Something Borrowed, Something Bleu (9 page)

_____

The sheriff’s department arrived quickly without benefit of lights and sirens. Tabby and I perched on the edge of one of the landscape timbers that defined the dairy’s small parking lot. We stood up as two men simultaneously exited their respective vehicles and warily approached.
I stepped forward and nodded a perfunctory greeting. “He’s around the corner there.”
The two men consulted each other with a look then turned toward the sound of a siren approaching from the west. A green-and-white ambulance roared down the road toward us. The driver slid to a stop on the gravel, barely missing the Subaru. She boiled out of the cab and started toward the deputies.
Raising my hand, I called, “There’s no big hurry.”
“I think you’d better let us be the judge of that,” said the first deputy.
The two of them looked like Jack Spratt and his … life partner? Short and stout and tall and thin. Both men were clean shaven and wore navy Smokey the Bear hats.
“Of course,” I said, chastened.
A man hopped out of the passenger seat of the ambulance, and all four of them went around the corner. Tabby and I stayed put. I sure didn’t want another look at Joe, and no doubt she felt the same way.
I looked sidelong at her. Her hands were tucked into her back pockets, and her shoulders slumped forward under the invisible burden of her husband’s death. She stared down at the dirt with red-rimmed eyes, unblinking.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
She nodded but didn’t say anything. I encircled her shoulders with my arm and squeezed. There was no response, and after a few minutes it felt awkward enough that I let my hand fall to my side.
Two vans arrived. Their occupants were hatless and one wore a dark jumpsuit. Crime scene investigators? I pointed to where the others had gone, and one of them nodded. They went around the corner, too.
Then another county vehicle came down the road, a big Suburban this time, and the small parking lot was officially full. The SUV stopped. The door opened. Cowboy boots emerged below it, and a large man stepped out. He had thick ginger hair streaked with gray and a luxuriant moustache topped his lip. Broad shouldered, thin hipped, and wearing sunglasses, he looked like a quintessential lawman. He reached back into the car and drew out what had to be a non-regulation hat. Not Smokey the Bear for him, no sir. He clapped the brown Stetson on his head and started toward us.
Tabby watched his approach with wary eyes. He stopped in front of her and nodded. “Ms. Bines.”
“Sheriff Jaikes,” she said.
Under that thick moustache he had thin lips and a receding chin. He removed his sunglasses to reveal small, watery blue eyes. “Hear you’ve had some trouble here.”
“Somebody killed Joe.”
He stroked that barely-there chin. “Shot him?”
She shook her head.
“Looks like they hit him with a bottle of cream,” I said.
His eyes cut my way, then returned to Tabby. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Hmmm. We’ll find out, don’t you worry.”
Beside me, Tabby only sighed.
The sheriff’s attention turned to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Sophie Mae Reynolds,” I said.
“Friend of Tabitha here?”
I glanced at her. “I’m visiting my parents in Spring Creek, and Tabby’s teaching me how to make cheese.”
“Visiting from where?”
“Cadyville, Washington.”
“I see.” He watched me. There was considerable intelligence behind those pale eyes. It didn’t take long to make me squirm. I tried a smile, but even I could tell how weak it was.
Thank goodness a flurry of voices attracted our attention. Jack Spratt and his buddy came back from the side of the outbuilding, spied Sheriff Jaikes, and came over.
The first words out of Jaikes’ mouth were, “Separate these two and conduct preliminary interviews. Where’s the body?”
“Right around the corner there, Boss,” the skinny deputy said.
The sheriff tipped his hat to us. “Ladies.” And off he went to survey the mayhem.

_____

I got Jack Spratt, whose real name turned out to be Inspector Thomas Schumaker. We spoke in his car, with the motor running and the air conditioning on full blast. That right there made me like him. It was soon clear he knew the Bineses, especially Joe. I got the feeling Tabby had glossed over Joe’s “bar fights.”
First he asked me to tell him everything that happened. I did my best to keep it simple, ending with, “and then I called 911 on my cell phone, and Tabby called her mother.”
“Her mother?”
“To ask if Celeste could leave work and go pick up Tabby’s daughter from school.”
“Ah.” Schumaker mopped his flushed face with a graying handkerchief. The air conditioning didn’t seem to make much of a dent in his overheated state. I wondered whether men got hot flashes.
“You didn’t leave the body after finding it?” he asked. “Neither one of you?”
“Well, we didn’t sit beside it, but we stayed there by the building, waiting for you.” Except for when I got my tote bag out of my car.
“Both of you.”
“Uh huh.”
“And you both saw him leave the house late this morning.”
“Yes.”
“Both of you.”
“Yes.”
“And you and Tabby were together the whole time up at the house.”
I nodded. For Pete’s sake, was this guy thick or something?
“And then you both came down here and found the body together.”
“Yes.” I tried not to grit my teeth. “She was out of my sight for less than fifteen seconds.”
“Hear or see any vehicles come or go?”
I tried to think. “The window in the kitchen was open, and I heard a lot of traffic. Most of it was on the county road, but someone could have driven in here, I guess. The drive and the parking lot are far enough away from the house that I might not have noticed. Tabby would be more tuned into the sounds of coming and going here at the dairy.”
He made a couple more additions to his notes. “You didn’t help her kill him, by any chance.”
“What!”
He held up a hand. “Just checking. Because it sure looks like you give her a solid alibi.” Skepticism leaked out around his words. “Mind telling me why your shirt’s dirty and your hands are all scraped up?”
I looked down at my hands sitting in my lap. The scratches from earlier were red against my pale palms. “It was a goat.”
“Pardon me?”
My not-so-friendly billy goat was eating weeds over by the chicken house. I pointed. “That one. It came up behind me while I was walking up to the house from the parking lot here and, well, butted me.”
Beside me, Inspector Schumaker struggled not to laugh.
“Right in the tush. Sent me flying. See? My knee’s skinned, too. He hit me hard.”
A quick snort, and he had himself under control.
I felt myself flush bright pink, but did my best to ignore it, hoping he would, too. “Now why on earth would Tabby Bines want to kill her husband?”
He hesitated, weighing what to say. “How well do you know the Bineses?”
“Not very. Tabby used to date my brother back in high school, and Joe was his best friend. But I haven’t seen him since my brother’s funeral.”
He considered the word
funeral
. “You used to live here?”
I nodded.
“What was your brother’s name?”
“Bobby Lee Watson.”
“I see.” Pity crossed his face. “That was a very sad business.” He made another note.
“You remember what happened?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was going to Northern Colorado University, finishing up my criminal justice degree. I recall—” He realized who he was talking to and clamped his mouth shut.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
As if of its own volition, my hand slipped into my tote bag and retrieved the envelope with the copy of Bobby Lee’s letter in it. I gave it to Schumaker. “This recently came into my family’s possession. It’s why I came back home, frankly, and I’m trying to find out what it means. Any help you could give me would be great.” Mixed feeling about getting the authorities involved crowded my thoughts. What if Bobby Lee had done something criminal? Anna Belle would have a fit if she found out.
He gave me one long look, then took the letter out and unfolded it. The inspector’s eyes narrowed as they moved down the page, then flicked back to the top as he began to read through it again.
Sheriff Jaikes rapped on the window with his knuckles. We both jumped, and Schumaker reached for the door handle.
“Can I have my letter back, please?”
He scanned it one last time before handing it to me. Opening the door, he got out. I did the same.
Jaikes spoke. “What’s taking so long? Pickel’s been done with the wife for ten minutes.”
Deputy Pickel. I just managed not to snort.
“Trying to be thorough, sir.”
Jaikes scowled. “Please get back into the car, ma’am. Schumaker, come with me.”
I was happy to slide back into the cool front seat, at least until the inspector removed the key, which turned off the air conditioner. He shrugged at my sound of protest. “Sorry, Ms. Reynolds. You understand.”
Bah.
The sheriff and his two deputies consulted, notebooks open. I peered at the bells and whistles tacked all along the dash, the computer within easy access of the driver. I wondered whether the inspector could type and drive at the same time. Probably. That couldn’t be safe. Maybe he played solitaire at stoplights.
The interior of the vehicle was an oven by the time they were done and Schumaker came over and opened my door. Apparently Tabby’s story matched mine, because they let her go back up to the house. She threw me an agitated look over her shoulder as she walked away. Sheriff Jaikes gestured me out to the parking lot.
“I take it we’re done?” I asked.
The sheriff frowned. “For now.”
“Do you have any idea who might have killed Joe? Did Tabby tell you anything useful?” I already knew I hadn’t.
But my question only earned me twin basilisk gazes.
“I mean, it sounds like he had a history. Enemies. And it was probably someone he knew, right? Because, being hit from that angle, on the side of his head like that, he probably would have been able to see his assailant. Unless they surprised him, and he turned toward them. Which way was he facing? Could you tell from the blood spatter …” Seeing the looks on their faces, I trailed off. They were lawmen, for heaven’s sake. What was with the horrified expressions?
“You appear to have a real taste for the macabre,” Sheriff Jaikes said. “Most ladies would be happy to remain ignorant of the more, uh, graphic details of a violent death.”
Not only implying that I should lay off the questions, but that I wasn’t a lady.
“Sorry,” I said.
“That’s okay.” A bit of condescension in his voice there. “You have yourself a real nice evening, all right?”
The sheriff walked away. Tall and lanky like Barr, only with those massive shoulders. And, unlike Barr, he had an attitude I didn’t particularly care for.
Schumaker swiped at his face with the soppy handkerchief again. “You’re free to go, but please don’t leave town.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. You can’t make me stay here without arresting me, and it doesn’t look like you’re going to do that. I have a flight booked out of here on Sunday.” Which didn’t leave me much time to get to the bottom of Bobby Lee’s death. At least I didn’t have to concern myself with who killed Joe Bines.
Unless … were they related?
In my experience, life was filled with a lot more cause and effect than coincidence. But after eighteen years? That might be a bit of a stretch.
Schumaker looked unhappy. “I’ll have your statement typed up tomorrow. Come in and sign it in the morning.”
I sighed. “Where do you want me to show up?”
He gave me directions, and then began to rejoin his comrades.
“Inspector Schumaker?”
He stopped and swiveled his shoulders toward me.
“About my brother?”
“Not now.” He glanced toward the sheriff. “But bring that letter when you come in tomorrow to sign your statement. I’d like to take another look at it.”
That sounded ominous. A part of me regretted mentioning anything about my brother. On the other hand, Schumaker had started to tell me something when Bobby Lee’s name first came up. Then he’d stopped himself. Perhaps given a little more time I could convince him to help me find the truth.
I nodded my agreement, and he walked away. It took me five minutes to maneuver Dad’s car out of the sea of county vehicles.

It was after six
by the time I got home feeling hot, sticky, sore and not a little cranky. Voices drifted through the open windows from the backyard, but I slipped quietly up the stairs. A quick spritz of a shower later, I donned a flowing skirt that fell below my skinned knee and an airy, paisley-patterned blouse. Then I liberally slathered on my homemade mosquito repellent. That time of day the little blood suckers were bound to be thick outside. The combination of clove, rosemary, lemongrass, castor and neem oils would keep them at bay. I grabbed the bottle to share with the others.
Downstairs, I opened the sliding glass door and stepped out. Oblique light cut across the backyard, and the green scent of new-mown grass combined with the savory aroma of grilled meat from a neighbor’s barbecue. The fact that I hadn’t eaten anything other than a glass of kefir since breakfast roared to the front of my mind accompanied by a predictably Pavlovian response in my mouth.
Everyone was intent on a lively game of Bocce. My parents were playing against Meghan and a rugged-looking man with thick black hair and a bounce in his step. Erin sat at the tile-topped patio table, watching with a scowl on her face. She looked over at me and blinked to acknowledge my presence, then returned her attention to the game. The satisfying clack of one Bocce ball connecting with another elicited a groan from my father.
I eyed the pile of corn on the cob, silk removed and rewrapped in their husks, awaiting the grill. I could only imagine what that perfect summer food would taste like dripping with Tabby’s piima-cultured butter. And Dad had mentioned chicken for dinner. I envisioned lots of tender dark meat, slathered with the sticky, spicy sauce my Southern grandmother had taught Anna Belle to make when she was a child. Mmmm. Maybe add some fresh sliced tomatoes, glowing red and still warm from the garden, sprinkled with a pinch of kosher salt and freshly ground pepper.
I mentally shook off the culinary fantasy and walked over to put my hand on Erin’s shoulder. “We can play the winners.”
She glanced up at me, then back down. “I don’t want to play.”
“Erin,” I said.
“What?”
I sighed. “Never mind.”
From across the yard, Dad raised his hand in greeting. My mother followed suit, a glass of red wine in her other hand. She liked to adhere to tradition when it came to Bocce. Meghan flashed white teeth at me, all giddy because her beau had finally arrived. He saw me and approached, towing her by the hand.
“Kelly!” I gave him a big hug. “It’s so good to see you!” He was a handsome man, half Irish, half Cherokee Indian. His olive skin and light eyes were a devastating combination. They’d certainly bewitched my best friend.
“Hey, Sophie Mae. You look great.”
I ducked my head at the compliment. “Hurry up and win. Or lose. Whatever. You won’t believe what happened at the dairy today.”
Meghan looked the question at me. Kelly cocked his head to one side. Across the yard Dad and Anna Belle were talking. She pointed at something in her kitchen garden and laughed.
I said, “Someone bashed Joe Bines over the head with a bottle of milk.”
Concern and alarmed warred in Meghan’s tone. “Is he going to be okay?”
“Er … not exactly.”
She blinked, and realization dawned across her features. “He’s
dead
?”
“Um … yeah.”
Muttered exclamations at that. “When did this bashing take place?” There was danger in Meghan’s voice.
“When Tabby and I were up at the house making yogurt.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Closed. She put her hand over her eyes and hung her head. Kelly stared at me like I was a particularly interesting bug.
“Hey, I didn’t kill him!”
Apparently, I said that a little too loud, because Anna Belle’s head whipped around. Her eyes narrowed as she strode toward us. Dad followed at a more leisurely pace.
“You’re late,” she said.
I sighed. “I know. Someone killed Joe Bines while I was at the dairy. I had to stick around and talk to the sheriff and his minions.” Well, technically I’d only spoken to one minion.
Dad joined us.
Erin said, “Sophie Mae found another dead body.”
His eyes widened.
We all sat down around the table, Bocce ball forgotten. I filled everyone in on my afternoon. When I’d finished, a long silence ensued as everyone assimilated the new information.
“Let’s get the chicken and start dinner,” Meghan said. Her expression had gone from unhappy to horrified to resigned as I spoke.
Erin rolled her eyes. “But I want to hear more.”
“You’ve heard it all,” I said. “Besides, I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” Kelly said.
Erin glared at him, turned on her heel and stalked inside. Meghan looked an apology at both of us.
“So you’re at it again,” Kelly said to me.
I grimaced. “I was only trying to find out what happened around the time my brother—you know.”
He nodded.
“You should get a license, do it for real,” he said.
He was a private investigator in New Jersey, still talking about moving his P.I. business out to Washington so he and Meghan could be together. Problem was, he had a couple of long-term clients in New Jersey who kept things lucrative for him there, and he didn’t have any client base in Seattle. So they still had a few things to work out. At least they’d managed to meet halfway for a few days together.
“Of course,” he continued, “You don’t have to have a license to be an investigator in Colorado.”
That got my attention. “Really?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Anna Belle said. “Don’t tell her that.”
But he winked at me. “Really. So what does this Joe guy’s murder have to do with your brother?”
“Not a thing, to the best of my knowledge.” Still, I couldn’t help but wonder.
Something must have shown on my face, because my mother narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”
“Nothing! I mean, I told him about the letter but didn’t show it to him. He seemed to think Bobby Lee had incriminated him in some way. Got a little nutso about it, really. Then Tabby came in and I dropped it, figuring I could brace him again later.” I slumped. “Guess I lost my chance.”
“So he would have been able to tell us what Bobby Lee was talking about if you’d shown him the letter.” Anna Belle sounded frustrated. Hard to blame her.
My shoulders rose and fell. “But he wouldn’t have. I could tell, because if I’d shown him the letter he would have known it didn’t really say anything specific. No way would he incriminate himself.” I shook my head. “He was always a real jerk, and that didn’t change at all. In fact, I think he’s worse.”
“Was worse,” Meghan said.
“Was worse,” I agreed.
No, Joe wouldn’t be insulting anyone anymore. But was that why someone had killed him? Or had telling him about Bobby Lee’s letter pushed a potential killer into fast forward? Only three hours had passed between when I talked to Joe and when we discovered him with his head bashed in.
But maybe that had been enough.