Fruit of All Evil

by Paige Shelton

  “Drew, it’s fabulous,” I said. Ian looked closely at the design of one of the freezers. His exclamations of admiration were as sincere as mine.

  “I think Linda will enjoy it,” Drew said.

  “I’m certain of it,” I replied. I looked around and tried to think of some way to get to my question. I cleared my throat. “Drew, on second thought I’d love a glass of water, if you don’t mind.” Now I was stalling.

  “Sure.” Drew pulled out three glasses, filled them with ice and water, and we sat on high stools around one of the islands.

  I was still stalling when I said, “Drew, do you really have to leave? Can’t you can’t put it off, request an emergency leave or something?” I used the words George had used.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Drew smiled patiently. “I just can’t, Becca.”

  “Secret Navy SEAL stuff?” I smiled.

  “Something like that.”

  Clearly, that was as far as that was going.

  “Drew, I have a confession,” I said.

  Drew and Ian looked in my direction.

  “Okay.”

  “I overheard you. In the men’s bathroom, the night of your mother’s murder. I heard you on your cell phone.”

  Ian’s eyebrows rose, and Drew blinked. I’m sure Ian was surprised at my revelation, and Drew didn’t know quite what to make of it. He looked puzzled.

  “I don’t know. What do you mean, Becca?”

  I explained how I sneaked along the ledge and into the men’s bathroom, how I hid, and what I heard.

  “What did I say?” he asked, seemingly perplexed.

  “You said you did the best you could. You hoped it was good enough. Then something about enough being enough and that you didn’t care, you just wanted to make it look good.”

  Ian’s leg was next to mine, and it tensed. He wasn’t happy with the way I’d decided to handle my confession. Drew’s words in the bathroom didn’t proclaim his guilt, but they did sound suspicious. If I’d said something earlier, Ian would have urged me to tell Sam.

  “Oh, I remember that conversation,” Drew finally said. “Huh. Well, that might sound suspicious, having been said on the night of my mother’s murder, but I assure you, Becca, it wasn’t suspicious in the least.”

  “What was it about?” I asked boldly. If he didn’t tell me, I would let Sam know.

  Drew thought a long time. He looked at Ian and he looked at me. He wasn’t happy, and we didn’t have any weapons if he chose to use a Special Ops skill or two to take us down. I wouldn’t go without a fight, and though Ian was substantially smaller than Drew, he wouldn’t either. Maybe the two of us could battle the one of him if we had to.

  Finally, he spoke. “Becca, I was having a conversation with a comrade, another SEAL. He and I serve together. The conversation was regarding our commanding officer, who’s one of the most honorable men you will ever meet. He’s been falsely accused of something—my buddy and I know this because he was with us at the time the alleged event supposedly occurred. I can’t tell you more than that because, frankly, that’s more secret military stuff.”

  “What about ‘making it look good?’ What did you mean by that?” I wasn’t ready to let it go yet.

  “I submitted a report regarding the time frame of the incident. When I said I wanted to make it look good—well, I did. I wanted to make sure that my report was clear and explained how my commander couldn’t possibly have been where he was accused of being. It had to look good.”

  I nodded as I listened. His story sounded valid, but how would I know, really?

  “Look, Becca, you need to understand something. The mission I’m being sent on is top-secret and can’t be compromised. I’ve explained this to Sam Brion, telling him what I thought he should know, but no more. My mission cannot be compromised even by my mother’s death. I have to do what I have to do. If you can’t understand that, I’m very sorry. I’m not cold-hearted. I’m sad about my mother, but there’s nothing I can do to bring her back. If I don’t go, someone else will, and I can’t have . . . well, if something happens to them, I couldn’t live with that. Do you understand?”

  “You’re going because you don’t want someone else to get hurt.” As I said the words aloud, everything made sense. That is exactly what the Drew Forsyth I knew would do. Did I believe what he was telling me about the phone call? I did, so much so that I wanted to kick myself for not talking to him sooner. If he was fooling me, he was doing it perfectly and completely. “Your mission is really dangerous?”

  “Very. Most of them are. That’s why, originally, I wanted Linda and me to get married before I go.”

  “You might not come back?”

  “I plan on coming back and living a wonderful life with the woman I love, but there’s always the possibility that something could go wrong. Please do your best to understand my situation, and try not to judge me too harshly.”

  I sighed heavily and, frankly, wanted to cry at the tragedy of it all. Drew’s mother had died a horrible death. He was now facing a terribly dangerous military mission. He loved my friend and my friend loved him and they should be together, but that could all be for naught if something horrible were to happen to him.

  “Did you tell Sam about the situation with your commanding officer?” I asked.

  “Why would I? It has nothing to do with my mother.”

  I nodded. “Does Linda know? I mean, that you might not come back.”

  “Becca, this is a conversation I had with her on our first date. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but though most of what I do has to remain a secret, I want the people in my life not to be too surprised by potential outcomes.”

  “I see.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with my mother’s death. Our relationship was complicated at best, but I never would have killed her. I realize you’re here because you care so much for Linda, and I get that, and believe it or not, I appreciate your concern. I’m pleased that when I’m not here, Linda will have friends who care enough about her to make sure she’s being taken care of. I know that you and I haven’t spent a lot of time together, but I really hope we can be friends—when I come back, I want to make that a priority. Okay?”

  “I think that’s more than possible.” Ian smiled.

  Drew was right—he and I didn’t know each other very well. I acknowledged that I’d probably been intimidated by his persona—gorgeous, secretive military man. He was the stuff of romance and adventure novels. For so long, he’d seemed larger than life. But as we sat around the kitchen island, sipping water, he suddenly seemed normal. I didn’t think he had anything to do with his mother’s death.

  I scooted off the stool and hugged his rock-hard body, my head hitting his firm chest. “I believe you, but if you do anything to break my best friend’s heart, I’ll have to find a way to hurt you. It won’t be easy, but I’ll find a way.”

  Drew laughed and gently hugged back.

  “I think I like that trait in a . . . Number One. You’re in charge of making sure she’s fine while I’m gone. When I get back, the wedding will be handled quickly.”

  “I plan on it,” I said. For an instant I thought of telling him about the potential surprise wedding, but it didn’t seem to be either appropriate or necessary. If it happened, it happened. It seemed close to impossible at this point, anyway. Why throw another thing in the mix for him to think about?

  It seemed to be the right time for an exit, so Ian and I made our way back down the hallway.

  “Drew,” I said as we reached the front door, “is Alan staying with you?”

  “Yes, but he’s not here at the moment. Do you need to talk to him, too?”

  “Not really,” I said. I wanted to talk to him, but I wasn’t sure about what. “Is he working?”

  Drew laughed. “Alan’s always working in one way or another, but none of us has ever been sure of what he does. He’s a mystery, and I’ll admit he’s odd, but he is
n’t a killer, Becca. I promise you.”

  “Do you know where he was the day Madeline was killed?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “He and I were together the morning my mother was killed. He forced me to tag along with him to look at some properties.”

  “Were you with Linda during the afternoon?”

  “Yes,” he said hesitantly, “but I know Alan didn’t kill my mother.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My mother was very good to Alan. He would have had no reason.”

  “But you don’t know where he was during the afternoon?” I couldn’t resist. I thought Ian might be giving me another impatient look, but out of the corner of my eye I saw that he was looking at Drew for the answer.

  “He said he was here,” Drew said. “I was at Linda’s house.”

  “I see,” I said, sounding much snottier than I intended. I didn’t like Alan, but I needed to be careful about sounding like I thought he killed his aunt.

  “Becca, Alan would never kill my mother, I promise you.”

  I kept my mouth tightly shut as I nodded. I didn’t want my future hindsight further compromised.

  “Thanks for letting us drop by, Drew. We’re very sorry about your mother, and we only want what’s best for you and Linda. May your travels be safe. Don’t hesitate to call either of us—ever, for anything.” Ian extended his hand.

  “Thank you.” Drew and Ian shook hands, and I hugged him one more time, though his arms weren’t as welcoming this time around.

  “Feel better?” Ian asked as we made our way to my truck.

  “Yeah, sort of. I don’t think Drew killed his mother or had any part in the murder, at least.”

  “Me either.”

  “But I’m not so sure about Alan.”

  “Me either, but I’m glad you didn’t push it further. Let’s leave that one to Sam. I do think you should let him know about what you overheard in the men’s bathroom. I think you should also let him know about this visit, too.”

  “I agree.”

  Ian’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Good. That’s good.”

  I called Sam on the way back to my house. As expected, he wasn’t thrilled I hadn’t told him earlier about the call I’d overheard. Plus, since I’d snuck into the men’s bathroom, he wasn’t sure what he could legally use for the investigation, but I also told him how strongly I felt that Drew was innocent. He remained uncommitted, but I thought he appreciated my input.

  My head swam after the call. I really wanted to make some notes, but there wasn’t time. The presentation had to become top priority for at least one night.

  I allowed my mind to let go of Madeline’s murder and hold on to things like wholesale and retail prices. It was a good diversion. By the end of the evening, I hoped I’d make a good impression on the Maytabee’s managers. I had one thing up my sleeve that would both surprise and impress Ian.

  Hopefully, it would do the same for the Maytabee’s managers and owner.

  Nineteen

  I kept telling myself that there was no need to be nervous, that I’d prepared as well as I could. Besides, I was going to talk about some of my favorite things—my jams and preserves. How hard could it be?

  I couldn’t remember the last time I stood in front of a group of people and wanted to make a good impression. It must have been in college.

  I’d had customers who told me they thought I had an easy job, that maybe I’d taken the easy way out of really having a career. I worked in a farmers’ market, how hard could it be?

  I never explained how full-time and physically challenging my job was because, secretly, sometimes I thought they were correct. No matter that I was almost always working in one way or another, I loved what I did so much that it never felt like real work.

  Today, I wore the same clothes I wore to the fateful dinner—after having them one-day dry-cleaned. I put on a little makeup and forced some earrings into the holes in my ears that frequently were forgotten because of more important things on my to-do lists. I was, in my way, dressed up.

  And the moment after I was introduced to the owner of Maytabee’s, Clarissa O’Bannon, I spilled some coffee on my blouse. She pretended not to notice, but it would have been difficult to miss.

  Clarissa, dressed in casual but comfortable clothes, was all business. She greeted me with a firm handshake followed by a cup of steaming coffee. Her thick black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, Allison’s favorite style, but Clarissa’s dark features were severe and serious compared to my sister’s serious but softer look.

  She told me and Ian to make ourselves at home at a table in the corner and that her managers would be there shortly, and then she disappeared to take a call on the cell phone that was clipped to her belt.

  I took a deep breath as Ian and I sat down.

  “You’re nervous?” he asked.

  “A little. This is the first time I’ve done something like this. I’m afraid I’ll stumble over my words.” I looked at the spot of coffee on my blouse. “Or that no one will be able to pay attention to what I’m saying because of this distraction.” The spot was in about the worst place it could be, and would have made junior high boys giggle.

  “Run to the bathroom and try to get it out,” Ian said.

  “I’d just end up making the wet area larger.”

  “Good point.” Ian looked around. “Hey, I have a plan.” He stood up and went to a low set of shelves on the other side of the room. He rummaged around a moment and then pulled something from the bottom shelf. He took it to the counter, paid for it, and brought it to me.

  “This might work.” He handed me a T-shirt.

  I unfolded it and laughed. Printed on it was: Maytabee I Just Need Some Coffee. Now Would Be Good.

  “That’s perfect. Thanks, Ian.” I could have run to the bathroom and changed into the shirt, but I slipped it over the one I already had on, instead. It covered the inconvenient spot.

  Soon, the other managers filed into the store. They were a young group, probably none of them over twenty-five. Most of them looked like they could use their coffee, so Clarissa passed cups all around and then turned a couch just enough that they could sit on it and look at me.

  Maytabee’s was comfortable, just like most coffee shops I’d been to. It had plush chairs, a couple of couches, plenty of work space, and good lighting. Maytabee’s was different in one important way, though. It was very affordable. It didn’t charge the arm and leg for a latte that other, bigger chains did. I remembered reading a story in the Monson Gazette about the shop’s lower prices and how the owner was causing trouble in the coffee shop community because she kept her prices too low. At the time, I didn’t know who the owner was, but I remembered something the paper had quoted her as saying.

  “My number one goal at Maytabee’s is customer service. I’m a businesswoman, of course, but if I’m ripping off the customers every time they come into my store, I can’t see how that’s good customer service.”

  Two men and two women were facing me from the couch and a chair that had been pulled up. Clarissa stood next to the couch, and I stood up as she introduced me. Ian moved away from our table and sat in a chair behind the couch. From there, he could send confident smiles in my direction and no one would notice.

  “Becca Robins is a local farmer,” Clarissa began. “She grows her own strawberries and pumpkins. With her own fruit and some from other farms, she creates jams and preserves. I’ve asked her here this morning for you to consider a couple of ways we could incorporate her products into our stores’ offerings. I think her jams would make a great topping for the English muffin breakfasts we’re introducing next month.” The four managers looked at her and nodded. I was impressed at how much she knew about me, but she was stealing my opening lines. There wasn’t much more about me, other than my two divorces and my amazing dog, that I could share. “And I’d like for you to consider giving her shelf space to sell jars of her products. Becca, do you have some samples?”

 
“Yes, I do.”

  “Great, let’s pass around some jars. I’d like for everyone to look at your labels. I think they’re brilliant and perfect.”

  I passed around some jars. My labels weren’t fancy. In fact, I thought they were too simple, but I’d used them for so long that I didn’t want to confuse my customers by changing them. On a white background, the top of the label said, “Becca’s Berries.” And in a smaller font and on the next line, it said, “Home-Made Berry Jams and Preserves.” Then there was a hand-sketched picture of whichever fruit was inside. I’d done the sketches when I started my business. At the time, I couldn’t find clip art I liked, and I didn’t want to pay someone else, so I sat down and created them. I liked how they’d turned out, but they were meant to be temporary, something I could use until I knew if the business was going to be successful or not. The last line on the front of the label said, “a product of South Carolina.”

  “You’ve already added an ingredient list and nutritional information on the back,” one of the female managers said. She was tall, with short brown hair and big green eyes. Her name was Mary, and her skin was perfect.

  “Yes, I did that a couple of years ago. At the time it wasn’t a requirement, but with so many allergies out there, I thought I should list the ingredients. The nutritional information seemed like the only thing missing, so I added it, too.”

  “The pictures of the fruit are wonderful!” Kyle said. He had dreadlocks underneath a blue scarf. “They scream ‘homemade’ and ‘country’ and . . . well, ‘yummy.’ ”

  “Thanks,” I said. I didn’t want to tell them I’d drawn them. I wasn’t an artist, but it hadn’t been difficult to draw some pictures of fruit. “How about a taste test?”

  Ian and I spread preserves on some English muffins that we’d brought. We also topped some crackers and bagels, and passed the food all around.

  “I’m including a new product for you to consider. I haven’t begun selling it yet, because . . . well, frankly, I haven’t made a lot of it, but I can. It seems like a pretty good fit for a coffee shop. It’s chocolate strawberry jam.”