“Exactly. I might check out using some alpaca yarn in my weaving, if it’s thin enough.”
“Perfect. I’ll bet she can spin it as finely as you want. I don’t know anything about turning wool into yarn, but I’ve watched my aunt do it a few times.” I checked the GPS on my phone. “One more mile, then we turn off to the right.” The phone beeped twice. “Uh-oh. I just lost the cell signal. I hope Ceci has signs.”
At least the fire hadn’t reached down here. Peeks into the canyons we drove through showed a green fuzz on the ground, the first results of the winter rains, sparse as they’d been. Live oaks and pinyons were their usual khaki green. I inhaled all the lovely dry smells of the region as we passed. Wild sage. Feral rosemary. Manzanita, whose fruit did look like little apples, and the healing aroma of witch hazel. Plus pungent eucalyptus trees, not native but imported from Australia in the nineteenth century. The trees thrived in dry climates and had had few diseases or pests until a few decades ago. Fires were another story. The Oakland Hills had been devastated by a fast-moving burn some years ago that devoured the sap-rich eucalyptus trunks and fragrant leaves.
We came to a sign cut in the shape of an alpaca with SHATERIAN painted across the animal’s back. The head pointed to the right. “There’s the turnoff.” I pointed.
Liz steered onto the dirt road past the sign. We bumped along for a quarter mile until we came to another version of the same sign, with the alpaca facing left this time.
“We should be nearly there,” I said.
We rounded a bend and I pointed to a pasture on our left, where several dozen long-necked beasts grazed. A few paused and raised their heads at the sound of the car, and one trotted to the wire fence, eyes wide and curious. The sight made me smile. A low white barn had a fenced-off paddock adjoining it, where a few goats rested in the shade of a tall oak tree. and a half dozen chickens pecked in the dirt. The red clapboard house beyond was a classic ranch, with a wide porch and roof overhang. Liz pulled up and switched off the car, its engine trembling with the cut-off as only a Bug’s can do.
A slender woman with curly black hair even wilder than mine walked out of the barn. She wore rubber muck boots and carried a bucket full of feed.
“Can I help you?” she asked after we climbed out.
“I’m Robbie Jordan and this is Liz Stover. Ceci invited us to visit the farm.”
“Sounds good. I’m Taylor Etxgeberria. I volunteer with the animals.”
Taylor, who the artist at Paul’s house had mentioned. I had no idea she would be here. “You must be Paul’s sister,” I said. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
She turned her face toward the field for a moment, sniffling. She faced us again wearing a grim expression. “I am, and thank you. It’s been an awful week, and the animals are the only thing getting me through so far.”
“Paul was an awesome guy,” Liz said. “He’s much missed.”
“Thanks.” Taylor gazed at Liz and then at me. “So you both knew him?”
“It’s kind of complicated,” Liz began. “Robbie’s late mom was my dear friend, and she was in the anti-agrochemical group with Paul.”
I nodded. “I live in the Midwest now, but I’m out here for a week. Liz introduced me to Paul because he had an idea my mom’s death two years ago might have been murder, not a natural one.”
Taylor’s dark eyes went wide. “You’re kidding.”
I shook my head.
“And now my brother is dead, too.” Taylor brought her hand to her mouth. “He was completely healthy and not very old. I have no idea why he died so suddenly.”
“That’s how my mother went, too.” I touched Taylor’s arm. “I spoke with the pathologist at the sheriff’s office about Mom. She said she will look for toxins when she, uh, examines Paul.”
Taylor stared at her boots, then spoke in a whisper. “They told me they’re going to do an autopsy. It sounds awful, but if it will get to the truth, they should.” She shuddered. “I’m glad my parents aren’t alive to see this.”
“Do you know of anyone at all who might have wanted to hurt Paul?” I asked.
“Other than the entire Agrosafe company? Not really. He was a little self-righteous about protecting the environment and not owning a car. But he was a sweet man just trying to do the right thing.”
“Of course,” I said. “Let me know if you think of anyone or anything that might help me figure this out.”
Taylor scrunched up her nose. “Are you a detective or something?”
“Not exactly.”
Ceci bustled around the corner of the house. “You came!” She walked up to us with a smile wider than the San Andreas Fault and a lot less dangerous. “And you’ve met Taylor, best volunteer west of the Rockies?”
“Yes, to both,” I said. I introduced Ceci to Liz and they shook hands.
“Want to meet the gang?” Ceci pointed to the grazing alpacas.
“Sure,” Liz replied.
“I’ll get back to my chores,” Taylor said. “Don’t leave without saying good-bye.”
“I promise,” I assured her. The sun was so warm I shed the light sweater I’d slipped on before I left earlier.
Liz was already following Ceci through a gate into the field. I was about to follow when Taylor grabbed my sleeve.
“Wait,” she said. “There was a girl at the restaurant where Paul worked. A dishwasher, I think.”
Zoe?
“I never met her, but Paul was always trying to save her or something.”
“Save her from what?”
“I don’t know.” She gave a sad little smile. “He was always rescuing animals when we were young. Turtles, snakes, kittens, injured birds, you name it.”
“He had a kind heart.”
She bobbed her head. “I’ll say. Anyway, he told me this girl needed help. He asked her home a couple of times, cooked
