“And what resources are those?” Other than an overeager mayor, I thought.
“Indigo, mostly.”
“Indigo?”
“Why do you look so surprised? Their focus is on all natural dyes and indigo is by far the most common plant used in textile colorants.”
A light bulb went on in my head. “And indigo grows in the same soil as tobacco.”
“Yes, exactly,” Shaylene said. “That’s one of the reasons Tuttle County is so attractive to them.”
I’d heard more about tobacco farms and indigo plants in the past two days than in all my previous twenty-four years on the planet. “Shaylene,” I said, a new thought occurring to me, “this may seem like an odd question, but did Arthur have anything to do with this possible deal with Roy G. Biv?”
She shook her head. “No. Why?”
“No reason, I was just wondering.” For a moment I thought perhaps this was all connected somehow to Arthur’s death, but that was probably just wishful thinking. That would definitely be too easy. The bottom line was that even after finding out that the mayor did in fact threaten to kill Arthur, and finding out why she was putting pressure on Carl to close the case, we weren’t any closer to finding out who killed Arthur Davenport. I felt deflated.
“The only local people involved are some farmers the company contacted to see if they’d be interested in becoming indigo producers, should the company end up relocating here.”
I held my breath and asked one last Hail Mary of a question. “And which families are those?”
“One of them is the Luetkemeyers—they own Luke’s Farm,” she said. “And the other one I’ve never met. A family by the name of Krisanski.”
Touchdown.
CHAPTER 37
It was past 10 a.m. when I arrived at the Times office. So much had happened since the incident at Rosalee’s that it took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about when Kay asked if I was okay as soon as I walked in the door.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Were you hurt?”
I shook my head. “Just a little scared.” I had a few marks on my forehead and left elbow from flying debris, but thankfully the window had been made from tempered glass, so it shattered into small granular pieces instead of sharp fragments. It could have been a lot worse.
Kay eyed me with suspicion, yet spoke in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, “Are you sure?”
“Would I have been able to get interviews from four eyewitnesses and three emergency personnel workers if I wasn’t?” I pulled out my notebook and flashed a triumphant smile.
Kay laughed. “I’m glad you’re okay. Have the story uploaded as soon as you can. This is front-page material, Riley. Good work.” She turned to walk back to her office.
“Kay?”
She gave me a half turn. “Yeah?”
“Um, there’s more. Can we talk in your office?”
I told her what I’d learned about Roy G. Biv Industries and the possible move to Tuttle County and how I believed it was behind Mayor Lancett’s intense interest in the murder case. For the time being, I left out the stuff about her personal relationship with Arthur. At the moment, the murder investigation was still stupid Spencer’s story; let him chase his own leads.
“Wow,” Kay said when I’d finished talking. “This is big. Think you can have a story on it by tomorrow?”
“I’ll do my best.”
Just about everyone in the office came by my desk at some point to ask what had happened at Rosalee’s, if I was okay, and if anyone had any leads on who might have done it. I shared the little information I’d learned from talking to the emergency responders on the scene: no serious injuries (thank goodness) and no leads. But I hoped the latter would change as the police continued their interviews with witnesses. There’d been at least a handful of people on the street and in the park when the car drove by and hurled the hammer into the café. Surely somebody saw something.
I had some more interviews to get before I could finish the story about the attack at Rosalee’s, specifically one with Sheriff Haight. I texted him and he agreed to let me come by the station in an hour.
With the mayor’s comments fresh in my head, I also wanted to talk to Lauren McCarty and ask more questions about her family’s farm. I knew it was still in operation based on what Tabitha found, and now it seems that someone from the family had also been in touch with Roy G. Biv—the question was, did Lauren know that?
I decided to interview her in person this time, hoping that the face-to-face conversation might yield more information. So I drove over to Smythe & Breidenbach, the accounting firm in town where Lauren McCarty worked.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked as I walked in the glass-front office. I checked her nameplate by the reception desk—Lauren.
“Hi Lauren. I’m Riley Ellison, from the Times. We spoke on the phone yesterday?”
She reached out to shake my hand, while shooting a quick glance over her left shoulder. “Hey. What can I do for you?”
“I’m working on another story, this one to do with farming, and I came across a plot of land that is registered to your father, Charles Krisanski. I remember you telling me that he passed away a couple of years ago . . .” I purposely left the statement open-ended, hoping Lauren would fill in the blanks for me.
“Yeah, that’s our family farm, the one I was telling you about. I guess the deed was never updated after Daddy died.”
“Your family still owns the farm then?”
“Yes, it’s been in our family for years. There’s no banknote on it, so technically we own it, but like I said yesterday, it’s pretty much just dormant land now. After Daddy died, Mom didn’t have the energy to take it over, and John and I had no interest—so we just let all the crops go to seed. We’re just hoping someone comes along and makes us an
