people stuffing food into their mouths, Tony went to the clinic to have a discussion with Doc Nash about the symptoms and causes of allergic reactions.

The doctor summed it up with, “Allergies are weird.”

“No kidding.” Tony was frustrated and cranky. He glared at the doctor. “As a professional description, your statement lacks some preciseness.”

Doc Nash took a more professorial stance. “Some people seem born with several, some none, and others have reactions that escalate over the years and some lessen. My great aunt loved shrimp. Her family lived down on the Gulf Coast and ate a lot of shrimp. One day, out of the blue, she had an allergic reaction that almost killed her and then couldn't eat shrimp anymore.”

“No kidding. So we're all like allergy time bombs?” The idea of suddenly becoming allergic to some of his favorite foods had nightmare implications.

“Not necessarily.” The doctor paused. “I had a patient once who was allergic to milk. Over the years, it became less severe. She had developed a tolerance for small amounts. I doubt she could drink a milk shake without suffering some symptoms, but they weren't near what they had been.”

“So using someone's allergies against them wouldn't have a reliable outcome?”

“Nope.” Doc Nash cleaned his glasses. “Not reliable, but possible if it's an established, escalating reaction to something.”

“I'm going to go blind here.” Deputy Mike Ott looked up from the computer screen and waved a hand in a gesture of despair. “I've never seen so many dull people doing such mundane things. And eat. My stomach is starting to hurt after watching that much chow disappearing down the hatch.”

Tony pretended he didn't sympathize. After all, he gave the job to Mike after his own eyes, and stomach, gave out. “I guess that means no one came up to Ragsdale and dumped chopped walnuts on the man's plate.”

“Not that I could see. He went to several booths, picked up a variety of samples, used the salt and pepper, piled a bunch of those little crackers onto his soup. Look, here he's talking to Vic and Jessica. They have knowledge about his allergy, and money's a powerful motive, but it doesn't look like they stopped holding hands.” Mike pointed to the man on the screen. “Harrison didn't have his cane with him in this shot. Did he have it with him later? He gets behind a large group about now.” Mike paused the replay.

“That's an excellent question. I'd love to find the cane. I've never seen him without it.” Tony absently massaged his stomach as he stared at the frozen tableau on the screen. “Right now, let's try super slow motion of the footage showing him headed for the cordoned-off vegetable splashdown area.”

“Maybe someone else has footage taken from another direction,” said Wade as he stepped closer to watch. “This view shows us lots of backs.”

“So far as we've learned, the only walnuts used were in the dessert booth. Ragsdale never went near it as far as I can tell.” Mike rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What did you see?”

Tony focused on the screen, watching Ragsdale in super slow motion move through the crowd, headed for the pasture. Several people clearly moved out of his path, avoiding him. Ragsdale seemed to hesitate for a moment while hidden from the camera by a muscular man with distinctive long graying hair, mustache, and full goatee. Tony recognized him as one of their new residents. Bart Hudson. Tony said, “How many people do you know with allergies?”

“Lots.” Mike swiveled on his chair. “Most of them are allergic to dogs or cats or bees or shellfish.”

“But you know about them. It's something you learn fairly early. One of the parents of a kid on my baseball team was so allergic to bee venom that he always carried a preloaded syringe in his pocket. He told us about it so we could use it on him if he got stung.” Tony shook his head. “It doesn't make sense.” His focus remained on the action on the screen. “Wait. Back it up.”

Mike did.

Wade muttered, “You mean like someone who would go to a food festival when you have food allergies, really bad allergies, and you don't have first aid along? Or someone allergic to dogs becoming a veterinarian?” Wade leaned in to look more closely at the screen. “What did you see, sir?”

Tony wasn't sure either. “Let's watch again.”

As Tony, Wade, and Mike leaned closer to the screen, Mike started the replay. It began with Mr. Espinoza waving to catch Ragsdale's attention. Focusing on Ragsdale, Tony saw him ignore Mr. Espinoza before being eclipsed by the much larger Hudson, then reappear on the screen as if he'd fallen, or been pushed, onto his left hip. Mike paused the replay and zoomed in, making the scene more grainy, but it was clear enough to show an angry Ragsdale making a rude gesture. Definitely still alive. When the motion started again, Ragsdale regained his footing and moved into the crowd. Hudson followed, his wider body blocking their view. Not until Ragsdale passed the line of warning banners was he seen clearly again. A second later, he fell facedown.

Tony said, “Play it again.” This time he watched Hudson instead of Ragsdale, trying to remember everything he'd heard about the newcomer. Hudson had purchased land in Park County about two years earlier, claiming his lifelong dream was to become a “mountain man.” He dressed in long-sleeved flannel shirts, even in the heat and humidity of July and August. Tony imagined he smelled like a buffalo. He'd moved to their mountains after making big money in computer technology, grew out his hair, and bought half a mountain. Rumor, usually worth little, claimed his “cabin” had six bedrooms, air-conditioning powered by his combination generator and wind turbine. Plus, the claim continued, Hudson managed to live off the land with the help of his wife, a housekeeper, and a handyman. Unverified rumors. He rarely came into town.

“Ragsdale was clearly pushed,” said Mike. “But who could guess he'd be hurt even if a potato did hit him?”

Tony looked at Wade. “Let's go have a chat with Mr. Hudson.”

Mike glanced around. “Speaking of going, where's my dog? He probably needs to go out.”

“Dammit got hungry watching you view the tape, and Ruth Ann gave him a couple of biscuits. He's sleeping on his back next to her desk. He covers the floor like a rug.”

“Alienation of affection.” Mike stood and stretched. “I'll get him.”

Wade laughed. “You're just afraid Ruth Ann will paint his toenails to match her fingernails.”

Tony thought Mike's expression of horror as he hustled from the room meant he had not considered the possibility.

Tony and Wade had to stop at a gate near the beginning of Hudson's clearly marked private drive. Cameras and an intercom indicated the Hudsons' security system was not just for show. Tony chatted briefly with the disembodied voice at the other end of the speaker and the gate swung open. They drove for what felt like over a mile on a narrow but smooth packed earth and gravel driveway before pulling into the parking area in front of an immense log home.

Next to him, Wade whistled in appreciation, his eyes focused on the hidden home.

Tony admired the architecture and the well planned and maintained landscape. “Not exactly like Quentin's mountain home place, is it?”

“Not quite. Maybe if they don't do any upkeep for a few years and import a couple of dilapidated trailers and a portable toilet to decorate the front yard, they'll achieve some of the same ambiance.”

The heavy oak paneled front door swung open and a neatly groomed young woman gestured for them to enter. “I'm Gwen, the housekeeper. I'll show you in to see Mr. Hudson.” As she led them through the expansive public areas, she explained her husband was the handyman and they had their own, smaller, cabin nearby.

Mountain man Hudson waited for them in his expansive office. Tony sniffed, but all he smelled was the scent of lemon oil. Large windows overlooked the property and the neighboring mountains.

As he studied the room, Tony counted six computers arranged in a semicircle—some tiny, one with a screen as big as a blackboard. Today Bart Hudson's long, prematurely gray hair was combed into a neat ponytail. His clothing, khakis and a blue shirt with a button-down collar, were clean and pressed. Polished cowboy boots. Clean hands. Alert gray eyes did not miss Tony's examination. Hudson looked about the same age as Tony. Late thirties. “Where's the wild, dirty man?” said Tony.

“I like to wear a costume when I go to town. Sometimes people see what they want to see.” Hudson gestured to a pair of leather chairs. “Have a seat.”

Tony sat, but Wade chose to stand. “I'll come right to the point. What's your relationship with Harrison Ragsdale?”

“We don't have a relationship.” Anger filled the gray eyes. “He creeps out my wife.”

Not even close to what Tony expected to hear. “How?”

“He stands too close to her. Stares at her. Tries to touch her.” Hudson leaned forward, his fingers tightly laced. “It's subtle, but unpleasant.”

Tony could imagine the truth of his statement. It sounded a lot like his aunt's. “Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yes. At the Ramp Festival.” Hudson balled his hand into a tight fist. “I told him what I thought and punched him in the stomach. Then we left.”

A pair of bright-eyed pugs trotted into the room and greeted them all before settling into matching beds near the unlit fireplace. Tony said, “Any problem with him and your animals?”

Clearly thrown off guard, Hudson sat back, his eyebrows pulling low. “No. Why?”

Tony didn't answer. “May we meet your wife?”

“Sure.” Hudson stood and the pugs dashed toward him, their corkscrew tails wagging with apparent delight. “Her studio is next door.”

Tony's definition of “next door” was measured in feet, not in yards. The three men and two dogs eventually arrived at a separate building attached by a broad enclosed walkway dotted with windows. Hudson knocked twice then entered.

Mrs. Hudson, like her husband, was not any older than Tony. Tony had barely greeted her before he stopped to stare at the painting of the Smoky Mountains in progress on an enormous easel. “That's beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, but her expression spoke of distraction and her fingers tightened on the brush in her hand. He'd invaded her space.

Tony thought her expression was similar to Theo's when she was designing a quilt and said so.

“Call me Olivia,” Mrs. Hudson said and all the tension in her expression disappeared as she gave him a real smile. “I've been in your wife's shop and seen some of her work. I actually own a quilt she made.” She gestured to the wall behind them. “It's a compliment to be mentioned in the same sentence with her. Your wife uses fabric like I use paint.”

Tony recognized the humorous quilt hanging in the alcove. Theo had made it and called it “The Girls,” her name for the eight appliquéd frogs she'd decorated with costume jewelry, beads, and embroidery. Theo had not planned to sell it, but said a man—now Tony knew who—had purchased it as a gift for his wife. Theo had laughed and claimed she sold it practically at gunpoint to a desperate man and received a large check in exchange.

When Tony asked Olivia about Harrison Ragsdale, she stopped smiling. “He often stared at me, you know, not in a nice way. One time Gwen drove me into town, and I swear he followed us when we left. I wasn't sure if the gate at the road would close quickly enough to keep his truck out, so I made Gwen drive all the way to Maryville and back to make sure we lost him.”

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw Bart Hudson's hands ball into fists again. Tony couldn't blame him.

Tony walked toward the wall of windows, noticing the heavy wall coverings that could be lowered like shades. He knew there was a name for them that he couldn't place, but it didn't matter. The view encompassed part of the mountain and had a full view of McMahon Park. The burnt-out rubble of the Smith house filled the center of their bright, spring-green lawn.

To the left of the glass wall were more large windows flanking a pair of French doors opening onto a balcony. He thought he'd never be able to write in this room. He'd spend every moment staring out at Mother Nature's playground. “Did you see the fire down there?”

“Yes. I called nine-one-one.”

It wasn't until she walked to join him by the windows that he realized she used a cane. His expression must have shown his surprise. He glanced lower and noticed she wore paint-smeared cropped pants and walked on two prosthetic legs. “I had no idea.”