Chapter 17. Dead and Buried #3
Now that we knew the easement was no longer in effect, Buck and I scooped the gravel off the road behind the Victory Garden’s pasture and relocated it to the hiking trails, keeping a close eye out for any would-be killers who might be creeping about the woods.
The individual rocks were much larger than the pea gravel we’d intended to use, but it would work just fine and save Gail some money on materials.
We spent the rest of the week working on the driveway. We thanked the deputies each time they stopped by to check on us. Colette had baked an assortment of muffins for them. It was her way of showing them appreciation for protecting Buck and me, and also a ploy to get them to swing by more often.
While the gravel drive might look simple, it was anything but.
It took a full dump truck of large gravel to form the base layer, and a second dump truck full of mid-sized gravel for the middle layer, which was the most important layer for proper draining.
On Friday, just after the cable company had finished laying a new line to the barn, a third dump truck arrived to deliver the crushed limestone that would form the top layer.
By the time we finished spreading it at the end of the day, every bone and muscle in our bodies ached.
I went home and soaked for an hour in a hot bath filled with lavender-scented bubbles, while Sawdust curled up atop the bathroom counter to keep me company.
Once I’d soaked to my heart’s content, I met Collin on the couch. He gave me an update on the case he’d been working, the one in which one neighbor shot another for parking at the curb in front of his house. “The victim pulled through. He should be released from the hospital in a couple of days.”
“Thank goodness. I hope he’ll be up to playing basketball with his daughter again soon. What about the guy who shot him?”
“He took a plea deal for fifteen years.”
Collin had brought in the mail and placed it on the coffee table.
I reached down, picked up the stack, and riffled through it.
Halfway through, I found something that made my heart skip a beat.
It was a postcard with a drawing of the Redemption Fellowship church, the same postcard Tyler Yee had received from the Carmichaels.
For a brief moment, I wondered how they’d found me, but then I remembered I’d given my street address to the woman at the visitor table when I’d attended the service.
I turned the postcard over to find the exact same inscription that had been on the postcard sent to Tyler.
Thinking of you, and wishing you the blessings of faith, hope, joy, peace, and gratitude.
Never forget that His blood was spilled to redeem you! We hope to see you again soon.
Forever in Fellowship,
Bess Ivarsson-Carmichael and Pastor Devin Carmichael
I was confused why they’d written identical sentiments on both postcards, but then I realized they hadn’t.
Though the words appeared to be handwritten, the ink hadn’t come from a pen.
The card was preprinted, a standardized greeting probably sent by an administrative assistant or volunteer to everyone who’d visited the church but had yet to join the fellowship.
Because I’d been in a hurry when I’d snapped the photo of the postcard in my car in the barn the day Tyler was killed, I hadn’t noticed the words were preprinted.
When I’d looked at the image later on my phone and computer, it hadn’t been obvious, either.
I’d put too much weight on the postcard, thinking it was a threat and a clue when it was simply marketing material for the church.
It wouldn’t be the first time I’d misconstrued a possible piece of evidence.
At least now I could dismiss the Carmichaels as suspects.
On Saturday morning, Colette texted to see if Collin and I might want to meet her and Buck at the Victory Garden for brunch at ten o’clock.
Collin knew how much I loved the place, and he was eager to try their smoothies, too.
Besides, now that there was cable and internet service to the barn, Buck and I could install the security cameras.
I’d bring them along so we could put them up at the barn after we ate.
Collin and I arrived to find Buck and Colette waiting on the porch, the adorable little Mari perched on Colette’s cocked hip. Mari smiled when she saw us approaching. She flapped her fingers in a waving motion, though with her palm facing her way she was inadvertently waving to herself.
“Hey, cutie pie!” I stretched out my arms to take her from Colette. Mari leaned toward me and wrapped her little arms around my neck.
Collin tapped her on the nose with his index finger. “Boop!”
Mari giggled and hid her face against my shoulder for a beat or two, before turning her head slightly to peek out at him.
“Mari’s going to love this place,” I told Colette. The little girl adored animals, both real and plush.
Deborah was at the hostess stand, as usual. The woman never seemed to take a day off, but I could understand why she worked so hard. When you own your own business, more hours mean more income, and there’s no such thing as paid vacation. Her face lit up when she saw Mari. “Aren’t you adorable?”
Colette beamed. “She is, isn’t she?”
Deborah gathered up four menus plus a children’s menu printed on a plain white piece of paper.
She led us to a table near the back, rounded up a high chair for Mari, and placed the kid’s menu and a plastic package containing four small crayons in front of Mari.
Mari promptly picked up the pack and stuck it in her mouth.
Buck gently pried the gooey crayons from his daughter’s fingers. “Those are for drawing, not eating. See?” He opened the package, removed a blue crayon, and used it to color the spots on the cartoon cow on the kid’s menu.
Following her father’s lead, Mari picked up a green crayon, put the tip to the paper, and moved her hand back and forth, scribbling across a cartoon pig. She looked up at her daddy, waiting to see what he thought of the masterpiece she’d created.
Buck chucked her chin. “Good job!”
Meanwhile, Colette and Collin perused their menus. Colette looked over the top at me and Buck. “Anything in particular you two would recommend?”
“Try a smoothie,” I said. “They’re delicious. The kitchen sink breakfast cookies are really good, too.”
“I’m curious about the quiche, as well,” Colette said. “According to the menu, they use chickpea flour instead of eggs.”
Deborah returned and we placed our orders. I went for the protein pancakes, along with a side of fresh fruit and a decaf coffee with oat milk.
When Deborah reached out her hand for Colette’s menu, Colette said, “Mind if I hang on to it for a bit? I run a café and my customers have asked for more plant-based options. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look over your lunch and dinner sections to get some ideas.
I won’t copy your recipes, of course. I like to come up with my own original dishes.
But they might give me a place to start. ”
“No problem,” Deborah said. “I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.” She cocked her head. “What’s the name of your place?”
“The Collection Plate,” Colette replied.
“The cute place at the Joyful Noise Playhouse with the mismatched plates and teacups? My sisters and I had lunch there before seeing a Nutcracker matinee last Christmas. I had the veggie sandwich on Ezekiel bread. Absolutely loved it.”
“I’ll send you the recipe,” Colette said. “The secret is a dash of cardamom.”
Deborah rattled off her e-mail address. I already knew it, having seen it jotted on the receipt from the Victory Garden that had been among Tyler’s papers.
“Tell you what,” Deborah said. “If you’re interested in some of the other items, I’ll put a sampler platter together so you can try them. No charge.”
Colette’s brows arched in surprise at the same time her lips curved in a smile. “Thanks! That’s awfully generous of you.”
Deborah said, “If you ever see me in your café, maybe you’ll return the favor?”
“For sure,” Colette said.
Mari soon tired of scribbling on her menu, and turned her attention to the screens around the room, just as we’d expected.
She pointed her finger at the Moo View camera.
The normally independent cow was hanging out with the herd today, enjoying the sunshine.
Ruby trotted in a circle around them, issuing an occasional yap, but they didn’t need her oversight to stay in line.
“What does a cow say?” I asked Mari.
When she simply stared in question, Collin said, “Cows say moo. Can you say moo?”
Mari’s face contorted as she tried really hard to muster up the right sounds. Her mouth opened and out came, “Ooo.”
Close enough. “That’s right!” I raised my palm and she gave me a high five.
Deborah had arrived with our plates and heard Mari’s cow impression. “You think she’d like to meet Maisy and the other animals?”
“Maisy?” I repeated. “Is she the cow with the bell and camera? The one Ruby hangs out with?”
“That’s the one,” Deborah said. “Her nickname is Grazy Maisy. She’s always munching on grass or clover. My shift ends soon. I’d be happy to take y’all out back to the farm.”
Buck turned to his daughter. “What do you think, Mari? Want to meet a cow?”
Mari raised her arms to the skies and replied in her version of cow-speak: “Oooo!”
Deborah grinned. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”