She threw up her hands in exasperation. “Cry, freak out, scream for help again? I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Would you milk five cows before the police got there?”
“I guess not.” She chewed on her bottom lip.
I picked up the phone and dialed Ramsbottom. “Were the cows distressed when you got to the Kratz farm on that Saturday morning after Jimmy was murdered?”
“Huh?” He exhaled loudly. “No, they seemed okay to me. They were all out in the field. Is there a point to this, Mrs. Daly?”
“Buchanan. Daisy Buchanan,” I corrected him. “And yes, there is a point. How long does it take to milk a cow?”
“What do I look like? A flipping dictionary?”
I refrained from pointing out he meant an encyclopedia. “Look, Reenie Kratz went out to the barn that morning, found Jimmy murdered, called the police, and then calmly milked five cows—and probably fed the pigs, too—while the body of her dead husband was lying on the floor of the barn beside her. Don’t you think that’s a little cold?”
I heard the sound of chewing on the other end of the phone line and grimaced. Probably a breakfast sandwich of sausage, egg, and cheese.
“Heck, I don’t know. People can do strange things when they’re in shock. Look, Mrs.—um—you need to stop calling here. I’ve got work to do, cases to solve. I suggest you concentrate on your nice little store and don’t interfere anymore. As far as I’m concerned, we have our killer and he can rot in jail. End of story.”
“I could agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.” I slammed the phone down as the door opened and Martha, Eleanor, and some of the neighborhood ladies, Liz Gallagher, Ruth Bornstein, and Dottie Brown, walked in.
“Let me ask you guys something.” I ignored Sarah, who rolled her eyes as if to say, Here we go again. “Ramsbottom says the cows were already out in the field when he showed up. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
Martha held up a hand. “Hold the phone, what cows?”
“Sorry. At the Kratz farm. I’m trying to picture myself in Reenie’s place. I’m trying to imagine finding my own husband murdered, and I don’t think I could sit next to his corpse, milking cows, while waiting for help to arrive.”
Everyone mulled this over as I poured coffee into as many mugs as I could until the pot was empty. I was coming out of the kitchen with another carafe of water for a new pot when the front door banged open again and Patsy strode in.
“Yo! Wazzup, Daisy? Ladies?”
“No diner this morning?” I asked, prepping a fresh filter.
“Took the day off. Figured I earned it. Damn, it’s hotter than a three-balled tomcat out there.”
I repeated my cow story to get her up to speed.
“Oh well, that’s no big surprise. Jimmy used to get liquored up, go home, and beat the bejeezus out of his wife on a regular basis. I don’t suppose Reenie was too sorry to see he’d cashed in his chips.”
“No big surprise?” I gasped. “I had no idea. And I’m sure Angus wouldn’t have been friendly with a guy like that if he’d known.”
Martha placed her hands on her hips and glared at Patsy. “And how come I never heard a word about this?”
I couldn’t decide if Martha was more shocked that Jimmy beat his wife, or by the fact that she hadn’t known about it.
Patsy shrugged. “Not many people knew. Nobody saw her in town much. At least not until the bruises faded.”
Nothing seemed to faze Patsy, who’d been a waitress her whole working life. She didn’t exactly expect the worst, but close to it. She told me it was better that way because you never got disappointed.
“Reenie and I were friends in high school. We used to keep in touch, but not lately.”
I unwrapped Martha’s platter. “Well, I suppose that would explain Reenie’s dispassionate attitude and ability to get on with chores as usual.”
I offered the diamond-shaped pieces of lemon crunch cake to the eager group.
“Did the police know about the abuse?” Liz Gallagher asked.
Patsy shook her head. “Reenie never called the cops. She never pressed charges.”
Again, I felt fury toward Ramsbottom. I bet he’d known about it, but had chosen to do nothing. Yet another example of his lackadaisical attitude. “Well, it gives her a good motive, but we’re back to the same problem as thinking Fiona Adams was the killer. There’s no way a woman could lift a barn beam that weighs well over a hundred pounds.”
Particularly not frail, skinny Reenie. I sipped my coffee, frowning. I’d seen Jimmy Kratz at auction all the time. He was medium height, with medium-length shaggy hair, and had dark brown eyes that were always scanning the room. Hard eyes that I’d attributed to the tough way he’d earned a living. I hadn’t exactly trusted him, as he seemed like someone always out to make a buck, but he didn’t strike me as dangerous exactly.