Bushel Full of Murder (19 page)

I didn’t really know Jeff. Allison didn’t either but she knew where he lived because she knew where all the vendors lived; it was something she did, memorize vendor addresses. She once mentioned that knowing where everyone lived was somehow comforting, that by giving each vendor their “place” in her mind, she was able to give them a dimension that helped her understand them better.

I was surprised when she guided me to Ian and George’s old neighborhood, the Ivy League area. Ian and George had lived on Harvard, but Jeff lived on Princeton.

Like Ian had, Jeff also lived in an apartment behind a house, but Jeff’s place wasn’t above a garage. It was in what looked like a reconstituted, extra-large backyard shed. It
was nice, almost feminine, with dainty white shutters and a light green exterior.

“Adorable,” I said after we’d walked directly down the driveway to the back. Allison hadn’t wanted to knock on the main house’s front door. She decided that she wanted our visit to be a surprise to Jeff even if it meant we offended or bothered the residents of the main house.

“He mentioned that he got this place for a steal.”

Allison continued to march forward. I had to quicken my pace to keep up. She reached the front door and knocked—no, pounded—on it.

“Open up, Jeff. It’s Allison. I need to talk to you,” she said.

There was no sound from inside.

“I know you’re in there. Open up now.”

“Do you really think he’s in there?” I whispered.

“I have no idea,” she whispered back. “But if he is, I want him to know I mean business.”

She knocked again. “Now, Jeff.”

We waited another long, silent moment, but then the door opened. A little.

“I’m not feeling well, Allison, what’s up?” Jeff said from the narrow slit he’d allowed.

“You’re fine. We need to talk to you.” She pushed her way into the small house, or cottage or whatever it was.

Once I got over being rattled about Allison’s surprise forcefulness, I followed behind but I did give Jeff an apologetic smile as I walked past him. Maybe it was my turn to be the good guy again, and maybe Allison was beginning to enjoy this way too much.

The inside didn’t change my mind about the original
structure being an oversized shed, but just like the outside, the inside was adorable and feminine. Jeff was either man enough to welcome his feminine side or the rent was the steal he’d told Allison it was.

The one big room had a couch, chair, coffee table, and small television on one side and a short single-counter kitchenette on the other side. I assumed that the closed door by the range led to a bathroom, and the ladder attached to the back wall led up to a loft bedroom. I liked it, but couldn’t imagine living in it. It was small, there was no garden, and Hobbit and I would undoubtedly get in each other’s way.

And despite its adorableness, it was messy. Man-messy, I called it. I’d gone through a couple of ex-husbands with the affliction. Neither Ian nor Sam was man-messy. I’d been appreciative of the fact that they both picked their towels and underwear up from the floor without ever needing to be asked.

“Have a seat,” Jeff said less than enthusiastically.

Allison moved some papers off the couch, sat down, and then patted the spot next to her as she looked at me. I sat where directed.

“You have a seat, too, Jeff,” Allison said.

Begrudgingly, he sat in the chair and didn’t make any effort not to look put out.

“What’s the deal with the business license?” Allison asked.

“I explained it already,” he said.

“Right. So what’s the real story?”

“That is the real story.”

“No it isn’t. It’s time to grow up, Jeff. Tell me what’s going on.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, but I could see him rein it in. Anyone would be upset about being told to grow up, but at least he was smart enough to realize that my sister was correct; growing up was exactly what he needed to do.

He sighed and looked at Allison.

“It all just got out of hand,” he finally said.

“What did?” Allison asked.

“My protestations, I guess,” he said.

“Explain, please,” she said.

“All right. First of all, I didn’t kill that man, I want you to know that.”

“I believe you,” Allison said.

I wasn’t sure she did, but I kept quiet by pinching my mouth shut and sitting on my hands.

“Good. Anyway, I found the clause in the law that I thought allowed me to get out of having to get a business license. I pointed it out to that guy at the office, and I learned quickly that I never should have. I should have just applied for the license and let whatever was going to happen, happen.” He paused, found some courage, and continued. “I have a felony on my record, Allison. I didn’t tell him that part, but when I pointed out the unclear clause, he took it personally and became hell-bent on figuring out why in the world I didn’t want to apply for a stinkin’ thirty-five-dollar license. He figured it out easily enough. I was arrested for assault a few years back. Yeah, I beat someone up, but that someone was harming a family member of mine, a family member who didn’t want to come forward and let the world know what was going on. Anyway, whatever. I was arrested, I did my time, and was on probation for a year
or so. I didn’t want anyone—well, I didn’t want you, Allison—to find out about my past. I really like my gig at the market. I love Monson, and Bailey’s. When Ship threatened to expose me, it turned into a . . . well, a battle. I told him that he couldn’t expose me without looking like the complete nosy jerk he was. He said he would get me to apply for the license and then he’d have every reason to know about my past so he’d deny the application. I wouldn’t bite on his threat, and he just kept trying to corner me. It got so out of hand. A stupid power struggle. I just should have applied and let it be.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done,” Allison said. “Or you could have just come and talked to me. We would have figured it out.”

“Jeff,” I added, “I don’t think a felony conviction means an automatic denial of the business license. In fact, I don’t think anyone is denied. Unless Mr. Ship wanted them to be denied, I suppose. You might have just gotten the license and no one would have known any better.”

“I realize that now,” he said. “But it just turned into something it should never have turned into. I’m to blame, too, but holy moly, Robert Ship was sure angry with me. My entire reputation was being threatened, but I did not kill him. I’m sorry, Allison.”

“You need to go down to the business office today and apply for that license. Today, Jeff. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, but you won’t be welcome back at Bailey’s until you have the license. I check references on all new vendors. I knew all about your arrest and conviction. I know more of the story than you probably want me to know. I
haven’t told anyone, and from what I learned, you had every right to be angry at the man you hurt. Every right, but you still should have come to talk to me about it.”

I thought Allison was more disappointed in the fact that a couple of her vendors hadn’t trusted her enough to discuss their problems with her than the problems themselves.

“I understand,” Jeff said. He didn’t show any surprise over Allison’s knowledge of his past. He probably realized how dumb he’d been, knowing that Allison was always thorough and checked references along with past criminal records. “I’m really sorry.”

Allison nodded but didn’t say that she accepted his apology or that everything was going to be okay. She would wait and see how the application process went first. But if I knew her as well as I thought I did, she and Jeff would end up being be good friends at some point in the near future. They’d reach a mutual understanding that would rebuild their trust in each other, and that trust would never again be broken. Again, it was just one of those things she was good at: forgiveness.

I felt like I should add something so I said, “Love your potatoes, though.”

For a beat we were all silent, but then we laughed together.

Allison had had her say. It was something she knew she should have done long ago. She’d either forgotten or ignored Jeff’s licensing issues for other, bigger issues that needed her attention.

“It was one of those things I thought would just get taken care of,” she said when we were back in the truck. “I didn’t see why I needed to intervene. Jeff and Robert Ship should
have resolved it quickly. It’s ridiculous what ultimately happened. No detail is too small, Becca.”

“Do you think he could have killed Ship?” I said.

“Actually, I think he
could
have, he does seem capable of such a terrible thing. But I don’t think he did,” Allison said. “Nevertheless, I’m going to tell Sam what I know about his past and what we now know about the power struggle between him and Ship. The police can then go talk to Kyle and Meg from that angle. No matter how the police talk to them, they need to be talked to. Mr. Ship should not have been able to get away with whatever he got away with. Kyle and Meg might not need to get in trouble but it’s now their responsibility to bring to light all the times Ship got in someone’s way.”

“You’re pretty smart,” I said.

“Nah, just been around you enough to learn some of this investigation stuff.”

“So far, you haven’t been shot at, stabbed, or punched, so you’re doing a much better job.”

“Oh, there’s still time. Where to next?”

“A place I hadn’t thought about until we were in there talking to Jeff. I have a new idea.”

“Let’s go.” Allison put on her seat
belt.

I’d never banked at American Investors Bank and Trust. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the bank. I didn’t have feelings about it one way or another. I just didn’t know the bank. My parents had banked elsewhere for as far back as I could remember, so when it became my turn to set up my own accounts, I went to the place I was familiar with.

And I didn’t know Lyle Manner. The first time we’d met was in Bailey’s parking lot earlier that week. I’d seen him and Peyton having a moment I’d interpreted as somewhat heated, and now I’d heard that Peyton was explaining her lack of a business bank account to him. From a bank man’s point of view, that might be a good reason to scold. However, I doubted he would have treated a dumb young man the
same way he’d treated my dumb young cousin. Girl power aside, I didn’t have an opinion about Mr. Manner.

“Do you know him well?” I asked Allison as I parked the truck.

“Not well. We’ve worked together for years. This is the market’s bank. I’ve never socialized with him.”

“But you didn’t work with Robert Ship much?”

“No, not at all. I would never have been the one to apply for the market’s license or the vendors’ licenses. I saw him enough around town and at the market that I knew he lived in Monson, but I didn’t know what his job was. I doubt he and I ever had a real conversation other than the day he came to help with the food trucks.”

“Let’s go . . . are you Holmes or Watson?” I said.

“You should be Holmes. This is your idea. I’m just along for the ride this time. I’ll be your temporary Watson.”

“That works.”

I always stood out when I went someplace to conduct business when I was dressed for the market. My overalls, short and long, did not give me the air of someone who had any business savvy. I might not have been a Rockefeller, but I knew business, even in my overalls. Nevertheless, I was used to people in places like banks turning and looking at me funny when I came in. Today, though, I had my well-put-together sister with me. She worked at the market, too, but she was always dressed in business casual and there was something about the way she carried herself that made people immediately think she knew exactly what she was doing.

There was more confidence in my steps with her beside me.

“He’s over there,” I said out of the side of my mouth when I spotted Lyle Manner sitting behind a desk in the back. He was alone in a small glass wall enclosed office and his attention was so focused on something on the desk that he didn’t see us enter the bank or approach him.

“Do you want me to say anything?” Allison asked out of the side of her mouth.

“Oh, I got this one, Watson. Just play along.”

“I can do that.”

We stopped at the open doorway to the office. I knocked on the door frame and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Manner?”

He looked up with a grimace, though I didn’t think it was a reaction to seeing us. He was upset, or had been upset. His eyes were circled in black and his mouth was drawn down.

“Yes? Oh, hello, Allison and . . . Becca. Come in.” He stood and motioned for us to sit in the two chairs on this side of the desk. He sat again after we did. He tried to paste a patient, good customer service look on his face, but he failed.

“Are we disturbing you? I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, I’m sorry. I should have stayed home an extra day or two. I’m afraid I’ve been grieving my friend and I’m not able to hide it well. Everyone here says I look like a vampire in the making.” There was humor to the words but not to his voice, so none of us laughed.

“You and Robert Ship were good friends then?” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. Yes, in fact, he and I were very good friends. We’d known each other for years and because of our jobs had many occasions to be at the same places at the same
time. Before we knew it, we were also socializing together. After Robert’s kids moved away he became Uncle Robert to my two girls. We will all miss him.”

I shifted in the chair. I really did hate to bother someone who was so clearly upset, but I also didn’t want to miss my chance.

“Did you know much about his brothers?” I said.

Mr. Manner blinked and his eyebrows came together. “Well, not really.”

“I guess I mean his brother Nick and the solar panels issue?”

“Oh, yes.” Mr. Manner smiled. “We often laughed about that one. Robert had been so adamant that the panels were against the law. When the city council voted in Nick’s favor, Robert could only chuckle at himself. He mentioned that the whole ordeal had made Nick so angry that they were no longer speaking.”

“I see,” I said.

It was easy to be blind to the faults of those we cared about. I understood that, and I wasn’t even so sure Lyle Manner had been blind. He might not have ever had a chance to know the whole story of his friend. Or maybe Nick, Jeff, Meg, and Kyle hadn’t told us a totally truthful version of the chapters of Robert Ship’s life they’d been a part of. The truth was, as usual, probably somewhere in the middle. But it didn’t much matter at the moment anyway.

“Mr. Manner, I have to ask you a question. You might not want to answer, but the answer might be very important,” I said.

“Gracious, sounds serious.”

“It is. It’s about our cousin, Peyton Chase. She’s one of the food truck vendors visiting the market.”

“I know who you mean.”

“I saw you and she . . . having a heated moment the day you and Mr. Ship were at Bailey’s to set things up for the vendors. Can you tell me what the two of you were arguing about?”

“Of course. Yes, it’s why she was here the morning Robert was found dead. She told me that she didn’t have a bank account at all, that she kept all her money hidden in her truck. I was chastising her and told her that she should come to the bank immediately and set up her account. She wouldn’t do that, so I pleaded with her to meet me here early so we could get her taken care of.”

Hmm. No lie to catch anyone in there, it seemed.

“Yes,” he continued. “I was very upset at her and I’m afraid I didn’t mince words. I told her she was being irresponsible and, frankly, naïve and dumb. I lit into her more than I should have but she said she had a large sum of money hidden in places all through that food truck of hers. She said she didn’t trust banks. Later I regretted how fatherly and adamant I’d been toward her, but I’d been legitimately shocked into doing so.”

I looked at Allison. I hadn’t meant to spring the news on her. My intention had just been to confirm what I’d heard from Sam.

“I had no idea,” she said. “I would have done something about that if I’d known.”

“Right, and the sum of money she said she had was horrifying,” Manner said. “She said she had over sixty thousand dollars hidden in that truck. I was happy her business was
doing so well, but I told her she needed to get that money protected.”

The other reason I’d wanted to talk to Mr. Manner was to see if we could get out of him the amount of money Peyton had secreted away. I hadn’t even had to ask, but any sense of satisfaction over my Jedi questioning skills was replaced by shock regarding the true amount. Either Peyton had sold a bunch of hot dogs in a relatively short amount of time or she’d gotten that money—some or all of it—in another way. I didn’t like thinking what I was thinking.

“Did she tell you anything else? Like how many hot dogs she’d sold or anything?” I said, grasping at more vapors.

“No, but I do think I was pretty convincing. She agreed to meet me here.”

“But I imagine you two didn’t end up setting up the account?” I said.

“No, other things took precedence, of course.”

So that money was still out there, perhaps still hidden in the truck. Allison and I would have to find a way to protect it if we could.

“What about Mr. Ship? Why was he here that morning?” Allison said.

“I’m not exactly sure. But I think a market vendor who also had some banking business asked Robert to meet him, that they’d take care of their paperwork here. A baked potato vendor, I think. Robert and I were going to go to breakfast after business had been taken care of that morning, but our breakfast plans weren’t expected to happen that early. I’m speculating a little. Robert mentioned the vendor and a potential meeting at the bank, but he never shared with me
a specific time. I can’t imagine any other reason he’d be here so early. I told the police as much.”

And they still didn’t suspect Jeff?

Why would Jeff ask to meet Mr. Ship at the bank? I was sure there were other answers, but the two that sprung to mind were that Jeff either wanted someone outside of the business office to witness any conversation he had with Mr. Ship, or Jeff wanted a place where he might be able to kill Mr. Ship without any witnesses. The bank’s parking lot in the early morning hours would be hidden from the world. As I’d already pointed out to Sam, bankers’ hours were a real thing.

“No security cameras in your parking lot?” I asked.

Mr. Manner blinked a few times and then shook his head. “It’s a travesty, isn’t it? We’re a bank and we don’t have security cameras in our parking lot.”

We might need to make another visit to Jeff.

“I see,” Allison said when I didn’t say anything right away.

“You know, Robert mentioned that he didn’t like the vendor, that he’d been trouble, but I didn’t get the details. I was just happy to help on the banking end, whatever that meant. I didn’t know what banking business the vendor wanted to conduct, but I was ready to accommodate him.”

“Did you tell the police that Mr. Ship didn’t like the vendor, mention any difficulties between the two of them?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“Allison, I’m still waiting on a couple of the other food truck vendors to come in and set up their temporary accounts. Let’s see”—he grabbed a folder from the corner of his desk—“Mel from Paco’s Tacos and Hank from Noodle Bowls.
I’ve tried to call them. It’s not necessary that they set up the accounts but they haven’t returned my calls, and we really can make it convenient for them. You know, get their money back to their hometown banks. I’ve made all of those calls. If you get the chance, would you remind them of the opportunity we’ve extended them?”

“Of course,” Allison said.

“Thank you. I thought I’d stop by tomorrow, but a heads-up from you wouldn’t hurt.”

“Be happy to.”

I thought we’d given Mr. Manner a moment’s reprieve from grieving, but as he walked us to the door and told us good-bye I sensed that he would fall back into sadness again. It was notable that of everyone—Betsy, Nick, Meg, Kyle, and Lyle Manner, Lyle was the saddest over Robert’s death. Or perhaps he was the one showing his emotions the most. The family members, Betsy and Nick, seemed the least upset, but perhaps they were just hiding their emotions.

Everyone grieves differently—something I needed to keep in mind.

Once in the truck again, I said, “What did we learn?”

“Bottom line? We didn’t do such a great job questioning Jeff, and though we think Robert Ship might have been a jerk in some respects, he certainly had at least one good and loyal friend. We also know our cousin claimed to have hidden a ridiculous amount of money in her truck.”

“I think that sums it up well,” I said. “The truck’s in police custody now, I think.”

“I’ll call Sam and say something about being concerned
about Peyton’s money. I won’t let him know what we’re up to, and I’ll just act like it’s something I already knew about.”

“Would it be okay if you didn’t do that right away?”

Allison glanced at me. “Oh, of course, the money in Arizona. Sorry, I should have thought. Sure, mum’s the word. For now.”

“Good.”

I didn’t say it out loud, but of course I knew we were missing something. We weren’t the police. We knew that. We wanted to help Peyton. What we’d learned wouldn’t help her, and might throw more suspicion her direction if she really did have that amount of money. We needed better direction. Sam wasn’t going to tell me anything else at this point.

But someone else might. I dropped Allison off at the market and told her I was headed home to check on Hobbit.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t quite the whole truth,
either.