The other members of the Pope County Pickers Club began pulling into the lane just as Sherri and Carol climbed back into Carol’s truck. Sherri watched as Con, the man running the sale, told each one the sale was canceled.
Sherri closed her eyes for a moment. “The rumor mill is going to be spinning after today.”
Carol nodded her head and stopped her truck when she saw Jodi approach and walk to Sherri’s side of the truck.
Sherri rolled the window down. “Hey, Jodi.”
“What’s going on, ladies?” At thirty-five, Jodi Burnett was the youngest picker in the club. She had a love of antiques and did well for herself buying vintage linens and full collections of just about anything. She resold the treasures online and to local antique stores.
Sherri took a drink of her coffee then explained how she’d found the body in the hayloft.
Jodi shuddered. “Oh yuck. Better you than me. I cannot even imagine that. I have a hard enough time going to a funeral where the poor person is all prettied up.”
Carol leaned across the seat and said, “Well, personally I was glad it was Sher, too. If it’d been me, I think I might have thrown up.” She paused a moment then added, “Or more likely, knowing me, I’d have gone over the edge of the hayloft.”
Sherri shook her head listening to the grisly talk. “The thing is, I don’t think Hank Bauer gave up at all. He wanted to save his farm, but he was killed before he could do it.”
Jodi’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “You're sure he was murdered?”
“Yes. An experienced farmer wouldn't just fall on his pitchfork.”
Carol sipped from her now lukewarm coffee. “What if he was sauced? I’ve heard he had a drinking problem.”
“Oh, did he?” Jodi questioned.
Sherri shook her head. “But wait. He was sauced but he was able to climb the ladder to the hayloft?” Sherri didn’t buy it. “No, it doesn't make sense to me. These young officers, all they see is black and white.”
Al Blandon, a fellow picker, motioned to Jodi for her to join him. Jodi said, “I have to go. I’ll see what Al wants but since we can’t look at anything, I have to head home. My husband’s watching the boys. Talk to you soon.”
When she’d gone, Sherri gazed through the dirty windshield then turned to Carol. “I want to run this by Leon.”
“Oh, you're calling Leon?” A small smile crept onto Carol’s face. “I haven't seen him in a while.”
“I haven't either. Last time was in March when he worked on Crabby Kathy’s case.” Sherri thought about their fellow picker’s death. Crabby Kathy’s memory had sort of faded into oblivion in the few months since she’d been gone. Sherri shivered and secretly hoped people would miss her for a good long time when she was gone. Certainly longer than they had with Crabby Kathy and longer than this poor man. As far as she knew, no one seemed to have even noticed him being missing.
Sherri turned to Carol and said, “Ever since I left the dispatching job I've fallen out of touch with most of the officers I worked with, but Leon and I usually call each other every few weeks or so to catch up.”
“You two were that close?”
“Well, I did help him a few times on some tough cases, and he's never forgotten it. And of course we reconnected on the whole Crabby Kathy deal.” Sherri paused. She still felt bad about the woman’s demise even though she didn’t particularly miss the bossy, overbearing woman. “Anyway, let's see if he’ll help me now.” She pulled out her cell phone from her canvas picking tote and dialed Leon’s number.
“Deputy Fletcher here.”
“Leon, it’s Sherri.”
“Hey, Sherri. How are you doing?”
“I was doing well, until I found a body.”
“Oh wait, that was you? I heard that call come in. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I'm concerned about – “ Sherri paused a moment. “Well, the thing is, I’m not sure the case is being handled well.”
“What do you mean? It was an accident, right? Hank Bauer fell on a pitchfork. That’s the word we’re getting.”
“I know. That’s what everyone’s saying here, but, no, I don’t think that’s what happened. I think he was murdered. He was covered in hay and had a pitchfork in his chest.”
Leon’s voice was firm. “I've seen stranger things. But you know I trust your instincts. I’ll see what I can dig up. I feel so bad for Hank. He worked that farm for nearly three decades. He had that real estate agent real worked up because he refused to sell.”
“Real estate agent?”
“Yes, you probably met him. The guy running the estate sale.”
Sherri narrowed her eyes as she looked through the dusty windshield at the man who was still in the process of turning the rest of the pickers away. “What’s his name? He told us to call him Con. I didn’t recognize him. I wasn’t sure if he was with the bank or what.”
“His name’s Connor Cassidy. He's been buying up a lot of the farms around here.”
“Interesting. Thanks, Leon.”
“Sure thing. I'll be in touch.”
After Sherri hung up the phone, Carol looked at her friend. “So?”
Sherri relayed the information and sat staring at Connor Cassidy. He was talking to a sheriff’s deputy and attempting to fold the table to put it away. This time Sherri wasn’t about to offer to help.
Carol put the truck in reverse and headed away from the farm. “Where to?”
Sherri pointed toward the Wyatt Williams’ farm. “Just down the road. I want to meet this angry neighbor.”