Mistletoe Murder (Dewberry Farm Mysteries Book 4) Read online

  "How was the clinic this afternoon?" I asked as we left the twinkling Christmas lights of the Square behind us. The sky was clear and studded with stars, and a half moon was riding high in the sky.

  "Busy," he said. "And I had to make a few house calls tonight for folks who were worried about their livestock after last night's storm," he added. "Sometimes I wonder if it might not be time to look for a partner."

  "That's one possibility," I said. "Or could you maybe trade off with another vet?"

  "The thing is, the closest one is ten miles away. It's been getting busier lately, but I don't know if there's enough going on to warrant two full-time vets." He sighed. "I wish I knew someone who wanted to work part-time."

  "It might be worth running an ad," I suggested. "Maybe there's a retired vet in one of the neighboring communities who'd like to keep an oar in."

  "It's a thought," he said as we passed the sheriff's office. Isabella Stone was in there, I knew, probably going through Opal's back issues of Texas Monthly for the second time. Had she finally snapped and done in her husband? Or was something else going on?

  Tobias gave me a squeeze as my eyes lingered on the small building. "We'll figure it out," he reassured me.

  "I just hope she's innocent. It would tear Mandy apart if she lost her sister."

  "Maybe we'll find some answers there," Tobias said, nodding toward the glowing windows of the Hitching Post, which was half a block down the street. "And if not," he said, taking my cold hand in his, "at least we can get you warmed up."

  The Hitching Post was a freestanding old brick building backing the railroad tracks; the word around town was that it used to be a cotton gin. A few trucks were parked out front, and a string of old-fashioned colored lights hung from the awning. Tobias opened the door for me—it had been frosted with fake snow—and ushered me into the dark bar, which smelled of beer, must, and french fries.

  There was a long wooden bar with two television sets showing sports at the end; behind it were shelves loaded with bottles of liquor, mounted on a wall covered in old-style pressed tin. A number of saddles, bridles, and horseshoes hung on the walls at random intervals, and a poster advertising the Buttercup Rotary Club hung in the front window.

  The three old-timers at the bar looked as if they'd been there so long they might have grown roots. They turned and greeted Tobias—evidently, they were all ranchers, which meant Tobias had probably been out to visit their livestock more than once—and watched as I walked up to an empty barstool, rubbing my hands together. I was the only woman there.

  "Good evening, Dr. Brandt," said the bartender, a jolly-looking man in his late sixties. He turned to me with a smile. "And this is your young lady?"

  It had been a while since anyone had called me a young lady, but I just smiled back and stuck out a hand. "Lucy Resnick," I told him. "I know I've seen you around, but we've never been properly introduced."

  "Frank Poehler," he said, smiling a kind, genuine smile. "And these here are my regulars,” he said, indicating the men at the bar. "All card-carryin' members of the Buttercup Veterinary Club."

  Tobias laughed. "It's a good club."

  "I'm sure glad I ain't in it anymore," said the bartender. "Thirty years is long enough. Openin' the Hitching Post was the best idea I ever had." He had the face of a man who'd spent a lot of time outside: weathered and cracked, a little like the old saddle hanging over the bar. "Haven't seen you in here in a while, Doc."

  "It’s been pretty busy. We were outside at the Market tonight, and I thought we'd warm her up," Tobias said. "Can you whip up a couple of hot toddies?"

  "I could, but I'm running a special on the Tom and Jerrys tonight. Try one; I promise it'll warm you right up."

  "What's in it?" I asked.

  "Warm milk, brandy, rum, and a little bit of egg."

  "We'll take two," Tobias said, and Frank nodded approvingly. As he bustled off to make our drinks, I looked down the bar. Like Frank, the men looked like folks who had lived hardworking lives. Instead of Tom and Jerrys, two of them had Shiner longnecks, and one had what looked like the remains of a glass of whiskey.

  A minute later, Frank returned with our drinks, which he set before us with a flourish. I cradled the glass mug in my hands and took a sip of the foamy concoction. Frank was right; the sweet, hot liquid seemed to light a fire in my stomach that spread out toward my chilly limbs. I took another sip. "This is dangerous!"

  "They are." He nodded, pleased at my response. "My gran used to make these at Christmastime. I still love them!"

  "I can see why," I told him, taking another sip.

  "Slow down there, chief," Tobias said with a grin.

  "I'm thinking of making you my designated driver tonight," I teased, but I put down my mug. We weren't here to get drunk on old-fashioned Christmas drinks, after all... no matter how delicious they might be.

  "I hear you had a spot of trouble here last night," Tobias said.

  "You can say that again," he told me. "And it didn't end well for ol' Randy Stone, either, from what I hear."

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "He was two out of three sheets to the wind," he said, leaning on the bar and speaking in a low voice. It didn't matter; despite the drone of the TVs, I knew everyone else was listening. "Goin' on about the family business, how they couldn't get on without him, and a whole other load of horse... well," he added, glancing at me, "you know."

  "Did someone get tired of hearing him brag?" Tobias asked.

  "We're always tired of hearin' him brag," said the man next to him, taking a swig of his Shiner. "Ever hear the sayin' 'All hat and no cattle'? That was Randy Stone in a nutshell."

  "I know the type." Tobias nodded.

  "That wasn't what caused all the trouble, though."

  "No?" I asked, taking another judicious sip of my delicious drink.

  "Nope. Keith Gehring came stormin' in, wanted to know why Randy was textin' with his wife. Randy said he was full of it, but Keith had his wife's phone on him. Showed him the texts, and Randy said somethin' about blowin' things out of proportion."

  "How did that go over?" Tobias asked dryly.

  "It didn't go over real well, but Randy sure did," the bartender said. "Keith’s got a wicked left hook. Laid him out flat on the floor, right behind where you're sittin'."

  "Woulda killed him if we didn't pull him off 'im," added the guy with the Shiner.

  "Wonder what was in that text," Tobias mused.

  "I caught a glimpse," Frank admitted. "There were pictures, if you know what I mean, and I don't mean like photos from a Sunday church picnic. If Randy's old lady got wind of what he was up to, I can see why she'd plant a butcher knife in his back."

  "It sounds like she wasn't the only one with a motive," I pointed out.

  "Maybe," Frank said, "but she's the one sittin' in a cell with a stack of Texas Monthlys right now, so I'd put my money on her."

  I wasn't so sure, but I didn't express my opinion. "Had he been in trouble here before?"

  "Who, Randy?" the bartender asked. "He's been in trouble in here for years. Only reason he hasn't been as much lately is that he and the wife moved out to Katy."

  "What's in Katy?" I asked.

  "Well, he had a job," Frank said. "Some big-time meat sales job. Sold to the restaurant business. He was making bank, he said... woulda been a millionaire twice over if his family hadn't begged him to keep helping out with the cattle business." He all but rolled his eyes.

  "So he was still working on the ranch?"

  "Not on the ranch itself, at least not day-to-day," he said. "They still lived in Katy, but he came back home a lot. Said it was for work, but I never saw him workin'."

  "What kind of trouble was he in before?" Tobias asked.

  "Oh, he liked the ladies," Frank said. "And he liked his drink. He had wine and women down, I'll give 'im that, but he couldn't hold a tune in a bucket." The other men at the bar laughed.

  "Sounds like a real gentleman," I said.
r />   "Oh, he was a piece of work, all right. It's just too bad his old lady's gotta do time. I'd call it self-defense, if I was on that jury." He nodded at my drink, most of which I'd finished. "Can I mix you up another?"

  "No, thanks," I said, covering the mug with my hand. "I've got to get back to the farm and do my chores."

  "That's why I like tendin' bar better than farmin'," Frank said. "I may have some late nights, but nobody gets upset if I miss the mornin' milkin'."

  "I do miss being able to sleep in," I confessed.

  "Your man doesn't spell you from time to time?" Frank asked with a wicked grin.

  Tobias blushed, and I nudged him in the ribs. "Hey, that's not a bad idea. You're good with animals."

  "Of course, it would be easier if you let him spend the night," he teased.

  It was my turn to blush, and I noticed Tobias taking another sip of his drink out of the corner of my eye. Our relationship had been going well, but we'd both kind of drawn an unspoken line about spending the night at each other's place with any regularity.

  "Looks like I touched a sore spot," Frank commented. "Sure y'all don't want another?"

  "No, thanks," Tobias said. "But we'll definitely be back for more of these Tom and Jerrys."

  The bartender disappeared into the back, leaving us in a bit of awkward silence. We probably should discuss the whole spending-the-night thing at some point, I thought to myself. But not now, with three men who obviously didn't have much going on in their personal lives listening.

  I had finished my drink and pushed the mug away from me, thinking of suggesting we leave, when one of the regulars spoke up from beside Tobias. "There's one thing Frank didn't tell you about Randy," he said.

  "Oh?" Tobias said. "What's that?"

  "His old man only hired him because he told him his wife was pregnant," he said quietly. "And that if he didn't have a job, they were goin' to lose their house."

  "I heard that, too," piped up another man down the bar. "I also heard his sister was fit to be tied that her daddy was letting him back in the family business."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "He drank down half the profits, from what I hear," he said. "He was always in line to inherit the business. Ol' William Stone's had some health problems lately, and his wife's never been much for the business. There was some talk of William handin' the reins to Randy, and his sister Jenna just about spit fire."

  Now that I thought of it, I'd met Jenna at one of the weekend markets. She was trim and petite, with highlighted hair and an air of quiet confidence I remembered noting to myself was commendable, particularly in such a young woman. We'd only spoken for a few moments and, if I recalled correctly, she'd left with three bunches of fresh basil for pesto, but I'd been favorably impressed. Particularly compared to what I knew of her brother.

  "I'd spit fire, too, if I was her," the grizzled man said. "She got herself an MBA out at UT, and she's got a good head on her shoulders. Randy's got an advanced degree in Lone Star and Jack Daniels. What was William thinkin'?"

  "Probably that his little girl shouldn't be hangin' out around longhorns," his companion suggested.

  The first man snorted. "If he thought that, he's dumber than a box of rocks."

  "I won't argue that," his drinking buddy responded.

  "Speaking of Jenna, any of you seen her recently?" I asked.

  "She ain't what you call a regular at the Hitchin' Post," the first man said, "but she does like the huevos rancheros at Rosita's."

  "I'll be over there tomorrow morning, helping the Vargases with the Christmas tamales," I said. "Maybe I'll run into her."

  "They're still makin' 'em, even with all the fuss?"

  "Business is business, I guess," I said. Plus, from what Mandy had told me, the tamale trade was a big part of December's profit for the restaurant.

  "Well, if you see her, tell her we're sorry for her loss," the first man said.

  "And congratulations on being first in line to inherit the business," his friend added with a rueful smile.

  4

  "Well, that was certainly informative," I told Tobias as we walked out of the Hitching Post back toward the Square. The Tom and Jerry had warmed me up; my hands were no longer like blocks of ice, and I could feel a glow in my stomach as we approached the Christmas-light-clad courthouse and the closed-up stalls of the Market. "Looks like it's not just Isabella who had a reason to take out her husband," I remarked.

  "Randy wasn't a superpopular guy, that's for sure."

  "Except maybe with the ladies."

  "There is that," he said. "How much of what we heard is just rumor, do you think, and how much is true?"

  "I usually put it at about sixty-forty, with truth being at sixty," I said. "Which part aren't you convinced about?"

  "I know there was a dustup at the bar last night, and it seems pretty clear that lots of people saw what happened. I guess it's the bit about Jenna I'm wondering about. I've seen her with the animals, and she's a genuinely caring person. Some folks view their livestock as units to be sold. She understands they're beef cattle, but it's important to her that they're humanely treated... that they have good lives while they're here."

  "I wish more people were like that," I commented. Some of the factory farms I'd seen had almost turned me into a vegetarian. As it was, I tried hard ensure the meat I ate came from small farms, where I knew the people raising the animals made sure they were treated well. I knew Tobias felt the same way. "I just don't know if I can imagine her killing her brother in cold blood," he said.

  "So that's forty percent," I said. "What did you think about the guy who took him out with a left hook, or his wife?"

  "Keith and Rhonda Gehring? I can see why Keith would go after Randy, but if Rhonda was in love with him, why would she kill him?"

  "Maybe because Randy got sloppy," I suggested. "If Keith was that violent with Randy, it's possible things at home got pretty dangerous for Rhonda, too." I thought of Quinn and her abusive ex. It happened more often than I liked to think, even in a sweet little place like Buttercup.

  "It's all speculation at this point anyway," he said. "It would be good to check in with the Stone family, though."

  "Have any appointments out there in the near future?" I asked as we walked around to the front of the courthouse and sat down on a wrought-iron bench. The metal was cold against my jean-clad legs, and I found myself wishing I had another Tom and Jerry. Instead, I just snuggled into Tobias.

  "It's about time to do a routine checkup," he said. "Maybe I'll call to see if I can come out this week."

  "Can I come, too?"

  "I'd love it if you did," he said, putting an arm around me. The closeness dispelled the awkwardness that had come between us earlier. Most of it, anyway. "Let's sit here a little while longer. I don't know about you, but I'm not quite ready to drive yet."

  "Me neither," I said. "Those Tom and Jerrys are pretty strong." I looked at the courthouse, and the small pile of splintered wood tucked behind one of the pots of greenery flanking the front steps. "I forgot to ask about the bones," I realized.

  "The bones?"

  "The ones they found under the courthouse."

  "Oh. I'd almost forgotten about those, with everything else going on."

  "I'm sure Rooster has by now, too," I said. "Although he thinks he's got the Randy Stone case all wrapped up, so maybe not."

  "This close to Christmas?" Tobias asked. "He's probably spending as much time as possible on his deer lease with his buddies and a couple of cases of Lone Star."

  Which sounded like a potentially lethal combination to me, but Rooster had made it this far, so who was I to argue?

  As we sat, there was the sound of squealing tires, and an ancient orange pickup truck lurched into the square. I could hear angry voices—both a man's and a woman's—and then the driver punched the gas, peeling out.

  "They're going to hit the Market!" I said, just as the front left bumper clipped the bratwurst stand, sending the grill—and
the hot coals in it—spinning across the parking lot. As the orange coals tumbled out across the pavement, the truck slewed to the left and then clipped another curb, coming to a screeching stop. The passenger door swung open, and a woman practically tumbled out. She didn't even have a chance to close the door before the truck driver gunned the engine and rocketed down the road toward the railroad tracks. I hoped Bessie Mae Jurecka was safe at home, and not on the streets.

  Tobias and I leaped up from the bench and hurried over to where the truck's passenger was standing, hugging herself.

  "It's Rhonda Gehring," Tobias said quietly.

  "Randy Stone's affair partner?"

  He murmured assent.

  "Are you okay?" he asked as we hurried across the Square.

  "I'm fine," she said, and then her face crumpled. "No, that's wrong. I'm not fine at all," she said, and burst into tears.

  Instinctively, I put my arms around her, and she clung to me like she was drowning and I was a life preserver. "I've made a huge mess of everything," she bawled, and I could smell the liquor on her breath. Evidently, alcohol sales were up in Buttercup this winter. "I fell in love with the wrong man," she wailed, "and now he's dead, and I've lost him, and I love my husband, too, and I'm losing him, and there's nothing I can do about it."

  "What happened in the truck?" Tobias asked.

  Rhonda let go of me, as if trying to get herself together, and swiped at the mascara that was running down her face. Her eyes were big and brown, and she had pale porcelain skin that was blotchy from crying. She was pretty, and looked all of about twelve years old at the moment, although I'd put her at at least twenty-five. "Keith and I were arguing," she said. "He was furious.... I've never seen him that mad before. He just stopped the truck and told me to get out." She sniffled. "And now I don't know if I can even go home. What will I do?"

  Tobias and I exchanged glances. "It might not be a bad idea to stay somewhere other than home," I suggested.

  "I don't have a wallet. I don't have anything," she said, her voice quavering. "Not even a jacket."