Farm Fresh Murder (24 page)

“Dammit, Barry, why won’t you tell me?”

He shrugged. “It’s not important right now. If it becomes important, I’ll tell the appropriate people.”

“I hate that answer.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that.”

I didn’t chase after the tall man. He could probably move faster than me anyway, and I’d told Sam I wouldn’t be gone much longer. Plus, if it was Carl, I’d already been there, done that. I wanted to choke Barry, but considering that my date was a police officer, that might have been a bad idea.

“Barry, please?”

“Becca, you need to just stop whatever it is you’re doing. You don’t need to worry yourself about this stuff.”

“Don’t worry my pretty little head, huh?” I said as I went from simmer to boil.

“Something like that, yes.” Barry turned and walked out the back of his stall.

I took ten deep breaths to calm my anger, then had to add two more. What the hell was going on? I grabbed the napkins and maneuvered my way back to the party, telling myself that I needed to put on the face of calm and collected, or Sam might put the place on lockdown.

“Becca,” Ian said from behind me.

“Ian, hi.”

“Oh, hey, you okay?”

Anger had probably made my face so red that the makeup had burned right off. I thought about telling Ian about my moment with Barry, but I didn’t have the time and I still needed to cool down enough to speak calmly.

“Fine,” I said, almost convincingly. He didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push it, either.

“Let me carry that?” He nodded at the box of napkins.

“I got it, but thanks. You heading to the party?”

“Thought I’d see what I could do to help.”

“Great. I’m going back, too,” I said as I turned.

“Becca,” Ian said as he reached for my arm. “I need to talk to you for just a minute.”

“Sure,” I said, pushing back my anger and confusion some more.

“The other night, on the phone, it didn’t seem appropriate to talk about it, but I hope you know that I’d like to spend some more time with you. I have a sudden urge to tell you this, so if Officer Brion sweeps you off your feet tonight, you’ll know . . .”

There were too many people around; people I knew, people who knew me, people who would see me with Sam when they got to the party. But I didn’t care in the least. My anger was gone, erased with that magic that Ian seemed to have over me—had he touched me with his poisonous spit again? I stepped forward, stood on my tiptoes, and whispered in his ear, “I’d like to spend more time with you, too.”

And I’m certain we were
that
close to another kiss, a real one this time. But from my vantage point, I could see Carl Monroe walking toward us. He held the hand of a little boy I didn’t know. Carl saw me, blanched slightly, and then smiled stiffly before looking away and returning to minding his own business.

I gasped and stepped to Ian’s side so I could watch Carl. As I moved, I clumsily dropped the box of napkins right on my potential new boyfriend’s toes.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ian,” I said as I reached for the napkins.
“Did I hurt you badly?” The box, obeying some physics principle I wasn’t familiar with, fell corner first. So, though the box itself wasn’t heavy, the corner was sharp enough to cause damage.

“I’m okay.” Ian smiled at the higher tone of his voice as he tested putting weight on his damaged foot.

“That had to hurt. Should I get you some ice? Should you sit down?”

“I’m fine, Becca. I think I can walk it off. You have lousy timing, though.”

I actually blushed. “Well, I owe you one.” The moment for kissing had passed right on by, probably with Carl Monroe, who was nowhere to be seen now.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Come on, let’s get to the party.” Ian picked up the box of napkins.

We made our way to the party area, both of us trying not to limp. Whatever hadn’t been put in order before, Sam had taken care of. All the tables were covered with tablecloths and arranged nicely, the band’s instruments were set up, and the caterers had put the food on the buffet tables. As we entered, Sam was standing in the middle of the room, surveying the layout.

“We brought the napkins,” I said.

He looked over, his face becoming stern when he noticed Ian.

“One of the helpers told me that Allison would be right back,” he said as he took the box from Ian. “People have been stopping by, but I keep telling them we’re not quite ready. I thought Allison should be here first.”

“Good idea.”

We placed the napkins on the tables. It wasn’t much, but it added a little needed color and they fit with Allison’s last-minute theme switch to hoedown, or whatever.

As the last napkin was put in place, Allison swooped in. She’d changed into a silk blouse and nice slacks. She’d rebrushed her ponytail and it shone, even under the unflattering fluorescent tent lighting. She was so gorgeous. I sensed that even the two men I stood next to took a moment to appreciate her beauty. And I took a moment to be proud of her.

“Oh, Becca, I love the napkins. Perfect,” she said. Tears came to her eyes for a moment, and she hugged me tightly. She’d been under so much stress. I wished I could have helped her more.

“You’re welcome.” I hugged her back just as tightly.

“Sam, Ian, thanks,” Allison said.

“I did nothing but supply a soft place for the napkins to land,” Ian said. “Sam and Becca did all the work.”

Sam waved off the gratitude. “I think people are getting anxious, Allison. I know you’ll be sitting at the table in the front, right?”

“Yes.”

“Becca, I’d like us to sit at a table close to where everyone will be coming and going. Ian, would you like to join us?”

“Sure,” he said with a smile, probably just to see what Sam would do. Sam kept his face steely. “But, sadly, I offered to sit with Barry. His family can’t make it, so I agreed to be a poor substitute.”

“All right, then. I’m sure we’ll talk to you later.”

So Barry’s family wouldn’t even be there? I was doubly angry at myself for my earlier concern about his feelings.

There was no abrupt beginning to the party, but pretty much everyone filed in in an orderly fashion and found places to sit. The mood was easy and cheery. I didn’t know Mrs. Simonsen, but I didn’t see Jessop anywhere, so I assumed that neither of them was in attendance.

Carl Monroe was there with the little boy I’d seen earlier. Carl looked at me, smiled politely, and then looked away. The person who’d been talking to Barry knew I’d seen him, and Carl wasn’t acting like he’d been caught doing anything wrong. I’d talk to him before the evening was over; hopefully without making a scene or having to chase him down. He did, I noted to myself, sit with Barry and Ian.

Sam and I sat at a table by the entrance to the party area. We could see the entire space from our vantage point, which was Sam’s goal. Linda and her gorgeous man Drew sat with us, as did Stella and her kids, Richard and Jacquelyn, who, in sync with our farmers’ market lives, entertained us with tales of killer tomatoes, lethal corn, and possessed pastries.

Allison began the dinner with a welcome and the moment of silence for Matt Simonsen. It was somber and respectful, and it felt right. I realized that everyone needed to pay their respects even though most of them hadn’t known Matt Simonsen—the moment of silence achieved what was needed. This annual dinner was a part of our tradition. The murder of Matt Simonsen was the most horrible thing possible, but we would be able to move forward from here and still honor his memory.

And no one had mentioned the events from my time with Abner in the woods, so hopefully the dinner would proceed smoothly, and maybe even reveal who the murderer was.

“Sam, what do you do?” Linda asked. She’d lasered me with raised eyebrows when she saw I was with someone.

“I’m in law enforcement,” he said honestly. I was surprised that he wasn’t acting undercover or anything.

“You’re a police officer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Linda’s forehead crinkled. “Oh, wait, are you the same officer who was here the . . . the other day?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Linda was about as subtle as I was capable of being, so I was intrigued at what she might say next. “And that’s where you and Becca met?”

“Yes. I’m not fully convinced of her innocence, so here I am.”

Sam’s tone was serious and confident. I wasn’t sure what to do or say, so I sat still and waited.

A moment later, the corner of his mouth twitched. This break in his armor cued everyone that they might laugh now.

“Well, I’m always curious about Becca’s innocence,” Linda said.

When it was our turn at the buffet table, Sam and I held back from the rest of our group.

“That worked out pretty well,” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Allison said that if you were here with me, everyone would relax around you. That’s exactly what happened.”

“Your sister is probably smarter than you give her credit for.”

“Oh, I give her plenty of credit, but I think we’re at the wrong table,” I said. “See that one over there?” Sam casually looked to where I’d head-pointed. “Barry, Ian, and Carl Monroe are sitting together.”

“Okay.”

Now that we could talk, I told him about what I’d seen when I’d gone out for the napkins. Of course, I left out the part that I was going to warn Barry about the Simonsen family. I hadn’t done as much, so it didn’t matter anyway.

“You think it was Carl who was talking to Barry?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Why would he need to disguise himself? He’s here and they’re sitting together. If Carl wanted to talk to him, why didn’t they just talk?” Sam asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, I agree—hmm.”

“Okay, we’ll go talk to them later. Let me observe from afar for a bit.”

Plan in place, we sat back at our original table and enjoyed the good food and even better company.

Linda’s date, Drew, was awesome. Stella’s teenagers behaved in ways that teenagers weren’t always capable of, and I enjoyed their sibling banter and their wild imaginations. And Stella made us all laugh as she told us stories of her husband, Frank, and his adventures as a restaurant owner. He hadn’t been able to join us for the party because he had to work, but he was there in spirit as we heard hilarious stories about his employees and their assortment of excuses for skipping their shifts. My personal favorite was the kid who called in and said he’d bumped his head on something and the required hairnet wouldn’t fit over the lump.

“Frank said that they’d find him a larger hairnet. And the kid told him that, sadly, that wouldn’t work because the doctor had told him hairnets of any size would be out of the question for the next few days,” Stella said.

“What did Frank do?” I asked as I laughed.

“Asked the kid for his doctor’s phone number so he could guarantee him that he had only low-pressure hairnets. Of course, the kid had an excuse for not having the phone number with him.” Stella sighed. “He never showed up to work again.”

“Lots of turnover in the restaurant business?” Sam asked.

“Constant,” Stella said.

As dinner led to dessert, the band came out and started to play. They were unbelievable, and with only three instruments and lots of attitude, they were a perfect fit. No one was acting strange, and Sam’s constant survey of the room didn’t seem to turn up anything suspicious.

Just as I spooned a bite of cheesecake into my mouth, someone familiar walked through the entryway. The woman was tall and beautiful, though dressed differently than the last time I’d seen her—
coming out of Carl Monroe’s house.

“Mamma,” I mumbled.

“What’s that?” Sam asked quietly, not wanting to interrupt the rest of the table conversation.

“That’s Mamma Maria,” I said. “She works at the Smithfield Market. She makes amazing pies. What’s she doing here?”
And why was she at Carl Monroe’s yesterday?

We watched her scan the crowd. Her face broke into a smile and she stepped forward confidently and wove her way through the tables right to Carl Monroe; well, more specifically, to the little boy first. She kissed his cheek and then sat down in the empty chair next to him. She and Carl reached their hands together and squeezed them briefly as they smiled at each other. Barry smiled at her as it seemed they were introduced, and Ian got out of his chair to greet her with a hug. She’d told me she knew Ian, so that didn’t seem so strange.

“Why didn’t she tell me she knew Carl?” I said.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“I went to Smithfield and told her I worked at Bailey’s. Why didn’t she tell me she knew Carl? And, Sam, that was the day I chased him.”

Sam wiped a napkin over his mouth and said, “Maybe it’s time to go over and talk to them.”