CHAPTER TWO

WITHOUT THINKING, I yelled, "Granger, put the gun down!"

He swung partway toward me, gun still pointed in front of him. I ducked.

He turned back to Ambrose, his every word a bullet. "What the hell did you do, you bastard?"

When Granger's voice broke, it reinforced that a grief-stricken cop with a gun could be really dangerous.

I stood. "Aaron."

I'd rarely, if ever, used his first name, and he looked at me. I wasn't sure what shock looked like on a tall, muscled cop, but I thought I read it in his gray eyes.

"Your uncle called and asked us to meet him here."

Ambrose, still on the floor, raised his hands to shoulder height, to show he meant no threat to anyone. His right hand still held the knife. "I just got here. I found him."

My brother looked at Frost and back at Granger, tears now on Ambrose's cheeks. "I…it was automatic. I pulled the knife out. Maybe I shouldn't have. But…" He looked at the few drops of blood dripping on his shoulder and then at me.

I'd never seen an expression of helplessness on my big brother's face.

More softly than before, I said, "Aaron. I'm sorry about your uncle. Did you check for a pulse?"

Granger holstered his gun and spoke to Ambrose as he knelt. "Don't move, Perkins." He extended a hand to Peter Frost's neck.

The man had to be dead. No one could be that extraordinarily pale and have much blood in him. But where was all the blood?

Granger stood again and addressed Ambrose. "Put the knife down, and stand up slowly."

Ambrose did as instructed.

"Should I call an ambulance?" I asked.

Every bit of Granger's posture and movements said fury, but his grief and anger were morphing into professional deputy behavior. "I'll call." He motioned that Ambrose should stand near me.

He pulled from his belt an oversized mobile phone, which I recognized as some sort of law enforcement radio. "Need the coroner at the old Perkins' place." He paused, listening. "My Uncle Peter."

 

SHERIFF GALLAGHER stood to one side of the barn talking to Granger. Staff from the medical examiner's office and two firefighters loaded the body into the ME's van. In South County, the van usually transports people who die unexpectedly at home so the ME can determine cause of death.

Frost's was the second murder this year. Not good.

I used peripheral vision to glance at Ambrose. He's a lot taller than I am, almost six feet. His general demeanor is one of self-confidence, but even the tan he has from working in his fields didn't hide a pinched expression and decided pallor. I wondered if I looked as stressed.

Only a few cars had driven by, most of them other farmers. They waved at Ambrose or me. Until the official-looking van pulled in, they probably thought someone had broken into the barn. Not worth the time to stop if a farmer had work to do.

Now that the ME's van graced the property, a sheriff's deputy stood by the driveway entrance and motioned that cars should keep moving. Of course, each stopped to ask what was going on, which meant that word of Frost's death would be all over town in no time.

Gallagher clasped Granger briefly on the shoulder. He walked to Ambrose and me. "Melanie, Ambrose."

"Sheriff," we each said.

"I'll want to talk to you more at the office. Deputy Granger said you had a call from Frost saying to meet you here. Kind of odd, don't you think?"

I almost whispered, "The more I think about it, I'm not sure Frost was the person on the phone."

"What?" Ambrose asked.

"What do you mean?" Gallagher's tone was sharp.

"I heard a lot of noise on the line and…" I held up my phone. "It says caller unknown on my Caller ID."

I extended the phone, which showed the call, and handed it to Gallagher. "I know you can't tell for sure from this, but when you check the phone records and time, it'll help you see that."

He looked up from my phone. "I have your permission to get your records?"

I nodded, and Ambrose said, "Mine, too, of course." He looked at me. "There was static, but phone service out here is so spotty, I thought it was just static."

"Me, too." I hesitated. "Plus, it sounded different than regular static. Not as crackly."

"Crackly," Gallagher said. "Not a very specific description."

I frowned. "Kind of sounded like paper being crushed into a ball."

"You know," Ambrose said, "it kind of did."

Gallagher looked at us over his sunglasses, I thought sarcastically.

I pointed a finger at the sheriff. "I left a message for Ken Brownberg, asking him to meet us here. He didn't want us talking to Mr. Frost without him."

"So why did you?"

Ambrose gave more details on his call from Frost.

I nodded. "My call was almost word for word. I figured he wanted to up his lowball price just a bit, so the hearing didn't take place next week. But I can't say for sure Frost was on the phone. I wanted…anything that would make all the ugliness end."

"You know him well?" Gallagher asked.

Ambrose shrugged. "He bought his farm about, when?" He looked at me. "Eight, ten years ago? I was already at Iowa State."

"About then." I hesitated again. "To be honest, Mom and Dad never liked him much. He left his dog tied up outside even when it was super cold."

Gallagher nodded. "I'm the one who told him he had to get a dog house and put it so the wind would stay off the critter." He looked toward my truck. "Your mutt in there?"

I smiled for a second. "Worn out from chasing squirrels. She's home."

"Good. I didn't want him mucking up the crime scene." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know it's a girl."

I had adopted Mister Tibbs not long after finding her in Syl's barn. Half the town knew her prior owner, now deceased, had named her Mister Tibbs because the woman had originally picked a boy from a litter. When the dogs were old enough to be adopted, someone else had taken the boy. The name stuck, even though Mister Tibbs was a girl puppy.

"I want you to ride back to town with me so we don't move your vehicles. I don't plan to impound them unless something jumps out at me, but if it's all right I may keep them overnight." He looked from Ambrose to me. "Assume it's okay if I look through them. Or maybe you want to talk to Brownberg first."

"I'm good," Ambrose said, and I nodded.

I didn't really like the idea. If someone had been trying to cast suspicion on either one of us, maybe they planted something.

Don't be so suspicious. Framing us didn't seem likely. Ambrose lived almost 180 miles away, and I'd been with my truck most of the day. Still, Ken wouldn't like us giving permission so blithely.

Gallagher turned to walk back to Granger. A vehicle honked from down the road, and the dust cloud turned out to be our lawyer's car.

"Speak of the devil," Ambrose said.

"I prefer to think of him as an ally," I said, dryly. "I called his office again when Gallagher talked to you."

Ken slammed the door of his black Lincoln and strode toward us. "I told you never to talk to Peter Frost without me!"

"You didn't get Mel's message?" Ambrose asked.

"Only just. I was driving down from Des Moines."

"And we didn't actually talk to him," I said.

"Not the point," he snapped and walked toward Gallagher.

I studied his back, always ramrod straight. He's maybe forty-five, and my parents' will designated him as the lawyer to manage their estate. He's always been an avuncular advisor. Now he seemed to be an annoyed attorney.

Ambrose turned to face me. "Anything you need to tell me?"

"Nope. I haven't seen Frost in maybe two months and then just at Hy-Vee, on the other side of the store. We never speak."

"I haven't talked to him since Mom and Dad's funeral. Or seen him, for that matter."

"You need to call Sharon?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'll do it from Gallagher's office and let him hear the conversation."

My sister-in-law is pretty unflappable. Still, hearing that Ambrose pulled a knife from a dead person, especially someone we all hated, from anyone other than Ambrose would likely upset her.

"Are we being too helpful?" I generally trusted Gallagher, but he definitely had to treat us as suspects, at least for a time. Hopefully a brief time.

"I dunno. We didn't do anything wrong."

"Gee, nobody ever gets accused of a crime they didn't commit."

Ambrose's raised eyebrows and frown were clear signs of irritation. "As soon as they figure out when the bastard died, they'll know we didn't do it."

"Maybe you, because you were on the road. And definitely don't call him a bastard when we're talking to Gallagher."

Ambrose grunted, almost half a laugh. "Weren't you in town?"

"Sure, but you watch detective shows. Somebody could say I had time to come out here and be back to my place for lunch."

Ken Brownberg spoke from just a few feet away and stopped in front of us. "Yes, they could. What in the hell made you two say Gallagher could look in your vehicles?"

"We didn't do…" Ambrose began.

"I know all about innocent until proven guilty," Brownberg said. "But until you can prove you are innocent, it doesn't count for much in the court of public opinion. Or in the sheriff's office."

"Jeez, Ken," Ambrose said.

"What do you want us to do?" I asked.

"If we tell him now that he can't look, it could seem that you're hiding something." He turned to walk to his car. "I have to stop by the office. I'll meet you at the law enforcement building."

Ambrose looked at me. "Probably not a good thing to piss off our lawyer."

 

AN HOUR LATER we had finished talking to Gallagher and Deputy Harmon. Newt had looked as nervous as a cat being stalked by a coyote.

I figured he probably hadn't worked on a murder investigation. Granger usually handled what would be called detective work in a larger department.

As Ambrose and I stood to leave, I asked, "When can we go back to the farm?"

Before the sheriff replied, Brownberg asked, "Why would you want to?"

"I check the place every week. I wonder if we should put some kind of security camera up or something. Probably be gawkers."

"Hadn't thought about that," Ambrose murmured.

Sheriff Gallagher stared at me. "I'll call you in a day or so. Soon as we're finished." He pointed a finger at me. "And we means me, Melanie. Keep your nose out of this."

"Yes sir."

The three of us left together, Ambrose and I to walk to my place.

Brownberg turned to me as he moved toward his car. "Don't answer any more questions without me, Melanie."

I started to protest, but he continued. "I'm not a criminal lawyer, you know that. If there is much beyond today, I'll give you two a recommendation." He walked away.

Ambrose and I watched him get into his car and then looked at each other.

I rubbed both temples briefly. "I don't get why he's so mad."

Ambrose turned in the direction of my apartment. "Bet he's mad at his office, too. They should've sent someone after you left that message for him."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

Before I could say more, the red Ford Focus that is the South County News staff car sped toward us. Its brakes squealed before Ryan threw it into park.

Sandi jumped out of the passenger side, her face almost as red as her hair, which frizzed because of the humidity. "What the hell, Mel? Why didn't you call us?"

"I figured you'd have been at the farm before we left."

"And the sheriff has our phones," Ambrose added. He eyed the car. "Is that yours?"

"We were over in Fairhaven. Somebody at Blackner's office told us about Hal's book."

I grinned. "You wanted to eat lunch at that soup and salad place."

"Sandi did." Ryan's deep blue eyes gave Ambrose an appraising look. "You need to borrow a car?"

"Since the sheriff has Mel's truck, it would save Sharon a trip to get me."

A town the size of River's Edge doesn't have a regular car rental place, though the Ford dealer will lend one if you're getting a repair. I didn't care about that now. "Let's go to my place. I'd rather talk there."

"Why does the sheriff have your cars?" Ryan asked.

"Can we explain at my place?" I asked.

"Good," Sandi said.

"I'll walk over to the paper and get mine for you," Ryan said. "Meet you there."

I watched his long legs stride toward the paper, which is housed in a one-story building just off the River's Edge town square.

At twenty-one, Ryan was savvy. He figured if he lent Ambrose his car for a day or so, Ambrose would talk to him anytime.

Ambrose got into the front seat of the Focus, and I rode in the back. I hid a smile as he tapped his fingers lightly on the door's armrest. He likes to be in the driver's seat.

Sandi's spoke in a clipped tone. "I can't believe Sheriff Gallagher didn't give you a ride."

"It's not like we're from out of town," Ambrose said.

"Except you are," she pointed out.

"Those are some well-honed reporting skills," I said. "You probably have some questions for Ambrose."

Ambrose chuckled, and his broad shoulders relaxed a bit.

"Same old Melanie." Sandi didn't smile. "Are you guys okay?"

"This time I didn't find the body," I said.

Ambrose turned toward the back seat. "Not funny. Even if it was Peter Frost."

"I know. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Ambrose faced front again and glanced at his fingernails. Sheriff Gallagher's secretary, Sophie, had given him some special solution to get the blood off his hands.

"Ryan will kill me if I ask you a lot of questions before he's with us, but can you give me the gist?"

I gave her a thirty-second summary.

"That's so…weird."

I leaned forward. "The big question is who lured him there?"

"Lured?" Sandi asked.

Ambrose stared ahead. "Not our business."

"Did you notice the barn floor?" I asked.

"I squatted on it, remember?"

I softened my tone. "I know. I meant the dirt was flattened. Like there'd been heavy boxes on it. It should have had, I don't know, animal tracks, or a bunch of grass and brush that blew in."

Sandi said nothing, letting Ambrose process my question. When he didn't respond, she asked, "The barn has doors, right?"

"Yes. But old ones, and they're not air-tight." Ambrose turned his head to look at me. "I thought about that. It should've smelled like bird droppings, too. Wondered if Frost had stored stuff in there."

"Huh. I didn't think about that. Seems somebody would have seen him."

"Or seen anybody who shouldn't have been there," Sandi said.

"You can get in the back barn door directly from the cornfield," Ambrose reminded me.

Sandi turned into the driveway of Mrs. Keyser's house and we got out. I had hoped to get to the outside stairs on the side of the house that led to my apartment before my landlord spotted us. However, the sharp-eyed woman never misses anything.

The front door opened, and Mrs. Keyser came onto the porch. She's in her mid to late seventies and dresses on the least formal side of casual. She had on one of her brightly colored house dresses, this one with a rainbow, half on one side of the front snaps, half on the other.

"Melanie. What happened to poor Peter Frost?"

Under my breath, I said, "I knew she would've heard already."

Ambrose answered. "We sure don't know, ma'am. Very sad."

"I'll bet you'll hear something at the beauty shop," Sandi added.

"Good one," I whispered, then said. "Mr. Frost had already died when we got to our farm. We really don't know anything else."

We had continued to walk toward the back of this house and were almost out of Mrs. Keyser's line of vision. Unless she followed us. This could be a juicy enough story for her to do that.

"I have to walk Mister Tibbs later. I'll look for you."

She waved and walked back inside.

"You will?" Sandi asked.

"She says Mister Tibbs scares her cat. She won't talk long."

 

I HAD JUST taken a potty break and poured four glasses of iced tea when Ryan came tromping up the stairs. I let him in, and he glanced around quickly.

My two-bedroom apartment has a sloped roof. At about six feet tall, Ryan has to be careful where he stands.

He accepted the tea and downed it in one gulp. "Hot out there."

"It is. I'm brewing more. You can get yourself some ice water if you want something now."

He and I joined Sandi and Ambrose at my round kitchen table. It sits on the far side of the kitchen, which has windows on two sides. I just finished painting the window sills bright white. Before I sat, I lowered the beige window shades.

Mister Tibbs yipped from under the table, where she sat on Sandi's manicured toes. I wagged a finger at my pint-sized mutt. "Shhh."

Ryan pulled out a thin notebook. "So, where do we start?"

Ambrose frowned. "Whoa, Ryan. I know you have a story to write, but nobody's investigating anything here. That just gets Mel in trouble."

Sandi spoke before I did. "He just means start at the beginning, so we get the story right."

Ryan is definitely the more intense of my two former colleagues, partly because he's young and more because he wants to get noticed by a larger paper. While he would want to find facts himself, he also knew not to say that to Ambrose.

"Okay, I'll start." I outlined the phone call we had each received and how Ambrose had found Peter Frost just before Granger, and then I got to the barn.

"I just didn't think," Ambrose added. "I saw the knife in him…"

"Where?" Sandi asked.

Ambrose said, "In the barn."

It wasn't funny, but Sandi, Ryan, and I laughed.

Ambrose looked confused for a moment, then his expression cleared. "Oh. Kind of in his shoulder."

"Did it look as if he'd been in a fight? Black eye or anything?"z Ryan asked.

As Ambrose relayed the lack of bruising or cuts, Sandi's mobile rang. She stood and walked to the living room. From the conversation, I could tell the caller was the South County News's temporary editor, Scott Holmes.

My chair faced Sandi as she stood in the kitchen doorway, speaking quietly. "Yes. We're interviewing Mel and her brother at her place." She stiffened and nodded. "Good point. Be there in a few."

Ryan and Ambrose looked at her as she came back to the table. She didn't sit. "Scott says that if we seem to be having a cozy chat, our reporting could seem biased."

Scott Holmes came to River's Edge as a favor to the chair of the newspaper's advisory board, Doc Shelton. Hal had been the sole owner, so the chain of command was not clear when he died.

No one except the staff and the board members knew the board's creation had been almost an apology for Hal's bombastic style. He took little advice. However, since no one had fought over the paper's assets, the district court judge dealing with Hal's estate allowed the board to make decisions and oversee finances, until the paper was sold in the probate process.

Doc Shelton, who has treated half the town at one time or another, is liked by everyone who meets him. He knew Holmes from the state Lions Club group, and Holmes had just retired as an assistant editor of an Iowa City paper.

Our temporary editor definitely had strong ideas about professionalism and avoiding the appearance of any conflict of interest. Very different from Hal, who often made a point by aiming a stapler at his staff.

Ambrose grinned and looked at Ryan. "Wait'll he hears you're lending me your car for a day or two."

"He'll be okay with that," Ryan said, and nodded to Ambrose. "It's not like you could hitch a ride to Dubuque on a hog truck."

Sandi picked up her purse. "We probably need to talk to the police more before we finish up with you guys." She grinned. "Plus, it'll give you two a better idea of what's going on."

Ryan stood. "One more question now. Why was Granger heading there?"

Ambrose and I just looked at each other. I suppose it was the shock of finding Peter Frost, but neither of us had thought to ask.