Authors: Janis Harrison

Reap a Wicked Harvest (12 page)

BOOK: Reap a Wicked Harvest

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I listened until she started the third verse then slowly walked out of the room.

Once I was in my SUV, I wiped my eyes. Dixie's voice was just as melodious as I'd been led to believe. Her talent was there for anyone to hear, but her mind had locked away any chance she had of being a starâor even having a normal life. It was pitiful and so incredibly sad.

I pushed thoughts of Dixie's present situation away and concentrated on how she fit into this caseâif there was a connection. Judy had said Dixie had been gone from River City for about six months. I assumed that was after she'd quit her job at the greenhouse. Harry Hinkle had told Mrs. Jamison that Dixie had been depressed when she came home. Judy had said that Dixie came home, discovered her father was dead and her mother was about to remarry. Judy had said Dixie went into a depression and had tried to take her life. Which tale was true? Was it important that Dixie was depressed when she got home or depressed when she learned the sad fate of her family?

I picked up the clipboard and removed Dixie's job application
form and replaced it with Shannon Plummer's. What would I find out about her? I took a shaky breath and drove out of Coventry Acres. I had three possible addresses for information concerning Shannon, all neighbors. They all were located in River City's elegant subdivision, Lakeview Estates.

It was a fifteen-minute drive to the suburb and another five minutes down a newly backtopped private road. Soybean and cornfields lay on my right. Off to my left was a valley with the Ozark Mountains in the distance. This abrupt change from flat cropland to ridges and bluffs and valleys was always a surprise. I'm accustomed to Missouri's unique countryside, but it never ceased to amaze me how a few miles changed the landscape.

August was a dry, brittle month. Underbrush puts up a courageous fight for moisture, but it's the trees that are the winners. They sap any available water, and the lesser vegetation turns brown and dies.

I knew I was getting close to Lakeview Estates. The roadside ditches were neatly mowed, and the view was more accessible. Fifteen years ago the parcel of land had been developed by a group of men who'd seen beyond the scrawny trees and eroded topsoil. They'd visualized a ten-acre lake embellished with stately homes. A dream is a dream until money comes into play. The realization of those men's fantasy was awe inspiring.

I passed under the arched entryway. On my right was a slab of granite engraved in flowing script, LAKEVIEW ESTATES. Prime building locations were at the water's edge. Once that area had filled up, more houses were built, encircling the lake like enlarging ripples cast from a stone. The streets were named after the developers' family members. I was looking for Alberta Avenue.

I turned off Bethany onto Alberta and drove slowly, looking at the house numbers. I was in the third tier of homes; the first
tier closest to the lake. I had three addresses to choose from, so I picked the biggest and showiest home. I pulled into a drive that was so wide I could have made a three-point turn in a Winnebago.

I grabbed a rose and my clipboard and walked up a winding sidewalk to a house that gave the illusion of being constructed with more glass than stone. Its angles and the forty-five-degree slope to the roof would have been a builder's nightmare. The grass was the shade of green usually associated with spring. Sprinkler heads were sunk in the ground at regular intervals.

This time there was a doorbell. At my touch the chimes played a musical tune. I had no indication that anyone was around. No sound of occupancy. No creaky floorboards. No jiggling windows. The woman simply appeared at the glass door.

Poof! Human being.

And a fine specimen she was. I could see nearly every inch of her smooth, tanned skin. She was dressed in a skimpy lime green bathing suit. Her hair was dark blond and pulled into a ponytail on top of her head. Wispy curls framed her face and softened her features. Her nose was a little too short. Her eyes were a little too big. But I was nitpicking. The woman was gorgeous.

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

I had my clipboard with Shannon Plummer's job application on top. I had the red rose in hand. I smiled. “I hope so. I'm looking for Shannon Plummer.”

Her green eyes crinkled with humor. “I haven't heard that name in a while. Why do you want her?”

I was here to get information not give it. Besides, anyone who lived in this area wouldn't be impressed by my cover story of back pay. “Do you know her?” I asked.

“Sure.” She gave a throaty chuckle. “You could say we're inseparable.”

I thought that over, then said, “Are you Shannon?”

“Very good, but I haven't been a Plummer for almost two years. I'm a Taylor now.” She opened the door wider. “Come in. It's too hot to talk out here.”

I stepped onto a white marble floor that made me want to pull off my shoes so I could cool my hot feet on the smooth stone. The walls were white accentuated with hammered-brass trim. A fountain bubbled merrily off to my right. On my left was a six-foot piece of sculpture made from twisted copper water pipes. Solder marks brazed the metal and had been used to attach couplings that jutted out at odd angles. Suspended from the center of tangled pipes was a grimy wrench.

Shannon followed my gaze and laughed. “Pretty cool, huh? My husband presented me with that gift last year on our first anniversary. It's supposed to personify my maiden name.”

Plummer. Cute. I said, “When you have children how will you keep them from climbing on it? It looks like a jungle gym.”

Her friendly smile cooled. “They'll treat my property with respect.”

Sure they will,
I thought to myself. Out loud, I said, “This is a beautiful home. You used to live next door?”

She relaxed. “Yes. Riley, my husband, is ten years older than I am, but I've adored him from the moment my family and I moved here. Riley was a sober, bookish type of guy.” She waved a hand. “I tried never to open a textbook. I didn't dream that he'd loved me, but things work out if they're meant to be. He and I were made for each other.”

I murmured something that sounded like “how nice.”

“Why were you looking for me?” she asked.

Turning to the business at hand, I moved the clipboard so
she could see the job application form. Holding out the rose, I said, “I wanted to talk to you about the time you worked for Parker Greenhouse.”

By degrees Shannon's refined poise disintegrated. The warmth and confidence drained away, leaving her face ashen. She flinched as if I'd pinched her. Hoarsely, she whispered, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“As I said, I'mâ”

“Get out of my house.” She stumbled past me and pushed open the door. “Go now!”

“But I just wanted to knowâ”

She grabbed a vase off a side table and raised it threateningly.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped the rose and ran for the door. Glancing back, I saw Shannon glaring at me. The fear that radiated from her eyes was confusing, but her rage spurred me on to my car. I hopped in and tore out of that driveway. I almost made it to the entryway before I had to pull over. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn't keep them on the steering wheel.

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. If I stretched my compassionate nature, I could accept Shannon's anger. No one wants a stranger poking around in her past. It was the fear that puzzled me. Why was she afraid? And of what?

I jumped in alarm as fingers pecked on the glass at my side. Jerking around I saw a man standing outside my SUV. His face was unfamiliar, but his eyes held concern.

“Are you all right?” he shouted.

I pushed a button and the glass slid down. “I'm fine. Probably got too hot.”

He nodded. “It can happy mighty quick with this heat. I won't bother you, but if you need a drink of water, I live right over there.” He pointed to a house. “My name is Cordell. Max
Cordell. Come on over and sit a spell. Martha'll have the air cranked up. Once I get inside, I'll have to wear a sweater.” He grimaced. “Damned hot flashes. She should've been done with them years ago.”

Detecting is taking advantage of whatever presents itself. Max wasn't on my list, but he was handy. I said, “If you have a minute I'd like to ask you about one of your neighborsâShannon Plummer Taylor.”

“I'm acquainted with her and her husband. Fine couple. They're of a different generation than me. I knew her parents better. Wayne and Alice were good neighbors.”

I'd learned when I questioned someone cold it often helped to insert a few facts. I sounded convincing and knew more than I did. “I just came from a visit with Shannon,” I said. “I dropped in unannounced, and she was busy. She seemed rather high-strung. Is she okay?”

Max shrugged. “Far as I know. She can be touchy and moody, but so is my wife. I wouldn't think anything about it.”

I waved my hand at our surroundings. “I know she used to live here with her parents. Where are they now?”

“Jamaica. They sold their house when Shannon got married.”

Based on Max having said that Shannon could be touchy and moody, I said, “She's different than I remembered.”

“Were you one of her teachers?”

That sounded reasonable. I felt like a heel for lying, but I nodded.

Max said, “She was quite a handful, but I probably don't have to tell you that since you had her in class. Shannon didn't want to go to college. Didn't want to get a job. All she wanted to do was run around. Wayne finally put his foot down. He told her if she wanted her name kept in his will, she'd find a vocation and do it fast. He'd been a stockbroker, so I assume a large
inheritance was involved. Shannon amazed everyone when she took a job at a greenhouse. She wasn't exactly the outdoors type unless you count lying in the sun by a pool. She worked for about two weeks at this greenhouse and then she was transferred up north.”

Mrs. Jamison had said Dixie had gone up north. I hadn't thought the place overly important until Max tossed out this hunk of news. Who had transferred Shannon up north? Parker Greenhouse didn't have an affiliate anywhere. Thinking Shannon had changed jobs and gone to another greenhouse, I asked, “Do you remember the name of the business?”

“Parker Greenhouse. They had a murder up there this past weekend. Bad situation, all this killing and such. I don't want to go off my place, but that doesn't necessarily keep a person safe.”

I was confused and wasn't sure what to ask next, but Max was still talking.

“âShannon packed her bags and told her family she didn't want them to visit her. She said she'd write or call if she wasn't too busy. She was determined to be totally on her own.” He scratched his head. “She must have done well. When she came home, she was driving a fancy car. According to my wife's coffee klatch, Shannon also had a healthy bank balance. Her father was impressed. In fact everyone around here was. Shannon had grown up and settled down.”

“She'd changed after this trip up north?”

He looked at me quizzically. “You noticed it yourself. Look at the man she married. I've heard rumors that Riley Taylor plans to run for state representative in a few years. He needs a wife like Shannon. She'll be an asset to him and his campaign and her money won't hurt.”

I thanked Max and assured him I was feeling fine. I pulled
away from the curb and out the entrance of Lakeview Estates. As I left the subdivision behind, I shook my head, wondering about Max's remark that Shannon could be an asset to her politician husband. A young woman didn't break all ties with her family and move away without a good reason. Max's talk of a new car and a healthy bank account coincided with what Mrs. Jamison had said about Dixie. She'd said Dixie had come home with a “bunch of cash.”

I shook my head. Talk of a large sum of money was always suspicious. I'd be willing to bet the copper water pipes in my house that Shannon Plummer Taylor's past couldn't stand up to the probing of a dirty campaign. I didn't have the resources offered by an opposing political party intent on finding a scandalous morsel, but I did have Sid.

chapter Twelve

I made it back to the flower shop by noon, but just barely. My reception was chilly, but my mind was on the conversation I planned to have with Sid. Lois had four orders, and I helped her get them ready for Lew to deliver. With everything under control, I waved good-bye and drove to the sheriff's office.

I found Sid at his desk, munching on a tuna sandwich. I hadn't had lunch, but the sight of soggy bread and limp lettuce didn't whet my appetite. I gave him a detailed account of what I'd discovered about Dixie and Shannon, but I made it clear that I hadn't asked any questions about Paige Cooper.

“So what do you want me to do?” Sid asked in an irritated tone.

Really ticked off, I took a deep breath. I let it out softly. “For starters, I thought you might do a background check.”

Sid pushed the last of his sandwich into his mouth and studied the notes he'd made while I talked. “On this Shannon woman?” he mumbled. He swallowed the wad of bread, chasing it with a gulp of coffee. “Why? Just because she worked at Parker Greenhouse three years ago?” He squinted and brought his notes closer. “Dixie Ragsford, two years ago. Paige Cooper, one year ago.” He looked at me. “Where's their connection to the here and now?”

“Like I told you, Marnie and Paige wereâ”

“Yeah, yeah. Marnie was a friend of Paige's. I'm not seeing a pattern. I'm not seeing a motive, and I sure as hell don't see the killer's identity.”

I kept my temper, but I nearly curled my toes through the soles of my shoes. With feigned patience, I asked, “Would you rather I kept these thoughts to myself?”

Sid leaned back in his chair and scowled. “Damned tempting offer, but I can't say for sure you aren't on to something.” He sighed, then asked, “Where do you think this is headed?”

I raised my eyebrows. “What? The investigation?”

“Hell no. Looking into this Shannon's background.”

“You said there isn't a pattern, but I see one. Four young women worked at Parker Greenhouse. Three of them left after only two weeks. One disappeared. One tried to commit suicide and was placed in a psychiatric ward. One seemed afraid of her past. And one was murdered.”

In a mocking tone, Sid asked, “All because they worked for your
good
friends?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Since I didn't have an answer to his question, I voiced my own. “Why did these women go away? Where did they go? How does the money figure in? Why didn't Paige return?”

He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he stared at me. “Right now my only concern is the present murder. If we drag in this other stuff, we could spend valuable time chasing down details that might not pan out.”

“That's possible, but maybe if we digâ”

Sid snorted a laugh. “We? Judas Priest! I'm not sure I can handle that.”

“Then don't,” I said, coming out of my chair. I wanted to stalk from the room, slamming the door after me, but I had one
more question. “Have you done any more checking on Paige Cooper's disappearance?”

“I don't see the relevance.”

“So you haven't checked?”

“I didn't say that.”

I could have ground my teeth into tiny nubs, but I kept my cool. “Are you
saying
anything?”

Sid heaved a sigh that fluttered the papers on his desk. He leaned forward and picked up his notebook. “I haven't talked personally to Mrs. Cooper, but I did look through the missing person report.”

Flipping pages, he found what he wanted. “Here's what the original report states. According to the mother, her daughter worked at Parker for two weeks, then transferred to another greenhouse operation up north. She received letters regularly from her daughter until about three months ago. Officer Jon Whaler took the call about the missing young woman. He went out to the greenhouse and talked to Jess McFinney. The upshot of that conversation was that there couldn't have been a transfer. Parker Greenhouse isn't associated with another business.”

Sid glanced up at me. “Deputy Whaler read the letters that Mrs. Cooper had received from her daughter. The return address was a P.O. Box in Frankfurt, Minnesota. Nothing in those letters remotely suggested foul play or gave him another lead to pursue. He calledâuhâ” Sid stopped to study his notes. He nodded. “Yeah. Here it is. Deputy Whaler called Frankfurt and talked to the sheriff up there. He in turn went to a couple of area greenhouses and checked, but found no record of Paige Cooper having ever worked at either place. Whaler asked the sheriff to check the post-office box. No leads there. The box was under Paige's name, and the rent paid for a year.
Deputy Whaler marked the Cooper case open but unresolved. His personal opinion was that she'd taken off.”

“Why? She thought enough of her mother to write to her, even though she was lying about her situation. Why just disappear without a word?”

Sid closed his notebook. “Lord, Bretta, I don't know. Why does anyone do anything? If everyone toed the line, I'd be out of a job.”

The muscles in his throat constricted as he swallowed. When he spoke his tone was more amicable. “About thoseâuhâParker Greenhouse personnel files. I haven't given them my professional assessment, but I plan on doing that immediately.”

“Are you thinking I'm on to something?” I couldn't hide my smile.

Sid saw it and glowered. “Get out,” he said, but his tone was only mildly aggressive. “You've disrupted my work long enough.”

“I'd like to speak to Mrs. Cooper. Is that okay?”

Instead of answering, Sid scribbled something on a piece of paper, then pushed it toward me. “Take it,” he said.

I crossed to the desk and picked up the scrap of paper. It was Mrs. Cooper's address. I didn't tell him I'd made a copy of Paige's file, which included her home address. Tucking the paper into my purse, I asked, “Since you gave me the address, does that mean I have your blessing?”

The heat that flared in Sid's eyes sent me scuttling out the door.

I had to pass the front of my flower shop on the way to Mrs. Cooper's home. I was happy to see the new plate-glass windows were in the process of being installed. A flash of guilt made me
ease off the accelerator. I was spending too much time away from my business. I glimpsed Lois inside the shop, talking to one of the workmen. That should have been my job, but here I was, tracking leads on a murder case.

Slowly, I drove on. I could leave the entire investigation in Sid's hands, but I didn't want to back off. I was involved this time because of Sid. I wanted to help him win his reelection. I owed the man. He'd been a good friend to my husband, Carl, but that was just part of the reason. When I got right down to the bedrock of my intentions, I loved pitting my brain against corruption. But I didn't like putting my life and those I loved in jeopardy.

Like I'd told Lois, I was tackling this investigation in a different way. In the past, I'd gone directly to the suspects, asking questions, probing, and prompting a response. While I'd made headway, I'd also captured the attention of the killer, which had resulted in some scary close calls. The Parker Greenhouse personnel files had given me another avenue for seeking the truth. I had a gut feeling I was on to something. I just wasn't sure what.

Since I was in a reflecting mode, I acknowledged that I also had a point to prove to Sid. This time I wanted to show him that I could be an asset during an investigation, not a hindrance. Of course, that remained to be seen. And even if I made that point and came up with something Sid deemed valuable, that didn't mean he'd give me credit.

I turned the corner onto the street where Mrs. Cooper lived and watched for street numbers. I found the house and turned into the drive, parking next to a ramp that sloped gently up to the front door. The house was shabby. White paint curled like decorative fringe from the siding. A curtain flickered at one of
the front windows. I quickly climbed out and headed up the ramp. The door opened before I could give it a tap.

The woman sat in a wheelchair and was a bundle of bones wrapped in a red-plaid-blanket cocoon. Her hands were those of an old woman, her fingers like claws. But her face, while thin and hollowed, was youthful. Her eyes were a warm shade of blue. Her brown hair had a few silver strands.

“Mrs. Cooper?” I asked.

“Yes. Is this about Paige?” Her voice was shrill with suppressed excitement. “Has she been found?”

Slowly, I shook my head. Mrs. Cooper's blue eyes went misty. A shudder passed over her emaciated body. Listlessly, she said, “I don't get any company, so when I saw you, I jumped to that conclusion.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I've come to ask about your daughter, but if you'd rather not talk, I understand.”

“No. No. I have to talk about her.” Mrs. Cooper squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “If I talk about her, then she has to be alive.” Her eyes flew open. “Can you understand that?”

“Yes,” I said.

Mrs. Cooper wheeled her chair away from the door. “Come in. You'll find it uncomfortable in here, but I have to stay warm or my rheumatoid arthritis makes it too difficult to move.”

She rolled over bare floors to a place near the front window. I could see from the worn varnish on the boards that this was where she spent much of her time. Near her was a table covered with newspapers, a can of soda, and a jar of Starlight Mints. I sat on a threadbare chair and tried not to stare. The room was nearly devoid of furniture. Off to my left was the kitchen. Down a short hallway I could see light coming through three open doors. I took them to be bedrooms and the bathroom. A
television set was on, but the sound had been turned down. Above the console was a collage of pictures.

“That's my Paige,” said Mrs. Cooper proudly. “Go look, if you'd like. I've dedicated that wall to my daughter.”

I got up and went to the shrine. The photos were amateur shots encased in cheap gold plastic frames. The pictures were in chronological order. Paige in diapers, toddling toward a sandbox. Her first birthday. Her first day of school. I skimmed over these photos and turned to another set, which I assumed was when she'd entered junior high. Her hair was limp, her gaze shy. She was tall, thin, and gangly. When I came to her high school graduation pictures, I found that Paige had changed very little. Her face had filled out some, but her gaze was just as bashful. It was as if she hadn't the confidence to stare into the camera's eye.

This thought made me pause. Something connected with staring straight into a camera's lens. I frowned but couldn't come up with an answer. I shrugged and looked at the final photo of Paige in a cream sheath dress. The neutral shade did nothing to enhance her drab coloring. Her hair had been coaxed into a slight curl. Her eyes shone. Her lips were tipped up in an expectant smile. Knowing I had to make a comment, I pointed to the last photo. “She looks very nice here. I can sense she's excited about something.”

Mrs. Cooper sighed softly. “I keep thinking I should take that picture down. That was the beginning of this nightmare.”

I went back to my chair and sat down. A small fan oscillated, but stirred only hot air. Mrs. Cooper huddled under her blanket like it was the middle of January. Sweat had soaked my thin cotton shirt.

I said, “So there isn't any misunderstanding, I'm not with the police, but I do have Sheriff Hancock's okay to be here. My
name is Bretta Solomon. I'm a friend of Dan and Natalie Parker. I was at the greenhouses when Marnie Frazier was murdered. I have some experience in solving mysteries, and I'm working on an angle in conjunction with Marnie's death. That angle is your daughter. I'd like some information about her, if you feel like talking.”

“If it will help find my daughter, I'll tell you anything and everything. Ask me whatever you want.”

“I'd rather you tell me the events that led up to Paige's disappearance.”

BOOK: Reap a Wicked Harvest

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