There was something here, I could feel it. I was angry at myself for not seeking out Simonsen Orchards’ address in the first place. Sam, of course, had known all along where they lived, but I hadn’t even thought to ask him. Matt and Jessop had worked at the Smithfield Market for a long time—they’d had to travel almost thirty miles there and back each day. Bailey’s was much closer.
I’d been bothered by addresses this whole time, and this was probably the most important one. Now, in front of the Simonsen house, I sensed that I was only seconds away from maybe understanding my own foggy inkling about why where everyone lived was important.
I knocked. Shortly, footfalls came in my direction.
Pauline Simonsen opened the door. She was dressed in a blue denim, long-sleeved, button-down shirt and faded jeans. Without the trench coat I could see her thin, statuesque frame much better. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and there was no makeup on her face. This was the look she was meant for. She wasn’t young, but at the moment she didn’t look her age. Her cheeks were pink and her blue eyes were bright. She was still stunning.
“May I help . . . oh, we met last night. Becca, right?” She was friendly.
“Yes. Becca Robins. I work at Bailey’s.”
“Yes?”
“Allison, the market manager, is my sister . . .”
“Of course. Well, what can I do for you?” Her eyes glazed, probably at remembering how annoyed at me she’d become.
“I was wondering if you had a few moments, Ms. Simonsen.”
She looked at me as though she didn’t have one extra minute of time, but the glaze in her eyes became more curious.
“Sure, come on in.” She stepped back as I walked in. “Iced tea, coffee?”
“Iced tea would be perfect.”
“Well, have a seat.” She waved me toward a large leather-furniture-filled front room and then made her way back to the kitchen.
There were two big couches and more chairs than I wanted to take the time to count. I noticed a piano at the far end of the room that was covered in photographs. I suddenly wanted—no, needed—to see those pictures. I bee-lined my way to them.
As I suspected, there were pictures of Jessop, Pauline, and a man I assumed was Matt Simonsen. As a younger man, he had been handsome in the way of movie stars—tall, broad-chested, perfectly coifed dark hair. He had a sharp mouth and a sharp nose, but he was very lovely to look at.
And Pauline had been the female movie-star match for him. Though she was still attractive, when she was younger, she had been knockout gorgeous. I wondered if she’d spent any time as a model. There was not one picture of her with blond hair, but the face was most definitely the one I’d seen in the picture at Abner’s. I didn’t doubt that in the least now.
There were more pictures of Jessop than anyone else. As a baby, he’d been chubby, but as he grew through the pictures, he became tall and thin, just like his mother. He’d never had that movie-star quality, but instead was more gangly and looked as if he spent a lot of years trying to figure out what to do with his long arms and big feet. As an adult, he was handsome enough, but his looks didn’t hold a candle to either of his parents’ seemingly effortless glamour.
“Do you have a piano full of pictures, or perhaps a mantel?” Pauline said as she came into the room. She held two glasses of iced tea.
I moved back across the large room and joined her at one of the couches.
“I guess I have a shoe box,” I said. I’d always loved looking at pictures, but I’d never managed to organize them. Besides, when one has had two husbands, it’s best not to keep the evidence out in the open.
“I see.” She handed me a glass and waited for me to sit.
“Ms. Simonsen . . .”
“Pauline, please.”
“Pauline, how are you?”
“Oh, I’m okay. I’m keeping busy. I try not to dwell on things too much. The paper this morning confirmed that they’ve arrested Abner. Things will be resolved soon, I think.”
I took a drink of the tea. I’d forgotten all about checking the paper. Hopefully, my name wasn’t mentioned in the story as well—Local market vendor arms herself with a hammer and goes to visit a murder suspect.
I couldn’t worry about that now. How was I going to approach this? But I was beyond that concern, wasn’t I? I needed some answers. I swallowed.
“Pauline, you and Abner were once a couple, right?”
Her eyes opened wide with surprise.
“Well, goodness, I, uh . . .”
I took another drink and waited for her to gather herself.
“Becca, that was a hundred years ago.” Pauline laughed as her fingers flitted at her throat.
“Sure, but it was some kind of love, wasn’t it?”
For an instant, Pauline’s eyes fixed on something in the distance, most likely the distant past.
“I don’t remember,” she said as she pulled her eyes back to mine. “And he must not have, either. He killed Matty. Whatever love we had for each other was over a long time ago, and now . . . well, now . . .”
“What makes you so sure Abner killed your husband?”
“Doesn’t the evidence point in that direction? At Bailey’s, Abner threatened Matty’s life a few days before he conveniently found Matty’s body. And the axe—the police told Jessop that Abner’s fingerprints were all over it. And I suppose there must be more, but I don’t know exactly what it all is.”
“Okay, but why? If the love you had for each other was over a long time ago, why would Abner kill Matt?”
“I wish I knew.”
I thought about my original and incorrect assumption that the Simonsens lived near Smithfield.
“Why did Matt work at Smithfield, anyway? It’s a long drive, and Bailey’s is so much closer. And since he did work at Smithfield, why did he finally decide to come to Bailey’s?”
“He started at Smithfield a long time ago. You might have noticed that we’re a pretty big operation. Matty didn’t just have the market business, but a wholesale business, too. He did lots of different things.”
“I still don’t get it. Why Smithfield over Bailey’s?” I tried the question again.
She sighed. “Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you, but it will only make Abner look guiltier.”
“Tell me.”
“Years ago Matty and Abner agreed that they’d work separately and Matty would take the longer drive.”
“Why did your husband break the deal?”
“Oh, shoot, Matty and Jessop had a few of their own battles—nothing serious, but Matty thought they should take a break from each other for a while, and it had been so long that he thought he and Abner would be able to work through their problems.”
“Really? What did your husband and son fight about?” I said.
“Nothing important. You know, Jessop’s young, he has ideas on how the business should be run and Matty didn’t agree, simple as that. They just needed a break is all.” Abruptly, Pauline stood, the ice in her tea sloshing a drip of liquid over the side of the glass. “Ms. Robins, I’m tired now. Please excuse me, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”
“I’m sorry, Pauline.” I remained seated. She was acting strangely again—unpredictable. But though her sudden move did surprise me, I wasn’t ready to leave. “You know, really, it’s because I’m such a romantic at heart.” I paused, waiting for the lightning strike that might accompany such a lie, but it didn’t come, so I continued. “But I’d love to hear the story of your youth; the time when they all loved you—Abner, Barry, and Matt. You know, it might help to tell me about it. I know this has been a difficult time for you. If you’d be willing to share, I’d really like to hear it.”
Pauline glanced down at me with doubtful eyes. I was less than one second away from giving up when her face softened and she sat again.
“Really, that’s what this is all about? You’re a romantic?”
“Oh yes, and your life has been
so full of romance.” Still no lightning. Awesome.
“Well, it is a lovely story.”
“I’m sure.”
She sighed, and her eyes lit back to their happy state. “Well, this was mine first,” she said possessively as she waved her hand through the air. “My daddy bought this property over fifty years ago. We moved to South Carolina when I was sixteen, and he bought all this land, hoping to work it himself. But Daddy had that special knack that some people have—whatever he touched turned to gold. He bought the land as well as put some money into other things.” She leaned toward me. “I was never certain, but I think his other investments included things that verged on illegal, but he never went to jail, so . . .”
I smiled.
“Anyway, he never needed to work this land, not even for one day. After only a few months in Monson, he declared to me that the land was mine, his only child’s, and whoever I married. Though you might think my inheritance was a loving gesture, it wasn’t so much that as it was a reason to doubt.” She pinched her mouth and looked at the brown pattern on the rug at our feet.
Helen and Barry had both told me about Pauline’s money, but neither of them had mentioned that she’d had land, which in our farming community was probably more valuable than any amount of money.
“You mean you began to doubt people’s motives toward you? You thought that maybe boys liked you because of the property?”
“Yes. Monson is a small town. Everyone knew the arrangement. It was difficult.”
“So who did you date?”
“Lots of boys. I was a looker, too. Anyway, Barry Drake was the first boy I loved.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Oh, he was just a farm boy who had a smile that always preceded trouble. When I was sixteen, I liked that.”
“All sixteen-year-old girls like boys who promise trouble. It’s part of growing up.”
“I suppose.”
“How long did you and Barry date?”
“Not long. Abner came into my life with the force of a perfect storm.”
“Really? Little, old, bald Abner?”
Pauline laughed. “Everyone thought what you’re thinking, Becca. We made an odd-looking couple, but he was the most wonderful boy ever. He loved me and I loved him more than we thought possible at the time—this, by the way, spoiled us because we both thought that was what love was supposed to be like. He was smart, kind, and generous.”
“Wow, it sounds like he was perfect. Why didn’t you stay together?”
Her face soured. “Pride and stupidity.”
“Sorry?”
“He was too proud and I was too stupid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Abner would never have lived on this land. He was too proud to take the land of someone he married. He wanted to make his own way—he had his own family land. I was stupid. This was my land, and if he didn’t want it, I thought he didn’t want me enough.” She sighed. “Truth be told, his refusal to take this land meant he loved me all the more. I was so very stupid.”
“And he was so very proud,” I said. I got the principle of what Abner had felt, but seriously, there should have been some way to compromise. “He wouldn’t budge?”
“No, not an inch. And then Matty got really sick with pneumonia. Even though I dated Abner, we were all friends, and Matty’s mother had died years before. I offered to help take care of him. You have to understand, it was a different time. People still die from pneumonia, but back then . . . well, Matty and his father didn’t have much of anything. Matty spent most of his time getting better at his house, not a hospital. When Abner, Barry, and I visited him, I was horrified at the condition of his home. I offered to help take care of him. Abner was fine with it even though our relationship had already become strained at that point.” Her eyes went to that distant place again.
“You fell in love with Matty while you were taking care of him?” I prompted.
“Becca, we were very young. I thought I was feeling love for Matty but, well, it was . . .”
“That caregiver/patient thing that sometimes happens.”
She nodded, and her eyes teared up. “And Matty had no problem coming to live with me on my land. He was a good, good man, and I’m so very happy we were married and had Jessop, but . . .”
“You were never really in love with him?”
“Not totally. But that’s unfair, too. I loved him, but not like Abner.”
“Abner probably didn’t take any of that well at all.”
“It was horrible.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“Matty was the best-looking boy I knew.” She sniffed. “And how silly was it that that became what I held on to, what I kept in my mind as being the reason I left the love of my life? I left Abner for someone better-looking.”
In a way, my heart broke for them all. But in another way, I wished I could have been there to tell them how stupid they were being. I stamped down my sympathy—I still had to figure out who’d killed Matt.
“I don’t understand something. How come this land was next to Abner’s and Barry’s?”
“Abner’s land was in his family for a long time. Barry’s land was actually ours—mine and Matty’s—for some time. But shortly after we were married, Barry claimed that his family had had that property for years, too. It was an ugly scene, but Barry was able to prove that he was right. He got his property. But he was never happy there, so about twenty years ago, he sold it to Carl Monroe’s family. Carl’s been working the orchard for about ten years.”
Suddenly, she seemed very lucid. This must have been the land dispute Barry spoke about. So, he hadn’t been completely lying.
“Was Barry unhappy because of you and what you did to him? Is that why he moved away?”
“I don’t know, never did know. Last night at the party was the first time I’d talked to him in a long time. That’s why I seemed confused. I’m afraid I’m a big mess of emotions right now.”
“Uh-huh,” I said unsympathetically. “Why didn’t Abner leave?”
“Pride again, I suppose. He built that greenhouse and made his land more successful than any of his family before him. He wasn’t going to let me or my marriage to someone else force him out.”
That sounded like the Abner I knew.
“Pauline, tell me about the three trees.”
“What trees?”
“The three trees on the border of these three properties.”
“How do you know about those trees?” Her face reddened so quickly, I thought her cheeks might feel hot to the touch.
I didn’t answer but did my own shrug instead. I probably wasn’t supposed to know about the pictures that we found in Abner’s house. I didn’t tell her I’d seen the trees live and in person as I spied on Carl.
“Ms. Robins, it really is time for you to leave now.” Abruptly, her tone changed to unwelcoming again.
“Pauline,” I began.
“Now.”
She grabbed my glass from my hand as I stood. She marched us to the entry foyer and to the front door. She opened it with a violent pull.
“I’m sorry, Pauline, I didn’t mean to upset you. I have just a couple more questions, though”—her eyes blazed at my gall—“when were you blond, and what do you love so much about hummingbirds?”
I thought she might slap me, so I braced myself. She was significantly older than me, but she was also lots bigger.
Instead of slapping, she slammed—the door practically exploded the frame. She looked at me with anger and something crazy.
I took a step backward and patted my pocket. I’d left my cell phone in my truck, sitting next to the gloves and the hummingbird feeder. I was going to have to run if her demeanor turned any more dangerous.
She reached behind an umbrella container I hadn’t noticed before. The look on her face was now purely murderous. Did she have an axe hidden among the rain gear?
As she reached, I did what was sure to end my career as a crimi
nal investigator.
I screamed like a little girl.
Twenty-four
Pauline’s eyes widened and then got small. She wasn’t reaching behind the umbrella stand, but into it. She rummaged around and then pulled out a frame; it was short and wide—wide enough for about three pictures.
“Why did you scream?” she asked as she held the frame. I’d misunderstood her completely. She wasn’t murderous at all. I think she was sad, instead.
“I . . . I thought . . . I don’t know.” I was horrified, relieved that she hadn’t pulled out an axe, and amused at my own silliness. “You had a frame in your umbrella stand?”
“It was in the back of my closet for years, but I found it here last week. The pictures were gone. I just left it here because I wasn’t sure what else to do with it. The police confronted me with the pictures, but I lied and told them the woman wasn’t me.” She sounded lost.
“Okay.”
“This”—she held the empty frame for me to see—“held the only evidence of me having blond hair, Becca. Somehow you’ve seen the picture that was in the middle of this frame. How? Unless you searched the back of my closet, you saw it somewhere else. Where? Did the police show it to you?”
“Were there pictures of trees there, too?”
“Yes, the three trees . . . and then . . . and one tree. Where did you see these pictures? Where did the police get them? They wouldn’t tell me.”
I stepped toward her and took the frame from her shaky hands. The glass was still intact, but the places where the pictures were supposed to be were void of anything but off-center paper backings.
“This was in your closet?”
“Yes, until the day before Matty was killed.”
“The man with you was Abner, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you blond in the picture?”
She sniffed. “I was in disguise.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me where you found the pictures.”
Farm Fresh Murder Page 21
