“Maybe I can help with that.”
“Tell me.”
“Carl wasn’t there Tuesday morning, but Barry and Ian were. I didn’t see Barry until we were all together, but I saw Ian unloading a piece of his art.”
“This was all during the time the murder was taking place?” I asked.
“Presumably. Officer Brion said the murder took place very early—maybe before 6:00 A.M. Barry’s an old-timer; he’s always there early. And though Ian might not have been in the business for long, when he’s there, he has to be there early to set up his stuff. I was there at six fifteen and saw both of them. Neither acted strangely at all.”
“But there are fifteen minutes of unknown. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes.”
“I suppose.”
“Anyway, I need to ask more questions.”
“Okay, I can still help.”
“Awesome. How?”
“The Fall Equinox Dinner will be a perfect opportunity to talk to almost everyone. No one likes to miss it. Everyone will be in a good mood, so they might not care if you start nosing around. I had my doubts about still having the dinner, but I’m glad we’re doing it. It’ll be good for everyone. How about that?”
“I think my sister is a master of human behavior. That’s a great idea.”
“I have another one.” She smiled.
“Okay. You’re on a roll.”
“I think you should bring Officer Brion as a date.”
“What?”
“Yeah, tell him to wear real clothes so he isn’t so recognizable. He could be there to observe and make sure you don’t get yourself in trouble. He might get some good clues, too.”
“I think you’ve fallen off that ‘roll’ I just put you on. Having the police there would just scare people into not talking—he’d be recognized. And—here’s my biggest concern—as my date?”
“Yes, just a pretend date. He’s not married, I know that. And I get what you’re saying, but the point here is to try to solve a murder. I think having him there is more than worth the risk.”
“How do you know he’s not married?”
“I’m not sure,” she said too innocently. “What? Do you think Ian will mind?”
I hesitated a beat too long. “No, not at all.”
“Uh-oh, something happened at his apartment, something you didn’t tell me. Spill it.”
“Nothing really happened. Just a very innocent moment, that’s all.”
“You two kissed, didn’t you?”
“Like we were in junior high and had never done such a thing before.”
“That’s adorable.”
“He’s ten years younger than me, Allison. Actually, that might have been his first kiss. Ever.”
Allison laughed. “I highly doubt it. And his soul is so much older than yours that the body age doesn’t matter in the least. And, more important, his soul is kind.”
Our parents’ influence was showing again. Soul age versus body age was a recurring discussion in our home. And kind old souls were always considered the biggest winners.
“Unless he murdered Matt Simonsen,” I said.
That stunned her silent for only a brief instant. “I can’t believe that’s what happened,” she finally said.
“I’m sure of this—neither you nor I want to believe that, but we still don’t know.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah, hmm.”
“Well, just let Ian know it’s a fake date with Officer Brion. He’ll understand.”
“But if, by chance, the police suspect Ian even a little, I can’t tell him that I’m going on a date, fake or not, with the investigating officer.”
“I believe this is what we call a sticky wicket.”
“I believe this is what I call ‘I’m screwed.’”
Allison laughed again. “It’s a good idea, though. Call Officer Brion if you think it’s the right thing to do. I could just invite him, but people might get freaked to see a cop there if he isn’t with . . . well, with you. People like you and always find your love life intriguing. It’d be a good diversion measure.”
“Nice. Let me think about it.” I sighed. “Right down there is Abner’s.” I pointed at the first back road Ian had taken me onto. I was glad we were getting closer to Carl’s. I’d never been comfortable talking about my personal life. There’d been too much drama, and I was to blame for lots of it. Pointing out my faults was much less fun than investigating a murder.
“I’d like to see Abner’s greenhouse, but we’ll save that for another day. Or night,” Allison said.
“Sure. So if I understand Carl’s address, there’ll be a road ahead about half a mile. It should be more obvious than Abner’s—a road sign and everything.”
“What’s the street name?”
“Ridge Way.”
We both sat forward and peered ahead. Hobbit stuck her neck out, too. The headlights were helpful, but the moon was so bright that we probably could have turned them off and driven without being seen. But there was nothing I could do about the engine noise from my old truck, so turning off the lights would have probably drawn more attention.
“There. There it is,” Allison said.
I cranked the steering wheel and turned down a road that was better traveled than the one leading to Abner’s farm. This one was paved, though it was only a two-lane state road; dead weeds and cracked pavement advertised that it wasn’t a high priority on the road repair lists.
“How far?” Allison asked.
“Shouldn’t be much farther. I think it’ll be on the left.”
The moonlight played over empty fields for a short time. Soon, the light illuminated the manicured rows of Carl’s peach orchard. If I had any artistic ability, I’d have wanted to paint or draw the scene. The orchard was set in a bowl of land, so as we drove down the road, we saw only the tops of the seemingly perfect trees; it was like we were seeing an ocean of leaves.
“He has a beautiful place,” Allison said.
“And look at that house,” I said.
The house was huge—a mansion that reminded me of the Munsters’ place, only nicer and not scary at all. Commanding and beautiful, but not creepy. It sat close to the road at the end of the orchard.
“Carl must do very well,” Allison noted.
When we were still a good hundred feet or so from the house, I stopped the truck and pulled to the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Allison asked.
“There are lights on in the front of the house, and it’s so close to the road, Carl might see us if we drive by. I’m going to get out and walk.”
“What? I thought you just wanted to see where he lived.”
“I want to get a look inside where he lives.”
“Why?”
“I want to see what television shows he watches at night,” I said as Allison rolled her eyes. “Actually, I don’t really know why, but something tells me I should.”
“Not a good idea, Becca. I’d recommend just knocking and talking to him.”
“Hmm. No. Stay here with Hobbit. I’ll be right back.”
“Be . . .” was the last thing I heard before I got out of the truck and scampered into Carl’s lovely bowl of a peach orchard.
Fourteen
“Honestly,” Allison said in my ear. She must have gotten out of the truck right after I did. “I don’t understand the need to do this.”
“Where’s Hobbit?” I asked as we wove our way through the short peach trees.
“Still in the truck, like a good girl. I grabbed the keys and locked the doors. She’ll be fine for a few minutes. But why are we doing this?”
“Carl evaded my questions and then ran away from me. There’s something up with him. If he saw it was me knocking, he probably wouldn’t answer the door. I just want to peek in. I’m not going to linger in a voyeuristic state or anything.”
“I could knock.”
Maybe, but I didn’t want to take the chance. The word “knock”
made me remember the earlier visitor to her office.
“I don’t think that would work, either. Hey, did Carl come visit you today?”
“No, I haven’t seen him at all. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
I pulled on her arm and we crouched in the middle of the orchard, the smells of fresh night air and cool earth all around. My heartbeat whooshed in my ears, and I knew my eyes were wide with excitement. This new life of crime I’d been dabbling in was both scary and exhilarating at the same time. More scary than exhilarating, but still . . .
“Why are we crouching? We’re in a bowl. I don’t think anyone can see us. Come on, I’d like to get home before midnight.” Allison pulled me up by my arm.
We continued through the trees. I’d worked the land enough to spend at least a moment wondering how Carl was able to make his orchard produce such lovely fruit. Did the trees sitting in the bowl make for good irrigation or perfect sunlight? Or was he like me, lucky in what he produced though he was never quite sure how he did it?
At the edge of the trees and up the side of the bowl was Carl’s mansion.
“They’re ooky and they’re spooky,” I sang quietly.
“It does remind me of that, too, except that it’s very well taken care of—no cobwebs or monsters.”
“Look, there’s someone in the front room.”
From the low angle, it wasn’t possible to see any exact features of the person in the room, but a head bobbed up and down as someone paced.
“We’ve got to get up higher.” Allison took a step up the slope.
“Al, we’re too close to the house. Carl could see us if he looks out the window at just the right moment, and I don’t want him to see us coming from the orchard. I especially don’t want him to see you.” I suddenly realized that what my sister was doing could put her job in jeopardy. She was the manager of Bailey’s and was always the perfect picture of integrity. Any sort of funny business on her part, particularly with someone who worked at the market, could get her fired.
She looked at me, the bright moonlight shining off her dark eyes. As twins sometimes do, we shared my thought in silent communication.
“Right. You’re right. Well, then, you climb up there and have a peek. Just keep low.”
“I have a better idea. Look. These trees aren’t peach trees.” I pointed to a line of taller, stronger trees bordering the orchard but still sitting in the bowl. “Boost me up into one. The leaves will hide me.”
She had a million reasons why my plan was a bad idea, but she had the chance to vocalize only a couple of them before I supported myself against a trunk and lifted my foot in expectation. Pavlov’s reaction set in, and she cupped her hands to give me the perfect step. A couple of seconds later I’d made my way up to a branch.
“You okay?” Allison whispered. She really wasn’t that far away, but the drop to the ground was breathtaking.
“Fine.”
“Can you see anything?”
“Give me a minute.” I could almost see something. If I could just get a bit closer, I thought I’d be able to see all of Carl’s front room. I was on top of the branch, on my stomach. I lifted my behind in the air and inchwormed my way about a foot. The branch wavered and wobbled, and then drooped almost too much for comfort. But I could see perfectly.
The bobbing head did indeed belong to Carl, and he was most definitely pacing. The room was filled with large, dark wood bookcases and lots of furniture that looked as though it had been made for reading comfort. There was richness to the whole space that confirmed that Carl did very well selling peaches, or else he had money from somewhere else.
I couldn’t see the floor of the room, but Carl must have been wearing a path into whatever covered it. His lips were moving, so he was either talking to himself or there was someone with him.
“See anything?” Allison whispered again.
“Yep. Carl,” I answered. The limb I was stretched out upon gave another wobble as I spoke. I sucked in my breath and held tight with my hands and knees.
“What’s he doing?”
I dared to speak again. “Give me a minute, Al. I can’t talk and hold on at the same time.”
“Okay.”
Carl looked purposefully at something just to the right of my field of vision. He stopped pacing and crossed his arms in front of his chest. As he spoke, his line of vision didn’t falter. He was talking directly to someone. And, if I could only go another foot or so, I’d see who it was.
Slowly this time, I lifted my behind again, my knees digging into the branch. I pushed myself forward, my hands scraping on the rough bark. The limb was not happy I was moving again. This time it not only wobbled, it creaked with displeasure.
“Becca?” Allison said, this time not whispering. “What’re you doing?”
I ignored her as I focused on the last few inches I needed to traverse. The limb wasn’t going to hold for long, so I knew I’d have to get a quick look and then move backward or prepare myself for a body-bruising fall.
“Becca?”
The last inch wasn’t quite all the way there, but I thought that if I stretched my neck, I could accomplish my mission. I stretched and turned and stretched a little more. It was to no avail; I still couldn’t see who Carl was talking to.
Then, with a sudden start, Carl threw his arms into the air and turned. I got lucky because the person he was talking to stood and followed him. And though he was significantly shorter than Carl, I was up high enough that I could see exactly who it was.
Abner held his hands together in a plea as he followed Carl. His face was strained with his words, and I could only guess that he was begging for something.
The limb creaked and groaned in what I now thought was a pre-snap warning.
“Becca, come down now!”
I’d seen what I needed to see. I wanted to move my body backward, but the tree wasn’t having any of that. The branch was about to go. I realized that if I fell from this angle, I’d hurt myself, but if I managed to get my barely more-than-five-feet-tall body over the side of the limb and held on to it like the bars on an elementary school playground, I’d probably be okay. Somehow, I did it. I swung myself over and swooped backward and held on to the limb, shockingly not scratching my hands too badly. I swung once for dramatic effect and then landed on my feet. The tree was still intact. So was I.
“That was interesting,” Allison said.
“I saw Carl talking to someone.”
“Who?”
“I’ll tell you in the truck.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” Allison turned and led the way out of the orchard.
I took one more look around. If I hadn’t taken that extra moment, I would have definitely missed something I thought might be important.
To the side of the house, but outside the bowl, there was a lift in the land; a hill. On top of that otherwise bland hill of grass were three trees, evenly spaced and lonely in their moonlit dismissal from the crowd in the orchard. It took only a second to realize that I was seeing the three trees in one of the pictures at Abner’s house.
“Becca!” Allison whisper-yelled from the edge of the orchard. “Let’s go.”
Allison probably would have called the police if I went to investigate them, so I tucked the idea to the back of my mind and hurried to my sister.
Fifteen
“Abner? Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent sure, Allison.” We were still in the truck, parked on the side of the road. We’d locked the doors but were exposed in the bright moonlight. I resisted the urge to fire up the engine and screech the tires in a speedy escape. Something in my gut made me want to wait and see if someone would come outside. Another part of me wanted to march up to Carl’s front door and demand that he and Abner tell me what was going on. These two feuding choices froze my fingers around the key and my right foot poised above the accelerator.
“Becca, we should call Officer Brion,” Allison said. “It’s our responsibility
to do as much.”
I reached over and touched her arm.
“Yes, we probably should. But, Allison . . .”
“I know, Abner’s your friend. He’s a friend to all of us, Becca, but he’s either gotten himself into something awful or is being thrown into something awful. Either way, murder is involved, and that makes it dangerous. Plain and simple—dangerous. You aren’t—we aren’t—qualified to solve a murder. That’s what the police do.” Her voice was firm, but she still hadn’t reached for her phone. When I’d seen Abner in Carl’s house, I’d decided that I wasn’t going to let Officer Brion know about my meeting with Abner the next day. Whatever Abner had to say, he was only going to say it to me, I knew that. If he was the murderer, I was fairly certain he wouldn’t kill me. If he wasn’t the murderer, I’d be more willing to listen to his story than the police ever would. I had to talk Allison out of calling them.
“How about this, Al? How about I ask Officer Brion to the dinner, we see what shakes out from that, and then we play on the up-and-up with the police? If we get Abner arrested before the dinner, we might miss out on something important. If he killed Matt, it was because of something specific. He’s not going to kill anyone else.”
“Do you think Carl’s in danger?”
I looked toward the now-spooky house that glowed in the spooky moonlight.
“No, Allison, I really don’t. Carl seemed agitated and Abner looked like he was pleading, but I don’t think there’s any danger there. I don’t.” I didn’t. If I had, that would have been enough for me to call the police and officially hand over my unofficial part of the investigation. As it was, I still thought I stood a good chance of getting at the truth.
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“You’ll call Officer Brion and ask him to come to the dinner? If it would make things uncomfortable for you and Ian . . .”
“It won’t. It’ll be fine. I’ll call.”
Farm Fresh Murder Page 12
