Murder Crops Up by Lora Roberts

“I don’t really know them that well. They’ve done some work for us.’’
    “Who exactly runs that construction company?”
    “Jack Dancey, the old man, stepped down a couple of years ago,” Melanie said thoughtfully. “I had Dwight over to bid on the bathroom remodel we did, and he told me that he and Tom were running the company, that his dad had pretty much retired. And then he fobbed the job off on his foreman, who didn’t even speak English.” Melanie’s lips tightened. “I soon let him know that wasn’t acceptable.”
    “Are those the only ones, Tom and Dwight? I thought there was a girl.”
    Melanie pursed her lips. “Well, Jack remarried when the boys were in high school. His new wife had a younger daughter, I think.”
    “That’s Rita, the community garden coordinator.”
    Melanie searched her memory. “That’s right. She must have been ten at least when her mom married. She uses the name Dancey, though I don’t think Jack adopted her. Now I remember meeting her at one of the city functions. Tom came with her, and everyone was whispering that Dancey’s had a big housing project up for approval and he was hoping to expedite the process. And I think there was a little juicy gossip about Tom and Rita having a fling, even though they were stepbrother and -sister.”
    “Is that so?” Bridget was listening intently. I didn’t see what this had to do with the garden. But maybe whoever had killed Rita had come from a different area of her life. “And did Tom Dancey get preferential treatment for his project?”
    “Not likely.” Melanie gave in and took the rest of the cookie. “You know how the city bends over backwards to avoid looking like they play favorites. And expedite isn’t in the game plan in this town. I don’t think that housing has been built yet. Still hung up in the permit process."
    “So Rita might have been using her position to give her stepbrother a competitive edge in finding out about city projects.” Bridget looked at me.
    “Yeah.” It sounded like something Rita would do. “And she did say something about her stepfather being in construction, when she was arguing with Lois about the fence.”
    Melanie pouted. “So what is going on here? Why do we care about the Danceys? What has this got to do with Claudia’s birthday?”
    “Rita was killed today at the garden.”
    Melanie gaped.
    “We don’t know that she was killed, for sure,” I hastened to add to Bridget’s stark announcement. “But she’s dead, all right.”
    “That’s terrible.” Melanie leaned forward, her nose for news twitching. “What happened?”
    “We don’t know,” I said. “She was found dead in a garden plot. Her neck was broken. She might have tripped on a rake and fallen into the trench the gardener had been digging.”
    “Goodness.” Melanie took a moment to absorb it. “The police are staying busy these days.”
    The front door burst open and Emery Montrose charged in, towing the youngest boy, Mick. “Gotta find a hammer,” he gasped, collapsing at the table. Mick, released, grabbed a cookie and went to see what the girls were doing. Emery wiped his arm across his face.
    “Is it an emergency?” Bridget was on her feet.
    “No. But there’s only one hammer and it’s always in demand, so I said I’d get another one. And Mick was bored anyway. He doesn’t want to do the work day anymore."
    “What about Corky and Sam?”
    “They’re fine.” Emery accepted the glass of sparkling water she poured for him. “It’s far more effort to jog with a three-year-old than to jog alone. Mick’s gotten a lot heavier, hasn’t he?”
    “Anything you carry when you run will get heavy.” Bridget spoke from experience. She jogs, too, when she can get free of her children. Her focus is on time, not distance—she runs for ten minutes, turns around, runs back. I’ve done it with her—it’s not too taxing to go at her speed. But it wouldn’t be fun carrying a squirmy three-year-old