“I understand the Arizona difficulties, Harry, but you and Sam don’t really think that Peyton could have killed Robert Ship?” Dad asked.
Neither of them said anything for a very long moment, too long. I’d hoped for a quick, confident, and comforting answer in the negative.
“We don’t have much of anything pointing us to anyone,” Sam said.
I looked at Harry, whose expression was also unreadable, a stern poker face.
“Harry?” I said.
“I don’t know, Becca. I still have strong feelings that it’s Peyton on the video. And the money is either missing or what was used to purchase the food truck. I don’t know if she could have killed anyone.”
I swallowed. Had the money been something she stuck into the pipe? No, that amount of money would have taken up more space than the space in the pipe would have allowed, or the canvas bag I’d seen her with, for that matter. My imagination was sprouting again, this time sprinkled with fear and concern for her.
“Can we see the video?” Mom asked.
“Sure.” Harry pulled his phone from his pocket. A few seconds later, we’d huddled around him and he’d expanded the picture to fill the small but visible screen.
“That’s not Peyton,” Mom said when it was over.
“What makes you so sure?” Harry said.
“Two reasons. I’m sure she’s not nearly strong enough for that, and her curls aren’t that perfect. That’s a wig. However, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone trying to look like Peyton. Yes, I’m sure that’s not her.”
“Play it again,” I said, repeating the same request I’d made at the police station.
As the video played again, I realized my mom was correct. Peyton’s curls weren’t nearly that perfect. In fact, no one’s real curls were that perfect. Only a wig had such flawless curls.
“I think you’re right, Mom,” I said when the video had played two more times.
“Of course she is,” Dad said proudly.
“You have a point,” Harry admitted as he studied the screen again.
I got the distinct impression that Harry did agree that my mom might be correct, but he was also considering other contingencies. Perhaps the small screen only made the curls look so perfect, or . . . or whatever other contingencies law enforcement people took into consideration.
“All right then, Harry, tell us about the adventure in Arizona with Becca. She told us what happened, but I’m sure she left out some of the scarier parts. I’d like to know them now. Plenty of time has passed. I think we can handle the truth,” Mom said.
Harry put his phone back into his pocket and shot me a brief reassuring glance that told me he would still leave out some of the events that had transpired. He knew that even parents who’d had enough time and knew their child was fine still couldn’t always handle the whole scary truth.
True to the glance, he left out the worst parts of the story, but kept enough in so that my parents thought they were getting all the gory details.
After we all said good night, Harry took his rental back to Sam’s, and Sam drove me and Hobbit home in my truck. I hadn’t realized I was so tired until Sam had to lift my groggy, half-asleep body from the passenger side to deposit me into bed. I didn’t remember anything after that.
Until my phone rang and buzzed loud enough to wake the dead. Well, almost.
Fifteen
“Becca, are you coming into the market today?” I was pretty sure it was Peyton’s voice on the other end of the phone, but it was tight and breathy.
I looked at the dark window and then reached over to the other side of the bed. It was still a little warm. With the noise coming from the bathroom, I deduced that Sam was in the shower.
“What time is it, Peyton?”
“About five thirty.”
“Well,” I said as I wearily sat up, “yes, I’m coming in, but it’s a little early.”
“Really? There are other vendors setting up and Allison just got us here.”
I’d cursed my sister’s perfection more than a few times over the years, but my biggest issue was with her need to always be so on time. I’d tried to change her, but to no avail.
“Right,” I said. “You need me to come in?”
“Yes, right away if possible.”
“Give me a few and I’ll be there. You okay?”
“Yes, I just need to talk to you about something,” Peyton said.
“I’ll be there soon.”
After I ended the call, my muddy brain solidified a little more. It wasn’t unusual that Sam got up early, but normally he would go work out and then shower at his house. Sometimes he got ready at my house, but those days were rare. I didn’t have time to catch up and ask about it because his exit was hurried and his farewell was distracted.
After my own shower and some big gulps of coffee, I hurried Hobbit through her morning routine and then I tried to call Sam to see what was up, but he didn’t answer. Another bad sign.
Once Hobbit was taken care of, the sun was beginning to come up and I’d gotten rid of most of the sleep cobwebs.
My truck went only so fast even when I floored it, so though I was now in a real hurry to get to Peyton, I wasn’t going to be in danger of breaking speed limit laws.
I arrived at the back entrance of my stall earlier than I had in a long time. Most farm people, most of the farmers’ market folks, too, were morning people and woke up early naturally, particularly the old-timers, those who’d been farming for their whole lives. On those rare occasions when I was at the market before an old-timer or two, I was boosted with temporary confidence and the hope that I might be like them someday.
I moved through the back wall of my stall with the plan to drop off one box and then go find Peyton out in the parking lot. But she surprised me and was sitting on my front display table when I came through.
“Need help?” she said as she hopped off the table.
“Sure. No, wait.” I looked at the box of jams I was holding. “Do we need to talk?”
“I’d like to.”
She didn’t want a casual conversation; that was obvious.
“Let’s go to your truck. These are just canvas walls,” I said.
“Good plan.”
I put the box on a chair and we made our way out of the market.
“Did you want Allison in on this? Did you talk to her already?” I asked as we passed her office.
“No, I didn’t. She’s so busy, Becca. I don’t want to bother her.”
I nodded. I wasn’t bothered, and I got what she was saying—Allison was always busy. While she would have easily lent an ear to Peyton, it was better this way.
We exited the market and walked over the empty parking lot. Basha’s cupcake truck was open, the counter door lifted up, and I could see the cupcake baker inside holding a pastry bag over a cupcake tin.
“Hi, Basha,” I said as we passed by her truck.
She looked up. “Ladies,” she said in greeting. There was a small question to her tone, but I waved as if to let her know everything was fine.
She turned back to the cupcake tin.
“I don’t think she likes me,” Peyton said quietly.
“Why?”
“Probably everything.”
I nodded. Hard to argue with that one.
Peyton came around to the passenger side first, unlocked the door, and waited until I was inside before she shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
“The police called Allison this morning. They asked her to bring me into the station,” she said when she was settled inside.
I blinked, Sam’s morning departure now made a little more sense, but there were still lots of missing pieces.
“Did you go? How early? What happened?” I said.
“I didn’t go. Allison told the police that she could take me in around seven o’clock but that she had a conference call before then. She”—Peyton paused as if she was trying not to cry—“told them they could
pick me up at her house or at the market.”
I put my hand on her arm. “She didn’t have any choice, Peyton.”
“I know, but . . . we’re related, Becca. It hurt.”
“Did you want her to tell them no or to hide you? Allison couldn’t do that, you know that, don’t you? It’s better for you this way, too.”
“I do, but still . . . anyway,” she sniffed, “they told her that they have some evidence they want to talk to me about.”
“Okay, well, that might not be so bad. Right? Just talk.” I hoped she didn’t see me swallow hard. They had evidence? That was new.
She shook her head, causing her dark curls to bounce in such a little girl way that my heart hurt for her. But she wasn’t a little girl. She was a woman who should be old enough to make good choices.
“Peyton, it’s okay. Let me call Sam.” I pulled out my phone, punched the button to call, and hoped he’d answer.
“Becca?” he said.
“Hey, Sam. Do you need to see Peyton?” I said.
“I do. I’m just about to leave the station and head out to the market. Where are you?”
“At the market, with Peyton. We’re sitting in her food truck. She’s nervous, Sam. Can you tell me what this is about?”
I wanted him to tell me that it was no big deal, that he just needed to talk to her briefly. That she would be fine. But he hesitated before he said anything. I knew that hesitation—it wasn’t usually followed by good news.
“I do just need to chat with her briefly,” Sam said. Even though it was what I wanted to hear, I knew he was lying. There was something big going on, and there would be nothing brief about their conversation.
“Okay,” I said. “Sounds good. We’ll wait right here.”
“Be there in a minute.”
I disconnected the call, put my phone back in my pocket, and hoped I hid my concern.
“Sounds like it’s no biggie, Peyton. Let’s just wait and talk to Sam. He’s very reasonable.”
“Becca, I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m innocent of . . . everything.”
“Okay.”
“I need to get out of here.” Peyton started the truck.
“Wait a sec. No, this isn’t a good idea. Where are you going to go?” I said as the engine revved.
“I’m not sure. We’re close to the ocean. Maybe I can get out of the country.” She backed the truck and then pulled it away from the line.
I laughed, but my cousin was being one hundred percent serious. She wasn’t thinking clearly.
“No, we’re not going to do that. Stop the truck,” I said.
But she didn’t stop the truck. Instead she sped up through the parking lot, and then pulled the truck out to the two-lane highway, turning the steering wheel so forcefully that one side of the truck lifted off the ground momentarily.
“This isn’t safe,” I said.
“Hang on, Becca. Hang on tight.”
Sixteen
DONE RUNNING
The journey off the road and down the small berm was bumpy and too wild for my tastes. Both Peyton and I were knocked around enough to end up with small cuts on our faces (oddly in the same spots on our right cheeks, though we had no idea how we got them) and plenty of bruises and sore muscles that wouldn’t hit full force for a day or two.
Neither of us lost consciousness, which I thought was a good thing. I didn’t hit my head and she didn’t think she had hit hers.
“That was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen,” I said when I was sure we were both okay enough for me to get mad.
“I know. I’m sorry,” she said. “Really, really sorry.”
I sighed and realized that neither of us had been buckled in. It was an odd moment to notice such a thing, but it’s where my attention went. At least until I heard the approaching siren.
“I’m sorry,” Peyton said again, her voice lined with complete defeat and the certain approach of tears. “Becca, I don’t think I’m going to get out of this okay. I really do think someone is trying to frame me. But it’s important for me to tell you that I am innocent.”
I looked at her a long moment. She didn’t look like a little girl anymore, but she was still my little cousin, the one Allison and I had gotten into more trouble than we should have. She was family. And I believed, in that deep-gut-feeling, I-just-know way, that she was telling me the truth. I hoped she was.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” I said.
A second later, Sam was at the passenger door of the truck, and Officer Vivienne Norton was opening the driver’s side door. She yanked Peyton out of the truck.
I opened my door. “I’m fine,” I said to Sam.
We’d been pretty good about keeping our public displays of affection to a minimum, particularly when he was on duty. I didn’t think he currently cared who was watching as he put his finger to my chin and turned my face toward him.
“You’re really okay?” he said, his icy blue eyes both intense and scared.
“I’m fine. Not hurt.”
He helped me out of the truck and inspected my face again. I didn’t know he carried a handkerchief but one appeared, seemingly from his back pocket, and he dabbed at the cut.
“It’s not deep. No stitches,” he said.
“That’s a first,” I said with a laugh.
He smiled briefly and then pulled me into a hug that was so close I thought he might never let me go, and I was okay with it.
I could hear his fast heartbeat and feel his strong arms locked around me.
“Becca,” he muttered, but I didn’t think he was talking to me.
“I’m fine. Totally.”
He kissed the top of my head but still didn’t let go. “I know. I know.”
Sam and I had been in a hairy situation or two, and a few years earlier, long before we’d met, he’d lost his fiancée to a tragedy, something for which he blamed himself. I knew that he’d tried not to be overprotective of me. No, that wasn’t it. He’d tried very hard to hide his overprotectiveness. I didn’t know if he was currently overreacting or not, but I figured it was best just to ride out the moment. Plus, he smelled really good, like soap and laundry detergent, topped off with a slight peppermint-y wave of that mystery gunk he put in his hair. And his strong arms were so comfortable.
It was only Peyton’s scream for help that took me out of the moment. When she yelled my name, I pushed back from Sam and ran around the truck. He was right behind me.
“Peyton!” I said as I ran toward her.
Officer Norton had my cousin, my now grown-up cousin who was once cute and little and who’d always been sweet and kind, down on the ground on her belly. Officer Norton had her knee on Peyton’s backside and had pulled her wrists behind her back, securing them with steely handcuffs.
“Step back, Ms. Robins, or you’ll be interfering with police business,” Officer Norton said. Her voice was calm and even, but she still somehow managed to instill fear into me.
“Becca,” Sam said as he put his hand on my arm and ever so slightly pulled me back.
“Sam?”
He nodded and then turned his attention to Vivienne. “Viv, here, let me help.”
In one quick, almost flight-like movement, the two of them lifted Peyton to a standing position.
“Are you hurt, Ms. Chase?” Sam said as he inspected Peyton’s face with almost the same intensity that he’d inspected mine, but only with concern, no deep fear for her.
“That beast of a woman might have ripped my arms out of my sockets, but I’m okay.”
“Good. All right, we’re going to get you and Becca to a doctor to make sure you’re all right but I need to . . .” Sam looked at me briefly. There was no apology in those icy eyes. “Peyton Chase, you are under arrest for the murder of Robert Ship . . .”
The rest of everything Sam said was lost in the ocean noises filling my head. He was reading my cousin her rights. She was being arrested for murder. Murder. And all the while, waves pounded my ears and
crashed around in my head. I didn’t want to process what he was really saying.
A few seconds later, another police cruiser pulled up and another officer joined us. I didn’t know him, but as I watched his long legs move down the berm, he reminded me of a grasshopper. Sam instructed the grasshopper officer and Vivienne to transport Peyton to the doctor and then back to a cell at the small downtown police station.
When the other cruiser had sped away with Peyton’s fearful glance out the back window eating at me, Sam directed me to the passenger side of his car.
“What about her truck?” I said.
“I’ve got some people coming out to take care of it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“My house.”
“Sounds good.”
I’d only recently learned that Sam had also been trained as an EMT. When we got to his house, he sat me on the couch and gathered his cache of medical instruments. He gave me a concussion test and checked my vitals.
“Not exactly the way we should get to play doctor, is it?” I flirted.
Fortunately, he’d already determined that I was fine, so he could truly smile this time, the concern and fear now mostly gone from his eyes.
He took the stethoscope out of his ears. “I love you, Becca.”
I blinked with surprise. “I love you, too.”
He smiled at me again, but this time it was a sideways, all-knowing smile. I liked it when he did that, but it always made me wonder what I was missing.
“What?” I said.
“You’re adorable,” he said. “And it seems you’re just fine physically. You don’t even need a Band-Aid.”
“You’re adorable, too.”
He cleaned the cut one more time, and then put some antibacterial cream on it.
“Good as new, and still adorable,” he said.
“Thank you.”
He leaned in for a kiss. It was a quick one, but not without promise.
“See, there’s a little doctor play right there,” I said, still flirting badly but trying.
This time he laughed. “As wonderful as that sounds right now, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t first let you know that your cousin was arrested under my orders.”
06 Bushel Full of Murder Page 14
