Farmers Market Fatality

by Sarah Hualde

  ✽✽✽

  Ivy startled to life. She dropped her journal and pen and grabbed her cellphone. With no other weapons handy, she snagged a can of hairspray from her dresser. Tinkling sounded from her window. With sunlight adding to her bravery, Ivy crept closer to the curtains.

  Scout garbled and giggled at her mother’s strange actions from her activity saucer. Ivy’s skin tightened. She couldn’t silence her baby and inspect the window at the same time. She sunk to the carpet and strained to hear outside.

  “Ivy? Ivy? Please be there Ivy.”

  “Emily?” Ivy inspected her phone screen. There were no missed calls or old text messages. Nothing to alert her to Emily’s visit or suggest the girl wanted to talk.

  “Ivy, can I come in?”

  Still nervous, Ivy lifted the corner of the curtain and peered up. Emily’s face pressed against the glass. Her eyes shifted, searching for Ivy. “Why can’t you come through the front door?”

  Emily spotted the worried mother and waved. Her eyes puddled with unshed tears. Ivy’s heart thudded in a hollow pit of concern. “Open the slider.” Emily urged.

  Ivy prayed she was doing the right thing. She didn’t want to turn a friend away weighed, but fear tainted her helpfulness. She had a baby to think about. Emily disappeared and reappeared at the kitchen sliding glass door. Ivy texted Lydia.

  Just checking in. Emily’s here.

  Ivy’s heart trampled in her veins. She didn’t want to open the door without Lydia’s consent. She trusted Emily but the company she’d been keeping alarmed Ivy. Five heavy beats later her phone chimed.

  Good to know. :)

  Ivy took the emoji as a good sign and unlatched the door.

  ✽✽✽

  “I’m not sure what you think I can do that Ethan can’t.” Lydia twisted off the cap of her soda and took a deep bubbling drag. The carbonation stung her throat and tightened her rib cage.

  Ethan brought their supper and then announced his pressing need to call on Dr. Lawrence. He promised to return in no longer than one hour. Parker and Gus would be in the break room if they were needed. Joe ate his burger with one hand.

  Lydia realized Ethan trusted her with his suspect. He was also trusting his suspect with her. This meant he didn’t believe Joe was indeed the villain the evidence made him out to be. Ethan was held down by rules. Lydia not so much.

  “They tell me they know who broke my leg. They also say I already knew who my attackers were.”

  “How do they figure that?”

  “Witnesses put the teens in the park the morning I was hit and a few other things. Then there’s my crutch. They say it was the primary weapon in the attack. However, it's hollow; how can it cause the damage I saw?” Joe’s eyes watered. He wasn’t crying over himself, Lydia noticed. He was hurting in memory of his so-called victims. “Your husband is going to find out some not so flattering things about me. He’s also bound to discover a few secrets I wished would stay secrets. They’re not going to make me look good. I know you, and you have a gift for seeing people.”

  Lydia blushed and chastised her pride. “Well, I don’t...”

  “There’s no time for modesty. You read your students. You understand your friends. You see strangers. You meet needs others hadn’t even noticed before they have time to see them. Please don’t make me list specifics. Just take this old hobo’s word for it. You have a gift.

  I’ll tell you everything I remember, and if you believe I’m innocent, please help me. Find out who hurt those boys.”

  Uncomfortable by the odd flattering request Lydia swallowed a wad of emotion before responding. “I can try, Joe.”

  “Good, good. I know God will go with you. It’ll all be okay.” Joe heaved and settled himself in for a story.

  ✽✽✽

  Scout’s wide beautiful eyes locked on Emily. The girl’s crying unsettled the infant. Her mother bounced her on a hip and clicked soothing sounds in her ears. With a chubby hand, Scout clung to Ivy’s index finger apprehensive about letting her go.

  “Emily, if you need help you need to start talking. I can’t do anything until I know what you need.”

  Emily rubbed her eyes until they bulged. “They won’t let me see Lucas. He’s dying, and they won’t let me see him.” Ivy concentrated, trying not to scoff at her hurting friend. Ivy did not get a good vibe from Lucas.

  “Well, I’m not driving you up there and sneaking you in.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not asking you to do that. I don’t want anyone to get in any more trouble. I’m already in a mess.” Emily checked her wristwatch. “I’ve got to get back, soon, or I’ll be in even more trouble.”

  “Okay, then what do you want?” Ivy wished she could keep her voice even, as Lydia did, but her feelings betrayed her and added emphasis to her words. The impact was obvious. Emily’s shoulders stiffened in self-protection.

  “Well... I was hoping you might visit him for me. Maybe give him a letter or let him know I’m thinking of him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ivy said.

  Emily leaped from her chair, tugging a wrinkled envelope from her back pocket. “You can read it. It’s nothing criminal or inappropriate. I swear. I can’t stand the thought of him hurting and I'm unable to comfort him or tell him ... tell him...” Emily broke down again. This time Scout whined along with her. Ivy found it exhausting, trying to soothe both girls. “... I’m sorry... and I forgive him.”

  Forgiveness? The thought sliced at Ivy’s coldness. She understood the need to give and especially receive forgiveness. Her sense of justice couldn’t abide denying the gift to anyone who asked. Not when she needed it so badly, herself.

  “I’m not going to the hospital for you.” Emily’s face fell. Without malice or bitterness, the last spark of courage flickered behind her sad eyes. “But, I know someone who might.”

  Chapter 23

  Braden Haze started talking in time for Kat’s visit. The moment he came to, he called for people to take his statement. All his witnesses were not as friendly to his cause as they appeared. He blabbed on unaware.

  Braden’s mother encouraged him to shed the truth but could not tolerate hearing it. She excused herself to the restroom during the most substantial bits of the conversation. Kat sat, awkward and out of place, in the only other chair in the room. She didn’t know the Haze family, but when the nurse turned her away from Lucas’ room, Brenda Haze invited her in. Kat couldn’t find any reason to leave.

  Kat took mental notes of Braden’s words. His confessions stirred her sense of justice but not in sympathy with the teen. His lack of eye contact and nervous fidget, made her second guess the measure of Braden’s honesty and repentance. A near death experience wasn’t enough to scare him straight. Kat marveled at his brass.

  “It wasn’t enough for him to knock Lucas over. He kept beating him and beating him. I tried to stop him, but I’m a kid.” Braden wept. It irritated Kat. She chided herself. Where was her Christian empathy? However, his whimpers grated on her.

  Braden’s mom comforted him, and he went back to sleep. Kat stood to leave. Mother and son needed a moment to collect their thoughts and soothe each other. However, Brenda snagged Kat’s arm and shoved her back into an orange plastic hospital chair.

  Brenda chatted about work and her son and her terrible luck in succession and on repeat. Kat lived through, at least, six rounds of her chatter before Victor Cotton strolled in. He brought balloons and a card.

  Braden snored on. Victor tied the balloons to the end of Braden’s bed and handed the card to his mother. “Thank you. Thank You.” She said. Victor indiscreetly passed cash to Brenda.

  “I’m sure you need a break. Go get yourself a warm drink, and a treat to eat, while the cart is still open.” Brenda stuttered, confused. Ultimately, she pocketed the money and hurried away spouting gratitude like a defective sprinkler.

  Kat recoiled. She didn’t know if Brenda knew Victor. Kat doubted Brenda knew him well enough to leave him alone with he
r wounded son. She’d met Brenda less than 30 minutes ago and already knew the woman’s life story and more about Braden than he’d probably like her to know.

  Victor grinned at Kat as he circled the hospital bed and clamped an arm on Braden’s wrist. Kat winced at his forward behavior. She imagined Sam in the bed and a strange man, barely an acquaintance, touching his arm. Kat suddenly wanted to punch this man. She prayed to get her attitude in control.

  “A nurse told me he was awake?” Victor started the conversation, still holding Braden’s wrist.

  “Yup. But not for long.”

  “Was he able to talk?”

  “For a bit.” She wasn’t giving this strange man any more information.

  “I wish I’d been there.” Kat’s face gave away her disgust. “I mean to help them. I live right next door. If only I’d heard something. I could’ve helped or at least called the police.” Kat softened her face, but her eyebrows remained arched. “I can’t imagine. We all trusted the bum, and deep down, he was capable of this. Beating boys with his crutch.”

  “I’m not sure he did. I can’t imagine anyone having that much hate burning within them. Not to mention, he had a broken leg,” she said.

  Victor’s smile never left his face. However, when Kat spoke, it faded from his eyes. “Crazy people are capable of anything.”

  “You think Hobo Joe is crazy?”

  Victor released Braden’s arm and came closer to Kat. “He sleeps on a picnic table, every summer. Doesn’t have a job or a family. No one knows his real name, and he’s happy being called a Hobo. What do you call that?”

  “Insane.” Brenda’s scratchy voice squeezed through her nasal passages. Back from her snack break, she sat, once again, in her chair beside Kat. “I hope Sheriff Everett shoots him.” She patted Kat’s knee.

  “Of course,” Victor said.

  ✽✽✽

  When Ethan returned to his office, he offered a perturbed explanation for his exit. “I step away for one minute, and that’s when all the calls come in.”

  Joe sipped his soda. Lydia stared at the large analog clock hanging above the door frame. She didn’t know what to say and couldn’t connect with Ethan’s eyes. He knew Lydia was going to work on Joe’s predicament. He knew she understood he couldn’t discuss anything more with her. They avoided looking at each other.

  “How’s Cordelia?” Joe shattered the room’s awkward air.

  Ethan only offered a shrug. “Maybe Lydia can check on her and let you know. I haven’t heard anything. Lydia, do you mind bringing Joe his meals while he’s with us?”

  Joe and Lydia locked smiles. Ethan was on their side. “Not a problem. What time do you want breakfast, Mr. Joe?”

  “The earlier the better.” Lydia took her leave, and Ethan locked the office door behind her.

  ✽✽✽

  Miss Jacqui snoozed, her head drooping and bobbing, on the couch. Flora replayed her conversation with Dr. Lawrence. After examining Cordelia for the third time, he’d pulled Flora into a side room and confided in her. “The medication I gave Mrs. Muggs doesn’t have these kinds of side effects. At least, not when it’s taken as I prescribed.”

  “Do you think she had an allergic reaction?”

  The doctor grimaced. “This isn’t a new prescription. I’ve only increased the strength. No, this has all appearances of an overdose.”

  Flora gasped and hushed herself in a hurry. “On purpose?”

  The doctor’s shrug was not reassuring. “I don’t want to think so. However, I don’t know what else to consider. Though, it wasn’t large enough to be a suicide attempt. At least, I hope she wasn’t trying to do that. I have to err on the side of safety. I’ve sent for a nurse to sit with her. I don’t think she should be alone. Can you stay, awhile? Help Jacqui with rounds? Maybe call Kat or Lydia to take shifts? The nurse will be here in the morning.”

  “What do you think she took?”

  “No idea. Not until I get some labs done. She’ll feel horrible when she wakes up. Probably sick at her stomach. Her pulse is regular, and her breathing is back to normal. She’ll be okay.” Flora wished Dr. Lawrence would send Cordelia to the hospital. However, she trusted the doctor knew what he was doing. If he said, Cordelia was safe, she was safe.

  “Don’t worry,” the doctor comforted his friend, “I’ll call on the hour for a few hours. She’ll be fine.”

  Cordelia slept peacefully. Muffin returned to his mother’s side and snuggled in the divot of Cordelia’s lower back.

  Flora snuggled on a chair with Enoch nestled in her arms. The hazy light of a triggered motion light flashed behind the curtains. Flora pulled her son closer to her chest as a shadow stretched across the lawn.

  ✽✽✽

  Yellow tape rested limply on Cordelia’s lawn. The late-night sunset sent a breeze whisking through Honey Pot. The plastic boundaries fluttered, like ticker tape, onto the street. The Sheriff called off his guards when they collected Hobo Joe.

  His prints all over the blood-soaked crutch, the convenience of the crime scene location, and the label of town crackpot made Joe a simple suspect. Ethan didn’t like hauling a man in on only those three marks, but he believed it was safer for himself, the community, and his suspect to secure Joe in the Sheriff’s office.

  Lydia stood on the sidewalk and stared at the house. She took in the big picture. It was unbearable to look at the lawn or the porch. Dried blood discolored the grass. Lydia wanted to vomit. She wanted to run screaming down the street, like a damsel in a mystery film. She wished she was like the character, who stayed out of the middle of the mess.

  Instead, she prayed. Half-hearted and tinged with distrustful hesitance, her mouth uttered words her heart didn’t have the strength to say. Against all her better judgment, she stepped past the broken barrier.

  Chapter 24

  Kat was happy it was summertime. She wouldn’t be able to drive around and ditch her kids if it had been a school day. Homeschooling was one of the greatest surprise blessings God had granted Kat. However, homeschooling meant her kids were with her 24/7. Late-night coffee trips and mom excursions weren’t typical during the school season. If it were another time of year, Kat’s kids would have missed out on their lessons or Kat would have missed out on the scandal.

  Instead, her kids joined her. After the hospital visit, where Kat managed a firm thirty seconds with her unconscious prey, the mom on a mission collected her kids and toted them to Lydia’s house.

  “Grab your backpacks, your toothbrushes, and some clean britches. This might turn into an overnight.”

  Thaddeus groaned in mock overwhelm. “Oh, now what?”

  “It’s summer. It’s the season for spontaneous sleepovers.” Kat kissed him.

  “At Lydia’s?”

  “Why not?” Thaddeus rolled his eyes. Kat was up to something. However, he had to work, and Ivy was a great babysitter.

  “Be safe.” He trusted his wife and would pick up the kids later.

  “Always!” The couple exchanged goodnight squeezes, and Kat drove her kids to the Everett’s.

  ✽✽✽

  The grass held no big revelations. The porch didn’t either. There was blood and a few chips in the porch railing, probably caused by the crutch. Lydia shuddered as she ran her fingers through the violent etches. They were sharp. It was hard to imagine anyone swinging an aluminum crutch with that much hostility.

  Joe told her where to find Cordelia’s spare key. Jacqui had revealed the place to Joe after Cordelia’s meltdown at the Market. Lydia dug in the planter and pulled out the key.

  The house whispered with worry. Floors creaked, and doors shifted. They all told of the scenes they witnessed. Their voices landed heavy on Lydia’s heart and prickled the hairs on her head. The living room, cheery and happy days before, left Lydia feeling hollow and haunted. She shut the door behind her and locked it, before turning on the lights.

  Though the dark ran into the corners, the mood of the room did not lift. It stayed eerie
and telling. Lydia stepped around the crusted trail of blood. Ending at the couch, it painted tiny puddles on the carpet. The largest cluster of drops came together at the edge of the sofa.

  Lydia closed her eyes. She imagined Joe reclining, asleep on the couch. At Jacqui’s house, he used the arm of the sofa to prop his plastered leg up. If he did that on Cordelia’s furniture, after attacking the boys, would there be enough blood on his shoes to collect into a puddle? Lydia took a picture of the blood trail and the couch with her phone.

  Clicking on every light, Lydia hesitantly ascended the stairs. Occasional stains marked the steps. Fighting a growing sense of panic, Lydia entered Cordelia’s bedroom. Her throat closed in. Lydia struggled for air. She went to the window and looked out.

  A blast of fiery color painted the corner of Cordelia’s bedroom window. Next door, Victor Cotton’s backyard lights blazed. His greenhouse glowed red-orange light, feeding his plants no matter the season.

  Lydia felt rude inspecting the private chamber. Pictures of Mario and Cordelia decorated every flat surface. Lydia’s heart panged in sympathy. The weight of sorrow closed in upon her and made the walls of the bedroom collapse around Lydia. She fought the urge to run away by sitting on the carpet.

  In one week, her beautiful town experienced vandalism, a surprising assault, a missing husband returned dead and the battering of two teenage boys. She couldn’t unravel it. Ethan brought in Joe so quickly but never mentioned bringing in Mr. Goldman, when Mario’s body was found in his trash cans. Joe’s attackers still ran wild, and though the trash smashers were discovered, they were now in the hospital. None of it made any sense.

  A crash clattered outside Cordelia’s window. Lydia startled and crawled over to peek. A shadow hurried across the Cotton’s driveway and ran out into the street and down the block. Lydia rushed down the stairs, forgetting to switch off lights and hoped to get a better look.

  Avoiding evidence and dodging blood puddles slowed Lydia’s journey. Once out, she turned to relock the door. Every move cost her dearly, but she couldn’t leave the house open to prowlers. She hurried down the porch, but the intruder was gone. A movement to her right drew her focus.