I WOULD HAVE JUMPED up, but Shirley had arrived at the booth with my hot tea and bagel. I didn't want her to grill me.
"Okay, sugar, now you know something." She set the mug down hard enough to make the tea slop over the edge.
Sandi hissed. "Quiet, Shirley."
Shirley adjusted her mustard-color uniform skirt. "Okay, so you know. That's better."
I stayed seated. "But she can't compromise a source."
"That's big city talk." Shirley stared at Sandi. "How often do you and your buddy ask me what's going on?"
Sandi shut her eyes briefly. "Okay, the ME has some findings. You usually get that before I do. Why don't you call and ask? If you can't find out, I'll tell you."
Shirley cracked her gum as she walked away. "Fair enough. Eat that bagel before it's cold."
I met Sandi's gaze. "Someone else could've just left."
"Gallagher won't be rash. But you two were furious with Frost."
I loosened my scrunchie and shook my head of brown hair for a few seconds before refastening the ponytail.
"Getting the rocks rattled?" Sandi asked.
I spread jelly on my bagel. "I should call Ambrose."
She frowned. "Okay, but if he gets a call from the sheriff, make sure he doesn't let on that he knows. Gallagher'd figure out in a heartbeat that I told you."
"Why?"
"You know Rosemary at the front desk in the ME's office? I dated her brother in high school. She said the rectal thermometer used at the barn," Sandi made a face, "registered almost exactly 98.6 degrees."
I rolled my eyes and glanced around the diner to make sure no one could hear us, then dialed, thinking as I did.
On crime shows, one way to tell time of death before autopsy was simply to compare a body's temperature to the ambient air temperature. Frost's body was more like a living person's temperature than the eighty-two degrees of the day he died.
Ambrose's home phone rang six times and went to voice mail. He likely had work in the fields. "Hey, Ambrose. Not sure if it means anything, but we've heard Frost died not too long before we got there."
"Tell him," Sandi said.
"And Sandi said not to let on that you know that, because she isn't supposed to know. Don't worry about it. Call me." I pushed the end button.
"He'll tell."
I had to smile. "He won't. Besides, in an hour a lot of people will know."
She shook her head. "Not much coming out of the sheriff's office on this one."
"Hey, speaking of them. I checked when I was leaving Gallagher's office, and I can get my truck. Would you…?"
"You didn't tell me you went there!"
"Excuse me, you just walked in."
Shirley called from the counter as she cleared away used coffee cups. "Found out. Thanks, Sugar."
Sandi turned, waved to her, and then looked back at me. "What did he say?"
"Only one thing that mattered much." I told her about Granger getting the call from his uncle. "But either Frost didn't say much, or Gallagher isn't saying."
Sandi took a pen and small pad from her purse.
"Timeline?" I asked.
She nodded. After putting our heads together, literally so no one would listen, we started a list.
Ambrose gets call from someone saying they're Frost. Maybe 11.
Ambrose leaves Dubuque. About 11:20
Melanie gets call from Frost or someone. About 11:40
Where was Frost during this time?
Mel goes to hardware store. About 11:45
Mel goes to Syl's, reads Hal's book. About 12:10
"Hal's book? It's readable?"
I shrugged. "I didn't say it would get published, but the words string together."
"Later," Sandi said, and we kept going.
Mel drives to farm. 2:25
Granger passes her. 2:35
Ambrose and Granger in the barn with Frost. About 2:40
Mel gets there, about same time.
ME, sheriff, Brownberg at farm. 3:00 – 4:00
Sheriff keeps M and A's vehicles. 4:00-ish
We were diverted by Sandi wishing she and Ryan hadn't gone to Fairhaven to look for information on Hal's boat.
"Spilt milk," I said. "Keep going."
Questioning at sheriff's. No Granger there. 4:00 – 5:00
Sheriff warns Mel to leave alone. Always
We stopped and looked at each other.
"We could go on," Sandi said, "but this is what matters. In fact, it's the part leading up to Ambrose finding him that matters most. That's what we know nothing about."
I pointed at the list. "We need to see the medical examiner's report."
"Why? We know when he died."
"Yes, but what if the killer stabbed him earlier? How long would it take someone to die?"
Sandi squinted and wrinkled her nose. "That's an awful thought."
"It's eventually made public, but that could be a while." My mobile buzzed, and I looked at it and back at Sandi. "Ambrose."
"What, Mel? How long before?"
"Don't know. We only heard that and haven't seen the full ME report."
"What's an ME…oh. Right. Get out of there!"
The sound of a braying goat told me what annoyed Ambrose. He raises a few goats and gives most of their milk to some group that provides it to families with kids who are allergic to cow's milk.
"Ambrose?"
Sandi had heard the goat and giggled.
He came back on the phone. "Keeps trying to eat Sharon's begonias and the recycling bin. Well, they can't pinpoint within minutes, can they?"
"I wouldn't think so. I hoped it would show he'd been dead a few hours or something."
Sandi nodded.
Ambrose sighed. "What do we do?"
"Find out when we can go back to the farm and look around the barn."
"Melanie!"
"I'll ask the sheriff. And I'll take Ryan or Stooper."
Sandi sat up straighter. "Hey."
"Like you'd be good in a fight," I said.
"Damn it, Mel."
I could hear the frustration in Ambrose's voice, and smiled. "I promise I won't go until the sheriff says I can. Won't be much to see, but who besides us would spot something odd?"
From the phone came, "Ow! Get the hell away from me!"
I laughed. "What did it do?"
"Head-butted my knee. Gotta go. Behave yourself."
He hung up, and I looked at Sandi. "We need to go back to the sheriff's office anyway." I looked at the time on my phone. "Damn. I need to get Mrs. Keyser's car back by ten-fifteen."
"Car? Oh, you need me to drive your truck back from the sheriff's?"
I put some money on the table. "That would be great, and then I'll drop you back at your car."
I stood as Shirley neared us with a cup of coffee for Sandi. I nodded at Shirley. "Put it in a to-go cup for her, and I'll get it."
I added two dollars to the amount on the table. "I have to get my truck at the sheriff's and take Mrs. Keyser hers."
"Oh, sure. She'll be in here at ten-thirty."
Sandi looked amused as she regarded Shirley's back. "So nice our lives in this town are private."
MISTER TIBBS RACED around the two raised beds that held my large vegetable garden in Mrs. Keyser's back yard. After several nights, I had figured out that the mid-sized rabbit was leading a race and would never allow itself to be captured. Mister Tibbs hadn't caught on yet.
From my kneeling position, I dug the metal weeder into a huge dandelion that had wedged itself between two tomato plants. It felt good to take out my frustrations on inanimate objects.
I sat back on my heels. The motion had reminded me of stabbing something. "Ugh."
I stood, surveying the bounty of vegetables. Summer had come early, so I had enough tomatoes and peppers to share space at the farmers' market Sunday.
Generally the other co-op members only let regulars share the tables, but I'd kept up my dues for years and rarely sold, so they let me in. I wouldn't earn much money. I usually went for the company of other growers. This weekend I wanted to see if anyone knew more about strangers at our farm.
I bent down again and pulled the dandelion's six-inch root. "Big sucker, aren't you?"
I surveyed the bed next to the one I was weeding. It got less sun, and the squash plants were undersized for the first of July. I'd aerate the soil around them more and, perhaps, put down some different fertilizer.
A worn-out Mister Tibbs came back and plopped onto a cool spot of dirt, panting.
"I didn't bring out water for you. We'll go inside in a minute. We have to pick stuff tomorrow and get to the market." I didn't add that she wouldn't accompany me. I'd make sure she wore herself out while I loaded bushel baskets and put them in the pickup.
My plan had been to pick vegetables and basically distract myself in the peace of the garden. Didn't work. Mister Tibbs put her head on my ankle-high boot and looked up.
"Sorry. I'm not in much of a mood to play." She cocked her head and raised one pointed ear, so I bent to scratch her head.
"Why would anyone want to make it look as if Ambrose or I killed Peter Frost? I halfway get why anyone would want him dead, but why in our barn?"
She yawned, and I gently pulled my boot from under her head. "Come on. Time to put stuff away."
I walked around the raised beds one more time, picking up the trowel, weeder, and fairly new hoe. To keep Mister Tibbs out of the shed where I store tools and fertilizer, I gently raised my left foot in her direction. "No smelling the fertilizer."