Charmed to death: an Ophelia and Abby mystery (16 page)

"It did at PP International's farrowing operation too. Gladys Simpson called me this morning to tell me." Edna spoke rapidly, making her false teeth click.

"Tell you what, Edna?" I asked.

"That someone had monkeyed around with PP International's emergency generator. It's supposed to kick on when the power's out, so the ventilation system stays in operation. But it didn't 'cause someone fiddled with it."

"And you think that someone is Harley?"

"Y-y-yes," she stuttered. "That many animals in a confined space without ventilation, they started dying right off. Gladys said she heard PP International's lost as many as twenty sows."

"Doesn't Bill still have a deputy stationed at PP International?" I asked.

"Yes, but Gladys said the generator could've been tampered with days ago, before you found the body, Ophelia. And whoever did it was waiting for a storm to knock out the power. I know they'll blame Harley. Oh, I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do," she said, wringing her hands. "They'll put him in jail for sure."

"Edna, calm down," Abby said, rubbing between her shoulders.

Edna grabbed Abby's other hand. "Would you please talk to him? He might listen to you."

"No, she won't."

They both looked at me, surprised.

"I'll go."

I walked out of the kitchen to go change. If I was going to have a showdown with a redneck, I might as well dress the part.

Chapter Nineteen

Harley Walter's farm was located about three miles from Abby's, not far from the proposed PP International building site. I understood why Harley didn't want eight thousand pigs for neighbors, but the dope was going about it the wrong way. And Edna was right to be afraid for him. Bill had already warned him once.

As I pulled into Harley's driveway, I tugged my baseball cap lower on my head and pushed my sunglasses higher up my nose. The sunglasses had been a last-minute thought. Comacho hid behind his in order to intimidate me, why couldn't I do the same to Harley?

Getting out of my car, I noticed two abandoned cars. Their wheels had been removed and they were setting on concrete blocks. An old green truck was parked next to them. Its hood was off and made the truck look as if it had been scalped. The windshield was a spiderweb of cracks and weeds hid the tires from sight. The whole place had a junkyard look.

Harley puttered around in the garage, working on yet another old truck. He stopped and watched me.

"What do you want? Your witch of a grandmother send you?" he called to me as I strolled up the weed-infested yard.

Witch? Why witch
? I was sure he meant the remark as an insult. I felt a flutter of irritation, but tamped it down. My job was to reason with Harley, and I couldn't do it if I were angry.

A tight smile stretched my lips. "Your grandmother asked me to talk to you. She's worried about you, Harley. Thinks maybe you're taking this PP International thing too far."

"Ha. The old biddy. I told her to keep her nose out of my business. She doesn't understand." He whirled around, putting his back to me. "She thinks by saying, 'Please, oh, please, Mr. Kyle, don't build your building,'" he said, wiggling his head and mincing his words, "Kyle will stop. Well, they won't, not until somebody stands up to them. Make them feel a little pain."

He slammed his hands down on the hood of the truck, startling me. Man, did this guy have a lot of rage inside of him. I felt sorry for Edna.

"Look, Harley," I said, trying to calm him down. "I know you're upset, but violence never solves anything."

He spun to face me, glaring. "You don't know nothing. Sometimes it takes extreme measures to solve a problem. Kyle and his buddies have to be hurt where it counts, in their pockets. They lose enough money, they'll pull up stakes and go. And it takes a man to make that happen, not a bunch of little old ladies who ought to be in some nursing home instead of running the show."

He'd already tried to insult Abby by calling her a witch. And now he said she should be in a nursing home? I felt my blood pressure do a steady rise.

"Listen, buster, one of those little old ladies happens to be
my
grandmother." I whipped my sunglasses off.

"You've shot your mouth off about Abby twice. Don't try it again. You may not respect yours, but you'll bloody well show respect to mine. You got that?"

"Yeah, I got it," he said, his voice carrying a sneer.

"Good," I said, standing with my hands on my hips and giving him what I hoped was my toughest look. "Your grandmother, for some strange reason, wants to keep your sorry butt out of jail and she sent me out here. You'd better straighten up or I'll help them put you in jail myself."

Harley smirked. "I'm not going to jail. I haven't done nothing."

"You might want to practice saying that, Harley, because I imagine the next person you're going to be talking to will be Bill. And he'll cut right through your load of crap."

"Maybe. But he can't prove anything. Anyway, my cause is just."

"You're willing to go to jail for your cause; be a martyr?"

I saw his eyes gleam while he thought of all the attention that would bring him.

"If I have to," he said and picked up a spray can. He started to walk over to the truck. As he did, he snapped some kind of mask over his mouth and nose. After shaking the can a couple of times, he sprayed the contents of the can on the engine.

"Jeez, what is that stuff? It stinks," I said, holding my nose.

He pulled the mask down. "Ether. And if you don't want to pass out, I suggest you get out of here," he said and pushed the mask back over his mouth.

When I reached my car, I looked back toward the garage. Harley stood by the truck with the can of ether in one hand. And even with twenty feet between us, I felt the anger in his eyes, staring at me from underneath the bill of his baseball cap.

I decided to drive to Abby's and give her an update on my conversation with Harley, but when I rounded the corner of her lane, I saw Bill's patrol car parked by the greenhouse. My heart jumped and I skidded the car to a halt.

"What is it? What's happened?" I said, running inside.

Abby and Bill were standing by some of Abby's plants. I detected a strange odor in the air.

"What's that smell?" I said, wrinkling my nose.

"Herbicide. Someone gave Abby's plants a good dose of it last night."

My eyes scanned the greenhouse. All of Abby's plants looked brown, as if they'd been burned. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw her maidenhair fern. Its fronds were drooping and the floor beneath the fern was covered with its leaves.

"Oh, Abby, your fern. They got it too?"

"Yes, they did," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

Abby's fern had been a wedding gift from her mother. She had carted it all the way from Appalachia when she married my grandfather and settled in Iowa. In the spring, when the temperature warmed, the fern was moved from the house to the greenhouse. The fern had sat proudly on its stand behind Abby's old-fashioned cash register every spring and summer since I was a child.

"Abby, I'm sorry," I said and gave her a hug.

She sniffed. "It's all right, dear. Everything has its season. I hate the poor old thing had to go this way. It would've been easier if the fern had died on its own, in its own time."

"Got any ideas, Bill?" I asked.

"Not really, but somebody sure was busy last night. I imagine poisoning Abby's plants is related to the incident at PP International. We think the hogs are being poisoned too."

"You're kidding," I said. "I thought they were dying because of the lack of ventilation last night?"

"Yeah, we did too. But when the manager checked the feed bins this morning, he noticed one of the lids was on cockeyed. He thinks something's been dumped in the feed. They've sent samples to the lab, but we won't know till later on this afternoon."

"But wouldn't the manager have seen or heard a noise?" I asked.

"No. His trailer is on the other side of the property and the bins are behind the hog buildings." Bill scratched his head and snapped his notebook shut. "Guess I'd better go talk to Harley. Kyle's fit to be tied—the big boys are coming in from Chicago and he's going to want answers to give them. Maybe I can shake Harley up."

"What big boys from Chicago?"

"From PP International's corporate office."

"Wait a second, Bill. I—" I was interrupted by my cell phone ringing. I answered it.

"Hello."

"Hi, Ophelia."

"Charles." I walked over to the corner of the greenhouse, away from Bill and Abby.

"I know this is kind of sudden, but I just read in the paper there's a wine tasting at a cafe in Des Moines tonight. Would you like to attend?"

"Gosh, Charles, I can't. It sounds like fun, but now isn't a good time. Abby's greenhouse was vandalized last night."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, but I do have to go. I'll call you later. Bye." I disconnected and looked over to see Abby watching me.

"What?" I said defensively.

"Charles?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Who's Charles?" Bill butted in.

"Never mind him, Bill. Forget Charles. I wanted to ask you how the murder investigation is going."

"You know I can't talk about it, Ophelia."

"I know. Umm, is Comacho still hanging around?"

"Yes, he is." Bill chuckled. "I don't know what you said to him. But from the way he was acting, you sure dusted the seat of his pants. You did, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you mean, Bill. I answered his questions as politely as I could, under the circumstances."

Bill chuckled again. "Yeah. Right, 'under the circumstances.' That's a good one."

After Bill left, Abby and I looked over her fern.

"I didn't want to ask you in front of Bill, but is there anything you can do for the fern, any way you can bring it back?"

Abby shook her head sadly. "No, it's beyond any special magick I possess."

"Do you think someone from PP International is responsible?"

"Maybe. Gladys called earlier and told me the manager of the farrowing unit was bragging about bringing in 'protection' from Chicago."

"I thought the men coming were from PP International's corporate office."

"Oh, I'm sure they
are
from the corporate office. I'm also sure they're very large men with broken noses."

"You don't sound too worried about Kyle bringing in muscle."

"I learned a long time ago even magick can't control everything. Nevertheless, I was upset when I received the certified letter from their attorneys today."

"What? What certified letter?"

"PP International's attorneys are threatening a lawsuit charging defamation of character. Everyone in the group received one."

"Abby, that's awful."

She patted my shoulder while her eyes surveyed her damaged greenhouse. "Don't worry. We'll hire an attorney to settle the matter."

"Not to change the subject, but Bill said Comacho is still in town. He hasn't been here, has he?"

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, he has."

"Damn him!" I stomped my foot. "I told him he'd better not harass you. And why didn't you tell me?"

"First of all, he didn't harass me. He was polite and respectful while he questioned me about the group's activities. He didn't cross any lines. It was routine, Ophelia," she said sternly. "I didn't tell you because you were upset this morning. And it wouldn't have been appropriate to tell you in front of Charles." She settled a disapproving look on me.

"You know I don't understand this. You don't approve of Charles, but Comacho doesn't bother you. I don't get it."