Of course, Allison handled him perfectly. She kept her voice calm but firm. “He hasn’t been arrested—please, let’s not be judge and jury, folks. Abner has been here a long time. He’s our friend, and until there’s proof otherwise, he’s as innocent as the rest of us.”
Goddard hesitated for a beat but then nodded and sat down.
Bo Stafford raised his hand. Bo was a mystery to me. He was a big wrestler-type guy who couldn’t be much older than about twenty, and he hadn’t worked at Bailey’s for very long. He grew and sold onions—white ones, red ones, little ones, and big ones. They were delicious, but his introverted personality hadn’t done much for his business.
“Bo?”
“I’d like to know more about Barry Drake’s relationship with Matt Simonsen. I’ve heard rumors.” Bo’s neck was thick, and when he spoke, he pulled his chin back, as though he wanted to make it even thicker.
“What do you mean, Bo?” Allison asked.
“Well, I’ve heard that Barry and Simonsen had a feud a number of years back about some land on the other side of Monson.”
“Bo, I’m sure that’s not relevant to the current issues. Many of us have worked in the business a long time. We’ve all had our moments. . . .”
“No, Allison, I’d like to answer.” Barry stood. His face was blazing, and I became concerned about his heart rate. I looked at Ian, who was looking up at Barry with his own concern.
“Barry.” Ian put his hand on Barry’s arm. “No one’s accusing you. You don’t have to . . .”
“Yes, I think I do, young man,” Barry said to Ian.
“I understand,” Ian said.
Ian’s easy tone made Barry blink. He was revving up for a fight, but Ian wasn’t biting.
“Yes, I knew Matt Simonsen,” he said to the silent crowd as about thirty pairs of wide, curious eyes, mine and Hobbit’s included, stared at him. Yesterday he’d told me that he couldn’t remember exactly where he met Matt Simonsen, but that he was “more curmudgeonly than me and Abner put together.” Had he lied about not knowing him well or not remembering exactly where he met him? “And he was not one of my favorite people. We did have a fight—a legal battle, to be exact—over some land. I won, he lost. He didn’t lose well, especially when it came to something as important as land. I didn’t kill the man. My issue with him occurred a long time ago—almost thirty years. I wasn’t happy to see him at Bailey’s, but I was willing to give it time to see if we could make it work.”
“Thank you, Barry,” Allison interrupted, her tone possibly as firm as I’d ever heard it.
The open-eyed wonder of the crowd stayed focused on Barry for another moment, but then everyone turned to look at my sister. I was sitting in just the right spot, and I was angry that Barry had lied to me, so my glance stayed on him longer than the others’. I hesitated just long enough in turning that I saw something else.
Carl Monroe, the tallest, skinniest, most soft-spoken man I’d ever met, sat at the back of the crowd. He leaned forward in his chair with his chin down to his chest—he wasn’t looking at anyone. Allison continued as I looked at Carl, wondering why he wasn’t looking up.
“Really, everyone, I want you all to feel safe to come to work. Bailey’s is still the greatest farmers’ market there is. I don’t know who killed Mr. Simonsen, but I’m confident that the police will find the murderer. In the meantime, we have absolutely no reason to suspect each other.” She paused. I knew her well enough to know that she wanted to say something like even Abner, but she kept it to herself. “Let’s look out for each other, and you have my cell phone number. I’ll be available at all times—call me immediately if you have any concerns. Now, does anyone have any further questions?”
Carl stood with the rest of the crowd, but he didn’t look at anyone. He kept his head down, thrust one of his hands into a pocket, and made a beeline for the exit.
I don’t know why his actions struck me as particularly odd, but they did. I stepped over Hobbit and around some people I didn’t take the time to acknowledge, and met Carl at the exit.
“Hey, Carl, how are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
My gesture surprised him. We’d always been friendly enough toward each other, but my greeting wasn’t normal.
“Becca.” He rubbed at his nose and then looked away from my eyes.
For the first time in my life I experienced the lightbulb effect. As I searched for something other than hey, you look guilty to say, an idea literally lit in my mind.
“Carl, you sell peaches, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said far too belligerently.
“So, I bet you ran into Matt Simonsen a time or two, huh?”
“Becca, I really have to go.” Carl looked at his watch and then disappeared through the slit opening of the tent.
I pulled the canvas back and watched him practically sprint down the aisle, his long legs giraffe-like. I debated chasing him, but I figured he could move faster than me and he wouldn’t talk any more right now anyway. I’d have to figure out another way to find out what he knew.
“You get to be my buddy. You’re one lucky girl,” Linda said as she came up behind me.
“Huh?”
“My buddy. The buddy list, remember?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Well, don’t get all mushy or anything,” she said with a slight jab at my side.
“Oh, sorry. Lots on my mind, you know.”
“Sure, I get it.” She glanced around the tent. “So, not to be insensitive or anything, but tell me about your night with Ian.”
“How did . . . ? I didn’t have a night with Ian. That makes it all sound so . . . wrong. We went to look for Abner, couldn’t find him, and were told by the police to leave the premises.”
“Okay.”
“We didn’t find Abner.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I said, attempting to stop the conversation.
“So, he didn’t make a pass at you at all? Ian, I mean.”
“What? No. And is ‘make a pass’ still a term that people use?”
“I don’t know. I’m as old as you—I’d take a pass by someone as cute as Ian any day of the week, though.”
I laughed. “You deflect plenty of passes.” Linda was gorgeous, but very picky when it came to dating.
“Okay, I’d take the right pass any day of the week.”
“Becca, don’t leave without seeing me first,” Allison called from the other side of the tent.
“You’re being summoned. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Linda said. “Bright and early. Don’t be late. Again.”
“I won’t.” I cringed. I’d really have to pay attention to the time now that someone was depending on me.
Hobbit and I hovered until everyone was done with Allison. I lost track of Ian and told myself to stop looking for him, anyway.
“Hey, Sis, you okay?” I said when she and I were alone.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“And what about Bo’s surprise?”
“Well, there have been rumors swirling everywhere. I like to put an end to as many as I can.” Allison sighed.
“Hang in there.”
“Such a horrible tragedy—I’m so sorry it happened, but I’ve got to find a way for the vendors to feel like it’s okay to move on, without sounding coldhearted.”
“You did a great job.”
Allison laughed lightly. “Thanks for coming in today. I really appreciate it.”
“Sure.”
“Oh—the reason I wanted you to stay.”
“Yes?”
“I’m going over to the Smithfield Market tomorrow—where Matt Simonsen used to work and his son, Jessop, still does.”
“Really? Why?”
“The market manager and I have scheduled a meeting to talk about a statewide market promotion. I know you’re supposed to work tomorrow, but I could use the company. Plus, we haven’t had nearly enough sister time lately.”
“Sure. Of course,”
I said. I’d have gone anyway, just to spend the day with Allison, but since Smithfield was where Matt Simonsen used to work maybe I could find out more about him.
“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven. Gotta run.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I said to my in-constant-motion sister.
Hobbit and I did a quick search for Carl, but not surprisingly, he was nowhere to be found. Ian was too busy with a couple of customers to interrupt, even after I stalled for a while. Since I was going with Allison, I asked Herb to buddy up with my buddy, Linda, the next day. He agreed, noting that Don would work with Jack by himself. Most vendors were packing up from the slow Wednesday, hoping that the upcoming weekend would bring back the normal crowd.
My head spun as Hobbit and I drove home. Abner had called me, but hadn’t told me much—I was ready if he called again, though. And not only had Abner had issues with Matt Simonsen, Barry had, too. And of them all, Carl had acted the strangest. What was that about?
I needed to make some notes.
Thoughts of organizing index cards were rudely interrupted as I pulled into my driveway. It was only about five o’clock and there was plenty of light, but my front porch faced west and when the sun was just low enough, the bright light could be blinding. I’d put up a canvas roll-up screen that I never remembered to roll up. Someone was on my front porch, behind that screen. They leaned against the house, but it was obvious there was someone there, just not obvious who it was. I stopped the truck and put it in Park just as Hobbit gave a gravelly growl.
“Hey, girl, it might be someone we know,” I said. I leaned out my window. “Hey, who’s there?”
The standing shadow disappeared as though the person went into a crouch. I decided that maybe my dog’s growl was on the mark. I didn’t want to have anything to do with someone who wasn’t planning on identifying themselves.
“Shit.” I threw the truck into Reverse, stepped on the gas, and screeched back up the driveway and onto the state highway.
Somehow, as I drove I found Officer Brion’s card in one of my pockets. I dialed my cell as I kept one eye on the rearview mirror.
Fortunately, he answered after only one ring. “Brion,” he said.
“Hey, yeah, it’s Becca Robins. There’s someone at my house—someone who tried to hide. Aw, hell.” I wasn’t sure how to sound coherent. Fortunately, the officer remained calm.
“Where are you?”
“Driving away from my house.”
“Meet me in the front of Bailey’s. I’ll send a car out to your place and we’ll go back together.”
“You got it.” And, for the second time in as many days, I almost reached the speed limit as I pushed my truck down the highway and prayed that all farming equipment was safely off the road.
Seven
“Show me again,” Officer Brion said as we stood on the porch. He was not in his uniform but dressed instead in jeans and an old shirt. He smelled of gasoline—he’d just finished mowing his lawn when I’d called, and he looked terribly human with a smudge of something on his cheek and his short hair free from its slicked-back stronghold.
“They were standing about here. I saw the shadow do this.” I did a crouch maneuver.
“No one in the house, sir.” Another police officer, in uniform, stepped out the front door. Her name was Vivienne Norton, and she had a soft voice but bigger biceps and wider shoulders than most men I knew. Her hair was bleached, and she wore her makeup thick and her uniform tight. She was an odd mix of feminine and masculine. I wondered if she carried a wallet or a bag. “Ma’am, it looks as if nothing was disturbed, but I’d like for you to take a look with me.”
“Sure.” I stood from the crouch and looked at Officer Brion. “Now?”
He nodded and then turned to scan my property as I went inside with the other officer. Officer Brion, or Sam, as he’d told me to call him, had reached Bailey’s in record time. I’d mostly calmed by the time I got there, so I was able to explain what I thought I’d seen—and by that time, I seriously wondered if I really had seen anything. I’d left the house so quickly.
I also wondered if he’d be irritated that I’d called him, but he wasn’t. He assured me that I’d done the right thing and we both drove back to my house, me following him in his old Mustang.
Officers Norton and Sanford met us. Sanford, a burly guy with a big mustache, was off looking through my barn as I followed the alert Officer Norton. She didn’t have her gun drawn, but she kept her hand on her belt as she led the way and seemed to look at everything.
“Ms. Robins, please look closely and let me know if something doesn’t look right. Anything. Even if you’re not completely sure.”
I looked everywhere. Nothing was out of place—well, nothing that hadn’t been out of place before. My dining table was covered in paperwork—bills, statements, junk mail. I’d planned on cleaning that up soon—I’d always planned on cleaning that up soon. Last week’s newspaper was still folded and wrapped in bright orange plastic, placed on the table next to the couch that I hadn’t spent much time on lately. My house was too large for just one person, and weeks could pass when I lived only in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and dining room. Mostly, I was in the barn.
Fortunately, both my kitchen and bathroom were spotless. I might not be tidy, but I was clean. Sadly, my bed wasn’t made, but that particular habit wasn’t going to change just because the police now knew about it.
“Nothing strange at all. Nope. Nuh-uh,” I muttered as we did the walk-through.
By the time we finished both the house and the barn, I was convinced that there was no one unwelcome on my property and maybe I’d imagined the whole thing.
I stood on the front porch with Officers Norton and Sanford as we waited for Officer Brion to reappear. His Mustang was still parked next to the police car, but no one knew where he’d gone. I was somewhat concerned about him, but the other officers assured me that he was fine, just checking in some hidden cranny that no one else had noticed.
“It’s what he’s the best at,” Officer Norton said, sharing a secret smile with Sanford.
“Yeah,” Sanford added, “if there’s a needle in any haystack, he’ll be the one to find it.”
“He’s the best,” Officer Norton repeated. “He’ll figure out the Bailey’s killer, we have no doubt.”
I cringed at the words she used. Bailey’s should never be associated with a murder. And yet, now it was—at least temporarily.
Officer Brion reappeared a moment later, carrying in his hands the one thing that would tell both him and me who had most likely been on my porch.
“Ms. Robins, did you notice these out by your strawberries?” He held up a bouquet of flowers—wildflowers, to be exact.
“No, this is the first time I’ve seen them.” My heart hollowed as I realized that it had been Abner on my porch, and I’d not only sped away from him in fear, but called the police on him, too.
“I think I checked everything pretty well, but why don’t the two of you look for further evidence out in Ms. Robins’ strawberries and pumpkins?” he said to the other officers. “Ms. Robins, let’s you and I sit down and get to the bottom of your relationship with Abner Justen.”
We sat in my kitchen and I poured him a tall, cold glass of iced tea. He was very thirsty and didn’t act as though he was going to light into me, so I relaxed. His tough police exterior seemed to be somewhere else, most likely with his uniform. He wasn’t brusque as he asked this round of repeat questions.
“You didn’t see the person, though?”
“No, just the shadow.”
“So it might not have been Abner.”
“No, but I know his arranging. He put that bouquet together. If it wasn’t him on the porch, it was someone who’d gotten the flowers from him,” I said.
“Why would Abner be at your house?”
“Well, like I told you, we’re very good friends.”
“But you still claim you didn’t know where he lived until last night?�
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“Yep.”
Officer Brion glanced at me over his iced tea. He was a nice-looking man in that way you’d never notice when he was in uniform. He had almost generic features: medium brown hair and light brown eyes, but once his hair got a little messy, he wasn’t so generic. He was probably in his early forties, in good shape but not as good as Officer Norton, and he didn’t smile easily.
“I confirmed that Mr. Justen is secretive about the location of his property, but why do you suppose he told Mr. Cartwright the address so easily?”
“He must have really wanted one of Ian’s pieces of art. They’re pretty wonderful,” I said, but I doubted that Sam had any use for yard artwork. Besides, we’d been down this road before.
“But Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Justen hadn’t been acquainted before the yard art transaction?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Hmm. He must have really liked that art.”
“Uh-huh.” I sensed that he was trying to get me to say something specific, but I had no idea what it was—I worked much better in the worlds of obvious and blatant.
Okay, it was odd that Abner gave Ian his address so easily. Very odd. Had they known each other? I was under the impression that they hadn’t, but I didn’t know for sure. I hoped my face didn’t show my sudden doubt.
“What else can you tell me about Mr. Justen? We can’t find record of him ever being married. Do you know anything about his personal life?”
I sighed. “No, nothing. As well as I knew him, I really don’t think I knew him at all, Officer . . . Sam. I’m trying not to be angry about that because everyone has a right to their privacy, but I at least tell my friends where I live and give them my phone number. Anyway, during our excursion last night, I did see the pictures. Do you know who the blonde was?”
“No, I was hoping you might.”
“No clue.”
Sam sipped at his tea and looked in the direction of the dining room. I decided to fess up.
Farm Fresh Murder Page 6
