Murder Under the Covered Bridge (9 page)

Francine chilled a bit in the intense shade. But her manners, not to mention her curiosity, kicked in. He was being hospitable; it behooved her to return that cordiality. She shook his hand. “Francine McNamara. William's wife, Dolly, is at the hospital with him, and I told her I'd go look for the car. These are my friends.” She introduced everyone. She could tell they were uneasy, too, but they came up to meet him.

“Francine McNamara,” he repeated. He peered into her eyes like he was looking for confirmation of something. “I thought you looked familiar. You and your friends. You've been on television, haven't you? Weren't you the
Skinny-Dipping
Grandmas?”

Charlotte stood up taller. “We still are.”

Francine gave a short laugh, but his knowledge only made her edgier. “Guilty as charged. You have a good memory, though. It's been several months since we were featured on
Good Morning America
.”

“But your friend Joy is on the show regularly. She talks about your group.”

“That's true.” Francine found it difficult to believe this man watched
Good Morning America
, but she had no idea how else he would recognize her. “Mr. Matthew, I'm sorry if William has bothered you in the past. I don't know why he would do that, but … .”

“Please call me Zed. And I know why he did it. Same reason a lot of others have done it.” But he didn't elaborate.

Francine was stymied. Did she want to pursue what William and the others had been searching for? Check that. Of course she wanted to pursue it. It was an almost unspoken dare that she ask.

But she didn't want to play games with him. “We're sorry to have disturbed you this afternoon. We'll just take his car and leave.”

“That's fine.” He backed away from the women. “I'll just head on back to the house. Good luck on completing your Sixty Lists.”

The fact that he could remember the name they gave their bucket lists stopped her. One of her items was to take chances more often, and for some reason it came to mind. But before she could say anything, Charlotte butted in. “What do you think William and the others were looking for?”

He regarded her. “Charlotte. You're the one who figured out who killed Friederich Guttmann. I'm not surprised you would ask. But the answer I have isn't a simple one to explain.” He let that hang there a moment and then asked, “May I invite you all back to my house to discuss this over a cup of tea?”

Francine hesitated, but Charlotte was all over this. “Of course. I could use a good cup of tea.”

Francine decided to be the voice of reason. “May we have a moment?” Without waiting for an answer, she took Charlotte by the arm and led her off to the side of the car, as far as she thought necessary to be out of earshot. He seemed friendly enough, but the idea that he'd run William—and presumably others—off his property made her nervous about being alone with him.

The other women took Francine's hint and they gathered in a circle.

“Charlotte,” Francine said, “I'm not sure this is a good idea.”

She seemed astounded at their cluelessness. “How else are we going to get to the bottom of this if we don't question him now? You think we'll have another chance? And we have safety in numbers.”

Alice fingered her cross pendant, a clear sign she was on edge. “Not necessarily. He could feed us poison and kill us all at once.”

Mary Ruth put her hands in her jacket pocket. “I'm torn between thinking you sound like Charlotte with her conspiracy theories and thinking you are one hundred percent correct.” She hesitated. “If we go in, I'm not eating anything, just in case.”

Merlina stepped in and joined their circle. “I know Zed. Not well, but well enough to trust what he says. I think it's safe.”

Everyone looked to Francine.

“Your call,” said Mary Ruth. “He's courting you, not us. You can tell that by the way he directs his comments to you. And you drove.”

Zed called over to them. “It's an invitation. Admittedly, I look dangerous, but that's a deliberate choice. I'm actually very considerate, especially when I invite someone into my house. If it makes you feel easier, call your husband and tell him where you are. I wouldn't suggest someone do that and be a bad host, would I?”

Mary Ruth poked Francine in the arm. “See, what did I tell you? He wasn't talking to the rest of us.”

“Wait a minute,” Alice said. “How is he getting a signal out here if we weren't able to get one at the Roseville Bridge? This location is every bit as remote.”

Francine checked her phone for a signal. It was surprisingly strong. “He must have some kind of signal booster on his property.” She didn't know how such things worked, but she could believe Zed could figure it out. She was grateful they apparently had the same carrier. “You really think it's okay for us to stay?” Even as she said it, she was already reminding herself she could check #42 (Take More Chances) off her list if they had tea with him.

“Of course it's fine,” said Charlotte. “We should go in and cross-
examine him. If it makes you feel better, call Jonathan.”

Surely he wouldn't tell me to call Jonathan if there were any danger.
“Give me just a minute.”

She called Jonathan, catching him at the office. She briefed him on the situation. “So he's been a gentleman?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes.”

“And it's you, Charlotte, Mary Ruth, and Alice?”

“And Merlina.”

“Who?”

“The medium Charlotte hired.”

“What's she doing there?”

Francine began to stutter out an explanation, but even to her it sounded confusing.

“Never mind,” Jonathan said. “I'm not sure I want to know. Shouldn't a medium be able to sense if there were danger coming?”

“Be serious.”

“What does Charlotte think? Or is she even giving you a choice?”

“She's lobbying heavily for us to go in.”

“Do you think you're in danger?”

She took a deep breath. “No, I don't. He seems to want to make a connection with me. I don't think he would hurt me or any of us if he were trying to do that.”

Jonathan was silent for a moment. “I trust your judgment. Plus, I know what you're like when you're investigating a mystery. In some ways, you're as bad as Charlotte. Just be careful. At the first inkling of any danger, promise me you'll get out of there. And keep your cell phone handy.”

“I will. I'll call you as soon as we're done, so you'll know.”

“I'm calling you in a half hour if I don't hear from you.”

“Good idea. It'll help us wrap up the conversation if it goes too long.”

“Do you want me to head back to Rockville? You know I will if you need me.”

“Let's keep that an option for now. I'll talk to you soon.” Francine disconnected. “Okay,” she told the others. “Let's have tea.” The women moved toward Zed, hanging together as a group. Francine clutched her purse containing her cell phone.

Zed was talking to Merlina. Though the conversation seemed cordial, there was some point of contention between them. Francine wondered if they had made the decision to accept his invitation too quickly.

But Merlina apparently knows him
, she thought.
She wouldn't go in if there was any danger.

Just then, he caught sight of them approaching. He smiled. “Good. I'm glad you trust me. I think we have much to discuss.” His words were clearly directed at her. But he included the others as he added, “Let's go in and have tea.”

Have tea while the Roseville Bridge burns
. It felt bizarre to think of it that way, even weirder to find herself starting toward Zed to do it. The women moved with her. Francine clutched her purse containing her cell phone.

ten

Francine wondered how they
could have a lot to discuss when she'd only just met him. They walked the long gravel driveway back to his house. Even Charlotte didn't complain, though she hung onto Francine as they walked.
Good thing we're all wearing the shoes we've been preparing food in
, Francine thought. They were comfortable and allowed for better navigation on the slick gravel. The driveway drenched by the rains earlier in the week still hadn't dried out.

The driveway curved to the right, but before it did, they passed under a stately wooden arch. A sign beneath it grandly proclaimed
Matthew 1844 Ranch
. Francine wondered if it had really been around since 1844. It was possible. Indiana became a state in 1816, and land was being claimed and deeded in all parts of the state. She almost said something, but Zed was quite a ways in front of them.

It wasn't long before they'd lost sight of Wheat Farm Road altogether. The late afternoon sun danced in and out of the towering trees. As they approached the house, the trees thinned out and the sun drenched her in a long spell of sunshine. It made her feel warm. All the women seemed to enjoy it.

Zed's house was a log cabin. “The original part of the house was constructed in the late 1800s,” he said, “but it's been added to since then. It's now a
three-bedroom
,
two-bath
ranch home. I've tried to modernize it but still stay true to the first owner's vision.” He held the door open for them.

As Francine entered she noticed cameras under the eaves of the house.
He must have a security system
, she thought. But she decided not to mention it.

She felt surprisingly calm as she followed the other women into the home.

What could Zed possibly know of the original owner's vision? she wondered once she got inside. They didn't file house plans with the county back then. She was pretty sure while the original owner might recognize the ambiance, that would be about it. The interior resembled a hunter's lodge, with knotty pine paneling that gave the house a slight woody scent. More noticeable were the mounted game heads, which she found a bit gruesome. The feature that most startled her was a taxidermied young buck standing majestically in the back of the room. It has a small crown of antlers and looked like it was ready to take on all challengers, despite its youth. She approached it, repulsed and yet fascinated. Charlotte stuck to her side.

“I see you've noticed Bucky.”

Francine ran her hands over the deer's beautiful coat. “I've never been this close to a wild animal before.”

Charlotte tentatively touched the antlers. “He's not that wild anymore.”

Francine thought back to the shots that drove William out of the woods and hit the bridge near where she had been standing. Zed only said that he'd heard shots and expressed a vague sympathy for William's condition. He hadn't denied being the one to do it; of course, they hadn't asked him, either. She said, “You're a hunter.”

“Have been all my life, but I don't do much of it anymore. I find the chill of the morning and the requirement of holding still for long periods of time tough on the old joints.” He smiled. “I can tell the prey makes you uncomfortable. Let's go into the kitchen for that tea I promised you.”

Zed's kitchen was light and inviting. Located at the back of the house, it had large windows which allowed the afternoon sun to warm the room. Zed indicated they should sit at the square,
eat-in
kitchen table. Though it was not large, they could all sit there if they crowded together.

To Francine's surprise, two loaves of some kind of quick bread lay on a cooling rack on the counter, almost as though Zed had expected company. The smell of dates was strong and her mouth began watering almost immediately. They'd skipped the cookies and scones after the séance due to the fire news, and it was getting toward suppertime.

“You're a baker?” Mary Ruth asked, spotting the bread.

Zed smiled. “I am. I find recipes to be rather like formulas. If you follow them exactly, you'll get the same results. It's scientific. At the same time, baking is an art form because the conditions vary every time you make something, and sometimes you have to make substitutions in ingredients. I imagine you feel the same way.”

Mary Ruth chuckled. “No. That feels more like an Alton Brown explanation. But I do like to experiment and make up new recipes.”

“There's a bread knife in the knife block. Would you do me the favor of slicing it up while I prepare tea? It's
date-nut
bread.”

Zed made tea the
old-fashioned
way, with loose, black tea he placed in two Brown Betty teapots, each holding enough for several cups. While he put the kettle onto boil, Mary Ruth expertly sliced up the first loaf. Zed showed her where the dishes were, and she put a slice on each of six plates. She distributed them at the table.

For some reason Francine remembered the mythological story about Persephone and the six pomegranate seeds she'd eaten when in the Underworld with Hades. The story ended badly, with Persephone forced to live in the Underworld for six months, making the world go into winter. Francine put it out of her mind. Zed was no Hades and she was no Persephone. And she would most certainly not eat six slices of
date-nut
bread. Though, if the bread were as good as it smelled, she would be tempted.

Francine looked out the windows at a long and wide backyard. While the entrance to the house had been nothing more than a narrow driveway dominated by the woods, the back was grassy all the way to where the cornfield began. From there, the cornfield looked like it went on forever. The yard was dominated by an ancient greenhouse and two gardens. One garden was clearly for vegetables, since she recognized the
cool-weather
plants that still looked good, like spinach and broccoli. Droopy tomato plants stung by the recent frost were dying. Tall, withered cornstalks, likely the remnants of his sweet corn harvest, were still in the ground.

“Is that an herb garden?” Francine asked of the second, smaller garden. “The bush looks like sage and the leggy plants look like basil, but I don't recognize the others.”

“Very astute of you,” Zed replied. The kettle came to a boil at that moment and he poured the water into the Brown Bettys. As it steeped, he said, “I put that in. The vegetable garden came with the property when I purchased it from Doc Wheat's estate after he died.”

Francine was accustomed to the wonderful baked goods Mary Ruth made, and most people's didn't compare. But the
date-nut
bread had smelled tempting from the moment they'd walked in the kitchen, and now that Mary Ruth had set a piece in front of them, she had to exercise willpower not to wolf it down. She picked off a corner and popped it into her mouth. It was
melt-in
-
your-mouth
good. It had a rich, buttery taste she had not expected, which she let linger on her tongue. Mary Ruth could not have made better.

Everyone but Charlotte nibbled nervously on the
date-nut
bread. Charlotte devoured hers in a few bites and greedily eyed the remainder of the loaf. But she seemed to decide otherwise. She looked at the
old-style
greenhouse. “The greenhouse must have come with the property too?”

Zed gave her a wry smile. “It looks like it, doesn't it? I haven't kept it up as well as I should. It still produces marvelously, though. I keep telling myself I should tear it down and replace it with one of those modern
shelter-like
structures with plastic windows, but I can't bring myself to lose that bit of history. If the Historical Society ever saw it, it'd probably be declared a historic building.”

“How old is it?”

He poured tea for all of them, using a strainer to catch the loose tea bits. “I'm guessing it was built in 1930, about the time the Depression took hold. After we finish our tea, I'd be happy to show it to you.”

They all agreed they'd like to see it.

Zed had managed to relax Francine with his hospitality. The kitchen and the conversation felt so friendly she almost wanted it to last into the evening. But they needed to get back to Rockville, so she felt compelled to move things along. “You were saying about William …?”

“Yes. William has been here many times before, several in just the past year or so. He seems to be obsessed with the legend of the Doc Wheat fortune. Are you familiar with it?”

“I've heard his name a couple of times. My family's farm was near here, but I grew up in southern Indiana, near Evansville. My mom and dad moved there when I was young. My father didn't like farm work and my mom couldn't persuade him otherwise. He got a job in the Whirlpool factory. Grandpa's farm was sold not long after he died.”

Zed nodded as if he were already familiar with her history. “Doc Wheat was an eccentric farmer who purchased this land back in 1921. During the Depression he developed an interest in herbalism, studying native plants for their healing powers. He became convinced that just about any disease could be cured by finding the right combination of plants. At one time his home remedies were popular and shipped all over the world. He gave himself the title ‘Doc Wheat.' But the birth of modern pharmacy put him out of business.” He indicated Francine's teacup, which she hadn't touched. The others were already half through theirs. “Don't let your tea get cold. It's a special blend I make. The base is Oolong I order off the Internet, but I like to tinker.”

She sipped the tea. Like the bread, it had some extraordinary qualities. She could taste a
peach-like
sweetness to it, but it had a hidden bite that wasn't quite revealed until the finish. For some reason she thought of tarragon. She almost laughed at her own description; she sounded like Mary Ruth describing a wine. She wanted to ask Zed more about it, but she reminded herself it was more important for him to continue the story. “So what was William looking for, Doc Wheat's formulas?”

Zed leaned forward as if confiding a secret to them. “More likely he was looking for the fortune. Rumors were rampant at the time that he'd made a lot of money from his formulations. Now, I don't know about any fortune, but I do know Doc Wheat didn't trust banks. Probably a result of the Depression. Anyway, even before he died people were sneaking onto his land digging around for buried treasure.”

The women hung on his every word. Charlotte asked, “Did anyone find it?”

“No one found anything.”

Francine popped the last of her
date-nut
bread in her mouth. Again, she appreciated the mouth feel of the bread and the richness of the dates and nuts. But then she realized it had the same hidden bite at the end, like the tea. She wondered what it was.

Charlotte continued her questioning. “Then why would William think there was a fortune?”

Zed finished his bread in three bites and brushed the crumbs off his beard. “I love dates,” he said. “Part of the reason was Doc himself. He fueled the rumors even as he ran people off his land. Claimed he had a treasure no one would ever find. When Doc died in the 1960s, he left no heirs and I bought the land. Paid a pretty penny for it too.”

“What do you think of the legend, then, if you haven't found the fortune, and you live here?”

“A fortune is not the same as a treasure. I'd hazard to guess whatever his ‘treasure' was, it wasn't the kind people expected.”

Charlotte put her teacup down. “It seems odd for a person to believe strongly in a rumor like that without some kind of impetus.”

“Have Francine ask William about that next time she sees him.” Zed leaned back in his chair and appraised Francine. “You definitely come from Miles blood,” he told her. “You favor your mother.”

“How did you know …? Oh, wait. I told you William and I were cousins.”

“You did, but from the time I saw you on
Good Morning America
and they said your name, I knew who you were. I hoped we'd meet.”

“I don't mean to be pushy,” Mary Ruth said. “It's been lovely to meet you, Zed, and I give you props for your
date-nut
bread. But if we're going to see the greenhouse and get back to Rockville, we'd probably better get on with that.”

Zed scooted his chair back from the table. “Of course,” he said. “I understand you especially have work to do for tomorrow.” They all stood, and Mary Ruth began to gather up the cups and dishes. “Just leave it all,” he said, waving her off. “I'll clean up later. It's a pleasure to have such polite guests for a change.”

Zed opened the back door and led them across the yard to the greenhouse. The length of the
black-roofed
building faced south and had large leaded glass windows, one of which was cracked and needed to be replaced. The building also needed to be scraped and given a new coat of forest green paint, but structurally it looked fine. “I use the greenhouse to start plants for the vegetable garden over there,” he said, pointing, “and so I can have some vegetables and herbs during the winter.” He tried to turn the knob on the door but found it locked. “Forgot the key. Wait here, and I'll be right back.”

The minute he was back in the house, Charlotte murmured to the group, “So what do you think?”

Alice scratched her head. “He seems nice enough. I hadn't expected tea and bread from a man with his reputation.”

They all nodded in agreement. Francine turned to Merlina, who was still dressed in her medium outfit. “You said you know him. Is this how he has acted towards you in the past?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yes and no. He's never been unkind, but he's never been this friendly, either.”

“So how do you know him?” Charlotte asked.

Before she could answer, Zed opened the back door and returned holding the key. He unlocked the greenhouse and turned on the overhead light, holding the door for them.