Farmers Market Fatality

by Sarah Hualde

  Lydia’s mouth dropped. Ethan was right. “Miss Jacqui will want to know about the opening of the fair.”

  “Do you, honestly, believe she doesn’t already know?”

  “And she’ll want you to tell her about Rene. I want to see Hobo Joe. I can’t believe he’s been released.”

  Ethan pulled into the diner parking lot. “He’s banged up but other than a broken leg, he’s okay. Bruises, mostly. But nothing else is broken. The doctor’s wanted him to stay for a few more days but he signed himself out against their advice. He’s going to be sore for a long time, but he’ll be fine. ”

  Lydia delighted in the news. She was anxious to replace her last image of Hobo Joe. His blood. His twisted leg. His heartbroken face. His mangled amen. They all haunted her. She believed God had the situation in hand, but she still fretted over Hobo Joe’s fate. The market kept her busy, but between customers she saw his face.

  “You stay here,” Ethan instructed Lydia. “I’ll snag a pie and an order of tomato soup. Maybe some rolls, too.” He didn’t expect his wife to respond. Her eyes glazed with thought. She didn’t flinch when he shut the door and didn’t react when he returned.

  ✽✽✽

  Cordelia was perched on Jacqui’s couch when Ethan escorted his wife inside. He showed the elderly woman his offerings before taking them to the refrigerator. Miss Jacqui offered him a wide grin of gratitude. Lydia settled herself in an armchair across from the couch.

  “Thanks for the diner pie and soup. I’m glad Kevin was able to sell them to you.” Kevin Brandes, the manager of the Honey Pot Diner and husband to Flora, made great grub. Jacqui was happy to have it. However, she burned Lydia with her disapproving furrow. As if to say that real friends baked their offerings of condolences. They did not buy them.

  Lydia couldn’t understand how one lady’s scowl could slice her down to her guts. She shivered as if awakening from a humiliating dream. The public speaking in her undies type of dream. She struggled to avoid eye contact, but Jacqui’s gaze held her like a tractor beam. More than her substandard food gifts nagged at Miss Jacqui.

  Hobo Joe rested in the room’s recliner. One crutch lounged against each doily covered arm. Three pillows propped his plaster wrapped leg, but the twinkle in his eyes mirrored no pain. Lydia marveled over the strength of his pain meds.

  Ethan returned to the room, and Miss Jacqui’s eagle eye flickered toward her new prey. “Cordelia says those teens attacked her lawn, again. Ethan, I’ve known you since you were seven years old. You’ve always been a diligent and helpful boy. So, why haven’t you caught the drivers?”

  Ethan offered a steady, boyish expression in answer to Miss Jacqui’s question. She didn’t soften, but she sat in silent expectancy. Ethan did not disappoint. “Now, Miss Jacqui, I’m doing my best. With the incident at Lavender Lane...”

  “Yes, that was very sad. That was, also, over two weeks ago. This garbage can business has been going on long before that. Unless you’ve got another murder to deal with, you need to get busy finding these kids before someone gets hurt.” She lifted her wrapped wrist as a testimonial.

  Ethan listened. Only his tilt forward and elbows on his knees gave away his agitation. Lydia wanted to put a solid hand of encouragement on his knee but didn’t dare. She was in deep yogurt herself. There was no telling what kind of medications Jacqui was on or how loose and vengeful they would make her words.

  “Gus and I have run multiple stakeouts on all the streets hit,” Ethan said.

  “Once they saw your cruiser, I’m sure they ran for the hills.”

  Lydia knew Ethan and Gus used both the police cruiser and their personal vehicles on separate occasions. They even took on a new assistant to help them in their search and an extra hand to staff the offices while they were out. Ethan was also looking for another full-time secretary to help handle all the phone calls. Honey Pot was a small town, and current events equaled a devastating crime wave to its sheltered citizens.

  “Cameras, why aren’t their cameras up to record the attacks?”

  Cordelia shifted on her cushion. Hobo Joe spoke first. “Now, Jacqui we talked about that on the way home. This town loves its privacy and its humble down to earth brand of crazy. Neither you nor I want cameras everywhere watching everything.”

  Cordelia nodded vigorously. Her hands crossed on her knees and then shot to her hips and back to her knees. Lydia watched her crane and stretch her neck.

  “Okay, okay, but our safety is in question,” Jacqui said.

  Ethan let the debate continue without his help. Instead, he winked at his wife while following along. Lydia wrinkled her nose in wonder. How does Ethan do it? How did he separate his job from his relationships? How could he sit so fresh and smooth next to the people he protected as they badgered him and criticized his efforts? It made Lydia steam.

  Cordelia changed the subject to Lydia’s chagrin. “They’re doing their best, Jacqui. I trust them.” She nodded warmly at Ethan, who returned the gesture. “I was very encouraged by the first day of the Market. Even after its postponement, all the vendors did well above their expectations.”

  Jacqui conceded the debate, for the time being. She inhaled deeply and exaggerated her exhale as she spun around to face Cordelia. Her countenance showed no inkling of distress over the camera conversation. She was now wholly absorbed in the new strand of thought. “I heard. I also heard news about Crafter’s Corner.” Before Jacqui could begin her next rant, Cordelia bounced to her feet.

  “I almost forgot.” She hurried to the entryway and retrieved a brown paper bag bearing the Victor E. Garden logo. “Victor sent over his homemade cocoa mix, as a thank you for stepping up to run the Market. I can’t have chocolate. It makes me skittish. I thought you would like it. It was Mario’s favorite.” In game show host fashion, Cordelia displayed the new offering with flare.

  “If anyone else would like some...” Jacqui offered.

  “I’ll heat the milk.” Cordelia volunteered.

  “I’ll help.” Lydia launched to her feet and followed Cordelia to the kitchen. She would not be as graceful a listener as Ethan, and she didn’t think she could handle a verbal spanking. Lydia decided that hiding in a vat of hot chocolate was the better option.

  The drink had a bitter bite, not quite like coffee but close. Lydia finished two giant mugs while Ethan explained Miss Rene’s behavior to Jacqui.

  “We’ve gone to Lawrence. He’s tried. I’ve also told the specialist in Ashton, over and over. She needs her medication adjusted.” Miss Jacqui’s eyebrows arched and she stood with emphasis. “It’s nearly three months and her anxiety is getting worse. That and her memory is failing. She’s a grump and a loon. Not a pleasant combination. That’s why I didn’t want her to stay here, all alone. I’ve alerted her nephew. Hopefully, he’ll take the initiative and take her to a new doctor during her visit.” She continued her loud disapproval of Miss Rene’s young Ashton doctor until her company retreated.

  Hobo Joe slept. The noise and arguing didn’t disturb his rest. He mumbled to himself, but his sleeping words made no sense. Cordelia patted his hand when he got restless and eased him back to sleep. Lydia wondered at the strange stirring in Cordelia’s and Joe’s relationship.

  Chapter 10

  Kat retrieved her sewing kit. It held the same equipment she used to design angels for the Christmas pageant and historical figures for History Days at the Honey Pot library. Lydia did not, directly, ask for her assistance. However, according to town whispers, Lydia needed it. Kat did not want an entanglement with Miss Jacqui. Relations weren’t only civil, but they were friendly between Miss Jacqui and Kat. Mrs. Miller tried to keep it that way.

  Lydia was never slow to help a friend. She often appeared out of the blue, to offer advice, support, and elbow grease. Kat was not going to let her friend flounder.

  She kissed her kids and headed to the Everett house, three blocks over. On her short drive, she passed Cordelia Muggs walking Muffin. Kat rolled down her window
and waved. Cordelia did not wave back. Even from a rushing distance, Kat could see tears splashing down Cordelia’s cheeks.

  Kat didn’t stop. Sometimes people needed to be left alone. Sometimes they needed a brisk walk in the evening air, to feel free enough to let down their guard. Kat understood. A hearty cry would do Cordelia good.

  ✽✽✽

  Flora rushed. She strapped Enoch into his car carrier and asked Ever to lift him into the truck. The guardian brother buckled the safety seat snuggly to the car and kissed Enoch’s forehead.

  “Tell Dad where I am. He’ll be home soon. Tell him not to worry. I shouldn’t be too long.” Flora squeezed her eldest son’s hand and watched him scurry back into the house. There was no need to worry over him and the girls, but she did anyway.

  Kat’s call made her panic. “Get your best oil kit and any supplement you can think of and haul it to Lydia’s. I think she’s snapped!” Kat hadn’t even offered a greeting or a sign-off. She blurted her commands and hung up. From the scuffle rattling behind her voice, Flora knew Kat was serious.

  Ivy met Flora at her truck. “I’ll bring in Enoch and the diaper bag. Go on!”

  The teen hustled to work as Flora hurried into the living room. The formaldehyde fumes of many strong bathroom cleaners smacked Flora in the nose. She went straight to the living room windows and heaved them open. She also turned on every ceiling fan on the bottom floor.

  Kat and Lydia weren’t in the kitchen or living room. Flora began her trek up the stairs when Ivy came up behind her. “I believe Kat’s got her in the master bathroom. I’ll take Enoch into my room with Scout and me.” Flora nodded, and Ivy was gone.

  She entered Lydia’s master bedroom, for the first time since Enoch’s birth, and called out. “We’re in here!” Kat’s voice trailed from under the door of the walk-in closet.

  Flora opened the door. Her eyes popped to see Kat straddling Lydia as Lydia laughed hysterically. Flora stifled a return chuckle when Kat hissed at her. “It’s not funny. She’s lost her mind! Ivy says she found her scrubbing the toilet while wearing her swimsuit and boots. She says Lydia has been disinfecting the house for three hours. She also gets combative if you try to stop her or mess with something she’s cleaned.” A smoke detector sounded from the kitchen. “And she’s been baking.”

  “I’ve got it!” Ivy’s voice shimmied up the stairs, as did the sound of her opening and shutting the oven. She hacked and coughed.

  Flora went to her knees beside Lydia. She held the crazed woman’s head. “Lydia? Honey? What’s going on?”

  Lydia’s huge pupils stared up at Flora without registering the face. “There’s an elephant on my stomach, and it needs pie. Get it pie before it kills me... please!”

  “Who are you calling an elephant?” Kat tightened her thighs’ grasp on the squirming Lydia. “That one’s new. Before you arrived, I was a demon and before that a steamroller. Seriously, her mind won’t settle.”

  Flora felt Lydia’s pulse. It raced in beat with her mind. “What has she taken?”

  “I haven’t a clue. When I arrived, Lydia was pulling all her clothes off the hangers and beating imaginary spiders from her legs.”

  “That explains the red marks. For a while, I thought you’d smacked her around.” Kat’s laugh was harsh. “I’m going to talk to Ivy. Are you okay, until then?”

  “Yup, I’m peachy. Just hurry.”

  Ivy fanned plumes away from the smoke detectors, as she stood on the kitchen countertop. “The babies are still in my room. It’s not smoky in there.”

  Flora hurried to the refrigerator and filled a glass with water. She also retrieved the bread. “What has Lydia eaten today? Is she on any new medication?”

  Ivy shook her head and sputtered through sudden tears. “I don’t know. I haven’t been with her most of the day. Should I call Ethan?” Flora nodded and took her spoils to the closet.

  ✽✽✽

  An hour later, after vomiting and consuming charcoal tablets, Lydia sat at her kitchen table. Dr. Lawrence left strict orders that she avoid caffeine for another 24 hours. She sulked and stared into her third glass of iced water. She rubbed her temples, but the throbbing wouldn’t stop.

  “My brain keeps jumping from thought to thought,” Lydia said and nibbled on a piece of bread. Flora reached over and felt her pulse.

  Kat sat back in her chair, the stress of the evening waning. She sipped on a mug of tea. “You’re still high.”

  “On hot chocolate?”

  “Maybe you’ve maxed yourself out on caffeine. Overdone your tolerance level?”

  Ivy squealed from the living room. “Dear Lord, let’s not wish that into the universe.” Flora and Kat laughed in response. Lydia squeezed her head between her palms.

  “Cordelia did say she can’t have chocolate, anymore. It gives her fits of frenzy. Oh my, do you think that’s what is happening? I won’t ever have coffee, again? I can’t ever drink coffee? Never?” Lydia wailed and dropped her head to the table.

  Kat groaned. Lydia went from crying to whimpering every other second. After an hour of this drama, Kat was worn out.

  “Why are you here?” Lydia howled.

  “Flora came because I called her. I came to help you learn to sew. The market’s reopening tomorrow. I drove over as soon as I’d heard.”

  “What? No, I’m finished!”

  Flora rubbed Lydia’s back. “You worked one day. Tomorrow will be a half-day.”

  “All those ladies,” Lydia’s simpering continued unfettered. “They hate me.”

  Kat’s chair hollered as she scooted it back on the tile. She stretched her arms above her head. With her right hand, she scooped up her right ankle behind her back and stretched. Wrestling Lydia was an extreme workout. “Don’t encourage her, Flora. It’s the hot chocolate talking.”

  “No, no, seriously. Jacqui hates me. Moreover, she hates my husband.”

  “She doesn’t hate anyone,” Flora said.

  “We know why she’s mad at you, but what’s her beef with Ethan,” Kat asked.

  “He hasn’t approved the setup of camera surveillance. They want him to go all spy on the trash can smashers. But they aren’t held down by the law. Why don’t they put up their own cameras?” Lydia bleated on. Her words were becoming white noise to Kat. She stopped listening a while ago. However, now, she turned her ears back to the Lydia channel.

  “So, why don’t they?”

  “Duh! They’re old and broken.” Lydia’s inner teen emerged. Even Ivy chuckled at her. “When can I go to sleep?”

  “Just three more hours.” Flora comforted.

  ✽✽✽

  Victor Cotton watched from his living room window. Cordelia Muggs struggled under the weight of a large parcel. She dragged it out of her garage and up onto her lowered tailgate. A makeshift wooden ramp bridged the gap between concrete and metal.

  Cordelia pulled and tugged at the package as she tramped backward up the ramp. She slipped once, and the bundle landed on her ankles. She shivered and cried over her burden. If Victor were a better neighbor, he’d go and help her with her load. He watched her until she succeeded with her struggle and then returned to his greenhouse. There was still work to do.

  ✽✽✽

  Emily paced. Her roommates were downstairs, enjoying their free time with the rest of the home’s residents. She fretted, alone, waiting for Lucas to text her. Tomorrow she was working Mr. Victor’s stand, again. She didn’t think a chance would come for her to talk to Lucas at the market.

  Emily chewed on her lip. Her stomach gnawed at her. Another five minutes and she’d be expected downstairs for dinner. Mr. Mike might grow suspicious if she arrived late. She took three deep breaths, but couldn’t calm. Emily remembered her medication. Under her mattress poked an orange tube holding her anti-anxiety remedy. She popped a pill under her tongue and secured her phone in her pocket. She swallowed her medication without a drink and squared her shoulders. The relief was immediate. The dinner bell rang, and he
r phone remained still. It was time to act casual.

  Chapter 11

  Lydia could barely think around the marching band in her skull. Threading a needle was impossible. She smiled and greeted each customer that approached her booth but feigning interest in their words was too heavy a task.

  Thankfully, Kat and Flora flanked her. Flora sat, with Enoch in a sling, to Lydia’s right teaching both Lydia and a jumpy little girl how to sew a straight seam. Kat shuffled about the booth helping with raffle tickets and sales.

  Lydia was bamboozled. She was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. Restless but unable to work. If she were honest, she wanted to curl into a ball and cry all day. The sight of Cordelia Muggs, determined and demure, working in her missing husband’s place bolstered Lydia. She had no reason to complain. Her husband was healthy and present. Her daughter, though overseas, was happy and preoccupied with her missionary work.

  She watched Cordelia the entire three hours of the market. If Kat and Flora talked to her, she didn’t register their voices. Her memory flashed in rhythm to her headache. A lavender field of terror. Cars trying to run her down. Hobo Joe crumpled among the crosses and reaching out for help. Lydia didn’t notice the hours pass. She didn’t move when Ivy left to chat with Emily. Kat left an hour early and returned with an overnight package. Flora nursed and rocked Enoch beneath the booth canopy. Lydia remained numb.

  ✽✽✽

  Emily guarded the Victor E Garden booth. Technically, Lucas was in charge of sales, but she covered his shift. In return, he offered her half his earnings and promised a date without Braden’s presence. It was worth the extra effort.

  Tired of her roommates’ self-righteous stares and blackmail attempts, Emily wanted out of Mission House. Working the Market gave her the perfect excuse and kept Mr. Mike off her back. She yawned, exhausted by the previous night. Emily trembled with memory.