06 Bushel Full of Murder

by Paige Shelton

  Hmm. No lie to catch anyone in there, it seemed.

  “Yes,” he continued. “I was very upset at her and I’m afraid I didn’t mince words. I told her she was being irresponsible and, frankly, naïve and dumb. I lit into her more than I should have but she said she had a large sum of money hidden in places all through that food truck of hers. She said she didn’t trust banks. Later I regretted how fatherly and adamant I’d been toward her, but I’d been legitimately shocked into doing so.”

  I looked at Allison. I hadn’t meant to spring the news on her. My intention had just been to confirm what I’d heard from Sam.

  “I had no idea,” she said. “I would have done something about that if I’d known.”

  “Right, and the sum of money she said she had was horrifying,” Manner said. “She said she had over sixty thousand dollars hidden in that truck. I was happy her business was doing so well, but I told her she needed to get that money protected.”

  The other reason I’d wanted to talk to Mr. Manner was to see if we could get out of him the amount of money Peyton had secreted away. I hadn’t even had to ask, but any sense of satisfaction over my Jedi questioning skills was replaced by shock regarding the true amount. Either Peyton had sold a bunch of hot dogs in a relatively short amount of time or she’d gotten that money—some or all of it—in another way. I didn’t like thinking what I was thinking.

  “Did she tell you anything else? Like how many hot dogs she’d sold or anything?” I said, grasping at more vapors.

  “No, but I do think I was pretty convincing. She agreed to meet me here.”

  “But I imagine you two didn’t end up setting up the account?” I said.

  “No, other things took precedence, of course.”

  So that money was still out there, perhaps still hidden in the truck. Allison and I would have to find a way to protect it if we could.

  “What about Mr. Ship? Why was he here that morning?” Allison said.

  “I’m not exactly sure. But I think a market vendor who also had some banking business asked Robert to meet him, that they’d take care of their paperwork here. A baked potato vendor, I think. Robert and I were going to go to breakfast after business had been taken care of that morning, but our breakfast plans weren’t expected to happen that early. I’m speculating a little. Robert mentioned the vendor and a potential meeting at the bank, but he never shared with me a specific time. I can’t imagine any other reason he’d be here so early. I told the police as much.”

  And they still didn’t suspect Jeff?

  Why would Jeff ask to meet Mr. Ship at the bank? I was sure there were other answers, but the two that sprung to mind were that Jeff either wanted someone outside of the business office to witness any conversation he had with Mr. Ship, or Jeff wanted a place where he might be able to kill Mr. Ship without any witnesses. The bank’s parking lot in the early morning hours would be hidden from the world. As I’d already pointed out to Sam, bankers’ hours were a real thing.

  “No security cameras in your parking lot?” I asked.

  Mr. Manner blinked a few times and then shook his head. “It’s a travesty, isn’t it? We’re a bank and we don’t have security cameras in our parking lot.”

  We might need to make another visit to Jeff.

  “I see,” Allison said when I didn’t say anything right away.

  “You know, Robert mentioned that he didn’t like the vendor, that he’d been trouble, but I didn’t get the details. I was just happy to help on the banking end, whatever that meant. I didn’t know what banking business the vendor wanted to conduct, but I was ready to accommodate him.”

  “Did you tell the police that Mr. Ship didn’t like the vendor, mention any difficulties between the two of them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.”

  “Allison, I’m still waiting on a couple of the other food truck vendors to come in and set up their temporary accounts. Let’s see”—he grabbed a folder from the corner of his desk—“Mel from Paco’s Tacos and Hank from Noodle Bowls. I’ve tried to call them. It’s not necessary that they set up the accounts but they haven’t returned my calls, and we really can make it convenient for them. You know, get their money back to their hometown banks. I’ve made all of those calls. If you get the chance, would you remind them of the opportunity we’ve extended them?”

  “Of course,” Allison said.

  “Thank you. I thought I’d stop by tomorrow, but a heads-up from you wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Be happy to.”

  I thought we’d given Mr. Manner a moment’s reprieve from grieving, but as he walked us to the door and told us good-bye I sensed that he would fall back into sadness again. It was notable that of everyone—Betsy, Nick, Meg, Kyle, and Lyle Manner, Lyle was the saddest over Robert’s death. Or perhaps he was the one showing his emotions the most. The family members, Betsy and Nick, seemed the least upset, but perhaps they were just hiding their emotions.

  Everyone grieves differently—something I needed to keep in mind.

  Once in the truck again, I said, “What did we learn?”

  “Bottom line? We didn’t do such a great job questioning Jeff, and though we think Robert Ship might have been a jerk in some respects, he certainly had at least one good and loyal friend. We also know our cousin claimed to have hidden a ridiculous amount of money in her truck.”

  “I think that sums it up well,” I said. “The truck’s in police custody now, I think.”

  “I’ll call Sam and say something about being concerned about Peyton’s money. I won’t let him know what we’re up to, and I’ll just act like it’s something I already knew about.”

  “Would it be okay if you didn’t do that right away?”

  Allison glanced at me. “Oh, of course, the money in Arizona. Sorry, I should have thought. Sure, mum’s the word. For now.”

  “Good.”

  I didn’t say it out loud, but of course I knew we were missing something. We weren’t the police. We knew that. We wanted to help Peyton. What we’d learned wouldn’t help her, and might throw more suspicion her direction if she really did have that amount of money. We needed better direction. Sam wasn’t going to tell me anything else at this point.

  But someone else might. I dropped Allison off at the market and told her I was headed home to check on Hobbit.

  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t quite the whole truth, either.

  Twenty-one

  “I can see why you love it here so much,” Harry said when we stopped walking. He took off his hat and peered toward the South Carolina woods that bordered my property.

  Hobbit, Harry, and I were up along the ridge above my crops, enjoying the warm but serene early evening.

  “Have we convinced you to move here yet? You and Sam might make a great team.”

  He laughed and put his hat back on. “Not quite. All right, my friend Becca, tell me why you called me out here this evening.”

  “Maybe I just wanted to invite you over for dinner.”

  “Maybe, but I think there’s more to it. Don’t get me wrong, though, those egg salad sandwiches were delicious.”

  “Yeah, I suppose if I had preplanned my invitation to dinner, I might have cooked up a little more than egg salad sandwiches.”

  “It’s not the food that makes a good dinner, it’s the company. The company was perfect, but itchy.”

  “Itchy?”

  “Yes, itchy to get some information from me if I’m not misinterpreting.”

  “I’m not good at hiding my motives.”

  “You don’t need to be, particularly with me. I’ve been as up front as I can be with you. You are welcome to do the same. What do you want to know that you think I can answer, even though I might choose not to answer?”

  I started walking again. Hobbit and Harry kept up.

  “First of all, do you know what’s going on with my cousin? Is she okay?”

  “I think she’s fine. You can visit her anytime you want. Sam
got her a really good attorney. I like him.”

  “But you still think she’s guilty of theft, assault, and murder?” I said.

  “Actually, I don’t think she’s guilty of anything yet, but I do think I’m not ready to stop considering that she might be guilty. A person of interest. And maybe now I don’t think she’s a person of interest regarding all those things, but I can’t go into detail.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry, but Sam would have my hide if I told any of his secrets, and I’ve got my own secrets to keep. Remember, I’ve been as up front as I feel I’m able to be. I don’t want to jeopardize anyone’s case. Honestly, I don’t want to jeopardize your cousin’s legal standing either.”

  “You just made me more curious than I already was.”

  Harry laughed. “I’m sure.”

  We walked a little farther, a little closer to the setting sun and the orange-lined sky, when he said, “But I can tell you that Sam is a great police officer. You need to have faith that he’ll make sure your cousin will be treated fairly.”

  “I have faith. In him. I really wish I had as much faith in Peyton. Harry, I’ve tried to find something that might help her, might prove her innocent of any of the charges, but I haven’t had much luck. I hope she hasn’t done the things she’s been accused of doing.”

  “Me, too.”

  I looked at Harry. It seemed he was being genuine.

  “Harry, do you know how closely Sam has looked at other potential suspects? Other potential killers?”

  “He’s looked pretty thoroughly as far as I can tell.”

  “What about the potato vendor from Bailey’s? Jeff? Do you know if he’s looked at him?”

  “I think so. There was a note in Robert Ship’s planner that he was going to meet Jeff at the bank early that morning. Jeff claims that there was no early morning meeting scheduled, and he has a solid alibi as to where he was the night before until midmorning, but I don’t feel at liberty to tell you the young woman’s name who offered the alibi.”

  “Right. But there was more to what was going on between Jeff and Mr. Ship. It was a strange misplaced power struggle. Does Sam know all the details?”

  “I don’t know. Do you want me to plant seeds with Sam? Do you think Jeff is guilty of murder? Do you have any solid evidence?”

  “Not really. Maybe I just really want Peyton to be innocent.” I smiled.

  Harry squinted and smiled back at me. “Of course you do. Perhaps I can ask questions without planting seeds, if you’d like.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” I said. I wished I’d hid the defeat in my voice but it was too late now.

  Harry and I followed Hobbit’s lead. Harry was interested in hearing about the process of making jams and jellies, from seed to jar. It was an easy topic of conversation for me to fall into. I didn’t give him the long version, but I didn’t give him the quick and dirty version, either. If I read him correctly, he was truly interested. He was captivated when I explained how I always started my pumpkin plants indoors, and how there were many summer nights when I’d play matchmaker with paint brushes, pollinating the female pumpkin plants with a little dust from the male plants. He thought my plastic molds that turned a pumpkin into the disembodied shape of a head made for much better fare than typical carved jack-o’-lanterns.

  He had no idea that there were specific pumpkins used in baking. Sugar pumpkins were smaller than your jack-o’-lantern pumpkins, their insides easier and a touch sweeter for making pumpkin pies.

  I gave him a complete tour of my kitchen. He was most intrigued by the sanitizing feature on my dishwasher.

  Talking so much about me had been a welcome break from thinking about murder and Peyton’s problems.

  It was when we were in my kitchen and I pulled out the shoebox my uncle had stored his recipes in that the real world troubles came back to me and I had another question for Harry.

  “The handwritten recipe that Mr. Ship had in his hand—was that really from the restaurant? I mean, it wasn’t a copy or something?”

  “No, not a copy. The real thing.”

  “How? I mean . . . well, how?”

  “It was taken from the back office of the restaurant. It’s been missing since Peyton left her job there. Shortly before it went missing, someone reported seeing her leave the office. Alone. And behaving suspiciously. The only other way the recipe card could have feasibly made it from Arizona to South Carolina was if I brought it along. I didn’t, Becca. I know your cousin says I might be framing her; I’m not.”

  I sighed as I put the lid back onto the shoebox. “I didn’t ever think you were, Harry. I wish you were. I wish someone was, but I’m beginning to accept that that’s not what’s happening.”

  “I’ll be taking the recipe card back to Arizona with me when Sam’s done with it, but the good news is . . .”

  Harry lifted his hat from his head, slicked back his hair (it didn’t need to be slicked back), and then put the hat back on. I’d never seen him do such a thing before.

  “What, Harry? What’s the good news?”

  “I probably shouldn’t have gone there,” he said.

  “But you did! You can’t just leave it now. You have to tell me what the good news is.”

  “Dangit, Sam’s not going to be happy with me, but that would be pretty unfair to leave you hanging.”

  “Yes, it would.”

  “The good news is that of the number of fingerprints on the card, so far none of the prints belong to Peyton. None are Betsy’s, either, but she wasn’t a real consideration, though it was good to rule her out because of the glove you found. Well, that’s what I know since I last talked to Sam.”

  “That is good news. How many different prints are there?”

  “Not as many as you might think, but I’m not going to give you a precise answer on that one.”

  “Okay, well, that’s good. The fewer the better to determine that Peyton’s and Betsy’s prints aren’t there, right?”

  “It’s certainly better than if they were there, Becca, but that’s about as positive as I can be right now.”

  I liked the optimism; I glommed on to it actually. It was good to feel a tiny swell of hope.

  We left the kitchen and Harry told me and Hobbit good-bye. He took off his cowboy hat before he scrunched into his rental car and drove away.

  For a long moment, I stood on my front porch with my hands on my hips as I looked out over my now dark property. The pumpkin leaves made pointy, spooky shadows with the bright moonlight; the faraway woods were a solid backdrop of trees. There was plenty to do; there was always plenty to do. I was okay on inventory, but it wouldn’t hurt to make more.

  I looked down at Hobbit, who sat next to me and surveyed the same things I surveyed.

  “You up for a ride?” I said to her.

  Of course she was.

  Twenty-two

  A summer weekday evening in downtown Monson was probably one of the quieter times and places in the entire universe.

  We were a small town, and though we had a little slice of nightlife going for us, weekday nights at the one downtown bar, The Painted Owl, were filled with mostly empty tables and vacant barstools. I didn’t even know the bartender’s name, but I’d seen him at the market a time or two.

  Hobbit and I had to pass the bar tonight to get to my destination, the police station, but it was only by chance that I looked inside through the front window.

  I was surprised to see Officer Vivienne Norton sitting on a stool; so surprised, in fact, that I stopped short, leaving Hobbit to travel a few steps forward before turning back to rejoin me.

  “Vivienne?” I said from my side of the window.

  She wasn’t wearing her uniform. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her out of her uniform. She wore simple mom jeans and a white T-shirt. Her hair was a little messy, and I’d never seen it other than hairspray still. Sam’s hair was also different when he wasn’t in his uniform. Was that a police o
fficer thing, something they taught in police officer school? Secure your hair when your gun is on your waist?

  I sidestepped back to the bar’s door and opened it, moving inside with Hobbit next to me.

  The bartender looked up from the typical bartender pose of cleaning a glass with a towel and said, “I’m sorry. No pets.”

  I looked around. The bartender, Vivienne, Hobbit, and I were the only ones in the place. “I just want to talk to her for a second.” I nodded toward Vivienne, who still hadn’t turned to notice me. “If Hobbit can just stay up front, I promise we’ll be out of here quickly and she won’t cause a problem.”

  The bartender was probably in his late fifties with a long-banged hairstyle that seemed too young for the beefy face and swollen eyes it topped. He shook his head twice but then said, “All right.”

  Vivienne still hadn’t turned around, so I approached slowly and placed my hand gently on her arm when I reached her.

  “Vivienne,” I said.

  She turned and seemed extra surprised to see me, to see anyone, as if she hadn’t even noticed that the bartender had just had a conversation with someone else as she sat there.

  “Becca, what are you doing here?” she said lucidly with no sign of slurred speech or unfocused eyes.

  “I was on my way to visit my cousin at the station. Do you think they’ll let me talk to her?” I said.

  “Of course,” Vivienne said. “She’s being treated like royalty.”

  I inspected her again, but I didn’t sense any bitterness or sarcasm in her words.

  I hoisted myself up to the stool next to hers. “You think she’s being treated too well?”

  “Of course she is—if she’s a killer especially.”

  Again, there wasn’t much emotion underlying the words so I just asked. “Make you mad?”