I had just finished combining the two and was turning off the heat on the peaches when Quinn called.

  "How are you holding up?" she asked.

  "Oh, as well as can be expected," I said, watching as the kittens knocked the broom over and scared the daylights out of themselves. They jumped about two feet into the air, all their fur fluffed out, then skedaddled into the living room. Chuck, who was at my feet, was unfazed. "I'm doing better than Serafine, I'm sure."

  "I know. I can't believe they arrested her. That's crazy!"

  "It is. And then there’s this other thing..." I told her about what I'd found in the garden shed. "If the poison was in the shed, she would have had access to it; she's over in the garden collecting herbs and flowers all the time."

  "Plus that creepy doll outside the house, and the fact that the tea was Serafine's..."

  "Yeah," I said as I began filling muffin cups with the sweet, golden batter. Soon, I knew, the kitchen would smell of even more sweet, cozy goodness... and tomorrow's breakfast would be a treat. Maybe I'd bring a few to Serafine tomorrow... and to Opal, who womanned the front desk at the sheriff's office. She might have some ideas I could go on; she'd helped me in the past. "I still think she's innocent."

  "Me too," Quinn said. "Who do you think did it?"

  "I don't know," I said, finishing filling the last muffin cup, "but apparently Priscilla wasn't well loved within her family."

  "No?"

  "Her parents essentially wrote her brother--who was originally her cousin--completely out of their will."

  "With all that money?"

  "They wanted it to go right down the line. She held all the assets in her family... and her marriage. And from what Chloe said, she didn't let Nigel forget it." I tucked the muffins into the oven and set the timer. "I think we've got to keep Nigel in the running."

  "If all the family money goes around him, though, why would he kill her?"

  "Apparently Priscilla knew that Nigel was sweet on Serafine, and she was considering a big, bad attorney."

  "Ah," she said. "Widowerhood might be the easier path."

  "Exactly," I said.

  "What about Alicia? Peter told me she couldn't stand Priscilla."

  "I thought about that, too, but I'm not sure she'd kill her for it. I mean, she could just get another job, couldn't she?" Although with the past-due notices on the bills I'd seen that day, maybe I needed to reconsider.

  "At least there's more than one suspect," Quinn said. “Even if I can't imagine Alicia doing something like that. By the way, here’s another thing I heard at the shop today,” Quinn said. “You know the man who vanished from the Warren house? They’re saying now the house is haunted.”

  "What does that long-ago disappearance have to do with the house supposedly being haunted?"

  "The general gist was that it's his ghost. I heard that at night you can sometimes hear... moaning. And that things move around that shouldn't," she added in a low voice.

  "Are you thinking of the latch on the door?" I asked, goose bumps rising on my arms.

  "Maybe," she said. "I just don't know.”

  "I don't know either," I said. To me, it sounded made up. I mean, how many people in Buttercup would be talking about a haunted house in a ghost town some miles up the road?

  Still, in small towns, you took your excitement where you could get it, and small stories quickly got spun up.

  "I'll talk with Serafine about it tomorrow," I said. "See if she's heard anything."

  "You're stopping by to talk with her?"

  "I am," I said. "I thought I'd swing by and say hi to Nigel, too."

  "Let me know how that goes," she said.

  "Of course," I said. "I'm going to make some peach honey butter... want me to bring you some?"

  "Is that a rhetorical question?"

  I laughed. "I'll stop by tomorrow on my way to visit the station," I promised, and hung up the phone, then checked on the peaches.

  They'd cooled enough to puree, so I scooped several cups into a blender, turned it on, and then poured the golden liquid into a bowl. When I'd finished pureeing all the peaches, I poured everything back into the pot, along with sugar, two scraped vanilla beans, and some of Serafine's wonderful honey. I couldn't wait to have my own honey to use... and my mouth watered at the thought of fresh honeycomb. If I could get my bees through the winter, the next summer would be full of honey, I thought. I just hoped I'd be able to share the bounty with my beekeeping mentor.

  The kittens had finally gathered up the courage to inspect the fallen broom. I smiled at them as I turned the heat back on under the peaches, when the timer rang. I opened the oven, and the sweet, honeyed smell of muffins billowed out into the kitchen. I put the golden-topped muffins on a rack to cool, then popped one out of its tin and onto a plate. With a slather of fresh butter I'd made myself the previous week and a drizzle of Serafine's honey, it was heaven on earth. I was about to eat a second one when Chuck, who had been sitting at my feet watching me with rapt attention, suddenly perked up his ears and growled.

  "What is it, boy?" I asked.

  His hackles rose as I spoke, and I felt the hairs on my own arms rise. It was dark outside, and with all the curtains wide open, anyone outside would have a full view of me. I reached to the wall switch and cut the light. As darkness enveloped the kitchen, Chuck's growl exploded into barking, and he scrabbled at the back door.

  I grabbed the broom from where it had fallen on the floor, then scurried over to the counter and pulled a knife from the block, just in case. Neither would help me against a gun, but they were better than nothing.

  As I sat in the dark, squinting out the window looking for signs of movement, I wondered for a moment if I was overreacting. Finding Priscilla's body had put me on edge... and all that talk of haunted houses hadn't helped, either. Chuck was still scratching at the door and barking like a madman. Odds were good one or more of the goats had escaped again, I told myself. And if they had, it would be better to get them back into their enclosure before they managed to let the cows out... and decimate the rest of my peach orchard.

  I stood up and tiptoed toward the front door, figuring I'd let Chuck keep barking at the back door while I slipped out onto the front porch. But the moment the hinges squeaked, Chuck rocketed out of the kitchen toward me. I pulled the door shut, but before it latched, Chuck launched himself at it. It swung open enough for him to wriggle through, and then I was chasing him in the darkness, around the house, heart in my mouth.

  I rounded the back corner of the house in time to see Chuck stop in his tracks, snarling like a Rottweiler at a figure in black. Something gleamed in the faint light of the moon; it looked like a blade.

  "I don't know who you are, but you're trespassing," I said. "And I've called 911," I lied.

  As I spoke, the figure moved. Chuck launched himself, and a foot lashed out. My poor poodle yelped.

  "Chuck!" I called.

  Chuck launched himself again, and the figure swore under its breath; whether it was a man or a woman I couldn't tell. He or she stooped, and something flew from their hand; a moment later, pain exploded in my left temple. I yelped and stumbled, falling to my knees as Chuck lunged at my attacker. The shadowy figure sprinted across the yard and leapt over the side fence, my bald poodle in hot pursuit.

  And then he or she was gone, leaving Chuck standing at the fence, barking his head off as I sat cradling my throbbing head.

  I stood up slowly, my head spinning, and Chuck returned to my side. I fumbled for my phone and turned on the flashlight app, then looked at the ground to see what had hit me.

  It was a chunk of granite. A dark smear rimmed a rough corner of it; when I touched my temple, my fingers were wet and slippery with blood.

  "Thanks, buddy," I said to Chuck, bending down to pet him with my clean hand; the world spun as my head lowered, and I slowly stood back up. I walked to the back door gingerly, feeling my temple with my hand. Something protruded from the wood frame.

  I flashed the light on it, and my mouth turned dry.

  Embedded in the painted wood was the missing knife from the museum garden shed. It pierced a note on white paper, scrawled in bright red marker: STOP MEDDLING OR ELSE.

  12

  I raced back into the house, locking the door behind me, then turned on the light and checked all the doors and windows, with the creepy feeling that I was being watched. I did a quick glance in the bathroom mirror; my temple was cut, and the skin was swelling and turning red. I made an ice pack, checked on the peach puree, and called Tobias.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, reading my voice when I said his name.

  "Somebody just stuck a knife through a note on my back door," I said, tucking the phone between my shoulder and my chin so I could stir the puree. "And threw a rock at my head."

  "Did you call the police?"

  "No," I said, head throbbing. "I... I guess I should." I wasn't thinking straight.

  "Absolutely you should," he said. "I'll be right there. Call them right now and call me back; I want you on the phone with me till I'm at the farm."

  "Okay," I said. I hung up and dialed the police. A dispatcher I didn't recognize promised to send a deputy my way. Then I called Tobias back. As he talked to me, I adjusted the heat on the peach butter, then retreated to the bathroom. He made it to the farm in record time, long before the police, and inspected my head.

  "You'll have a bruise, but you don't look concussed," he said, looking into my eyes. "Any nausea or vomiting?"

  "Not yet," I said.

  "Let's keep some ice on it and take some Ibuprofen for the swelling; you need to lie down."

  "But the peach butter..."

  "I can handle it," he said. "The recipe's in the kitchen?"

  "It is," I said. "It's been simmering for about twenty minutes. The mason jars are on the second shelf in the pie safe; I need to sterilize them. Do you know how to can?"

  "Of course," he said. "Show me the note, and then you and Chuck need to go rest." He ruffled the poodle's head. "You did great, buddy," he said fondly.

  "He did," I agreed as I opened the back door and showed Tobias the knife... and the note. Although I was still spooked, the night seemed much less menacing with Tobias at my side.

  "This is serious business," he said, looking at me. "Does this have to do with Priscilla's murder?"

  "I can't think what else it would be. I'm glad the police are coming; this points to someone other than Serafine being responsible for what happened to Priscilla."

  "Were you asking questions?"

  "I was," I said.

  "Who did you talk to?"

  "The museum director, Alicia. And Aimee. I was at the Warren house today, though, and I thought I saw someone outside."

  "What were you doing there?"

  "Just... looking around." I told him about the tea label I'd found... and the gopher bait in the garden shed. "I was going to go to talk to Opal down at the sheriff's office tomorrow; I guess I can just pass that info along to whoever comes here tonight."

  "I'd still tell Opal," he said. "Is Rooster handling the case?"

  "He wasn't at the scene—I hear he's doing more office work lately--but who knows?" I shrugged.

  "You spooked someone, that's for sure," he said, looking at the note. "I presume you didn't touch it?"

  "No," I said, and walked over and showed him the rock. "Probably no prints on this, but maybe on the knife or the paper."

  "Looks like ordinary printer paper... hard to track down. Maybe they can figure out something from the handwriting?"

  "Maybe," I said. "It's worth a shot."

  We did a quick check of the back yard, Chuck at our heels—I needed to see if there was more damage before I retreated to my bed. Tobias insisted I go lie down as he checked on the livestock; then, as we waited for the deputy, he got to work finishing up the peach honey butter. It smelled divine, and when he brought me a muffin slathered with butter and peach butter, I decided that Prince Charming had nothing on my boyfriend.

  The deputy, a young man whose name tag read "Tony Garcia" showed up a full 45 minutes later. He looked to be about twenty, and wasn't impressed by my story... until I showed him the knife in the doorframe.

  "Meddling?" he asked. "In what?"

  "The murder of Priscilla Jordan-Melville, I'm guessing," I said.

  "But we arrested Serafine Alexandre for that."

  "Maybe the real murderer's still out there," Tobias said. "And is afraid Lucy's getting too close to the truth."

  "Lucy Resnick?" The young deputy narrowed his eyes. "I've heard about you. Some kind of reporter in Houston before you moved here, right?"

  "An investigative reporter. And a good one," Tobias said.

  "Thanks," I smiled, and turned to the deputy. "I was wondering if you could have that taken as evidence; maybe find some prints on it? I might press charges for trespassing and assault if I can find out who did this."

  "What did they throw at you?"

  "A chunk of granite from the edge of one of the flower beds," I said, pointing to where I'd found it.

  "Can you tell me what happened?"

  I went over the events of the evening as Deputy Garcia took notes. "So you recognize the knife?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I said. "It was from the garden shed at the Heritage Farms Museum."

  "So you think someone stole the knife from the garden shed, came to your house, stuck a note to your back door with it, and threw a piece of garden edging at you?"

  "I believe that's what she just told you, officer," Tobias said.

  "Right," the deputy said. "This Serafine is a friend of yours, right?"

  "She is," I confirmed.

  "And I heard a rumor you're trying to get her out of jail?"

  "I'm trying to find out who really killed Priscilla Jordan-Melville," I said.

  "Uh huh. Well, I guess I can take these for evidence. We'll see what we can do," he added in a tone that did not inspire confidence.

  "You need to take this seriously," Tobias warned him. "Someone threatened this woman and attacked her."

  "Well, that is, if she didn't put the knife there herself," he said, voicing what I suspected he'd already decided.

  "And hit herself in the temple with a rock?" Tobias said.

  "She could have done it herself," the deputy said as he bagged the knife and the note. I was glad Tobias had snapped a picture of the scrawled message while we were waiting, so I could keep an eye out for similar handwriting. I suspected it wasn't going to get a lot of attention once it made it back to the station.

  "Look," Tobias said. "This is a serious threat. If anything else happens to her..."

  The deputy turned to me with a bland expression. "You got a gun?"

  "No," I said.

  "Well, if you're really that concerned, I'd think you might want to get one."

  "She shouldn't need one," Tobias said.

  The deputy let out a weary sigh. "All right, folks, I'll go back and write up the report. Have a good night, and be sure to call if your... uh, intruder shows up again."

  Tobias and I watched the young officer saunter to the patrol car; my boyfriend's fists were clenched at his side, and I could hear him breathing hard.

  "He totally blew you off," Tobias said through gritted teeth. "I'm going to take this up with Rooster. And the mayor, too, if he doesn't listen to me."

  "Rooster doesn't listen to anyone," I said, reaching up to touch his shoulder. "Thanks for standing up for me tonight."

  "Of course!" he said. "I just wish I'd been here when it happened. I want to stay here tonight, in case whoever it is decides to come back."

  "I doubt they will," I said. "The message was delivered."

  "Still," Tobias said, turning and pulling me into him. "You're too precious to lose. I don't want to take any chances."

  "Thank you," I said, burying my head in his chest, then remembering my head was bloody. "Oh… I'm so sorry. I got your shirt dirty."

  "Who cares about the shirt?" he asked, pulling me back into him.

  I felt my whole body relax in his arms. "I'm so glad you're staying; I wouldn't be able to sleep."

  "There's no way I'm leaving you alone after what happened." He bent down and kissed the top of my head. "Let's get you into bed, okay? You need to close your eyes and rest."

  "Okay," I said, comforted by his care.

  "I don't have to be in until nine tomorrow, so you sleep in; I'll take care of the milking."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive," he said.

  A boyfriend who could step in and can my peach honey butter and then offered to get up and take over the morning milking?

  Priceless.

  Twenty minutes later, I was in under my grandmother's flying geese quilt. Lucky and Smoky were perched on the pillow beside my head and Chuck lay at the foot of the bed keeping guard as I drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and warm and thanking my lucky stars that I'd managed to find my way back to Buttercup.

  13

  The next morning I woke up later than I had in at least a year. Chuck had moved up and was asleep with his back to me, but Tobias was gone; when I checked my phone, I saw that it was 8:40. My head throbbed only a little as I stood up; a mirror examination revealed what my mother always called a "goose egg" on my left temple, along with a scab and the beginnings of some bruising. Tobias had bandaged it for me last night, thankfully; it had stopped bleeding, so I took off the bandage and arranged my hair to cover the worst of it. It was better than it could have been, I told myself as I grabbed my bathrobe and headed to the kitchen.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17