Bitter Roots Read online

  For the first time all day, Tiff felt the pressure in her neck and shoulders begin to ease. She glanced around the room, looking for changes. There were a few. The walls had been painted a fresh pale yellow, and the dishwasher looked like a new model. But everything else was familiar. The noisy old fridge, the big farm sink. The stainless-steel canister set Mom had inherited from Grandma Holmes. And beside the stove, the ceramic hot plate Casey had made in school for Mother’s Day.

  This kitchen was undeniably home.

  But why hadn’t she noticed any of this, felt any of this, earlier?

  Why was everything that came so easily when she was around her aunt such a struggle when it was just her and her mom?

  Chapter Six

  Wednesday morning Tiff was awake in time to watch the sunrise from her bedroom window. It had been a rough night. During her travels she’d slept surprisingly well, but her homecoming must have triggered something in her subconscious because the bad dreams were back.

  She’d opened a window last night and so her room was cold. She lingered under the warm covers, alternately admiring the morning sky and studying her immediate surroundings. The walls were still painted a pale pink and decorated with unframed calendar pictures of puppies and horses—her earliest passions.

  Nothing in the room suggested that the ten-year-old girl who had decorated the room had ever grown up. No posters of her favorite bands as a teenager, no stacks of the fashion magazines she’d devoured trying to learn how to apply makeup and dress like an adult. Even the novels on the bookshelves reflected her younger favorites including the entire Heartland series by Lauren Brooke. Where were all the books she’d read during high school?

  It was as if she and her mother had conspired to curate this home as a testament to the days when Casey and her dad had been alive, back when there had still been horses on the property, and her mother’s laughter in the kitchen.

  Mother.

  Guilt weighed down on her, heavier than any down-filled quilt. How had she managed to bring her mom to tears so quickly...on her first night home, no less? Tiff felt two equal and opposite impulses. One was to get in her car, drive far away, and never look back.

  The other was to try and make a fresh start. To be kind to her mother. And patient.

  She could manage that—couldn’t she?

  It was a worthwhile resolution to start the day.

  After a quick shower and change of clothes, Tiff went down to the kitchen, where her mood was instantly lightened at the sight of sunlight streaming in the south-facing windows and her aunt Marsha at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper. Shame followed quickly on the heels of her pleasure. She was supposed to want to see her mother.

  Marsha set down her paper. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  Such a relief to face a simple, unloaded question. “Not the best. How about you?”

  “Oh, I always sleep well. I have my years in nursing college to thank for that. Your mom took a while to settle down, I suspect. She’ll probably make up for it by sleeping in a bit.”

  “Yes.” It was Rosemary’s usual pattern, up until the wee hours, then in bed until practically noon. Tiff went to the coffee pot and helped herself. “So how have you been, Aunt Marsha? Are you still working at the clinic?”

  “Just two days a week now. Dr. Pittman hired a new nurse last year, Farrah Saddler. She’s working out quite well.”

  From her aunt’s tone it was impossible to say whether she was pleased about this.

  “Do you think you’ll ever retire completely?”

  “Maybe when I’m sixty. I won’t be difficult to replace. Dr. Pittman, though, is another matter. Attracting a replacement doctor to our small town will be close to impossible.”

  And yet the doctor surely would want to step down soon. He had to be a good five years older than her aunt.

  “I guess people will just have to go to Hamilton.” The hour-long drive wasn’t bad in good weather, but during a blizzard or big rainstorm, it might be a problem.

  Tiff brought her coffee to the table. “What can you tell me about the new farm manager? Mom said you checked his references.”

  Periodic flashbacks of her short conversation with Kenny had punctuated her restless night. Tiff couldn’t say why. Was she attracted to him? Or worried about him? She thought a little of both.

  “Yes, I certainly did. He’s well known in backcountry skiing circles. He used to be a ski guide for those places where you need a helicopter to get to the hills, but he injured his knee about eighteen months ago. It’s mostly healed now, but he’ll probably never ski professionally again.”

  “So what drew him here?”

  “He was staying with a buddy in Missoula when he saw our ad posted online. He had been looking for an outdoor job, one that wasn’t too strenuous. We had him out here for a trial week and he learned the ropes quickly. He also handled the seasonal hires—though that has turned out to be a bit of a problem.” Marsha bit the side of her lip.

  Tiff guessed where her aunt was heading and stepped in to make it easier for her. “I ran into Zak last night when I stopped in town. He told me one of our employees was killed a few nights ago.”

  “Yes.” Marsha covered her face with her hands as she took a moment to compose herself. Finally she dropped her arms. “It’s so awful to think about. Her name was Riley Concurran and she was such a pretty young woman. I thought she looked too delicate for the job but Kenny and Bob assured me she had no trouble keeping up with the rest of the crew.”

  “What happened exactly?”

  “All we know for certain is that her body was found outside the medi-clinic the morning after Halloween. I wasn’t working that day so it was poor Farrah who found her. They say she’d been hit brutally on her head but no one seems to have any idea who would do such an awful thing. She’d only been in town about a month.”

  “How awful.”

  “Kenny says she wasn’t the type of person who made enemies. She was sweet and accommodating, at least according to him.”

  Kenny. The name reminded Tiff of her annoyance from last night. “The lights were off on the main floor when I arrived last night so I went to the guest cottage first thinking I could sleep there for my first night.”

  If her move here turned out to be permanent as she suspected it might, she’d hoped to take up long-term residence in the cabin. At thirty she felt a little old to be under the same roof as her mother and aunt. But that plan obviously wasn’t going to work.

  “I’m sorry, Tiff, but we’ve lent the cabin out to Kenny.”

  “So I discovered.” An image flashed in her mind. Kenny at the door, in bare feet, his dark eyes looking at her with undisguised interest. She cleared her throat. “Couldn’t he rent a house in town like Ed did?”

  “I suppose. But the cottage was empty. And I think your mother feels more secure having a man on the property at night.”

  Tiff contemplated that. She knew her mother had a nervous constitution, but she’d never thought personal security was one of her issues. After all, it had been just the three of them—all females—living here since her brother and father died.

  “I wonder—” Before she could finish, a knock sounded on the French door. Through the glass panes Tiff could see Kenny, a cell phone in hand. The man was fully dressed this morning, in jeans, a work shirt and black down vest, and steel-toed boots.

  Marsha waved him inside and he wiped his boots on the mat by the door before stepping in.

  “Just had a call from the sheriff,” he said.

  A chill passed over the back of Tiff’s neck. She stared into the manager’s dark eyes, mesmerized by them and the solemn tone of his voice. After what felt like several long, quiet seconds, Kenny glanced back at her aunt.

  “He has some questions about Riley.” He turned to Tiff. “Have you heard...?”

  “About her death? Yes.”

  He nodded. “The sheriff wants to talk to all of us—well, not you, Tiff, bu
t your aunt and your mother.”

  Tiff checked the time. It wasn’t yet nine. “Did he say when he’d be here?”

  “He wanted to come at ten, but I know Rosemary isn’t much of a morning person. I put him off until eleven.”

  “Well done, Kenny,” Marsha said. “I’d better go upstairs and start prepping Rosemary. I’m not sure how she’s going to take being interviewed for a murder investigation.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tiff’s mother was on her first coffee of the day when Sheriff Ford knocked on the front door to ask his questions. It was Tiff who answered the door, blinking rapidly as the abstract news of an employee’s death morphed into the reality of an official investigation.

  “Come in, Sheriff. Mom’s in the kitchen.”

  Sheriff Ford hadn’t changed much from how she remembered him. A big man, in both height and girth, with a buzz cut and a plump face that would have put her in mind of Santa Claus except the sheriff almost never smiled.

  On their way past the central staircase, he paused at the family photo on the wall. Taken the Christmas before Casey died, the four of them were posed by the fireplace, parents standing together at the back, with arms around their children in the front. What a happy, loving group they looked back then.

  The sheriff grunted—whether in sympathy, sorrow, or merely as an acknowledgment, it was hard to say.

  Rosemary stood as soon as they entered the room. She had dark bags under her eyes and her complexion was wan, but at least Marsha had made sure she was dressed and her hair was brushed and held back by a clip at her nape.

  “Good morning, Sheriff. You must be here about that poor, poor girl...” Rosemary paused delicately. “It sounds like a terrible business.”

  “Yes and I’m sorry to disturb you with it, Rosemary, but I do have some questions.” The sheriff glanced around the room. “Is your new manager around? I need to talk to him, as well.”

  “I’ll go get him,” Tiff offered, but through the French doors she could see Marsha and Kenny were already heading for the house.

  “Would you like some coffee, Sheriff?” Rosemary switched to hostess mode and soon had a plate piled with cookies on the table. Not the gingerbreads and chocolate chip ones from yesterday. These were pretty shortbreads, cut in the shape of snowflakes, with silver frosting accents.

  “Yes to the coffee, Rosemary. It’s been a long day.” His hand hesitated over the cookie plate. “These look too pretty to eat.”

  “But that’s what they’re for,” Rosemary assured him.

  Still feeling guilty about last night, Tiff took a cookie and bit into it. “Beautiful and delicious too, Mom. You’ve still got the touch.”

  The back door opened and a gust of cool air followed Marsha and Kenny into the house. Both had red cheeks and were breathing rapidly enough to suggest they’d been hurrying.

  “Sheriff Ford,” Marsha said. “I saw you drive up and ran to get Kenny.”

  Noticing there weren’t enough chairs at the kitchen table for all of them, Tiff went to grab an extra from the adjoining dining room, but Kenny was a step ahead of her.

  His simple, “I’ve got it. Go ahead and sit down,” made her cranky. She didn’t like the easy familiarity he seemed to have with her mother, her aunt, this house—hell he even had the family dog literally eating out of his hand.

  “Sit down, honey,” her aunt said with a smile, and Tiff obliged, watching as Kenny, having positioned the extra chair, went to grab a mug from the cabinet as if hanging out in her family’s kitchen was something he did every day.

  Ed had been a mild-mannered, soft-spoken man who had showed up every day to work at the barn and almost never came around the main house or the women who lived there. She couldn’t remember him ever sitting casually in the kitchen with them, let alone moving the furniture and helping himself to the coffee. Not that she would have minded any of the above. Ed had earned the right to be considered part of the family. Not so Kenny.

  “So I need to know the last time you saw Riley,” the sheriff said, once they were all seated. “How was she acting and did she give any indication there were problems in her life? We’re also having trouble tracking next of kin and I hope you can help us with that too.”

  “You’ll have to answer him, Kenny,” Marsha said. “I’ve seen Riley around the yard a few times but we were never close enough to speak. I suspect it’s the same for you, Rosemary?”

  “I took some cookies out for the workers on Monday.” Rosemary plucked a crumb from the tabletop and placed it in her saucer. “I met the girl—Riley—then. She was so thin. I felt sorry for her. I asked if she was getting enough to eat and she said yes, but I didn’t believe her. I gave her an extra bag of cookies to take home.”

  “How long had Riley Concurran been working here?”

  “She replied to the ad I put out early in October,” Kenny said. “Started working October fifteenth, along with three other guys, all of whom have worked here before. Riley was the only new hire, and frankly the main reason I took her on was I felt sorry for her. She looked kind of desperate.”

  “How so?”

  “Really skinny, as Rosemary said. From her beaten-up old car, faded jeans, and torn jacket it was pretty clear money was tight.” He shrugged. “She could be skittish, too, as if she was used to harsh treatment.”

  “Did you check references?”

  Kenny shifted in his chair. “She didn’t have any. Said she’d spent the past few months straightening out her life. She’d come to Lost Trail to get away from some people who had been a bad influence. What she needed was hard work and a fresh start. If I’d give her a chance.”

  Tiff’s annoyance with the man went up a notch. “Did you stop to wonder if my mother and aunt would want someone like that working on our property?”

  “Kenny did ask us, honey,” Marsha said gently. “We agreed the young woman deserved a break.”

  “I kept a close eye on her especially the first week. For all that she was small and thin, she worked hard, baling trees and loading them on the trucks just as fast as the guys.”

  “Did you see any signs of her drinking or using drugs?” the sheriff asked.

  “Nope. Never.”

  “Did she work the full day on Halloween?”

  “Yup, regular hours, from eight to five.”

  “And her mood, was it same as usual?”

  “Now that I think of it, she seemed kind of jittery.”

  “Maybe she had plans to meet someone. Did she ever mention a boyfriend?”

  “She never mentioned anyone. I got the impression she kept to herself. I’m pretty sure she was living in her car. It was jammed with stuff. Clothes, books, a sleeping bag. Shortly after she was hired she asked if I’d mind if she used the shower in the barn.”

  “There’s a shower in the barn?”

  “Irving’s mother insisted on it. Her husband always showered at the end of his work day before he entered the house. I was never so strict with Irving.” Rosemary sighed, shifting her gaze to the window that looked out to the big red barn, as if hoping to see her husband one more time.

  Tiff sighed too, remembering how she had loved the outdoors piney smell of her dad when he came in for his dinner at the end of the day. Because of his bad heart, her brother had been discouraged from helping with any but the simplest of outside chores, and to be fair to Casey, she hadn’t been encouraged to hang out around the barn much either. So dinner was often the first they saw of their early-rising father every day.

  The one exception was during the three-week span between Thanksgiving and Christmas. During the holiday season she and her brother were allowed to hang out with the customers in the barn, sometimes helping in the small shop that sold Christmas decorations, or handing out the free apple cider and cookies their mother always provided. The last year he’d been alive, Casey had been in charge of the adding machine and the cash box, a responsibility he’d loved.

  “Anyway,” Kenny resumed, “I told Riley s
he could use the shower whenever she wanted, and most days after work she did.”

  “Do you remember if she showered on that day?”

  “Yup.” Kenny looked on the verge of saying more, but only swallowed and looked away.

  “Can you describe her car?”

  “An older model Ford Focus. Blue with Californian plates.” Kenny gave the sheriff the license number, reciting it twice when the sheriff mixed up two digits.

  “Did you take down her next of kin when you hired her?”

  Kenny pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I figured you’d be asking, so I took a photo of the employee record I have for her. It’s kind of hard to read on this screen, but she gave a name and address of an Emily Blake from San Francisco.”

  The sheriff seemed disappointed when he heard that, but he didn’t elaborate. “You think these bad influences she was trying to get away from might have tracked her here to Lost Trail?”

  “I guess it’s possible but we never saw any of them here on the farm.”

  The sheriff grunted, then got up from the table. “I may have more questions later. This will do for now. While I’m here though, I’d like to talk to the other fellas who worked with Riley.”

  “The men are out in the field right now. I’ll call my foreman, Bob Jenkins, and ask him to bring the crew to the barn ASAP,” Kenny said.

  Tiff’s mother pressed her hands to her chest as if trying to buffer her heart. “You can’t think one of our employees did this terrible thing?”

  The sheriff softened his tone. “These are routine questions, Rosemary. Sounds like this young lady had a rough past that finally caught up to her. If that’s the case, our perp will be long gone by now, don’t you worry.”

  Chapter Eight

  A late afternoon text message from Zak, inviting Tiff to meet him at the Dew Drop Inn at six-thirty, was a welcome bright spot to her day. She tried reaching out to Derick to see if he and his wife wanted to join them, but it seemed Derick was too busy to go on Facebook today.