I STILL HAD TO MAKE a living, but instead of driving home or marketing my planter idea to more local businesses, I went to the bank. No one would talk to me about Peter Frost directly, so I'd open a new account and chat with staff as they helped me.
First Bank of Southeast Iowa only has two branches, one in River's Edge and one in Keosauqua. Ours is so small it doesn't warrant safe deposit boxes. Still, without it I'd do more driving.
The whoosh of cold air as I opened the door almost startled me. The two tellers had on sweaters.
I waved to them and went to the seating area outside the two cubicles that are today's version of offices. The assistant manager would see me when she got off the phone.
Sure enough, within ten seconds Melissa Martin, a classmate of Ambrose's, smiled and held up her index finger to acknowledge that she had seen me. I nodded to her.
No other customers were in the bank, and I watched the two tellers pull out their phones to show one another recent pictures they had taken. I longed to have nothing more to think about than sharing photos.
Melissa interrupted my thoughts. "Melanie? May I help you?"
I stood and held out a hand. She took it in her beautifully manicured one, and I said, "I need to open a second checking account, for my yard work and landscaping business."
She gestured that I should precede her into the cubicle, and I sat in a chair opposite her desk. The predominant decorating colors were mauve and tan. Melissa's sweater matched the mauve.
She began a practiced pitch. In less than a minute, I knew there were several kinds of checking accounts, and I could not avoid a monthly fee.
Our eyes met as she ended the spiel, and Melissa looked away and then back. "I'm sorry about Ambrose's arrest."
I tried not to sound strident. "He didn't do it."
She nodded and turned to her computer to enter information from my driver's license.
"So, Melissa, did you know Peter Frost?"
She put my license closer to her eyes to read the tiny letters. "Not outside of the bank. He did come in pretty regularly."
That surprised me. With the ubiquity of ATM machines and debit cards, most people rarely walked into a bank. "Maybe he liked your free coffee."
She grinned briefly as she typed. "He always had a cup. Lately he seemed more relaxed."
Melissa began sending documents to the printer.
When she didn't appear ready to volunteer more, I said, "He was my parents' neighbor for years, but they didn't speak all that often. My dad thought Frost was bitter, because he paid more for his land than it's worth now."
She smiled. "It's all about the price of corn, isn't it?"
I nodded. "I heard he was going to look for part-time work." Liar, liar.
She frowned slightly. "He may have found something. He started making cash deposits regularly."
Her expression took on a look of panic, and she spoke fast. "Oh my. I guess because he's not a customer now, I mean he's dead, I was chatting, not banking."
Aloud, I said, "No worries."
Internally I yelled, "Bingo!"
Melissa gave only perfunctory replies over the next few minutes and seemed relieved when I signed papers, ordered checks, and left.
I didn't care what kind of deposits Frost made, it was more that the cash seemed to be something new. People tended to deposit cash after a rummage sale or if they were trying to hide income from the IRS.
Did Frost make money under the table? And was it an activity that got him killed?
I nearly ran into Ryan as I left the bank. We stood in awkward silence, the South County News's very anti-Ambrose article hanging between us.
I couldn't avoid the topic. "Why, Ryan?"
He stared at me for a couple seconds. "He was next to the body, and he had the knife in his hand."
My neck went back, chin went down, and eyebrows up, an expression that I hoped said either "is that all" or maybe "you've got to be kidding me."
His chin jutted out, his expression of stubbornness. "I had to go with the evidence."
I spoke with contempt. "You showed no 'evidence' to counter Ambrose's explanation. I think you went with what your boss wanted. You can't do that if you get to a big daily."
He flushed and turned again toward his car. "I'll catch you later."
BY ONE O'CLOCK, Nelson had called. Without referring to Andy, he said that he and his cousin could "help me out, but not 'til after dark."
Nelson and Harlan didn't scare me in daylight or dark, but that didn't mean I would meet them in a poorly lit part of town. I suggested we meet in the parking lot at the softball fields. Practice for the Fourth of July games would be ending, so at least some people would be around.
I drove to the nursery near Keosauqua to pick up the large planting containers and ten bags of soil they had ordered for me yesterday. As I came back into town from the north, my cell phone rang.
"How about Plants and Pots?" Stooper asked.
It took me a second to realize he had suggested a name for my (our?) business. "That's the best they could come up with at the diner?"
"Shirley wanted The Green Thumb."
"I think maybe we need something that shows we do landscaping work." I pulled into the driveway of my apartment. "What about Clear and Plant?"
"Huh. Could work. Lemme think more. You comin' by Syl's?"
"I have to walk Mister Tibbs. You need me at Syl's, or are you up for helping me put out a few large planters at businesses on the square?"
"Come by with your lady and look at how I put the roses on the trellises." He hung up.
Stooper worked hard, but he didn't dwell on the niceties of dealing with people.
I opened the door to my apartment and Mister Tibbs rocketed out. She almost knocked me into the railing. Before I could call to her, she had reached the bottom of the stairs and begun to pee with great vigor.
I leaned into the apartment and grabbed her leash from a peg by the door. By the time I got to her she had finished and hung her head.
"You're a good girl. I'm sorry. I didn't know I gave you too much water." I patted her head, and we trotted around the back yard at a fast clip, with me holding the leash rather than fastening it.
I rarely worried that she would run away. Mister Tibbs was a mess when I found her in Syl's small barn, and she now didn't want to be too far from the person who fed her. Unless she found a varmint to chase.
I looked down at her. "We're going to Syl's. You can stay down here while I do my business and lock the door." I dropped her leash on the ground and walked upstairs.
When I got to the bathroom, I found splashes of water around the toilet. No wonder her bladder was full. Apparently she had learned how to stand on her hind legs to lap water. "Ugh."
I grabbed a couple of granola bars from a kitchen cupboard and went back outside. Mister Tibbs greeted me, by slobbering on my calf, and trotted behind me to the pickup.
When she settled on her blanket on the back seat, I backed out of the driveway and headed to Syl's. "If you decide to poop at Syl's place, make sure you do it in a flower garden or by the barn."
When we got to Syl's, Stooper had just pulled the riding mower into the barn. Mister Tibbs and I parked and walked to the white trellises.
A quick look at the roses told me Stooper's hands probably bore a lot of scratches. He doesn't like to be bothered with gloves.
Stooper called from behind me. "Hey, Mel. Even enough, you think?"
"They look great. I'm surprised you got the trellises to stand so straight."
He pointed to a spot near the fence. "I tied 'em with white string for now. I'll pack 'em better into the ground over the next few months."
"Good idea." I looked down. Mister Tibbs stood on her hind feet, looking at Stooper with an expectant expression. "Mister Tibbs. Leave him alone."
Stooper flushed. "I been keeping a dog treat in my pocket now and again."
"You're such a sucker."
He grinned and held out a mini milk bone. "Mostly for her."
"So, I have a bunch of big flower pots in the truck and some bags of topsoil. I figure we can put a couple on the square today."
"You got plants?"
"Oh, crud."
He laughed. "Gimme ten bucks, and I'll get some at the hardware store."
I reached in a pocket and took out a bill. "Last time I checked, all I saw were a few geraniums. I should have bought more earlier."
"Some daisies in the back. I saw 'em when I picked up a lawn edger for Syl the other day."
Stooper and Syl have developed what I would call an unexpected friendship. Syl is the well-educated Californian whose data analysis skills are so finely honed that an Iowa insurance association hired him to develop some kind of database.
Stooper is the ultimate nice guy, but he was fortunate to graduate from high school and has always worked with his back. The two men seem to have bonded in part because Stooper's advice to Syl, on taking care of a large lawn in a climate he's unfamiliar with, is valuable. And they both root for the St. Louis Cardinals, although I doubt if Syl did before he met Stooper.
"Hey, Stooper."
He turned from walking toward his car. "You need more than plants?"
"Are you doing a headstone for Peter Frost?"
"Granger had him cremated."
I shuddered. Because our parents had died in a fiery crash, we needed no caskets. Ambrose and I have a stone in the cemetery in their memory.
"You okay?"
"Yep. I've been thinking a lot about the man. We barely knew him, but his death is ruining Ambrose's life."
Stooper shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seeming unsure what to say.
"Sorry. Don't mean to be morbid. If I could just figure out why he went to our place."
"You don't think he was in the fireworks business thing, do you?"
Mister Tibbs had finished chasing squirrels. She plopped her head on my shoe and rolled to one side.
"Hard to think he'd do that with his nephew being a sheriff's deputy."
I thought about the cash deposits and straightened. What if the people storing something in the barn were paying Peter Frost so he wouldn't report them to the sheriff?
WHEN MISTER TIBBS and I got to Mr. Patel's store, I was still thinking about how Peter Frost would have made enough cash to make more regular bank deposits. As far as I knew, he had no carpentry, plumbing skills, or any other talent people would pay cash for if they could get a discount.
Mister Tibbs and I were greeted by a large black cat that I'd never noticed sitting by the door. It posed regally, just to the side of the entry, and either wasn't intimidated by people or scared them off so no one entered the store.
I opened the back of the pickup and took out a large, rust-colored pot and three bags of topsoil.
Mister Tibbs refused to leave the truck. I left the door open so she could watch me work. The cat apparently saw its role as supervisor because it didn't move, even when Mr. Patel walked out.
"I didn't know you had a cat."
"Neither did I. It showed up yesterday." He glanced at the cat. "And I was dumb enough to feed it."
"Maybe an owner will show up. Boy or girl?"
"Either a girl or a snipped boy. I haven't inspected too closely."
A single honk announced Stooper.
I nodded toward his car, and in a lowered voice said, "You can get to know him better."
Stooper unloaded two flats of plants from his front seat, and Mr. Patel walked over to inspect them.
I listened to them exchange pleasantries as I emptied one bag of soil into the pot. Mr. Patel walked back inside, and Stooper insisted on handling the next two bags. I arranged the daisies and geraniums, not the best combination, on the ground so I could decide how to place them in the pot.
"Is this your cat?"
I looked toward the store and saw a girl of maybe ten stooping next to the black cat.
"No, and Mr. Patel isn't sure where it lives, so it's best not to touch it."
A boy of perhaps thirteen or fourteen stood twenty yards down the sidewalk and called, "Come on, Rachel."
She petted the cat and then looked at me. "I like your daisies."
By this time, Mister Tibbs had emerged from my truck. She sat on the sidewalk in front of the store, alternately looking at me, Stooper, Rachel, and the cat.
"Rachel," I said, "is that your brother calling you?"
She looked at me and smiled shyly. "He wants me to keep up."
The brother walked to within a few feet from Rachel. His polite tone was probably more for my benefit than Rachel's. "Come on, Mom's home and she'll play with you."
With a resigned sigh, Rachel stood and took his hand.
When they were out of earshot, Stooper said, "Bet he loves carting her around."
I thought of how patient Ambrose had been with me and wished that for Rachel.
A vehicle's shadow came over me, and I looked up. David hopped out of his truck and walked to Stooper and me. "You guys need any fertilizer?"
"Phew," Stooper said. "You drive that a lot, you must have some good nose clips."
David grinned. "I don't even smell it anymore."
"How much for three bags?" I asked.
He looked disappointed. "That all you need?"
"For now. Later I'll probably need more for other projects."
"Betterin' none," David said. "I'll unload it."
Stooper didn't offer to help.
I had David put the bags in the back of my pickup. If he'd come a bit earlier, I'd have added some to the middle of the large flower pot. Certainly not on the top.
When the truck pulled away, Stooper said, "I didn't know he sold that stuff."
"Ran into him and Brad at last Sunday's farmers' market. It's cheap because it's not fully aged."
"No shit."
I laughed. "Yes, shit."