No Nest for the Wicket(58)

Very boggy land. I couldn’t imagine Mr. Shiffley’s pasture passing the perc test you’d have to do before installing a septic field. Did you have to do a similar test before you got permission for commercial buildings? I’d have pulled out my notebook that tells me when to breathe and jotted this down as an idea to pursue, but that would have meant letting go of the rafter.

Anyway, I reminded myself that I’d crawled up here to meddle in the murder investigation. Battling the outlet mall would have to wait—possibly till we saw which of the combatants on either side escaped a murder indictment. Which meant I could scuttle down again now. I’d proven to my own satisfaction that any time the Shiffleys were up here—which meant any time between their ungodly early start at 7:00 A.M. and whatever time the chief had called them all down from the roof to be interviewed—no one could easily enter or leave the woods without one or more Shiffleys seeing them.

Which made whatever the Shiffleys had seen a fairly important piece of evidence. Unfortunately, the one thing I hadn’t learned from my Shiffley’s-eye view of the countryside was how to get the Shiffleys to talk to me.

“Looking for something?”





Chapter Twenty-eight

I managed not to shriek, but I started and clutched the rafters more tightly with both hands. Randall Shiffley had appeared beside me.

“Checking out the view,” I said. “Glorious view.”

Randall flicked a dubious glance down at my white knuckles.

“Well, it would be glorious if I had a solid floor beneath my feet. And walls or a railing around me. I was wondering if there’s still time to change the renovation plans. Build a cupola up here. Or a widow’s walk.”

“Plenty of time,” Randall said, leaning back against a rafter and crossing his arms. “Cost money, though.”

A familiar answer.

“True,” I said. “Maybe Michael and I should wait to decide on any changes to the plan till we find out what’s happening there.”

I pried one hand off the rafters to gesture, with as casual an air as I could muster, toward Fred Shiffley’s farm. Then I placed my hand back on the rafter, rather than grabbing it. At least I think I did.

“What’s happening?” Randall repeated.

“Well, right now it’s a spectacular view, but who’d want a widow’s walk with a spectacular view of an outlet mall? For that matter, maybe we should put a hold on all the renovations until we see what happens next door.”

Randall frowned but didn’t say anything.

“You think the Planning Board will approve it?” I asked after a few moments.

“No telling, with that Briggs fellow involved,” he said.

That Briggs fellow. He made no effort to hide the loathing in his voice.

“You don’t like him?”

Randall shrugged slightly.

“I should think he’d be pretty popular in your branch of the family.”

Randall looked at me as if I’d said something spectacularly stupid.

“Won’t the outlet mall make your uncle Fred pretty rich?”

“Damn fool notion,” Randall said. “We all understand that the farm has to go someday—times change. But not like that.”

Interesting—dissention in the normally uniform ranks of the Shiffleys?

“I suppose you’ve tried reasoning with him?”

“Some of us have,” Randall said. “All his brothers have been yelling their damned heads off at him ever since they found out. Couple of ’em took a swing at him once or twice. Hasn’t worked.”

Yelling and throwing punches. Not exactly what I’d call reasoning, but given my relatives’ quirks, who was I to question the Shiffley family’s interpersonal dynamics?

“He’s pretty strong-minded,” I said instead.

“Stubborn as a mule, you mean. Worse than most of us. I could have told the old goats that. All they’ve accomplished is getting him so riled up, he’s threatening to leave his money outside the family.”

“To whom?” I asked. Not that Fred Shiffley changing his will had any obvious relevance to Lindsay’s murder, but you never knew.

“Farm Aid and the ASPCA,” Randall said.

“Good causes.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he doesn’t have family could use the money,” Randall said. “Stubborn old goat. If they’ll just leave him alone till he cools down …”

He shrugged his shoulders, as if he wasn’t making any bets about his father’s and uncles’ ability to let well enough alone.

“So Evan Briggs isn’t exactly a hero to the Shiffley family right now,” I mused aloud.