Poisoned Ground (5 page)

“Changes for the worse,” Summer said, a hard note in her soft voice. “This is the countryside. Bringing in a lot of outsiders would destroy its essential character.”

Winter snapped, “Its essential character is that of a depressed place where unemployment is twice the national average.”

“Some of us see the beauty of the hills,” Summer said.

“Yes, and those beautiful hills tower over people so poor they’re hardly surviving.”

Summer emitted a barely audible sigh, and her lips formed a humorless smile. “Of course my sister is correct, as always.”

Winter acknowledged her sister’s acquiescence with a little nod and her own tight smile, then fixed her gaze on Tom. “A man I taught when he was a teenager came to me not long ago and asked if I knew how he could go about selling an organ. At first I thought he was talking about a musical instrument. But no. He’d heard that people could get by with one kidney and that only a fraction of the liver has to be transplanted. He believed he could make enough money by selling his internal organs to keep his family fed and housed for a year.”

Tom didn’t doubt this account. He’d heard worse. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, of course. I told him that organ donation programs won’t pay for body parts. They have to be donated. I didn’t mention the black market. I didn’t want to see him go on a quest for a broker. In any case, you know as well as I do that Mason County is in dire need of jobs and an overall economic boost.”

“So you’re in favor of selling your land.” Tom gestured at Winter, then at Summer. “And you’re not.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to sell,” Winter said. “I haven’t made up my mind. In any case, the three of us will make a joint decision, because we own the land equally. We may have our differences from time to time, but we stand together.”

“Tom,” Spring said, “I’m sure you’ve considered that Lincoln and Marie might have been killed because they wouldn’t sell their land. That would be a very strong motive, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would. But it’s also possible somebody had a personal motive to kill them. Aside from Jake Hollinger, do you know anybody who was holding a grudge or had a major problem with the Kellys?”

Summer spoke up, her voice tentative. “What about… Have you been in their house yet? Throughout it, I mean. Have you—”

“My sister,” Winter broke in, “is trying to ask if you’ve found the marijuana yet.”

Now it was Tom and Brandon’s turn to exchange a glance. Maybe, Tom thought, Dennis was right about the police being the only people in the county who didn’t know about the pot. “Yes, we’ve found the marijuana. Was it common knowledge that they were growing it?”

“Oh, not
common
knowledge,” Spring said. “Semi-common, perhaps.”

“All right.” Tom’s impatience was getting the better of him, turning his voice brusque. “You brought it up, so what about it? You think the murders are drug-related? Do you know who they sold the stuff to?”

“Oh, my goodness.” Spring gave a little laugh and fluttered a hand. “How would we know anything about drug-dealing?”

“You need to tell me everything you know, and tell me now.”

Another silent three-way consultation followed. After a moment, Winter cleared her throat and spoke. “They grew it for medicinal purposes only. Lincoln used to drive it out of the county to sell it. I don’t know where. But his health was deteriorating, his memory and coordination were impaired, and he stopped driving months ago. Since then, we’ve seen an unusual number of vehicles coming and going over there. When we happen to be driving past.”

Or looking out your upstairs windows, Tom thought. “You just said you haven’t seen any strange people or cars over there.”

“You wanted to know if we’ve seen them in the last few days,” Spring pointed out, as if correcting a student’s misstatement. “And we haven’t. Not this week.”

Tom felt like growling at them. “Describe the vehicles you’ve seen.”

In a perfectly synchronized movement, the three women all shrugged. “I’m afraid we can’t tell the difference between one vehicle and another,” Winter said.

“I do remember a black one,” Summer offered. “And perhaps a blue one? I can’t really be sure. I believe they had Virginia license plates. The plates were white, in any case.”

“Can you describe any strangers you saw over there? The drivers of the vehicles?”

“They were all men,” Winter said, her tone decisive.

The other sisters nodded.

“As to their ages or appearance,” Winter went on, “I’m afraid we can’t be of any help. We saw them from a distance, after all.”

“Oh, wait.” Summer looked suddenly animated. “There was a woman who visited the Kellys frequently, and she usually left with something in a bag or box. I believe you know her. She’s a Melungeon woman. Her granddaughter works for Dr. Goddard.”

“Holly?” Brandon exclaimed. “You’re saying Holly’s grandmother—”

Tom held up a hand to stop the deputy. Brandon and Holly were engaged, planning a Christmas wedding, and he couldn’t be objective about Holly’s grandmother. “Are you sure it was Mrs. Turner you saw? And she left with packages?”

Winter waved away the questions. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, the woman wasn’t buying marijuana. She’s an old friend of Marie’s. Marie always sent her home with some fresh eggs, and fresh corn too when it was in season. That’s all it was.”

Brandon slumped back in his chair in obvious relief.

Further questioning led nowhere. The Joneses insisted they had nothing more to tell the police.

Back in the car, Brandon dug into the bag of brownies Summer had given him and Tom to take with them.

“Don’t eat all of those,” Tom said. “Rachel likes brownies. I want to save one or two for her.”

“I’m hungry.” Brandon talked around the lump in one cheek. “If I don’t eat some of these I’m gonna start gnawing on the car’s upholstery.”

“What did you think of the sisters?”

Brandon swallowed before he spoke. “They just rambled all over the place, didn’t they? Like little old ladies that’re getting fuzzy in the head. Except they’re just as sharp as you and me. My guess is, they know something they don’t want to tell us about.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling, too.” Frustration beat like a drum in Tom’s chest. The sisters had steered them every which way except toward the truth. But he had no idea what the truth was or how to get to it.

Chapter Ten

Last stop: Tavia Richardson’s place. Tom pulled his cruiser into the asphalt driveway, and he and Brandon bounced in their seats as the tires hit holes and cracks in the pavement. Killing the engine, Tom frowned at the sad mess of a house.

“Looks abandoned,” Brandon said.

“I doubt she’s done anything to it since her husband died.” White siding had dulled to gray. The front gutter hung lose, at an angle guaranteed to allow rain cascading from the roof to fall behind it rather than into it. At the edge of the weedy front yard garden, a red finch pecked at a coneflower seed head. The plant stalk bounced up and down with the nervous movements of the little bird.

Before long, Tom thought, Jake Hollinger’s house would look like this. Both of them were more than ready to move on.

Tavia Richardson pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. As Tom and Brandon approached, she stuck her hands into her jeans pockets and cocked her head. A widow in her early sixties with four adult children, she looked many years younger. Her hair, dark without a single gray strand, formed a tousled cap that emphasized her delicate features, long neck, and high cheekbones. Her jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt hugged the curves of a slender body that could have belonged to a woman in her thirties.

“Let me guess,” she said in a voice that always surprised Tom with its deep huskiness. “You boys want to know if I heard the shots and if I saw anything suspicious. The answer’s no, and no.”

Everything she said in that voice sounded teasing, seductive. Clearing his throat, Tom glanced around. Her property was separated from the Kellys’ by many acres and a few rolling hills that would have blocked the sound of the gunshots. “How are you doing, Mrs. Richardson?”

“Oops, I skipped the social niceties and went straight to the bloodshed, didn’t I? I’m very well, thank you, Sheriff. And congratulations, by the way, on both your election and your marriage. How are you and Dr. Goddard liking married life?”

“Thanks. We’re very happy.”

Her smile had a mocking quirk to it. “That’s so sweet.”

Tom doubted she was trying to be offensive. She had plenty to be bitter about in the marriage department and probably didn’t give a damn if others knew it. “Have you talked to either of the Kellys lately?”

“Just to say hello at the bakery…” She nodded at Brandon. “The Connollys’ bakery, and the supermarket. I can’t offer you any clues that will solve the case for you, I’m afraid. I assume they were murdered by somebody who lives around here.” She hunched her slight shoulders and gave a mock shiver. “We have a killer among us. Ouch.”

“You think it’s a joke?” Tom said.

Now her smile twisted into a condescending smirk. “Life is a joke, Sheriff. God knows what the punch line will turn out to be.” She laughed. “God knows. And he’s not telling.”

Tom was beginning to wonder if she’d been drinking. “I’ve heard that Jake Hollinger was pressuring them to sell their land to Packard. Have you talked to them about it?”

“What would be the point? They’re adamant.
Were
adamant. They wouldn’t leave their scrubby little farm unless it was feet first. I guess somebody decided to call their bluff.”

“You couldn’t have been happy about them standing in the way of your plans.”

“My plans?” Tavia gave a halfhearted little laugh, followed by a sigh. “I learned long ago not to make a lot of plans for the future. Especially not the kind that depend on other people cooperating. Yes, I’d love to unload this place. I’ve been trying to find a buyer since Ron died, but what use would anybody have for it? Nobody farms for a living anymore, and even if they wanted to, there’s not enough land here to make a profit. The money Packard’s offering… That money would be a real windfall. But I’m not counting on it.”

“Because they won’t buy your place unless they can get everybody else’s, too.”

“Exactly.” Tavia leaned against one of the posts at the top of the steps and pushed her fingers through her head of curls. “I’ve just been watching and waiting. But I always figured it would fall through because Joanna won’t sell. Why should she? She’s probably the only person left in this county who’s making a living on her own property.”

“Have you talked to her about it? Tried to persuade her to sell?”

“Who am I to tell her what to do with her land? I know plenty of other people have been after her about it, though.”

“Were people after the Kellys to sell, too?”

She shrugged, her shoulder bones showing in sharp relief under the t-shirt fabric. “I’m sure they were. There’s a lot of money involved. At least people think so. I’ve been hearing crazy talk that makes Packard’s plans sound like the Second Coming.”

“You don’t think it would work out?” Brandon asked. “The jobs and everything?”

“What if they build it and it’s a bust?” Tavia spoke in a speculative tone that didn’t demand an answer. “They might never attract all those rich vacationers they’re counting on. If I had a lot of money, this backwater sure as hell wouldn’t be my idea of a fun getaway.”

“But that wouldn’t matter, would it,” Tom said, “if you and Jake got your money and got out? You could leave Mason County behind forever.”

For the first time Tavia looked cagey, withdrawing behind a wary expression. “I don’t speak for Jake. He doesn’t speak for me.”

“I thought you two were pretty close. I got the impression you want to cash in your land so you can move away and start over together.”

One corner of her mouth lifted in amusement. “Oh, that’s your impression, is it?”

“Are you saying it’s not true?”

She pushed away from the post. “I’m not saying anything. I wish I could help you, Tom, but I don’t see any way I can.”

“All right. By the way, are you going to the community meeting with the Packard people tomorrow?”

“Oh, you bet. I wouldn’t miss that show for the world.”

Chapter Eleven

A chorus of barks and yelps erupted from the dog pens behind the house when Holly and Rachel parked their cars at the end of the driveway and slammed the doors behind them. In this quiet country setting, the residents of the Blue Ridge Animal Sanctuary picked up every sound, and they always reacted to the arrival of vehicles. Rachel had dropped Billy Bob off at home before following Holly out here. His time with the Kellys’ overwrought dog was enough excitement for one day.

Holly and her grandmother, who once lived in the county’s poorest district, now occupied a stately brick house on property Holly had inherited from a murdered aunt. That aunt had been married to Robert McClure’s brother, and this house had been built by Robert McClure’s grandfather. Rachel doubted the banker had ever accepted the idea of Holly owning it. She and her grandmother had transformed the property into an animal shelter, and its first beneficiaries were abandoned dogs Rachel had rescued and abused animals Tom had saved from a dog fighting operation.

On their way to the front door, Holly whispered to Rachel, “She’s gonna be real mad at me for draggin’ her into this.”

“She may not be involved at all.” Rachel kept her own voice low, although she wasn’t sure why. Holly’s grandmother couldn’t hear them from inside if they spoke in normal tones. “If she knows something that could help Tom’s investigation, I’m going to try to persuade her to go see him.”

“Then she might be mad at you, too.”

“Let her. She’ll get over it.” Rachel had tangled with Sarelda Turner more than once, starting the day Rachel had literally helped Holly escape her family’s smothering grasp. They had developed a respect for each other since then, and Rachel knew the cranky old woman would usually do the right thing if somebody prodded her.

When Holly and Rachel walked into the living room, three mongrel dogs greeted them with wagging tails. Mrs. Turner lifted an orange tabby cat off her lap and used the arm of the couch for support to push herself to her feet. She looked as if she’d been crying for hours and had a reservoir of tears yet to shed. Her short hair, dyed black as boot polish, stuck out at angles, as if she’d been tearing at it.

Holly rushed to throw her arms around her. “Oh, Grandma, I’m so sorry about your friends.”

After giving Holly a couple of pats on the back, Mrs. Turner pushed her away. “Rachel, you come to see the dogs? Did I forget an appointment?”

“No, I came to see you.” Rachel placed a hand on Mrs. Turner’s shoulder, intending it as a gesture of consolation, but removed it when she felt the older woman stiffen under her touch. “Holly told me you and Marie Kelly were friends.”

Instantly Mrs. Turner’s expression hardened, and she shot a peeved glance at Holly. “There’s not any need for you to be tellin’ people about my personal business.”

“Now don’t be that way, Grandma. I know you’re hurtin’ because of what happened to your friends. You don’t have to act mean when somebody shows they care about how you feel.”

Mrs. Turner pressed her lips into a hard line that wouldn’t hold. One corner twitched upward in a rueful smile as she told Rachel, “This girl’s done nothin’ but talk back to me since the day she took up with you.”

Rachel laughed. “Sorry about that.”

The tension broken, Mrs. Turner sank onto the couch again. The tabby cat reclaimed its place on her lap and the smallest dog, a terrier mix, jumped up beside her. The other two settled at her feet. “Lord, that was awful news about Marie and her husband. It’s just been eatin’ away at my heart since I heard. Look at the time, and I’ve not even started dinner yet.”

She began to rise, giving the cat a gentle push that prompted a yowl
of protest.

“No, Grandma,” Holly said. “You stay right where you are and talk to Rachel. I’ll take care of dinner.” She threw Rachel a look that mixed apprehension, hope, and a plea for tact, and headed off to the kitchen.

Rachel hoped she would be in her own kitchen preparing dinner sometime soon, although she doubted Tom would be able to join her. If this day seemed endless to her, she could imagine what a grind it had been for him. And his workday was probably nowhere close to being over.

Two more cats occupied the room’s armchairs, so Rachel sat on an upholstered hassock. Although they lived in a house that many called a mansion, Holly and her grandmother were using the furniture from their old house and leaving many rooms empty or filled with supplies for their charges. New furnishings cost too much, they said, and the money was better spent on caring for the animals they took in and expanding the space to house them. Upstairs in the master suite, though, Holly was creating a freshly decorated apartment for herself and Brandon in preparation for their upcoming marriage.

“I didn’t know the Kellys well,” Rachel said, taking a cautious first step toward her goal, “but I thought they were good people. I can’t imagine who would do such a thing to them.”

She watched with dismay as Mrs. Turner’s face crumpled and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I hope they burn in hell, the ones that did it,” she choked out.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Rachel cut off her apology. She had come here to get information, after all. She refocused. “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Mrs. Turner extracted a fresh tissue from the pocket of her dress, mopped her eyes and blew her nose. “I’d like to load up my shotgun and go after them. Cut them down in cold blood, like they did poor Marie and Lincoln.”

Rachel believed she was capable of doing exactly what she said. “The person who did it won’t get away with it. Tom will make sure of that.”

“He’d better, or I’ll do it myself. You tell him I said so.”

Oh, he’d love hearing that,
Rachel thought. But she nodded to placate Mrs. Turner. “When was the last time you saw the Kellys?”

“Couple days ago.”

“How were they? Did they seem worried about anything?”

“Marie was. Lincoln was worked up about their neighbor’s fence, like he always was. His mind was goin’ and he’d get so wound up and mad—I think he was scared, you know? He couldn’t understand what was happenin’ to him.”

Rachel murmured agreement, although she’d heard none of this before. “What was Marie worried about?”

“Well, for one thing, that s.o.b. Robert McClure was on their doorstep all the time, tryin’ to get them to sign away their land. All that talk just confused Lincoln. He thought the bank was gonna throw them off their land. But all the other stuff was even worse.”

“The other stuff? Such as what?”

Mrs. Turner fixed a canny gaze on Rachel. “I know what you’re up to. Don’t think I don’t. You want to find out what I know, so you can tell your husband.”

Rachel shrugged, trying to look abashed. “Guilty as charged. You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m not the one who needs to know. But if you can tell Tom something that might help, you really should talk to him. He has to find out who did this and put him behind bars.”

“But that’s the thing, you see.” Mrs. Turner stroked the cat absentmindedly. “I don’t know if it’ll help. Even when Marie was tellin’ me—and I trusted Marie, I thought she was a sensible woman—but it all sounded so crazy.”

“Crazy in what way?” Despite what she’d said, Rachel couldn’t stifle her curiosity. She wanted Mrs. Turner to tell her everything.

“Funny noises outside at night. Something, or somebody, knockin’ on the side of the house. Scary sounds out in the apple trees, like a baby or a woman cryin’. Snakes in the house, three different times. One time in the middle of the night, she heard somebody up on the roof. Lincoln didn’t wake up, thank the lord. Marie thought at first it was just a coon, but she said she never saw one big enough to make that much racket just walkin’ around. She was too scared to go out and look. Next mornin’ she found a dead crow in the fireplace, like it was dropped down the chimney.”

“My God.” Despite her jacket and the warm room, Rachel suddenly felt cold.

“Well, anyway, you can just imagine the toll it all took on Lincoln, with his mind already in a bad state.”

“Did Mrs. Kelly report any of this? Did she call Tom?”

Mrs. Turner shook her head. “How was she gonna prove any of it? We all hear funny noises at night sometimes, don’t we? And a bird down the chimney, that happens sometimes, too. I’ve had it happen to me. What could the police do?”

She was right, Rachel knew. Tom would have cared because Mrs. Kelly was his mother’s friend, but he wouldn’t have been able to help.

“I guess they got tired of waitin’ for Marie and Lincoln to give up and leave. They decided murder was quicker.”

For the first time, Rachel realized Mrs. Turner had repeatedly used the word
they
, not
he
or
she.
Colloquial grammar? Probably. Rachel did it often enough herself. But she wanted to make sure. “When you say
they
and
them
, is that just a figure of speech, or do you mean more than—”

“I mean exactly what I say.” Mrs. Turner’s knife-edged voice cut off Rachel’s tentative question. “I mean
them.
”