Farmers Market Fatality

by Sarah Hualde

  He vomited in his throat, as he identified the beaten boys on the lawn and hurried back into the house to call for help.

  After hanging up with Honey Pot’s emergency dispatch, Joe dragged his plastered leg upstairs as quickly as possible. He worried someone had broken into the house and harmed Mrs. Muggs. She was snoring, her mouth laid open and drool leaked onto her pillow.

  Joe rode the railing down the stairs. He forced his good leg to absorb his weight on impact. His other wounds blared out reprimands. Joe ignored them all. He hurried outside hollering for Miss Jacqui. He was sure she would be up and already spying on the neighbors. He flagged her for help.

  Hobo Joe plopped on the lawn beside victim number one. His crutch bounced out of reach. Clumsy yet cautious fingers searched for a pulse and found only a weak twanging.

  “Dear Lord, help us.” Miss Jacqui arrived, as Joe predicted she would. She knelt beside the second boy and felt his chest. His lungs rose and fell in jagged, shallow huffs. “He’s alive.”

  “Mine, too. Look for any bleeding. Maybe we can slow it,” joe said.

  Jacqui obeyed. Her manicured hands found a gash on the forehead of her patient. It oozed from beneath crusted blood. She untied her cardigan and used it to apply steady pressure.

  The ambulance wailed up to Cordelia’s and toted the boys away before Joe caught his breath. Sheriff Ethan pulled up to the curb in his private vehicle. In sweats and running shoes, he surveyed the area.

  Miss Jacqui sat stunned on the lawn. Hobo Joe belly crawled, using his arms to pull himself, across the yard. He tossed a tender arm around Jacqui’s shoulders.

  Cordelia Muggs stood, vapid, at the front door wrapped in her morning robe and wearing pink house slippers. Muffin licked at a spot of blood on the porch.

  “Sweet Jesus, what is happening to my town?” Ethan prayed, allowing his grief to flow from his heart into his Savior’s hands. It was time for discernment and collected courage, not mourning. His personal feelings would wait until later.

  Chapter 21

  Mr. Mike stood beside Emily, as Lydia relayed the news. Her boyfriend and his best friend were in the hospital. She wasn’t allowed to see Lucas, at his father’s request. Lucas’ father managed a lengthy and heated yelling session at Lydia’s expense. Mr. Mike stood by as witness.

  “Ever since that girl seized my son’s attention his entire world has come undone. Grades, sports, scholarships. All thrown away. Staying out until who knows when. It would have been better if he’d let her drown,” He yelled.

  Mr. Mike’s neck grew purple splotches as Lucas’ father ranted. Lydia interrupted, struggling to refocus the conversation. The man refused to stop. He left, only after every intended arrow pierced Emily’s reputation. Lydia slumped in her chair. Mr. Mike paced. Shaking off the verbal attack wasn’t easy for the adults. They were both thrilled to spare Emily the tirade.

  The present information, about Lucas, was already too heavy for Emily to bear. She crumbled onto the carpet. “How?”

  Mr. Mike perched on the edge of his desk. The adults locked gazes. There was no point in hiding the truth. Emily would be questioned by the police, again. Better to rip off the blindfold in private.

  “We believe Lucas and Braden were messing around at Mrs. Muggs’ house. Someone attacked them when they weren’t looking.”

  “Who? Who would do that,” Emily said.

  ✽✽✽

  Cordelia Muggs snuggled her worn Bible in her arms. Lying in the bed of her neighbor felt foreign and wrong. She wanted to be at home. There was something she was supposed to find. Something hidden she needed to get to first. She couldn’t remember what it was.

  Remedicated, after her second shock of the week, Cordelia rested under a quilt unable to cry or speak. She wiggled her big toe on her left foot. It was the one limb she could control. Doing so reminded her she was alive. She couldn’t decide if being alive was a good or bad thing.

  She remembered Mario was dead. She remembered the hospital. Cordelia couldn’t visualize why she’d been there. She remembered the boys on her lawn. She could see the crosses and flowers in her mind. When she could stand up, she would look out Miss. Jacqui’s guest bedroom and see her house. She would see the memorial gifts and a guard sitting on the edge of the yard.

  ✽✽✽

  The morning incident wouldn’t hit any major town papers until tomorrow. Hobo Joe hunted for other news items to piece it together for him. Nothing stood out.

  Miss Jacqui called Rene at her nephew's house. Rene’s sobs crackled the phone. Her nephew took over her side of the conversation.

  “What’s been going on with Auntie Rene?”

  “It’s like I’ve been telling her doctor, her meds are messed up. Sometimes she is herself, cheery, focused, and busy. But a third of the time she’s grumpy, distant, and disconnected. I started watching her take her pills every day. She hasn’t missed a single dose for months, but still, she swings from stable to unbalanced from day to day. Have you taken her in, yet?”

  “Her appointment is on Friday.” Rene chattered behind her nephew. She denied her need for an additional trip to the doctor. “I’ll tell him everything you told me.”

  “Do. I’m concerned.”

  Miss Rene never returned to the receiver. Jacqui finished her conversation by proxy and Rene’s nephew repeated her updates.

  ✽✽✽

  Ethan did not like his job. Not on days like the one he was living. He enjoyed helping his community, rescuing the odd animal, or stopping arguments. Homicides in his town were rare. He liked solving them, working out the puzzle, and aiding in the process of justice.

  Occasionally, a few pieces pointed to an unlikely suspect. It was the first time the entire trail led to one person. Neat and tidy and heart-wrenching. Gus stood at his side, awaiting action. Ethan assured him they wouldn’t need weapons. However, his team’s safety came first, and he wanted them prepared for anything. Someone who might batter teens was not a person to underestimate.

  Ethan prayed before lifting his hand to knock.

  ✽✽✽

  “Yes. Great. Please keep me informed. Yes, I will.” Hearing the door, Jacqui hurried to end her call. She placed the receiver on its cradle as Hobo Joe opened the front door.

  Ethan stared into the questioning blue eyes. He realized he’d never spoken Joe’s last name before. It felt disrespectful to do so now. “Mr. Joseph Elwood Potter?”

  Joe steadied himself. Only his mother called him by all three of his names. He knew what was coming next. He blocked the words but performed the actions.

  Ethan searched Joe. Gus carried the crutch to the trunk and stayed behind to explain things to Miss Jacqui. The old maid rallied her words in defense of her houseguest. She called Gus every inappropriate name she could justify, and he listened with trained composure smeared across his face.

  Victor Cotton strolled to his mailbox and watched. Cordelia cried on the other side of her borrowed bedroom curtains. She quaked. Victor Cotton’s gaze shifted up to her window, and he winked.

  Even Muffin, Cordelia’s dog, wanted a firsthand look at the scene. He howled at the police car. Gus chased him around the yard and across the street, where he snapped at Victor Cotton. The man shoved the dog away with his foot. Jacqui cheered as the dog weaved around the block, yapping at Gus as he went.

  ✽✽✽

  Lydia didn’t bother to go home. She wanted to see her husband. Even if Lydia stood in the storage closet, she wanted to be around him. With a text, she announced she’d be bringing dinner for the crew. It was still a bit early for the evening meal, but Lydia guessed Ethan hadn’t eaten all day.

  How many? She texted, adding a hamburger emoji.

  Plan for seven. Ethan responded, seconds later. He wasn’t typically so prompt. However, he was missing his wife’s company almost as much as she was missing his.

  Listening to quiet conversation relieved her stress. Lydia sat in a booth, drinking iced tea from a disposable cup. It was t
oo hot for her usual cup of coffee. Her stomach was churning, making iced coffee a poor option. The cashier claimed the kitchen needed twenty minutes to fill her order. Lydia doubled the time and eavesdropped on the other diners. Cordelia’s name snagged Lydia’s ear and she forced her attention to the booth behind her.

  “... Mario’s body. Did you hear it was mutilated?” Diner one infused the question with tension.

  “Did you hear that from Dr. Lawrence?”

  “No, Devon.” His nurse, Lydia added in her mind. “She didn’t say so specifically. But as I was checking in at the office, my sciatica is acting up again, and I swear my pills aren’t working any longer, I heard her on the phone to Ashton.”

  “And?”

  A diner, further behind the conversation, dropped their eating utensil. The chatting ladies hushed. Lydia seized the opportunity to peek at the customers around her. She opened her powder compact and applied lip gloss.

  Angling the mirror, Lydia watched the reflection of the café. Two ladies from the quilting group whispered to each other as they split an onion ring tower. Behind them, Victor Cotton leaned out of his booth and fished for his dropped fork. His head lifted before Lydia could close her compact. Angry eyes locked with hers. They softened in greeting and Lydia returned the gesture before jamming her make-up back into her purse.

  The women’s conversation picked up volume. “You live on her street. Did you see anything?” One woman munched on an onion ring, and the other used her straw to stir her soda.

  “No. Not until it was over.”

  “Too bad.”

  Lydia cringed. She didn’t consider discovering two half-dead teens soaking in their blood a must-see attraction. She doubted if the ladies would believe they were missing out if they ever encountered violence, before. Lydia wasn’t able to watch any television since her tangle with viciousness. Even commercials were laced with brutal acts and triggered her memories.

  “Did they at least use crime scene tape?”

  Victor Cotton passed Lydia and asked the cashier for a box. He spun, watching the room, and leaned against the counter. Though his eyes flitted around the room, Lydia caught his expression. He was faking interest in the others, but he studied the gossipers. Lydia tried to watch him without giving herself away.

  Victor walked over to her booth and took a seat. “It’s Lydia, right?” His voice boomed, silencing the chatty friends.

  Lydia nodded. She couldn’t remember formally meeting Victor. She’d seen him, heard of him, but The Market was the only thing they had in common. “That’s me.”

  “You’re the Sheriff’s wife?”

  “Right again.”

  Victor’s smile was too big for his face. His eyes didn’t disclose any pleasure, and his posture didn’t leave room for a casual visit. He spoke with purpose. “I heard they caught the teens’ attacker?”

  Lydia hadn’t heard anything of the sort. “Oh?”

  “I’m sure your husband’s already told you, all about it.” Victor flicked Lydia’s straw wrapper between his index fingers. His eyes stayed on her.

  “Nope. He tries not to bring his work home.”

  “Oh, of course.” The man grinned at Lydia. Lydia’s instincts wanted to lash out at Victor and smack him across his good looks. She couldn’t fathom why. “Do you think it’s possible the same person killed Mario Muggs?”

  A gasp rattled from behind Lydia’s head. The ladies were listening. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “Well, it’s something to think about,” Victor said.

  “Mr. Cotton? Your box.” The cashier handed Victor a box and a bag. Victor took it without looking at the boy and walked out of the diner without boxing up his leftovers.

  Two intrigued faces met Lydia’s. “What was that about?” One lady braved the question before crunching on her appetizer. Lydia wished she had answers for all her new questions.

  Chapter 22

  Flora hurried to Miss Jacqui’s house. Out of the three homeschool moms, Flora was closest to Cordelia Muggs. Both ladies worked together in the peer counseling center at the BFF Church. Cordelia worked with grieving hopeful mothers. Having never conceived a child, Cordelia offered these mothers a caring ear without condemnation or treatment suggestions.

  Flora dealt with the other side of motherhood. She comforted mothers in mourning and through her side hustle helped new mothers find their groove.

  Miss Jacqui couldn’t think of anyone else to call. Cordelia’s family lived states away. She wasn’t sure they’d even heard of Mario’s death. Or if they’d help when they heard the news. Flora was the closest thing to a daughter Cordelia had. Jacqui gave it her best effort, but she was helpless to calm Cordelia.

  Flora entered the house without knocking and handed Enoch to Jacqui. The quilter held the baby with her good arm. She stroked his cheek with an arthritic finger. “She’s upstairs.” Her voice sung pleasantly to the little boy. He didn’t notice his mother rush away.

  “Cordelia? It’s Flora. Can I ...”

  Cordelia met Flora in the hall. Her hair flattened on one side and frizzy on the other told of her restless tossing. In her hand, a frame hosting broken glass cut into her palm. Slowly and intentionally, Flora unwrapped Cordelia’s fingers. The photo boasted Jacqui’s kid brother, Dexter, in his military uniform. Cordelia’s blood splattered across his charming smile.

  Flora rested the frame, face down, on a hallway table and escorted Cordelia to the guest bedroom. She forced her, with gentle pressure, to sit on the bed. Flora knelt on the floor. Muffin squealed from under the comforter and ran in a fluffy fury out of the room.

  “Cordelia, sweetie, can you tell me what happened?” Cordelia’s eyes glazed toward the ceiling. She didn’t seem to hear Flora. “Cordelia?”

  “He was so handsome in uniform.”

  “Who?” Flora patted Cordelia’s hand, trying to stir awareness back to the woman.

  “Mario.”

  “I didn’t...”

  “I don’t know how his picture ended up here.” Cordelia referred to the broken photo. Her eyes never lowered or looked directly at Flora. Flora rose and examined the woman’s face. One pupil was tiny. The other one was bulbous. She felt Cordelia’s forehead for fever. Clamminess welcomed her touch. “He was so handsome.”

  “Yes, he was.” Flora walked around the room. She picked up random items. Cordelia appeared to have tossed the entire bedroom before Flora showed up. “Are you hungry?”

  “Hungry.”

  “What about sleepy? Do you want to sleep?”

  “Sleep.”

  Flora helped Cordelia scoot back to her pillows and lay back. “Comfy?”

  “Sleep.” On her own accord, Cordelia coiled around a throw pillow.

  “Sleep.” Flora draped a light quilt around her friend’s shoulders and pulled one end down over her socked feet. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “Sleep.”

  “What happened?” Flora whispered, when she returned to Jacqui in the living room.

  Jacqui rocked Enoch, who was already napping, comforting herself more than the infant. “She slept all day. She didn’t come down. Dr. Lawrence said she was in shock. No wonder. He adjusted her dosage, and she took her pills with a glass of hot chocolate and went to bed. However, an hour ago I was washing dishes and starting a casserole for dinner when she began wrecking the guest room.”

  Flora helped herself to a glass of water as she listened to Miss Jacqui’s retelling. “Of course, I hurried upstairs to check on her. She was throwing things and cursing. Words I didn’t think she knew. Then she found a photo of Dex, and she went to town. She picked up a chair and pitched it at me.”

  “Did you call the doctor?”

  Jacqui bobbed her head. “He’s in Ashton. I think he’s checking on those boys.”

  “What boys?” Flora swallowed a sip of water. Her chapped lips welcomed the cold moisture.

  “Where have you been?’ Animated afresh, Jacqui explained that day’s dra
ma. From the finding of the victims to the arrest of Hobo Joe, no known or assumed detail was left out. Flora’s mouth went dry. It fell open at every new detail. “Haven’t you talked to Lydia? I bet she knows more than I do.”

  Flora wondered why she hadn’t heard from Lydia. She bit her bottom lip and wondered if Kat heard from Lydia. She would text Kat, as soon as she figured out what was going on with Cordelia Muggs.

  ✽✽✽

  The Sheriff’s office hummed and swelled with hurried activity. Every hand on deck worked soberly, knowing their duties might change with every minute. Gus waved to Lydia but did not say hello. Rachel ushered Lydia to the break room with a flick of her pen and a hungry look of gratitude.

  As she passed, she heard Ethan’s voice breeze from under his office’s door. She couldn’t make out his words, but his cadence was anxious and weary. Lydia set the box of burgers on the break room table and headed back to her car for fries.

  Rachel ignored Lydia a moment too long to be accidental. Ethan must have a real suspect. It explained the extra hamburger Ethan had her pick up.

  When she returned from the car, the starving workers descended upon her fry bags. Gus took one and Parker snagged the other. Rachel rose from her computer. “Whatcha want to drink, Lyds?” She cocked her head towards the department vending machine. Rachel owned the machine and used her income from it to make up for missing child support payments.

  “Whatever you’re having.” Lydia smiled. Ethan propped himself against the door frame of his office. She hurried to him and tossed her arms around his neck. He returned her happy expression but not her hug.

  “Have a seat at my desk, Lyds. I’ll grab our burgers.”

  Lydia obeyed and found Ethan’s desk already occupied. Hobo Joe sat, one wrist cuffed to his chair, in Lydia’s favorite spot. She paused, hesitant to process what she was seeing.

  “Lydia, Ethan said you were coming.” Joe’s face didn’t reflect joy, but his voice echoed relief. “You’ve got to help me.” Lydia slid into her husband’s seat and found she was no longer hungry.