Rooted in Murder

  Rooted in Murder

  Maple Syrup Mysteries

  Emily James

  Stronghold Books

  Copyright © 2019 by Emily James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author. It’s okay to quote a small section for a review or in a school paper. To put this in plain language, this means you can’t copy my work and profit from it as if it were your own. When you copy someone’s work, it’s stealing. No one likes a thief, so don’t do it. Pirates are not nearly as cool in real life as they are in fiction.

  For permission requests, write to the author at the address below.

  Emily James

  [email protected]

  www.authoremilyjames.com

  This is a work of fiction. I made it up. You are not in my book. I probably don’t even know you. If you’re confused about the difference between real life and fiction, you might want to call a counselor rather than a lawyer because names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are a product of my twisted imagination. Real locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, and institutions is completely coincidental.

  Editor: Christopher Saylor at www.saylorediting.wordpress.com/services/

  Cover Design: Deranged Doctor Design at www.derangeddoctordesign.com

  Published April 2019 by Stronghold Books

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-988480-37-4

  Print ISBN: 978-1-988480-38-1

  Contents

  Free Book Offer

  Also by Emily James

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Letter from the Author

  About the Author

  Free Book Offer

  Sign up for the author's mailing list and get a free copy of Sapped, the prequel to A Sticky Inheritance. Visit www.smarturl.it/emilyjames to get started.

  Also by Emily James

  Maple Syrup Mysteries

  Sapped: A Maple Syrup Mysteries Prequel

  A Sticky Inheritance

  Bushwhacked

  Almost Sleighed

  Murder on Tap

  Deadly Arms

  Capital Obsession

  Tapped Out

  Bucket List

  End of the Line

  Rooted in Murder (Coming Soon!)

  Cupcake Truck Mysteries

  Sugar and Vice

  Other Mysteries

  Slay Bells Ringing

  (contains a Maple Syrup Mysteries novella and a Cupcake Truck Mysteries novella)

  For my husband. Because the person who shares the best and worst parts of your life really deserves two books dedicated to them.

  If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

  Mark Twain

  1

  “He’s saying the land isn’t ours.” The whistle of wind in the background made it difficult to hear Russ’ voice through the truck’s speakers. “So we can’t plant the trees.”

  I pulled over and parked Mark’s truck. We’d swapped vehicles this morning because it was easier for me to take Velma to the vet in his truck. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as comfortable driving it while talking as I was my car. “What do you mean the land isn’t ours?”

  I’d spent the last few weeks, since Mark and I returned from our abbreviated honeymoon, negotiating a deal for us to buy the farmland next to Sugarwood. We wanted to expand the size of our sugar bush.

  The deal should have been finalized last week.

  “He didn’t get the paperwork to sign,” Russ said.

  I grimaced. I should have followed up when I hadn’t heard from our lawyer that everything was done. I’d assumed that no news was good news, and I’d been busy working at my own law firm.

  My partner, Anderson, had taken on a couple of pro bono cases involving minors—I suspected as an attempt to impress the public defender he was currently dating—and I’d gotten roped into helping build their cases. Even though they were both guilty, both also seemed remorseful. We were trying to work plea deals to get them probation and community service rather than having them end up in juvenile detention.

  It wasn’t the same as defending people who were innocent, which was what I preferred, but it still felt good trying to help minors pay their debt to society without ruining their future.

  My busy days weren’t an excuse, though. I still had responsibilities as part-owner of Sugarwood. “I’ll go by McClanahan and Associates and figure out what happened.”

  Russ’s breathing gained a bit of a wheeze like he was working while talking to me. “Make sure he knows we need this figured out fast. These saplings are gonna die if we don’t plant them soon.”

  We also had such a small seasonal window to plant them. Russ said there was debate over whether it was better to plant new sugar maples in the fall or in the winter. The man he’d learned the business from in his younger days swore by planting them in the winter, shortly before the weather turned, so that’s what we’d decided to do. Unfortunately, it meant we were playing a game of weather roulette in order to plant the new trees this year. We needed to get it done before the sap started to run. That happened at a different time every year, depending on the weather.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said.

  Static answered me, and the call dropped. Russ must have walked through one of Fair Haven’s infamous cellphone black holes.

  Velma whined softly behind me, and I stuck my fingers back through the grate that turned the truck’s back seat into a giant crate. “Just a small detour, I promise.”

  She’d gotten a nail in her paw while Mark and I were away, and the vet had finally cleared her today to run around again. I’d promised her a long walk in the woods before dark. While I knew she didn’t actually understand English, I’d still made a promise. Besides, if I didn’t let her burn off some of her energy, Mark and I would have another long evening trying to keep her out of trouble in the house.

  I parked in front of McClanahan & Associates, climbed out, and then used the remote start button to turn the truck on again to keep Velma warm.

  It wasn’t until I stepped inside that I realized I’d been hoping Ashley Jenkins was out sick with the stomach bug currently going around.

  She wasn’t. She perched behind the desk in the reception area, a tight black V-neck sweater exposing almost a third of her cleavage. It’d probably been a long-shot hope anyway that she’d be out sick. Based on the fact that her nose was smaller and straighter than the last time I’d seen her, I’d place a bet that she used all her sick days and vacation days on a nose job.

  She tilted her chin down and leveled a cold stare at me over the top of her glasses. They were new, too. “You don’t have an appointment.”

  Not for the first time I felt like snarkily asking What did I ever do to you? Except I knew the answer. I married Mark Cavanaugh. Acc
ording to the Fair Haven rumor mill, Ashley had been angling to get him to ask her out ever since his first wife died. Mark hadn’t dated anyone at all until I came along.

  I pasted on my jury-ready smile—confident but not cocky. I hoped that was how it looked anyway. I’d been practicing it. “I’m here following up on the paperwork for a property purchase. The seller says his lawyer never received it from you.”

  Her lips pushed out like she’d intended to purse them, but they were too full of dermal filler for it to work. “He’s clearly mistaken. I sent them myself the same day you signed them. I can’t be held responsible if his lawyer is disorganized and irresponsible.”

  There was an edge to the way she looked at me, almost like she was daring me to contradict her. She’d once failed to enter an appointment I’d booked with Tom McClanahan into their system, but this was taking things too far. This was interfering with my business.

  And I had absolutely no proof.

  I shrugged as if I had all the time in the world to deal with the missing paperwork. “Things happen. I’m headed that direction right now anyway for another appointment. I can drop off replacement copies.”

  Ashley made a consoling mmm sound. “I’m really sorry, but gathering up the paperwork will take some time. I’m swamped with other work, and I wouldn’t be able to get it ready in time. You’d be late for your other appointment. But I’ll get it out this week.”

  She’d trapped me into a game of you know that I know that you know. We both knew I didn’t have another appointment. And we both knew that, if I left, those papers might not make it there this week.

  All I could think as we stood there looking at each other was that I was tired of sparring with her. Maybe it was that I hadn’t been feeling well this morning or that hours of work and a forest’s worth of baby trees were at stake. Whatever the case, if Ashley kept this up, I was going to need to switch to another lawyer. It’d be a sad day for me since Tom McClanahan had been my Uncle Stan’s lawyer. I trusted him.

  I couldn’t hold back a sigh. “Is Tom in?”

  Ashley sniffed and turned her gaze to her computer screen, a clear brush-off. “He’s with a client, and you don’t have an appointment. If you’d like to speak to him, his first opening is next Monday afternoon.”

  No more playing this game with her. No more talking. She was getting on my nerves more today than she usually did, and the last thing I wanted to do was say something I’d regret later.

  I checked that Mark’s truck was still running and dropped down into a chair where I could watch the truck while also being the first thing Tom saw when he came out of his office.

  A throat clearing noise came from her direction. “The waiting area is only for clients with appointments.”

  What was she going to do? Physically remove me? She was taller, but I probably had ten pounds of muscle on her. Call the police? I was related to some of the officers by marriage and most of the others had been over to my house to dinner in the past year.

  Instead of replying, I leaned back and crossed my arms. A few minutes later, I had to restart the truck again. The fact that leaving the truck running like that wasn’t environmentally responsible made me want to snap at Ashley more.

  The only thing that kept me calm and quiet was a little voice in my head that sounded an awful lot like Mark’s mom whispering that the meanest people were the ones in the most pain. On one level, I knew she was right. On another level, it still felt like an easy way to excuse bad behavior.

  The door to Tom’s office opened, and a couple in their forties came out. They headed over to Ashley’s desk, and I ducked into Tom’s office while she was distracted.

  The difference between Tom and Ashley never got old. She looked like she was spending all her money to compensate for something missing on the inside. He seemed comfortable with the fact that he had thinning hair and was the same height as the average woman. The last time I’d been in his office, he’d shown me a picture of his family. His wife was a good two inches taller than him. They hadn’t even let the photographer pose them in such a way as to minimize the difference.

  He glanced up from his papers and gave a little jerk like I wasn’t the person he’d been expecting.

  “Sorry to surprise you,” I said, “but I have a major problem.”

  Tom moved around to the front of his desk. “Go ahead.”

  There was no hint of hurrying me in his voice even though I’d burst into his office. Still, Velma had now been trapped in Mark’s truck for nearly half an hour. I quickly filled Tom in on the missing paperwork and my homeless trees.

  He glanced at the door to his office like he might suspect what had happened. “I’ll take them over myself and hand them straight to Anthony, your seller’s lawyer. We’ll have this handled by the end of the business day today.” His gaze slid to the door again. “I’m sorry for the mix-up.”

  Part of me wanted to ask him why he kept a receptionist who had the people skills of someone raised by wolves, but I swallowed it down. There was a time to rock the boat and a time to let it carry you calmly to shore. This felt like a calmly to shore kind of time.

  I thanked him and hurried out to my truck. The couple was still booking their next appointment as I passed—thankfully.

  I tried to call Russ as soon as I was back in the truck, but his cell phone went straight to voicemail, a sure sign he was still in a dead zone. I’d have to drive out there.

  Hopefully Mr. Huffman was still there as well. If I explained to him that the papers would be at his lawyer’s office by the end of the day, he might let us plant the trees anyway. It wasn’t like it was any risk to him for us to do it. If the sale didn’t go through, we’d be the ones who’d have to dig the trees back out again.

  I drove past our driveway, and Velma whined from the backseat. She might not speak English, but she sure knew where home was.

  Russ’s truck, our tractor, and a few other employee vehicles I recognized were parked at the edge of the field. I pulled in next to them. Partway across the field, Russ and Mr. Huffman stood with squared shoulders, separate from the others. Mr. Huffman was talking with his hands. Loudly.

  That didn’t look good.

  I let Velma out of the truck. The ground was still frozen enough that I could put her back in after without coating Mark’s truck in mud—he was fussy about that—and she could still burn off some energy.

  Her feet barely hit the ground before she took off for the edge of the trees. She reminded me of a deer bounding across the field. Unlike how she tended to make a break for it when my friend Mandy took her for a walk, I knew she wouldn’t go far enough away to lose sight of me. I’d worked hard on teaching her to stay within eyesight.

  I strode across the field, trying to simultaneously look collected and not trip. The plowed ground meant I had to pick my way across mountains and crevasses. How Velma ran across this uneven terrain was beyond me.

  I was ten feet away when Mr. Huffman turned in my direction. His face was red, and he bobbed on his feet in a way that reminded me of a tea kettle ready to boil over. Before we started dealing with Mr. Huffman, Russ described him as having a long fuse, but watch out when it finally blew.

  Mr. Huffman pointed a finger at me. “I could have sold this place for ten percent more. I only made the deal with you because your uncle was a good neighbor who always helped out a friend in need. But if I don’t have those papers soon—”

  I held up a hand, palm toward him. “I personally went to our lawyer, and he assured me the papers would be there for you to sign by the end of the day.”

  Velma had moved away from the edge of the bush. She had her head down into one of the holes we’d dug for the new trees. Frozen dirt shot five feet out behind her. So much for her being relatively clean when I put her back in Mark’s truck. I might have to walk her home and then catch a ride back to get the vehicle.

  Mr. Huffman’s head swiveled in her direction. “And now that monster dog of yours is adding to this go
pher field. If you don’t come good on this deal, it’ll be on you to fill in all these holes.”

  Russ clapped a hand on Mr. Huffman’s shoulder, something I never would have dared to do. “When have you ever known me to not come good on a promise, Wayne?”

  I edged away and called for Velma. Her head popped up, then dropped down into the hole. She backed up, pulling a long, straight item with her. All that work just for a branch when she could have gotten one from the bush without all the effort of digging it up. Though maybe the digging was part of what made it fun for her.

  I called her name again. She headed in our direction, dragging her treasure by one end. Silly dog. She had to know I wasn’t going to let her chew it even if she managed to haul it all the way back to me. When she’d been teething, we’d already had to make a trip to the vet to have splinters removed from her mouth because she’d gnawed on a branch and I hadn’t caught her in time. We didn’t need a repeat of that. She’d just recovered from one injury.

  I picked my way across the field toward her. Her find was awfully straight for a branch. And thicker at the end, like a bone.

  I looked back over my shoulder. “Russ?” He and Mr. Huffman both turned in my direction. “Can she catch anything from an old animal bone? I think she dug one up.”

  I expected Mr. Huffman to stay behind or look annoyed, but he trailed after Russ toward me.

  Russ’s trademark waddle actually looked more graceful than the way I’d stumbled across the field furrows. “Depends on what kind of animal and how old the bone is.”