Murder at Redwood Cove (13 page)

A
painted sign over a dirt road greeted me at Redwood Ranch as I turned off Highway One. I pulled in and parked next to a dusty black pickup with several bales of alfalfa hay in the bed. I got out. A woman was tying a leopard Appaloosa to a hitching post next to a corral. His black spots ranging in size from a nickel to a silver dollar leapt out at me from his white base coat.

I walked over to her. “Hi. I'm Kelly Jackson from Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. I'm here to meet Diane.”

“You found her.” She finished securing the horse with a tug on the rope.

Short gray bushy hair framed her tanned face, lines deeply etched in the surface. Her denim shirt had R
EDWOOD
R
ANCH
embroidered in red above the pocket. She shoved a hand in my direction, and we shook.

I walked over to the horse and patted his neck. “He's a beautiful Appie.”

“Sounds like you know something about horses.”

“I grew up on a ranch in Wyoming. Guest ranch in the summer, working ranch year-round.”

“Jackson. Are your parents Ed and Margaret?”

“Yes. How do you know them?” I was shocked at being in California and meeting a friend of my mom and dad's. Small world.

“We met at the Grand National Stock Show and Rodeo in Denver. There's an informal guest ranchers' get-together every year. We hit it off and make it a point to see each other at the event.”

A young man yelled from an open barn a short distance away. “Hey, Diane, we've got a problem with one of the mares.”

“I need to see what's up. I was going to give this guy some exercise in the ring. Would you like to take him for a ride?”

“Love to.” I didn't realize how much I missed being on a horse until then. “What's his name?”

“Nez Perce, in honor of the Indian tribe that did a lot to develop the breed.” She rubbed his forehead. “We call him Nezi for short.”

The horse looked at me. I looked at him. Sizing each other up. A little rim of white showed around his eyes.

“He's a good boy,” Diane said. “Jump on, and I'll adjust the stirrups.”

I grabbed the saddle horn, put my foot in the stirrup, and swung my leg over. I was glad I'd chosen lightweight hiking boots as my footwear of choice for this trip. Diane quickly made the length change.

“What reining style do you use—straight or neck?”

“Neck.” She opened the gate to the workout ring.

I urged Nezi forward, and Diane closed the gate.

“I'll be back in a few.” She strode off.

I gave him a nudge with my legs, and we began to walk around the enclosure. He stretched out his neck, pulling extra length from the reins. I gently but firmly gathered the leather back. He shook his head. Test time. He pulled again a little harder, ears slightly back. I quickly gathered the reins in. His ears went up, and he looked back at me. Our eyes met. We had an understanding.

The rest of the workout took me back home. His gait was smooth and collected. An extra spring came through in his movement that seemed to communicate enjoyment at being in motion.

As I put him through his paces, the rhythm and paying attention to him helped calm my racing mind. Why would I want to trade doing this every day on the ranch for dealing with resort issues and, in this case, a murder? Why did I crave being able to make my own spot in the world? I'd done a good job on the ranch. It wasn't like my parents were giving me a handout.

I wasn't at peace there. That was what it was. It wasn't where I was supposed to be at this time in my life. I knew that. I'd been over it in my head so many times. I'd know when I was at the right place when I found it. I just had to trust in that.

We finished a second canter around the ring, and I slowed to a walk to cool him down. I leaned forward and patted his sweaty neck. The creak of the saddle was music to my ears.

Diane returned so I rode up to the gate, opened it, and went through. I dismounted and pulled Nezi's reins over his head. He vigorously rubbed his head against my shoulder, leaving a swath of horsehair down the arm of my fleece.

Diane grabbed the bridle and pulled him away. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem. I offered a shoulder to my horse at the end of our rides. It was my way to thank her.” I brushed the hair off and gave him a scratch behind the ears. “And thank you, Diane, for the ride.”

“You said you wanted to talk about my meeting with Bob Phillips.”

“I'm trying to find out what he was working on so I can carry on at the inn.”
And maybe find out who killed him
.

“I had an idea for a riding vacation package,” Diane said. “Have people stay at one inn and do different rides each day. When I asked around, Bob's name repeatedly came up as honest, easy to work with, and dependable.”

There it was again. Great guy. What could have happened?

“I knew of him but hadn't had any interactions with him. He came over that day to meet me and check out my stock and the facility. I told him I wanted people to have something extra during the guests' evenings in terms of entertainment and maybe a special dinner at the inn. He was enthusiastic about it. The next step was for me to give him some dates.”

“I agree it's an excellent idea. I'd like to pursue those plans with you.”

“I'm glad you like it. I'll get you some dates, and we'll go from there.”

I felt awkward questioning her since she didn't know Bob, but I didn't want to miss any opportunity.

“You know, Bob died later that day.”

“Yeah. I read about it in the paper. Too bad.” Diane studied her scuffed brown cowboy boots.

“It's hard to understand how it happened. How did he seem to you that day? Was there any indication he wasn't feeling well?”

She shrugged. “Like I said, I didn't really know him. He seemed fine to me.”

Dead end there. Maybe Javier would know something.

“Give me a call, and let's go for a ride sometime. You can ride Nezi whenever he's available.”

“I'd really like that.” With all the thoughts swirling around in my mind, a trail ride through the countryside sounded like a perfect opportunity to clear my mind.

“It was nice meeting you. Say hi to your folks for me.” She led Nezi off to the barn.

I walked slowly back to the pickup truck, breathing in the smells of the ranch. The blend of hay, animals, and the outdoors always filled me with contentment. Something I could use right now.

I glanced in the rearview mirror as I drove out. Plumes of dust billowed up behind me as I drove out to the main road, obscuring the barn and the corral. I couldn't see anything clearly. Much like my mind, glimpses of clues here and there but no clear picture.

A faded sign said P
RODUCE
M
ARKET
and marked the location of Javier's store. I pulled into a parking space and got out.

Tables covered with bunches of bright green broccoli, a variety of potatoes, and other seasonal produce lined the open front of the store. I walked toward the back. A heavyset man in a canvas apron approached me.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm Kelly Jackson with Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. I called earlier and spoke with Javier.”

“That's me. You wanted to know about my appointment with Bob.”

“I'm trying to get up to speed on what the issues are at the inn. I understand you supply all the fruit and vegetables.”

“Right. Recently some of it wasn't the quality Bob expected. He brought me some samples. I checked into it and found out one of my new drivers hadn't taken the necessary precautions during a hot spell. That's taken care of now.”

“I reviewed the invoices from past orders. It seems like what's needed is pretty routine.”

“It is. Bob and I talked on the phone about what was in season, and he'd make his order. Sometimes he came by and did it in person. When he did, we always got together for coffee. We've been friends for fifteen years.” He stopped and looked down. “We were friends for fifteen years.”

“I'm sorry. I know it's been a shock for everyone.”

“I wish we'd sat down together that day. Maybe he'd still be alive.” His voice trembled, and he turned away to arrange some already neatly stacked apples.

“What happened that you didn't follow the usual routine?” Okay, that could come across as being nosy, but what people thought of me right now didn't matter.

Javier kept arranging apples. “We'd planned on it. He stepped outside to answer a call on his cell phone. I heard his raised voice.” He turned back to me. “Very unusual for Bob to do that. When he came back in, I could tell he was upset. I asked if everything was all right. He said it was just something he had to deal with and he'd have to pass on coffee. He had to meet someone.”

That someone was probably the last person to see Bob alive according to my timeline. The murderer.

“Do you have any idea who he was meeting?”

“Nope.”

“Do you know if it was business or personal? It might be something I need to follow up on.”

“Not a clue.”

“What time did he leave?”

“I think it was around two thirty.”

I thanked Javier for the information and made an order for the inn. I started up the truck and began the drive back. No wonder the killer had wanted that cell phone. It would show who had called him. I agreed with Stanton that it was long gone, but not for the money it could bring in. It was probably at the bottom of the ocean by now. We could get the phone records, but it would take a while.

What had I found out? Bob met with Suzie about the festival and arranged to pick up the keys for the refrigerator and the shed. Nothing there. Same with the information from the ranch. I decided to drive out to where Bob was found to find out how long it took to get there. The clock on the dashboard displayed one ten. Twenty minutes later I parked where Daniel had stopped the other day. Bob's body was found at three thirty. The person who found him said he didn't see anyone else. Bob left the market at two thirty. With the drive and the walk to where he was found, that would make it about three. An argument, a shove, and the murderer had time to disappear.

The person he talked to on the phone had to be the killer.

T
hirty minutes later I was on my way to meet Suzie. As I turned the corner to head for Noah's Place, I caught sight of her gleaming yellow curls a half a block ahead of me.

“Suzie. Wait up!”

The young woman turned and waved. I picked up my pace.

“I appreciate your help with this.” I fell in step with her.

“Kelly, anybody who would do what they did to Tommy deserves to be caught and punished.” Suzie's mouth was set in a grim line, an uncharacteristic expression for her.

“I'd like you to ask the questions. I'll chime in if I think of something.”

“Got it.” Suzie opened the door to the café.

Noah was in the back of the kitchen.

Suzie peered in. “Hey, Noah. Is this a good time to talk?”

He nodded but kept his focus on the large ball of dough he was kneading. “I can work and talk, too. No problem.”

“You probably heard about what happened at the headlands last night,” Suzie said.

“Yep. The town's buzzing.” He whacked the dough with the palm of his hand. A deep frown creased his forehead.

“We're trying to help find out who attacked Tommy.”

Noah looked at us. “I keep thinking about my son and how I'd feel if someone tried to hurt him.” He pounded the dough into the wooden block. “The rage I'd feel.” He flattened the dough with a series of punches.

“We thought if you could tell us who was here at seven thirty last night, which is when it happened, that would rule them out, narrow the field of suspects,” Suzie said.

“Do you think it was a local?” His gaze never left the dough.

“We have no idea. We want to make a list of who couldn't have been involved.”

“The band took a break about then, and people ordered. The place was packed. I can picture a lot of their faces. George Johnson, Fred McCrae, Gordon Jones, to name a few. I can write names down for you this afternoon.” He grabbed a towel from a nearby rack and wiped the flour from his hands.

“That would be great. What time should I come by to get it?”

“I'll have it ready for you by four.”

I fingered the paper menu on the counter. “We're concerned the person might try again. Is there anyone you know who left right after I did? We could start there for now. Try to find out what they were doing last night.”

Noah went back to kneading the dough, not answering right away. Seconds passed.

Had I overstepped my bounds? Had the invisible door slammed shut on the outsider?

He stopped working and stared at me. “I served Tommy ice cream night before last. I'm glad he's okay, and I'm glad I'll be able to hand him another ice cream cone.”

I almost shivered from the cold shoulder I felt Noah was giving me.

But then he said, “Andy and Phil left right after you. They had festival work to do, they said.”

Yikes. Two of the four.

“Suzie, your employee, Jason, took off. Said he really wanted to stay but had to do prep for tomorrow.”

“He did. Jason's handling the booth for our hotel.”

Number three.

“Charlie Chan got a call and canceled a food order he'd just placed. Said there was an emergency.”

And number four.

Suzie and Noah talked about a couple of other people who'd left . . . a dad needing to babysit, a plumber with a leaky pipe to fix.

I had tuned out. All four possible suspects had left in time to attack Tommy. Did any of them have alibis? And how was I going to find out?