said.
“Yes. Female, early to mid twenties, healthy. Looks like a gunshot wound for cause of death. I’ll know more after the autopsy.”
“Could it be that missing girl? Beth Messina?” I asked. For a brief instant, the thought of the $20,000 reward flashed through my mind, followed by a twinge of guilt. It dawned on me I had no claim to it anyway. The reward would go to the laborer who found her, and he’d probably quit and take his family back to Mexico, and my crop would never get harvested, and I’d never get paid, and the bank would foreclose, and I’d live, penniless, on the streets of Stockton.
“We can’t speculate. Let’s wait for the dental records before we jump to any conclusions.”
By the time the last police car left, it was dark. The Clydesdales were spending the night at my place, so I tossed them more hay and filled their water trough. Andy picked up a pizza box and brought it over to me. “Is your boyfriend coming back?”
“What b—? Oh, no.”
He handed me the pizza box, with half a pizza still inside. “Here. You probably don’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“Tough day, huh.”
I nodded and headed toward the house. “Tomorrow, would you please park the trucks in the vineyard and get some tractors to speed things up?”
“You don’t like the big guys?”
“I love the big guys, but I want these grapes harvested now.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of it.” He took off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “And thanks for putting the boys up for the night. I’ll take them home in the morning.”
“Who do they belong to?” I asked. “If they were mine, I’d be here making sure they were getting good care.”
Andy followed me up the porch steps and opened the front door for me. “They’re mine, and I know they’ll get treated a lot better than I do around here.”
I gave him a startled look, then retreated into the house and set down the pizza box. Andy stayed outside on the porch. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called to me then closed the door.
I watched the lights of his pickup pull through my gate and drive away, and I smiled. A man with Clydesdales couldn’t be all bad.
Morning came too soon and I rolled out of bed like a corpse. Squinting at the light like a mole fresh out of its hole, I splashed water on my face, slipped my feet into my old rubber boots and headed for the barn. Lots of whinnies called out to me, anxious for breakfast.
“Morning, kids!” I called back. All the barn cats tried to trip me as I stumbled to the barn. When I got there, I stood in the breezeway, baffled by what I saw, or, rather, what I didn’t see. My brand new Rubbermaid raccoon-proof cat-food container was gone.
Chapter Eight
T he cat-food container was heavy and left a trail in the dirt where it had been dragged away from the barn. The intermingled raccoon prints conjured up an image in my mind of how the theft must’ve taken place. When they couldn’t open it, they probably decided to take it back to their place where they could work on the problem without the worry of being caught. It would have taken the whole family of them to move the booty.
I followed the tracks toward the vineyard, where it appeared they’d encountered some trouble getting the container under the fence. I hoped they didn’t head in the direction of the cave, which had been cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape. The homicide people had warned me to stay away from it. If a large container of cat food suddenly appeared in the middle of their crime scene, how would I explain that raccoons—my raccoons, I’m sure they’d say—were the culprits?
The trail led to a small gully where the ground dipped low enough for the container to fit under the bottom rail. I slipped between the rails and continued following the
“Yes. Female, early to mid twenties, healthy. Looks like a gunshot wound for cause of death. I’ll know more after the autopsy.”
“Could it be that missing girl? Beth Messina?” I asked. For a brief instant, the thought of the $20,000 reward flashed through my mind, followed by a twinge of guilt. It dawned on me I had no claim to it anyway. The reward would go to the laborer who found her, and he’d probably quit and take his family back to Mexico, and my crop would never get harvested, and I’d never get paid, and the bank would foreclose, and I’d live, penniless, on the streets of Stockton.
“We can’t speculate. Let’s wait for the dental records before we jump to any conclusions.”
By the time the last police car left, it was dark. The Clydesdales were spending the night at my place, so I tossed them more hay and filled their water trough. Andy picked up a pizza box and brought it over to me. “Is your boyfriend coming back?”
“What b—? Oh, no.”
He handed me the pizza box, with half a pizza still inside. “Here. You probably don’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“Thanks.”
“Tough day, huh.”
I nodded and headed toward the house. “Tomorrow, would you please park the trucks in the vineyard and get some tractors to speed things up?”
“You don’t like the big guys?”
“I love the big guys, but I want these grapes harvested now.”
“Sure, I’ll take care of it.” He took off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “And thanks for putting the boys up for the night. I’ll take them home in the morning.”
“Who do they belong to?” I asked. “If they were mine, I’d be here making sure they were getting good care.”
Andy followed me up the porch steps and opened the front door for me. “They’re mine, and I know they’ll get treated a lot better than I do around here.”
I gave him a startled look, then retreated into the house and set down the pizza box. Andy stayed outside on the porch. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called to me then closed the door.
I watched the lights of his pickup pull through my gate and drive away, and I smiled. A man with Clydesdales couldn’t be all bad.
Morning came too soon and I rolled out of bed like a corpse. Squinting at the light like a mole fresh out of its hole, I splashed water on my face, slipped my feet into my old rubber boots and headed for the barn. Lots of whinnies called out to me, anxious for breakfast.
“Morning, kids!” I called back. All the barn cats tried to trip me as I stumbled to the barn. When I got there, I stood in the breezeway, baffled by what I saw, or, rather, what I didn’t see. My brand new Rubbermaid raccoon-proof cat-food container was gone.
Chapter Eight
T he cat-food container was heavy and left a trail in the dirt where it had been dragged away from the barn. The intermingled raccoon prints conjured up an image in my mind of how the theft must’ve taken place. When they couldn’t open it, they probably decided to take it back to their place where they could work on the problem without the worry of being caught. It would have taken the whole family of them to move the booty.
I followed the tracks toward the vineyard, where it appeared they’d encountered some trouble getting the container under the fence. I hoped they didn’t head in the direction of the cave, which had been cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape. The homicide people had warned me to stay away from it. If a large container of cat food suddenly appeared in the middle of their crime scene, how would I explain that raccoons—my raccoons, I’m sure they’d say—were the culprits?
The trail led to a small gully where the ground dipped low enough for the container to fit under the bottom rail. I slipped between the rails and continued following the
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