Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (29 page)

Nem cackled. “If'n you was to walk straight through there”—he pointed at the woods across the road—“you'd come out at my place less'n a mile away.”

Tony realized he was right. The road made an almost complete loop. He felt like he'd made enough small talk with the old man. “We found a slender stake with a sharp point embedded in Ragsdale's side.”

Nem nodded. “I tried to kill him.”

Tony saw moonlight reflect in the sheen of tears in the old man's rheumy eyes. He suspected they were from frustration, not regret. “Tell me.”

“It come to me whilst I was a-workin' on this here memorial patch of ground. I could carry a sharp stick inside my suit coat and just slip it out and stab him in the heart, even as small as it was.”

“But you didn't.” Tony almost felt guilty about insisting Nem admit failure.

“Oh, but I tried.” The old man stared at his palsied hands. “I ain't got the strength no more and couldn't keep a tight enough hold on it. It slid right through my hand and stuck in his shirt.” He sighed deeply. “I'd have pulled it free and given it another try, but he walked away.”

Tony thought the old man was the personification of disappointment. “I'm glad I won't have to arrest you for murder.”

Nem smiled, cheered up by his words. “I reckon I wouldn't like life in jail very much, and the hens would probably stop layin' too. They don't cotton much to strangers.”

“Tell me about the cane.” Tony returned the flashlight's beam to the curved wood.

“I found it on the ground after the ambulance carted Ragsdale away.” Nem stood straight. “I figured these poor critters would enjoy having it here amongst the flowers.”

“Why?” Tony thought they'd hate it.

“Long as it's here, he'll never use it on another poor beast.” Nem lifted rheumy eyes to meet Tony's. “I didn't think anyone would want it. Do you?”

“No.” Tony couldn't imagine a better place for it.

Satisfied, Nem returned to his gardening.

Following Ada's specific instructions for her memorial, Theo arranged the buckets of flowers on the long tables. Other helpers had covered them with white paper and taped it in place. The caterer's truck sat at the opposite end of the dining area from the tables displaying the remaining possessions of Ada Walker. The small crowd milled about, waiting to learn whether food or shopping was first on the afternoon agenda.

Theo and Nina had worked late into the night sorting through every item in Ada's house. Thankfully, the old woman had already done a fair job of disposing of many of her possessions. She had even put price stickers on a few items herself. Theo had felt ghoulish at the beginning of the process, but pricing and loading the contents of Ada's house into her SUV cured her. Everything, even a box of toothpicks for a penny, went to the sale.

Anything not sold would either go to the dump with Claude Marmot or be donated to charity. Money earned was earmarked for the senior center.

Theo glanced at Susan. Dressed in new jeans and sweatshirt, she looked fairly rested and almost normal. The haunted expression in her eyes and the tension in her face told the real story. According to her friend Melissa, Susan had not wanted to attend the luncheon. The two younger women had enjoyed Ada's company, though, and felt obliged to pay their respects. Theo waved them over. “I set aside a few more things I'm sure Ada would have offered to you first. If you don't want them, I'll just slap them on a table.”

Stashed together in a corner were some basic quilting supplies like scissors, a mat, rulers, and a rotary cutter.

Susan smiled. “I'll take all of the quilting stuff. Even if I don't have room for it and it's not my favorite fabric or pattern. I promise I'll take care of it.”

“Good.” Theo released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. “Ada threatened to haunt me forever if her fabric and projects don't find a good home.”

As if they'd been waiting for an invisible signal, the remaining senior citizens from Ada's group joined them. They sorted through Ada's things and bought little but sat together, enjoying the outdoor luncheon, and called encouraging instructions to those more avid shoppers.

“As payment for lunch,” Theo said, rising to her full petite height. She blew a whistle to cut through the chatter. “I think it would be nice if each of us would tell an Ada story. I'll go first.” Theo paused. “The first time Ada came into my shop, she was with her daughter. Ada had just moved here and the two of them were exploring downtown Silersville and stopped by. Ada said that living near her daughter was fine, but having the charity quilts to work on made life worth living.”

Tony stood. He'd joined them just before Theo began to speak. Theo thought he looked tired or sad or some combination of the two. “I've never met anyone, man or woman, who had a finer repertoire of cuss words, and I'm certain I learned at least three very useful ones from Ada.”

“No kidding,” Theo whispered. “I'm sure Chris and Jamie have heard a wide variety of curses over the years, but it made me cringe whenever a mom was in the store and Ada started telling a story. It was blankety-blank this and blankety-blank that. Have mercy, I thought.” Unchecked, fat tears rolled down her face. “I'll miss her.”

Tony rested a comforting warm hand on her back, just below her neck. “I know.”

“Yes, of course I knew Harrison Ragsdale. We worked together for quite a few years.” Douglas Seaborn sat at his desk, his thick fingers laced on his old-fashioned blotter. Behind him was a poster about the danger of forest fires. “What can I tell you? He did his job. I did my job. We didn't socialize.”

Tony thought Ragsdale's supervisor was evasive, and no wonder. If he gave Ragsdale a glowing recommendation, he'd be lying, and if he told the truth, he'd be a suspect. Tony slipped an antacid into his mouth. He could already tell this interview wasn't going to go smoothly and exchanged glances with Wade who sat next to him. “I'm sure he followed the guidelines as written.”

Seaborn nodded but offered no further information.

“Maybe you can tell me if your office received any letters or phone calls complaining about him.”

“Do you need a warrant to ask these questions?” Seaborn remained still.

“I can get a warrant to arrest you for obstruction.” Tony didn't believe himself to be a man who was easily angered, but within seconds of sitting down he was furious. “I can't see what the problem is. He's dead. Unless you killed him, I'd think you'd want to know how and why he died. So maybe I'll just arrest you and lock you up on the presumption of guilt.” All patience exhausted, he rose from the chair.

“Okay, okay.” Seaborn raised his hands. “I'll tell you the truth, but I really don't want to have to testify. I hated the man. I hated seeing him, hearing his voice. I hated getting phone calls about him. In fact”—he paused to catch his breath—“I don't think paying you to search for whoever might have speeded his departure from this planet is a good use of taxpayer dollars. How's
that
for an opinion?”

Tony relaxed a bit. “I'd say it's honest and well-earned.” Seated next to him, Wade shifted but remained silent. “Will you answer my questions now?”

Seaborn nodded as he stood up and crossed to a four-drawer file cabinet. He patted the drawer below the top one. “It's filled with letters of complaint about Ragsdale. They date back to almost his first day on the job.” He opened the drawer and retrieved a thick folder. “This file contains phone messages complaining about him. I only kept the ones where the caller identified him or herself.”

“Pardon my asking this, but why?” Tony searched for the right way to ask his question.

“Why didn't we fire him?” Seaborn sat and went back to his laced hands pose. “Because he followed the letter of the law. Believe me, we watched to see if he put department gasoline in his personal vehicle or violated policy in any manner. Although we investigated, most, but not all, complaints about him, he either hadn't done anything technically wrong, or there was no evidence. One whole file is filled with letters from elderly ladies of the county who were miffed because he didn't hold the door open for them at the store or carry their groceries to the car.”

Tony could sympathize. His own small staff did the best they could to accommodate the county citizens, driving them to appointments or helping carry groceries, but they did have their own jobs to do. An accident or burglary had to take precedence over courtesy calls, and while most of the seniors were understanding and grateful for the assistance they did receive, there were a couple of cranky, squeaky wheels. “I've got some of those too.”

Seaborn leaned back in his chair, more relaxed than he had been. “I couldn't fire a man for rumor and innuendo, and while I'm sure he committed every one of the foul deeds in that file, he never left any evidence.” Seaborn suddenly leaned forward, knocking his pencil holder to the floor, scattering its contents. He ignored it. “My own mother's dog went missing, and she said that she ‘knew’ he did it, but didn't see it and I couldn't help her.”

Tony didn't feel like they were getting anywhere. “I've never known another employee of your office or any other, federal or state, whose job entailed anything to do with animals having such a poor attitude about them, have you?”

“Once before, back when I was still living in Pennsylvania as a boy, I met a man very much like Ragsdale. He lost his job fairly quickly because he wasn't as cagey as Ragsdale.” Seaborn said. “I did nothing to Ragsdale, but I often dreamed of the day the animals would get their revenge. I had rather hoped it might be something painful and prolonged, but I understand he went down fast.”

Wade raised his pen from his notebook like a student interrupting a professor. “Were you aware of Ragsdale's allergy to nuts?”

Bull's-eye. Tony watched Seaborn turn an unbecoming shade of gray.

“I was.” Seaborn rested his hand on Ragsdale's personnel file. “He didn't make a big deal about it, but it was part of his required information, plus his wife is my niece.” He cleared his throat. “I understand that's what killed him?”

“Really?” Tony was curious. “I wasn't aware a final determination had been announced.”

“I presumed. I mean, that
is
why you're asking about nuts, isn't it?”

Seaborn became so flustered he stopped making much sense.

Wade consulted his notebook. “You were one of the people in the booth serving ramp pie just before he died.”

“One of many. There was a crowd back there, cutting and serving or handing out napkins and stuff, and more pies coming from the kitchen and empty pans going back there. One whole crew stayed in the kitchen cooking.” He exhaled sharply. “We were shocked so many people wanted to eat ramps.”

Tony clicked his pen. “Perhaps you could make a list of the names of the people you remember seeing during your shift. We can compare it with other lists.”

Eagerly, after retrieving a pen from those scattered on the floor, Seaborn began writing on a sheet of stationary. “Do you only want those of us serving?”

“Not necessarily. You can list them by job if it makes it easier for you.” Tony was lazy enough to let other people divide things into similar groupings for him. He really doubted Seaborn was the guilty party and thought it unlikely he'd seen anything of importance. Unlikely things happen all the time, however, so Tony sat calmly watching the man scribble, waiting for him to look up. At length, he did. “If you were going to guess who on your list did it, who would you pick?”

Seaborn scanned his list. “Carl Lee Cashdollar.”

“Why?” Tony sat forward.

“I understand he thought Ragsdale ran over his wife's Siamese cat and barely missed hitting Jill when he drove away. I never saw Carl Lee so angry before. He's usually pretty laid back, but I think I heard him suggest putting ground glass on Ragsdale's slice of ramp pie so he could suffer what he called the ‘miseries of hell.’ ”

“And?” Tony sensed there was more.

“He left before his shift was due to end.” Seaborn handed him the list. “Said he needed to take Jill home.”

Tony thought about it. Just because Carl Lee was an attorney, and a defense attorney at that, did not make him immune to doing wrongful acts. Like Tony himself, he saw lots of people doing bad, criminal, or just plain stupid things every day. And he loved his wife. So if his wife was crying about the senselessly run-down pet, he might consider it an act of public service to try and give the perpetrator a taste of misery. He himself might have given the man something laced with walnuts if he'd known about an allergy, never dreaming it would kill him, but hoping the man would break out in itchy welts.