From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (6 page)

Farm and More staff delivered approximately thirty cubic yards of mulch to the Seaton property, shortly after six p.m. the evening before Morris's body was discovered. Seaton said he heard no disturbance on his property between that time and when Seaton left for a meeting in Des Moines at about six a.m.

Neighbors reported no unusual activity. "It was as quiet as a chicken coop after a fox finished," reported Audrey Stickler, whose farm is a quarter-mile down the road from the Seaton property.

Sheriff deputies and IDI agents questioned a number of neighbors and local citizens, as well as Farm and More staff and Ms. Perkins. A Hy-Vee shopper, who did not wish to be identified, said she heard Morris yelling at Perkins the night before the murder. Morris was quoted as saying he should have fired her long ago. Perkins' reply was not audible in the next grocery aisle. Manger Calvin Jenkins referred News staff to the corporate office, which had no immediate comment.

Perkins, who was interviewed for this story, was not able to provide any information other than what she told the sheriff. After working in the front of Seaton's property for less than an hour, she had taken a wheelbarrow to the mulch pile. It was then that she discovered Morris, whose head was not visible until she began shoveling.

South County News staff expressed shock at Morris's death, but were not able to provide any information of Morris's whereabouts after he was last seen in the Hy-Vee store
.

Ryan had gotten a decent photo of the ambulance and Granger's cruiser, but it wasn't possible to see the body, thankfully, or even much of the mulch pile.

I looked at Sandi. "Thanks for saying I only told you what I told the sheriff."

"No problem. Know more today?"

Shirley placed a cup of hot tea in front of Sandi and then winked at me. "I can vouch for her time for the last half-hour."

"Good one," I said, not meaning it. When Shirley walked back to the counter, I asked Sandi, "Have the IDI guys questioned you?"

She shook her head. "Odd, isn't it? They asked to look through Hal's office, but they didn't take anything but his address book and calendar. Barely said hello to staff, except to ask if we knew who Hal was with last night."

A car door slammed, and Sandi and I both looked at Ryan, who had parked the Fiesta at an angle and was half-jogging into the diner.

"Maybe they found the killer," I said, ever hopeful.

Ryan entered, spotted Sandi and me, and came over. "Move over Sandi." His face was tanned more than yesterday, which probably meant he had pounded the pavement while covering the story. He had also trimmed his collar-length auburn hair.

"Why'd you get a haircut?" I asked. "You look like a reporter instead of an intern."

"Melanie, did you really tell the IDI guys to, well, you know, F off?"

"Mel?" Sandi was wide-eyed.

I folded my arms on the table and put my head on them. "You've got to be kidding."

"Did you?" Ryan asked.

I raised my head and looked at both of them. "I did not tell them to F off. Though," I thought for a moment, "I suppose it was implied."

Ryan laughed, and Sandi furrowed her brow. "Melanie, you have to cooperate with them."

"I am. They asked me the same questions over and over. I told them I'd talk more if they had new questions. They didn't." I looked at Ryan. "Who told you that?"

It was his turn to scowl. "You know I have to protect my sources."

Sandi and I both laughed, which felt good.

"Isn't Bob your mother's cousin or something? He brought coffee in for the sheriff and me yesterday."

Ryan sat up straighter. "I can't say."

"Okay, then tell me why you got your hair cut."

Sandi picked up the paper and turned a page. "You hadn't gotten to page three."

She pointed at a two-paragraph article that had a black box around it.

"Just tell me what it says."

Sandi frowned, but obliged. "Since Hal owned the paper and didn't have an assistant editor.…"

"After he fired Fred," Ryan said.

"Fred shouldn’t have been…." Sandi began.

"What does it say?"

They both stared at me.

"I think you did tell him to F off," Ryan grinned.

"Anyway," Sandi said, "you know how Hal set up a citizen advisory board after everyone got ticked at him for not covering the Homecoming Parade two years ago?"

I nodded. The Booster's Club had purchased a much smaller ad than in prior years, reasoning that the entire town knew the parade started at six p.m. on Friday of Homecoming Weekend.

"So," Sandi continued, "they didn't really have a chair or anything, because Hal ran the meetings."

I snorted.

Ryan said, "Nobody came to the last one."

"Anyway, the committee decided that Doc Shelton chairs the group now, and Hal's lawyer came over and said unless people complain or something, they can provide guidance until the paper gets sold." Sandi looked glum as she finished.

"Sold!" This shriek was from Shirley. "They can't do that, can they?"

Fortunately, the only other person in the diner was Stooper, who was sitting at the counter trying to quell a hangover with coffee.

"Could we have a little less noise?" Stooper asked.

I looked at Shirley. "Whoever buys it will keep it running. Don't worry."

The bell above the front door dinged, which drew her attention from us.

"Are they really going to supervise or something?" I asked.

"That's the good news," Ryan said. "They asked Fred to work part-time."

"It's not like we couldn't do it." Sandi opened her hand to tick off a verbal list. "Besides Ryan and Betty and me, there's Salty for sports, and Garnett reads the Register to see if we need to put in anything about what's going on at the state house."

"But you're the only full-time person, Sandi." I pointed a finger at her. "And, no offense, but you can't spell to save your life."

I thought for a moment. The only thing Hal regularly did was a column on local soil conditions and weather. Even the few financial items we put in were from a service that sent us a daily feed with stock prices for ag-related companies.

"Betty knows how to fix paper jams in the copier," Ryan said. "Hal did that."

"Poor Hal. His only jobs were keeping track of mud and clearing the copier." I looked at Sandi. "You like Fred, right?"

She looked away for a second and then back at me. "I do. But he was in this morning, and he sounded kind of bossy. Wanted a list of stories we were all working on."

"He probably wants to be the editor, if a new owner will hire him." I looked at Ryan. "So what's with the haircut?"

He opened his mouth, but Sandi beat him to a reply. "Doc Shelton was in. He told Ryan long hair wasn't sanitary."

Ryan shrugged. "Betty told him we didn't prepare food, but doc didn't laugh, so I cut it."

I pushed the remains of my bagel aside. "I have to change into work clothes and get over to Syl's."

Ryan stood so Sandi could climb out of the booth.

"It's Syl, is it?" She sounded like a teasing teenager.

"That's what he said to call him." I glanced at her as I put change on the table for a tip. "And he's closer to my parents' age than mine."

A voice came from near the entrance to the kitchen. "Now that's insulting."

I'd been so intent on the conversation with Sandi and Ryan that I hadn't noticed that Syl had apparently come in the side door and taken a seat at the counter.

CHAPTER SIX

IN A SPLIT second my thoughts went from I just lost another job to I kind of like this man. I also took in the lack of chatter around me.

I looked at Syl and asked, "Does it show?"

"What?"

"The egg on my face."

He threw his head back and laughed, and Shirley winked at me. Sandi, who had frozen with her hand about to push her hair behind her ear, relaxed.

Syl gestured that I should walk toward him. "Introduce me to your friends."

I did, and he said, "Ah, the newspaper mafia."

Ryan pulled out his notebook. "I wonder if I could ask you a couple of questions."

Syl's brow creased. "You can, but I can't tell you anything. I was asleep on the other side of the house, and poor Mr. Morris wasn't visible when I left a little after six that morning."

"Nice o meet you, Syl," Sandi said. "I'm glad you hired Melanie." She gave Ryan a push with her elbow, and with goodbyes to Shirley, they left.

I sat next to Syl, hoping my face was not as red as it was a minute ago. "I never figured you for a regular at the diner."

"First time here."

Something dinged in my brain, but I couldn't tell what it was. "I was about to go home and change, so I could get to work at your place. Okay by you?"

"Sure." He held up his mug so Shirley would bring more coffee, then lowered his voice. "I saw the article in the paper, but it didn't have information on a service. I thought someone here might know."

"You would go?"

"I'm not sure, to be truthful. But I'd at least donate to a charity in his name or send flowers."

"Oh, sugar, Hal was his own charity." Shirley spilled a few drops of coffee next to Syl's mug, something she rarely does.

She's getting a crush on Syl.

"I see," Syl said, as she moved away, but when he looked at me, I knew he didn't.

"Anytime someone asked the paper to donate to a cause, even to buy Girl Scout cookies, Hal said if they'd buy an ad he'd donate."

"He was certainly…"

"Cheap." I was getting a crick in my neck, so I turned and faced the mirror across from the counter. "But it doesn't help me figure out who put him in that mulch pile."

Syl met my eyes in the mirror. "Won't the sheriff do that? Or does he think you did the honors?"

"I don't think the sheriff does, but the IDI guys at least think it's a possibility."

Syl frowned. "It is odd that you were fired, suggested the mulch, and then Hal ended up in it. But you would have needed a lot of help to put him there."

"Exactly!" It was good to hear someone else say what I thought. A glance in her direction said Shirley was listening, which meant Syl's comment and my reaction would be all over town by tonight. "I'm a little tired of thinking about it. I think I'll head out to your place."

"Sure. Looked like you knew what you were doing, so I won't offer advice."

I PREPARED A mental to-do list as I changed. A couple of items dealt with the work I would do first at Syl's, but the rest dealt with Hal.

First, I needed to find out where Hal went after he saw me in Hy-Vee. He had lived alone
(go figure),
so if he'd simply gone home there wouldn't be much to know. Betty maintained the office calendar, so she might have ideas about where he went. She also looked for and wrote some of the ads, so she'd be the most likely to know who Hal had insulted lately.

If Hal had been really over the top with someone in town, that person might have gone to his home to have it out with him. Didn't seem likely, but maybe a conversation had turned into a shove and Hal hit his head. Maybe the sheriff had found something interesting at Hal's house. But if Hal was killed there, why take him to Syl's?

I hadn't realized how tired I was, so I ended up working for only about an hour at Syl's before I went home and crashed. This potential murder suspect gig was really tiring.

I was almost asleep when I sat up and grabbed my notebook from the nightstand. Hal's car! If it was at his house, probably someone killed him there and hauled Hal to Syl's. If the car was elsewhere, either the murderer drove Hal – dead or alive – to the mulch pile, or Hal left the car where he was killed. So where was the car?

I WAS AT SYL'S place early Thursday morning. No one at the sheriff's office had returned my call about Hal's car, so I took out my frustration by pulling most of the weeds and tall grass on each side of the front porch. I figured I'd put down some mulch and… "Damn. No mulch."

I kicked dirt off my work boots and climbed the porch steps to knock on the screen door. "Syl?"

No answer. I debated knocking again, but when I'd pulled up he said he was working at home for the day. Maybe he didn't want to be interrupted. I debated calling Farm and More to ask them to bring more mulch, but decided it would be just too weird. I'd leave it to Syl.

Instead, I walked slowly around the house, doing a mental inventory, interrupting it to pull down a lot of ivy in back of the house. I could burn it later.

My memory of the garden tour almost twenty years before was primarily of the area behind the house. There had been a curving brick path and a large bird bath. It was the first time I'd seen a hummingbird. Mother had explained that the small feeders almost hidden among flowers had sugar water that attracted the tiny birds.

A wooden deck covered part of what had been the back garden. Why anyone would convert such peaceful beauty to fifty square feet of treated lumber was beyond me.

I didn't notice an almost-buried line of bricks about two yards out from the house until I stepped on one. The bricks told me that the area alongside the house opposite the driveway had at one time been landscaped.

Surely some plants had been perennials. As if the thought had willed my eyes to be more discerning, two small leaves, green with yellow at the edge, peered up at me. I stooped to move dead leaves from around them and unearthed a hosta plant. I moved my hand wide in a circle and found another one, then a third.
At least I won't be starting from scratch
.

I had been about to stand up when Syl's angry voice drifted out the window. "You know why that extra money was built into the contract. There's a tremendous amount of uncertainty in…"

It was twenty seconds before he spoke again, and he was even angrier. "It's not a honey pot for grubby paws." Short pause. "Of course I appreciated the introduc.…"

This was not a conversation meant for my ears. Since I was almost under his window I didn't want to stand. After ten feet of crawling toward the front of the house, my right knee hit something sharp.

"Ow!" I stood and brushed off my knee, annoyed that a pinprick of blood had appeared. I don't mind getting down and dirty, but there's lots of bacteria in soil. Those microbes don't always play nice with the human bloodstream.

I squatted to look more closely at what pricked me, and then wiggled what seemed to be a sharp piece of rock. It loosened quickly, and I was surprised to find a stone arrowhead. There are lots of them in Iowa, but usually any in a yard would have been found long ago.

It was slightly rounded and looked to be a Dickson arrowhead. A few years ago, I wouldn't have known what kind it was, but the diner now has a large poster of Iowa arrowheads. I slipped it into the pocket of my cutoff jeans.

I was rummaging in my truck's glove box when the front door opened and Syl stepped out. "Looking for me, Melanie?"

I retrieved the bottle of hand sanitizer that I use as disinfectant and shut the door. "I almost hate to ask, but did you get a chance to order more mulch?"

When his expression relaxed, I realized he had looked tense.

The humor that sometimes lingered beneath the surface appeared as a wry smile. "Anxious to see what will be in the next batch?"

I shook my head. "Hard to top the last one. Mostly I didn't want to call myself. The guys will be into macabre humor by now."

"I'll call. Listen, I apologize for your having to hear me holler."

I grinned. "You do remember who I used to work for? And I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was checking the flower beds."

He walked off the porch. "There are flowers under all that mess?"

"Come on." I led him to the area that I had cleared. "I only found three hostas, but they're evenly spaced. I bet there will be more perennials under here. We might be able to get the area around the house spiffy in a few days."

"That's not a word you hear a lot in LA, except on older sitcoms."

It didn't sound like a put-down, but I wasn't sure. "We don't recycle vocabulary as often as people on the coasts."

He laughed. "A gardener with linguistic interests." He turned toward the front of the house and spoke without looking back. "I'll call for you this time, and I'll up my line of credit so you can order what you need yourself."

Fair enough. I had no intention of avoiding people, but the idea of ordering more mulch was sort of vomit-inducing at the moment.

I had just put my work gloves back on when my mobile phone buzzed.

Good. Sheriff Gallagher. "Hey, sheriff, did you find Hal's car?"

Gallagher sounded somber. "That's not why I'm calling, Melanie. There's an IDI agent who wants to talk to you again. Now, you don't have to take my advice, but since your parents aren't here to give you a kick in the butt, I want you to think about being real good-mannered to him."

"Which one is it?" I asked, not really caring.

"Not even sure. You mind your p's and q's, hear?"

I thanked the sheriff and hung up. It hadn't made sense to badger him about the car just now. I'd have to do that later. Then I realized Gallagher hadn't said if I should come to his office, so I assumed the IDI agent would call me.

I was wrong. Agent Masters pulled into Syl's driveway. Granger's cruiser was behind him, but only Masters got out. He dangled a pair of handcuffs as he slammed his car door.

"Really? You honest to God think you have a reason to arrest me?"

I heard Syl's screen door open, but didn't look toward him.

"I don't need to arrest you to put you in these. I just need to think you might try to get away."

Masters looked like a man who had slept little and maybe had a bothersome prostate. I pulled out my phone, pushed my brother's speed dial number, and was already talking as Masters walked toward me. "Ambrose, there's an IDI agent here who's trying to intimidate me. Could you have Ken Brownberg meet me… Agent Masters, where is it you're taking me in handcuffs?"

Ambrose's voice carried without the phone on speaker, but I pushed the speakerphone button anyway. "Melanie, where are you? Ken will come to you and escort you. Where the hell is the guy wantin' to take you?"

Masters was beet red, and by this time Syl was on the porch. I saw him glance at the handcuffs and then at Masters.

"Meet my brother Ambrose, Agent Masters." I wiggled my phone at him. "Where should he send our family lawyer?"

"Why does she need a lawyer?" Syl asked.

"Melanie?" Ambrose was at a lower decibel level, but his anger was clear. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the old Silverstone place, where I'm working."

"Tell him I'll drive you down," Syl said.

I wanted to say I'd drive myself, but Mr. IDI would probably pull me over on the way and make me ride with him. Or think of a reason to give me a ticket and arrest me.

Masters' voice held controlled fury. "Mr. Seaton, this really isn't your concern."

"The hell it isn't." Syl held Masters' gaze as he walked down the steps. "A dead body shows up on my property, and you want to haul my employee's ass somewhere to question her when she clearly could not have put Hal Morris in that pile of crap?"

"I don't think it was fertilizer mulch," I said.

Explosion time. "The Department of Investigation can question anyone it believes connected to any crime, especially murder. Now, Mr. Seaton…"

"How many other people will be at your party in handcuffs?" Syl asked, using a mocking tone.

"Melanie?" Ambrose sounded almost frantic. "I've got Sheriff Gallagher on the other line. He thinks this IDI man is taking you to his office. Is that right?"

I raised an eyebrow in Masters' direction.

He almost spat the words as he glared at me. "That's correct. You be there in ten minutes."

I've never seen someone literally turn on one heel. He banged his car door and drove to the end of the driveway to turn around, where he almost front-ended Granger's cruiser, which apparently wasn't backing toward the road as fast as it should. Master's didn't bother to slow down as he pulled out of the driveway.

Ambrose was talking to someone, probably Ken Brownberg, but I couldn't hear what they said.

As Masters sped away, Syl looked at me. "That the brother you forgot to call the other day?"

I nodded.

"I know you're capable and know everyone in town, but I don't like that agent or the fact that the sheriff sent that deputy to accompany him. Tell your brother I'll drive you down, unless you object."