Barnyard Murder: A Cozy Mystery (Strawberry Shores Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

Chapter 3

I almost overslept on Friday morning, but then the sound of trucks driving past the house woke me up.

I showered and dressed, and by the time I finished breakfast Emily and Alex were on the front step waiting for me. Emily was giddy. “Come on, Laura! We're going to be late!”

So we piled into my car. Before pulling out of the driveway I looked in the rear-view. “Buckle your seatbelt, Alex.” I looked over at the passenger seat. “You too, Emily.”

They grumbled, but they knew I was right. A couple of weeks earlier we'd been driving along Route 28 in the rain and hydroplaned. I slammed on the brakes and slid under an overpass. When the tires hit the dry pavement the car came screeching to a halt. Alex had ended up sprawled across the center console and Emily had almost gone through the windshield.

So now seat belts were mandatory in the Laura-mobile.

When we arrived at the burned-out barn, we were barely able to find a parking space. I had to park along the left-hand side of the library in the new parking lot extension that Tim Hayfield had paved when they were building the Edward R. Brooks Children's wing. We hopped out of the car and approached the site.

At least half the town had appeared to watch the razing. Tim Hayfield had taped off the area, meaning onlookers were lined up along the road. Emily, Alex and I looped around to the right where we could watch, though the big tree was in the way.

“Did we miss anything?” Emily asked me. “Have they already started?”

I shook my head. “It doesn't look like it.”

The construction vehicles were running. There was a front-end loader and a bulldozer, and about half a dozen men with shovels standing nearby, plus Tim Hayfield. And at the center of it all, a woman in her thirties. She was tall, with squinty eyes and specks of gray in her hair. Her fingernails were long and pointy, like claws, and her high heels were like daggers stabbing the dirt. Even though the heavy equipment was running, I could hear her screaming: “Back off! All of you go home!”

While the woman seemed to be shouting at all of the onlookers, her aggression seemed to be focused on one person: another woman, also in her mid-thirties, standing at the edge of the construction site. She and about five other people were lined up along the tape, unmistakable in their bright blue t-shirts. I couldn't read the fine print from where I was standing, but I could make out the capital letters: 'C' 'B' 'S' and 'S'.

“Miss Tilwell!” I heard Alex cry from behind me. I spun around. Miss Tilwell was there, with Alex tugging at her shirt. Miss Tilwell turned around.

“Hi girls,” she said to us. “Exciting day, isn't it?”

“What's going on?” Alex asked. “Why aren't they tearing down the barn?”

Miss Tilwell leaned forward. She was trembling and her eyes were alight. “There's a standoff. That woman on the site?” She pointed to the woman yelling at the crowd. “That's Jeannie Ferdinand, Frederick Ferdinand's daughter. She won't let Tim tear down the barn.” She pointed to the woman in the light blue shirt. “And that's Dana Jones. She's the head of the Coalition for a Beautiful Strawberry Shores.”

Miss Tilwell disappeared into the crowd to gather more gossip. Alex turned to me. “I didn't know Frederick Ferdinand had a daughter. Who would make kids with that guy?”

“Rude!” Emily cried. Then she mulled it over. “Well, I see your point. But still, rude!”

When I turned around again, the woman in the blue shirt—Dana—was standing behind me. She pushed a clipboard at me. “Sign this!”

I took a step back. “Hi. What's this?”

“It's a petition. We're getting that barn torn down one way or another!”

“Yeah!” A young man, maybe a couple of years older than I, stepped out from behind Dana. “Sign it. We're not letting that barn stay up any longer.”

I accepted the pen from Dana's hand and signed the petition, then passed it to Alex.

“What's the hold-up?” Emily asked, as Alex handed her the petition.

“The hold-up is that vile woman. She won't let us tear down the barn,” Dana said.

“Jeannie Frederick inherited the estate from her father,” the guy behind Dana said. “She wants to keep the barn up.”

“Is there an echo out here?” Alex said, just loud enough for me to hear.

“So? Just knock down the barn. What's the worst that could happen?” Emily asked.

“That's exactly what we'd do,” Dana explained, “But that woman is literally standing in front of the machines.”

“Jeannie is standing in the way, so if we made a move, we'd run over her,” the guy behind her added.

“So what?” Alex asked. “Now it's a standoff?”

“That's exactly what it is!” Dana exclaimed. “I'll stand here day and night if I have to. You'll do the same, right Kevin?”

“Right!” the guy—Kevin—agreed. “Well, once I get back from Dallas on Friday. But hopefully this will be resolved before then.”

Dana and Kevin disappeared into the crowd to gather more signatures. Alex and Emily didn't say anything but I could tell they were disappointed; it didn't look like we were going to see a demolition today.

“Come on,” I said. “I told Susan I'd go visit her at the library,” I said, pointing across the street.

Emily opened her mouth to argue and then looked over her shoulder where Jeannie was once again shouting at the crowd. Emily knew as well as I did that we wouldn't miss anything.

“You know,” she said as we started across the street. “I should have brought a batch of cupcakes. I could have sold them.”

Alex scoffed. “Who wants to buy cupcakes at a construction site? They'd get dirty. But selling stuff is a good idea. I should have brought some clothes to sell.”

“Nobody wants to wear your clothes, Alex,” Emily snapped back. “They want cupcakes.”

I could see where this was going and tuned them out—and sure enough an argument about consumer interest ensued.

Although we thought we were walking away from the burnt-out barn, in a way we were walking toward it—and all the complications that tearing down that barn would bring.

Chapter 4

The Parched Pelican was a bar in downtown Strawberry Shores.

What we referred to as 'downtown' was a strip of multi-story buildings along main street with a few bars and clothing stores, but the Parched Pelican was considered to be
the
place to go.

We'd visited Susan after the construction site and then went home. I called Harold to see if he wanted to do anything, but he said he wasn't feeling well. So we went home and decided to go to the Parched Pelican, which had necessitated that Emily make a batch of cupcakes to sell, and Alex run home to find clothes to model.

So the three of us showed up at the Parched Pelican. I was wearing a bright pink t-shirt with stars stitched on. Alex had sewed a hood onto the back and painted 'HOODLUM' across the front in black paint. Emily was wearing a black tank top, also with stars, that read 'Superstar'. Alex had tried to use the Roman version of writing 'U' – which was a 'V'–but it came out cock-eyed and looked more like an 'L'. Plus, she'd messed up centering the text on the shirt, so the 'A' and the 'R' were hidden under Emily's bicep, so it looked like she was wearing a tank top with 'SLPERST' written across it.

“You should have borrowed a pair of Laura's jeans,” Alex said flatly as we walked to the Pelican.

“Why?” Emily asked.

Alex looked her over. Emily was wearing her nonconformist tank top along with a pleated blue skirt, frilly white socks and shiny Mary Janes. She looked like a cross between a teenager from the film
American Graffiti
and the lead singer for a heavy metal group.

“Because you look like a train wreck,” Alex said.

Emily ignored her and strolled along, carrying a box of fresh cupcakes. “It'll draw attention. People will be so busy looking at me and buying my cupcakes, they won't want to buy any of your clothes.”

We reached the Pelican. The place was crowded, and the radio was blaring. Even so, my HOODLUM t-shirt attracted some crooked stares. Blushing, we followed the waitress to an open table; Emily and Alex barely waited to get their drinks before they were off, seeing who could sell more.

I surveyed the bar. It was a nice place. Harold and I had come here once before. There was a small stage in the corner, which was host to karaoke on Saturday nights and was also where the DJ sat on Tuesday nights, during Tuesday night trivia. In the back were darts and pool tables.

And Harold. I cocked my head. Harold was here? Why was Harold here? I thought he was sick.

I hopped off the stool and collected my drink. Taking a sip, I pushed my way between a few patrons and made my way to the back of the bar. As I approached, I wondered how I should greet him. We'd only been on two dates—not counting the night he'd saved us from Daniel Berkshire—so wrapping my arms around his waist seemed straightforward. I tapped him on the shoulder.

Harold spun around and beamed. “Hey! Laura!” He slurred.

He picked up a glass full of translucent brown liquid, which I took to be either whiskey or scotch.

“Hi Harold,” I said. “What's going on?”

“I'm winning!” He exclaimed. The aroma on his breath lead me to conclude whiskey. “This schmuck's going to owe me twenty bucks in about five minutes,” he said. He pointed at his opponent, a pale guy with bright red hair, whom I recognized as Brent Reusch. Brent laughed and retreated to his own beer.

“I thought you were sick,” I pointed out.

Harold paused. “Oh. Right. Yeah, I was, but I feel better now.”

As he spoke, I heard the static in my head, clear as day. I couldn't tell what he was lying about—having felt sick earlier or feeling better now—but I suspected, based on the way he was acting, that he'd been lying earlier when he said he was sick. I took another sip of my drink.

“I'm glad to hear it,” I said, biting my tongue. “So how much have you had? You seem a little wild...”

“Oh, this is my first one,” Harold said.

More static.

“Whiskey gets me every time. This will probably be my only one.”

And more static.

“Hey, do you want to join me? You can be on my team!”

Honestly I would have joined him; it was exactly the sort of thing I would have liked to have done, seeing as Alex and Emily had disappeared. But the static was deafening. I shook my head. “No thanks,” I said. “I'm here with Emily and Alex.”

With that, I returned to the table where I sat alone. I wasn't upset that Harold had wanted to go out drinking with his friends, nor was I upset that he'd had a lot to drink. Boys will be boys after all. No, what I was upset about was that he was lying to me. Why? Did he not think I could handle the knowledge that he drank? That he had a life? The whole idea that he would lie to me after only two dates had me hot under the collar. I fumed for a few minutes before getting a text from Emily:

'I got kicked out'

I sighed. 'How did you get kicked out?' I texted back.

'They don't like me selling cupcakes' came the response.

I finished off my drink, left a ten under the coaster, and headed out to the sidewalk. Emily was waiting for me.

“How did you get kicked out?” I asked her.

“Well, I was selling cupcakes, and they told me to stop.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“I kept selling cupcakes, so they kicked me out.” Emily saw my expression and added: “I couldn't let Alex beat me!”

I rolled my eyes. “Speaking of Alex—”

I didn't need to finish the thought. Over my shoulder: “Let go of me! We live in a capitalist society! What happened to my constitutional rights? Fine! Fine, I'll go!” I turned around. There was Alex, holding an armful of shirts. She smiled. “Oh. Hi guys.”

“Let me guess, you got kicked out too?”

Alex nodded.

I sighed. “Let's just head home. I don't feel like being out tonight.”

We started down the street. Emily and Alex picked up on the pink elephant, but it took a few minutes for them to address it. “Laura? Are you okay? You seem upset.”

I slowed to a stop. Alex and Emily stopped behind me. “Harold was there.”

“You said he was sick,” Alex said.

“That's what he told me. But there he was, in the bar. I talked to him.”

“And?”

“And... there was a radio playing in the bar.”

Alex and Emily got it at once. “So you knew when he was telling the truth.”

“And when he wasn't,” I added. “Come on. I'll tell you on the way to the car.”

Chapter 5

Harold lying to me had me upset, and it took about fifteen minutes for me to get it all out of my system. Alex and Emily loaded the car with their t-shirts and cupcakes while I told them about him lying to me.

The original plan was to head home but, after we'd talked it through, I decided I wasn't going to let Harold ruin my good time. So we decided to head back to the Pelican and see if we could get back in if Alex and Emily promised not to try to sell anything on the premises.

By that time it was dark, and the sidewalk in front of the Pelican was loaded with people talking and smoking cigarettes. George Hayfield was among them.

And then, there was Jeannie Frederick. We tried to scoot around the crowd unnoticed but she caught a glimpse of us.

“Hi girls!” She said sweetly. She smiled, her dark red lipstick a stark contrast against her unnaturally pearly-white teeth. “How are you guys doing tonight? Are you having a good time?”

She was talking to us like we were children. I heard Alex shuffling beside me. I'd known her long enough to know Alex's nonverbal signs; she was trying not to punch Jeannie in the face.

“Good,” I cooed back, using the same googoo-gaga tone. “And how are
you
tonight?”

“Good. Listen, I'm just here to offer you an awesome opportunity to help your town.” She produced a clipboard. “I'm starting an organization called the Strawberry Shores Tree Foundation. Some mean men want to tear down the tree on my father's land, and I want to preserve it. It's a beautiful tree, after all.”

“Great, another petition,” Alex grumbled behind me.

I hesitated when Jeannie handed the petition to me. “Is this really about the tree? Or do you just not want Tim to tear down the barn?”

Jeannie laughed, one of those fake, borderline-maniacal laughs. “Oh, girls! That tree has been on my family's lot for a hundred years. It's called a Northern Catalpa. It's quite a regal tree.”

“Isn't that tree dead?” Emily asked.

“No, it's not dead.” Jeannie snapped back, her face going stern. She regained her composure, assuming the artificial smile from before. “It's very much alive, but it won't be much longer if those mean men tear it down! What do you say?”

“I'm going to think on it,” I said.

Jeannie offered it to Alex. “No,” she said. “Besides, I already signed Dana's petition. I mean, I signed it 'Albert Einstein', but just the same.”

She offered it to Emily, who just shook her head.

“That's okay, girls. Tell you what, the first meeting of the Strawberry Shores Tree Foundation is tomorrow in the library at noon. You're welcome to attend.”

“I don't remember hearing about any reservations to have a meeting in the library,” I said. “And I would know. I work there.”

Jeannie laughed that fake laugh again. By now it was becoming grating. “It's just a small meeting. I hope to see you there!”

She turned away. I turned to say something to Alex and Emily when George stepped forward and tapped Jeannie on the shoulder. “I'll sign your petition,” he said.

“Great!” She handed it over. George signed it.

“You know, I like how you're a take-charge kind of lady,” he said, handing it back. He gave her an off-kilter grin. “I'd like to get to know you better. How about a phone number?”

“Show up at the meeting tomorrow,” Jeannie cooed. “Who knows what could happen?”

With that, Jeannie turned on her heel and headed into the Pelican. George stood on the sidewalk, googly-eyed.

“Wipe your mouth George,” Alex said. “You're drooling.”

“It's because I'm in love.”

George walking into the bar after Jeannie reminded me of those old Pepe Le Pew cartoons, when Pepe fell in love with Penelope Pussycat and hearts came pouring out of his head.

“Well, that's gross,” Alex remarked.

“I think it's cute. Maybe if George and Jeannie get together, Jeannie will forget about the tree.”

Alex shook her head. “I doubt it. George's dad is Tim Hayfield. Right now, Tim and Jeannie are bitter enemies. The longer it takes Tim to knock down the barn, the more money he loses. He'd lose his mind if George tried dating Jeannie.”

I shrugged. “Well, whatever. I'm working tomorrow so I guess I'll have a front row seat to whatever it is that Jeannie is planning.”

“I'm off work," Alex said. “I'll join you.”

“Me too,” Emily said.”

“Now, about the Pelican.” I nodded at the bar. We could see Jeannie through one of the windows, passing around the petition. “Do we still want to go back?”

Alex, Emily and I looked at each other. No words needed to be spoken. We headed back to the car.