Farm Fresh Murder

by Paige Shelton

  “Miss, you okay?” someone said as he appeared next to me. The EMT, who had a buzz cut and friendly eyes, looked very young and very concerned.

  “I think so.”

  “You need to rest. You don’t have a concussion, but you’re pretty bruised. We put an IV in you with some pain medication.”

  “I don’t think it’s working.”

  The young man checked the mechanisms that made up the IV and said, “You should feel it kick in any second. You haven’t been out for long, that’s the good news.”

  “Okay. Where’s Officer Brion?”

  “Right here, Becca,” he said as he appeared on my other side.

  “Sam.” I sat up again as the EMT put his hands lightly on my shoulders to push me back down. “Where’s Abner?”

  “He’s on his way to the jailhouse, Becca. How’re you doing?”

  “Fine, but how is he, how is Abner?”

  “He feels terrible that he put you in a dangerous situation, but I think he was probably glad we found him. It’s not easy to hide all the time.”

  “Damn, I had him talking, Sam. He hadn’t told me much yet, but I thought I might get him to give me something.” I put my hand to my tender temple. “Hey, did you see that brown truck?”

  “No. I walked to the cabin from Abner’s house. I heard the gunshot and ran, but by the time I made it to the cabin, the vehicle was out of sight. Did you see anything else about it—license plate, bumper sticker, broken light, anything else?”

  “No, it was a very plain brown truck.”

  Sam looked at the EMT, who nodded, apparently giving permission for him to continue asking questions.

  “Becca, I know you don’t feel well, but I need you to tell me everything you can about what you and Abner discussed, and I need you to do it now, before you forget anything and before they take you to the hospital.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “It’s for the best,” the EMT said.

  “Did I break any bones?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t have a concussion?”

  “No.”

  “I’m just a little beat-up?”

  “A lot beat-up,” the EMT said.

  “I’m very sorry about my part in that,” Sam said, sounding more human than he ever had.

  I glanced at him, at the EMT, and back at Sam.

  “I’m not going to the hospital. I’ll tell you about the entire conversation if you get this IV out of me and help me off this stretcher.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked as he and the EMT shared a look that made me angry.

  But the EMT took out the IV, and Sam helped me off the stretcher and to his car. I got to sit in the front seat with the door open as he, obviously in charge, spent a few moments giving directions to other police officers and telling the EMTs that one ambulance could leave but one should remain just in case I changed my mind and did need a fast ride to the hospital, or if the search of the woods and cabin turned up someone else who was hurt.

  Other than Allison, he was probably the most efficient person I’d seen in action. He knew how to take charge without being annoying and he knew what to do—in my experience, so many people who want to be in charge don’t ever have a real plan. I suspected that Sam Brion, like Allison, always had a plan.

  “He’s not married, you know.” Officer Vivienne Norton and her muscles had come up next to me.

  I blinked. “Well, that’s probably a good thing, because I think I’m going to ask him out to dinner.”

  Officer Norton smiled and winked. I wasn’t about to burst her bubble by telling her that the date wouldn’t be real, but just a way to further investigate the murder.

  “Does he date much?” I asked. I was suddenly curious about the non-law-enforcement side of Sam Brion.

  “Not really. Some. He moved here only about a year ago. No one knows much about his past, except that he’s never been married and has no children. There was either a fiancée or an almost-fiancée or something, but no one can get the details.”

  “Where did he come from?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Interesting,” I mumbled.

  Officer Norton excused herself and got back to work.

  “Okay,” Sam said, as he got into the driver’s seat. “I think I can take your statement now. How’re you feeling?”

  “Fine, really,” I lied.

  “Good. Well, Becca, tell me the events that led up to you going into the woods to meet with a murder suspect, and what happened while you were there—talking to a murder suspect—and what that murder suspect had to say.”

  “I know, it was stupid.”

  “Yes, it was. You know I could have you arrested?”

  “For what? Being stupid?”

  “I’d think of something, and I’d make it stick.” His mouth twitched again. “But I’m not going to arrest you. In fact, I’m so relieved that you’re okay, I think I might actually find a way to forgive your stupidity—if you never, ever do it again.”

  “Pinky-swear.” I imitated Helen Justen’s promise.

  “Good. Now tell me everything.”

  And I did. I told him almost every single thing that I knew. I even told him about Ian working at Smithfield for a year. He knew Ian had worked there and didn’t act as though he had any particular suspicions about him, which was good. He listened, asked a few clarifying questions, and took notes. He told me that my job of investigating murders was coming to a close. The one thing I didn’t share with him was the fact that Ian thought he remembered Abner being at Smithfield a little while back. Ian said he would call Officer Brion and share that detail. If he had, great; if not, I didn’t want to mention something that might make Abner seem even more suspicious. Oh, and I didn’t tell him about kissing Ian.

  “Sam, did you talk to Pauline Simonsen about her past with Abner? Did you show her the pictures?”

  He thought about it a moment before answering. “I did and I did, but I’m not able to share her answers with you. She said some things that lead me to . . . well, lead me to need to investigate some things further. I’m not just being difficult, Becca, but I can’t tell you what she said.”

  “Okay. But Sam, if Abner was the murderer, then who shot at us? That must have been the murderer.”

  “Becca, most of the evidence points toward Abner. I don’t know who shot at you, but I’ll figure it out. I won’t keep Abner under arrest if I can find any evidence anywhere that gives me a better suspect.”

  “But what about Abner’s insistence that he’s being framed?”

  “That’s a common thing for people under arrest to say.”

  I sighed. I was suddenly very tired.

  “Oh, hey, let’s get you home. I’ll drive you, and have Officer Norton bring your truck.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It’s either that or the hospital.”

  “Okay, take me home.”

  The arrangements were made, and in record time we were on the road.

  “Sam,” I said, “I know I’m out of the investigation business”—I wasn’t, but it was better that he thought I was—“but I have an idea.”

  “Okay.”

  “Allison has planned a dinner for all the vendors and their families for Sunday night—it’s a fall equinox thing, but it’s mostly a time for the vendors and their families to come together before many of them leave until next season. It’s a yearly event and very important to many of the vendors. They get to relax and socialize with the people they work with. Anyway, Allison thought she might need to cancel it in light of the murder, but everyone still wanted to go, so we’re going to take some time to honor the memory of Matt Simonsen.”

  “Sounds like a good thing.”

  “Anyway, maybe we, uh, maybe you could go, well, would you like to go? We’ll do some undercover investigating. It could be . . .” It didn’t feel right saying that it wasn’t a real date, but I didn’t want him to misunderstand, either. I s
earched for the right words. Fortunately, he saved me.

  “I get it. It would be a good idea for me to be there, but if I just showed up, people would think of me as the police. If I’m with you, maybe everyone will relax.”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  “Great idea. I accept. I’ll pick you up at . . . ?”

  “The dinner starts at six.”

  “Okay, I’ll come get you about 5:30.”

  “No, come get me at four. I’m sore, but the dinner isn’t until day after tomorrow. I’ll be fine, and I want to be there early to help Allison set up.”

  “Deal,” he said doubtfully. He looked at me as though he thought the date might not happen at all. I was probably a scary mess, but I wouldn’t miss the dinner no matter how banged-up I felt.

  We pulled into my driveway and were greeted by a very happy and annoyed dog. Hobbit had expected me home much earlier, and her entire body shook with irritated love. I pulled my sore body from the car and attempted to look like I didn’t hurt all over. The EMT had given me some pain medication? I couldn’t imagine how bad it would have been without it.

  “I’ll check your house, and then I want you to lock up and set the alarm,” Sam said.

  “Thanks.” I considered going to Allison’s again, but the way I felt, I knew there would be no better place for me than my own home, my own tub, my own bed, and next to my own dog. I’d make double sure the alarm was set.

  I waited outside with Officer Norton, who had followed us in my truck, as Sam searched the premises. There was no more talk of Sam Brion’s personal life. Officer Norton, probably a pretty good police officer in her own right, stood beside me but kept her eyes moving over my darkening property.

  “All clear, Becca. Come on in,” Sam said from the front porch.

  Surprisingly, my leg didn’t fall off my bruised hip bone as Hobbit and I walked forward. Sam helped me in and made sure I was okay before he turned to leave.

  “Thank you. I guess I’ll see you Sunday night,” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sam said, without batting an eye.

  “Hey, Sam, really, thank you for today. I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner, and I appreciate you getting there so quickly.”

  Sam smiled in yet another way I hadn’t seen before. “I think I just might have you convinced that investigating a murder isn’t wise for someone not properly trained—not to mention licensed or armed with something more effective than a hammer.”

  “Yes, you have,” I lied, but I smiled before I closed the door all the way.

  Hobbit and I armed the alarm and watched the police officers drive away.

  “What a day, Hobbit. Hot bath for me, and then I guess I’d better call Allison.”

  Because of the wonder of cell phones, I could take the hot bath and call my sister at the same time. Before I sank into the water, I inspected the newly bruised me. The side of my face looked like I’d been punched, my shoulder had an interesting starburst-pattern bruise, and my hip had a hammerhead-shaped bruise that actually might have made an awesome tattoo. Maybe I’d show that one to Ian.

  As I was in the tub of relief, I called my sister. Once she got over lecturing me, she expressed her concern and told me to get over to her house or she’d be at mine in warp speed. I explained the tub and alarm situation, and we agreed I was probably just fine where I was. All in all, she wasn’t too mad, but I was sure I’d hear more from her after I healed.

  There was one more call to make. I really needed to talk to Ian, but it was getting late and I didn’t want to bother him. He beat me to the punch. My phone buzzed, his number showing up on the caller ID.

  “Hey, Ian,” I said cheerily. This hurt my face, but I didn’t groan.

  “Becca. How are you?” His words weren’t laced with concern, so I figured he just meant it in a friendly way.

  “I’m fine. You?”

  “Good. I wanted to let you know why I didn’t show up at Bailey’s today after I told you I would. A new customer had a hard time making up her mind where she wanted her sculpture placed. After about a hundred different spots, she chose the first one we’d looked at. Naturally.”

  “Sounds challenging.” I laughed lightly. This hurt my face, too.

  “Goes with the territory.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anyway, I know this is really late notice, but I wondered if you wanted to go to the Fall Equinox Dinner with me Sunday night.” He cleared his throat.

  “Oh, Ian, thanks for the invitation, but strange circumstances have occurred and I already have a date. Of sorts.”

  “Okay.” He tried to hide the question in his tone.

  I debated what to say next. “Ian, do you have a few minutes? I’d like to tell you what happened today.”

  “Sure. I’m listening.”

  Because I easily gave him the details of the day, I hoped my instincts about his innocence were correct. And as we spoke, I realized that I really liked this man, my potential new boyfriend who was ten years younger than myself, an artist, and tattooed in a number of places.

  My hippie parents were going to be very proud.

  Eighteen

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t in any shape to go to Bailey’s on Saturday morning. I didn’t feel horrible, but I woke up stiff and sore, and colorful. I was sad to miss the last Saturday for many of the vendors, but I’d have to be content with seeing them on Sunday.

  My bruises were transforming, and some of the black was turning yellow and purple. Lying around or sitting still made everything stiffer, and the idea of making jam seemed overwhelming—I could see getting halfway done and then losing the energy needed to finish it.

  So I did light chores around the garden, barn, and house, fielded calls from the entire world regarding my well-being, and made Hobbit happy by giving her too much attention.

  I even took a nap, which was a rare treat.

  But when I woke up at midafternoon, I was restless. My body felt a bunch better, and I had enough energy to be irritated that I hadn’t made the day more productive.

  I debated what I could do for the next couple of hours to burn off energy. There was always something to do, somewhere. It was far too late to go to Bailey’s with some product. My barn was spotless—I hadn’t made enough jams or preserves this week to dirty it; my crops were in great shape and I’d given more than enough attention to the ripening pumpkins; my dining table still had stacks of paperwork, but I was in no state of mind to try to figure out what to do with all of it.

  “Want to go see Allison?” I asked Hobbit.

  She wagged her tail in the affirmative, so we got in the truck.

  I had every intention of going to Bailey’s and visiting my sister and everyone else, Ian included, but I stopped at the top of the driveway. Going to Bailey’s required turning right, but something didn’t want me to go that direction.

  I’d promised Allison, Ian, and Sam Brion that other than my upcoming “date” with Sam, I was done investigating murders. On our call the previous evening, Ian had said he was going to come to my house and keep me out of trouble today, but I convinced him that I’d just be resting and he should take advantage of the Saturday crowd at Bailey’s. And I told them all again today, when they called to check on me, that I was fine and was going to take it easy. I hadn’t been lying on purpose; I just hadn’t known I’d feel such an urge to turn left.

  “You up for a different drive?” I asked.

  Hobbit again wagged her tail affirmatively.

  “You’re so easy.”

  I turned left.

  Something had been eating at me, and I didn’t know how I was going to ease the pain other than go check things for myself.

  The trees. What was with the trees? I wanted—no, I needed—to see them for myself. Sam had told me he’d investigate, but he wouldn’t promise to share details. I needed details.

  It was daylight, so I wasn’t going to go to the trees via Abner’s house and the woods; I’d walk over Carl’s more open prope
rty and I’d have Hobbit with me. I still had Carl in my “potential murderer” category, and I knew without question that he was at Bailey’s—Allison had confirmed as much when I asked her that morning. Apparently everyone was at Bailey’s except me. In many years, I didn’t think I’d ever missed a Saturday, but as I pulled in front of Carl’s bowl orchard, I felt like it was meant to be. The big house was clearly empty, and the trees in the orchard seemed to beg for my company.

  “Let’s go, girl.” I parked on the side of the state highway again.

  Hobbit followed me toward the bowl. She remembered that the last time she was here, she was forced to stay in the truck. She lifted her nose to the wonderful smells all around and looked at me as if to say, “See, I could have handled this the first time.”

  The only realistic way to get to the trees was through the bowl. The orchard smelled heavenly—this was something I’d noticed on my previous visit, but hadn’t taken the time to appreciate. But it wasn’t peach smells so much—most of the peaches were gone—as it was healthy trees and soil. I had a nose for such things, and the smells around us seemed to tell me that Carl took very good care of his orchard.

  Carl was one of the vendors who probably wouldn’t be back to Bailey’s until next season, and I wondered if he did something else to supplement his living from selling peaches. Why didn’t I know the people I worked with as well as I thought I did? I always missed those who weren’t lucky enough to have a pumpkin patch or be able to freeze enough product to have a year-round operation, but I didn’t really know many of them well enough at all.

  Hobbit and I climbed up the other side of the bowl and walked back into the warm sunshine that cut through the slight chill in the air. The pain in my hip was escalating slightly, but I tried to ignore it.

  Allison’s words from our morning conversation came to me as I realized I was breathing heavily.

  “Don’t overdo. Even if you feel better, you’ve been through trauma; you need to make sure you get lots of rest,” she’d said.

  The trees were only a small hill away so we continued on, though I was slow.

  When I got there, I was no longer certain that these were the trees in the pictures. They might be, but so much time had passed, and though the setting seemed the same, the trees were definitely bigger. I thought they were some sort of maple; they weren’t huge, but they were full with leaves that still didn’t hint at a color change, yet that wasn’t unusual for this time of year in South Carolina.