Farmers Market Fatality

by Sarah Hualde

  “Except?” Lydia scalded her tongue after taking a distracted drink of her coffee.

  Tamas took the towel he wore at his hip and wiped at water droplets next to the cappuccino machine. “I think I remember meeting his daughter.”

  Lydia choked on her coffee and quickly brought a paper napkin to her mouth. “Daughter?”

  “Yeah, I was shocked, too. It’s been a year or two now. She was about thirty, I’d guess. She told me she’d tracked him to Honey Pot but didn’t have a home address for him. Of course, she wouldn’t, would she? He doesn’t have a formal address. All trails led here. If I recall, they sat over there in that booth for hours talking.”

  Lydia pulled a pen out of her bag and scribbled on a clean napkin. “Did you catch her name?”

  Tamas cast a look of disappointment toward Lydia. “Normally, I’d tell you to back off and mind your own business. However, I think I’m safe trusting you.”

  “I’m only trying to help Joe. He asked me to.”

  “Tabatha. Her name was Tabatha Potter.” Tamas tucked his towel back into his apron and snapped a clear plastic lid over the plate of treats. “I suppose you’d like a phone number.”

  “You have her phone number?” Lydia couldn’t believe her luck or Tamas’ memory.

  “I’ll get it and a box of coffee.” Tamas disappeared into the back.

  ✽✽✽

  Ethan paced the station with his cell phone smashed between his shoulder and his ear. Lydia watched him from his office. Breakfast for the Sheriff was growing colder and colder. Hobo Joe ate his bagel with thankfulness.

  Lydia stared at Joe. She could barely chew. Joe stiffened under her gaze. Lydia cared for Hobo Joe. However, didn’t know if she loved the legend or the man. After chatting with Tabitha, she wasn’t sure she knew Hobo Joe.

  Ethan crossed through the room several times. He grabbed files and pens and sticky notes with his phone lodged on his shoulders. Once he reached out and rested a hand on Lydia’s back.

  Go ahead,” Joe probed.

  “What?” Lydia watched for Ethan’s return.

  “Ask.”

  “I talked with Tabatha.”

  Joe set his coffee down and patted away crumbs with his napkin. When he replied, his voice showed no emotion. “So you know the worst of me.”

  “Do I?” Lydia wished she could force Joe’s coolness into her words. Her voice trembled with each sentence.

  Joe closed his eyes and whispered. Lydia guessed he was praying. He needed prayer. “I was in more battles than I could count. More scars than one sack of skin could show. But I made it back. Home.” Joe shook his head. “Home? I was back and willing to leave the past where it was. But the past wouldn’t let go of me. I drank and worse. I tried everything to escape my memories.” Lydia was angry and confused. She wanted to slap the man who dared beg her for help. “Everything Tabatha told you is true. And worse. The beatings. The abandonment. Everything. And any minute your husband will discover my past. The leap from wife-beater to attempted murderer won’t be difficult to make. And he’ll be right to make it.”

  ✽✽✽

  Kat’s kids were at Lydia’s with Ivy. Kat imagined them fast asleep and snoring. She wished she was still in bed, too.

  Instead, she was cleaning a crime scene. Kat Miller scrubbed blood from the wooden porch. Miss Jacqui pointed out missed splotches. Flora offered her non-toxic cleaning supplies. Usually, Kat would welcome them, but blood was different. Blood wanted heavy cleansers and more substantial scrubbing. The burning scent of bleach softened the iron aroma and stopped Kat from ralphing over each new stain.

  Cordelia needed back home. She was very vocal about it. She paced. Muffin followed her every step. Her behavior worried Flora, but Dr. Lawrence had a nurse arriving to watch Cordelia, any minute. She didn’t need the ladies anymore.

  Jacqui insisted on cleansing Cordelia’s house before letting her move back in. Of course, Jacqui didn’t mean she would do the literal scrubbing. She called Kat, and now Kat held back dry heaves and scraped at the crusty blood.

  “Hey, is there anything I can do to help?” Victor Cotton waved from his front porch. Cradling a coffee cup, he ventured over to his neighbor’s yard.

  Miss Jacqui answered first. “I think we’ve got it!”

  “Who is this we you speak of?” Kat turned to Victor with pleading eyes. “I’d love some help.”

  Victor laughed. “Let me set down my coffee, and I’ll be right back.” He hurried inside, still snickering.

  “We don’t need him here.” Jacqui placed a defiant hand on her hip. Her scowl once sent shivers throughout Kat’s self-esteem. Now, she knew Jacqui was all fangs and no venom. She shrugged it off.

  “Unless you’re going to get in the goo, with me, you don’t get a say in what I need,” Kat smirked as she spoke. Jacqui’s granite façade softened, but she turned away before Kat caught its full glow.

  Victor returned carrying an empty bucket, rags, and a jug of green liquid. “I’ve got something I think may work better than what you’re using. You’ll need these.” He tossed rubber gloves at Kat’s knees and handed her a paper surgical mask. She eyed him, hesitant to don the new accessories. “Seriously, this stuff is potent.”

  Victor unscrewed the top to the jug. The fumes stung Kat’s throat. She hurried to secure the mask and snapped herself with the elastic earpiece. Miss Jacqui waved her good hand in front of her face, trying to dilute the smell.

  After filling his pail with water from the hose, Victor took to his work. He scrubbed faster and harder than Kat. In an hour, most of the porch was gore-free. Kat’s face trickled with sweat, as she tried to keep pace with Victor. “I’ve tried to figure out what flipped inside Hobo Joe to make him react this way?” Kat lifted her head from her work and stared at Victor. His face set in a solemn grimace he kept working as he spoke.

  Miss Jacqui applauded the efforts of her volunteers by directing them to missed splotches of blood. She flapped an ornate wicker fan before her face all while shivering under a light shawl. The morning sun blasted heat on the cleaner causing chemical rainbows to steam from the porch and walkway. However, the sun was no match for the fresh air and slow chilly breeze. Jacqui stopped fanning. “I don’t think Mr. Joe did this,” she said.

  Now it was Victor’s turn to cast curious eyes at the women. “Well, who else could have? Cordelia? Me? You?” He snipped but did not stop cleaning. “He’s a drifter. Just because he makes excellent fudge doesn’t mean he’s a pillar of the community. How many of us really know the man? I mean, he chooses to sleep on a park bench all summer long. That and he was beaten by a couple of teenagers. He might have been docile, once, but he flipped. Like Mario Muggs. You think these guys are stable, dependable, safe and then BLAM! They sneak up on you and clobber you with a baseball bat.” Victor animated the attack.

  “I think the cleaner’s getting to you, Victor. Maybe you should sit out for a spell.” Jacqui suggested in her usual pointed manner.

  Victor was about to speak when the hum of an oncoming car overshadowed the conversation. He excused himself, taking Jacqui’s advice. “Yes, I think I’ll go in and wash my face. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Ethan’s squad car pulled to the curb. Kat’s spine lurched with foreboding. “Please tell me you got Ethan’s approval before making me scratch bodily fluids off a crime scene.” Kat put gloved hands on her hips.

  “Oh, hush. Ethan would have cleared it for us if he ever picked up his phone.” Kat wanted to throttle Miss Jacqui, but she sat calmly, awaiting her punishment.

  ✽✽✽

  Mr. Mike’s voice deepened with a heavy edge. Emily strained to hear his words. His door remained open, ever so slightly. His tone and voice were clear, but distance smeared his syllables.

  Without her phone and without clearance to visit, Emily waited for news of Lucas. Kat’s report was less favorable. Braden was awake and aware. Emily was glad. She didn’t want the guy around, but she didn’t want him dead, eithe
r. She couldn’t scrounge up more feeling than that for Braden.

  Emily dressed and left her room as early as was allowed. She made her way to the kitchen and volunteered with breakfast prep. There had to be news soon. Mr. Mike’s door opened. Emily spun expectant and hopeful. When her counselor’s eyes landed on hers, the ground turned to jelly under her feet. She crashed, happy to have the blackness overwhelm her.

  Chapter 28

  “I don’t know what you guys think you’re doing here. However, you are tampering with my crime scene.” Ethan hid his tired eyes behind mirrored lenses. His aviator sunglasses didn’t overshadow his consternation.

  Miss Jacqui met him in the middle of the yard, cradling her injured wrist and looking mournful. “We’re trying to help Cordelia. You don’t expect the grieving widow to clean up this mess, do you?”

  “I didn’t ask, and I don’t care. Get off this property, until I say so. I’m juggling multiple murder cases, and I don’t need anyone messing with my evidence.” Ethan’s sheriff voice worked. Intimidating Miss Jacqui was an unheard-of feat, and he accomplished it with a flourish.

  Kat gathered her cleaning kit. “Murders? As in more than one? More than Mario?” Ethan’s nod made Kat nauseous. “Who?”

  “One of the boys didn’t make it. I got the news a few minutes ago,” Ethan said.

  Miss Jacqui’s chastisement forgotten, she reached for Ethan’s arm. Her knees shook. “Do you mind? I need to go home.” Ethan led Jacqui home, and Kat followed.

  ✽✽✽

  “Every tiny bit of information I have come across points to you. Your crutch. Blood on the couch where you slept. Your past. Your connection to Mario. Even the fact that you knew who attacked you at the memorial and yet you said nothing! Joe, how am I supposed to help you? Where do I look now?”

  Joe shrugged his shoulders with solemn silence.

  Lydia recoiled when Joe reached out to touch her hand. She sniffed and cleared her throat. “So why ask for my help?”

  “Because I didn’t do it. So the man that did is still free. He might do it again.” Joe’s tone sharpened with seriousness.

  “Joe, I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m not built for running toward danger. I can’t take this. I can’t.”

  Instead of slumping in defeat, Joe’s shoulders straightened and squared. He locked eyes with Lydia. “I’m sorry. I thought I was talking to Lydia Everett, rescuer of teens, solver of crimes, and defender of the friendless. Lydia, who raised a missionary, ran a 5k and defeated a murderess. If you can’t help me, who can?” Lydia pouted, trying to ignore Joe. “I don’t deserve your help. I know that, and you know that. But you were put in this situation, at this moment for a purpose. I’ve spent hours praying over you, Lydia. You may run away, but you can’t escape your purpose.”

  ✽✽✽

  “I have to head back to Ashton. I don’t have the workforce to secure the scene with a guard.” Ethan discussed the situation with Kat on Jacqui’s front porch. “Rumor is you’re great with security. Would you consider setting up some cameras around Jacqui’s yard? I think that would do wonders for her nerves.”

  Kat nodded. She was stunned to escape a scolding. Ethan grunted his consent before walking back to his cruiser and driving away. Kat giggled as she retrieved her laptop and hooked it back up to Miss Jacqui’s lawn cameras.

  ✽✽✽

  “Why didn’t you tell Ethan that you knew your attackers?” Joe returned to his breakfast, but Lydia’s appetite played hooky.

  “I didn’t know, at first. I had my guesses. Braden and Lucas were hanging out around the lawn, harassing the girls passing by. I’d called them out on it before.” Joe ripped the tip-off a croissant. “Then, that girl came and visited me at the hospital with her boyfriend. I don’t believe they knew I was awake. Her boyfriend stayed in the hall. She snuck into the room and spilled it all, while she thought I was unconscious. She touched my cheek and cried.”

  “But why didn’t you say anything?” Hobo Joe rubbed a hand through his sterling hair and pressed his palms to his temples. He muttered to himself before responding.

  “The little girl. She cried for me. I remember hearing her,” He said.

  “You said that was me.”

  “Oh, I heard you too. God was sweet to me that way. I had two beautiful women weeping for me. It reminded me of the women visiting Christ’s tomb. It gave me hope. Before you, there was the little girl. I don’t remember seeing her face. Just her voice. She cried and begged for the boys to stop. Then, even as they yelled at her to run, she knelt beside me and touched my forehead. One of the others must have pulled her away. I hoped she’d come forward and save herself. I was giving her time to make the right choice.”

  Lydia didn’t feel her tears swell and overflow. Suddenly, her face was wet, and she could no longer swallow. Joe reached out to her, this time, she didn’t flinch. “Will you pray with me?” He asked and began the conversation knowing Lydia would join him in her heart if not in speech.

  They ended their prayer with a chunk of silent contemplation. “You know,” Lydia’s voice croaked as she talked. “This isn’t going to look good for you. I may fail. But I’ll keep trying.”

  “I know,” Joe said.

  Chapter 29

  Gus decided against using the radio. He knew hundreds of Honey Pot citizens owned police scanners. They used them as advanced warning systems. If a speed trap was in the works, they conveniently found other routes to travel. If someone was pulled over for a DUI, their mother was often found waiting at the jail with bail money in hand and a fierce reprimand on her lips. They also used them for entertainment.

  With the strange wave of violence surging through the town, the seasoned deputy knew every ear would be tuned in and awaiting news. The information Gus just received, via landlines, was too important and too juicy to toss into circulation. He needed a face to face with Ethan.

  Waiting for the boss man to return from the Muggs' house ate away at Gus' stomach lining. He chugged a milk-laden coffee and gnawed at a third bagel.

  Lydia spotted his stressed behavior as she left Ethan's private office. Rachael took her place guarding the suspect. Gus avoided interaction with the Sheriff's wife. She always seemed to know how to get him to spill details. Usually with sugary bribes and misleading conversations. He didn't know how she made him so comfortable. But he knew it was dangerous to talk with her. He ran to the bathroom, knocking over an office chair during his escape.

  ✽✽✽

  Mrs. Haze took the news of her son's death with chilling acceptance. She didn't ask questions, nor did she place blame. She didn't even request to see her son's body. Brenda Haze stared out the passenger window watching the buildings pass.

  Once at her house, she escorted Ethan into her son's room and thrust her open palm to a pile of discarded mail and packages. "These are what's left of Braden's deliveries. Take them with you. I don't want anyone to come looking for them."

  Ethan toted each parcel to the trunk of his car and drove to town confused by the entire Haze family. Braden seemed to be recovering well. He'd come to, faster than his companion. He'd spoken with authorities and even joked with his nurses. His doctor blamed an unseen injury or stress for his sudden passing. It didn't rest easy with Ethan.

  ✽✽✽

  Cordelia paced the guest bedroom. She wanted to go home. Ethan plastered crime scene tape all over her porch. Cordelia's frustration rose with each flap of its offensive yellow plastic. She remembered the last moments on her lawn. Those boys were making water all over Mario's gifts. She wasn't sorry for what had happened to them.

  Mario deserved a hero's memorial, and Cordelia would ensure he received it.

  ✽✽✽

  Lydia couldn't go home. The Millers were probably still sleeping in her living room. She needed to go somewhere to think. She wanted to sleep and needed another shower if only to awaken her brain. There was so much new information to process.

  Instead, she drove in circles. Before
realizing her aim, she pulled up in front of Mr. Goldman's house.

  ✽✽✽

  Emily opened her bedroom window. She had no intention of running away. She ached for the memories. She yearned for Lucas and worried over his wellbeing.

  The morning air tugged the baby hairs escaping her braids. She imagined it was sent by Lucas to comfort her and tug at her ears the way Lucas had done.

  There weren't any tears left in her tired and frightened body. Mr. Mike explained Braden had died during the night. Emily hurt for the loss. She may not have enjoyed his company or trusted him, but she hurt for those who would miss him. Most of all, she worried about Lucas.

  From Kat's report, Lucas was in much worse shape than Braden. Yet Braden had been the one who had died. What that meant for Lucas' chances, Emily could only guess. She needed to see him before he died. She had to.

  She debated within herself. Emily knew Hobo Joe could not have attacked her friends. Flashes of the morning at the crosses set her stomach steaming. It circled between disgust, guilt, and hope. Hobo Joe was always kind to her. He was concerned without being creepy. When he offered her help, he never expected anything in return. She'd always felt safe around him. She couldn't let him go down for something he hadn't done, and she wouldn't keep still about the attack against him even if it cost her Lucas' friendship.

  Her mind was made up. She would find a way to see Lucas and then she'd go to the police. She'd tell Ethan Everett all she knew and take what consequences would come. Maybe Ethan could figure out who had killed Braden and possibly Lucas.

  With her roommates eating breakfast, Emily smuggled herself downstairs to the house phone. She waited until she was sure there was no one around to see her and made the phone call.

  Chapter 30

  Carrie Garrett, the nurse from Dr. Lawrence, checked Cordelia's vitals and returned to the dining room table. There she sorted and portioned out Cordelia's medications. Miss Jacqui brought Cordelia's previous prescriptions to the table. The clinking and gentle scraping of her sectioning out tablets was the only sound in the house.