Bushel Full of Murder (17 page)

“I can’t believe she was really arrested,” Allison said. “When Officer Norton called me this morning, I was under the impression that they just wanted to talk to her.”

I shook my head.

“All right. Well, of course, I’m here to help, and Mom and Dad will do whatever we ask, I have no doubt.” She closed the folder on her desk. She hadn’t looked at its contents since I’d burst into her office, but closing it was her way of cementing that she was ready to roll with me, wherever that might take us.

“I was wondering. I’d like to find Robert’s brother, Betsy’s dad, Nick. Betsy left in such a flurry and Mom mentioned their difficulties. I don’t even think Sam and the other officers are looking at him. I think they’re pretty convinced
that it’s all Peyton, but I do think there are other avenues to explore.”

Allison’s eyebrows came together. “They’re good police officers, Becca. Sam’s one of the best I’ve ever seen. They aren’t being tunnel-visioned, I’m sure. Sam just didn’t feel like he could tell you all the details. It makes sense and it’s something you need to come to terms with. He’s the police officer, you’re the nosy jam maker and market worker.”

“Right.” I didn’t feel like coming to terms with it at that exact moment, though. Maybe tomorrow if I got all my questions answered today. “Want to come with me to find Nick?”

“I do,” she said unequivocally. Despite the lecture, she was still ready to roll.

I gathered the box of jams from the chair in my stall and put it back in my truck. Then I grabbed the box of preordered items and asked Linda if she wouldn’t mind taking care of them for me. She didn’t. She never did. I owed her big.

I left a note on my front counter and Allison and I jumped into my truck. The air-conditioning in her Subaru worked better than my air-conditioning, but neither of us even considered not taking my old, bright orange truck. It was like Shaggy’s Mystery Machine at that point, I supposed.

“They live out on Orchard,” Allison said after she disconnected the call to our mom. “The solar house is way down the road, at the very end, she thinks.”

“Got it,” I said.

Orchard Street wasn’t located in town. In fact, it was way, way out of town, or at least by about fifteen minutes. Allison and I spent the travel time catching up on family matters. I learned that Mathis had tested (though she detested the
“ridiculous” amount of tests he had to take in his preschool setting) very high in math and had grown probably another whole inch since I’d seen him a month earlier. Her husband, Tom, was doing well and had been training to run a marathon. She also said that Mom and Dad told her they thought they were done for good living the RV life and would probably stick around Monson. I hadn’t heard that good news yet.

I told her Hobbit was doing great.

As I turned onto Orchard, Allison checked her phone. “Not much service out here.”

“Wow, I would never have thought to check my reception
before
I was driving toward someone who might be even a little bit suspicious. You’re much better at this than I am,” I teased.

“Let’s just say we have different strengths. Hang on.” She typed something into the phone. “There, I let Tom know where we were headed and to send out a search party in a couple hours if he doesn’t hear from me.”

“Very impressive.”

“I’ve always been the careful twin, Becca, but that doesn’t mean I had the most fun.”

I laughed.

Orchard was a narrow dirt road that was lined with tall trees on either side. The crooked sign that told us where we were said “Orchard Road” not “Orchard Street.” I didn’t know the difference.

“There are no houses out here,” I said. “You sure Mom said Orchard?”

“Pretty sure. Just keep driving.”

The road was so uneven that I couldn’t go very fast, which only a second later turned out to be a good thing.

Suddenly, a deer emerged from the trees and stepped out into the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes, but it was just simple reaction. I wasn’t going fast enough to have hit him, and fortunately, I wasn’t going fast enough to propel us through the windshield as I floored the brakes.

“You okay?” I said to Allison.

“Fine, you?”

“Yeah. He’s something, isn’t he?”

“Beautiful.”

The buck was huge with a ten-point rack that reminded me of an insurance company’s logo. He looked to be in great shape, with no mars on his coat and no ribs showing around his middle. He stood there and looked at us a long time, but I didn’t get the sense that it was the typical deer-in-the-headlights vacant stare. He was considering us.

“I don’t really want to honk, but you should go,” I said as I shooed him with my hand.

I was pretty sure he raised his eyebrows at me before he turned around and started walking forward.

“Off the road,” I said.

He stopped, turned and looked at us, and then seemed to signal us forward with a small swing of his heavy head.

Allison and I looked at each other.

“No way,” we said together.

Nevertheless, I put the truck in gear and started to slowly follow the buck. He didn’t go too fast or too slow, but meandered, the shade from the thick trees putting everything in a darkish tunnel of sorts.

“Is this happening?” Allison said.

“Looks like it.”

The buck stopped at a fork in the road and turned to look at us again.

“We’re right here,” I said, though I held back waving.

“This is interesting,” Allison said.

The buck took the left fork and then glanced behind one more time to make sure we were following. We were.

The bumpy road evened out slightly. The buck started to speed up, his legs moving him into a slow run. I kept up but remained far enough behind that if I had to slam on the brakes, I wouldn’t hit him. Obediently, we followed behind for about another mile.

When we approached civilization, or at least a house, the buck gave us one more final look before turning and trotting back into the trees.

“Should we discuss this or just let it be?” I said. I slowed to a crawl as we approached the house.

“The deer? No, I don’t think there’s anything to say.”

“Me, either.”

The house was a big log cabin, or at least built to look that way. It was set at a strange angle to the road. I realized that the angle was for the solar panels on the roof. There were ten panels, and the sun probably rode over them pretty evenly as it moved across the sky, no matter what the season. The woods also appeared to have been cleared back enough to give the panels full exposure. It seemed well thought out.

A second glance, though, told me that everything wasn’t as great as all that. There were two window screens hanging loosely from top-floor windows. The front door looked warped but I chalked that up to an illusion made by the house’s funny angle.

The yard wasn’t taken care of, which wasn’t something I’d typically notice. But along with the window screens, the shaggy yard contributed to the general sense of neglected upkeep.

“People do live here, right?” I said.

“That’s what Mom said.”

“I don’t see any cars. Or bikes for that matter,” I said.

Before Allison could respond, the front door opened wide. I hadn’t noticed that there was a screen door, but when it swung outward, it slammed into the house with a loud metallic rattle that was forceful and not welcoming.

An older gentleman exited the house, his head down and his steps solid and sure. His short gray hair was thin but shaggy, and his white tank top didn’t look so white anymore. He wore what looked like a brand-new pair of jeans. They were dark and stiff, and had to be stifling in the summer heat. The jeans were so new it was more like they were wearing him than he was wearing them.

He stopped abruptly when he looked up and saw us. “Help you?” he yelled. “You lost?”

I leaned out my open window and said, “We’re looking for Nick.”

“That’s me. Pull on up to the lawn. Don’t much care for formalities around here.”

No matter the invitation, I could not, in good conscience, pull my truck onto his lawn, even if it was made up of scraggly weeds and dirt. I did pull up to the edge of the road and parked facing the wrong direction so he wouldn’t think I was a complete conformist.

Nick put his hands on his hips and watched us with a one-eyed squint as we started our approach to the house.
He gave in and met us partway, probably after he decided that neither of us could possibly be dangerous.

I had a moment’s thought that Allison and I should work on not appearing so harmless, particularly when we ventured out to the edge of the woods to visit a stranger.

“I’m Nick, so I guess I’m who you’re looking for,” he said with an extended hand.

“Hi, I’m Becca and this is my sister, Allison. We’re from Bailey’s Farmers’ Market.”

“Oh, where my Betsy works?”

“Yes.” I didn’t want to be the one to let him know about the departure note.

“All right. Well, do you know she doesn’t live here?”

“We do. We’re here . . .” I glanced at Allison, who was looking back at me with confident support. “Well, we’re sorry about your brother.”

“Oh. Sure. Okay, yes, it’s been some rough news.” He squinted one eye again and scratched a spot above his right ear. “I’m impressed by your care for your fellow market workers. To come all the way out here to give me condolences. Gosh, that’s . . . ladies, I gotta be honest, that’s weird. I think you’re here for another reason and I’m not one to ever beat around the bush. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. We are here for another reason. We’re not here officially, though. Do you have somewhere we could sit and chat a minute?” Allison said.

He looked back toward his house and then back at us. “Tell you want, go on around the house to my back patio and I’ll bring out some iced teas, unless you’d prefer something stronger?”

“Tea would be great. Thank you,” Allison said.

It was a relief on all our parts that we didn’t walk through the house—no matter how curious I was about the inside. We didn’t know him and he didn’t know us and going inside didn’t seem like the best idea. Allison and I trekked through some tall itchy weeds and over uneven ground on the side of the house, but once we got around to the back, we were transported to a completely different place.

The back deck extended out from the entire width of the house. It was outfitted with a modern outdoor kitchen and comfortable cushioned patio furniture. The furniture was placed around an unlit fire pit and it faced a picturesque woodsy scene. I looked for the buck but I didn’t see him or any other wildlife.

The kitchen had stainless steel appliances that included a six-burner gas grill that made me want to call Sam over to fix some steaks.

“This is unbelievable,” I said.

“I know,” Allison said.

“Have a seat,” Nick said as he came out from the back sliding doors holding three plastic yellow cups with the fingers of one hand and a glass picture full of tea with the other.

Allison and I sat side-by-side on one of the couches as Nick held out the cups. They were all filled with ice, and a second later Nick had topped them off with tea.

Once his own cup was full, he sat down on a facing chair and said, “What’s up, ladies?”

“First of all, this backyard . . . your patio and outdoor kitchen are spectacular,” I said.

Nick laughed. “Thanks. I built everything myself. Got the
appliances after a restaurant in Smithfield went out of business. I like to see just how much I can power with my panels. My house is one big experiment.”

“How’s it working for you?” Allison asked.

“So far, so good.” He shrugged. “I like living out here. So did my wife.”

“Yes, we’re sorry about that too. Betsy was upset. Our condolences,” Allison said.

Nick blinked hard a couple times, more upset about the months-ago death of his wife than the recent death of his brother, but that was probably natural.

He continued, “Thank you. Betsy likes her small farm but she can’t understand my obsession with everything solar, or why I’d want to live so far from town. It was just me and Kristie out here. She liked it.”

He didn’t allude to any sort of familial issues with his daughter, but why would he mention such things to us?

“We saw a beautiful deer as we came down the road. A buck,” I said.

“You did? I’ll be. People tell me that all the time, but I’ve never seen him. I’m not a hunter, and though I like my view of the woods, I don’t go traipsing around in them very much. I like to look from the comfort of my chairs.” He patted the wooden armrest of the one he was sitting in.

“He came out to the road and actually led us here. It was magical,” I said.

“I’ll be.”

I couldn’t tell if he was truly perplexed by the buck’s role of tour guide or if he was just pretending to be. I couldn’t figure out why he would pretend, but there was something
off about him. He was friendly, but he was also wary, maybe nervous, most likely suspicious of us. Maybe just sad he’d lost his wife and brother in the same year.

“Nick,” Allison began, “we have some sensitive questions to ask you. Do you mind?”