Bushel Full of Murder (10 page)

I hadn’t planned on the next morning’s diversion. I was surprised by it, in fact. As I steered my truck toward Monson and Bailey’s, I felt a pull that made me turn left at an intersection where I would normally turn right. I just couldn’t fight it.

Some of the city’s government offices, including the police station where Sam worked, were located in an old, small, but stately brick building in the heart of downtown. But there was another office building across the street from the police station. It was a gray stone structure with two unassuming stories and three carved eagles perched atop its front facade. My parents had shown the eagles to Allison and me when we were little girls, and I hardly ever passed the building without looking up and remembering how my sister and I had been mesmerized by the sculptures.

I parked the truck in front of the gray building and looked in the rearview mirror at Sam’s building. He was probably somewhere inside and would know what I was up to the second he saw my truck. But I had a pretty good story ready in case he came over and inquired.

Mr. Ship’s business licensing office was in the gray building, but so was the driver’s license office. It just so happened that my driver’s license was set to expire next month. Normally I wouldn’t do anything about that until the month of expiration, but it never hurt to take care of something ahead of schedule every once in a while.

Still glancing back over my shoulder toward the brick building, but not seeing any officer moving in or out of it, I jogged up the front steps of the gray building and went through the front doors.

It was already steaming hot outside, and the cool burst of air that greeted me made me think I could find a way to adjust to an inside desk job. The comfort turned into a shiver of horror as I gave it another moment’s thought, so I figured I still wasn’t ready to sell the farm.

The driver’s license office was through the first door on my left. I hesitated there briefly, but then moved down two more doors to the licensing division. I’d been there a few times myself, usually a day or so before my license expired. Mr. Ship might have helped me, but I didn’t remember him specifically, and there’d always been a few people working inside.

The door to the office was all glass. I stood close to it and peered in. Behind the wide front counter, I saw two people, a man and a woman, both probably in their early to mid-twenties. They each sat behind a desk and were facing each other, but
not looking at each other. The woman’s attention was on a piece of paper she held, and the man’s was on his computer screen. There was a door on the back wall that seemed to lead to another office, but the rest of the visible space was filled with worktables and too many file cabinets to count easily.

As I pulled the door open, the two people looked up at me and then at each other and then back at me. I noticed that the woman’s eyes were puffy and rimmed in red as if she’d been crying, and the man’s face was tight with concern.

“Hi, can we help you?” he said as he stood, signaling to the girl that he would handle this customer. She seemed relieved.

“Sure. Thanks,” I said as I approached the counter. I could have just asked about the specifics of regulation 458-098, but it might be too abrupt and strange and misplaced, particularly if I wanted these two to take a quick liking to me so they’d willingly share answers to some of my other questions.

“What can I do for you?” he said. He had a name tag pinned above his heart. It said, “Kyle.”

“Hi, Kyle,” I said. “First of all, I heard about your co-worker and I’m sorry for your loss.”

Kyle’s eyebrows came together as if his first instinct was to be suspicious of me, but he recovered quickly and said, “Thanks. It’s been quite the shock.”

“I’m sure. My name is Becca Robins and I work at Bailey’s Farmers’ Market . . .”

“I thought you looked familiar,” the woman said as she stood and joined us at the counter. “I get jam from you all the time. It’s delicious.”

“Oh, of course, I recognize you. You normally wear a
perfectly floppy straw hat when you’re shopping at the market. Thanks for your support of my jams and jellies.” Her name tag said, “Meg.”

“You’re welcome, and yes, I’m the straw hat girl.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her puffy eyes.

I paused. “The reason I’m here is kind of weird and tied to Mr. Ship’s visit to the market two days ago. He was there because he was helping some visiting food truck chefs get their temporary business licenses in order, but while there he mentioned that a couple of the market’s regular vendors were delinquent on business licenses.”

“He told us that when he came back in later that day,” Meg said. She cleared her throat. “He mentioned that a couple people would be in yesterday morning to talk to him but I don’t know who exactly. Maybe he meant today, though. Are you one of the ones that were delinquent?”

“No,” I said. “But has anyone else from the market been in, either yesterday or today?”

“No,” Kyle said. “Meg and I opened the office both yesterday and today like we always do. No Bailey’s folks have been in at all. We heard about Mr. Ship only a half an hour or so into yesterday morning when someone from the police stopped by—an Officer Norton.” He shook his head as if he thought he was either rambling or telling me too much, or maybe it was just still hard to believe that their boss had been killed.

I knew Vivienne Norton was thorough, so if Sam had been surprised last night about the regulation issue, then Vivienne hadn’t known about it, either.

“One of the delinquent vendors has a food cart at the market. I was the one to approach him to ask about his
license. I was helping out the market manager.” I hoped that was enough to keep them listening. “Jeff, the cart vendor, mentioned that he didn’t need to have a license because of a certain regulation. He mentioned the number,” I pulled a piece of paper out of my pocket. “Regulation 458-098.”

Meg and Kyle immediately knew what I was talking about. They both said “Oh” in that long, drawn-out way that made me know they were way too familiar with Jeff and his regulation.

“Jeff, the man who sells baked potatoes?” Meg said.

“Yes, that’s him.”

“He was a thorn in Mr. Ship’s side since the moment he set up the cart. Mr. Ship was this close to filing a legal complaint against him. Well, he was patient for a long time, but basically Jeff’s been breaking the law by not having a business license,” Kyle said.

“Really?” I said. “Is there any chance you can show me the regulation?”

“Sure.” Meg moved back to her desk. “Come through and you can read it on my screen. I’ll print it out for you, too.”

Kyle lifted a hinged counter panel so I could walk through. He scooted a chair over to the spot behind Meg. I sat in it as he stood behind her on her other side.

Meg manipulated her keyboard and mouse, and in only a few seconds a PDF page filled her screen.

“This is direct from the book of regulations. It’s the law. It’s just a short few sentences that could maybe be interpreted to mean that carts don’t need business licenses, but it’s a pretty big stretch. There, right there.” She put the curser next to the regulation number.

It said, “458-098—Pursuant to resolution 124B of the
Monson City Code, it is deemed that carts (see definition under section 13B) used to cook, bake, or warm food items meant for sale to the public must be inspected by city and/or county food inspectors on a regular basis. The results of the inspections are used to determine the validity of the food cart’s business standing.”

That was it.

“So Jeff was saying that that was the
only
means for determining his business’s legal and good standing?” Basically, he was just being a jerk, but I didn’t say that part out loud.

“Exactly. And he dug his heels in big time,” Meg said.

“Why didn’t Mr. Ship file a legal complaint sooner? I mean, other regulations surely must overrule this regulation, right?”

“Right,” Meg said.

“It’s Monson and we’re nice people,” Kyle chimed in. “Mr. Ship was great with the business office here, Becca, but he was also willing to help people out if they needed it.” I’d turned my head toward Kyle as he spoke, so I didn’t miss the looks that he and Meg gave each other, as if to say they knew that Mr. Ship had been way too accommodating with far too many people. The only thing missing from their shared glance was an eye roll. But Kyle continued, “At first he wondered if Jeff might have a point, but when he researched it, he realized that even carts need business licenses. It was all ridiculous, and I thought Jeff was just trying to get away with something as a matter of ego.”

Or he was just being a jerk, but again I didn’t say it out loud.

“Got it,” I said.

I really didn’t get it, though. Why wouldn’t Jeff just get
a license? They weren’t expensive. Was it merely the “jerk” factor? Why pick that to be a jerk about?

“When I first got my business license, I had to answer a bunch of questions regarding whether or not I’d been in any legal trouble and if so what the nature of it had been. I haven’t had to answer those questions when I’ve simply renewed, so I don’t remember what they were,” I said.

“Here’s the application.” Kyle stepped around us and moved to the front counter again. He pulled a piece of paper off a stack and returned it to me.

It was the uniform business license application. The questions were pretty basic and close to what I remembered regarding the applicant’s past possible legal issues. Things like, have you ever been convicted of a felony? Have you ever been sued? Have you ever been in arrears on child support payments?

Perhaps Jeff had some legal problems he didn’t want to come to light?

Or he was just being a jerk.

“Can I ask you about another business?” I said.

“Business licenses are public information,” Kyle said. “But I suppose the only information we have is if the license is current or not.”

“Betsy’s Tomatoes. I think that’s what she calls it.”

Meg maneuvered the keyboard and mouse again. “Right here. Yes, it . . . oh, nope, the license expired just last month so it’s showing past-due, but we give a thirty-day leeway, so it’s in a ‘pending’ file.”

“Had it been current before that?”

“Yes, it looks like the original license was issued four and a half years ago with no sign of delinquency,” Meg said.

“Why would she be late? And why would she be so upset about it?” I said aloud but to myself.

“Excuse me?” Meg said.

“Who? Betsy?” Kyle said.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m thinking aloud,” I said.

They shared another look, but I thought this one was because they were trying to figure out what I was up to, what I was really trying to find out with all my questions.

“Can I ask about Mr. Ship’s personality? I know it might seem like I’m disrespecting the dead, but that’s not it at all. It’s just . . . well, I heard that a couple of the market vendors argued with him. The manager isn’t happy that they weren’t up to date with their licenses, so I’m just trying to see if I can get them off the hook a little. Any chance Mr. Ship would have been being difficult enough to warrant the vendors being touchy?”

They weren’t offended, but they weren’t quite sure what to say. Their hesitation was obvious.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting
them
off the hook. “That wasn’t fair of me to ask.”

“It’s okay,” Kyle said. “But I’m not sure either of us can answer that very well. Mr. Ship was a good boss. That’s probably all we should say.”

“I understand,” I said. I tried to figure out what they
weren’t
saying, but there were too many possibilities to speculate. “Do you have any idea why he was at the bank early yesterday morning?”

There was a chance that he was killed elsewhere and his body was taken to the bank, but I didn’t think that’s what had happened. I’d have to ask Sam if they knew that much yet.

“We have no idea. He and a man who works at the bank were good friends, so we wonder if they were supposed to meet for breakfast or something. But we weren’t told about such a meeting. Meg and I have discussed that a few times, wondering if we missed a comment.”

The door to the office swung open and we all turned to watch a young woman come through. She was tall and dressed to the nines in a suit and heels. She was unfamiliar to me, but both Meg and Kyle seemed to recognize her.

“I’ve taken up enough of your day. I hope I haven’t interrupted your schedules,” I said.

“Not at all,” Meg said as she handed me a copy of the PDF page that noted the regulation.

I told them both thank you and Kyle lifted the counter again for me as I walked through.

I made my way toward the glass door and turned back to look at them. Kyle looked up and I mouthed, “Sorry again for your loss.”

He nodded a quick thank-you.

As I walked past the driver’s license office, I still had some time before I had to be at Bailey’s. I could get my license taken care of right now and I wouldn’t have to come back in a month. But I noticed something outside that was more interesting. Harry’s rental car was parked across the street at the end of a line of three police cruisers. I was curious enough to come back later for the license and go see if I could find Harry instead.