Preserving the Evidence Read online

  Tiny was on her feet instantly, ready to follow me. If there was one human word she recognized it was ‘food.’

  For once though, Jonah stayed where he was. He didn’t always comply when I issued orders but I could see his exhaustion was really catching up. His building company always had a lot of projects he had to juggle, and on top of that, lately, all his spare time had been spent helping me get this house renovated and the overgrown yards into some kind of working order.

  I was thrilled by my new vegetable gardens and the work we’d put in to breathe new life into the fruit orchards—to say nothing of my simply stunning state-of-the-art kitchen and luxurious bathrooms.

  The calves that had kept him awake last night were part of his hobby farm, and had nothing to do with me, but suddenly I felt the weight of guilt that he hadn’t had much downtime lately. I’d have to make sure he got more of that.

  AFTER PROMISING TO call it quits early, Jonah left and I cleaned up, and after ensuring Tiny had enough water and food, I made my way to Brenda Kinnead’s place, on a big parcel of land on the edge of town. Not acreage, but enough space for a small orchard, trained berry vines and thriving vegetable gardens. Most of which she used for the produce for her market stall. Her husband was Frank Kinnead, the Sheriff who had his office right here in Airlie Falls. We’d gotten to know each other when he’d suspected me of murder earlier in the year.

  At the time, Brenda had become quite famous for her jams and preserves, and demand was high, but all the work was taking its toll and when I’d been cleared of the murder I offered to help her out.

  However, as I traveled to help Brenda that morning my mind wasn’t solely on the wonders we might create. Electoral placards were dotted around town and as yet another smiling image of Clay whizzed by my side window I felt another jerk of concern spear through me. All the times in the past weeks that I’d driven past all the campaign signs reminding people to vote for Clay I’d barely registered them. Clay was mayor and he would stay mayor. Who could do a better job? No other candidates had thrown their hats into the ring; it was, as apparently it had been for years, a one-horse race.

  Until now.

  Less than a week until the election someone had joined the race. It was ludicrous really. Did this guy actually expect to win? The election was timed to coincide with the market weekend because farm and ranch folk would be in town. What could you do in a week to change the thinking of a whole town?

  My thoughts slowed. What could you do, indeed? Especially with a dead body to distract and confuse the issue.

  I wasn’t sure how reflecting on the election challenge had so smoothly taken me back to the conversation about the mysterious body but barely noticing the shift, it was what now took center stage.

  My own words at the time drifted back. I’d marveled at the juxtaposition of two random — yet significant—events in our peaceful little town. I’d even made a joke about it but now, in the quiet of the car and with more clarity, it suddenly seemed that maybe the two incidents weren’t as random as I’d first imagined.

  When I added the puzzling facts surrounding the discovery of the body, that triggered an uncomfortably familiar churning in my stomach I hoped I was having a drama queen moment.

  Because surely the other scenario flitting around in my head couldn’t be true, could it? The scenario that was whispering crazy suggestions. Like, that maybe there was nothing random about the discovery of the body; that the timing was deliberate.

  And to consider that meant there was nothing accidental about

  that man’s death…

  2

  BRENDA GREETED ME WITH a hug and despite my worries I was already smiling, ready to be thrilled at how much healthier she looked than she had a few months back. Lately I’d noticed the strain was gone from her face and she wore her grandmotherly extra pounds with pride. But today my smile died when I took in her high color and the grim set of her mouth.

  “Rosie Hart. Thank you for coming, darlin’. If ever I needed cheering up it’s today.”

  I guided her to a chair. “Miss Brenda! What’s wrong? Are you unwell? Should I call the doctor? Call Frank?” I paused. “Are you upset about that body? I know it’s shocking but…”

  Setting aside the television remote she waved me away. “It’s nothing like that. I’m not sick and it’s not that body they’ve found that’s upsettin’ me. That’s Frank’s worry, not mine. No, this is just plain temper.” My confusion grew until she handed me the piece of paper that had been sitting on the table before her. “This was poked into our mailbox sometime last night. Apparently they’re all over town.”

  Had we gotten one? I hadn’t checked. Frowning I read the single page, my blood running colder with each word. Closing my eyes proved to be a futile attempt as I tried to block out the thoughts racing through my head. Thoughts that were eerily aligned with those I’d had in the car coming over here. “Oh, Brenda… I hope I’m wrong but I’ve got a gut-deep feeling this isn’t going to end well.”

  When I again opened them she was watching me. Her gaze solemn. “I hope you’re wrong, Rosie, but I fear you’re not.”

  Frustration burned. “How can Clausen even say these things? Isn’t this libel?”

  Her sigh filled the room. “Not according to Hank Henderson. I called him first thing. He’d gotten one as well and he was as hot under the collar as I am. He’s gone over it carefully but because it doesn’t mention Clay by name, it’s impossible to prove that all this nonsense is actually about Clay.”

  “Well, Hank’s the lawyer and obviously I’m not,” I said as I slowly reread the page, “but as I go back over it, even I can see he’s right. It’s very general—and yet it’s not. The questions it poses have a nasty edge but it could be argued they’re just hypothesizing.” I squinted and then picked out an example. “Like, what if you had a mayor who didn’t let anyone, including close relatives, involve themselves where they have no right? And, what if you had a mayor who didn’t have conflicting business interests in town that might tempt his or her decisions against what’s best for the town?”

  I was so livid at this point I honestly felt I’d explode. This was plain cruel and so, so wrong. “Obviously the first example I read refers to Fiona,” I continued, barely able to get words through my clenched teeth. “And the second refers to Clay’s dental practice and their B&B. Both of which also benefit the community. Sure the B&B is their business, but they charge the minimum and the focus has always been promoting the community. Like, offering out-of-towners a place to stay when they come for the markets!”

  Brenda’s color wasn’t abating. “I know! And I can tell you this: Frederick Clausen better hope he never runs into me around town or I’ll be giving him a piece of my mind! And I won’t hold back!”

  I agreed heartily. “Does this man even have a clue how hard that couple work for this town? They give and give! Their home is always open, they organize help for whoever needs it, they volunteer for everything—all they do is work for the people of Airlie Falls.”

  “You’re preachin’ to the choir, honey,” Brenda interrupted. “Don’t forget I’ve grown up with Clay and Fiona. And everything you’re saying is correct. We’ve never had it so good since Clay took over and Fiona directed the markets to the success they are today. We’ve got a good strong community And mostly due to Clay and Fiona—they got us moving in the right direction.”

  Her words died away as the screen door banged to a close and Sheriff Frank Kinnead stomped in through the mudroom, his face lined and his eyes shadowed. He kissed his wife and

  nodded to me as he slung his hat on the hook just inside the door. Indicating the offending advertisement I was still holding he said, “I take it you’ve read that? Bad business. Just plain bad business.”

  Brenda drummed her fingers on the wooden surface of the scrubbed kitchen table. “It’s plain disgusting is what it is.”

  “Can’t you do something?” I asked, desperation tingeing my words.

&
nbsp; He shrugged. “What do you want me to do, Rosie? There’s no crime in advertising—unless it’s false advertising. I can’t arrest a man for asking a whole lot of questions—no matter how much I want to,” he ended on a mutter.

  “Have you seen Clay?” I asked.

  “No, but I swear I’ve seen or spoken to every other resident of Airlie Falls. There was a line-up at the station. People are outraged and baying for blood—and there’s nothing I can do because there’s been no crime committed. Now, if upsetting people was a crime, I’d have him dead to rights—but it isn’t.” He sighed. “I just swung by for a snack and to check on how Brenda here was coping with the news. And I may as well tell y’all there’s a town meeting tonight. Not sure what good it will do, but it’s been called by ‘concerned citizens.’ Seven o’clock in the church hall.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, I’ll be there.”

  “And nothing will stop me either,” Brenda said, rising from her chair to give her husband a hug. He responded with a kiss to the top of her head before turning to raid the icebox.

  Watching his back, I also wanted to quiz him on the discovery of the body, but I figured he looked stressed enough and my questions might not go down well. Just as well, because his food foray was brief, and waving a chicken leg, he made his goodbyes.

  Concern wreathed Brenda’s face; it couldn’t be easy watching your husband carry the troubles of a town on his shoulders. When he returned for one last kiss, she pushed that worry away, instead offering a beaming smile that I knew must be costing her deeply. “Hey, honey,” she said softly, “at least one thing went right today. There’s nothing wrong with our TV; just needed reprogramming. Got it done this morning.”

  His face lit up. “Yeah? This morning? Now who do we know who’s smart enough to do that?” he joked.

  “You’d be surprised,” she answered. “I surely was. And all it cost was a bottle or two of preserves.”

  Frank Kinnead left the building with a smile and a jauntier step than when he’d arrived.

  “He loves his television,” Brenda explained, eyes on the closed kitchen door as though she could still see him making his way to his truck. “Not that he gets a lot of free time, but when he does, it’s TV and gardening that help him balance all that police stuff. We don’t know a lot about these new-fangled electronics and we thought the TV had up and died. Thankfully that wasn’t so.”

  She fell silent and her eyes pooled with unshed tears that she rapidly swiped away.

  Taking that as a cue to move along, I pasted on a smile, patted her on the back and said, “Okay, Miz Brenda, this isn’t getting our work done. So, what’s on today?”

  She sighed, only the merest thickness in her voice when she said, “Probably the last of the blackberries. Frank said the bushes are almost picked over, but he still got about four gallons over the last couple of days.”

  My heart did a happy dance. Despite everything happening, excitement still managed to find a way in. It had been a dream of mine since teenage years to be able to grow food and then create from that harvest. Working with Brenda had been a joy and a brilliant education. “Jam?”

  She nodded. “Just plain blackberry this time. We’ve got enough preserves, and enough blackberry and apple jam and also spiced blackberry and apple jam, so I’m thinking also of maybe a Brandy Blackberry Nip. I’ve got the bottles all ready. They’ll make great holiday gifts. And they should be ready in perfect time for our fall and Christmas markets. You’re so good at making the packaging pop, Rosie, and I can’t wait to see what you’d do to tizz them up for the holiday gift-buyers!”

  I grinned. What an fun challenge.

  “It’s my grandmother’s recipe,” she continued on a cheeky smile, and as I watched her, I saw the tension melting away. It wouldn’t work for everyone, but for people like Brenda and I, creating in the kitchen was a surefire way to kill pent-up anxiety. Her cheeks glowed pink and her eyes sparkled like those of a mischievous child. “I have to admit I like a little nip of that nip in the colder months. Warms me right to my toes!”

  We both laughed. Okay, now I couldn’t wait to taste it myself, especially if it made me glow as Brenda just had.

  “And… it depends on how many berries we have but I have another idea…” The sparkle was still in her eyes. I’d been encouraging her to experiment a bit and each week now, she was adding to her selection and it was really working. “I’d like to try a sauce recipe I found. It’s a blackberry and port sauce and it’s for serving with meat. I believe it’s delicious with pork, but I think it would be amazing with any hot meat. Even if we just make a couple of experimental bottles today…”

  I clapped my hands. “Sounds delicious. And how good would it be with the Christmas ham? Oh—and Thanksgiving turkey!”

  Brenda’s eyes widened. “Of course! And that means it would be great with just plain old chicken!”

  Laughing, I set to work, cleaning and snipping stems while Brenda prepared the pans and gathered ingredients. Like mine, her kitchen was big. Unlike mine, Brenda’s was cluttered with jam and preserve-making paraphernalia—and in need of a makeover. Yet, despite the lines of jars and lids, the piles of labels, the pots, pans and slotted spoons, the place was spotless. Though I didn’t envy the job she had each day to keep it that way. Constantly moving all this stuff must be a nightmare.

  Workwise, it wasn’t a big day and the last task was the sauce and we both attacked that, dicing the green onions and mincing the fresh thyme leaves. By the time we were finished, the kitchen smelled heavenly and my mouth was watering. We’d had a quick sandwich earlier and watching Brenda lower herself heavily onto a kitchen chair, I felt justified that we’d earned a sweet treat. I unpacked my basket, leaving the peach pie intact for Brenda and Frank to share, and sliced the raspberry jam and meringue-topped chocolate cake.

  Moments later, Brenda’s groan was one of pure delight. “You know, darlin’, even if I didn’t need help, I think I’d pretend to need you just so I got to experience your sweet treats. This is pure heaven.”

  I smiled my thanks. “Delvene has asked me to provide some of my desserts for the Bluebonnet Café. Do you think this one would go down well?”

  Reaching for another slice, she nodded vigorously. “Oh boy! I can see that girl’s profits soarin’!”

  I was still smiling as I headed out to my car. We always traded product and as I packed the jars and bottles into a box in the trunk, my mind was already buzzing with what I could create. Individual blackberry pies, muffins with cream cheese and cobbler cupcakes, and then some based on that jam and meringue idea. That was just the beginning. I’d edit and add later.

  MIDGE HITCHED A RIDE to the town meeting with Jonah and me. She’d learned nothing new about the discovered body. Still no identification and still no firm theories on where he’d come from or what he was doing out there, almost in the middle of nowhere. But right then, it was this election business we were focused on and all three of us were on edge. For Midge, this was business; she’d have to report everything that happened. For Jonah and me, it was personal.

  It seemed everybody in town who could be here was present and not surprisingly Jonah and I became separated as different people paused to catch up or greet us.

  After one encounter I remembered my phone was on, and called that I’d catch up inside after shutting it down for the meeting. The others moved forward on a wave. It was weird to be caught in such a crowd one moment and completely alone the next.

  However, if I hadn’t been alone I probably would have missed the strange activity on the far side of the church yard. A woman in a plain-styled print dress seemed to be being hustled into a large car against her will. I stepped closer, ready to intervene; to help—close enough to see the despair on the woman’s face. It was a face free of makeup and her hair was pulled back severely—and she was staring straight at me.

  Confused I hurried toward the scene. Was this woman seeking my help? Did she want me to do something?

 
I was more than halfway to them when another woman, one who was well dressed and made-up, caught the direction of the other’s gaze and turned to me. She held up a hand to stop me coming closer. “Please—this is a family matter. We don’t need assistance and would appreciate privacy.”

  Still confused I faltered. The well-dressed woman seemed so rational… So rational I felt I should honor her request. And yet? I tried to peer into the car but the door was now closed and the smoky windows prevented me from seeing clearly.

  What to do? The woman would call out if she really needed help, wouldn’t she? The front car doors were still open. I’d hear her pleas. Or screams.

  But despite straining to hear even the slightest noise—which didn’t come—and considering I was often in trouble for poking my nose where it wasn’t wanted, I figured I should clamp down my imagination and just let it go.

  But I’d be watching out for any other strange behavior that might support my concerns.

  Behind me the chatter indicated more people arriving for the meeting and a prick of guilt pushed at me to get inside. My first duty tonight was to support Clay and Fiona, and that was where I should be. But I wouldn’t forget this…

  Inside I waved to Brenda and my friends, the Fab Four, from the retirement village. The latter waved me over, their faces animated and sparkling despite their combined age of close to three hundred and sixty years.

  “Did you hear about the body?” Lori Sue—their self-appointed leader and Jonah’s great-aunt whispered, though I’m sure any passing astronauts probably heard her in space. “We thought of you immediately!”