The Widows of Braxton County (20 page)

Chapter 32

Fall 2012, the Clement family farm

T
he car turned into the drive as Rose was pulling the last of the dead annual flowers from her front flower bed. Rising to her feet, she smiled at the sight of Will Krause striding across her yard.

“You’re out early,” she said, stripping off her gloves.

Will gave her a cheeky grin. “I was in the neighborhood.” He looked at the pile of pulled flowers, then at Rose. “Shouldn’t you have someone do that for you?”

Rose grimaced. “I’m not so old that I can’t take care of a few flower beds, young man.” She softened her words with a smile. “Though I will admit, it’s not as easy getting up and down as it used to be.” Her smile faded. “Seriously, Will, what brings you out this way?”

He picked up one of the dried stems and plucked at the brown leaves. “I’m concerned about Kate. I don’t like the direction the investigation is taking. From what I hear, they seem to be zeroing in on her.”

Rose pursed her lips. “I agree. Detective Shepherd was at the cemetery yesterday, and he’s been asking a lot of questions about Kate.” She glanced over to the porch. “Come on, let’s sit a spell,” she said, waving toward the house and two wicker chairs sitting by the front door. “Would you like coffee?” she asked, moving toward the house.

“No, thank you,” he replied, settling into one of the chairs and stretching out his long legs.

Rose eased herself into the chair next to him. “I’ve already talked to Annie about a lawyer for Kate, and she recommended Brown and Brown over in Flint Rapids. Darwin’s a fine man.” She squinted, looking off into the distance. “Kate’s had one shock after another recently, so I’m going to let things calm down a bit, then encourage her to go talk to him.”

“I wouldn’t wait too long.”

Rose turned her attention to Will. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his chin. “Joe always had more than his share of enemies, and people can carry grudges for a long time. Maybe a fight with one of them that got out of hand?”

“Ed Rodman?”

“I’d say they’re looking at him just as hard as they are Kate. He doesn’t have an alibi either.” Will drew in his legs and leaned forward, dangling his hands over his knees. “One thing that puzzles me . . . What did Joe tell Trudy when he stumbled into the house that afternoon?”

“From what Kate said—it all happened so fast, and Trudy was incoherent at the hospital.” Rose held out her hands helplessly. “Since then, due to the stroke, she’s barely been with it. I don’t know if they’ve even questioned her again.”

Will sat back. “Doc did say that Detective Shepherd asked him about Trudy’s condition, but that’s it.”

“Did he offer any more information than that?”

Will shook his head.

“The past repeating itself,” Rose murmured softly.

He snorted in disgust. “Come on—don’t start with that crap.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Kate found a box of old albums and individual photographs yesterday.”

“So?”

“I didn’t see it, but from the way she described it, one was of Jacob, Joseph, Hannah, and Willie.” Rose plucked a piece of dried grass off the knee of her jeans. “She’s already asked a few questions, and now with this picture showing up . . .” Her voice trailed away as she focused on Will. “How much do you want her to know?”

He stood and walked over to the porch railing and was silent for a moment. He leaned against the railing, looking out, then turned toward Rose. “Kate’s already heard enough about family curses and ghosts, and things are tough enough for her right now. Have you considered what it will mean to Kate if they don’t solve this case?”

“I guess not.” Rose tugged on her bottom lip. “I’ve been too worried about the present to think about the future.”

“Right—and everyone knows that Kate is under suspicion, so if the killer is never found—”

“She’ll live the rest of her life with that hanging over her,” Rose said, cutting in.

Will moved over to her. “Exactly. She could start drawing crazy comparisons about what happened then and now. It would only add fear and anxiety.”

“So if she asks—” Rose began thoughtfully.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, interrupting her. “Let the secrets stay buried.”

Chapter 33

Fall 2012, the Krause family farm

W
hen Kate entered the kitchen the next morning, she found Trudy awake and cooking at the stove. She was wearing one of her housedresses, her hair pulled back in a bun, and she appeared alert.

Surprised at the change, Kate crossed to the counter. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Trudy spit out. “I wondered if you were going to spend the whole day lollygagging around in bed.”

Kate ignored the remark and poured a cup of coffee. She eyed the table. Three places were laid out.

“Are you expecting someone for breakfast?” she asked, pointing at the table.

Trudy rolled her eyes as she flipped a pancake. “Of course not.”

“Umm—there are three places set,” Kate replied cautiously.

“You, me, and—” Her hand stilled and she braced herself on the counter. “Joe’s not coming back,” she said, her voice desolate.

Kate reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she shied away. “Do you remember yesterday?” Kate asked gently.

She nodded, then stiffened her spine. “I don’t want to talk about it. Breakfast is getting cold.”

As Trudy filled the serving dishes, Kate placed them on the table. Neither woman made a move to put away the third place setting. While Kate picked at her food, the silence in the kitchen grew. Finally, she moved her plate to the side and said, “I’m sleeping in the back bedroom and I’d like to move the boxes to the attic, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t care what you do,” Trudy answered with eyes downcast.

“One of the boxes contains photo albums. I, of course, don’t recognize anyone in the pictures,” Kate said, attempting to lighten the mood. “Would you like to go through them? Maybe make a list of where they were taken and who’s in the photos?”

Trudy’s fork clattered to her plate. “What’s the point? Who’s going to care now?” Her expression hardened. “Joe’s gone and there are no children to carry on his legacy.”

Her words were a direct hit to Kate’s heart and she drew a sharp breath. If only she hadn’t lost the baby. Regret flooded her. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“Your family has played an important role in this county’s history,” she said in a controlled voice. “The historical society might be interested in the pictures.”

Trudy rose to her feet and picked up her plate. After carrying it to the counter, she dropped it into the sink. “Do what you want. I’m going to my room.”

Moments later Kate heard the TV come on.

After cleaning up the kitchen, Kate retrieved the envelope containing Joe’s financial records. She spread them out on the dining room table and turned on her laptop. With Topaz curled up on her lap, she began to go through all the debts and assets, creating a spreadsheet as she went.

Joe’s folly became clear. In the pursuit of quick money, he’d failed to diversify. If he had invested in more secure stocks, his returns would have come at a slower rate, but in the long run, his assets would have grown.

Once Kate understood the financial mistakes Joe had made, she began making notes on a legal pad. She read online articles about market trends, yield projections, and the impact of weather over the past few years. She entered the operating costs that the farm had incurred versus the profits onto her spreadsheets. Several questions came to her as she entered the numbers. She wrote those down on her pad, too, and soon she’d filled three pages.

Leaning back in her chair, she absentmindedly stroked the cat as she looked over the notes. A plan began to form in her mind, and she picked up her pen and began to chart it out. A knock on the front door interrupted her.

Opening the door, she found Rose waiting patiently on the porch. Rose handed her a plate, and the scent of hot cinnamon rolls drifted toward her.

“I thought you might be getting tired of Jell-O salads and casseroles,” Rose said with a laugh.

“Bless you,” Kate said with a grin. “I’ll grab a couple of plates and some coffee.” She jerked her head toward the dining room table as Rose followed her into the house. “I’ve been going over Joe’s financial records and I have a few questions for you, if you have the time.”

Rose crossed to the table and picked up Kate’s notes. “Sure,” she said, seating herself.

Two hours and a couple of cinnamon rolls later, Kate had carefully outlined the farm’s situation and what she thought could be done to improve it.

When she’d finished, Rose hooked her arm over the back of her chair and shook her head.

“It won’t work, will it?” Kate asked, disappointed at Rose’s reaction.

Rose leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you that impression,” she said quickly and picked up the outline of Kate’s plan. “Actually, I’m astounded. You’ve no experience at running a farm, yet you’ve an excellent grasp of Joe’s operation. You’re a quick study.”

Kate felt her cheeks turn pink. “You really think so?” she asked, pleased.

“Yes,” Rose replied, thumbing through the papers. “You have the bottom line laid out concisely and your ideas of ways to increase your profit margins are excellent.” She winked. “I might steal some of them. Have you always been this good at money management?”

“I had to be,” Kate answered ruefully. “If Gran has a dime, she’ll spend a quarter. I started taking care of the money as a teenager.” She grimaced. “It was the only way to keep the lights on and the water running.”

Rose placed the notes on the table and folded her hands. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you could manage this place if you so choose.”

Kate felt a rush of pride and pleasure.

“My next question,” Rose began, her tone serious, “is . . . Do you want to do this?”

Kate hesitated. “I’ve always enjoyed working with money.” She gave a dry chuckle. “But it always belonged to someone else. It might be kind of fun if it’s my own. I would be the one who stood to gain or lose. A definite challenge.”

Rose smiled. “If you want a challenge, running a farm will certainly give you that.”

Kate’s face became somber. “There’s another reason.” She paused. “Trudy said something this morning that’s been eating away at me. Joe was the last in his family, and—” Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard before continuing. “There’s no children to inherit his heritage—no one to remember him.”

Rose reached across the table and gave Kate’s hand a sympathetic squeeze.

“I have a little idea. If I can make this work, I’d like to start a scholarship in his name for kids that are interested in farming.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I thought about contacting the agribusiness department at the junior college in Flint Rapids to see if they might be interested in using part of the farm for hands-on training programs. I think it would benefit their students.”

“That’s wonderful, Kate!”

“You don’t think it’s dumb?”

“No. You’d be enabling young people to achieve their dreams, and at the same time, remembering Joe in a positive way.” She stopped and scrutinized Kate. “But you don’t have to do this. Once the will is probated, you could walk away from all of this a very wealthy woman. You’d still have the challenge of managing your funds, but without so much risk.”

“I’ve never been wealthy.” Kate shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how to spend that much money.”

“Your grandmother sounded like she’d be happy to help,” Rose said, arching an eyebrow.

Kate’s lips curled in distaste. “I’d give away every last dollar before I let that woman touch a penny of it,” she declared emphatically. “My grandmother likes to pretend otherwise, but she has more than enough to live on. I’ve invested for her over the years, and she has a decent annuity in addition to her Social Security.”

“Is she going back to Des Moines?”

“I assume so. She called and left a garbled message on my voice mail about how sorry she was that I misunderstood her intentions.” Kate gave a brittle laugh. “No matter what happens, it’s never her fault. It’s always mine.”

“It isn’t. I heard part of the conversation. Her plans were clear.”

“They were. She intended to make sure she profited from Joe’s death.” Kate picked up her papers, straightening them. “That’s the way she’s lived her entire life. It’s always been about her and how she can benefit.” She looked at Rose, her gaze intent. “Do you remember our conversation about my grandmother’s influence in my life?”

Rose smiled slightly. “I do. You said that you didn’t want to be like her.”

“I don’t, and I’m not,” she insisted. “I’m not going to be that woman.” She reached across the table and clasped Rose’s hand. “I’ve learned a lot over the past few months. Working with the women at Essie’s House made me feel useful. It gave me a purpose and built my confidence. And so will these plans that I’ve made. By helping others, I can survive Joe’s death.”

After Rose left, Kate filed away her papers and turned off the laptop. It would be easier if she’d set up in Joe’s office, instead of dragging everything out all the time. But she wasn’t ready to face that yet; the office could wait along with their bedroom.

She heard Trudy moving around in the kitchen and went to check on her.

“Do you need anything?” Kate asked, leaning against the door frame.

“No,” Trudy replied in a curt voice. “I heard you and that Rose Clement talking.” She grabbed a knife and began hacking away at a head of lettuce. “I don’t like that woman in my house.” She whirled with the knife still in her hand. Her eyes filled with tears. “But I guess it’s not mine, it’s yours.”

Kate took a step forward, but Trudy turned back to chopping the lettuce.

She sighed. “Trudy, I’m sorry you feel that way. Rose has been good to me and she’s welcome here. I hope you’ll accept that.”

“Guess I’ll have to, won’t I?” she muttered. “I suppose I should just be grateful that you haven’t kicked me to the curb.”

“Trudy—” Kate began, then stopped herself.

This conversation was pointless. After the will was read and she had the farming operation straightened out, she was going to have to address the situation with Trudy. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t care if she lived in this house or not. Trudy could have it, but at this point, Kate wasn’t convinced she could stay on the farm by herself. Kate took a deep breath. One step at a time, she told herself.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” she called, leaving Trudy alone.

Once in the bedroom, Kate stared helplessly at the stacked boxes. Where did she start?
The air is stifling
 . . .

First, she thought, crossing the room, she’d open a window, but a hissing sound from behind her made her stop and turn. Topaz was standing stiff-legged in front of the boxes. Her ears were laid flat and her fur formed a ridge down her back.

“You silly cat,” Kate said, moving toward Topaz. She picked her up and tried to calm her. “Did you see a mouse?” she asked as she nudged the boxes with her foot.

The top box tumbled and once again photo albums and pictures spilled across the floor. The picture of Jacob and his family lay on top of the pile.

She placed Topaz on the floor and barely noticed as the cat took off out of the room and down the hallway.

“Funny,” she muttered to herself. “I could’ve sworn Doris put it back in the shoe box. The lid must’ve come off.”

She knelt, and after retrieving the smaller box, placed the photograph inside. This time she made sure the lid was on tightly. Kate placed the box to the side and went to open the window. Immediately, a cool autumn breeze filled the room, chasing away the stale air.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, Kate gazed around the room. Until the situation was resolved with Trudy, she’d make this her sanctuary. With a new coat of paint, new curtains, and a TV, this room would do nicely as her personal space.

She picked up the first album and, thumbing through it, tried to determine its age. From the way people were dressed, she assumed the pictures were from the 1930s. After placing it beside her, Kate went on to the next album and used the same process. She decided to separate them by decades, and as the piles grew, it became apparent that most of the albums covered the time period prior to the 1950s, with the majority from the 1940s. The deeper she dug in the box, the older the albums became, and in a way, Kate felt as if she were traveling back through time.

Finally, she reached the last one. As she hauled it out of the box, a piece of yellowed newsprint fluttered to the floor. She picked it up and carefully unfolded it. It was an old newspaper article that, from the date, came from the 1890s. Pleased with her find, Kate settled back and started to read:

The wife of Jacob Krause was arrested yesterday on the charge of stabbing her husband to death while he slept. The brutality of this heinous crime has rocked the small northern Iowa community of Dutton.

Small of stature and approximately thirty-five years of age, it is hard to believe that a woman of her size had the strength to drive a knife into the sleeping man. However, Braxton County Attorney Charles Walker is convinced Mrs. Krause is indeed responsible, alluding to years of strife in the Krause household as her motive.