There were too many people around; people I knew, people who knew me, people who would see me with Sam when they got to the party. But I didn’t care in the least. My anger was gone, erased with that magic that Ian seemed to have over me—had he touched me with his poisonous spit again? I stepped forward, stood on my tiptoes, and whispered in his ear, “I’d like to spend more time with you, too.”
And I’m certain we were that close to another kiss, a real one this time. But from my vantage point, I could see Carl Monroe walking toward us. He held the hand of a little boy I didn’t know. Carl saw me, blanched slightly, and then smiled stiffly before looking away and returning to minding his own business.
I gasped and stepped to Ian’s side so I could watch Carl. As I moved, I clumsily dropped the box of napkins right on my potential new boyfriend’s toes.
Twenty
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ian,” I said as I reached for the napkins. “Did I hurt you badly?” The box, obeying some physics principle I wasn’t familiar with, fell corner first. So, though the box itself wasn’t heavy, the corner was sharp enough to cause damage.
“I’m okay.” Ian smiled at the higher tone of his voice as he tested putting weight on his damaged foot.
“That had to hurt. Should I get you some ice? Should you sit down?”
“I’m fine, Becca. I think I can walk it off. You have lousy timing, though.”
I actually blushed. “Well, I owe you one.” The moment for kissing had passed right on by, probably with Carl Monroe, who was nowhere to be seen now.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Come on, let’s get to the party.” Ian picked up the box of napkins.
We made our way to the party area, both of us trying not to limp. Whatever hadn’t been put in order before, Sam had taken care of. All the tables were covered with tablecloths and arranged nicely, the band’s instruments were set up, and the caterers had put the food on the buffet tables. As we entered, Sam was standing in the middle of the room, surveying the layout.
“We brought the napkins,” I said.
He looked over, his face becoming stern when he noticed Ian.
“One of the helpers told me that Allison would be right back,” he said as he took the box from Ian. “People have been stopping by, but I keep telling them we’re not quite ready. I thought Allison should be here first.”
“Good idea.”
We placed the napkins on the tables. It wasn’t much, but it added a little needed color and they fit with Allison’s last-minute theme switch to hoedown, or whatever.
As the last napkin was put in place, Allison swooped in. She’d changed into a silk blouse and nice slacks. She’d rebrushed her ponytail and it shone, even under the unflattering fluorescent tent lighting. She was so gorgeous. I sensed that even the two men I stood next to took a moment to appreciate her beauty. And I took a moment to be proud of her.
“Oh, Becca, I love the napkins. Perfect,” she said. Tears came to her eyes for a moment, and she hugged me tightly. She’d been under so much stress. I wished I could have helped her more.
“You’re welcome.” I hugged her back just as tightly.
“Sam, Ian, thanks,” Allison said.
“I did nothing but supply a soft place for the napkins to land,” Ian said. “Sam and Becca did all the work.”
Sam waved off the gratitude. “I think people are getting anxious, Allison. I know you’ll be sitting at the table in the front, right?”
“Yes.”
“Becca, I’d like us to sit at a table close to where everyone will be coming and going. Ian, would you like to join us?”
“Sure,” he said with a smile, probably just to see what Sam would do. Sam kept his face steely. “But, sadly, I offered to sit with Barry. His family can’t make it, so I agreed to be a poor substitute.”
“All right, then. I’m sure we’ll talk to you later.”
So Barry’s family wouldn’t even be there? I was doubly angry at myself for my earlier concern about his feelings.
There was no abrupt beginning to the party, but pretty much everyone filed in in an orderly fashion and found places to sit. The mood was easy and cheery. I didn’t know Mrs. Simonsen, but I didn’t see Jessop anywhere, so I assumed that neither of them was in attendance.
Carl Monroe was there with the little boy I’d seen earlier. Carl looked at me, smiled politely, and then looked away. The person who’d been talking to Barry knew I’d seen him, and Carl wasn’t acting like he’d been caught doing anything wrong. I’d talk to him before the evening was over; hopefully without making a scene or having to chase him down. He did, I noted to myself, sit with Barry and Ian.
Sam and I sat at a table by the entrance to the party area. We could see the entire space from our vantage point, which was Sam’s goal. Linda and her gorgeous man Drew sat with us, as did Stella and her kids, Richard and Jacquelyn, who, in sync with our farmers’ market lives, entertained us with tales of killer tomatoes, lethal corn, and possessed pastries.
Allison began the dinner with a welcome and the moment of silence for Matt Simonsen. It was somber and respectful, and it felt right. I realized that everyone needed to pay their respects even though most of them hadn’t known Matt Simonsen—the moment of silence achieved what was needed. This annual dinner was a part of our tradition. The murder of Matt Simonsen was the most horrible thing possible, but we would be able to move forward from here and still honor his memory.
And no one had mentioned the events from my time with Abner in the woods, so hopefully the dinner would proceed smoothly, and maybe even reveal who the murderer was.
“Sam, what do you do?” Linda asked. She’d lasered me with raised eyebrows when she saw I was with someone.
“I’m in law enforcement,” he said honestly. I was surprised that he wasn’t acting undercover or anything.
“You’re a police officer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Linda’s forehead crinkled. “Oh, wait, are you the same officer who was here the . . . the other day?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” Linda was about as subtle as I was capable of being, so I was intrigued at what she might say next. “And that’s where you and Becca met?”
“Yes. I’m not fully convinced of her innocence, so here I am.”
Sam’s tone was serious and confident. I wasn’t sure what to do or say, so I sat still and waited.
A moment later, the corner of his mouth twitched. This break in his armor cued everyone that they might laugh now.
“Well, I’m always curious about Becca’s innocence,” Linda said.
When it was our turn at the buffet table, Sam and I held back from the rest of our group.
“That worked out pretty well,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Allison said that if you were here with me, everyone would relax around you. That’s exactly what happened.”
“Your sister is probably smarter than you give her credit for.”
“Oh, I give her plenty of credit, but I think we’re at the wrong table,” I said. “See that one over there?” Sam casually looked to where I’d head-pointed. “Barry, Ian, and Carl Monroe are sitting together.”
“Okay.”
Now that we could talk, I told him about what I’d seen when I’d gone out for the napkins. Of course, I left out the part that I was going to warn Barry about the Simonsen family. I hadn’t done as much, so it didn’t matter anyway.
“You think it was Carl who was talking to Barry?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Why would he need to disguise himself? He’s here and they’re sitting together. If Carl wanted to talk to him, why didn’t they just talk?” Sam asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah, I agree—hmm.”
“Okay, we’ll go talk to them later. Let me observe from afar for a bit.”
Plan in place, we sat back at our original table and enjoyed the good food and e
ven better company.
Linda’s date, Drew, was awesome. Stella’s teenagers behaved in ways that teenagers weren’t always capable of, and I enjoyed their sibling banter and their wild imaginations. And Stella made us all laugh as she told us stories of her husband, Frank, and his adventures as a restaurant owner. He hadn’t been able to join us for the party because he had to work, but he was there in spirit as we heard hilarious stories about his employees and their assortment of excuses for skipping their shifts. My personal favorite was the kid who called in and said he’d bumped his head on something and the required hairnet wouldn’t fit over the lump.
“Frank said that they’d find him a larger hairnet. And the kid told him that, sadly, that wouldn’t work because the doctor had told him hairnets of any size would be out of the question for the next few days,” Stella said.
“What did Frank do?” I asked as I laughed.
“Asked the kid for his doctor’s phone number so he could guarantee him that he had only low-pressure hairnets. Of course, the kid had an excuse for not having the phone number with him.” Stella sighed. “He never showed up to work again.”
“Lots of turnover in the restaurant business?” Sam asked.
“Constant,” Stella said.
As dinner led to dessert, the band came out and started to play. They were unbelievable, and with only three instruments and lots of attitude, they were a perfect fit. No one was acting strange, and Sam’s constant survey of the room didn’t seem to turn up anything suspicious.
Just as I spooned a bite of cheesecake into my mouth, someone familiar walked through the entryway. The woman was tall and beautiful, though dressed differently than the last time I’d seen her—coming out of Carl Monroe’s house.
“Mamma,” I mumbled.
“What’s that?” Sam asked quietly, not wanting to interrupt the rest of the table conversation.
“That’s Mamma Maria,” I said. “She works at the Smithfield Market. She makes amazing pies. What’s she doing here?” And why was she at Carl Monroe’s yesterday?
We watched her scan the crowd. Her face broke into a smile and she stepped forward confidently and wove her way through the tables right to Carl Monroe; well, more specifically, to the little boy first. She kissed his cheek and then sat down in the empty chair next to him. She and Carl reached their hands together and squeezed them briefly as they smiled at each other. Barry smiled at her as it seemed they were introduced, and Ian got out of his chair to greet her with a hug. She’d told me she knew Ian, so that didn’t seem so strange.
“Why didn’t she tell me she knew Carl?” I said.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“I went to Smithfield and told her I worked at Bailey’s. Why didn’t she tell me she knew Carl? And, Sam, that was the day I chased him.”
Sam wiped a napkin over his mouth and said, “Maybe it’s time to go over and talk to them.”
“Yeah.”
We excused ourselves and made our way to the other table. Ian saw us coming first, and his expression went from surprise to mischief. I tried to ignore it.
“Hi, everyone,” I said. Barry and Carl looked away from my eyes, but Ian smiled happily.
“Becca,” he said, “this is Mamma Maria. She works at the Smithfield Market.”
“We’ve met. Hi, Mamma.” I extended my hand. “The pie was simply amazing.”
She blinked in thought, but recognition soon lit her eyes.
“Of course. Preserves, right? Becca?”
“Good to see you again,” I said. “This is Sam Brion.” I introduced him to everyone around the table, and though I could tell Barry thought he knew Sam, he wasn’t certain from where.
“And this is my son, Nick,” Mamma said as she put her arm around the little boy. “Carl was kind enough to bring him early.”
“Oh, are you and Carl dating?” I asked. The only person who wasn’t surprised at my bluntness was Sam. I think he liked it.
“Well, um, I think we are. Kind of. We only recently started dating, I guess.” Mamma’s face was red, and Carl sat a little taller.
Suddenly, my thoughts were pulled into something I couldn’t define. I looked at Carl’s long frame and realized I was missing something important; something that most definitely had something to do with the murder. But, sadly, I couldn’t put my finger on it—it had to do with Carl’s height, but not because he might be the murderer. What was I missing?
“Becca?” Sam said, nudging me lightly in the side.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. So, may we sit with you awhile?” I asked. I couldn’t leave these people yet. There was something here, and I needed to understand what it was.
“Well . . .” Barry began.
“Of course,” Ian said. “Let me get you some chairs.”
Ian and Sam gathered a couple of chairs, and we sat. I looked around the table and focused my thoughts toward each person.
Ian was the outsider in this small group; that was obvious. Carl and Barry had a connection that I didn’t understand.
“So, Mamma, how are things at Smithfield?” I asked.
“Fine. Very good, actually. It’s a great business to work in, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. So, how did you and Carl meet? Did you two already know each other when I visited with you that day?”
Mamma’s face changed from friendly to confused. “Well . . .” she began as Sam laughed lightly to ease the moment, but he didn’t retract my question. “Yes, I think we knew each other, met shortly before the day you were at Smithfield, if I’m remembering events correctly. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Where did you meet?”
“At Smithfield.” She looked around the table for some help.
“Becca, what do you want to know?” Carl said, his tone impatient.
“Well, Carl, I want to know how well you knew Matt Simonsen. Did you and Mamma meet when you were at Smithfield, perhaps visiting Matt Simonsen?”
Carl looked at Sam and then back at me. I suspected that he knew exactly who Sam was.
“Of course I knew Matt, Becca. We’re both in the peach business. But I wasn’t visiting Matt when I met Mamma. I was at Smithfield for another reason when we met.”
“What was the reason?” Sam asked.
“It was specifically to see Mamma Maria,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I’d heard about her, so I went there to meet her. I was visiting her the day I saw Becca. It was that simple.”
“Why did you run from me?” I asked, not deterred by embarrassing a man I recently thought was one of the nicest I’d ever known.
“I didn’t mean to be so dramatic,” he said. “I saw you talking to Mamma, and I guess I just didn’t want . . . my personal life is personal, Becca.”
I nodded stiffly. I got that, but still, something on the edge of my memory tapped at my consciousness. But I wasn’t letting it in yet.
“Were you talking to Barry before the party? Were you dressed in a trench coat and a hat and talking to him at his stall?”
“What? No.”
There must have been a lot of chatter in the room, because the sudden silence was alarming. At first I thought it was because of my bold questioning, but then I realized it was something happening behind me. I turned and craned my neck to look at the entrance.
Allison was escorting someone into the room. That someone was really tall and wore a trench coat that looked eerily similar to the one I had just been talking about, but no hat.
“Who’s that?” I mumbled.
Barry, who was next to me, leaned toward my ear. “That, my dear Becca, is Pauline Simonsen.”
Twenty-one
“Pauline Simonsen is tall?” I said the first thing that popped into my head.
“Very,” Sam said.
He was right. She was probably more than six feet. Matt had been tall, Barry was tall, but Abner was short. I remembered Barry telling me that everyone thought it odd that Abner and Pauline got together because they didn’t fit togethe
r well—was the height difference what he meant?
I silently chastised myself for not stepping out of stereotypes. Why couldn’t Abner and Pauline have dated?
“Damn,” I said. I turned to Barry. “Is that who you were talking to in your stall?”
“No.”
“Barry?”
“Excuse me,” Barry said as he maneuvered himself out of the chair. “I’m going to give my condolences to the widow.” To the best of his body’s ability, he made his way toward Pauline, who was at the entrance and talking to Allison.
The noticeable silence was slowly ending. It was clear that Allison wasn’t going to make any sort of announcement about our special guest, so everyone went back to their own business. The band was in the middle of a break, which I was grateful for.
Not only was Pauline Simonsen tall, but she was still striking. I thought of the picture that had been in Abner’s house of him and the blond woman. Pauline wasn’t blond—she had reddish hair—but her face, though older, seemed to be close to what I remembered. Her features were sharp and dainty, and somehow combined nicely on her tall but thin frame. It must have been the same woman, though the earlier version had bleached hair. This version’s hair reminded me of her son, Jessop. I looked around to see if he’d joined her, but I didn’t see him.
Was Pauline the person Barry had been talking to? The only answer I could come up with was maybe, maybe not. I turned to Sam. We spoke at the same time.
“I think we should go talk to her.”
Barry was now standing with Allison and Pauline. He held Pauline’s hand as the two of them shared a moment of conversation. Allison didn’t budge, and I was proud of her. Manners were always high on her priority list, but at the moment she focused on the two people in front of her. She wanted the murder solved, too, and she wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to maybe learn something pertinent.
Out of the corner of his eye, Barry saw us approach. He turned a nasty look our direction and said good-bye to Pauline.
Farm Fresh Murder Page 18