Free Poisoned Ground by Sandra Parshall

cracks in the pavement. Killing the engine, Tom frowned at the sad mess of a house.
    “Looks abandoned,” Brandon said.
    “I doubt she’s done anything to it since her husband died.” White siding had dulled to gray. The front gutter hung lose, at an angle guaranteed to allow rain cascading from the roof to fall behind it rather than into it. At the edge of the weedy front yard garden, a red finch pecked at a coneflower seed head. The plant stalk bounced up and down with the nervous movements of the little bird.
    Before long, Tom thought, Jake Hollinger’s house would look like this. Both of them were more than ready to move on.
    Tavia Richardson pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. As Tom and Brandon approached, she stuck her hands into her jeans pockets and cocked her head. A widow in her early sixties with four adult children, she looked many years younger. Her hair, dark without a single gray strand, formed a tousled cap that emphasized her delicate features, long neck, and high cheekbones. Her jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt hugged the curves of a slender body that could have belonged to a woman in her thirties.
    “Let me guess,” she said in a voice that always surprised Tom with its deep huskiness. “You boys want to know if I heard the shots and if I saw anything suspicious. The answer’s no, and no.”
    Everything she said in that voice sounded teasing, seductive. Clearing his throat, Tom glanced around. Her property was separated from the Kellys’ by many acres and a few rolling hills that would have blocked the sound of the gunshots. “How are you doing, Mrs. Richardson?”
    “Oops, I skipped the social niceties and went straight to the bloodshed, didn’t I? I’m very well, thank you, Sheriff. And congratulations, by the way, on both your election and your marriage. How are you and Dr. Goddard liking married life?”
    “Thanks. We’re very happy.”
    Her smile had a mocking quirk to it. “That’s so sweet.”
    Tom doubted she was trying to be offensive. She had plenty to be bitter about in the marriage department and probably didn’t give a damn if others knew it. “Have you talked to either of the Kellys lately?”
    “Just to say hello at the bakery…” She nodded at Brandon. “The Connollys’ bakery, and the supermarket. I can’t offer you any clues that will solve the case for you, I’m afraid. I assume they were murdered by somebody who lives around here.” She hunched her slight shoulders and gave a mock shiver. “We have a killer among us. Ouch.”
    “You think it’s a joke?” Tom said.
    Now her smile twisted into a condescending smirk. “Life is a joke, Sheriff. God knows what the punch line will turn out to be.” She laughed. “God knows. And he’s not telling.”
    Tom was beginning to wonder if she’d been drinking. “I’ve heard that Jake Hollinger was pressuring them to sell their land to Packard. Have you talked to them about it?”
    “What would be the point? They’re adamant. Were adamant. They wouldn’t leave their scrubby little farm unless it was feet first. I guess somebody decided to call their bluff.”
    “You couldn’t have been happy about them standing in the way of your plans.”
    “My plans?” Tavia gave a halfhearted little laugh, followed by a sigh. “I learned long ago not to make a lot of plans for the future. Especially not the kind that depend on other people cooperating. Yes, I’d love to unload this place. I’ve been trying to find a buyer since Ron died, but what use would anybody have for it? Nobody farms for a living anymore, and even if they wanted to, there’s not enough land here to make a profit. The money Packard’s offering… That money would be a real windfall. But I’m not counting on it.”
    “Because they won’t buy your place unless they can get everybody else’s, too.”
    “Exactly.” Tavia leaned against one of the posts at the top of the steps and pushed her fingers through her head of