Long and Winding Road

by Ruthless Bunny

Trent and Daria go away for a quiet vacation on a farm, until murder intrudes.

Disclaimer:  These aren't my characters. They belong to MTV, Viacom and some other corporate entities. I'm sure there were some writers involved as well, but they don't really own anything.  Please don't sue me.

Long and Winding Road

Ruthless Bunny

Trent sighed and rubbed his eyes.  He couldn't believe that he had finished the exam.  It was his last exam, for his last class for his last year.  He was done.  Done and done.  Not even "D" for done.  Just done.  He knew he passed.  He had been passing for two years now.  Graduation was only three weeks away.  Bachelor of Arts, Education major with minors in Mathematics and Music.   He smiled and fought the urge put his head down on the desk to take a nap.  Instead, he dropped the competed exam on the instructor's table, the TA proctoring the test waved good-bye to him as he sauntered out of the room.

Trent re-shouldered his pack, and he considered dumping the heavy textbook out of it, into the bee laden trash can just outside the Liberal Arts building.  He decided that if he were going to get rid of the book, it would be in a ritual fire, along with his highlighters, notebooks and alarm clock.  Except he'd need the alarm clock, more than ever.  For Trent was going to join the work-a-day world, he already had a job lined up at the middle school, teaching math and music to the "little dudes."  Trent was on the verge of becoming a contributing member of society.  But first, summer. 

Much had been made of the plans for summer.  His last summer before starting his first real job.  A "Mystic Spiral World Tour."  Bumming around Europe.  A road trip across the U.S.  There was a restlessness in Trent, he wanted to DO something, but everything seemed so pedestrian.

"You could learn how to wear make up and be in the chorus of La Cage aux Folles."  Jane suggested, sitting on the sofa nursing her daughter.

"It sounds glamorous…" Trent started; mostly to see if he could crack her up. 

"Yeah, I hear the high heels really do a number on your back.  How about climbing Everest?  The Yeti's are plentiful this year."

"Naw, my sherpa retired, bought a condo in Boca.  Maybe I'll just hang out here, Mom and Dad are in Borneo, searching for that giant rat, I can hold down the fort, have a couple of parties and play some more gigs with the band."  He sighed, he had hoped for something more, something interesting.

"Well, you've got that legacy from Grandma, you never did spend it.  Why don't you travel?  I'm glad I did while I had the chance.  Now that I've got Sweet Pea here, I'm chained to town until she can toddle."

"Yeah, but where?  I'm too old to stay in Youth Hostels, and besides, I don't want to go alone."  He got sad.  He broke up with Sara a year ago, but he still missed her company.

"So don't go alone.  There's a bunch of people you can go with."  The baby had dropped off to sleep; Jane arranged her on a mat on the floor and stretched out on the sofa. 

"Right, like who?  Who do you know that has the dough, time, inclination and won't make me crazy with stupid chatter?"  He sat on the floor with the baby, rubbing her back absently while he sulked.

"Daria."  Jane said simply.

"When are you going to give that up?"  Trent was annoyed with his sister.  Ever since she had hooked up with Stewart and started living an academic version of some cheesy situation comedy, her matchmaking had reached new highs. 

"What?"  She asked innocently.

"Daria and me.  That is never going to happen.  I've never thought of her like that.  What ever happened to her fiancée?  Wasn't she getting married?"

"Yeah, well, you know. Shit happens.  So now she's single.  You're single. You each have a summer to fill, and you both want company and an adventure.  Look, she'll be here in a bit, feel her out."  Jane smiled as she dropped off for a nap.  "You never know."

You never know.  When did those words become so odious?  Oh, right. When they started popping out of the mouths of friends with good intentions. 

"So take her out, it's only a date. You never know."

"She has a cousin, we'll double.  You never know."

"Come with us.  It's a group thing.  There'll be lots of girls there.  You never know."

Morons.  He did know.  That shit never came off.  Trent couldn't figure out relationships.  Most of his had just been friendships with sex.  It was alright, but it wasn't love.  Sara was proof of that.  They had met at LCC, they didn't have much in common, but they were compatible.  They studied together, hung out together and slept together.  When Trent transferred to State, it was okay, for a while.  Sara had transferred to Holyoke, something about being able to have a horse.  They talked, and saw each other at vacations, but it eventually tapered off.  She started seeing some guy, and Trent was left wondering, what was that?  He didn't know if he was hurt, angry or relieved.  He was just the dope left holding the bag. 

When Jane met Stewart, it looked like one of those passionate relationships, destined to flame out.  But it wasn't.  At first it was about passion, but there was more.  Jane and Stewart were right for each other.  Stewart was a scholar, he earned his doctorate and was the history department chair at LCC.  He had his choice of jobs after his degree was conferred, but he decided to go with LCC because he wanted to be near his family.  Jane finished up her degree at State, just in time to deliver their daughter five months ago.   Jane had a job waiting for her at Emerson Elementary as an Art Teacher in the fall.  Trent pondered their marriage.  What was it that was right about them; that was wrong about him?  Was it him?  Was he capable of having a relationship?  His head hurt, so he stretched out on the floor and had a nap with the rest of the household.

Two hours later the doorbell woke everyone up.  Trent let Daria in. She surveyed the scene.

"I see not much has changed here.  Is there a cloud of Ny-tol over this house?"  She said with her trademark sarcasm, but it didn't have the snap it usually had.  She seemed defeated.

"Yeah, well, if so, it hangs over my house too."  Jane said as she bundled the baby into her car seat and gathered up the detritus associated with carting an infant around. "Speaking of which, I've gotta blow, Stewart is making dinner tonight, and it would be polite of me to show up and eat it." 

"You have a rough life."  Daria replied, replacing her on the sofa, after moving the drool soaked pillow onto the floor.

"I know, where do I find the time?"  Trent helped Jane out to the car and returned to find Daria straightening up.

"Hey, don't do that."  Daria sat back down and Trent finished smoothing the afghan, and took some dishes into the kitchen.  "Can I get you something to drink?" He called from behind the refrigerator door.

"Do you HAVE something to drink?"  She asked.

"Juice, water, soda, beer and a wine cooler left over from Jane's baby shower." 

"What, no mead?"

"Fresh out.  Getting some in for Solstice though."

"Okay, water then."

Trent returned with a beer for him and water for her.  They each cracked open the bottles and took a sip.  "So Daria, Janey said you had an idea for something to do this summer."

"Well, my friend Diana's Mom, Kathy has this farm in Watsonville.  They are going to Europe this summer and they need someone to take care of the animals and watch over stuff.  I'm completing my master's thesis, and it's close to Santa Cruz, which gives me access to the UC library, so I said I would do it.   I thought maybe you'd like to come along, see a different part of the country, and keep me company out in the middle of nowhere." 

Trent was quiet, contemplating the idea.  A farm?  He envisioned Green Acres.  Flat, rolling land, a rustic farmhouse and Arnold Ziffle.  "Gee, I don't know Daria.  Sounds kind of dull."

"Yeah, but it should be nice.  Besides, it's not Kansas, it's on the coast and San Francisco is only a couple of hours away.  There's lot's to explore, and you can do some composition."  Daria used her limited powers of persuasion.  "Besides, aside from incidentals and the plane ticket, it won't cost anything."

Trent mentally listed his options, or specifically his option.  "Okay, I'll go with you, do I have to drive a tractor?"

"No, no tractor driving.  I understand it's mostly just scattering food and making sure that raccoons don't break in and eat the oatmeal."

"I can handle that."

"I thought you could.  Get your gear together, and buy a ticket, we leave on Saturday."

"Okay, I'll tell the band that we're taking a sabbatical."

"Does the band know a big word like sabbatical?"

"No.  But summer is a big season for dry-wall, they can pick up some extra dough if we don't have gigs. THAT, they'll understand."

"Then it's all settled."

The journey was not much to speak of.  There was a plane ride to San Jose and a van ride to their destination, Watsonville, California.  Watsonville is an undistinguished farming community, responsible for producing most of the nation's strawberries.  It is situated near Salinas, cultivator of most of the nation's lettuce, and Castroville, grower of the nation's artichokes.  This part of California is also known for the Haas avocado.  This may answer the question of why salads are so popular in this part of the world.

The van rolled down Eureka Canyon Road, trees creating an arbor over the two-lane road, dappling the asphalt with intermittent sunlight.  The road twisted and wound its way through the mountains.  The van deposited its passengers in a large driveway between two houses.  Trent took care of the baggage, as Daria looked around.  On the left was a traditional house, probably built in the forties.  It was one story, and rectangular.  There was a circular driveway on the side of the house that faced the road, framing a koi pond.  A truck and a station wagon were parked in the drive. The front door faced into a compound of sorts.  There were trees and a clearing.  Under a giant weeping willow was a redwood picnic table and beyond that a hammock.  To the right stood a cedar A-frame house.  It was three stories tall, and would be their home until Labor Day.  Somewhat behind that were a chicken coop, and a pasture with one steer and two hogs in a pen. 

Daria opened the front door of the A-frame and glanced around the small room.  The interior walls of the house were cedar paneling.  The filtered sunlight gave the house a golden glow, Daria immediately felt at home.  Once she had opened the door, she went out to help Trent in with the luggage.  She took charge of her laptop and let him carry in her duffel.  The second floor had the bedrooms.  Daria chose the master for herself, since it had a desk suitable for her work.  Trent chose a room across the hall from her.  They each settled in and it was after seven by the time they had completed unpacking and exploring the house.  The top floor was the living area, with a large television and stereo system.  They lacked nothing.

"Hey Daria, you want to get something to eat?  I'm starving."  Trent said as he inspected the mostly empty cabinets.  "Damn, they have less in the fridge than I do."

"Well, let's take the car into town, find someplace to eat and pick up some groceries."  Daria picked the keys to the station wagon off the peg by the door, and they went out to the car. 

Daria, being slightly more familiar with the area, navigated them the five miles back into the town.   There was a restaurant called Am-Pol right off the road, the parking lot was full, so they decided to try it.

"Trent, you ever had Polish food?"

"Nope, but I'm willing to try it."  Truth be told, he'd have gnawed the upholstery in the car he was so hungry.

They started out with some soup, a pierogy and then a dish with meat and potatoes.  The food was good, and everyone was friendly.   They ate like they were going to the electric chair.

"So what's with the other house?"  Trent asked stuffing his face with pierogy, onions and sour cream.

"Oh, they rent that out.  Some guy lives there. I think his name is Scott.  He's supposed to show us where everything is and what we're supposed to do."

"Really?  Why didn't your friends have him take care of the farm?" 

"According to Diana, he's a bit unreliable."  She pantomimed taking a toke from a joint.

"Ah.  Yeah, that would do it.  Well he didn't seem to be around when we got there, I guess we'll check him out tomorrow."

They dined and talked.  Planning activities, each of them happy and excited to be in new surroundings.

"Well, you still want to go to the store, or should we wait until tomorrow?"  Daria asked, full and sleepy from the starchy meal. 

"Naw, we're already out, let's just get it over with."  Trent suggested, himself starting to nod off in the front seat.

They got to the Safeway and stocked up on necessities.  Pop tarts, coffee, milk, and some produce.  They got back home close to ten.  The long day of travel and their quiet new surroundings had them drifting off to sleep before the news.  It was a windy night, and they slept listening to the rustle of the trees.

It was still dark when the day began with the crowing of a rooster.  It was nearly seven before Daria and Trent emerged from their rooms to do anything about it.  Daria dressed and went into the kitchen to start coffee.  She found a list pinned up to a corkboard in the kitchen.  Trent stumbled down into the kitchen.  Daria was sipping coffee and going over the list.

"Hey Trent.  I've got the list here.  I guess we can let Scott sleep-in this morning.  There's not much for us to do.  We feed the chickens and collect the eggs.  Some guy comes by from the co-op with stuff for the hogs in the evenings, we just give it to them and let them go to town.  The steer gets feed and hay, which is in a shed by the pasture.  Apparently he likes a bit of conversation when he eats so we should try to talk to him a bit.  They have some kid come by to do the cleaning of the coop and the hog pen.  So this looks pretty easy.  There's also an account at the feed store, so all we have to do is pick it up when the supply runs low.   Oh and get this, the hogs are called Ham and Eggs, the steer is Chuck Steak.  No question about what they're here for."

Trent nodded.  Over the years he had managed to get up in the morning, but he wasn't fully functional until after he had his coffee.

After some breakfast, Daria was ready to get started.  They walked over to the coop.  The chickens seemed happy to see their food source, frantic almost.  Daria scooped out the feed and scattered it for them.  Trent took the hose and filled up the trough with fresh water.  They stood there five minutes later.

"That's it?"  Trent asked.  It seemed like there should have been more to it. 

"Well, we still have to get the eggs."  Daria started checking the nests and came up with four brown eggs, three white eggs and a turquoise egg.  "Check this out."  She said, showing Trent.

"Cool."  He admired the egg.  He had never seen one that color.  He looked around at the chickens.  There was an outrageous assortment of them.  White, speckled, brown, red.  One was large, and fluffy with feathers.  He thought she looked pretty.  The rooster eyed him warily, crowing and shaking his wings at the intruders.  "Chill out man." Trent said to him. 

"Okay, I'm done with this now.  Want to go explore Santa Cruz?"  Daria said, securing the gate of the coop behind her.

"Sure. Whatever."  They got into the car and headed north on highway 1 to Santa Cruz.  It was a clear, sunny day, with only a touch of warmth.  The Loma Prieta earthquake had devastated downtown Santa Cruz in 1989.  The town council rebuilt, but it had lost much of its funky, old hippie qualities, although the town was full of funky, old hippies. They parked at a meter and walked around.  The denizens harkened back to the Summer of Love.   Even the one's that weren't even twinkles in their parents eyes in the sixties.

"Wow, Mr. Peabody, the way-back machine has transported us forty years into the past."  Daria quipped.  "I wonder if there's a store here that sells tie-dye."  No sooner were the words out of her mouth than they were upon 'Grateful Threads.'  They peered into the store and sure enough there was tie-dyed, batik and hemp clothing for sale. 

"Daria, we gotta go in here and check this out."  Trent had left her on the street in his haste to snag a new T-shirt. 

Daria entered the store and was overpowered by the sandalwood incense.  The guy behind the counter nodded at her while he helped Trent pick out some new gear.

Nearly an hour later, Trent immerged with a new wardrobe.  His favorite was the Grateful Fred T-shirt, Fred Flintstone in a tie-dyed skin, flashing a peace sign. 

"Now all you need is a VW van, and you can be a complete stereotype."  Daria observed as they loaded the station wagon. 

"All in good time."  Trent said, with a far away look in his eye. 

It was nearly noon, and the sun shone brightly on the town.  They went to the beach to see the Boardwalk.  It was spectacular.  A large wooden roller coaster.  An old fashioned carousel, with brass rings to catch. Salt water taffy.  They strolled along the boardwalk, the surf pounding on one side of them, and attractions buzzing, whirling and ringing on the other side. 

They were quiet.  They only conveyed to each other essential information.  They were comfortable enough in each other's company that it wasn't necessary to talk, but not comfortable enough to talk about anything important.  Daria had an air of disappointment about her.  Trent was confident that it was about her broken engagement, but he didn't know how, or if he should bring it up.  As long as he had known her, nearly ten years now, Daria had kept her feelings under wraps.  She seemed to try to bring up a subject, but just as she had screwed up the courage, it failed her at the last minute.  Trent pretended not to notice, but he could tell that she needed to talk; she just had no idea how to go about it.   On the ride home, they listened to the radio in silence.

As the pulled into the farm, there were cop cars and an ambulance in front of the farmhouse. "Shit, wonder what that's all about."  Trent asked as Daria parked.

"Can't be good, whatever it is."  Daria said, getting out and walking over to a deputy leaning up against one of the cars.  "What's going on?"  She asked him.

"Miss, did you know the deceased?"  He asked her.

"Deceased?  Someone's Deceased?"  There was a touch of panic in her voice.

Trent came up behind her.  "Someone died?"  Just then the gurney came out with a sheet covering the corpse.  Daria instinctively turned her head away from the sight.  "Oh."

The sheriff came out behind the body and spotted them, walking over to talk to them.  "Hi, you must be Daria, Kathy said you were going to be watching the place for her.  I'm Mike Tucker" He extended his hand to her. 

They shook hands.  "This is my friend Trent Lane." She said, as they became acquainted.   It seemed a weird time for introductions.

"Please to meet you.  Sorry it couldn't have been under nicer circumstances."

"Is that…was that Scott?"  Daria asked.

"Yeah.  Did you hear or see anything unusual yesterday?"

"Well, we just got here at around four, and to be honest, to us, everything here seems unusual."

"I didn't really think that you would know anything, but I'm required to ask." He smiled warmly at her.  Trent got the impression that he was attracted to her.  He was sensitive to stuff like that.   "We got an anonymous 911 call from a pay phone at the gas station, when we got here, we found him on the kitchen floor with a dent in his head.  Can't really tell you much else.  Anyway, we'll just clear up and get out of your way here."  He handed her a card. "If you remember anything, or if you see anything suspicious, give me a call." 

"Hey chief!"  A deputy came running over.  "We found something. You need to see this."

They all walked over to a fence that surrounded the backyard of the farmhouse.  The fence was twelve feet tall, and appeared to be new.  It was hard to see where to get in, but a deputy had climbed into the enclosure from a bedroom window and opened the gate from the inside. 

"I'm getting high just looking at it."  Mike said, surveying the largest, lushest marijuana plants he had ever seen.  The plants were twice the size of the deputy.  Standing in a forest of them, the fragrance was unmistakable. "Gentlemen, I think we've discovered our motive."

"Wow.  I didn't know you could grow them this big."  Trent said awestruck.

"Well, you can't in a closet."  Daria said, also impressed with the size of the pot. 

Mike laughed.  "Shit, well, I guess we need to get DEA or someone out here.  Jim, give the feds a call will you?"  He turned to Trent and Daria.  "Can I trust you with this?"

"Yeah man, I don't smoke anymore.  I work with kids."  Trent replied with a twinge of regret.

"I can also trust you to keep quiet about it?"  He looked at them earnestly.

"Yeah, who would we tell anyway?" 

"Well, just to be safe, don't mention it to anyone.  We'll be back tomorrow morning, you might want to clear out, unless you like media frenzies." 

"I've never seen a media frenzy up close.  Don't worry, we'll be quiet and keep out of your way." Daria assured him. 

An old beat up pick-up truck pulled into the farm and honked.  It was the guy from the co-op with the stuff for the hogs.  They bid farewell to Mike and went to get the slops.  There were two crates.  One was full of avocados; the other was filled with a variety of spoiled produce.  They unloaded them and the driver stuck his head out.  "Hey, what's going on?"

Daria shrugged.  "They won't tell us.  We're going to have to watch the news to find out."

"Bummer.  Well, see you tomorrow, give my best to Ham and Eggs."  He drove off with a wave and a toot on the horn.

Trent and Daria carried the boxes out to the animals.  Trent dumped the veggies into the trough and watched as the hogs tucked in.  Daria filled the old tire full of Chuck's feed.

"Well Chuck, it looks like we've had a bit of excitement today.  Scott apparently bought the farm."  She chuckled at her macabre joke. Trent looked at her askance as he brought the hose over to the steer's water vat.  "But on the up-side, Trent got some new clothes, and I got to see a wooden roller coaster."  The steer grunted with contentment as Daria narrated their day to him.

It was nearly sundown as they got back to the house, they went to go in through the back porch and Daria noticed a freezer.  She opened it and realized that they had won the lottery.  The meat lottery.  Inside, were hundreds of white packages, each labeled clearly.  Bacon.  Ham.  Pork roast.  Pot Roast.  Steak.  And chickens, there were at least a dozen chickens.  There was a note taped to a leg of lamb. 

Daria,

Please feel free to help yourself. 

Kathy

"Jackpot."  Trent said, helping himself to bacon, steaks and hamburgers.  "We don't need to thaw the burgers.  I'll cook."  He looked approvingly at the brick grill out by the picnic table. 

"What do you suppose they called these guys before they became food."  Daria wondered.

"Tasty, I hope."  Trent said, taking the meat into the house.

"Great.  I'm going to soak for a bit."  Daria went upstairs to the bathroom.  She filled the tub and found some bath salts.  The day had been fun, right up to the murder, but every time she started to relax, she would flash on her memories of Bill.  She couldn't help but think how much he would have loved the Boardwalk, she thought about how nice it would be to sit on the beach and watch the ocean with him, there were so many things she wanted to share with him.  But he was gone.  It had been nearly six months since he left; it still hurt like it happened yesterday.  She felt the tears begin and she took a deep breath and immersed herself in the water.  Her hair fanned out in the tub, like Ophelia in Hamlet, letting the water slowly drag her down.  She held her breath until she could hear her heart pounding in her ears, could feel her lungs constricting, trying to get air and finally she emerged, gasping for breath.  She suffocated her hurt, her tears, her heartache. 

It was almost an hour later when Daria came downstairs.  Trent had set the table.  Daria watched him through the kitchen window wrestling with the burgers on the grill.  The fog had rolled in and mists were swirling around the willow tree.  Trent was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, keeping warm over the open fire.  Daria got a bottle of wine from the rack and opened it.  There was a small hole she needed to fill, and Merlot was her liquid of choice.  Finally dinner was ready.  Daria served up the salad as Trent got the potatoes out of the oven.  She poured him a glass of wine and he lifted it in a toast.

"What are we drinking to?"  She was depressed, and the wine sunk her mood.

"New places, old friends, whatever."  He said, reaching over to clink her glass.

"Old friends."  She sipped the wine, finally tasting it after nearly a full glass.  "Oh, this is good."

Trent nodded his approval as he began to eat his dinner. He noticed that Daria seemed down.  Her mood had fluctuated all day.  She would seem happy one minute, and if he looked away, he could see her face cloud up. If he didn't know her better, he'd say that she was about to cry.  She would have a thought and she would look sad, then she would consciously change her expression again.  As though she willed herself to feel better. Whatever it was, it was bad.

They cleared up the dishes and since it was still early, they went up to watch some television.  There was one largish sofa, so Daria sat at one end and Trent sat at the other and commanded the channels with the remote.  The cable was decent, and they watched a movie on HBO.  Daria didn't pay much attention to it, but she seemed content to sit on the couch with Trent. 

The next day began again before sun up, with the rooster crowing.  "I'm going to kill that mother-fucker." Trent muttered, still mostly asleep.   Coffee and chickens took up a little time.  The eggs were piling up.  Daria figured they'd have omelets for lunch and give the rest to the guy from the co-op.  They decided to wander around the property.  They had surveyed the animal pens and the outbuildings, but there was something beyond a thicket of trees at the edge of the property furthest from the road.  They walked along, in the cold morning air until they could hear the burbling of a stream.  When they got to it they were amazed by it's beauty.

"Wow, look at that.  The water is so clear I can see down to the bottom."  Daria marveled.  She bent down to have a taste.  The water was nearly as cold as ice, and it tasted sweet.  "Ooh, now we could bottle that."

"I don't know.  I think that '75 Maverick upstream might put a crimp in those plans."  He said, pointing out a wreck about a half-mile up the creek.

"Mmm, adds the element, rust."  She smiled and watched the water shoot and play over boulders and tree trunks. "If it gets warm we can come down here and put our feet in."

"Does it ever get warm here?"  He asked. It didn't seem likely.  Here it was June and the temperatures ranged from the thirties at night to the high sixties during the day, not exactly tropical.

Daria shrugged and continued to watch the water, except she looked like she was watching something else entirely.  There was a commotion over by the farmhouse and they decided to head over to see what it was.  By the time they got back, a news truck from had arrived and was setting up.  The DEA agents had come in vans to process the evidence.  Sheriff Mike was there, not so much supervising, but to protect his crime scene.  If he were to admit it to anyone, he was proud to have uncovered one of the larger marijuana producers in his part of Northern California.  Hell, it wasn't Humbolt, but it was big for these parts.  The agents yanked the plants up from the roots and tagged and stacked them against the fence.  The reporter was trying to get someone to commit to a "street value" on the "stash" but everyone was brushing her off.  Finally one guy, trying to be a comedian, said, "Oh, easily into the millions" as he wiped the resin off on his pants.  That would later make it into most news reports. 

It wasn't that interesting to watch, so Daria went back into the house to work on her paper.  Trent sat in the hammock reading.  Occasionally a cop would go into the house to use the john or for a cup of coffee, but other than that, they stuck to their task.  News crews came over from all over the area.  Some blond or Asian woman, with a shellacked hair helmet would do a "stand up," mention the million dollar street value and get back in the van to rush back to Monterey, or San Jose or wherever she came from.  The DEA windbreaker looked great on tape. 

After a few hours, Daria came out to check the progress.  Mike was standing on the front step of the A-frame watching from a distance. 

"So, you nearly done?" She asked him.

"Yeah, they should be done soon enough."  He said watching them carry out another bundle of plants. 

"What are you going to do with it?" 

"Well, we can't store it for evidence.  We'll take enough back to the station to make a felony case, if we need to. We've got enough pictures of the stuff to put someone away for decades.  Although, to be honest, I'm sure that it was Scott doing the growing.  We kind of figured he was into some kind of distribution, but we didn't think he had the talent to grow the stuff.  We'll probably dispose of the rest of it."  He sighed. 

"So how do you dispose of it?"

"We burn it." 

"You're kidding."

"Nope.  We make a big bonfire and torch it.  If it's okay with you, we'll just do it here.  Shouldn't be a problem with winds or fire hazards."

"Whatever makes sense.  So is Kathy in trouble or anything?" Daria hated to bring it up, but she thought she should give her friends a heads up if there were any trouble brewing. 

"No, although this is her property, he was renting the house and fenced in area from her.  Even if we could make a case, which we can't, I'm not inclined to charge her with anything.  She's good people, and I know she had no idea what was going on here."

"How could he think he'd get away with it?"

"Shit, if they hadn't killed him, we never would have discovered it.  We just don't look too hard for this kind of thing.   Hell, most of the time we trip over criminals.  There isn't a whole lot of investigation in everyday police work, and certainly not in a place like this.  That's why I like it here."

Daria smiled at him, he was nice.  She liked that he explained everything to her without patronizing her.  "You want some more coffee?"

"If you're pouring, I'll take one."  And they headed into the house.

It was well after sundown, after the animals had been fed, and dinner had been cleared up.  The last of the DEA left, and the deputies took off for home.  Only Mike was around to start the fire.  Trent had offered to help, and Daria decided that she might never get an opportunity to watch a million dollars go up in smoke so she pitched in as well.  They arranged the bundles into a haystack shape, making sure that there weren't any problems with flames reaching buildings or trees.  They used some charcoal starter to prime it, and threw rolled up, lighted newspapers to get it going.  There was only a bit of a whoosh, and the pot began to burn.  Most pot is dried before it is smoked, so the green plants created a denser and moister smoke than was normal for the average pothead.  The three of them stood by and watched it smolder. 

"Man, there was a time in my life when a sight like that would bring tears to my eyes."  Trent said reverently.

"It's bringing tears to mine." Daria said with a cough. "Damn, that is potent."  The wind had shifted and the smoke billowed in their direction.

"You know, maybe it isn't such a great idea for us to be breathing in this smoke."  Mike said, not moving. 

"Yeah, we might get high or something."  Trent agreed.

"Should we go into the house?" Daria asked, feeling giddy.

"No!"  Trent said. "Stay here.  We can't leave the fire unattended."

"Right," Mike said slowly. "We have to be responsible."

"Okay, but remember I suggested it."

"Okay." Trent said with a beatific smile on his face.

It took a little over an hour for the last of the plants to turn to ash.  "You might want to compost that or something."  Mike said. 

"Is anyone besides me hungry?  Does anyone deliver pizza out here? Let's get a pizza." Daria suggested.

"De Paula's will deliver.  I know the number by heart.  Mushroom and pepperoni good for you guys?"  Mike headed into the A-frame to make the call.

"S'okay by me."  Trent approved.

"Tell them there's an extra five bucks in it for them if they bring us a bag of Oreos." Daria added.

The pizza arrived in record time, or it might have seemed that way to the slightly disoriented trio. They were sitting around the table, eating and talking.

"You know what puzzles me about this case?" Mike asked rhetorically.  "How the Hell did he get such a perfect concave dent in his head?  What weapon makes a whack like that?  I mean, we are so screwed, we have no idea why he was killed, or who did it.  We don't have a clue." 

"Well how big was it?"  Daria inquired, picking the mushrooms off of her slice.

"About this big." He responded holding his hands in a circle about eighteen inches in diameter.

"Well, if a basketball could cause a whomp that big, that would do it."  Trent said, as he took a bite.

"A basketball. Buddy you are high."  Mike laughed.  Everyone laughed.  They had been laughing non-stop for over two hours. 

Daria felt better than she had in months.  When was the last time she laughed?  Not cynically, but truly?  She couldn't remember.  She looked at Mike.  He had a nice smile.  Perfect teeth.  Daria liked a nice set of teeth.  She could see his intelligence shining through his dark brown eyes.  He looked like a man.  He wasn't pretty, but he was solid, strong and…manly.  Daria hadn't looked at a man as a sex object in a long, long time.   He turned around and stared back at her.  They locked eyes for a few seconds before they realized what they were doing and broke it off.

"Oh, there's one slice left.  Mike do you want it?" Daria offered it to him.

"No, you go ahead."  He replied politely.

"No, I'm stuffed.  You."  She held it out to him and he took it gently from her hand, brushing her fingers.  She liked the little spark she got from it.  For the first time in months, Daria had a happy thought.

Trent noticed the exchange.  He might miss the big stuff, but little moments were his specialty. 

"I guess I'll be heading on home."  Mike said, stretching and yawning.

"You can't drive, you're under the influence." Daria said as she gathered the trash from their snack. 

Mike struggled with himself.  They had all been denying that they were high, but they all knew that they were.  "Yeah, you're right.  Guess I'll sleep in the unit."  He walked over to the door but Trent snagged him.

"Man, it's cold out there.  We've got a third bedroom, why don't you crash here."  Trent glowed at Mike like they were best friends.  Any minute now someone was destined to say: I love you, Man.

"Alright, I'll stay.  Point me in the right direction.  I think I'm about to fall over."  Daria led him upstairs.  Both clomping on the narrow wooden staircase. 

She stood in the doorway as he walked into the room.  There was a futon on a wooden frame, a bookcase and one small lamp.  This was the guest room.  It wasn't comfortable enough to be a real bedroom, but any port in a storm.  Mike awkwardly flopped onto the futon and started to pull at his bootlaces. 

Daria laughed at him.  "Gosh, I'm glad you're staying, I'd hate to think of you on that road, you can't even navigate your footwear." 

"So come here and help me.  I'm not proud."  He wobbled back and held up his foot to her.

She walked over and tugged at his boot.  There was a little resistance at first, but it finally gave way, causing her to rock back, not enough to fall over, but enough to throw her off balance. She dropped the boot on the floor.  "Okay, next foot."  He held the other one up for her, only this time she did fall, on her ass, on the floor, giggling like an idiot. 

Mike struggled to his feet and reached down to help her up.  Again, as their hands met and there was a surge of electricity.  Static electricity, it snapped and they instinctively pulled back their hands.   Daria scrambled to her feet without his help.  He looked at her, her long auburn hair was windblown, she had leaves and ash on her sweater and a bit of pizza sauce on her cheek.  She was beautiful.  "So Daria, how long have you and Trent been together?"  What the Hell, why not just put it out there?

"Me? And Trent? Together?"  She yipped.  "We're not together, he's my friend." She couldn't think of anything else to say, so she turned to go.  "Good night." 

"Wait.  Just a minute.  So if you aren't together, can I take you out?" 

Daria stopped in her tracks.  Mike wanted to take her out.  She liked Mike, but she was brokenhearted.  She wasn't ready to get into a relationship, but who said anything about a relationship?  Dinner isn't a relationship.  But was it fair to go out with a guy, if you knew that you weren't able to be serious?  Wait, she was only here for a couple of months, he must know that she's not planning on sticking around.  So he wasn't serious either.  It's just dinner and, she hated herself for thinking this, you never know.  "Okay."

She turned and went to her room.  She peeled off her smoky clothes and went into the shower to wash the telltale smell from her hair.  The warm water felt good on her skin and she hummed to herself as she lathered her hair with lavender scented shampoo.  Daria had never been high before, but she could see the appeal of it.  She would never do this again; it wasn't in her nature.  Daria had other ways of avoiding her feelings, but there was something about the euphoria she was feeling. She knew that she was unhappy, but she didn't feel unhappy.  When she drank, her unhappiness magnified, and she enjoyed wallowing in the despair.  It suited her mood.  She would have written poetry, but she didn't.  It was one thing to be miserable, it was another to confront the reason for it. 

Daria quickly dried her hair and slid into bed.  She thought about Bill. It was the first time since their break up that she could think about him without searing pain.  This was more of a dull thud, behind a hazy exhilaration.  Bill, the one man who ever really understood her.  Bill, handsome and charming.  Bill, smart and funny. Bill, gone.  He left because… and here Daria couldn't grasp why he left.  She could understand if there was a fight, or if there was infidelity, or if there was some heinous act that drove him away, but there was nothing like that.  One day he came to her and told her he couldn't marry her.  There wasn't anyone else; he just didn't want her.  Daria struggled to understand, but Bill didn't really know why himself.  He just wanted out.  And out he went.  He accepted a fellowship at Vanderbilt, and left.  She hadn't heard from him since. 

For the first few days, Daria convinced herself that he'd come back.  Everyone had doubts; he just had cold feet.  But days merged into weeks, weeks into months, and here she was, sure he was gone for good. But when did she get to feel that it was over?  When would she get to turn it on him, to say she didn't want him, didn't need him, didn't love him?  A tear rolled down her cheek, she attributed it to the smoke.  She coughed, to prove it, and closed her eyes to sleep.

She slept through the rooster.  It was bright and sunny when she awoke.  Daria went downstairs to see that both Trent and Mike were sipping coffee and eating breakfast.  Real breakfast. With eggs and toast and juice and muffins.  Muffins? Where did muffins come from? 

"Hey Daria, Mike went to the bakery, check this out."  Trent held up a muffin, it was blueberry.  Mike sat at the table, in a freshly pressed uniform, looking bandbox perfect.  Daria hated him for it.

"Great.  Does anyone else feel like their lungs are full of dust?"

"Yeah, smoke always does a number on me."  Trent agreed.

"Nope, I'm fine."  Mike reached for another muffin.

Daria sat in front of her plate, but she didn't feel up to eating, except that she was famished.  She started with some eggs, and coffee.  Picking at the food on her plate, and silently admitting that they were the best eggs she had ever eaten, she managed to fortify herself for the day.

There was some activity in the driveway.  A U-Haul had shown up and a couple of stringy guys had let themselves into the farmhouse.  Mike got up to see what was going on.  The guys had begun to move furniture out of the house.  They were Scott's brothers.  Up from Atascadero, to collect the bits of furniture, clothing and objects that had comprised their brother's earthly possessions.

Daria and Mike watched as they started to move stuff out of the house. 

"So isn't this messing up your crime scene?"  Daria asked as yet another box of broken, worthless crap was moved from out of the house. 

"No.  Technically I'm done, but I've got this feeling that I've missed something, something really obvious.  Come with me, I need some fresh eyes.  You've got the right to be in there, as a representative of the landlord.  Make sure they don't walk off with the stove or something."  He urged her.  He knew the answer to this murder was in front of his eyes, he just couldn't see it.

They walked into the house.  The door opened onto the kitchen.  It was large and inviting.  Nothing much had changed in there since it was built.  The sink, stove and fridge were to the left, and a dinette stood in a nook to the right.  Through an archway straight ahead, lay the rest of the house.  They walked across the linoleum, and into the living room.  Steve and Sean were morosely moving out an old console TV.  They had to clear some pictures and bowls and stuff off of it.  There was a pile of objects on the floor, a hanging plant holder, a large ashtray, lighters and a lacquer "stash" box.  The two of them were trying to muscle the bulky piece out of the room, but they were a touch too scrawny to make light work of it.  Mike pitched in to help.  Daria could see the chalk outline on the green, sculptured carpet next to where the console would have been.  There was an ancient clicker box shoved up against the baseboard.  Daria scanned the area.  That was where Scott was murdered.  She scanned up and saw old, threadbare, pinch-pleat curtains hanging from a traveling rod covering a window the television had been placed in front of.  A couple of the hooks that had held the curtains up, were also on the floor, and the curtain sagged a bit letting the sunlight through the breech.   There was also a brass "S" hook shoved up against the edge of the carpet and the baseboard.  Daria wondered how long all of that had been there. 

Mike came back in, and watched as the two other men started on the end tables.  He and Daria checked out the house.  One bedroom was empty, and had been wallpapered in old newspapers from the thirties.  The snippets of ads and articles had started to peel off at the edges.  The window looked out onto the backyard.  When it was full of pot plants the sunlight must not have streamed through like it was doing today.  They gazed out onto the bare ruined choirs of what had been a rain forest of lushness.  

"And to think it was here, under our noses the whole time."  Mike said.

"Well you know sometimes it's best to hide things in plain sight." Daria observed.  "How many times do you run around looking for your keys, only to find them in a place you know you've looked before?"   She thought about it.  Wasn't there a story?  "Hey, you know what, don't feel so bad.  You ever read Edgar Allen Poe?"

"Yeah, in high school.  'Quoth the Raven, nevermore." 

"How about 'The Purloined Letter,' that one's got detectives in it.  They are ransacking the house looking for a letter, behind pictures, walls, under furniture. All over.  They finally give up, and all the time it was in the letter holder on the desk.  They never thought to look there.  It was too obvious.  Poe had a bunch of stuff like that." 

"Oh yeah.  Like 'The Tell-tale Heart'.  Thud-thud, thud-thud."  He laughed.

"Or 'The Pit and the Pendulum.'  Which is worse falling to your death in a deep pit, or being sliced by a razor-sharp pendulum?"  Daria liked discussing literature.

"Oh, that's a hard one.  Let's see, with the pit, you could just dive in, and have it over and done with, but the pendulum would take a while, you have too much time to contemplate your fate.  Hey, does that give you any insight into my psyche?"  He enjoyed her conversation; he liked the way she thought. 

She considered him.  Insight into his psyche, she hadn't really thought that much about it.  Maybe she wasn't giving him enough credit.  "So you like things to be sudden, rather than long and drawn out?"  She had been right; he wasn't looking for a relationship.  That was okay, but somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, she was disappointed.

"In my profession, you have to trust your instincts.  You have to be ready to act on impulse.  Sometimes there isn't enough time to fully assess a situation; you've got to go with your gut.  First impressions are very important.  You for example, I knew I liked you right away.  I went with that.  Getting to know you has just been icing on the cake."  He reached for her hand; she danced away from him, pretending not to notice that he was trying to make contact. 

"Right, but theoretically you could beat the pendulum." She said, getting back on topic, and away from…other things. "If you were short enough.  You know, that whole mathematical pendulum thing."

"Oh yeah, the pendulum can't extend past the length of the rope or chain that it's on.  Although it probably doesn't seem that way it it's headed straight for you." 

"Yeah, now I'm beginning to appreciate being short.  At least I won't get bonked by a pendulum."  She started to laugh, and then an idea formed.  "Mike, how tall was Scott?"

"I don't know, nearly six feet.  He was tall and lanky like those guys in there."  He stopped for a minute; he waited for the idea to catch up with him.  "You don't suppose…" He went back into the other room.  He looked up at the ceiling, down at the scraps on the floor, and over to the plant holder.   It was a large brass bowl, packed with dirt, a pothos clinging to life inside of it.  Frick and Frack came back into the room and started to collect the odds and ends.  "Hey, hold up a minute.  Leave that stuff there."

"Okay Dude.  But like, what should we do now?"  Steve, the older of the two asked.

"Start on the bedroom.  I've got to check something out here."  The two of them went into the larger bedroom and started to bump around in there.  Mike circled the things on the floor.  He didn't think any of them had been moved.  He looked at the circular indentations on the rug from the console, then he looked up at the ceiling, noticing a largish hole, where the plant had been.  The pot had a chain on it, a large brass chain, made of the same metal as the "S" hook on the floor.  He went to the kitchen to call the medical examiner.

The M.E. arrived about an hour later, with a crime scene photographer.  The brothers were nearly done loading up the furniture onto the truck.  They were standing around, drinking beer from the fridge, waiting for the okay from the sheriff to pack up the last bits and drive it home. 

"So Jeff, would that be consistent with the injury suffered by the deceased?"  Mike asked.  He was excited, he was solving a mystery, just like Colombo, only not.  He had taken a stone 'who-done-it,' something that might never have been solved, and just by having a conversation with someone, turned the whole thing around.  

"Well, I'd have to take the pot in with me for analysis, but I think you're right.  Look at the hole in the ceiling, it looks like the swinging of the pot caused the hanging hook to work a larger hole up there.  That "S" hook on the floor probably gathered up the chain enough to keep the pot from resting on the console.  He could have cut the chain, but I'll bet he just figured that it would work as well the other way.  The most likely scenario is that he knocked the remote behind the TV.  He was a bit out of it and was fumbling around trying to get it.  Probably bumped into the plant, starting it swaying.  The "S" hook worked its way out, lengthening the chain, and the pot came crashing down, into the back of his head.  Like I said, if the pot tests positive for blood, hair and tissue, I think we can rule this an accidental death, and not a murder."  He instructed the photographer to take pictures of the scene.  The remote, the "S" hook, the chain.  The pot looked clean, but test would prove otherwise.

Mike and Jeff did their jobs, Daria looked on as evidence was photographed and bagged up.  Soon, the U-Haul pulled away, the investigators took everything back to the lab, and Mike went to the station to file the paperwork. 

The problem with excitement is that you don't know what to do with yourself when it's over.  Daria tried to work on her paper, but there were so many thoughts swirling in her head.  She helped solve a mystery.  She had a romantic interest in a new man.  She was still in love with a man who had left her.  She walked outside. Trent was in the hammock dozing.  He woke up as he heard the leaves scrunch under her boots. 

"Hey Daria.  Big morning after a big night.  How are you feeling?"  He asked innocently.

How am I feeling?  I am feeling.  Suddenly everything she had been suppressing came out.  She sobbed into her hands, and Trent hugged her.

He didn't know what to do.  Daria never cried.  He just held her and patted her reassuringly on the back.  He had no idea what it was all about, but it didn't matter, he was there for her.  Friends are always there for one another. 

Finally after a long while, she stopped.  She looked up at Trent, and was compelled to tell him everything.  She started with Bill, how much she loved him, how he hurt her when he left. He silently nodded, as she narrated her heartache.  Trent commiserated with her.  He didn't understand her disappointment, he hadn't been disappointed like that, but he understood loneliness. 

"I don't know Trent.  I still love him, how do I stop?"

"Maybe you never do.  But we can love lots of people in our lives.  So it's not as if you were doomed never to love again.  At least you've felt that way about someone."

"Haven't you?"  Wiping away a fresh tear. Although she was done crying, her eyes hadn't gotten the memo.

Trent assessed his life.  He never had.  He hadn't connected with anyone.  "No.  I envy you in that respect.  I don't even know how to do it."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been in relationships, but they don't go anywhere.  I hang with someone, and after a while it just fades away, there's no passion.  Maybe I'm not romantic."

"Romantic?  What does that have to do with it?  I guess it's about sharing yourself with someone.  When you really care for someone, the things you do for them, the things they do for you, become romantic.  The most romantic thing I've ever experienced was when Bill brought me a blanket.  I was chilly on the sofa, and he got me a blanket.  That one gesture represented everything I loved about him. The thoughtfulness, the kindness of it, that's the reason I loved him.  It's what I miss most in my life."  She heaved a heavy sigh.  She had a blinding headache, and she was weak from the emotional expenditure.

"Look, you look beat.  Why don't you have a nap or something?  I'll take care of the livestock."  He patted her on the back one last time, and watched her go into the house.  Perhaps he hadn't been romantic with anyone, because they hadn't been romantic with him. Maybe he wasn't screwed up, maybe he just hadn't met the right person yet. He felt heartened; there was hope for him. 

Trent and Daria had a small supper together.  They tried to have a conversation, but each of them was too involved with their thoughts to make a go of it.  They sat together on the sofa, upstairs, watching a movie, but in the end, they each turned in early.  Perhaps the next day would be more promising. 

The day wore on quietly.  Without a murder investigation to distract them, they were each able to get some work done.  Daria went to the library for some research materials in the morning, and wrote most of the afternoon.  Trent divided his time between composing a new song, and reading.  Around six, Mike stopped by to talk to Daria.

"You guys want to grab some dinner and see a movie tonight?"  He asked as he watched them feed the animals.

"Sure, sounds good." Daria answered.

"I'll just stay here, eat some leftovers and watch some TV, I don't feel like a night out."  Trent responded, scratching Chuck behind the ear. 

Daria gave him a look, but he ignored it.  She went back to the house to clean up, and Mike and Trent stayed behind with the pigs.

"Hey, you sure you don't want to come with us?"  Mike asked, he liked Trent and didn't want to leave him out.

"I'm sure.  I'm going to call my sister, see how she's doing.  I've got some stuff to do, you go on and have a good time though."  They were walking back to the house. "You know, Daria's been through some stuff."  Trent wanted to say something, but he didn't know exactly what or how.

"Don't worry.  I'm a good guy."  Mike held the back door open.

"Well, even good guys do bad stuff.  Just be careful." 

Mike and Daria had dinner and went to the movies.  The Sky-Vue Drive-In, in Santa Cruz. 

"Wow, you really know how to show a girl a good time, don't you?"  Daria said, before she had a chance to think about how it sounded.

"Hey now, nothing like that on the first date."  He teased.  She blushed. 

He drove his car up to the poll and rolled down the window for the old fashioned speaker. 

"I think we can hear the movie on the radio."  Daria pointed to the sign indicating that fact.

"I know, but I like how tinny and crappy it sounds this way.  It's more authentic.  You want some authentic greasy popcorn, or some overly sweet soda?"  He asked solicitously

"No, I'm fine." She shivered a bit as the draft from the crack in the window chilled her.

"Oh, you're cold.  Just a minute."  He hopped out of the car, and rummaged in the trunk.  "Here you go, this should keep you nice and toasty."  He handed her a blanket.

Daria's eyes teared up as she took the blanket from him.  It was large enough to cover them both.  She tucked it around herself and extended it over to him.  He moved closer to her and put his arm around her.  She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling something like happy.

Author's Note:  Although I claim this story as my own, I do need to give a tip of the hat to Dorothy L. Sayers, who wrote the Lord Peter Whimsy novels.  I'm just not clever enough to think up my own murder plot.  Also, the farm, the animals, the houses and the pot plants actually existed.  Although those plants ended up in a very different kind of fire.