A Line To Murder (A Puget Sound Mystery) (24 page)

“Out in orchard.” Melody, her back to us, took mugs off the shelf of a hutch. Both the hutch and mugs looked handmade. The hutch had been built out of some medium-colored wood and had a well-polished surface that reflected the fire’s flames. The mugs, which were part of a set of dishes, were turquoise and beige.

“Who’s Abel?” I asked.

“One of the commune residents.”

Melody’s tone didn’t invite further questions. For a few moments we listened to the fire hiss and crackle. While Umma Grace opened kitchen cupboards and ran water into a pan, I looked around the room. Andy sat in an easy chair on one side of the hearth, his father on the other, and Melody fussed with the mugs. A cat jumped on Barrett’s lap and he rubbed its head

I started to stand. “What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing. You’ve had a long drive.” Melody’s words were cut off when Dominic burst into the room, and the teakettle’s whistle broke the Agatha Christie atmosphere.

Umma Grace returned with Andy’s herbal remedy. It smelled foul, but apparently Andy’s head was so plugged he didn’t seem to notice. Melody went to the kitchen and returned with a tray of Darjeeling tea, sandwiches and cookies that tasted like carob. We ate off small wooden tables beside each chair.

“This is a lovely room.” I looked at the paneled walls, some of which were hung with woven blankets and collages. Some blue ribbons too and some plaques from the International Llama Association.

“Thank you.” Melody sipped her tea and gestured toward the wall hangings. “Those were woven from llama hair and sheep’s wool. In the early days of the commune, I wove a lot and taught classes too. The dyes are all natural. There is always a market for quality handmade merchandise.”

“It’s just a matter of time before the internet gets big.” Barrett smiled at his wife. “When it does, we’ll be in a position to take advantage of it. Research organizations and schools just got access to commercial internet services providers. Knowing the country’s free enterprise system, businesses will figure out a way to sell using them. When it does, we plan to retail directly to the public and skip the middleman.”

“See what I mean? You can take the people out of capitalism, but you can’t…”

“Stop it, Andy. We all know you hated the commune.” Melody’s gray eyes narrowed and looked cold. “No need to spoil our visit.”

Wow! No “Give peace a chance” here
. Anyway, being a closet tabloid lover, what I really wanted to know was if everyone slept with everyone else, producing a generation of father-unknown children.

“Communes got such a bad name.” Umma Grace seemed to have guessed my thoughts. “Images of foraging in garbage cans for food and that sort of thing.”

“I remember the Sally Fields movie
Maybe I’ll Come Home in the Spring.”

“Well, our commune wasn’t like that. At least not much. We had to eat, take care of the kids and pay rent on the land. Everyone had a job to do.”

“Was the commune on this land here where you now live?”

“Yes. Barrett and Melody were eventually able to buy it.”

“A small inheritance.”

Melody ignored Andy’s words. “The owner was eager to sell and there were a barn and some small outbuildings. We raised as much of our food as we could, sold the excess and hired out occasionally as temporary labor. It was a healing time.”

“Healing?”

“Yes, from a world turned ugly, the materialistic entrapments and a war that we had no business in.” Melody sounded like a protestor.

I looked at Umma Grace. “You must have been awfully young then. Didn’t your parents try to make you go home?”

“Melody and Barrett gave me more of a home than they ever did.”

The room’s atmosphere seemed inhabited by the ghosts of self-serving ideals and lies.
And no one’s even mentioned drugs or VD—any of the interesting stuff.

I put my mug down and turned toward Barrett. “You know, we have a long drive ahead of us. Maybe we should see about that tire.”

Barrett appeared to reenter the room from whatever fifth dimension he’d occupied while his wife and Umma Grace talked. He looked at Andy and hoisted himself from the chair. He turned to me, “Abel and I will take care of it. Why don’t you let Dominic show you the animals.”

“Hey, yeah.” Dominic had been so quiet I’d forgotten he was there. He also glanced at Andy.

I stood and reached for some empty plates. “You’re half asleep, Andy. We’ll just clear the table and then Dominic can show me around.”

“No, please. Let me.” Melody was so vehement I wondered if she thought I’d break something. Probably some pottery wheel person from the distant past had made them and they represented memories. Well, she was right about one thing. I most likely would break something. I often did if they were valuable and I was trying to be extra careful.

“Okay. I’m not crazy about dishes, but I would like to see the animals.” I put on my jacket. Dominic scrambled into his and Umma Grace bit into the last sandwich while carrying the empty plate to the kitchen.

Outside in the warm sun, I inhaled grass-scented air and looked around. Widow’s humps of teal-colored hills stretched across the horizon. Where did the other families Andy mentioned live? Dominic led the way across the yard toward a fenced pasture where several llamas grazed. They acknowledged our stares politely but otherwise ignored us. Only the young male, Max, came over to the fence. He was a black-trimmed bay with long eyelashes and had a perky inquisitive look.

“Max likes people.” Dominic patted his neck. “Llamas are like people. Some are friendly and some aren’t. Melody raises some, like Max, particularly to be pets.”

Odd. Both Andy and Dominic call her Melody
.

“Does he spit?”

“Not much. Mostly to protect his food, or around breeding time.” Dominic paused. With the air of confessing a horrible sin he announced, “Melody’s teaching me to weave.”

“Is she? Neat. I read something about soldiers from Scotland knitting their own socks.”

“Honest?” He appeared relieved at this example of acceptable male resourcefulness. “Melody thought learning about llamas would be a good project for school. Did you know sheep have wool and llamas have hair?” He jumped off the fence rail he’d been standing on and opened the gate to Max. I stood still while the animal sniffed around my shoulders and neck and bussed my face lightly. His soft nose tickled.

“Max likes the cria too. That’s what the babies are called. Come on.” We walked to a small building. Expecting a barnyard smell of manure, I was surprised to be greeted by the odor of hay. Dominic must have guessed my thoughts. “Llama beans don’t smells. That’s why it doesn’t stink in here.”

“Beans?”

“Poop.”

He leaned over a waist-high rail to fondle two light-colored cria while their mother watched and hummed nervously. “Melody knows all kinds of ways to use llamas. They guard sheep from coyotes. Backpackers use them, and sometimes people from the Park Service rent them to use on maintenance. Some places back east even use them for golf caddies. Melody says they can be a good cottage industry for all kinds of people. I’m making charts with hair samples and weaving and stuff. Melody has been showing me how to keep the farm records.”

“Wow. I’m impressed. You’ve really learned a lot.”

“I know. Melody says I’m a chip off the old block.”

“So, are you going to raise llamas some day?”

“Heck no. Farming is a lot of work.”

I laughed and the barn door opened, letting in a waft of warm air. Umma Grace joined us. She’d tossed a shawl over her shoulders. Its lime-green and navy blue colors matched her ankle-length skirt.

“Andy will sleep a while. I think the tea will break up the congestion. It’s good stuff. Barrett and Abel are getting the tire fixed. For some reason, they had to take it into town.”

When she mentioned Barrett it occurred to me that Dominic hadn’t mentioned his grandfather once. I pondered that and she continued, “Melody has made a wonderful success of this place. I always knew she would.”

Where does Barrett fit in?
I didn’t ask.

With a final pat to each cria, Dominic turned toward the door and we followed. We crossed the hard-packed dirt yard toward another building, giving me time to ask Umma Grace what the commune had been like for her.

With her hands deep in her pockets, she looked at the buildings and the fields beyond, lifting her head toward distant hills. “In my memory,” she answered slowly, “it was always summer. After Melody bought this piece of land with some money a relative left her, there wasn’t any left over for improvements, so we did them all. People came and went. A lot were quite skilled. Someone from some state department or other was always checking up on us. Melody is a stickler for orderliness. She’s a good people person too and kept things pretty much in line. That’s how I got into herbs. I liked gardening, and I raised produce and studied library books on herbal medicines.”

“Did she teach you how to read tarot cards?”

“No, that was someone else. She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Does that matter?”

“No, not really. Her name was Asha and she was good to me. Anyway, we had a lot of beehives. Abel set them up.”

“Yeah. What’s Abel’s story?”

“Just someone who showed up one day and stayed.” She stopped and gave a little laugh. “Abel isn’t able in most ways, but he is with bees. He came our second year here. Tripped out bad on something and never really recovered. He worships Melody.”

We walked without talking for a few seconds, picked up the unmistakable smell of chickens and joined Dominic in a large white-washed chicken house. I liked chickens; they came in so many sizes, breeds and colors. Umma Grace picked up a fuzzy ball of yellow down and put it in my hand. I rubbed it softly. Unlike practically any other animal I could think of, chicks didn’t take particularly well to cuddling. I put it back with its siblings.

“Boy, Dominic, you’ll sure have a lot of stuff to tell your friends.”

“I’m glad you guys are here, though. Abel doesn’t talk much and Grandpa hardly ever.”

We went back out into the barnyard, and this time Umma Grace led the way. “We used to keep rabbits over there.” She pointed toward some empty hutches. “Fresh rabbit sold really well in town. Funny, Andy never showed the slightest interest in them. His mother took the pair he brought home and taught him about breeding and marketing, but he refused to get involved. The other kids loved the rabbits. I suppose it’s just as well he left.”

“You mean, she bred them and killed them and sold the meat?”

“We sold whatever we raised and didn’t use ourselves. Simple expediency.”

“But they were Andy’s pets.”

“I don’t remember butchering his pair, just their babies.”

“Did Andy have to help?”

“Yes. Melody made him help the first time we butchered, and he got sick and threw up. Later on, butchering chickens and rabbits and the sight of blood never bothered him much.”

“That’s awful.”

“He was just a kid. Kids learn to take things in their stride fairly quickly. Anyway, he left the commune not long after.”

“How could his parents do that? Send their only child away, I mean?”

“Barrett wasn’t thrilled, but Melody insisted. Andy was so unhappy here and at school. He just couldn’t seem to find a niche. Imagine a boy who doesn’t like to run wild over the fields all summer and fish and swim. There were always people around to talk to. Everyone was busy cutting wood or working in the fields or relaxing and playing flutes.”

And killing rabbits
.

“Have you ever heard a concert of handmade flutes on a warm August evening, with birds joining in, where the only light is from the moon and the stars? You’re lying on blankets or on the grass, and the air smells like fresh cut hay and pot. I mean, it was magical. Andy couldn’t seem to find anyone to get close to. He was very standoffish.”

“Were Andy and his dad close?”

“Barrett was the only one he was close to. They hired out as guides to sportsmen sometimes. Were gone for a week or more. Melody didn’t like it too much, though. She felt he needed more youthful companionship. We were all real pleased when Andy got married. Barrett took Isca and Andy on a hiking trip into the mountains the first summer they were married. After that, they never came back. I don’t think Melody and Isca took to each other.”

“Hmmm.”

A vehicle came up the drive, and a farm truck pulled up near Andy’s car. Barrett and a man I took to be Abel lowered the truck’s tailgate and rolled out a tire. Apparently they’d put Andy’s spare on while they took the flat to be fixed. Within a few minutes they had the spare back in his car’s trunk and a new tire on. I caught Barrett’s eye and smiled. He nodded back. Other than comments on the internet he hadn’t said much since we arrived, but I liked him better than Melody, which didn’t seem fair because she’d been nothing but nice to me.

A cloud rolled across the sun and the atmosphere changed:  a lonely setting, the troubling stories of an unhappy childhood and a strangely one-sided marriage.

“Dominic,” I tried not to sound eager. “Why don’t you start loading your stuff. We need to get going soon. It’s a long drive.”