My arms were tired from moving the posts. It must have taken Minnie hours to pull them from the shed. Thankfully, she had not been overwhelmed by the task. While she was constantly out of breath and she moved about as slowly as one could move without actually going backwards, she still had muscular strength. Something that would have been required to run the sheep farm.
Considering how disliked Donna Garten was, the list of possible suspects in the case was small. That was based solely on the notion that the killer would have had to have known about the broken freezer. Maribel had motive, access to the kitchen and she knew all too well the hazards of being stuck in that freezer. Carlton was stuck with a chef who did a good job but who he had to tiptoe around because she was so overbearing. There was one other suspect who had motive, though not a strong one, and knew the freezer was unsafe. He also had a bad temper. I had no idea where to find Harris Bodmin. He was most likely still out on deliveries, but I knew he delivered for the Valley Produce Company. The name and number were printed on the back of his truck.
A quick search on my phone showed that I was only fifteen minutes away from Valley Produce. With any luck, I'd find Harris there, refilling his truck. Otherwise, I'd always found I could get plenty of good information from coworkers. I just needed a reason for the visit. I hoped one would come to me before I reached my destination.
There was no sign of Harris's truck as I pulled into the parking lot. The Valley Produce Company was mostly delivery, but there was a large farm stand where locals could get nice prices on leftover produce. Emily occasionally went there to get peaches and plums, something she'd never had much luck growing in her garden. A man with curly gray hair was busy filling the baskets in the farm stand when I walked beneath the overhang. "Got a special on yellow potatoes today," he said without looking up. I'd come up with a flimsy excuse for being there, but it occurred to me I just needed to buy some produce. Easiest excuse.
"Great, I could make a stew." I picked up one of the wire baskets they provided for shopping. I was in luck, sort of. The man filling baskets was named Connor and the word manager was printed on his nametag. Maybe my flimsy excuse would come in handy after all. I could sweeten the deal by also buying produce.
I picked out a half dozen nice yellow potatoes. Stew actually sounded good. "I was hoping I'd see Harris out here."
Connor dropped several large onions into a basket, then looked at me. "Why do you need to see him? Is there something I could answer for you?"
"Not unless you spend time at the Thornbridge Hotel," I said it with a smile. He didn't return one.
"Haven't been there in awhile. They used to be our customer," he said curtly.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were currently delivering to the Thornbridge." I took out my press pass. "I saw Harris there on Monday morning. I'm doing a story on the Thornbridge Hotel. There's always been rumors that the place is haunted." He rolled his eyes but I pushed on. "Some of the staff told me about incidents, unexplained events. I thought I'd get an outsider's opinion. I figured Harris probably spent enough time at the hotel that he might have had a few experiences of his own." He seemed to be buying my story.
"You journalists focus on the most ridiculous stuff. How about the fact that the chef died in the hotel's freezer? That seems like a much more important story than a few housekeepers with overactive imaginations feeling a gush of air or having their broom fall down." The one thing I hadn't counted on while devising my flimsy excuse was running smack dab into a Lana caliber skeptic.
"You'd be surprised how many readers want to hear about ghosts and haunted hotels. I agree the chef's death is important, but I've been asked to refrain from writing anything about it for the time being. I'm sure it will all come out soon enough." I wasn't getting great vibes from Connor. He seemed tense, almost angry.
"Do you expect Harris back anytime soon? I promise not to ask him many questions."
Connor shook his head and practically hurled the next few onions into the basket. "You won't see him here. I fired him earlier today." That probably explained why Harris was filled with rage on the road.
"I see. Did that have anything to do with the strawberry incident at the hotel?" I asked. He looked surprised by the question. "I was there at the time," I explained. "I witnessed the whole thing."
"Ah ha, then you, no doubt, saw his temper in action. I couldn't put up with it any longer. He lost the Thornbridge account. Donna called to let me know she would no longer be using Valley Produce. She told me the whole story. Donna was difficult, and those strawberries were perfectly fine considering they're out of season at the moment. I'd told her when she ordered them that they wouldn't be the same sweet, juicy ones she received in summer. She insisted they'd be fine and that she needed them. I'm sure she gave Harris an earful, but there was no reason for him to lose his temper and smash those berries. I could have sold them here at the stand without much of a loss."
"I'm sorry all that happened and that you lost a good employee and client as a result."
"Not sorry about losing Harris. He had a terrible temper. It was stressful having him as an employee. I hope to get the Thornbridge Hotel back on my client list once things settle down there. Carlton is easy to work with, and he'll have it easier now that—" He stopped and shook his head. "Isn't nice for me to talk like that with Donna so recently deceased."
"I understand. It hasn't been long, so it's easy to forget. I don't expect you to say yes, but just in case—I still have to write my story. Do you think you could help me out and let me know where Harris lives? I would love to ask him if he ever experienced anything odd at the hotel."
"I don't know why anyone would want to talk to that ornery guy, but he lives just three blocks from here on Road 38. His house is the only blue one on the block. You can't miss it. Just don't tell him I told you."
"I won't mention your name at all. I'm a journalist, so people rarely ask how I found them. I'm ready to pay for these potatoes."
Connor rang me up. "I'll bet Carlton got that freezer fixed now. Harris told me the kitchen assistant nearly died in there too. Carlton should never have let that happen. I imagine he'll be in some trouble from all this."
"You might be right. Thanks again." I headed back to the truck. It seemed everyone was under the same notion—that Donna had died accidentally. Of course, they weren't privy to all the information I was. Especially the pertinent details provided by, none other than, the ghost of Thornbridge Hotel.