Farm Fresh Murder (28 page)

I ran back to my truck, put on a pair of work gloves, and ran back to the feeders. Though the gloves weren’t dainty and could maybe erase a fingerprint or two, I did the best I could to pull a feeder from the building without destroying evidence. I’d give it to Sam and ask him to see if he could find any fingerprints—hopefully, other than Abner’s.

I made another trip back to the truck to put the feeder and gloves on the front seat. Then I went back to the greenhouse. The door was unlocked, so I invited myself in. I flipped the switches, but the lights didn’t turn on. It wasn’t dark outside, so I could still see pretty well, but the only inside light was from the little white one. It must have been some sort of emergency feature—when the power was off, this light offered at least something. But what bothered me more was that the irrigation system had been turned off. The soil seemed dry, and some of the flowers were beginning to look rough around the edges. I didn’t want to think about the fact that if Abner did spend the rest of his life in jail, the health of the flowers wouldn’t matter. For now, though, it mattered.

There was nothing I could do—I had no idea how to manually turn on a system that required power to get it started. Plus, I thought, as I looked at the mechanics, I might not be able to figure it out anyway. Since there wasn’t a hose attached to a faucet in sight, I couldn’t see a way to help, but I’d talk to Sam later about my concerns.

I left the greenhouse and Abner’s property, and drove around to Carl’s. I figured that Simonsen Orchards had to be on the other side of Abner’s land, and the only way I knew of to get to that spot was by passing Carl’s.

Carl’s mansion hadn’t changed since my last visit. Even down to the small detail of Mamma Maria’s truck being parked in the driveway. Did I think they were inside the house mulling over details of murderous plots? No, I didn’t. In fact, I thought the last thing on their minds at the moment was murder. I wasn’t the only one taking Monday off.

“Well, they seem to be getting along,” I said as I drove by, choosing not to spy this time.

There was a road sign just past Carl’s that helped significantly. It read Simonsen Orchards—This Way and had a large, bright yellow arrow.

Pleased at my crack investigative skills, I turned down the road. It was paved and groomed, and a canopy of perfect trees soon appeared overhead. The road veered to the left, which made me think I was now heading closer to Abner’s property than Carl’s. By the time I reached Simonsen Orchards, I estimated that the cabin where I’d met Abner was smack-dab at a point equidistant from all three properties, though the only driveable road to it was from Carl’s.

Simonsen Orchards was impressive; big and beautiful. There was real farm equipment in the orchard, and a wrought-iron gate with a Welcome sign suspended from chains. The orchard went on forever; so far, it seemed, that I wondered why Abner’s property wasn’t lined in peach trees from the Simonsens’ orchard. I wanted a better grasp of where I was in relation to the land I already knew about, but the large number of trees made that tricky.

This was a big-time operation, much bigger than anything I was accustomed to.

Just past the gate, a smooth driveway snaked toward a large, immaculate ranch-style house. The drive made a circle at the front of the house and then reconnected to the straightaway I was on. There wasn’t one hummingbird feeder in sight, but there was something else.

A brown truck, similar to Carl Monroe’s, was to the side of the house, in front of one of the four oversize garage doors. It could have been the mystery truck, but so could the hundreds of others I’d noticed lately. There certainly were a lot of brown trucks in and around Monson.

Without realizing it, I had driven to the front of the house and put my own truck in Park. I had no idea what I was going to say to Pauline or Jessop if they were inside the house, but I couldn’t stop myself from walking to the front door and ringing the bell.

There was something here, I could feel it. I was angry at myself for not seeking out Simonsen Orchards’ address in the first place. Sam, of course, had known all along where they lived, but I hadn’t even thought to ask him. Matt and Jessop had worked at the Smithfield Market for a long time—they’d had to travel almost thirty miles there and back each day. Bailey’s was much closer.

I’d been bothered by addresses this whole time, and this was probably the most important one. Now, in front of the Simonsen house, I sensed that I was only seconds away from maybe understanding my own foggy inkling about why where everyone lived was important.

I knocked. Shortly, footfalls came in my direction.

Pauline Simonsen opened the door. She was dressed in a blue denim, long-sleeved, button-down shirt and faded jeans. Without the trench coat I could see her thin, statuesque frame much better. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and there was no makeup on her face. This was the look she was meant for. She wasn’t young, but at the moment she didn’t look her age. Her cheeks were pink and her blue eyes were bright. She was still stunning.

“May I help . . . oh, we met last night. Becca, right?” She was friendly.

“Yes. Becca Robins. I work at Bailey’s.”

“Yes?”

“Allison, the market manager, is my sister . . .”

“Of course. Well, what can I do for you?” Her eyes glazed, probably at remembering how annoyed at me she’d become.

“I was wondering if you had a few moments, Ms. Simonsen.”

She looked at me as though she didn’t have one extra minute of time, but the glaze in her eyes became more curious.

“Sure, come on in.” She stepped back as I walked in. “Iced tea, coffee?”

“Iced tea would be perfect.”

“Well, have a seat.” She waved me toward a large leather-furniture-filled front room and then made her way back to the kitchen.

There were two big couches and more chairs than I wanted to take the time to count. I noticed a piano at the far end of the room that was covered in photographs. I suddenly wanted—no,
needed
—to see those pictures. I bee-lined my way to them.

As I suspected, there were pictures of Jessop, Pauline, and a man I assumed was Matt Simonsen. As a younger man, he had been handsome in the way of movie stars—tall, broad-chested, perfectly coifed dark hair. He had a sharp mouth and a sharp nose, but he was very lovely to look at.

And Pauline had been the female movie-star match for him. Though she was still attractive, when she was younger, she had been knockout gorgeous. I wondered if she’d spent any time as a model. There was not one picture of her with blond hair, but the face was most definitely the one I’d seen in the picture at Abner’s. I didn’t doubt that in the least now.

There were more pictures of Jessop than anyone else. As a baby, he’d been chubby, but as he grew through the pictures, he became tall and thin, just like his mother. He’d never had that movie-star quality, but instead was more gangly and looked as if he spent a lot of years trying to figure out what to do with his long arms and big feet. As an adult, he was handsome enough, but his looks didn’t hold a candle to either of his parents’ seemingly effortless glamour.

“Do you have a piano full of pictures, or perhaps a mantel?” Pauline said as she came into the room. She held two glasses of iced tea.

I moved back across the large room and joined her at one of the couches.

“I guess I have a shoe box,” I said. I’d always loved looking at pictures, but I’d never managed to organize them. Besides, when one has had two husbands, it’s best not to keep the evidence out in the open.

“I see.” She handed me a glass and waited for me to sit.

“Ms. Simonsen . . .”

“Pauline, please.”

“Pauline, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m okay. I’m keeping busy. I try not to dwell on things too much. The paper this morning confirmed that they’ve arrested Abner. Things will be resolved soon, I think.”

I took a drink of the tea. I’d forgotten all about checking the paper. Hopefully, my name wasn’t mentioned in the story as well—
Local market vendor arms herself with a hammer and goes to visit a murder suspect.

I couldn’t worry about that now. How was I going to approach this? But I was beyond that concern, wasn’t I? I needed some answers. I swallowed.

“Pauline, you and Abner were once a couple, right?”

Her eyes opened wide with surprise.

“Well, goodness, I, uh . . .”

I took another drink and waited for her to gather herself.

“Becca, that was a hundred years ago.” Pauline laughed as her fingers flitted at her throat.

“Sure, but it was some kind of love, wasn’t it?”

For an instant, Pauline’s eyes fixed on something in the distance, most likely the distant past.

“I don’t remember,” she said as she pulled her eyes back to mine. “And he must not have, either. He killed Matty. Whatever love we had for each other was over a long time ago, and now . . . well, now . . .”

“What makes you so sure Abner killed your husband?”

“Doesn’t the evidence point in that direction? At Bailey’s, Abner threatened Matty’s life a few days before he conveniently found Matty’s body. And the axe—the police told Jessop that Abner’s fingerprints were all over it. And I suppose there must be more, but I don’t know exactly what it all is.”

“Okay, but why? If the love you had for each other was over a long time ago, why would Abner kill Matt?”

“I wish I knew.”

I thought about my original and incorrect assumption that the Simonsens lived near Smithfield.

“Why did Matt work at Smithfield, anyway? It’s a long drive, and Bailey’s is so much closer. And since he did work at Smithfield, why did he finally decide to come to Bailey’s?”

“He started at Smithfield a long time ago. You might have noticed that we’re a pretty big operation. Matty didn’t just have the market business, but a wholesale business, too. He did lots of different things.”

“I still don’t get it. Why Smithfield over Bailey’s?” I tried the question again.

She sighed. “Oh, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you, but it will only make Abner look guiltier.”

“Tell me.”

“Years ago Matty and Abner agreed that they’d work separately and Matty would take the longer drive.”

“Why did your husband break the deal?”

“Oh, shoot, Matty and Jessop had a few of their own battles—nothing serious, but Matty thought they should take a break from each other for a while, and it had been so long that he thought he and Abner would be able to work through their problems.”

“Really? What did your husband and son fight about?” I said.

“Nothing important. You know, Jessop’s young, he has ideas on how the business should be run and Matty didn’t agree, simple as that. They just needed a break is all.” Abruptly, Pauline stood, the ice in her tea sloshing a drip of liquid over the side of the glass. “Ms. Robins, I’m tired now. Please excuse me, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Pauline.” I remained seated. She was acting strangely again—unpredictable. But though her sudden move did surprise me, I wasn’t ready to leave. “You know, really, it’s because I’m such a romantic at heart.” I paused, waiting for the lightning strike that might accompany such a lie, but it didn’t come, so I continued. “But I’d love to hear the story of your youth; the time when they all loved you—Abner, Barry, and Matt. You know, it might help to tell me about it. I know this has been a difficult time for you. If you’d be willing to share, I’d really like to hear it.”

Pauline glanced down at me with doubtful eyes. I was less than one second away from giving up when her face softened and she sat again.

“Really, that’s what this is all about? You’re a romantic?”

“Oh yes, and your life has been so full of romance.” Still no lightning. Awesome.

“Well, it
is
a lovely story.”

“I’m sure.”

She sighed, and her eyes lit back to their happy state. “Well, this was mine first,” she said possessively as she waved her hand through the air. “My daddy bought this property over fifty years ago. We moved to South Carolina when I was sixteen, and he bought all this land, hoping to work it himself. But Daddy had that special knack that some people have—whatever he touched turned to gold. He bought the land as well as put some money into other things.” She leaned toward me. “I was never certain, but I think his other investments included things that verged on illegal, but he never went to jail, so . . .”

I smiled.

“Anyway, he never needed to work this land, not even for one day. After only a few months in Monson, he declared to me that the land was mine, his only child’s, and whoever I married. Though you might think my inheritance was a loving gesture, it wasn’t so much that as it was a reason to doubt.” She pinched her mouth and looked at the brown pattern on the rug at our feet.

Helen and Barry had both told me about Pauline’s money, but neither of them had mentioned that she’d had land, which in our farming community was probably more valuable than any amount of money.

“You mean you began to doubt people’s motives toward you? You thought that maybe boys liked you because of the property?”

“Yes. Monson is a small town. Everyone knew the arrangement. It was difficult.”

“So who did you date?”

“Lots of boys. I was a looker, too. Anyway, Barry Drake was the first boy I loved.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Oh, he was just a farm boy who had a smile that always preceded trouble. When I was sixteen, I liked that.”

“All sixteen-year-old girls like boys who promise trouble. It’s part of growing up.”

“I suppose.”

“How long did you and Barry date?”

“Not long. Abner came into my life with the force of a perfect storm.”

“Really? Little, old, bald Abner?”

Pauline laughed. “Everyone thought what you’re thinking, Becca. We made an odd-looking couple, but he was the most wonderful boy ever. He loved me and I loved him more than we thought possible at the time—this, by the way, spoiled us because we both thought that was what love was supposed to be like. He was smart, kind, and generous.”