Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (32 page)

“Baby's here. I found Baby.” Roscoe all but dragged Theo with him, leaving Susan in the car with the children. “You've got to call for help.”

“Is she hurt?” Theo looked around and didn't see the bear and nothing made sense. This was miles away from Quentin's mountain land. She couldn't believe the bear traveled this far on her own.

“Don't think so, but she's stuck.” Roscoe danced around, pointing to a shrub. “In there.”

“Stuck?” Theo finally saw Baby under a large mountain laurel. Sure enough, it looked as though she had shoved her arm into a length of plastic pipe and couldn't work her way free. Baby lifted her head and made an odd heartrending cry. “How'd she get all the way down here?”

“She musta gone riding in the back of Quentin's pickup. She loves to nap back there in the sunshine.” Roscoe's chin quivered, and he fell on his knees next to Baby. He whispered in her ear.

“We need lots of help.” She used her cell phone to call Tony. “I'm with Roscoe. He's found Baby.”

“Is she okay?”

“She's alive, but she's stuck. Can you bring something to cut heavy plastic pipe, without cutting her arm?” Theo stepped away far enough away so Roscoe couldn't hear her. “And the vet or a paramedic. I'm not an expert but I think she's badly dehydrated. Her eyes are pretty glassy.”

“Stay on the line a minute,” Tony said.

Theo heard conversations in the background between her husband and several different people before he spoke to her again. All sounded willing and happy to come help extract Baby from her predicament. Unofficially. Theo heard the girls wake up in the backseat of her car. “Help is on the way,” she told Roscoe and hurried to rescue Susan from her twins.

The bear had been rescued and given fluids and a bowl of strawberries before being driven up the mountain again. That errand complete, Tony called Wade and Mike into his office. He hoped they were prepared to explain their latest search of the museum and its property.

Wade began. “We went back to the kitchen and checked every spoon, bowl, and can for evidence. We found eighteen million partial fingerprints in there.” He rubbed a hand over his bleary features. “Everyone we were able to identify had a legitimate reason for being there.”

Tony sensed there was more and held his silence. Wade and Mike deserved to be allowed to tell the story their way.

“But three prints were unusual, mostly because they were clear, not overlaid with others.” Mike took over. As if of one accord, they leaned in, listening intently. “We found Ada's on the hot sauce, Nem's on the pepper shakers and Letty Bainbridge's on several of the clean, unused plastic forks.”

“Which led you to do what?” Tony hated the idea of any of the relics turning up guilty.

“We tested the hot sauce. The chemist said there's nothing in it but red peppers and vinegar. The plastic forks are clean, but there's ground walnuts mixed in with the black pepper,” said Wade. Next to him, Mike nodded his agreement.

“No kidding?” Tony leaned back in the chair. “So Nem put walnuts in the pepper and tried stabbing him with the stick?” It didn't make sense to him. “Why plan to do both?”

Wade said, “Belt and suspenders. If one failed the other should work.”

“The old man's buried a lot of Ragsdale's innocent victims. Nem's a good man, but he's been pushed too far,” Mike added.

Tony couldn't dispute Mike's take on the situation. Didn't want to disprove it. They finally had means, motive, and opportunity, so why couldn't he believe it? “Let's bring him in.”

Tony watched Nem. The old man sat proudly at attention in the greenhouse. He took a sip of his water. He examined his fingernails, broken and dirty from his gardening. He refused the services of an attorney, but Tony called Carl Lee down anyway.

“Talk to him.” Tony welcomed Carl Lee. “He's not our killer. I don't want him lying and then lying about telling me a lie.”

“Why not?”

“I've known him a long time.” Tony glanced away. “He's an honorable, if irritating, old guy, and telling a lie that size will eat at his soul. I don't want to be responsible for it. I want to find the real killer.”

Carl Lee slapped him on the back. “You're a fair man and good sheriff. If you let it, this job will make you crazy.”

Tony nodded. “I'm not too sure it hasn't already. I'm going to watch the videos again and see if I can catch Nem in the act. How subtle can you be and poison someone in a food line?”

He returned to his office and watched every video they had been able to find with coverage of the food line at the ramp booth. They were almost identical to each other. Pies in, pies out. He tried concentrating on the hands and saw people eating, getting forks, dropping napkins. Talking, waving, and laughing. Shaking hands. Hands shaking. Young hands. Old hands. Hands shaking hot sauce. Gnarled hands shaking pepper on pie.

The majority of phone calls to the Park County sheriff's office were from people looking for lost animals—whether pets or livestock of some nature. The second was a tie between complaints about road conditions and reporting accidents. Then there was a predictable mixture of excessive alcohol, domestic violence, items lost, and items found. Tony rubbed his head. People called to complain about their neighbors' music, barking dogs, power outages, and television glitches. Reports of UFOs came in spurts, causing some discussion about the possibility they were real.

Most challenging were those reports about issues with mentally ill individuals. The line between criminal behavior and insanity was unclear, at least out in the field.

The dispatch desk heard it all, sent officers to investigate, notified the utility departments and had to remain calm in tense situations. Maintaining contact with the officers during a call was vital. A missing deputy could need backup.

Flavio Weems had, after the first rocky months, become a solid, dependable dispatcher. “Sir, we may have good news for a pet owner.” Flavio's nasal voice came through Tony's radio. “Sheila has a pregnant Siamese cat cornered. She would like some assistance. Evidently the cat has a bad attitude.”

“Where is she?” Tony's first thought was Two Bit. Maybe it was Jill Cashdollar's cat. The address Flavio gave was maybe half a mile from Carl Lee and Jill's home. He asked Flavio for their telephone number and punched it into his cell phone.

Jill answered on the second ring.

“It may not be your cat, Jill,” Tony began. “But Sheila is evidently dealing with a feisty, pregnant Siamese.”

“Pregnant?” After a moment, she said, “We had an appointment to have Two Bit spayed, but missed it. I guess it could be her.”

“If you have a favorite treat and a carrier, you might grab them and meet me at the corner of Oak and Third. There's a storage shed in the back.”

Jill didn't hesitate. “I'll be there. Whether it's Two Bit or not, the cat needs help.”

Within minutes of each other, Tony and Jill arrived. Sheila, covered with dirt and leaves, greeted them with a smile. “I got her herded into the shed. Good luck catching that one.”

Jill held the carrier in one hand and an open can of cat food in the other as she slipped past Sheila. “Kitty?”

Tony and Sheila waited. Several minutes passed with occasional soft words from Jill and angry cat sounds in response.

Finally Jill reappeared, clearly ecstatic. “It is definitely Two Bit.”

Tony could see the outline of the Siamese cat's head through the mesh on the side of the cat carrier. At least someone was having a good day.

Prosecutor Archie Campbell dropped by Tony's office. “I'm going to have to prosecute Slow Jr.”

Tony nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up. I almost forgot about him. We'll find the best place to house him we can.”

“You're assuming I'll win.”

“Yes, I know you will.” Tony didn't want a crook in the office. It was his job to catch them and Archie's job to punish them. “He might learn a valuable lesson from a stint in jail.”

“What about the person who killed Harrison Ragsdale? Any progress?”

Tony nodded. “Sometimes my job, like yours, is fun, and sometimes it breaks your heart.” He gathered his papers and straightened his tie. “I have an appointment.”

Tony found Portia Osgood standing outside the grocery store with the aid of her walker, a cloth bag holding a few items hanging on the front of it. The walker and a can of peas added together would weigh as much as she did. He parked the Blazer near her and climbed out. “Let me take you home.” It wasn't a request.

She gave him a single nod. The royal sign of acquiescence.

Tony walked up to Portia. In the years since she'd been his fourth grade teacher, they had both changed in size. He had grown a couple of feet taller while she'd shrunk. The top of her head wasn't much above his belt buckle.

As a lad he'd been absolutely intimidated by her authoritarian demeanor and talents with a twelve-inch wooden ruler. Not so much so now. With sheer size, not to mention weapons, on his side—if she attacked, it would be like a flea going after a junkyard dog.

He opened the passenger door and pulled out the folding step stool Theo and the boys used to get inside. She allowed him to assist her. He put her groceries and the walker on the backseat. They drove the six blocks to her home, an older house shaded by ancient walnut trees. She had lived there as long as he could remember. The house next door had gone through a succession of owners, one of them the Ragsdale family.

“The trees look healthy.” Tony said as he helped her to the ground. “They produce a good crop of walnuts last fall?”

She nodded.

“You knew he was allergic.” It was not a question.

“They moved away from this neighborhood because of it.” Her head turned in the direction of the former Ragsdale home. She spoke softly. “I was not sorry. He was a nasty little boy and grew into a nasty man.”

“Did you have help?”

Portia stared straight ahead. “No.”

“How did you manage it?”

“Habits rarely change. He was a piggy little boy and put pepper on everything I ever saw him eat. I was sure he'd come to the festival, and if he didn't, he didn't.” Her attempt at a casual shrug failed. “I have bags of walnuts in the house and there was no hurry. I broke some open with a hammer and put the nut meats in my electric coffee grinder.”

“And then?”

A winsome smile made her appear younger. “We relics were put in charge of condiments. I brought a box of black pepper mixed with ground walnuts.”

He gave her points for dignity. She stood before him, her twisted fingers almost useless, faded eyes clouded with cataracts. He found it unthinkable and impossible to imagine her having the speed and dexterity needed to put ground walnuts in anything. She didn't look capable of unscrewing the lid on a pepper shaker. She didn't look capable of unscrewing a light bulb. The lids on the pepper shakers were not tiny, but not large either.

“You had to ask someone to unscrew the lids for you?” Tony guessed that's how Nem's fingerprints got on the shakers.

“I did. And I added the walnut and pepper mix to each of them. My shaker assistant had no knowledge of my transgression.”

Tony said, “Why now?”

Her voice was soft, but her words were clear. “There are no more pets waiting at home for me. He killed the last one.” The frail hands shook, and tears blurred her faded eyes. “I never guessed he would die.”

“What did you envision?”

“Hives, welts, horrible itching.” She looked up at Tony. “Maybe some wheezing. In short, more misery, not a release from it.”

Rage, hot and unexpectedly intense, surged through him. Not at Portia, but at Harrison Ragsdale, who had deliberately caused so many people much sorrow and loneliness. “I'll carry your groceries inside.”

“I don't have to go to the jail?” Portia's voice was barely audible.

Tony couldn't imagine locking this woman in his jail. “Are you planning to run away?”

“No.” She lifted her chin and met his eyes. “I'll be here when you want me.”

“I trust you.” Tony massaged the back of his neck. “Get a lawyer. It's up to Archie Campbell and his crew to decide what to do. My job is done. The case is solved.” A thought occurred to him. There was probably better food at the jail than she ate at home. “Unless you'd prefer . . .”

“Here, please.” She patted his arm. “You were always a good boy.”

That made him laugh out loud. “I always thought you hated me.”

“Having favorites is unavoidable. Hiding it is preferable.” She winked. “I knew you'd be a good man and hoped you would stay in Silersville. I missed you when you moved away.”

Tony's mouth opened and closed. It must be his week for being rendered speechless.

“Do you write anymore?” Portia said. “You used to make up the most wonderful stories. A bit far-fetched, but very imaginative.”

Still stunned, Tony managed to nod.

“I'll confess,” she gave him a wide smile, and continued. Clearly her language abilities weren't disabled, and she knew it. “I never would have guessed you would marry tiny, reclusive Theodore Siler.”

“You don't approve?”

“I think it's wonderful.” A delighted smile shifted all the wrinkles on her worn face. “She was another favorite of mine.”

Gus knocked on the front door. “I want to see your kitchen.” Confused but agreeable, Tony ushered him down the hallway and into the kitchen Gus had visited hundreds of times before. As if never having never seen it before, Tony glanced around the room, wondering what Gus was looking for. The kitchen and its living area were warm and inviting. Tony loved coming home to it. Normally.