Authors: Janis Harrison
Roots of Murder (9 page)
She was in the process of tucking the extra money into her bra. Her hand froze over her breast, and she gave me a wide-eyed stare. “Say, I bet that's why you're here in town. The Amish man's flowers.” She shook her head. “Too bad, honey. My Leray says he has that deal in the bag.”
I touched my bottom lip with the tip of my tongue, then worked at keeping my voice normal. “Leray?”
“Yeah, Leray Hodges. Why, cupcake, didn't I tell you about my honey? He's just a big old sweetie pie.”
I shook my head slowly. With all this talk of honey, cupcakes, and sweetie pie, I was going to need an insulin shot to combat the sugar rush. “Does he live around here?”
“Sure does. Lives at the edge of town for now. Later we plan on moving, just as soon as he makes that killingâ”
Her voice trailed off. “Lord almighty. Bad choice of words, what with that murder an' all.” She giggled. “If my sugar bear can get the widow to agree, we'll be living on easy street but in another town. All the roads in Woodgrove have potholes and dead ends.”
I came out of the café to find Leray's green van parked at the curb. I wasn't pleased to see him leaning against the rear of my car. He had one arm across his belly, the other elbow propped on it. He was picking his nose with his little finger.“A real sugar bear,” I muttered as I walked toward him. He'd traded his patched jeans for a pair of ill-fitted dress pants. The pleats in front were puffed out like the guy was glad to see me. He immediately let me know that wasn't the case.
He rubbed his little finger down the side of his leg, then nodded toward the café. “What were you doing in there?”
“It's lunchtime,” I said.
“Other places to eat. Try River City. I hear they have restaurants.”
“And I hear congratulations are in order. You're a busy man. Engaged to Bubbles. Engaged in all kinds of deals. Does Moth know you're working at cutting him out of Isaac's flowers?”
“Heard you'd been to see him. I ain't the only one who's been busy.”
I shrugged. “My day off. I get around. See people. Talk.”
Leray's eyes narrowed. “Cute. You think you're damned cute playing detective. Won't get you nothing but trouble.”
“From you?” I asked.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You're the one who's going to be in trouble if you're working both ends toward the middle. I'd hate to have Moth
and
Allison on my back.”
and
Allison on my back.”
“Whaddayou mean?”
I leaned against the door of my car. “Allison asked me to go in with her and the other florists. The plan is to offer the Miller family money for Isaac's flowers. But Moth says he had an agreement with Isaac. He seems confident that he has the rights to everything Isaac grew. Where does that leave you and the florists?”
Leray snorted. “Moth don't have squat. As for that Thorpe woman, she's more into organizing and running over people than she is the facts.”
“What facts?”
“That without me, none of them have diddly. I'm the one Isaac trusted. I'm the one the family will listen to.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Didn't look to me like they were ready to jump at the deal you were offering.”
“They'll understand,” he replied with a sly smile, “once they see the whole picture.”
“What is the whole picture?”
“Just you never mind. Isaac and me had some long talks. He was coming around to my way of thinking until last week.” Leray scowled. “Them Amish are damned funny. Dealing with them is like walking through a field of cotton candy in a rainstorm. One minute, you're walking on clouds. The next, you're up to your ass in goo.”
“What happened?”
“How the hell should I know?” Leray pushed off from my car. “Gotta go pick up my woman.” His round face split with a grin. “She's a fine thing. Fine thing. Got our evening all planned out. A little mood music, a grilled steak, a mess of parsnips, crusty French bread, a glass of wine, and who knows what'll happen?”
Parsnips? The king of romance.
I tuned him out. His blathering was bringing my headache back. Damn, my brain was acting strange. Cotton candy. I could see great mounds of it floating before my eyes. A conversation with Leray was like eating some of the stuff. On the surface it looks filling, but take a bite and it's only fluff.
He was talking about the parsnips, telling how his mother used to cook them. I interrupted him to say, “Flowers die without attention. Who's taking care of Isaac's?”
Leray stared at me. I didn't like the look in his eyes. I reached behind me and opened the door. “It isn't a secret,” I lied. “I see your plans slipping away. Too
many people are involved. You aren't alone in this. Not anymore.”
many people are involved. You aren't alone in this. Not anymore.”
He took a step toward me. I jumped in the car and locked the door.
“Listen to me,” he shouted. “Evan said he'd hear me out after Isaac's funeral. I have first say. Hear that? I have first say about Isaac's plants.”
As I left, Leray was glaring maliciously after me. I pressed icy fingers to my hot cheeks, trying to calm down. He was a man desperate to protect his interests. Exactly what they were, I hadn't a clue.
I left Woodgrove with my mind in a jumble and a lump on my head. Several questions had been answered, but another set had cropped up. I decided to drive by Evan's and see how many buggies were in the yard. I needed to talk to him. I wanted to make sure Sid hadn't done anything rash, like arresting Evan for Isaac's murder.
I'd seen the gleam in Sid's eyes. I'd heard the determination in his voice. Evan had messed in a murder investigationâSid's investigation. Sid is smart. Evan is naive. Sid might feed Evan too much rope, hoping the Amish man would hang himself. Evan, trying to cooperate, might unintentionally slip the noose over his head.
With a death in the family, I wasn't sure if Evan would attend church. I knew the services were held at a different Amish home each Sunday. A special wagon carried the wooden benches from house to house as the service moved around the district.
I slowed down as I approached Evan's home. It looked deserted, the doors shut. The buggy was gone from the shed. I coasted by Isaac's house and was surprised to see Evan sitting alone on the front porch. I applied the brakes, backed up, and pulled in.
Evan came slowly to his feet. He moved across the grass like an old man. His skin was sallow, his eyes haunted.
I got out of the car and stood quietly, waiting for Evan to look at me. When he did, I asked, “Can we talk?”
“Everyone's gone to church. I stayed with Rosalie and ⦠Isaac.” He drew a deep breath in through his nose but let it out through his mouth in a weary gust. “I have to stay close,” he explained bitterly. “The sheriff told me not to go anywhere.”
For the first time that day, I smiled with genuine amusement. “Evan, Sid didn't mean you couldn't move out of the yard. He just doesn't want you to hop on a plane and fly away.”
Evan ducked his head. “Yeah, but I figure I'd better toe his line.”
We walked to the porch and sat on the steps. “I guess Sid's been talking to you,” I said.
Evan's cheeks flushed above his beard. “Yesterday he took me into River City to his office. They didn't bring me home until after dark.”
The man was embarrassed. I was moved to touch him on the sleeve. “Sid has a job to do. He has to ask questions. I imagine he thought he'd get straight answers if
he took you away from these familiar surroundings.”
he took you away from these familiar surroundings.”
Evan hung his head. “It was mortifying to be carted off.” He glanced at me. “I didn't do anything wrong, Bretta. When I found Isaac in the field, I thought he'd slipped off the wagon and hit his head. There was a cut. Not much blood. It was only when I picked him up that I knew his neck was broken.”
He rubbed his work-roughened hands together. “Years ago, we had a colt that was as wild as a March wind. I was trying to herd him into the barn, but he went crazy and ran into a plank fence. I was fifty feet from him, but I heard the crack. He'd broken his neck.”
The rasp of Evan's hands rubbing back and forth sounded like sandpaper. He sighed softly. “It was the same with Isaac. When I picked him up, his head flopped just like that colt's.”
“That's why you didn't call an ambulance?”
“I didn't see what they could do. He was already cool. We take care of our own. We bathe them. We dress them. Until a few years ago, we didn't involve a funeral home at all.”
Evan lowered his eyes and shuddered. “I guess I didn't know what autopsy meant until I saw what they did to him. I dressed him. Only me. Rosalie wanted to be there, but once I sawâ” He gulped. “I took care of him. She won't ever know. Ever.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “I'm sorry, Evan. Sorry for all of this. I wish there was something I could do.”
“There is.”
“What?”
Evan's voice vibrated with emotion. “Find out who killed Isaac. Find out why all this is happening. I feel like my life isâ” He held out his hands helplessly. “The sheriff thinks I'm hiding something. The only thing I haven't told him is that Katie saw someone in the field with Isaac. I've talked to her, but she doesn't know who it was. She was in our garden. Isaac's field is up on the hill. Her eyesight is poor. She'll get glasses after I harvest the corn.”
“Maybe she's mistaken.”
Evan shook his head. “No. She's sure, and I believe her. Someone was with him. You find out who, Bretta, then maybe the sheriff will let us bury what's happened when we bury Isaac tomorrow.”
We were silent, each lost in thought. I gazed up at the maple trees that shaded the yard. The wind played hopscotch across their tops. Sometimes the leaves danced as a strong breeze touched them. Then the wind would die down, and a gentle puff of air would make them tremble flirtatiously.
I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and asked, “Who called the sheriff that night?”
“Margaret Jenkins. When we had Isaac ready for her, I went to Sam's to use his phone. While I was gone, Katie told Cleome of seeing someone with Isaac. When Cleome repeated the story to me, I was uneasy. But Isaac was dead. There wasn't anything we could do.”
“So, it was Margaret's decision to call in the sheriff?”
“I told her on the phone that we'd washed Isaac and had him ready for her. She was upset. I didn't understand
why. When she got to the house, she explained that when someone has been ill, what we did might be okay. But Isaac was strong, young, and healthy. The authorities had to be called in. She'd taken care of that before she left Woodgrove. They arrived right after she did.”
why. When she got to the house, she explained that when someone has been ill, what we did might be okay. But Isaac was strong, young, and healthy. The authorities had to be called in. She'd taken care of that before she left Woodgrove. They arrived right after she did.”
“Why didn't you tell me all this yesterday?”
Evan lifted one shoulder. “Don't know. I guess even then I thought it was a misunderstanding, or I hoped it was. The sheriff says murder. Isaac's neck was broken. He was struck down with a piece of pipe.”
“Pipe? What kind of pipe?”
“The sheriff didn't say, other than it was rusty. Flecks of rust were found in the wound on Isaac's head. The sheriff brought a paper that gave him the right to look through all my junk and in the barn, house, and sheds. It didn't matter to me. I gave him the paper back and told him he hadn't needed to type it up. He could look wherever he wanted.”
“Search warrant,” I murmured. “I guess he didn't find anything?”
Evan studied me. “There wasn't anything to find.”
“I know, Evan. But whoever killed Isaac could have planted”âseeing his puzzlement, I amendedâ“could have hidden the murder weapon on your place to put the blame on you.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“Why would anyone kill Isaac?” I countered. This was the opening I needed. “Unless it had to do with Isaac's work. What's he been doing?”
“Growing flowers. Planning a new greenhouse. Studying his books.”
“Books?” I murmured. There it was. “When we talked yesterday, you said Isaac had things on his mind. Have you given any thought as to what they might be?”
“Too many things on
my
mind to think about Isaac's thoughts.”
my
mind to think about Isaac's thoughts.”
“Could I see these books? Maybe they'd give me an idea.”
“You could, except Rosalie sent them with Cleome to drop off at the library.”
“What kind of books did Isaac check out?”
“About plants, growing, fertilizers, propagation.” His tongue stumbled over the last word. “We always called it taking slips.”
“Propagation? What was he propagating?”
“Some old plants that've been around for years. Rosalie knows. Sometime you'll have to get her to tell you.”
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