Drizzled with Death(81)

“I did charge him a bit for that. As a matter of fact, that section of track over there is compliments of that particular job.” I looked at where he was pointing and was pleased to see an elongated section of track that must have amounted to a nice chunk of change. “It took me longer to decide how to spend it than it had to earn it so the job wasn’t exactly onerous.”

“So now that Alanza is dead, do you know who benefits?”

“I wasn’t Alanza’s attorney so I have no idea about the disposition of her own will, but I do know the trust named the town as the beneficiary if Alanza died.”

“Looks like you’re back on my Christmas list.”





Twenty-one





I knocked as loudly as I could on Connie’s back door, considering my hands were full of pickle jars. I hollered her name and got nothing but Profiterole scratching at the door from the other side like he was desperate to get out. I tried the knob, and like the doors to most houses in Sugar Grove, it turned easily in my hand. Profiterole shot past me and was gone into the side field toward the barn before I could stop him.

I let myself in and sat the jars on the table. I looked around the kitchen for a piece of paper and a pen to compose a quick note thanking her for the pickles and letting her know how much of a hit they were, especially with the kids at the dinner. I looked around the heaped-up kitchen for a piece of scrap paper and a pen. The kitchen was in no better condition, clutterwise, than the rest of the house. It seemed, at first, like everything in the world was in that room besides something to leave a note with in a hurry. Then I noticed a notebook, a roll of stamps, and some envelopes shoved between a cookie jar shaped like a goat and a pot containing a dead houseplant on the hutch. I reached for the notebook but managed to knock into the cookie jar. Letting go of the notebook, I made a grab for the cookie jar before it hit the floor. I didn’t think Connie would appreciate me returning pickle jars in order to break her collectables.

I carefully placed the frolicking goat back on the hutch, pushed it a little farther back from the edge than I had found it, and bent to retrieve the notebook. Loose papers of all sorts had fallen out and it took a bit of doing to gather them back up. I had no idea what order they had been in or even if there was an order. I decided to turn them all faceup and heading in the same direction and then slip them behind the front cover.

I picked up the notebook and got a look at the cover. Marked across its front in heavy marker were the words Lewis Bett Trust Fund. I gave the papers a bit more attention than was strictly necessary for getting everything tidied away. Among the property tax, fuel oil, and electric bills, there were several invoices from Hanley’s forestry business. I ran my finger along the column of numbers and the accompanying text detailing the services and supplies Lewis’s trust was being billed for.

According to the invoices, Hanley had spent considerable time on Bett’s property. He had removed damaged limbs, cleared away underbrush, and even taken out entire trees deemed detrimental to the health of the overall forest. The property was large, almost as large as Greener Pastures, but to my knowledge, our tree farm had never been presented with a bill by Hanley, or any other forester, for even a third as much. I looked even more closely and noticed he also had fertilized on six separate occasions using a product called Best Bett All in One. I stuffed the papers into the notebook and shoved the whole mess back onto the hutch. I wasn’t sure what any of this meant, but I felt certain I didn’t want to get caught in the house with Hanley.

Profiterole was nowhere to be seen. As a farm dog he was used to being outside but I didn’t feel right about leaving him to run loose. If anything happened to him, I would feel guilty and Connie didn’t need any more animal trouble after what had happened to her goat Susannah. I called and called but he didn’t come. I closed the kitchen door behind me and began wandering the yard looking for him.

The barn door was partly opened and I slipped inside, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the low light. Once again I noticed the goats huddled together in the corner of the barn, quaking all over. I had never thought of goats as stupid but I hadn’t given them credit for such long memories either. It was hard to believe they were still so spooked by what had happened more than a week earlier. Although, I had to admit, if only to myself, that I was uneasy being out in the dark and I had only seen the mountain lion through a window. I couldn’t imagine how afraid I would still be if I had seen my sister dragged off to her demise, even if it had been Celadon.

I advanced toward the goats, making a clucking noise like Grampa always did when coaxing a horse or a cow. I hoped it would comfort them but they remained steadfastly terrified. Clementine’s eyes were darting wildly. I stretched out my hand for her to sniff, hoping to get to the point of patting her. She seemed to have liked that when Connie did it the last time I visited.