“No, not really. I know she’ll be punished if she’s found guilty.” Vivienne took a swig from the bottle of beer in front of her. There was also a glass there, but it was empty and clean.
“You drowning your sorrows for some reason?” I said.
Vivienne set the bottle down, swallowed, and looked at me. “It’s a beer. One beer. Not drowning my sorrows. I have no sorrows. Not really. I just wanted a beer.”
I looked at the bartender, who tried to hide the look of surprise he directed toward her, but he wasn’t quick enough.
“Come here often?” I said with a smile as I nudged her shoulder gently with my shoulder.
A smile pulled at her lips, and at the bartender’s, too, which made me smile along with them.
“Becca, can I do something for you?” she said.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m surprised to see you so human is all.”
“Police officers are people, too.”
“Not really. No,” I said. “Sometimes they’re almost people, but when they’re working, they’re Super-People. They have to be. You’re currently not a Super-Person like I’ve seen you be plenty of times. You’re just a regular old person who wanted a beer.”
She glanced at me and then looked back at the beer bottle she held between her hands. The smile was gone, replaced by total seriousness.
“I wasn’t so super earlier today.”
“Uh-oh, did you get in trouble for something?” I said.
“No, but that’s not how it should be. I should have gotten in trouble. Sam let it alone.”
“I don’t understand, Vivienne. That sounds like a good thing.”
“No, it wasn’t and I’m trying to figure out a way to talk to him about it.”
“Just talk to him. He’s easy to talk to.”
“Yes, but . . .”
We were both silent a moment. I noticed that the bartender was listening closely even though he was pretending not to. I caught his eyes with mine and lifted my eyebrows. He got the hint and moved down to the other end of the bar.
“Vivienne, I’m happy to guide you in the ways of talking to Sam if you want, but I have to be honest, I’m mostly just curious about what happened. If you want to talk about it, I’d love to listen. If you don’t want my input, just say so.”
She looked at me and then back at the bottle again. She started peeling the front label.
“Your cousin. When we got you two out of her truck. I was so scared, Becca. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”
I put my hand on her arm. “No one got hurt, Vivienne.”
“I know, but I . . . I got scared and I let my emotions get the best of me. I was too rough with her.”
“Oh. Well, she wasn’t hurt by your actions, was she?” I’d all but forgotten about Vivienne throwing Peyton down to the ground.
“No, she’s fine, but that’s not the point.”
“Okay.”
“I should not have behaved that way. Sam should have been angry at me for doing what I did. But he wasn’t, and I can’t decide if he wasn’t because you were involved or if he just wants to let it go.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” I said.
Her head turned and she looked at me again. “All right. Tell me.”
“You’ll hear about it, and he won’t be pleased.”
“Right. So you’re going to talk to him and tell him to get mad at me.”
“Nope.” I held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor, I won’t, but I promise you, you’ll hear about it when the case is over. He processes everything, ev-ery-thing, and if he thought getting mad at you would help solve the murder, he would have gotten good and mad. But he knows a few things. Peyton’s not hurt, and she could be guilty of murder, though I sincerely hope not. Also, you’re a good cop and you will beat yourself up much more than he ever would. He’s giving you the time to do that. And here you are.” I smiled.
“But . . .” Vivienne’s eyebrows came together. “I . . .” Finally, her face relaxed and she laughed. “You’re right, Becca. Here I am. How did I not figure that out?”
“Our”—I cleared my throat, hinting at a deeper meaning—“relationship gives me insight into the man that it would be difficult to have otherwise.”
Vivienne laughed again. “I’ll be.”
“Right.”
“You know, the two of you are a great couple,” Vivienne said. “I saw it the first time I saw you together. I believe Sam was questioning you regarding another murder.”
“I probably saw it, too, but it took a little longer for me to recognize it.”
“Ian’s great, too, Becca. You’ve been lucky in love.”
“I was married twice before, Vivienne. I didn’t make good matches with either of them. Maybe I’m getting back some good karma after putting up with some of the things they put me through.”
“That happens.”
She took a swig of her beer, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it as much anymore.
“Need a ride home?” I said.
“It’s one beer, Becca, and I’ve only had a couple drinks from it. If it would make you feel better, I’ll stop now.”
I shrugged. “Just be safe, Vivienne. You’re too good a cop and friend to lose.”
Vivienne shook her head slowly. “I really hope she’s not guilty.”
“Me, too,” I said as I scooted off the stool. “I’m going to go see her now. Maybe I can get some answers.”
“Do you really think you can?”
“No, but when has that ever stopped me?”
“Good point.”
Hobbit had been doing as I promised the bartender she would do, and was relaxing by the front of the bar. She stood and joined me as we left. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in the Painted Owl, but it might have been to pick up one of my ex-husbands who’d had too much to drink. I was grateful that part of my life was over. I left Vivienne there with her mostly undrunk beer and a silent but observant bartender. Maybe Sam and I would have to go there sometime together on a date night.
I knew he was right. I knew we needed the . . . well, we needed not to be in the same house while my cousin was under police suspicion. It made sense, but at that moment and even though I knew he wasn’t far away, I really missed him. If he wasn’t at work (which I hoped he wasn’t because I was just about to go to the police station and I didn’t want to force us both into an uncomfortable situation), then he was probably at his house, a mere few minutes’ drive away.
Wow.
How was this possible? How could I miss him that much already?
“Uh-oh,” I said aloud. Hobbit looked up at me. “I think I’m in trouble.”
Hobbit smiled and nudged my knee with her nose before she picked up speed and trotted up the stairs in front of the brick building. She knew exactly where we were. If Sam wasn’t inside, Hobbit would be disappointed. Come to think of it, and to heck with uncomfortable situations, so would I.
Twenty-three
Sam wasn’t there. Hobbit didn’t hide her displeasure, but she got over it when Jimmy, the night shift desk officer, rubbed her ears and gave her a bite from his ham sandwich.
“Hey, Jimmy, my cousin’s back there. Any chance Hobbit and I can go talk to her?” I nodded toward the door that led to a hallway and back to the jail’s holding cells.
“Hang on,” Jimmy said as he rummaged around his desk. “Where did I put that? Oh, here it is.” He picked up a small piece paper and looked at it. “Sam told me to say to you when you stopped by—yes, you may go see Peyton but you aren’t allowed to give her any food or beverages. He wants you to know that he’s not starving her. He’s feeding her, but it’s policy that no outside food or drink comes in unless he approves it.” Jimmy put down the paper.
“Of course he knew I would be coming in.”
“Of course.” Jimmy smiled. “Go on back.”
Happy from the treat, Hobbit trotted contentedly beside me as we went through the doors and down the hallway.
She didn’t know Peyton well, but since I seemed in a good, albeit curious, mood to see my cousin, Hobbit was also game to see what would happen next.
I pushed open the door to the room with the holding cells and peered in. I didn’t want to wake Peyton up if she was resting. She wasn’t. From the doorway I could only see her bent legs, as if she was lying down. Once knee was crossed over the other and her sock-clad foot bounced to a beat I couldn’t hear.
“Peyton?” I said as Hobbit and I entered, but I got no response. “Peyton?”
I approached slowly, but Hobbit didn’t see such a need. She hurried to the cell and inspected the girl inside.
Peyton looked over and jumped at the dog face that suddenly appeared. Then she smiled, sat up, and pulled some earbuds out of her ears.
“Hey, girl,” she said as she reached her fingers through the cell and scratched the side of Hobbit’s face. “Becca, thanks for coming to visit, and for bringing Hobbit.” She pulled her hand back, and her smile disappeared. “Listen, I’m sorry about what I did. That was so stupid. I was scared. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt.”
“I’m fine, Peyton. Yes, it was stupid, but we’re okay.” I grabbed a folding chair that was leaning up against the wall and set it next to Hobbit.
“I’m so glad,” Peyton said.
I looked around the cell. I would have bet that Peyton was the first prisoner in the history of the Monson jail cells who had been allowed to have an iPod.
My mom had been detained briefly a year or so earlier and she’d been pretty well treated then, too. That was before Sam and I had started dating, but I remember thinking he’d been kind to get her some comfortable bedding and good food.
“Peyton, we need to talk,” I said. “Heart to heart. Cousin to cousin if you want to look at it that way.”
“Okay,” she said, but she shifted on the cot and looked around the room.
“It’s just us, I promise. Sam once told me there are no listening devices in here and I’m not going to tell anyone anything bad about you. You’re family, Peyton.”
I wasn’t completely lying. Sam hadn’t told me there were no listening devices, but I was fairly certain there weren’t. And I probably wouldn’t tell anyone that Peyton confessed crimes to me, if, in fact, that was what she ended up doing. But I might. It depended on many things, and I wasn’t even really sure what those things were.
But I needed to know. I needed to understand what was going on. She’d actually thought that we could make a getaway in her food truck? That was one of the most illogical ideas I’d heard, and I’d come up with plenty of my own illogical ideas over the years.
Peyton looked at me a long moment, her big brown eyes wide and still glimmering with fear.
“I trust you, Becca.”
“Good. Now, tell me whatever you’ve done. Tell me everything. If I can’t figure something out, you know Allison can. We’ll fix this somehow, Peyton.” I sat back on the chair, stuck my legs out, crossed my ankles, and folded my hands on my lap. Surely, it would be this easy.
She blinked and then shook her head slowly. She looked away from me, but I could still see those pretty brown eyes as they filled with tears.
“Peyton?” I said.
Hobbit sat down and whined at the pretty girl in the cell who was about to cry.
Finally, Peyton looked back up at me. “I know it’s hard to believe, Becca. It’s even become hard for me to believe, especially with that recipe they found on Mr. Ship. But I haven’t done one thing wrong. I never stole that recipe. I never took any money. I wouldn’t have hurt my manager, and I could never have killed anyone. Never! I made my own recipe based upon what I thought was in the restaurant’s version, but I didn’t steal anything. I made it on my own. Take that recipe that was on Mr. Ship, make it, and then taste mine. You’ll see they’re different—okay, similar but different. I am one hundred percent innocent.”
“Then someone is sure doing a good job of making you look guilty, of more than one thing. Honestly, Peyton, I don’t think you could have ever killed anyone. Ever. And I’m on your side, but did you maybe do something that led to all of this? Something small that has snowballed?”
Peyton shook her head again. “I worked at that restaurant, Becca. I left and then started my food truck. The accusations started right before I left, but I didn’t leave because of them. I’d been planning on leaving. I’d wanted a food truck for a long time. It just so happened that I left right after the manager was accosted, but I didn’t even know about it until later, until that police officer started asking me a bunch of questions. He showed that video he has on TV, but that’s not me. Maybe it looked like I was leaving because I’d done something wrong, but that wasn’t it. I just wanted my own food truck. It’s that simple.”
“How did you come up with the money for the truck?”
“I saved my tips! I’m not kidding. You should see the place where I live in Arizona. It’s a dump, but cheap. I scrimped and saved everything I could.”
“How come you didn’t have a bank account?” I said.
Peyton looked at me with surprise. “I saved my tips—cash. I saved everything in a coffee tin, just like they do in old movies. I paid cash for the truck. I had to pay cash to my suppliers at first because that’s how they operate. They don’t give new restaurant owners credit of any kind. Okay, so maybe they would have preferred checks, but they didn’t make too big a fuss about the cash. Money’s still money. They were still accepting my money when I left.”
“You set up a business license?”
“Of course. It’s an Arizona license. It’s valid and current. They took cash, too.”
“Okay, so you didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe you made someone at the restaurant angry. Is that possible?”
“I can’t think of anyone I made angry. I wasn’t a perfect cook, but I got better as time went on. Maybe some people were angry about the accusations, but not everyone. I had people on my side, too, even if it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”
“How in the world could that recipe have gotten into Mr. Ship’s possession?”
Peyton took a deep breath and then let it out. “The options for that answer are limited, Becca. It was either me, or someone else from the restaurant. There are just no other choices.”
“No one else from the restaurant is here, right?” I said.
“No,” she said with a shrug. “And . . . well, and the only other person who is from Arizona, as far as I know, is that police officer.”
She seemed to shrink when she said the words. She must have known by now that Harry and I knew each other. She might not have understood just how much I trusted and cared for him based upon our previous time spent together in Arizona. But I did. I cared for him and trusted him completely. I’d just told him as much this evening.
But maybe that was a mistake.
Really, how well did I know him?
Pretty well, actually. I knew him to be a lawman who was a good man to boot.
But still.
He was the only other person who could have potentially brought the recipe to town.
Wasn’t he?
Another thought dinged in my mind, but I didn’t want to vocalize it and give Peyton a glimmer of false hope.
“I’ll talk to Harry some more,” I said, though I had no idea what else there was for Harry and me to discuss regarding the matters at hand.
“Becca, have Sam talk to Harry,” she said, her voice almost too even, as if she was trying hard to keep it that way.
“All right,” I said. Surely those conversations had been had.
“Anything else you can give me, Peyton? Anything?” I said.
“I wish there was, Becca. This whole thing is awful. I’d like it to just go away.”
“Okay.” I inspected her through the bars. “Then tell me something.”
“Anything.”
“If you used the money to pay for the truck, why do you still claim to have a bunch of cash? The cash you were goi
ng to use to set up an account with Mr. Manner.”
“Same answer, Becca, except you can add my sales. Saved tips, lived cheap, made money selling hot dogs. My truck is popular in Arizona. My food costs are low. I’m my only labor and I don’t pay myself much. I realize my methods are unusual but I couldn’t see any other way to make my dream come true. No other way.”
I nodded. “What were you digging up behind your truck the other day? You know, in that small plot of land. What did you dig up?”
Peyton blinked and then seemed to shrink some more, but she tried to recover. I’d managed to truly surprise her. I was pretty impressed with myself, though when she responded, I wasn’t sure how to follow up my crack questioning technique with an equally successful way to get a real answer out of her.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, blandly but with an undercurrent of defiance.
“I saw you,” I said. It was the wrong thing to say. It was as if I’d just challenged her to a dual. Peyton didn’t shy away from such challenges. An image of her as a little girl with big curls and clenched fists by her side determined not to back down from anything popped into my mind.
“Wasn’t me,” she said.
Determined though she might have been, she wasn’t very good at lying.
“Okay,” I said. “Whatever you say. But, Peyton, perhaps there’s a chance you’re forgetting that it really was you, and maybe the truth would help clear you from the other trouble you’re in. Maybe you’ll remember doing what I saw you do, and maybe you’ll want to tell me why. I can help, Peyton. You’re family. I can help.”
“I wish I could tell you something that would help.” She looked at me with hard eyes. “But I can’t.”
The moment was up for interpretation, but nothing pinged for me.
“Peyton,” I said one more time.
“Thanks for stopping by, Becca. Be sure to give that cop from Arizona my best.”
She turned and lay back down on the cot. She plugged the earbuds into place and moved her ankle up to her knee. She started keeping beat with her foot again.
I’d been dismissed. Rudely so, but more important than the fact that Peyton had been rude was that she’d been suddenly rude, and unhelpful. She’d gone from happy to see me to shut down and silent when I mentioned the suspicious behavior I’d witnessed.
06 Bushel Full of Murder Page 19
