The Trouble with Turkeys (Zoe Donovan Mystery Book 2) (4 page)

“And Holly?”

“In Pike’s opinion Holly probably has the least motive of any of the visitors to want Charles dead, but Pike did say that she often complained to Charles about the callous way he treated her mother.”

“He wasn’t kind to his mistress?”

“Pike says no.”

“Do you think it’s odd that Pike would befriend a heartless man like Charles for all of those years?” I asked.

“I did at first, but Pike was pretty upfront about the fact that as a family member Charles was a brute, but as a neighbor he was a pretty good guy who was always willing to lend a hand. He said that Charles came through for him on more than one occasion.”

“Weird.” Suddenly this gruesome job was becoming slightly more interesting. It wouldn’t be so bad babysitting a bunch of turkeys in preparation for slaughter if I could indulge my natural inclination to snoop by looking into Charles’s untimely death as long as I was here. A dead body, seven likely suspects; what could be better?

After Mason was freed up to help us with the paperwork I needed to sign, I made my way back to my truck. Upon returning to the boathouse, I took off my muddy shoes, lit the fire I’d built that morning in my river-rock fireplace, fed Maggie
and my cats Marlow and Spade, then headed into the bathroom to give Charlie a vigorous bath. It took three sudsings before I managed to wash the stench of the turkey farm out of his long, tan coat, but by the time I was finished he more closely resembled the cuddly bundle of fur I knew and loved. I decided that, as much as I loved bringing Charlie to work, perhaps a turkey farm wasn’t the best place for the little dog.

After drying Charlie and refilling everyone’s food and water, I took a shower and changed into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and an overly large yet snuggly sweatshirt. Deciding to leave my long, curly hair to its own devices, I made a peanut butter sandwich, poured a glass of milk, and settled onto the overstuffed sofa in front of the fireplace. I thought about Jeremy’s situation as I ate my dinner.

I have a soft spot for dads who step up and raise their kids when their mothers don’t want them. I myself am the by-product of my wealthy mother’s single act of teenage rebellion with my locally beloved yet financially lacking, blue-collar father. When my uptight and stodgy grandparents found out that my mother was pregnant, they shipped her off to an “aunt’s,” where I, under the shroud of absolute secrecy, was delivered into the world. My grandparents wanted an anonymous adoption, but my dad fought hard and convinced them that he would raise me in isolation from the judgmental eyes of their upper-class friends. Jeremy is young but, like my dad, he is kind and responsible and will make a great father. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that I’ve made the right choice in agreeing to take this crazy job.

I glanced at the phone and considered calling my dad. I’d recently found out that he’d been in contact with my mother and had failed to mention it to me, even though I saw him on almost a daily basis. I’d made the decision a few weeks ago to let him tell me in his own time, but he’d had plenty of opportunities and so far had failed to do so. I supposed if I really wanted to know what was going on, I was going to need to bring up the subject myself.

I reached for the phone as Charlie leaped up from the sofa, where he’d been sleeping, and ran to the door. He began hopping and dancing around in a way that indicated he already knew our new neighbor had stopped by for a visit. I opened the door and smiled as my ex-nemesis, Zak Zimmerman, strolled up the front walkway with his chocolate lab, Lambda. For reasons unknown to me, Charlie loves Zak. I mean, he really loves him. When Levi and Ellie stop by, he’s always happy to see them, but if Zak is anywhere near the boathouse, Charlie starts jumping around in a joyful display I’ve come to think of as his happy dance.

“I’m glad you stopped by,” I greeted as Zak brushed snow from his shoulders.

“You are?” Zak looked surprised, and I didn’t really blame him. You see, for years I considered Zak to be my archenemy. Our relationship began in the seventh grade, when he beat me in the mathathon for which I’d been studying relentlessly for almost three months. The worst part of it was, I’d invited my maternal grandparents, a scary couple I’d met only a handful of times yet still inexplicably wanted to please, and, miracle of miracles, this untouchable couple, who valued achievement above all else, actually had agreed to come. Following what I still in many ways consider my biggest defeat came six years of second-place finishes to Zak’s first for every science fair, spelling bee, and academic competition I entered until we both graduated high school.

“I am.” I hate to admit it, but I’ve been a total bitch to Zak, even though he’s never been anything but super
nice to me. Everyone I know seems to love the guy, and I have to admit that during the horror of the past few weeks he’s been there for me like nobody else.

Zak greeted Charlie, kissed me on the cheek, and walked through the front door of my tiny yet awesome home.

“Care for a PB&J?” I offered.

“I brought wine.”

For the first time I noticed the bottle he carried.

“Even better.” I took the wine into the kitchen and opened it.

“When I talked to you earlier you mentioned that you were on your way to check out a job in the valley. How’d it go?”

“Okay, I guess. On the minus side, I have to spend the next two weeks caring for a bunch of birds I already know are going to end up on the chopping block. The entire notion makes me sick to my stomach. On the plus side, it looks like there might be a really complex murder mystery
to keep me distracted.”

“Murder mystery?” Zak accepted the glass of wine I offered him and returned to the living room.

“Okay,” I geared up, “get this.”

I guess it’s sort of morbid for someone who values life to the extent I do to get all worked up when there’s a murder to solve, but I’d like to go on record at this point to remind you all that I often display random and contradictory behavioral responses that no one, including myself, can ever really explain.

“The owner of the turkey farm died two days ago under what can only be described as unusual and mysterious circumstances. The farmer from the neighboring property showed up to share a cup of coffee and found Charles Tisdale dead on the kitchen floor. He called the police, who have yet to release an official cause of death, but the neighbor, who goes by the name of Pike, told Jeremy that it looked like Charles had been hit over the head.”

I took a deep breath before continuing. “Jeremy mentioned this to Charles Tisdale’s attorney, Mason Perot, who claimed that Charles wasn’t murdered but merely fell and hit his head on the corner of the kitchen table.”

“And why are you so certain this attorney is lying?” Zak asked.

I shrugged. “Because it makes a better story if Charles was murdered, and I could use a distraction from the saga of birds on death row.”

Zak grinned. “Makes sense. Go on.”

“Anyway, shortly after Jeremy arrived at the farm, a whole herd of relatives showed up. Honestly, if I was going to make this story up, I couldn’t have come up with a better cast of characters.”

“Ah, the suspects,” Zak correctly deduced.

“It’s sort of complicated,” I warned. “You might want to write this down.”

“I have a good memory. Go on,” Zak encouraged.

I spent the next several minutes explaining everything I’d learned from Jeremy.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Zak repeated. “Charles has four children: Oliver, Leroy, Peggy, and Bertram. Oliver is at the farm with his wife, Olivia, Leroy arrived alone, and Peggy is in attendance with her daughter, Margaret. Bertram is in jail.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “But Bertram’s son, Brent, is a participant in the discussion and, apparently, an heir to the estate.”

“Maybe Brent is simply getting his dad’s share,” Zak guessed.

“Yeah, that’s what I think, too, but I’ve yet to confirm that.”

“So is that it?”

“No. The most interesting heir of all is Holly, the daughter of the mistress Charles was keeping time with right up until he died. According to Jeremy, Holly is going to receive a portion equal to Oliver, Leroy, Peggy, and Brent’s.”

“And Holly’s mother?” Zak wondered.

“I’m not sure. Her name is Dolly, but as of this afternoon she hadn’t been on the property and Jeremy hadn’t met her. Still, I suppose we should find out.”

“We?”

“You are going to help me?” I asked. “With the murder, not the turkeys.”

“Do you want me to?”

I was surprised, but I did. I nodded.

“Okay, I’m in.”

I hugged Zak. It was a new and strange experience to have warm and fuzzy feelings for a man I once loathed. I wasn’t sure if my feelings for my former nemesis stemmed more from the temporary insanity I’d been experiencing since being fired from the job that meant more to me than I can express or my willingness to open my eyes and see the man everyone else has been in love with for quite some time.

“So where do we start?”

“I suppose we should verify that Charles Tisdale actually was murdered,” Zak suggested. “If his injury was the result of a slip and fall, as the attorney suggested, this entire enterprise may be futile at best.”

“So how do we find out the results of the autopsy?”

“Do you have a computer?”

“Yeah, hang on, I’ll get it.”

As I climbed the stairs to the loft that serves as my bedroom, I could hear Zak talking to the dogs. I don’t know why I’d never noticed how kind and gentle he could be. It’s odd spending a lifetime hating someone for being so much better at everything than you are, only to find out they’re also one of the nicest and most genuine people on the planet. I had a hard time letting go of my resentment toward Zak, but once I did, I was afraid I might have opened the gate to emotions I’m fairly certain I’m not yet ready to deal with.

“It’s kind of old,” I warned him as I handed him my five-year-old laptop. I was embarrassed by my meager attempt at living in the age of information and social networking. Zak is a genius. And not just an average genius, but a freaking full-on computer nerd who built his own software company in his garage during his formative years and then sold it to Microsoft for tens of millions of dollars when he turned twenty-one.

I watched as Zak’s large hands manipulated the keyboard in a masterful way I’d never been able to pull off. Now that I’ve slowly begun to remove the blinders where Zak is concerned, I can see that my former enemy is actually a remarkably handsome man. Freakishly tall with broad shoulders and sandy blond hair that brushes his shoulders. He has blue eyes that are framed by impossibly long lashes that graze his bushy but well-shaped eyebrows. I guess I’ve always known that Zak is handsome, but I’ve only recently been able to look into his eyes and see the depth of intelligence and compassion that others have recognized for years.

“It looks like the official medical examiner’s report suggests that Charles was hit over the head with a blunt object, most likely rectangular in shape. The wound was inconsistent with his hitting his head on the table near where he was found.”

“They have that information right there on the Web?” I asked.

“Sure, if you have the ability to hack into the police database.” Zak grinned.

“You hacked in?”

“You wanted to know what was on the report.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to end up in jail.”

“You know,” Zak said, “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

I blushed. I really have been a bitch to him.

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing. I was in and out before anyone even knew I was there.”

“Okay, so we know Charles was killed. Now we just need to figure out by whom, with what, and why.”

“Before we go any further, I need to ask once more, why are we doing this?”

“Dead turkeys,” I explained. “Lots and lots of almost-dead turkeys. I need a distraction, and a murder investigation is a good distraction from all the death and mayhem.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a little peculiar?”

“Every damn day.” I smiled.

“Let’s make a list and see where it leads us,” Zak suggested. “Any chance we can get into Charles’s private spaces: his office, for a start?”

I wasn’t sure. Jeremy was staying out there, so we could always enlist his help, but the house was full of dueling heirs, each one suspicious of the others. Chances are they’d be keeping an eye on one another, as well as everyone else.

“Maybe,” I finally answered. “We can try. For now, let’s just write down everything we know, as well as what we need to find out.”

“If we count everyone staying at the farm we have Oliver, Olivia, Leroy, Peggy, Margaret, Brent, and Holly,” Zak listed. “That gives us seven plus the attorney Mason, which bring us to eight.”

“Correct.”

“Okay, I added all seven visitors as well as Mason to the list.” Zak typed the names into the computer database. “I suppose we should look at those who weren’t there.”

I frowne
d as I tried to sort out what Zak meant.