AT DUSK FRIDAY EVENING, I stood beside the huge garden Mrs. Keyser lets me plant in her back yard and watched Mister Tibbs sniff around the door to the shed where I keep my tools. Rabbits congregate in that spot because I throw half-dead plant stuff there so they'll eat less of the garden. Mister Tibbs gets frustrated at not finding bunnies where the scent is so strong.
It didn't seem likely that Ambrose would be charged with killing Peter Frost. I certainly didn't know much about how to assess when a person died. However, because Frost's head was its usual shape, rather than having drawn skin as it might have had after a day or so, it seemed likely he had died while Ambrose drove down from Dubuque.
Of course, I didn't know much about forensic science. Frost's paleness could have indicated that he had died a while ago. On the other hand, nothing smelled rancid.
I was more concerned about what had enticed him to come to our barn. After the Donovans told me they had seen his car by the house a couple of times, I talked to the county attorney, and he had told Frost to stay off our property.
If Frost saw a person in distress he might have pulled into the drive, but someone else should have seen something, too. County Road 270 had little traffic, and that meant residents noticed something unusual. Apparently, no one had.
I stooped to pull a few weeds around the tomato plants but quickly stood up. I hadn't seen Peter Frost's car or pick-up at our barn. He could have walked over, of course, but on a warm day few people would walk the quarter-mile between his house and ours. I'd have to ask Sheriff Gallagher about Frost's car.
Mister Tibbs trotted over to deposit a short, thick stick at my feet. I picked it up and stopped mid-throw. The cylindrical shape reminded me of a roman candle. Could Frost have seen someone shooting off fireworks?
Mister Tibbs yipped, and I threw the stick as far as I could. She took off after it. In the early twilight of the late June evening, it took her several seconds to find it.
Briefly I thought about calling the sheriff to tell him about someone using the area near the house for the Fourth of July version of target practice. Surely Newt Harmon would have mentioned that.
Since personal use of fireworks other than sparklers and such is banned in Iowa, people tend to vary their lawbreaking locations. Since our house and barn were vacant, though, maybe not.
I put the thought aside. Frost was killed with a knife, not a projectile.
After pulling a few more weeds, I whistled to Mister Tibbs. She tilted her head, clearly not happy to see her leash in my hand. She let me attach it and followed meekly toward the front of the house.
She balked at going up the steps that led to the first-floor door Mrs. Keyser used to enter her house. In an unfortunate incident not long after Mrs. Keyser acquired her cat, Mister Tibbs had ended up with a deep scratch on her nose.
"Sissy." She cocked her head, and I tied the leash loosely around the bottom of the banister. The front of the house was closer to the street, so I didn't want her darting after a bird or squirrel.
Before I could walk up the steps, Mrs. Keyser opened her door and gestured to two white plastic chairs. "Why don't we sit out here, dear?"
"Sure." I glanced at Mister Tibbs. "Sit."
She obliged, panting slightly.
As I sat down next to her, Mrs. Keyser asked, "What more have you heard?"
I shook my head. "Not a thing. I'm not even sure where they took poor Mr. Frost's body."
She lowered her voice. "Did they find the gun?"
God love her. "I think he was killed with a knife, but I could be wrong."
She sighed. "I called Shirley at the diner, but she went to Ottumwa to shop today. Nobody knows anything."
That surprised me. The town grapevine is pretty strong. By now, someone should have talked about who last saw Peter Frost alive and when. At the very least there should be speculation about who was angry with him. Besides Ambrose and me.
"Pretty lonely out that way. Our farm sits between Frost and the Donovan farm, but there's that little rise. I don't think the Donovans could see from their house into the area around our barn."
"Drat." Mrs. Keyser tapped the arm of the chair with a bright orange fingernail. "Sure is humid out here."
I stood. "It is. Time for mosquitoes, too. I'll walk Mister Tibbs a few more minutes and then take her in."
"Now Melanie…"
I pulled a plastic grocery bag from the pocket of my jeans. "Pooper-picker-upper."
SATURDAY MORNING DIDN'T FEEL like a relaxing weekend day. After finishing a cup of coffee, I reached into my purse for my mobile phone to look up information on security cameras. I had three seconds of panic before remembering that Sheriff Gallagher still had it. "Nuts."
A two-minute search led me to the local yellow pages. I'd been using them in my bedroom to balance an uneven dresser that I'd inherited from my father's long-dead aunt.
The only security firm in River's Edge specialized in home security, so I called a company in Farmington that did systems for farms and outbuildings. The monthly cost of a monitored system was out of my ballpark.
I found some that would let me use my phone to see the barn and yard. But if I didn't watch, the place would be unmonitored. What would be the point?
I didn't need any additional expenses. Probably whoever had murdered Peter Frost would be too scared to come back.
I decided to assume that if there were local gawkers, all they would do was drive by. Or so I hoped.
A planned stop at the sheriff's office to get my phone meant Mister Tibbs should stay home. I settled her in the apartment and went back down to drive first to Dr. Carver's.
My parking space was empty. Gee, no truck. How could you forget that?
Because Mister Tibbs was not with me, I might be able to borrow Mrs. Keyser's car for a while. Assuming today wasn't one of her beauty shop or Canasta days.
Saturday morning Mrs. Keyser is not always up early, but it was eight o'clock and a light shone in her kitchen. I knocked.
She opened the door and smiled, broadly. "You forgot you didn't have your pickup, or you would've called Sandi for a ride."
Because she was so friendly, I didn't stare at the egg yolk on her house dress, which today was a river scene with fish jumping. "You're smarter than I am."
She dangled a car key on its chain. "I have a ten-thirty coffee catch-up with the gals from church, but you can use it until ten-fifteen."
"Thank you. I'm sure mine's ready, but you saved me a walk. Sandi or Ryan'll follow me back."
She frowned slightly. "Just make sure nobody else drives my car. I saw that Ryan screech around a corner near the diner last week."
I promised and thanked her again.
Since the sheriff might not be done with my truck, I planned to drop by the hardware store and Dr. Carver's first. I wanted to know what Andy had heard.
Me wanting to talk to Andy. Who knew?
I needed no excuse to shop, but since I had no reason to buy anything, I created one. I would get one of the natural solutions to spray on plants, so the deer didn't want to share my garden's bounty.
The front counter was vacant, so I walked toward the aisle with fertilizer, lawn seed, and such. It took a couple of minutes of label reading to decide on a product.
Deer-Be-Gone was meant to be mixed with water and sprayed on a plant. The all-natural product smelled like the worst kind of crud, so a deer would be crazy to eat leaves with it on them.
Andy stood at the wooden checkout counter when I walked to it. Half of a cinnamon donut sat on a napkin, and he hastily stowed it under the counter.
"You don't need to hide it on my account."
He wiped an apparently sugary hand on the canvas store apron he wore. "I didn't want to share."
I should have figured that.
I sat a crisp ten-dollar bill on the counter. "So, Andy, any big news around town?"
His eyes narrowed. "You usually don't fish for info. Course, you don't find a body every day." He cackled as he said "every day."
"It's a hard thing to see. Most people have been very sympathetic."
He rang up my order, seeming to have noted I didn't find him funny. "Alls I heard was that the sheriff don't know much." He handed me change. "Granger's pretty broke up. His uncle moved here to live near him."
I felt a pang of something. Not sympathy, but maybe close. In my head, Peter Frost was a demon with fangs. To Aaron Granger, he could have been the uncle who never missed sending a birthday present.
"I feel for him."
Andy's narrowed eyes said he didn't think I did.
The cash register is close to the front door, so as I turned to leave I almost bumped into two men coming in.
I knew the shorter one. Nelson McDonald graduated in my high school class – barely. He had been arrested a couple of times for receiving stolen property.
Each time he'd been able to convince the county attorney that he had responded to an ad on Craig's List and had no idea an item was stolen. It was a good con, because both times there had been an ad.
The person placing it used a bogus name and a Hotmail email address, so the ad couldn't be traced. That meant Nelson had an accomplice, because he wouldn't have been smart enough to plan that well.
"Hey, Nelson."
I started to brush past him, but he touched my arm. I tried not to stiffen, but did.
"You and Ambrose okay?"
I relaxed. "Yes. Good of you to ask." I looked at the second man, whom I didn't know.
"My cousin Harlan. He's visitin'."
I took in Harlan in an instant and didn't like what I saw. At almost six feet, he stood much taller than Nelson's five-eight. He also smelled like he smoked three packs a day, maybe mixed in with a little pot. It was his sullen expression that bothered me most.
"Ma'am," Harlan said, nodding a head of blond hair that most women would love to have.
"They know who done it?" Nelson asked.
I shook my head. "Not that I've heard. Sandi's all over it for the paper, so I bet there'll be a long story." When Nelson said nothing, I started through the door, which Harlan had kept open. "See you around."
I thought about Nelson and his cousin as I drove to Dr. Carver's. If I pumped gas next to him we'd say hello, but he didn't even talk to me when my parents died.
And how did he know Frost had been murdered? I reminded myself half the town probably knew within a few hours.
Just because my path crossed Nelson's and he asked me a question didn't mean he killed Frost or knew who did. I'd have to stop thinking like that when someone talked to me about Frost's death.
As I pulled into Dr. Carver's driveway, I admired how the front yard looked with half the petunias and marigolds planted. Usually I would have gone back in the late afternoon to help Stooper, if only to bring water. Yesterday I'd been too distracted.
Stooper was raking brush from underneath some shrubs. He took one hand off the rake and shook a finger at me.
I should have called him. I parked behind his car and walked to him.
"I have to hear from Shirley in the diner this morning that Peter Frost turned up dead in your barn?"
"Sorry, Stooper. All I could think about was Ambrose, and by evening I was pooped. I went to bed early."
I figured he would have been angrier if he'd read about it in the paper. The South County News only published three days a week, and today wasn't one of them.
I held out a jug of iced tea that I'd brought from the truck. "Peace offering?"
He picked up the cup that went with his thermos, threw out the old coffee, and held it out. I poured him a cupful of the cold tea.
"I'm not mad. I was worried. You and barns, it's not a good mix." He downed the tea and sat the cup on the ground.
"So far, my parents' barn has been safe for me." I smiled. "Thought I'd work awhile and then see if the sheriff'll tell me anything."
"Why don't you space out the marigolds and start planting those?"
I smiled to myself and knelt to do as he suggested. Technically, I'm in charge, but Stooper has become confident in his decisions. That's fine.
We worked in our usual comfortable silence. Stooper has never been a big talker. He worked with his grouchy father for years, learning the stone mason trade.
After his father died, as far as I knew, he'd worked alone on the small acreage a mile or so from Syl's place. In Stooper's case, acreage sort of meant dump.
Stooper had almost finished digging the hole for the second Scotch pine. He stopped and mopped his forehead with an old washcloth. "Heard Ambrose found him."
I set down my trowel. "It was horrible. Did you hear Ambrose pulled the knife out of Frost?"
"Jesus. No. Shirley didn't say that."
"Hmm. I wonder if the sheriff's people are more tight-lipped when it's one of their own? Frost was Granger's uncle." I placed a marigold plant in a hole.
"Forgot about that." Stooper stuck the spade deeper into the hole. "Granger's an ass-hole, but that don't make it right that his uncle got murdered."
I glanced at Stooper and then went on to the next spot for a marigold and stuck the trowel in the dirt. "You don't usually call people names."
"Him and me were in the same class. He called me lard ass a couple of times. Until I shoved him into a locker one day."
"Didn't know he was that mean. I mean, he's barely spoken to me since his uncle filed the lawsuit against Ambrose and me, but before that he was mostly just standoffish."
Stooper shrugged. "Gallagher tells the deputies if they treat people bad he'll hear about it. He probably taught Granger some manners."
I laughed. "I guess."
We worked for another half-hour in silence. Eventually, I stood and wiped dirt off my jeans. "I'm going to head down to talk to the sheriff and then stop by a few downtown businesses to see if we can plant the area near their curbs. If we got a few of those, they wouldn't need much maintenance."
"Who'd water 'em?" he asked.
"I think we'd charge them a small price to do the planting, and they'd water them. Maybe put in a couple of big pots. It would sort of be like advertising for us."
Us. Who would have thought I'd say 'us' about Stooper?
Stooper grinned. "You'll need a business name."
My keys were in my hand, and I'd started to walk to my truck. I turned. "Hadn't thought of it."
He smiled more broadly. "Want me to run a contest at the tavern?"
"Maybe the diner."
I KNEW SHERIFF GALLAGHER might not be in his office Saturday, but the murder apparently had him busy. His large frame was kind of squeezed into his desk chair. He isn't so much fat as huge. He didn't look happy when Sophie ushered me in.
"Melanie, I pretty much told you I'd call you."
I sat in the wood chair opposite his large desk, which was piled with manila folders. "I know, but I need my phone and truck, plus I thought of a couple of things."
He handed me my phone, which had been sitting on his desk, and pulled a notepad and pencil toward him. "Go on."
"Did Newt tell you someone was firing Roman candles in the cornfield a couple of nights ago?"
Gallagher nodded. "Found some used tubes in the corn, not far back from the barn."
"Were any tire tracks near the barn's back door?"
He leaned across his desk and shook the pencil at me. "What makes you ask that? Who was using that barn?"
"So someone was? Ambrose and I didn't think it looked very abandoned. The floor looked..."
"You said it looked flat, like boxes had been on it. What kind of boxes?"
"How would we know? Ambrose hasn't even been down here for maybe a month."
"You go out there a lot."
I swallowed my irritation. "I sit in the driveway and eyeball the property. Ken Brownberg suggested we stay away until after the court rules. Rules in our favor."
He opened a manila folder. "What time did Ambrose leave Dubuque?"
I stared at the sheriff for a couple of seconds. Surely he didn't think Ambrose killed Peter Frost.
"He called me about eleven-thirty. I think he said he left home about twenty minutes before that, but since I wasn't thinking in terms of a murder investigation I didn't write it down. Do you need me to sign something for you to look at my phone records?"
"No, you gave it to me, so I scrolled through. If I need more, I'll get a warrant."
My cheeks flushed. "A warrant! That means you have strong suspicions."
His gaze was expressionless as he seemed to size me up. "It only takes a few seconds to kill."
I stood. "Ambrose would never stab someone. Never!"
His face was not expressionless now. He frowned and pointed to my chair. "Sit down, Melanie."
I wanted to walk out, but I wanted information more. I sat.
"You were a reporter. You know it's the facts that matter. Fact is, Ambrose was holding the weapon that killed Peter Frost. Peter Frost who filed a lawsuit to get your parents' farm for next to nothing."
I seethed, but tried not to show it. "True. But Ambrose doesn't even like to hunt. He wouldn't kill anyone."
"Fury can be a big motivator." At my angry look he held up a hand, palm facing me. "I like Ambrose. And you, when you aren't interfering. Only an idiot would ignore Ambrose, and I'm no idiot."
He had a point. I swallowed my anger. "I don't think you are. Do you know what was kept in the barn?"
Gallagher shook his head. "No idea, if anything. For all we know, a neighbor kept bales of hay in there over winter."
"No tiny bits of hay on the floor."
"Ever hear of a broom?"
"Besides," I persisted, "no one told us anyone spent time on the farm, much less used the barn."
He nodded. "Except for the time you asked County Attorney Smith to keep Frost off the property."
I nodded. "Mr. and Mrs. Donovan saw him there."
"We've talked to everyone up and down County Road 270. But if someone stayed alert, no one would see them."
I had to agree. Both Donovans worked their fields, meaning they were out of their house most days. If Peter Frost had noticed something, he'd never tell.
To try a different tack in my search for information, I asked, "Do you know what time Mr. Frost died?"
"I've learned never to guess. I'm waiting for the ME's report."
I made a mental note to see if Dr. MacGregor at the hospital would talk to me when he finished the report.
"How come Granger drove like a bat out of hell to get there? Ambrose didn't have time to call."
Gallagher didn't respond at first, but seemed to decide he could. "Deputy Granger had a call from his uncle. He just missed the call, and it went to his voice mail."
"So why speed?"
Gallagher raised his eyebrows, as if he thought my question impertinent or something. "He thought Frost sounded upset, and then when Granger called back he didn't answer."
"The message must've said something about his uncle being at our place, or Granger would have gone…"
"Leave it alone, Melanie."
I stared at Gallagher and drew a breath. "I didn't see Peter Frost's car on our property."
Gallagher's tone invited no more questions on that topic. "Neither did I."
"What about who called Ambrose and me? Can't you, I don't know, get our mobile phone company to tell you who called us?"
"Would make my job easier. I made a request to the local cell people, but anyone can block their name. My bet is it's one of those monthly phones. All it will show is the location of the call. Not relevant anyway."
"Why…?" I began.
"Because I figure Doc MacGregor's report will show that Frost died about when Ambrose got to the barn."
Gallagher began to stand, but his phone rang and he sat back down. As he did, he pointed toward the door.
I'd been dismissed. I hadn't reached the door when Gallagher sat up straighter and began writing rapidly on his pad.
THE BETWEEN BREAKFAST AND LUNCH crowd at Mason's Diner is small, especially on a Saturday. I wasn't meeting anyone. I only wanted to hear what Shirley knew. Especially because she was out of town yesterday, her news antennae would be high today.
The diner is a River's Edge institution and looks like any diner from 1950s TV shows. It's the basic shape of a thick cigar, but booths with red plastic seating also run down one side, making it an L shape.
The counter's rotating stools would be higher if they were made today. Spinning on those stools is as popular for six-year olds now as it was for me and my friends.
Shirley stood behind the counter, taking an order from a woman on a stool. Given the customer's practical shoes, worn with a dark blue tee-shirt and jeans, I thought she was probably a farmer in town on an errand. I didn't recognize her, but I didn't know quite everyone.
I slid into my usual booth in the back and glanced out the window. The sun pounded the asphalt, but as I looked it moved behind a cloud.
The diner is just off the square. Today, the street of two-story buildings in varied colors and conditions looked almost serene. On such a clear day, how could anyone suspect my brother of murder?
Shirley appeared next to my booth, tapping her pad with a stubby pencil. "How come Peter Frost went to your barn?"
"Hello to you, too."
Her smile was quick and impish under an almost beehive hairdo. "You know I don't like to waste time. Could be another customer in here any minute."
I gave her half a smile. "No one seems to know. Had you heard any talk about people shooting off fireworks at my parents' old place?"
She frowned. "Seems to be a lot more around town than usual this year."
"Hmm. You know how close the Missouri border is. Think someone's bringing more across the border this year?"
Shirley's quick shrug implied impatience. "Haven't heard anything."
I glanced at the six older people spread around the diner. "I don't think this is the crowd to tell you about it."
She followed my gaze. "What do you think fireworks have to do with it?"
"Probably nothing. It's just the only thing different out there."
"As far as you know." The front door opened, and Shirley looked at it and lowered her voice. "Mrs. Waters doesn't like waiting even five seconds. You keep thinking."
She hadn't asked for my order, but I knew Shirley would bring me hot tea and half a bagel in a few minutes. Usually she dishes information as soon as she sees someone, so she clearly knew nothing.
I pulled a notepad from my purse and started to make a list of business owners to talk to, who might want a planter in front of their store or office. I was concentrating so hard I didn't notice Sandi until she slid into the booth across from me.
"Mel. I didn't want you to hear this from anyone else."
"What? Is Ryan okay?"
"Yes." She leaned across the table and spoke so low I could hardly hear her. "I got a call from someone at the hospital. Based on his body's temperature, Peter Frost probably died about the time you guys got to the barn."
Her green eyes started to redden. "Ambrose would have had time to kill him."