“Hi again, Becca,” someone said from the front of my stall.
“Jake, hi!” I said.
He set down what looked like a new version of one of Bo’s onion display tables.
“You still planning on working at the garden tomorrow?”
“Yep,” I said, trying not to sound doubtful. No matter what other things I felt needed attention, I knew I’d have to keep my commitment to the garden; the kids counted on it. I couldn’t let them down. “What’s this?” I looked at the table.
“I had some wood. I knew Bo needed some new display tables. I threw this one together quickly. I hope to make some more for him.”
“That’s terrific, Jake. Bo will appreciate it, I know.” I looked toward Bo’s stall, but I couldn’t see him. The rest of us might have rounded up some tables and racks, but Jake had made an almost exact replica of Bo’s original tables. It sat at a slant, higher in the back, and it had short walls that would keep the onions well contained. Jake’s talent with woodworking was yet another thing I didn’t know about him.
“S’nothing,” Jake said. “He’s such a nice guy. And after yesterday and how he said Joan and the others treated him . . .” He winced. “Oh, that was bad timing. I heard about Joan’s murder, and it’s rotten of me to speak ill about the dead, particularly the murdered.”
“Did you know her well?” I asked.
Jake shrugged. “I knew her. We got along, but I wouldn’t say we were friends. She and her son were quite the team. They created an amazing restaurant. Good, affordable food. Good service. All the things customers look for when they go to a restaurant. I haven’t been a part of the association for long—less than a year—but I didn’t know anyone who hated her enough to kill her.”
“Did she really just walk by Bo’s stall and ignore him?” I asked.
“That’s what he said, but I wasn’t paying attention,” Jake said.
“Bo said the other members don’t buy from him, but you do?” I asked.
“Of course. He grows the best—well, other than what’s in my own little garden, but I don’t have enough time or space to grow enough of anything. My loyalty is to local vendors, not restaurant associations.”
“Local’s the only way to go,” I said.
Jake smiled and nodded. “Hey, you’re on your way out. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He picked up the table and hauled it toward Bo’s stall as I exited out the back of mine.
On my drive home, I thought through my schedule for the next few days. My order for Maytabee’s Coffee Shops wasn’t due for another five days. I didn’t need to make that a priority. I’d be at the garden the next morning and then attending to my own crops unless something else came up. The pumpkins were really beginning to come in quickly, and though the strawberries were done for the year, I’d have to give some TLC to the plants. I couldn’t forget that I still needed to stock up on other fruits I could freeze and use for my winter inventory. Peaches were either at their peak or almost there; I made a mental note to make sure I put in an order with the peach vendor, Carl Monroe, the next day.
It was still warm outside, but as I drove down the state highway, I sniffed in the hot, sweet air. I didn’t think there was ever a time I didn’t like living in South Carolina, but there were different reasons I liked each season, each month, actually. The end of July and the beginning of August signaled the deep part of summer. To me, tomatoes were at their sweetest and vegetables such as green beans were plentiful. I could eat the beans raw, and I often craved them.
The fresh air and passing farms also allowed me time to think about my current predicament. I knew my mother didn’t kill Joan. The thought of her being convicted hadn’t crossed my mind. Her fingerprints on the knife weren’t a good sign, but I knew she wouldn’t be found guilty. The killer had seen her at my farm and taken the opportunity to frame her. At least I hoped that was what happened.
But, and my stomach roiled at the thought I let trickle into my consciousness, what if she was guilty?
“NO!” I said aloud as I hit my steering wheel.
Mom was not guilty. It had to be that simple. Everything else would follow, I assured myself. I took ten deep breaths and forced my shoulders to relax away the tension that made them seem like they were scrunched to my ears.
At first, the police car in my driveway threatened my vow of clearheaded calmness. What had happened now? But then I saw Sam on my front porch, in his civilian clothes. He must have changed right after taking my mom to jail. He wasn’t here on official business and there were no other officers around, so I presumed I wasn’t now under arrest, and that my farm wasn’t the scene of a new crime.
“Sam?” I said as I got out of the truck. He got up and met me halfway. He wore a faded blue T-shirt and some old jeans. His hair was loose from its slicked-back work mode. I always wondered if he disheveled it himself or if it automatically looked more casual when he took off his uniform.
“Becca, hey,” he said as he stopped in front of me.
“Is my mom okay?”
“Fine, fine. Your Dad is staying with her. I pulled some strings, and unless we have a run on criminal activity, he can stay in the next cell, unlocked.”
“That was nice and probably difficult to pull off. Thank you.” Any anger I might have felt toward Sam was dissipating. He was doing his job and probably breaking rules for the sake of my mother’s comfort. It was hard for me to separate the friend Sam from the police officer Sam; I needed to remember that it was probably hard for him, too.
He nodded and then looked out toward my pumpkins. He didn’t say anything.
“What, Sam? Why are you here?”
He looked back at me, his eyes softer now. “I know this is horrible for you and Allison. I’m sorry I had to arrest your mom.”
“I know you are, and don’t get me wrong, it stinks, but I’m not mad at you, well, not anymore. Allison and I know she’s innocent. We’ll . . . we know you’ll find the real killer.”
“I will. I’d like to know what your plans are regarding the investigation. Don’t lie, just tell me. I’d like to know and maybe I can stop you from heading in a direction I’m already looking or in a direction that I know might be dangerous.” Gone were his threats of arresting me for butting in where I shouldn’t. He knew they would be more pointless than ever since my mother was involved.
“Ian and I are going to Bistro tonight for dinner, just to check it out.”
“They’re open?” he said.
“According to the gentleman who answered the phone, business is booming and Joan wouldn’t want them to close for something so silly as her death.”
Sam nodded, his forehead wrinkling in thought.
“You want to go with us? I’m sure they could make it a table for three?” I said as I pulled out my phone.
“No, no, that’s all right,” he said. “Third wheel and all.”
“Sam, both Ian and I would love to have you join us.”
“It’s fine, some other time, but thanks. However, I was hoping you’d be okay with me taking another look around your property. I’m not here officially, Becca. This is just my curiosity.”
“Sure. Can I look around with you?”
“Of course.”
I had about half an hour before I needed to shower to be presentable for my mom and then dinner with Ian. I was glad Sam was there. I had wondered what it would be like to pull into my driveway again, especially with no one else home. Had Sam been concerned about the same thing? Maybe he was really there to help me deal with the fact that I now owned a home where a murder had been committed.
He helped me unload the leftover inventory and store it in the barn, which the cleaners had left spotless.
“They did okay in here?” Sam asked as he handed me some jars of blueberry jam.
“Yes, they did great. I’m pretty picky and I couldn’t find a problem anywhere.”
“Good. When were you planning on getting the door frame and lock f
ixed?” he asked as he peered under the appliances.
“Ian and my dad—well, maybe just Ian now—were planning on doing it tomorrow.”
“That works. I don’t see anything in here that might have been missed. I’d like to walk the perimeter of the property, up to the tree line. Still want to come with me?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to see how the pros do this.”
Sam laughed. “Remember, I’m not here officially. I’m not following any protocol except going where my curiosity leads me.”
“Right,” I said. “But I know you well enough to know you’re always on the job even when you’re not on the job.”
“Maybe.” Sam smiled. “Come on, let’s walk.”
We made our way up the small slope of land where my crops were allowed to flourish and thrive. I wished I understood the chemistry that took place in the soil I’d been blessed with, but it was a mystery. I got lucky maybe? Maybe my uncle Stanley and aunt Ruth had prepped the soil, the land? I didn’t know, but until my luck ran out and I quit growing juicy berries and large, gorgeous pumpkins, I would be grateful for what I’d been given.
“So, you still upset about Joan’s harsh treatment?” Sam asked as we reached the top of the slope, where we could survey a wooded area to one side, my property to another, and the rest of the world off at an angle.
“You’re here to question me, under the guise of surveying my property?” I asked. Was that the real reason he’d stopped by, so he could sneak in an interrogation?
He put his hands on his hips and looked at me sternly. “Becca, when have I ever needed to use cloak-and-dagger techniques to question someone? I take that as an insult. No, I wasn’t questioning you. In fact, I was going to offer some friendly words of encouragement like she didn’t know what she was talking about, or you can’t please all the people all the time. I was thinking of adding in a baseball analogy, too: you can’t hit it out of the park every time you’re up, kid. I was also going to mention that I know you didn’t kill her and you shouldn’t beat yourself up for having ill will toward someone who insulted you even if they have been murdered. I was going to throw in something about human nature, too.”
We looked at each other a long moment; the sun was at our sides and I could see the blue of only one of his eyes. He wasn’t insulted or angry. For a moment I wished he was. There was something else going on, something that caused him pain, something that had to do with the way he was looking at me. For an instant, a time shorter than the smallest fraction of a second, I wanted to lean into that look and explore the possibility that was there.
And that was wrong. Even that small amount of temptation caused guilt to spread through my gut. I was with Ian. Through two marriages, two bad marriages, I had never cheated, physically or emotionally, on either of my husbands. I didn’t think it was something I had in me, but I’d just realized a new part of me, and I didn’t like it.
Things change in an instant, Becca, Allison would say.
I looked away and laughed. “Well, okay then, if you say so.” I started walking along the top of the slope. A beat or two later, he followed.
And we both acted like neither of us had noticed—whatever that had been.
We walked together mostly silently as Sam looked at everything and I watched him. It wasn’t until we made it to the area behind the barn—a space that was thick with brush—that he spoke again.
“This spot has been on my mind since yesterday. See, it looks like someone or something might have leaned right here,” Sam said as he crouched and nodded at an area that seemed to have a sort of indent in it.
Mom had said she’d awakened on the side of the barn that faced the highway. It wasn’t groomed, but there was a somewhat clear path. If I’d been paying attention when I pulled into the driveway yesterday, I might have seen her.
But the area directly behind the barn didn’t get much attention. There was a small plot of land that was surrounded by a chicken-wire fence that had been there forever as far as I knew. No one could see behind the barn from any spot on my property or even from the state highway. It was somehow hidden from the world, so I’d never taken the time to groom it or yank out the mass of weeds and bush.
“Maybe,” I said. “It’s a good place to hide.”
Sam nodded absently. He scanned the area, looking at each inch of the brush. I waited quietly.
“Gus didn’t think the indent had any significance, but he said he took pictures.”
“Who is Gus?” I asked.
“He’s my very own CSI. Well, sort of. He’s a scientist who I hired part-time to help with crime scenes. I set up a small office for him in the building next to the county building. He used to help out with murder investigations in Charleston, so he’s had some training and knows how to take crime scene photos and process fingerprints. He’s sharp.”
“How closely did you look back here yesterday?” I asked. Gus might have been okay at his job, but I trusted Sam’s keen eye over anyone’s.
“Not well enough. If I had, I would have seen this.” Sam pointed to something that looked like a bunch of twigs and leaves.
“What is it?”
“Becca, do you have some tweezers and a plastic bag, or some other sort of bag?”
“Yep. Right away.” I turned and made my way out of the unruly area. I was hurrying so much I scratched my exposed legs, but I ignored the sting.
“You don’t have to run,” Sam said from behind the barn. “It’s not going anywhere until I take it.”
“Now he tells me,” I said quietly. I followed up with, “Be right back.”
I continued to hurry even though a couple of the scratches had started oozing blood. The scratches and blood didn’t bother me as much as the thought that there was a good chance some wayward poison ivy was mixed in among the twigs, leaves, and general overgrowth behind the barn. I hoped not. I was normally pretty good about inspecting for such things, but I hadn’t been today.
I grabbed some tweezers from the bathroom, and some tongs and plastic zip-top bags from the kitchen. I had some cleaning gloves, so I pulled those out from under the sink, too, but I didn’t think Sam would want to use them.
I made my way back into the jungle, this time looking around for poison plants. I was relieved not to see any.
“Good,” Sam said as he looked up. “Tongs will be perfect. Hand those to me, but don’t step on the area that has been smushed. Here, toss them to me if you have to.”
I reached and tossed. He caught the tongs and reached into the pile of brush. Seconds later he pulled them out and held them up. I could barely see the item he’d grabbed, but as he turned it, the sunlight caused something to sparkle.
“What is it, Sam?”
“A piece of glass.” It was probably less than one inch square.
“How did you see that?” I asked.
“It’s my job. It’s Gus’s job, too. I can’t believe we didn’t catch it.”
“Why in the world would that be something important? It could have been there for years, decades even.”
“I don’t think so. It’s fairly clean.”
“A piece of glass—from what?”
“Not sure, but a fingerprint other than your mother’s or yours, I suppose, would sure be a good addition to the case right about now. Can you hand me one of the plastic bags?”
Without drawing too much more blood on my legs, I got the bag to Sam. He immediately put the piece of glass into it and sealed it. He looked around more but didn’t find anything. I tried to focus on what he was focusing on, and I didn’t see anything unusual. Even if I’d seen the piece of glass, I probably wouldn’t have found it important or even interesting.
Finally we high-stepped it out of the mess.
“Do you care if I ask Gus to come back out here and look more closely at that area behind the barn? I’d like for him to bring a metal detector out, just in case.”
“Sure, no problem. I won’t be here the rest of the day. That okay?”<
br />
“Fine.”
Sam called Gus while I went into the house, showered, and took care of the minor scrapes on my legs. I thought he’d be gone by the time I was done, but when I went back outside, he was still there, leaning against my truck.
“Thanks for letting me snoop. We might have found something that could help,” he said.
“Sure. It was fun . . . I mean, interesting to me.”
“Listen, Becca,” he said. He sounded serious, and I hoped he wasn’t about to broach the subject of the weird moment on the hill.
I nodded but remained silent.
“I know this murder is more important than any before this, but I’d like to ask . . . no, beg you to stay out of it as much as you can. I know you’ll look into things, but don’t put yourself in a precarious position. Please.”
I wanted to promise Sam I would do as he asked, but I also didn’t want to lie. Well, I wanted to lie a little bit, but just enough to keep him from worrying.
“We’ve had some scary moments, huh?” I said.
“Too many.”
“I’ll be careful, Sam. I won’t do anything stupid. But my mother isn’t a murderer, and I can’t just wait . . . I can’t . . .”
“Trust the police to do their jobs?” There was a smile to his voice.
“No, you know it isn’t that.”
“I do, but I’m trying to make a point. I’m on this. We’re all on this. We will find who killed Joan.”
“You really don’t think it was my mother?”
Sam almost rolled his eyes. “I’m here on my own. I came here to look for evidence. Do you honestly think that was so I could prove your mother was the killer?”
“I guess not.” I looked toward the barn.
“As an officer of the law, it would be unwise of me to sound as if I’m trying to sway an open case in any direction but toward the evidence. But you have to know I don’t want your mother to be the killer. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure there’s no question as to the killer’s real identity. It’s my job; perhaps I’m a little more invested in this case, but if anyone realizes that, I could get taken off it. I’m being very careful of what I say here.”
Crops and Robbers Page 7