The Silence of the Llamas (20 page)

T
he pot was still simmering on Saturday morning when Maggie opened her shop. Lucy arrived a few minutes later and dumped a colorful pile of knitted items on the counter.

“Look how many projects I’ve finished for our fund-raiser. Awesome, right?”

Maggie looked over the bounty: two frizzle scarves in multicolor yarn, a blue headband embossed with white snowflakes, a pair of black fingerless gloves, and a baby bib.

“Lovely. I’ll add these to the basket. We’ve already sold a few things this week,” she reported.

“I wish I could knit this fast all the time. I knit better when it’s for a cause.”

Maggie glanced at her and smiled. “Keeping Matt warm isn’t a compelling enough cause for you?”

“Of course it is. But I have other ways of solving that problem.” Lucy smiled and changed the subject. “I’m going get some coffee and raid that reject yarn box.”

“Knock yourself out,” Maggie murmured. Lucy had already taken some extreme skeins from the box but had used them very creatively, Maggie thought. She hated to waste yarn and would be happy to see that box completely empty by the end of this project.

Lucy soon returned, the yarn box in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.

“By the way, Janine Ridley followed up on your recommendation and took her father’s dogs over to Matt. They’re boarding at the animal hospital for now. He’s going to find a good home for them or get them into a rescue group.”

Maggie nodded, attaching price tags to Lucy’s handmade items. “I knew he’d come through for her . . . and for Thelma and Louise. I wonder if she’ll come back to the shop. I did see her at the town meeting. Sitting by herself.”

“She must have been curious to hear the debate since her father was so involved. I have a feeling you haven’t seen the last of her, Maggie.”

“I think you’re right. I have the same feeling.”

She watched Lucy dig through the skeins in the box and finally hold up a rather hideous fluorescent-orange acrylic.

“What were you thinking?” Lucy stared at her.

Maggie did a double take. “I never ordered that. I swear on my— It must have come by mistake in some shipment, and I never returned it. Give me some credit.”

Lucy laughed. “Everything is good for something.”

Maggie gave her a quizzical look. She couldn’t imagine what Lucy would make with that. “A glow-in-the-dark toilet paper cover?”

“Good idea. But I’d have to crochet for that one. I was
thinking a dog-size jogging vest. I’ll stick some glow-in-the-dark tape on the edges, for night visibility.”

“Good idea. Dogs are sweet but don’t have very demanding taste in outerwear. Not like cats,” Maggie added, just to get Lucy going.

Before Lucy could answer, another voice did.

“Hi, everybody. . . . Wait till you hear where I’m going this morning. I’m so brilliant sometimes, I can’t stand myself.” Suzanne breezed into the shop, dressed for her workday in a sleek leather blazer, espresso-brown, with matching wool pants and a creamy white turtleneck. She’d looped a long scarf around her neck, a golden-yellow color—perfect for finishing off an Amelia Earhart sort of look, Maggie thought.

Suzanne sighed and dropped her leather tote bag on a chair. “Here’s the scoop: I just made an appointment to visit Walter Kranowski and work up a listing on his property. Pretty sharp, right?”

Maggie and Lucy stared at her in shock. Maggie was the first to speak. “How in the world did you manage that?”

“Part luck, part smarts. Part fabulous personality. My usual winning combination.” Suzanne quickly explained how she’d done some research on the potato farm right before the town hall meeting. But then Kranowski never showed up.

“I had a few printouts about the farm around the house and Kevin reminded me that he’d done some work for the old man, about two years ago. He put a new roof on the barn or something. So that gave me at least a toe in the door,” she continued, talking now at top Suzanne speed, which was almost faster than Maggie could hear.

“I called Mr. Kranowski and said I’d heard he was interested in listing his property soon, and he knew my husband, and blah blah blah, and it all worked out.” Suzanne waved her hand and took a sip of coffee, leaving them to imagine the rest.

“She makes light of it, but the secret is in her blah-blahs,” Lucy remarked to Maggie.

“To be sure. It’s a gift. And I mean that in a good way,” Maggie hurried to add.

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment. I have an appointment to see him in . . . one hour,” she said, checking the time on her phone. “Just stopped in for a little victory lap. And to see if there’s anything you guys think I should ask?”

“Hmm. Let me see. ‘Did you stab Justin Ridley with a wooden spindle?’ Or is that too direct? Even for you?” Lucy teased her.

“It would be refreshing. I doubt the police have asked him that yet,” Maggie noted.

Suzanne rose and picked up her bag. “Want to tag along, Lucy? I think this is a two-woman job. Besides, you can keep me on track. I might get distracted with the real-estate stuff and forget all about Ridley. I would die for this listing.” Her dark eyes gleamed with a barracuda-like enthusiasm.

“Okay, I’ll go. But can I pass as a real-estate lady?” Lucy looked down at herself, doubting it. She didn’t have the dogs with her today and was dressed for shopping in a khaki utility jacket over jeans and a black T-shirt.

“I’ll just tell him you’re in training,” Suzanne decided. “And we’ll give you some jungle red lipstick and big, fashiony earrings in the car.”

Maggie nearly laughed out loud at Lucy’s expression.

“Um . . . okay,” Lucy said slowly. “Really?”

“I’m kidding, silly. But I do have some badges from an open house, and you can carry a clipboard or something.”

“I can go with that.” Lucy collected the yarn she wanted, and the two women were soon on their way.

“Good luck,” Maggie called out. “Report in soon so I don’t worry. Don’t do anything dumb.”

The potato farmer could be dangerous, she realized suddenly.

They either didn’t hear her or just didn’t answer.

•   •   •

Suzanne had a heavy foot on the gas pedal. But Lucy knew she usually drove that way and this morning she was particularly excited to get out to Kranowski’s farm. They flew along the country roads in Suzanne’s huge vehicle, which was part truck and part school bus. Lucy was starting to have second thoughts about her impulsive agreement to come along.

But the idea of Suzanne venturing out here alone, to chat up a man who was known to have a bad temper and may have even attacked Justin Ridley, didn’t sit well with Lucy, either.

She’d done the right thing, Lucy decided, glancing over at the driver.

“Here’s the turn onto Crooked Hill Road. We’re almost there. The lipstick is in the little outside pocket of my purse. Help yourself,” Suzanne added.

Lucy gave her a look. She didn’t even own a real lipstick. Her beauty efforts stalled out at an all-purpose cover-up stick and a tube of lip gloss. “I’ll have to pass. Sorry. Do you want me to wait in the car?”

“Just testing you. I thought if you went for it, I’d sneak a photo and post it on Facebook.”

“Suzanne . . . you’re truly evil.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s the kids. They’re a terrible influence on me.” She looked contrite for a moment, but the mood passed quickly. “Hey . . . isn’t that Ridley’s place?”

Suzanne nearly slammed on the brakes to slow down in time. She pointed to the property on the right side of the road that was just coming into view.

Lucy saw a few wisps of crime scene tape dangling from the fence posts and front door. The house was fairly close to the road but surrounded by tall trees and brush. All she could see were fragments of dark brown cedar shake shingles and a white compact car in the driveway.

They coasted by, peering through the trees.

“There’s a car in the drive,” Suzanne noted. “I wonder who’s visiting. It looks like the police are done searching for evidence.”

“It could be Janine Ridley. That seems to be the kind of car you’d rent at the airport,” Lucy added.

“You’re probably right. I wonder if she’s planning on putting the place up for sale.”

“You should call on her next, Suzanne. You could have a real monopoly out here. Though I don’t remember any farms in the board game. They should have tossed a few in, don’t you think? Planting those little green houses and red plastic hotels would have meant something.”

“Definitely. That was a real oversight.”

The Kruegers’ farm came into view next. Lucy saw the cheerful wooden sign as they passed the entrance and
farmhouse. She gazed back at the orchard and noticed someone working among the apple trees, digging into the rich earth and lifting shovelfuls into a wheelbarrow.

“There’s Dot,” she remarked, recognizing the older woman. “She works hard.”

“I can’t believe it. And at her age. She must be in her late sixties, don’t you think?”

“I would say so,” Lucy agreed. She thought Dot might even be a bit older. “Ellie says she’s had a hard life. It shows.”

Lucy’s heart went out to Ellie’s farm helper, still doing such heavy, physical work. But Dot seemed to thrive on it.

“I thought the apple season ended weeks ago. What’s she doing out there?” Suzanne asked.

“The picking season is over. But trees need attention practically year-round.”

Suzanne gave the road her full attention and picked up speed again. “There’s a ton of real work on that farm. Don’t kid yourself. I’m not sure Ellie and Ben realized what they were getting into. As much as they researched the business, I think they took over the farm with some idealistic notion of how it would be. Ellie even jokes that Ben isn’t very handy, and that’s got to be a problem, right?”

Lucy didn’t feel comfortable speculating about Ellie and Ben’s relationship. But she did agree on that point. “Let’s just say, it’s not a good thing.”

They soon arrived at Walter Kranowski’s property. Suzanne pulled onto a dirt road and drove down to a gray farmhouse with peeling green shutters and a porch that sagged under an assortment of miscellaneous junk.

The single word that came to Lucy’s mind to describe the house was misshapen. Boxy, added-on sections branched out in all directions, with no rhyme or reason. Certainly no architectural knowledge had been applied here. It was hard to figure out where the original structure began and what parts were extensions. Finally, she just gave up.

Suzanne stared at the house a moment. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give this one a negative five on curb appeal.”

Lucy was ready to go, but Suzanne took a moment to get her binder in order and then found two plastic badges that said “Prestige Properties” for them to wear.

“I feel a little guilty putting this on,” Lucy admitted as she stuck the badge to her jacket.

“The badge or the lipstick. Take your pick.” Suzanne waved the tube of jungle-fever red in Lucy’s direction. She’d already freshened up her own sultry smile.

Lucy quickly opted for the badge.

“Let me just make a few notes before we ring the doorbell. It’s easier to do that now than when we leave. They’re always watching out the window,” Suzanne explained as they got out of the car. “Let’s see, what do we have here?”

Lucy followed her gaze around the front yard, where there were a few tall elm trees, a toppled bird bath, and a lawn ornament of a Victorian lady holding a lantern who just happened to be missing her head.

“Nice touch.” Suzanne rolled her large brown eyes.

They walked behind the house, where Lucy saw a lopsided cedar picnic table and a clothesline that stretched from the back door to a tree. Behind that was a big gray barn with some
farm machinery parked nearby—a tractor and tilling equipment and some other big vehicles she couldn’t identify.

“The barn is the best feature so far. My husband does nice work,” Suzanne said proudly.

Lucy would have said the land itself was the best feature. But she didn’t want to quibble with Suzanne and she was sure that point was understood.

Kranowski’s fields stretched out behind the barn like large rolling blankets, the dark earth plowed into neat rows, the green tops of the potato plants stretching almost as far as you could see.

“Wow, he’s got a lot of land, doesn’t he? It must be worth a fortune,” Lucy guessed.

“It will be, if the open space laws are allowed to expire. Personally, even though my inner real-estate lady is saying, ‘Cha-ching!’ the
real
me would feel awful about seeing those fields filled up with condos or mini-mansions.”

“No argument here. But more importantly, let’s see how Mr. Kranowski feels about it.”

They walked around the house again and up the porch steps. Suzanne rang the bell, and the door flew open instantly. Farmer Kranowski had obviously seen the car and had been waiting for them.

Suzanne quickly introduced herself and Lucy in a surprisingly professional tone.

“Come on in, ladies. I was wondering what you were doing out there all that time. It’s hard for me to be on my feet. I got the gout real bad,” he explained, leaning on a metal walker.

He was a big man, Lucy noticed, quite tall with wide
shoulders that looked like he once could have balanced a piano on them. But now his back was stooped and rounded, his head jutting out an odd angle. Large gnarled hands held the edges of the walker as he led them from the dark foyer into a small cluttered front parlor—or what had once been a parlor, Lucy guessed, now hidden under piles of newspapers and miscellaneous trash.