“Of course.”
I left with the lavender oil and a deeper sense of “rightness” in my soul. Yes, our breakup had been difficult—for both of us. And even if ultimately we had been okay together in a long-term, deeper relationship, I had no doubt now that we were going to be able to be real friends. Whatever axis had been off-kilter had now righted itself.
There were so many occasions when grown-up stuff threw me for a loop; it was nice to feel a sense of maturity without panic over whether or not I’d done the right thing.
Of course, choosing the correct path wasn’t always my strong suit, I thought as I turned the opposite direction I was supposed to go to get to my parents’ house. I was going to be late, I decided. Maybe since everything had been so effortless at Ian’s, I had the need to do something risky, something that might send me down the wrong path.
Thirteen
Bailey’s was open on Friday and Saturday nights until about nine during the summer and early fall. But tonight, Wednesday, everything shut down at around six, and like most evenings when Bailey’s shut down, it really shut down. Quitting time, if selling out of product for the day hadn’t occurred earlier, was a welcome moment for vendors who not only spent their days outside at the market, but also spent lots of time tending their crops or making their products. Farmers’ market work was physical, and wasn’t for sissies. Being done for the day held a great sense of satisfaction, as well as a moment to know that a well-earned rest was hopefully soon to come.
I’d come back to the market after it had closed a time or two over the years. I’d needed to pick up a forgotten item, or fix a display table, or replace one. It happened. It was an open air market. Though there were tent walls, there was a sense that the stalls were all part of one single, really big place. There were no doors except on the small building that housed Allison’s office. Anyone or any creature could walk through the market at any time. We’d all experienced a surprise cat or dog, or chicken for that matter, there to greet us as we unloaded in the morning.
I didn’t like being on the market grounds at night; there were no nearby streetlights and it was too dark once the lighted sign in the parking lot was powered down. Currently the sun hadn’t quite set all the way and the stalls, parking lot, and food trucks were all bathed in a murky glow that seemed peaceful, if not eerie.
The food trucks were shut tight, silent soldiers lined up along the edge of the parking lot. My truck was the only other vehicle in sight, and when my headlights hit the food trucks, they seemed more like they were lurking and waiting for me, rather than just parked. My imagination sprouted and I could visualize the trucks coming to life as I slowly approached them.
I laughed at myself and shook off the willies.
“All right, Peyton, let’s see what you were up to,” I said as I parked and repeated to myself that they were only trucks, not creatures in a science fiction book or movie.
However, once I turned the key and my truck was as silent as the others, I had to fight a chill up my spine.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I muttered as I opened the door and got out.
I moved to almost the same spot I’d seen Basha standing in and stared up at the side panel of Peyton’s truck, at the corner. I even put my hands on my hips, mimicking Basha’s pose. There wasn’t much light left, but when I looked hard, I thought I might be seeing something. Maybe.
Along the top and back edge of the panel was a pipe—could be a tube. Again, maybe. At the top corner, there was a cap over the pipe. I only noticed the cap because it wasn’t on straight.
“Did you put something in there?” I said.
I looked around. I knew there was a ladder in Allison’s office, but I didn’t want to disturb the key on the top of the door frame and let myself in. There were probably other ladders on the market premises, but I wasn’t going to search for them. I jumped into my truck, maneuvered the bed up next to the back corner of Peyton’s. I grabbed the flashlight out of my glove box and scurried up the side of my truck’s bed, ultimately balancing one foot on the side and one on the tailgate. I was short but from there I could reach the cap. I held the flashlight in my armpit as I used one hand to hold me up and one to yank off the cap. It came off easily, almost too easily. I teetered, but rebalanced quickly.
I grabbed the flashlight and aimed it inside the pipe, which confirmed that it was, in deed, a hollow tube. I saw nothing. Well, not much of anything, at least. There were some small clumps of dirt, but nothing else; no rolled-up treasure map or diary page with a confession of crimes committed, like I’d hoped to find. I thought the dirt could be from the bag I’d seen Peyton with, but dirt was dirt, for the most part.
“This is dumb,” I said to the open mouth of the tube. I put the flashlight under my arm and reached to return the cap to its spot.
“What’re you doing?” a voice said from somewhere to my right.
I screamed and lost my balance. My feet slipped and the rest of me fell toward the voice as the cap and the flashlight flew in other undetermined directions.
I assumed the voice was attached to the arms that caught me. I landed in them much more gracefully than I thought I was capable of doing.
“You okay?” It was Mel, of Paco’s Tacos.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry. Thanks, though, for being quick enough to keep me from falling,” I said as I squirmed out of his arms.
“No problem,” he said as his now empty hands moved to his hips. “What were you doing up there?”
“It’s a long story.” I wiped my hands on my shorts. “What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I was, well, we were getting ready to pull out a deck of cards.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hank, Daryl, and I just finished cleaning up our trucks. We were going to play a game of cards before we went to the hotel.”
I looked at the trucks and then at Mel. “Where are you playing cards? I didn’t see any of you.”
“Hank and Daryl are on the other side setting up the card table. You’re Becca, right?”
“I am. I make and sell jams and preserves.”
“Right. We’ve talked. You were helping Peyton earlier. And you’re Peyton’s cousin?”
“I am.”
Mel rubbed his chin as he looked at me a long moment and then back up at Peyton’s truck. “I have time for a story if you’d like to tell me what’s going on.”
“I think I’d better tell my cousin first. Maybe catch me tomorrow, but thanks a bunch for catching me tonight.” I smiled.
Mel smiled back and then looked at me for another long, awkward moment. His surfer dude persona contradicted whatever seemed to be going on behind his eyes. I couldn’t be sure if he was thinking or plotting, but something was happening in there.
I turned to gather the flashlight from the truck bed so I could search for the pipe cap.
“Hey,” Mel said. “About Peyton. I don’t want to seem creepy, but do you know if she’s single? She’s . . . she’s very pretty, and I thought about asking her out, but if she’s got a boyfriend, you could save me from embarrassing myself too much.”
“I honestly don’t know,” I said as I pulled out the flashlight and shined it on the ground around us. “You could ask her, though. It never hurts to ask.”
I didn’t know one thing about Peyton’s love life other than the bad choice she’d made to follow a guy to Arizona. I didn’t know the types of guys she was interested in, except for Ian, but he’s intriguing even if he doesn’t fit a type. The only things I knew about Mel were that he was good with tacos, he had sharp reflexes, and he’d seemed helpful with the generators.
“Sure. She’s a little different,” he said.
“How do you mean?” I swung the light up to his face but pulled it away when he lifted his hand to shield his eyes.
“I saw you spying on her back there the other day.” He nodded toward the grass patch. “I guess I was spying, too. Or I was just curious about what you were up to
. I saw you crouch and then watch her come out the back of her truck for a second. Does what you were doing tonight have anything to do with that?”
“No,” I said. Either I could ask him more questions about what he saw or thought he saw or how he happened to see what he thought he saw, or I could get out of there and hurry to my parents’ late dinner, which was now really late. I opted for the last choice.
Mel nodded. “Just wondered.” He looked up at the truck again. “Did you figure out what was going on, back there, I mean?”
“No. Did you?”
“No, but I didn’t ask her. I thought it was none of my business, and like I said, I think she’s pretty. I didn’t want to scare her away or anything.”
I heard a hint of amusement in his voice but I wasn’t sure what kind of amusement it was; did he find something funny or was he trying to be clever?
I shined the light on the ground again. I found the cap next to my rear tire. I grabbed it and put it in my pocket. I decided I would give Peyton the cap at dinner and tell her what I’d been up to. I’d also mention that both Mel and I had seen her behaving “curiously.” It was time to get some answers.
“Want to join us?” Mel said. “For cards?”
“You’re really going to play here?”
“Yeah, why not? It’s a beautiful night and none of us want to be stuck in our hotel rooms yet.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “No thanks, though. I need to get going.”
“See you tomorrow,” Mel said. He lifted his hand and waved before turning and disappearing through the space between Peyton’s and his trucks.
I was curious enough about the nighttime card game that once he was out of sight, I followed his path and peeked carefully around to the backside. True to his word, he, Hank, and Daryl were seated around a card table with a battery-powered lantern on top.
“Everything okay?” Hank asked Mel.
“Yeah, just a market worker.”
“Really? This time of night?”
“I know. Weird. She’s Peyton’s cousin.”
“Oh,” Hank said as if Mel’s explanation adequately explained what was going on. “I wonder if Peyton is single.”
“I wondered the same thing.”
“Gentlemen,” Daryl said. “We’re traveling food truck chefs. We’re not traveling salesmen. ‘The road ain’t no place to start a family’—to quote from one of the best bands of all time.”
“Good point,” Mel said.
But there was something in the way that Hank remained silent. My eyes were drawn to him. Both Mel and Daryl looked at him, too, as if they also expected a comment.
He finally spoke. “I don’t know, she’s pretty. But maybe ‘I’m just talkin’ ’bout tonight’—to quote from one of the best country singers of all time.”
Mel and Daryl laughed.
I didn’t need to hear more, so I slipped backward through the slot and got into my truck.
Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to talk to Peyton. She had a right to know that I’d spied on her. I would tell her tonight at my parents’ house. I would tell her everything, and maybe she’d do the same with me.
Fourteen
Unfortunately, Peyton wasn’t at my parents’ house. Neither were Allison; her husband, Tom; or their son, Mathis. The best that my mom could interpret from Allison’s call was that Peyton wasn’t feeling well and Allison didn’t think it was fair to leave her alone.
I didn’t tell my parents my own interpretation, which was: whatever the reason for Peyton not wanting to go out, Allison didn’t trust her enough to leave her alone. Allison probably gave Peyton the impression that she was being a supportive family member, but I was sure Peyton was being watched closely.
Although Allison would have a level of patience with Peyton that I probably wouldn’t have, so there was a chance my sister actually was just being supportive and I was the only suspicious one.
Since Peyton wasn’t going to be joining us, I called Sam and invited him and Harry. I hadn’t heard about the dinner until midafternoon, and since the subject of both of their investigations—Peyton—was supposed to be there, Sam and I had agreed that he shouldn’t join in the fun. Both he and Harry were pleased with the change of plans. They arrived only a short time later, and they brought Hobbit.
My parents were always delighted to meet new people. Even if this one was investigating their niece because of potential criminal activity, they were still willing to welcome him to their home and give him a full dose of Polly and Jason Robins.
Somehow they were able to dish out the third degree without the person on the receiving end figuring out what was going on or later becoming offended by what had happened. My parents liked to get to know people on a level a few floors deeper than the surface. They were fascinated by what made other people tick, deep down inside.
When I was younger, I’d never given them the credit they probably deserved for their keen intelligence. They were hippies, and hippies weren’t supposed to be smart, were they? Polly and Jason Robins were a couple of smart hippies.
Even though they’d participated in more rallies and causes than I could remember, they were different one-on-one, with a need to understand other people and other views before sharing their own. They didn’t argue and they didn’t try to change minds . . . one-on-one. In front of a building that had what they deemed questionable business practices going on inside and with arms loaded with signs while singing clever chants, oh yeah, you bet they’d try to change minds. But never one-on-one.
And they never used any sort of persuasive pressure on a visitor in their home. Put simply, they thought that was bad manners. They were people people—all kinds of people people.
“How hard was it to leave the reservation?” Mom asked Harry as she handed him a glass of lemonade that she’d squeezed herself. She’d also baked a platter full of sugar cookies for our casual dessert. The lavender oil had been for frosting the cookies. She explained that oil was much better than extract when it came to adding flavor to icing or frosting. I doubted I’d ever attempt to make lavender frosting, but I hoped she’d continue to put it on her sugar cookies.
It was only about a year ago that my parents had come off the road after a two-year RV trip. They’d moved into one of the smaller homes they owned in town. They owned quite a few Monson area houses, which they rented out, but they wouldn’t tell Allison or me exactly how many. This one was cute and the perfect size for two people who didn’t need a lot of space. Dad had just built a wooden shade awning for the small back patio, and with it the evening was again comfortable enough to enjoy outside.
“The most difficult part for my family, and for those who I consider my family but aren’t true blood relatives—we’re all family on the reservation—was that I wasn’t going to be a reservation law officer. I’m a county officer. That was hard for them to accept, but the adjustment has mostly been made. My older sister still has issues with me.” Harry laughed. “But I’ve never quite lived up to her expectations. I was supposed to be an artist.”
“What type of artist?” Mom asked.
“Beading. Jewelry.”
“Are you good at it?”
“Not anymore. I used to be. When I hit about forty-five, the eyesight started to get in the way and my fingers became much less nimble.”
“Sounds like you made the right career choice,” Dad said.
“I love my job,” Harry said. “Even when it might come in between friendships. I know that Peyton is your niece.”
Mom blinked. “You know, I don’t think Peyton is capable of committing a crime, but she’s just flighty enough not to think through her actions sometimes. Only the evidence will tell, but I have every confidence that she will be exonerated.”
“I hope so,” Harry said sincerely.
“Now, Sam, what can you tell us about Robert Ship’s murder? It’s so terribly tragic,” Mom said.
“Yes, it is. And unfortunately, Polly, I can’t tell you much. No one saw anyth
ing and there doesn’t seem to be a lot of evidence. We’re working on it.”
“Did you know that Betsy, the tomato lady from the market, was Robert Ship’s niece?” I said. “Harry and I found out when we went to visit her.”
“I did know that,” Mom said. “But, of course, I know the whole family. Or knew them. I guess we used to be friends, but that was a few years back. Nothing happened to break the friendship. Lives just go in different directions. They were a fun group of people when we knew them, and very earthy. They all had farms or gardens. I heard that Betsy’s father, Nick, Robert’s brother, built a house that uses only solar power, which is impressive. Dad and I have thought lots about solar power,” Mom said.
“We have. I’m sure we’ll do something with it in the next year or so,” Dad said. “We’re just not sure exactly what.”
I knew that Harry had told Sam about our visit with Betsy, and I’d given Sam the glove I’d stolen. I told him it might have Betsy’s fingerprints inside just in case he thought they would need them. I asked him not to ask me how I got it and he’d obliged. I looked at him now to see if I could read whether or not learning about Mr. Ship’s brother was of interest, but his expression didn’t tell me anything.
“Do you know if they all still get along?” I said to Mom.
“Gosh, I’m not sure about recent relations. I know there was a problem with the solar panels Nick used, and Robert, being a city employee, thought it was his job to bring the issue to a town meeting. Ultimately the vote went in Nick’s direction. I don’t think Robert was upset about the end result, although he might have been, I suppose.” Mom thought a minute. “I don’t know. I don’t remember any bad feelings, but before the vote, Robert was pretty determined that Nick was breaking the law, big time. There was mention of ‘clauses and articles’ but the town council didn’t see things the same way Robert did. Yes, Robert might have been embarrassed.”
Sam and Harry exchanged a look. What had my mom said that caused the look?
06 Bushel Full of Murder Page 13
