Twenty

“Have you seen Mom much lately? She seems a little, uh, a little on edge,” Ronald said.

I didn’t know how to answer his question, so I merely shook my head and continued with the tour I was giving him and Deni of my operation. Ronald seemed to be remembering most of the process from his childhood.

I pointed to the floor as we approached the boiler. “Watch the hoses and that wet area. We had a bit of a water leak this morning.”

“Michael told me about the drought here. I’m happy to hear that you, Rafe, and he worked out a deal on water.”

“Rafe was responsible for that. One of his men did the work on the well, and the rest just fell into place.”

“Nice that you can see it that way, but from what I observed of Michael’s new hire, I doubt things fell into place. I’ll bet Stanley was maneuvering behind the scenes.”

I stopped walking and leaned against the barn wall. “What do you think of his skill as a brew master?”

“It’s been years since I had any contact with the brewing business, but he seems to have some fresh and innovative ideas. It’s getting beyond his personality that’s difficult.” Ronald gave me a look, I nodded in agreement, and he let forth a bark of a laugh. “Right, then. You’ve seen that in him, have you?”

“We don’t get along. He’s too entrepreneurial and pecuniary for my taste. Thinks bottom line first, then quality, and he’s talked Michael out of the Ramford recipes.” I clapped my hand over my mouth. What a jerk I was being. Stanley worked for the Ramford brewery, not just for Michael. That meant Ronald was his employer also. “Me and my big mouth. It’s not my place to pass judgment on the guy.”

Ronald’s eyes narrowed. “Please go on. I’m especially interested in the Ramford brewing recipes. You say Michael sold those to him? This is the first I’ve heard that.”

“Maybe I got it wrong, then. You’d better ask Michael.”

“You can bet I will. I’m sure Michael’s not thrilled to have my hand in the running of the brewery, but Dad’s will specified that it went to the three of us, Michael, me, and Mom, to run. So he’s stuck with me.”

Deni said not a word up to this point. Then with a swirl of her musical skirts, she turned away from the bottling line and faced Ronald.

“I thought you were going to sign over your share to your mother and Michael, that you wanted nothing to do with your father’s inheritance. Something’s different now. What?”

“I don’t like what’s going on, Mom’s erratic behavior, Michael’s lack of interest in brewing, and the circumstances of Dad’s death. I thought the murderer would be behind bars by now, but Jake tells me everyone has an alibi, and the physical evidence is minimal. I can’t leave until I know who killed my father.”

Deni’s expression said she wasn’t pleased with his decision, but she understood. “I think you should take me back to the city. I’ll just be a distraction here.”

“Not a distraction at all. You’re my center, my rock. I need you here.” Ronald pulled her to him and held her close to his heart.

Later, over the pizza I’d thrown together, I worked up the courage to ask Ronald the question on my mind. If my summons in the paper hadn’t called him home, and he returned east before his father’s murder, what brought him back here?

“I was looking for something, and I could only find it here, I guess.” He took a swallow of his beer and wiped away a dab of sauce at the corner of his mouth. I waited for him to continue. Deni’s head nodded up and down as if she knew just what he was going to say.

“It was time for me to talk to my father, to tell him how much he had hurt me, to ask him why he treated me as he did, and to try to forgive him. I also …” A knock at the door interrupted Ronald.

“That’s probably Jake. He’s stopping by to pick me up. We’re going to visit Francine tonight and ask her a few more questions.” I stopped there. I shouldn’t reveal the particulars of the proposed conversation with Francine, especially the part about Michael’s alibi.

“Come on in.” I scurried up the stairs as Jake entered. “I’ll be down in a second.” I peered at my face in the bathroom mirror, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and slathered a little moisturizer on my cheeks where the steam from the mash tun had dried them out.

“Ready.” There was no talking among the threesome in the kitchen, and Jake’s eyes wouldn’t meet mine. He mumbled a good night to Deni and Ronald and pulled me out the kitchen door.

“What’s with you tonight? Why so unfriendly?”

“Ronald’s appearance only makes one more suspect in this murder. I’m supposed to be pleased the list just got longer?”

We rode to Francine’s in silence.

Francine answered the door and invited us into the house. She led us to the central living area, sunken two steps below the rest of the rooms. Marsh sat in front of the fireplace. He stood to greet us, then walked over to Francine and stood close at her side like a rooster guarding his hen from the fox. From the papers scattered over the coffee table, it was obvious we had interrupted a business discussion and perhaps something more.

I took in the room as Francine gestured toward the butter yellow couch Marsh had abandoned. Mediterranean-style rugs warmed up the saltillo tile floor, and planters in shades of cobalt blue, azure, and sun-drenched orange gave the place a friendly feel. The room said welcome, but the people in it spoke another language.

Francine held her hands clasped tightly in front of her, the knuckles white. She appeared wary of the purpose of Jake’s visit. “Just a few quick questions,” reassured her not at all. If she was wondering why I was here, Jake handled that well, claiming that he and I were having dinner in town reminiscing about our years in law school.

“I was driving Hera home, saw your light, and thought I should drop in while I was in the neighborhood to save myself a trip here tomorrow.” Right. It was a pretty lame excuse, but Jake followed it up by taking the offensive. “Or you could stop by the office tomorrow, if this isn’t a good time.”

Francine nodded her agreement, seated herself on the couch, and gestured to several other chairs. I sat. Jake remained standing. He turned his attention to Marsh.

“I don’t mean to take up your time, Marsh.”

Marsh shook his head. “The work can wait.”

“I’m fine. Go ahead and check on our inventory for next week.” Was it my imagination, or was Francine trying to get him to leave?

“I’ll stay here. No problem.”

Jake opened the usual little notebook and flipped through several pages.

“Ah, here we go. I understand the night of the murder, you and Michael Ramford had a business meeting. I’m wondering why you never mentioned it when we talked before.”

Marsh’s face blanched then began to turn red. “That’s not correct. Who told you that?”

Jake ignored Marsh’s outburst and continued to look at Francine.

“Francine?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Michael and I met several times, both before and after I hired you.” Her tone was reassuring, and Marsh dropped his shoulders and relaxed. She turned her attention to Jake. “We were discussing a merger of our enterprises. It didn’t work out. That’s all. I can’t see how that meeting is important.”

“The time it took place is important. We know the meeting began late, but when did it end?”

“Oh, I see. You think he was here when his father was being killed? But he was with Cory. She told you that, didn’t she?”

“That’s what she said at first, but now she’s having difficulty remembering the details of that evening.”

Francine looked at Marsh and made some kind of a decision. He didn’t notice her glance. His focus was on the floor and not on her any longer.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.” She got up from her chair, signaling the end to our visit.

Back in Jake’s cruiser, he expressed his disgust at the conversation by slamming his fists on the steering column. “That was pretty useless. I thought maybe keeping it casual would take her off guard.”

“Let me give you a tip for future use. You don’t put anybody at ease when you remain standing and check in your little black notebook. It smacks of cop and interrogation. As for taking Francine off guard, that woman is too self-assured to be taken unawares. I also think she wanted to say more but couldn’t.”

“Because of Marsh.”

“Because of Marsh.”

“I need to separate the two of them without making it obvious that’s what I’m doing.”

I placed my hand on his as he reached out to start the engine. “I took care of that. Hold on a minute.”

The front door opened, and Francine appeared, holding an object in her hand.

“Hera, wait. You left your purse.” Francine handed the bag to me through the open car window.

“What really happened between you and Michael that night? Don’t spare my feelings,” I said.

She leaned in the window. “You see how protective Marsh is of me. I think he’s in love with me, and he’s jealous.”

“Jealous of a business meeting between you and Michael? I don’t …” Jake began.

“Oh, shut up, Jake. It wasn’t just business, was it?”

“No, it was, I mean, it is more than that. If Cory changed her story, it’s because Michael is giving her plenty of reason to think twice about her feelings for him.” Or maybe Cory found other reasons to wriggle out of that tale. I didn’t say that to Francine. I encouraged her to go on with her version of why Cory might be backtracking.

“So, when Cory found out Michael was with you the night of the murder, she …” I paused, but Francine wasn’t biting.

“Michael is a foolish young man. He’s trying to protect me, my reputation. Such gallantry. I don’t need it or expect it, but I must be truthful. Michael was with me that night, the entire night. I’ll be happy to come down to the station tomorrow and provide you with more information. Now I have to go.” She walked up the steps and back into the house. Marsh stood in the open doorway, waiting for her.

*

Jake and I rode back to my place in silence. I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“You think I horned in too much tonight? Are you mad I told you to shut up when Francine came out to the car, or didn’t you like the ploy I used to get her out there? What? Something’s wrong, and it’s not the weather.” My voice got louder, and the pitch was reaching the dog whistle range.

“You did fine, just fine. I’ve got a lot on my mind sorting through all these stories. Every time I track down the truth of one of them, something else pops up, and I have to run off and examine that.”

I took a good look at him. Maybe it was the dimness in the car, but I thought he looked bone tired.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to go all ballistic on you. I’m not used to your moods any more. In law school, silence from you usually meant you were working on some legal issue and didn’t want me to disturb you.”

“Now, it means the same thing. I’m working on some legal issue, like I told you, all these pieces and how they fit together.” His tone was sharp. It told me he’d like me to drop the subject, so I couldn’t.

“Maybe if you laid out all the pieces, the two of us could put them together. Another head might help.”

“Hera. I’m tired. I just don’t want to deal with this now. Not now.” He clamped his mouth shut, and his lips stretched across his teeth in a tight line that said he was about to explode. I’d made him mad.

“Okay.” A sniffle escaped.

“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying. It’s my allergies.” Now we were even. We both were lying.

*

The next morning I found out Jake wasn’t lying. He was withholding information, information I would have found unsettling, information he knew I would resent him for unearthing.

His cruiser pulled into my drive around seven followed by two other sheriffs’ cars. I heard the vehicles as I finished making my coffee after a night sleeping in the barn to be certain no one broke in to do any more damage to my equipment. The night was uneventful with respect to prowlers, but I hadn’t slept well. I looked out my kitchen window to see Jake and four men dressed in county sheriff’s department uniforms heading toward my door. I beat them to it.

“I see you brought the posse this morning.” I was in a testy mood, and it came through in my voice. If Jake noticed, he ignored my lack of good humor and selected his official voice to address me.

“Is Ronald Ramford here? I don’t see his van.”

I stood in the doorway while Jake and his men gathered at the bottom of my steps, hands on their holsters.

“Ronald and Deni left early this morning. Since I’m not their babysitter, they didn’t tell me where they were going, but you might check at the Ramford place. Or Deni might have decided she wanted to go back to the city.”

“Can we come in?” Jake stepped onto the first riser, and I held out my hand to stop his progress.

“You might tell me what this is all about.”

“Official sheriff’s business.”

I thought about delivering the line about having to get a search warrant, but remembering the fatigue on Jake’s face last night, I reconsidered.

I held open the door, stepped to one side, and gestured the crew into the room. “Oh, crap, Jake. What’s going on?”

“We need to search the house.”

“Fine, go ahead, but could you please tell me what’s happening?”

“I’m bringing Ronald in for questioning. We have reason to believe he killed his father.”

Stunned, I lowered myself into a chair at the table, dropped my head into my hands, and worked my fingers through my hair. Jake signaled his men to search the other rooms. They returned in a matter of minutes.

“No one, Sir.”

The officers left, and Jake sat down beside me at the table. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you last night, but in canvassing the hardware stores in this area, we found one which recently sold a shovel similar to that used to kill Mr. Ramford. I took a picture of Ronald to the owner early this morning, and he identified him as the person making the purchase several days before Ramford’s murder.”

“So what? So Ronald bought a shovel like the one found in my shed.”

“Mr. Ramford’s blood was on that shovel, as were Ronald’s prints. I know he lied about being in this area before his father’s murder. Now I want to know why.”