Biscuits and Slashed Browns Read online

  “Thanks. I’m sorry to intrude like this.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I lost my mom last year. It’s awful.” At least Mom’s death hadn’t been murder.

  * * *

  Noreen had accepted a bowl of soup and a biscuit, and had recovered enough to spend quality time with her phone, along with the box of tissues, at a table in the corner.

  At two-thirty Adele slid her apron over her head and threw it in the bin. “Hon, I got to get myself home. I need to tend the sheep. I’d only signed up to volunteer at the festival for three hours this mornin’.”

  “Go. I can handle what’s left. And make sure to rest up, okay?”

  She glanced in Noreen’s direction and lowered her voice. “Should I tell the girl I found her father’s body?” she whispered.

  I gazed at Noreen, too. She had calmed down considerably, which was good, and bringing up the image of her dead father could certainly change her mood. “I don’t think so. Not now. Right?”

  “My thought, too. I certainly can’t say I don’t think he suffered, in case she asks. You should have seen his expression.” She grimaced. “Come by later and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Deal.”

  By three o’clock the last customer left, with me holding the door for the lady with the walker. Posting that the store closed at two-thirty didn’t mean the place was actually empty at two-thirty, only that I stopped letting new customers in. I’d enjoyed seeing the happy functional family savor both their lunch and their time together. The boy had ordered a Buck-sized meal and the girl had gone home with an antique muffin tin and a cake pan, telling me how much she loved to bake. The mother appeared much restored by the meal and the father had tipped generously.

  “I hope you’ll come back again soon. Do you live around here?” I’d asked.

  The mother shook her head. “We’re visiting from Wyoming for the kids’ spring break.”

  “But our like five-times-great-grandfather started the university,” the boy said. “Some Maxwell dude, according to my dad.” He lifted one eyebrow like he didn’t quite believe the story.

  “It’s true,” the father said, his strong jaw flashing another brilliant smile. “Jordie here is considering applying to go to college at IU, right, sweetie?” He reached out and softly tugged his daughter’s braid.

  “Could happen.” She clearly got her smile from her father, just like the boy was soon going to have girls falling all over the good looks he’d inherited from his dad.

  Now I fixed a small burger for myself, grabbed a glass of orange juice, and moseyed over to Noreen’s table. “Okay if I join you?”

  “No probs.”

  I sat across from her and asked, “How are you doing?” before chowing down.

  She laid the phone on the table and set her chin on her hand. “I still can’t even believe it.”

  “I know,” I mumbled around a mouthful. I swallowed. “So are you from Boston, too?” Maybe getting her mind off the death was the best thing for right now.

  “I grew up in Rowley, on the North Shore.”

  I must have looked confused, so she went on.

  “Sorry, forgot you wouldn’t know. It’s a small town north of the city, near the coast. But my folks were divorced and I mostly lived with my mom. I’m out here getting a master’s degree in music theory, so I was super excited when Daddy said he was coming to Brown County for this conference.” She sniffed again.

  “Had you already seen him this trip?”

  “Yeah. He came out to Bloomington last night and we had dinner. He was his usual self.” Her smile seemed infinitely sad.

  “What time did he leave?”

  She pursed her lips. “Nine? Ish. He said he was going back to Nashville to meet someone for a drink.”

  No surprise there. I made a mental note of the time, and another one to discover who he planned to meet.

  “You’d met him, right?” she asked.

  “Yes, he was in here twice yesterday.” I sipped my juice.

  “So you know he was kind of a character.”

  I didn’t offer my opinion as to exactly what kind of character he might have been. It would be hurtful, and he was dead, for Pete’s sake. She probably had an inkling, anyway.

  “He said he choked tasting one of the entries and some dude saved him.” Her face crumpled. “For what, another half day of life?” She started weeping again, not even bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down her face.

  “Noreen, have you called anyone? A friend who can pick you up or hang with you?”

  As her crying ebbed, she grabbed a handful of tissues, wiping her face and blowing her nose again. “I haven’t, but of course I should. I should have called him earlier.” She punched a number. “Phil? I need your help. I’m at a country store restaurant in South Lick. Can you come?” She listened for a minute and then laughed, the first happy sound I’d heard out of her. “Exactly the one. Thanks, bro.” She disconnected and smiled at me. “My friend Phil is your friend Phil, as it turns out.”

  I laughed, too. “He’s awesome. I should have realized you would know him from the music department.”

  “He’s a wicked good friend. He’d mentioned this general store place he makes brownies for but I’d never caught the name.” Her face sobered. “God, this is awful, Robbie.”

  “It absolutely is.” I reached over and patted her hand. “Listen, when you’re ready, Detective Thompson is going to need to talk with you. Can you give me your cell number and e-mail address? He asked me to get them from you.”

  When she complied, I tapped the information into a text to the detective. “Do you mind telling me what they said to you at the hotel about your father’s death?”

  “They were totally shocked when I asked for him. The desk dude turned away and I heard him mutter the word murder to another hotel person. I asked what he was talking about, and he said my father had unfortunately been killed this morning. They told me where the police station in South Lick was, so I rushed over there. And the tall guy, Lieutenant Robin?”

  “Bird. Lieutenant Buck Bird.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” she said. “He wouldn’t tell me anything except that the detective in charge of the case was here talking to you.”

  “Where was your dad staying?”

  “The Nashville Inn, where the academic conference is being held. I don’t know how they knew so quick, but . . .” She shook her head.

  “All of Brown County is like one small town. Would you happen to know of anyone who might have wanted to kill your father?” I held up a hand. “It might be too soon to talk about it, so don’t if you don’t want to.”

  She ran a finger around the rim of her empty coffee mug. “You saw him in action. He was arrogant. Kind of obstinate. I know he rubbed a lot of people the wrong way, including my mom, eventually.” Again the ghost of a smile. “But he was always good to me. I loved him and he loved me back.”

  Chapter 11

  By four o’clock I was comfortably ensconced in Adele’s warm sunny kitchen, a slice of fresh-baked cracked wheat bread half-devoured in front of me, a cup of cinnamon-spice tea at my left hand. Despite having eaten a slider, I was hungry all over again. Working nine hours straight on my feet burned up calories almost as much as being a young teenage boy with tall genes.

  Adele slid a bowl toward me across the table. “Try a bite of this here spinach dip with the bread. It’s pretty dang tasty, if I do say so myself.”

  I dipped my bread in the bowl and took a bite. “The dip is really good.”

  “Learned it from my friend Barbara. She’s a waitress over at the Cracker Barrel in Bloomington. It’s good with carrot and celery sticks, too, of course.”

  “Mmm.” I swallowed my bite. “I’d love the recipe. I have to figure out a way I can use this in the restaurant.”

  “If you cut down a bit on the sour cream and mayo, you might could put it on a special burger, I’ll bet. Make it a spread, like.”

  “
Good idea.”

  “Fill me in on the rest of the afternoon.” Adele clasped her cup of tea with both hands. Sloopy, her working border collie, snoozed in the corner of the room, twitching his leg as he no doubt dreamed of chasing another four-legged creature.

  “Noreen Connolly is devastated, but it turns out Phil and she are friends,” I began. “She called him to come by and go with her to talk to the detective.”

  “Phil’s a good egg.” She shook her head. “Tough stuff the girl is going through.”

  “You bet.” I felt a tiny nudge at my ankle. Was Adele playing footsies? Another nudge was accompanied by an intense vibration of purring from a white cat who emerged from under the table.

  “Shut your mouth before the flies get in, hon.” Adele snapped her fingers in the air near her chair leg. “Come here, Chloe, and meet Robbie.”

  “Since when do you have a cat?” I watched the cat stop and give an urgent lick and a bite to her front paw, ignoring Adele, as is the feline way.

  “Got me some few mice in the barn been trying to invade the kitchen, too. This kitty popped up over at the shelter. I’d left a message saying I needed a good mouser and they called me about her.”

  “Hey, kitty cat.” I scratched the side of my chair and made the same kissing sound that always brought Birdy running. Chloe regarded me for a few seconds, then ambled over to let me pet her. I smiled at her purr of contentment and the gray spot on her head. “How are she and Sloopy doing together?”

  “He’s interested in being friends but she’s not having it. I will say she’s not being pissy or nothing. She don’t get her back up, she just walks away from him.”

  “At least the two don’t fight.” I stroked her head and back, and rubbed my knuckle on the side of her jaw, which only increased the purring. “She’s loud, isn’t she?”

  “I’ll say. The vet had to clap to get her to stop purring so he could listen to her heart.” She chuckled.

  I sipped my tea. “What were we talking about?”

  “The dead guy’s daughter, far’s I recall.”

  “Right.” I told her about Noreen being a student and what she’d said about her father. “He was definitely kind of obnoxious. I didn’t say it to her. But she knew how he was and didn’t care. And anyway, who kills someone just because they’re an a . . .” I stopped myself. Despite Adele’s no-nonsense approach to life, I knew she didn’t approve of swearing in any form. “Because they’re a jerk.”

  “People who feel threatened by the jerk, maybe? Or somebody he’s gone and damaged way beyond having an academic argument with? You should know by now, Robbie. Sometimes humans feel strongly enough to take that one last, fatal step and end another person’s life. It don’t happen every whipstitch, you know, not every day. But it does happen.”

  I munched my bread for a moment. “Unfortunately, I do know. It’s just so hard to believe.” I gazed at her. “Are you up for telling me how the professor was killed?”

  She scrunched her nose, then held up a hand. “Hang on a little minute. This calls for something with a deal more oomph than tea.” She brought a bottle of Kentucky bourbon back to the table. “Have a splash?”

  “Why not?” I pushed my mug toward her.

  After she poured a bit of whiskey into both of our teas, she sat again and sipped from her own cup. “So I went out with the cart to take and bring in another load of wood for the sugaring off fire. I headed around the end of the woodpile out behind the shed and saw a shiny black shoe. You know as well as me no shiny black shoe belongs behind a woodpile. So I kept on going, and there he was, laid right out on the ground.”

  “On his back? On his side, or how?”

  “Kind of on his side, like. The worst part was the line acrost his throat. Came almost up to his ear, like he was an animal being butchered.” She hunched her shoulders and shivered. “But the cut wasn’t fresh, I can tell you that much. Blood was dried up.”

  “Remind me what time you found him?”

  “Just a couple few minutes after eight.”

  “Huh. I wonder if he was killed there, or shoved behind the woodpile after he was dead.” I sipped from my own mug, savoring the comforting flavor even as I enjoyed the warming effect of the whiskey going down. “Did you see a lot of blood?” If he’d been killed there, blood should have been all over the place.

  “I didn’t, come to think of it. I kind of doubt they have security cameras on a sugaring off shed, so if he was murdered right there, only his killer would know.” She shook her head. “Who in heck would have gone and bumped him off?”

  “I was talking with the detective about people they’re looking at. You know Sonia Genest?”

  “Sure. She’s from here. Who don’t know her?” Adele smiled. “I remember when she was a little bitty thing, came out to the farm on a school field trip. She was so interested in how things worked—the gates, the shearing, all of it. She asked questions, smart ones, about everything. I expected she’d end up one kind or another of scientist or engineer, and sure enough, she did.”

  “Sonia was pretty upset with the professor yesterday morning. Said he was taking money from big business and didn’t do real research. Maybe they had more behind their disagreement than what she mentioned.”

  “But to kill him?” She shook her head.

  “Exactly what I said to the detective.” I watched Chloe move to her dry food bowl and crunch down a few bits. If I’d been more observant when I came in I might have noticed the new pair of bowls on a mat on the floor. The bowls featured cat paw decorations and the thick plastic mat was a brightly colored design of kitties amid stylized flowers.

  “Sonia’s a real sweet person, normally,” Adele said. “So who else?”

  “Sajit Rao.”

  “Turner’s father?”

  I nodded. “When Connolly was in the restaurant yesterday morning, Dr. Rao came in to talk to Turner. You should have seen his face when he saw Connolly there. The two sat and talked with each other for a few minutes and it ended up with Dr. Rao accosting him about his science. Definitely fireworks.”

  “Along the same lines as Sonia’s accusation?”

  “Yep.”

  “Interesting.” Adele drummed her fingers on the table.

  “I believe Nick Mendes, the young chef from the competition, might have had an issue with the victim, too. He didn’t lift a finger to help him when he choked, as you saw.”

  “It was sure enough strange. I wondered about it at the time. How can you find out more about him?”

  “I’ll go see Christina,” I said. “She might know a bit more. Although if the knife in the body was really hers, Thompson is probably looking at her motives, too. She said Connolly had been in to the Hollow for dinner and proved to be a very unpleasant customer.”

  “Was the guy ever not unpleasant?” Adele asked.

  “His daughter said he was always good to her.”

  “A blessing.”

  I laughed a little. “And then there’s me.”

  “You? What in tarnation do you mean?”

  “Detective Thompson suggested I might have poisoned Connolly by putting an ingredient into the biscuits I knew he was allergic to.”

  “That’s an outrage.”

  “Exactly. I told him I’d never even set eyes on the man until yesterday morning. Why would I want to kill him? And how would I know what he was allergic to? Sheesh.”

  Adele set her chin on her fist. “How’s the detective going to like you doing your own investigation?”

  “I’m not investigating, really.” When she fixed her gaze on me, I went on. “Okay, a little bit. Can I help it if I’m curious? And I want to show him it wasn’t me. I’m not going to get into trouble. Don’t worry.”

  “Ha! Famous last words.” The smile slid off her face. “Seriously, Robbie. I do worry. I need you to stay good and safe. You’re all the family I got.”

  “I know.” I covered her hand with mine, feeling her smooth, papery skin. “I’ll stay sa
fe.”

  My phone buzzed in my bag. I reached in and checked the display. “It’s Turner. I’d better talk with him.”

  “Robbie,” he said in a hurried voice. “I need to talk with you. Can you come out to the farm?”

  “Sure. I’ll need directions or at least an address. I’ve never been there. Aren’t you somewhere near Yellowwood State Forest?”

  “Can you Google the farm?”

  “Of course I can.”

  “Come soon, though, okay?” His voice rose.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “My dad’s missing!”

  Chapter 12

  I rolled my van down a sloping hill on the long approach to the Rao maple farm at a few minutes before five. Green posters with a festival logo and a big THIS WAY printed over an arrow were tacked to a half dozen of the maple trees lining the drive on either side. Narrow blue plastic tubing stretched from one tree to the next, and with their bare branches the connected trees looked like a community of arboreal knitters sharing yarn. The weak March sunlight danced a slanting jig through the stand of trees.

  I’d expected the police might still be on site but I didn’t see any cruisers and the way was wide open. My brain was exploding with questions for Turner, so it was a good thing I was almost there. He’d insisted I come over, told me he and his mom were frantic, but he wouldn’t say anything else on the phone.

  Another missing dad. At least Noreen knew her father wouldn’t be coming back. I had to trust Sajit would, but with murder in the air, who knew?

  I rounded a bend into a good-sized parking area. Ahead of me was the first sign of police presence. Yellow plastic tape reading POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS stretched between two trees at the end of the lot, directly underneath a wooden sign painted with SUGAR SHACK, 30 YARDS and a cartoon hand with the index finger pointing down. The tape blocked a path leading through the trees beyond the sign.

  After I parked, I climbed out of the driver’s seat, pulling my knit cap down over my ears. Now which way to go? I knew I shouldn’t cross the tape. Where was Turner? A drive led to the left off the parking area and I spied a two-story house nestled in the woods. I headed toward the house on a path through the trees.