Farm Fresh Murder (26 page)

“I don’t know. We’ll keep our options open. Tomorrow I’ll look into some things that have come to light tonight, but for now, we dance.”

“Really?” I said, both horrified at the idea and curious that Sam even had “dance” in his vocabulary.

“Really. Come on.” He took my hand, and though neither of us knew how to square dance (Carl and Mamma Maria were pros, by the way), and though Ian had a difficult time remaining amused by the idea of my fake date with Sam Brion, and though Barry was nowhere to be seen, we still managed to have a great time.

Sam took me home right after the party. We had no more
revelations regarding the murder, but we did have fun.

I actually danced some, though it was ugly and brief. At the late hour of 10:30 P.M. my recovering body was exhausted. I fell into bed with Hobbit and slept until eight o’clock; the late hour was unheard of. I woke up, jolted at the time that showed on my clock, and made the decision that I’d take it easy one more day. It was the Monday after one of Bailey’s biggest weekends. It wouldn’t be very busy. Plus, I still needed to work on building up my inventory. And finally, Hobbit deserved to have me at her disposal for at least the entire morning.

First on the list was a long walk around the property—for Hobbit, and to stretch my tightening muscles. I brought a pencil and my light green note cards, but my dog didn’t care just as long as we kept walking as I read through my notes.

Barry’s was the first card on my pile. To my already suspicious notes, I added his strange behavior at the party. Why wouldn’t he tell me who was in the trench coat? Where did he disappear to? Why had Pauline seemed to make it a point that we knew he lived on what was now Carl’s property at one time? None of what he’d done since the murder seemed to jibe or make sense.

But really, was Barry a killer?

The secrets he kept to himself had
something
to do with the murder, I was sure, but I didn’t know what or how. His past with Pauline Simonsen might have been incentive enough, because love always is the perfect motive. But Barry had moved on, he’d even left the area where Pauline lived and he’d gotten married. I knew his family, and they were a good group of people. So, despite his secrets and his conversation with a mystery trench-coat-clad person, my gut told me he wasn’t the one who swung the axe.

“But he either suspects or knows who the murderer is,” I said to Hobbit. “I’m sure of it.” I pulled out my cell phone and tried to reach him. It was no surprise that he didn’t answer.

Last night Sam had said that he’d have another conversation with Barry, but it would be to no avail. Barry wasn’t telling anyone anything. There had to be something else that would steer us in the right direction.

I looked at Carl Monroe’s card next. Of everyone, I thought I’d probably been the most wrong about Carl. Talk about being in all the wrong place at the wrong time! Did I believe that he had been at Smithfield to see Mamma Maria and that he had run from me because he didn’t want me to know about his personal life? It seemed likely. Carl had always been quiet, and he and Mamma acted as though they liked each other a lot. The Fall Equinox Dinner was a perfect spot to bring a new girlfriend. I still wondered why she had been at his house, but for all I knew, it was to drop off a toothbrush. Did I still think Carl was the person who’d knocked on Allison’s door when I’d been snooping? I had no idea, so I added three question marks. And even if he had been, so what? He had a right to talk to Allison whenever he wanted. But again, my gut kicked in—there was something strange about that visitor.

“I just don’t know, Hobbit. I guess it’s possible, but I don’t know.”

Hobbit nudged my knee enough to let me know she was listening but wasn’t all that interested in the conversation. We’d walked to the low crest above the pumpkin patch. The temperature was cool but not cold, and the sky was dotted with puffy white clouds. I took a moment to breathe in the fresh air. Not enough people on the planet get to do what my dog and I were doing; I understood her choosing the interests of the out-of-doors over the murder investigation.

“But like Barry, Carl knows something,” I muttered to myself. “Abner had been at his house, and his house had once been Barry’s. Somehow Carl has become involved, but it has been against his will, I bet.”

Ian’s card was next. My curiosity about him had only increased, and my thoughts that he might be involved in the murder had all but gone away. That might not be a good sign. Maybe he was involved and just a pro at diverting attention. At this point, I had to hope he wasn’t involved. Plans for him were forming in my mind. Once the murder was solved, I’d get back on my normal schedule and maybe throw in a date or two. Ian seemed to be interested in the same idea.

I sighed. Hobbit looked at me and rolled her eyes.

The last card in my stack was Abner’s. And, sadly, he seemed the most likely person to have committed the murder. He’d loved Pauline and she’d chosen Matt Simonsen; he’d stayed close—geographically—to them; he was the one who “found” Matt’s body; the bloody axe had been discovered in his greenhouse—an axe had been used on the tree with his and Pauline’s names.

But what about the shooting? Was Sam right? Had Abner planned for someone to shoot at the cabin to plant the idea of another suspect? Who? It had been frightening, but the gun ended up being harmless enough. I still wanted to ask Abner some questions.

I flipped open my phone and dialed.

“Becca? Everything all right?” Sam answered on the first ring.

“Fine. Hey, I have a question for you. It’s not standard operating procedure, I’m sure, but can I come talk to Abner?”

Sam was silent for a beat. “Well, prisoners are sometimes allowed visitors—
very briefly
—but I can’t give you any sort of official questioning authority. Besides, you aren’t going to investigate murders anymore, right?”

“Sure, I get it. I’ll be a good
visitor
. When can I come see him?”

“Today about one o’clock will work.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. See you then.”

“Sam . . .”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for escorting me to the dinner last night. It was fun.”

“Yes, it was,” he said, his officialness shaken by my friendly tone.

I laughed. “See you later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I closed the phone.

“Sorry, Hobbit. I only have the rest of the morning. You run, I’ll walk carefully.”

 

 

I couldn’t remember the last time I ventured into town twice
in one week. Normally, once per week, maybe only twice per month, was typical. And my favorite bookstore, coffee shop, and new friend Ian’s apartment were on the other side of Monson. The other side of town was only a short five-minute drive, but I wanted to stick to my plan and get back to Hobbit as quickly as I could.

Monson’s downtown was two streets long. There was still an old drugstore with a soda fountain on Main Street, along with a bar, a pool hall, two banks, and other small retail stores. First Street held an old one-auditorium movie theater, the town library, a store that still called itself the Five and Dime (though the items for sale were now ninety-nine cents), a couple of appliance stores, and the county courthouse/jail/sheriff’s office. I’d always thought the red-brick jail building was the prettiest building in town, but I’d never seen the inside of it. Until today.

As I went through the front double doors, I was reminded of the smells of a school building—some combination of linoleum floor cleaner, dust that would never be cleaned out of corners, and the greasy scent of a real cafeteria. At first sniff, I liked everything about it.

There was a buzz of activity all around. Everyone was working; everyone seemed to be moving at a pace that didn’t fit with living on a farm and being surrounded by crops instead of coworkers, but it wasn’t terrible.

“Can I help you?” a girl at the information desk asked as she timed noisy chews on her bubble gum in between words.

“I’m here to see Officer Brion,” I said.

“Back that way. He’s in the second office on the left. Sign in.” She pushed a clipboard forward, shot me an obligatory smile, and turned back to whatever she had been looking at on her computer screen.

I did as she instructed and then made my way to Sam’s office, the door of which had one word painted on it: Police.

I didn’t know if I should knock, so I didn’t.

The area reminded me of a 1970s cop show, the name of which I couldn’t remember. There were six desks filling the front open space and three glass-walled offices at the back of the room. Sam sat at one of the front desks, a phone propped at his ear and on his shoulder as he wrote notes. I noticed that he wrote with his left hand and he used a yellow number 2 pencil. All trace of the fun Sam, the one who wore colorful printed shirts, was gone.

I couldn’t hear his exact words through the hum of activity, but his face wasn’t pinched in concern.

“Ms. Robins,” Officer Norton said as she walked toward me. “Sam said you’d be by. Come on in and have a seat over there. Sam will be with you in a minute. Coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.” I sat in a duct-taped-together vinyl chair that was next to a burping copier. A second later, Officer Norton was back with the coffee. I watched her biceps flex as she handed me the paper cup. Just to know what it felt like to be burly, the thought of attempting weight lifting ran through my mind. And then directly out of it.

“Thanks,” I said again.

“You’re welcome. You need anything else?”

“No, this is great.” I saluted her with the cup.

“Let me know if you do. I’ll be right over there. I’ve got some calls to make.”

I took a sip of the coffee as Officer Norton went back to her desk. It was the worst coffee I’d ever tasted, and I hoped no one saw my eyes tear up and my mouth turn downward at the bitterness. Conveniently, there was a small garbage can next to the copier.

There were four officers at their desks, each of them in a state of “busy.” There was only one person in the glass-walled offices. He was dressed in civilian clothes, and I’d never seen him before.

Who knew that Monson had enough crime to have so many officers? I was impressed.

Sam hung up his phone, looked at me, stood up, and walked my direction—all without one smile or one hair falling out of place. He was definitely in work mode.

“Becca,” he said as we shook hands.

“Sa . . . I mean Officer Brion.”

“The prisoner is in a back holding cell. I have clearance for you to visit him, but he’ll remain in his cell. You’ll have to sit outside of it. We have only one interview room, and we can’t use it for visitors.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll have to search you.”

“What?”

Finally, the corner of his mouth twitched. “I wanted to see your reaction.”

“My reaction is that I’m glad you broke form for a minute to make a joke, but if you tried to search me, I’d have to hurt you.”

Sam smiled, fully. “This way.”

He led us through a door I hadn’t noticed before but was next to one of the glass-walled offices. We went down a small hallway, passing what I thought was the interview room he had spoken about and some bathrooms.

“Did you talk to Barry or the Simonsens yet?” I asked.

“Not yet, but it’s in the works, boss.”

I laughed. “Thanks for the fake date, Sam. It was really fun.”

He turned and looked at me. “I had a great time. You work with some terrific people.”

“And potentially a murderer.”

“There is that.”

We went through another doorway and into a room that had three cagelike cells. Two of them were empty except for bare cots. Abner sat on the cot in the third one. He was hunched over, his head in his hands. He looked up as we entered and threw together a smile.

He wasn’t able to hide his exhaustion or the years that he’d piled on over the last few days.

“Becca?” he said as he stood. “I’m so sorry about the other day.”

I waved him away. “No harm done. How are you?” I walked to the cell and touched his fingers as he held on to the bars.

Sam cleared his throat. “You may not touch the prisoner, and you have only a few minutes.”

I looked at him and he shrugged lightly. Rules were rules, I supposed.

“You may sit here.” Sam put a chair in front of the cell, about five feet away from it.

“Will you be staying?” I asked him.

“Only if you want me to.”

“I don’t.”

“There are no recording devices in here. Whatever you say will remain between the two of you. But you won’t have long. This isn’t necessarily proper procedure.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Okay, then. Let me know if you need anything at all.” Sam looked at me and then sent a stern stare to Abner. Abner looked away and I felt sorry for him, and suddenly mad at Sam. I was glad when he left the room.