Crops and Robbers

by Paige Shelton

  “You’re saying that to me? Let’s just pretend it’s okay to be extra curious.”

  “I hit Redial on the phone,” Betsy continued. “Of course I have no idea how many people she and Nobel might have been talking to, but the last one was Manny. He answered the phone again, and I told him it was me. He must have thought I was calling to continue whatever Joan and Nobel had started. He said something like, ‘Oh, now they sic you on me. You can just tell them that they’re not getting one dime more from me until things get straightened out.’ And then he hung up. Just then Joan and Nobel came back into the office. I don’t think they saw me on the phone, but they caught me holding the list they’d scribbled on.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Not well. Joan had Nobel leave, and then she closed the door and told me that I was never, ever, ever to show anyone the list. That her life and Nobel’s life could potentially be in jeopardy if I did.”

  I swallowed hard. That was pretty big news. I wanted to tell her that if I’d known what she’d known, I would have taken the list to the police immediately, but it didn’t take much of a leap to think that the delay in delivering it to the police might be a big part of the reason Manny was murdered. I felt horrible enough; she might throw herself out of the moving truck if I pointed that out.

  “She didn’t explain it to you?” I said.

  “No, not at all. She dismissed me and told me to go home for the rest of the day. I didn’t sleep all night. I was a wreck, and then when Joan was killed, I was a bigger wreck and . . . now, especially in light of Manny’s murder, I know I should have acted more appropriately.”

  She’d come to the same conclusion I just had. I thought I’d heard a choke to her voice. I glanced over. She was trying not to cry.

  “Oh, hey, you did something. You couldn’t have predicted Joan’s or Manny’s murder.” My words sounded pretty hollow.

  “I was trying to protect Nobel,” she said, though her voice was weary.

  “Protect how? Do you think his life is in danger, or do you think he’s the killer?”

  “I think both could be possible. At first I thought his life was in danger, but after last night, after Manny, I wonder.”

  “Why would he want to kill his mother or Manny?”

  “I don’t know, but it has something to do with that list. He’s odd, Becca, really odd. But I have a loyalty to him. If I’d turned in that list and he got in trouble for something—something that wasn’t murder—I’d feel like I betrayed him. He’s odd, but he’s been very good to me. Can you understand?”

  “Yes.” I wasn’t lying. Shoot, I’d wanted my mom to clean off the blood before we called the police. I knew all about loyalty.

  “But now I’m afraid that whatever’s behind that list could get more people killed.”

  “But you have no idea what it means?”

  “No. I’ve speculated, but I really don’t know anything for sure.”

  I steered the truck into Bailey’s parking lot. Until that moment, I didn’t have a reason for making my way to the market, but suddenly I knew exactly what to do. I knew who would be the best help in the situation. It seemed Betsy and I had a puzzle that needed a smart and perhaps business-savvy person to solve. Of course, the first person who came to my mind was Allison.

  “Do you have a copy of the list on you?” I asked as I pulled out my cell phone.

  “Yes.”

  “Hang on . . . Hey, Sis.”

  Allison had answered on the first ring. “Bec.”

  “Where are you? Good, stay right there. I’ll be right in.” I shut the phone. “Allison’s in her office. Let’s go talk to her.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Betsy followed me to Allison’s office, where she was working on her own stack of paperwork. I’d shown her the list before, but it had meant as nothing to her as it had to me. I hoped that with the new backstory that Betsy had shared and Allison’s business smarts, we’d come at least a little closer to what it meant.

  Betsy told Allison the same thing she’d told me and then my sister studied the list again, this time closely and as she bit at her bottom lip.

  “Are all the members of the restaurant association on this list?” Allison asked Betsy.

  “Yes. As of the day before Joan was killed, this was the entire list,” Betsy said.

  “Becca mentioned there were some vendors listed, too. Tomatoes, squash, and eggs if I remember correctly.” I nodded. “Why would vendors be listed, too? And are these the only vendors who are members of the association?”

  “Some vendors join the association to be mentioned in the advertising. You know, something like, ‘We serve the best squash from so-and-so’. Very few vendors join. Even if we buy from Bailey’s, we won’t ask you to join the association. It isn’t necessary to join for us to buy from you,” Betsy said.

  “Tell me about the history of the association. Did Joan found it? Why was it put together in the first place?”

  Betsy cleared her throat and sat back in the chair. I was leaning against a file cabinet. Three people in Allison’s office were most definitely a crowd.

  “I think the association was founded five years ago, but Bistro has been open for fifteen. I know that Joan herself came up with the association idea. She thought that if they all pooled some money, they could work together to buy advertising, get better rates on their products, and brainstorm business ideas. It’s also a good reason for the restaurant owners to get together socially. They had parties sometimes. They even went on a trip to New York City once.”

  “Pooled money, huh? Did the dues pay for these trips or their social gatherings?” Allison asked.

  Betsy’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t think so. The only thing the dues paid for really was advertising. I think.”

  “How much are the dues?”

  “That depends on each individual restaurant’s sales. For the lower-volume restaurants, the last I knew the dues were two hundred and fifty dollars per month. The higher-volume restaurants were as high as seven hundred dollars. There was some sort of sales formula they used to figure it out, but I don’t know the exact formula. I do know that the vendors pay a much smaller fee, something like a hundred bucks.”

  Allison nodded. “Well, there’s something unethical about vendors paying dues to a restaurant association, but if they’re mentioned in the advertising, I guess I kind of get it. It has to be something else, something less obvious.” Allison paused. “Do you have any idea if there was any noticeable resentment by the restaurant owners who paid more?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “What about joining? Do you know of any restaurants that were approached that decided not to join?” Allison asked.

  “Again, not to my knowledge.”

  I jumped in. “What about members who want to leave. Do you know how they are handled?” What had Elliot Nelson said? There was something strange about the association and leaving it was difficult.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  I didn’t think Betsy was lying. If there was a problem with leaving the association, she didn’t know about it.

  “Forty-two members. Let’s use three hundred fifty as the dollar amount.” Allison punched numbers on her desk calculator. “That makes fourteen thousand seven hundred dollars a month. Did they spend that much on advertising?” Allison asked.

  “I don’t know. That seems like a lot, but they never did anything from the restaurant for the association. They always conducted association business at Nobel’s house.”

  “What’s your sense of it, Al?” I asked.

  “I have no idea what the yes, no, and maybe’s mean, but I find it suspicious that they conducted association business away from the restaurant. I don’t know, though, maybe not. I know I wouldn’t conduct such business at my house. I question the monthly amount. I don’t remember seeing that much advertising for the restaurants, but I guess that can be deceptive sometimes. Can you get access t
o the bank statements for the association’s account? I bet that the statements will somehow show something.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There isn’t enough here for Sam to obtain a subpoena for the statements. I think you’ll have to find a way to steal them,” Allison said.

  “Maybe I could just talk to Nobel?” Betsy said.

  “Maybe,” Allison said. “What about the restaurant bills? Do you do anything with them?”

  “I pay them. From my office at the restaurant. I have the checkbook and a signature stamp.”

  Allison and I glanced at each other. She wasn’t sure of anything, I could tell, but she had a sense of something. She said, “I don’t know if the answer’s in the association’s bank statements, but I do think you should try to look at them, somehow, some way. Follow the money, or so I’ve heard. It could be a dead end, but I think it’s worth a shot. That’s a significant amount.” She punched at the calculator again. “One hundred seventy six thousand four hundred dollars a year. That’s definitely significant. I can’t be totally sure, but I really don’t think I’ve seen advertising that would amount to that much. Find out where that money is or has gone. It might not tell you about the yes, no and maybe’s, but it’ll tell you something.”

  “Okay.” Betsy nodded, her eyes wide.

  “One more thing,” Allison said.

  Betsy and I looked at her.

  “Do you know anyone who smells strongly of oregano?”

  “Uh, sure. I work in the restaurant industry. I smell oregano all the time.”

  “Recently, though,” Allison continued, “who comes to your mind?”

  “Manny, of course.” Betsy cringed. “But the one who comes to mind mostly is Nobel. He’s been working on a new spaghetti sauce for Bistro. He’s been reeking of oregano.”

  Allison and I looked at each other again. I knew she had work to do and couldn’t leave the market.

  “How about I come back with you to the restaurant, Betsy? Let’s talk to Nobel, and then we can talk about how to steal . . . or look for those statements,” I said.

  And for the first time ever, I got Allison’s criminal-behavior nod of approval.

  Twenty-four

  “How did you come to work for Joan?” I asked as I steered the truck back to her car.

  “It was all by accident. I dropped out of college and needed a job quickly. My parents were all for paying my bills while I was in school, but they weren’t happy I quit. I literally started by washing dishes at Bistro. I worked hard and learned whatever I could. One day, only about nine months ago and when I was a hostess, Joan announced that she needed an assistant. I didn’t know what that entailed, but I let her know I was interested. She hired me, and I’ve never worked harder or longer or had a better time in my life. I love the restaurant business.”

  “Nobel plan on keeping you?” I asked.

  “Frankly, I don’t know. I hope so, but I can’t be sure. Who knows after all this . . .”

  “What will you do if he lets you go?”

  “Look for another job. Or . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’ve wanted to open my own restaurant for a long time. It was always on my ‘someday’ list. Someday might be a little closer than I thought. I’ve become friends with Jake who owns Jake’s. He’s been giving me ideas and advice. I know he and your sister dated in high school,” she said.

  I wasn’t going to bring it up. “That was a long time ago.”

  “He adored her,” she said quietly. “It’s kind of cute the way he talks about her.”

  “She’s married,” I said but immediately felt stupid. Betsy wasn’t jealous; she was just making conversation. “That was weird. Sorry.”

  Betsy laughed. “It’s okay.”

  As I pulled the truck back into the spot in front of the county building, I looked for some sign of Sam but didn’t see him. I was going to Bistro, not some top secret location. There was nothing unsafe about what I was doing, so I didn’t feel the need to let him know my plans. Besides, I wasn’t ready to face him yet.

  I knew exactly how to get to Bistro, but I let Betsy lead the way.

  About ten minutes into the drive, she slowed down. She reached her arm out of the open car window and pointed to the left as she turned on her blinker.

  All I could see to the left were thick woods cut with a narrow but smooth dirt road, but I followed her lead and switched on my blinker.

  We pulled onto the road. I didn’t have her cell phone number, so I’d just have to see where we were going. I quickly left a message for Ian regarding where I was just in case I’d decided to follow a killer down the dirt road. I didn’t think Betsy was dangerous, but driving into some woods with a relative stranger was more worrisome than going with them to a restaurant, and I’d promised so many people I would be more careful.

  We weren’t on the road for long when, after a slight curve, a mansion seemed to appear out of thin air. The mansion was castlelike, in miniature, and forebodingly dark. Dark stone of some sort made up the structure, and tall trees created deep shadows. I’d never seen it before, and I’d never heard of it, which surprised me. It was the type of structure that should have gained a reputation along the same lines of the world’s biggest ball of twine. Right here, only a few miles away from my town, was an imitation of Dracula’s castle.

  Betsy parked her car and got out. I was too curious to be afraid, so I parked and then joined her.

  “Detour?” I asked.

  “Sort of. This is Nobel’s house.”

  “Really? House? I’ve never seen anything like it, in person at least.”

  “I know, it’s quite the place. He’s been working on it for years.”

  “Why haven’t I ever heard of it?” I asked.

  “He’s a very antisocial person. This is his . . . well, his castle. He has no other family. Even the restaurant employees don’t really know where he lives. I only know because I had to come out here with Joan once. She told me not to tell him I was here. As I said, he’s odd, Becca. Your sister was right, though, we need to get ahold of those statements, so I brought us here.”

  “We’re going to break in?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I didn’t think about Betsy’s idea to break into Nobel’s house much as I pushed all the reasons not to out of my mind. Allison said we needed those statements. Breaking in was probably the only way to get them.

  “What if we’re caught?” I said.

  “Nobel’s at the restaurant today. He said he needed to get back to work. He never leaves work early. Never.”

  “What about his staff? Or the creatures inside, sleeping in the coffins?”

  Betsy laughed. “It reminded me of that, too. If he has a butler or a housekeeper or whatever, I don’t know about them. It sure looks empty at the moment. I don’t know, though. I’ve never been inside.” She looked at one of the front turrets. “You and your sister reacted funny when I said that Nobel has recently smelled of oregano. Why?”

  “The only way I can answer that is to tell you we think that maybe—maybe—someone who smells like oregano was at my farm when Joan was killed.”

  Betsy nodded. “Okay. Well, I think we should take advantage of him not being home and try to look around the inside of the house. Let’s get those statements.”

  She might have been even more inclined to criminal behavior than I was.

  It was a risk, but one I was willing to take. I’d left a message for Ian. If I didn’t show up in good time, he’d check the area. Even if my truck disappeared, he’d be smart enough to suspect I was curious about the odd miniature castle and wanted to check it out.

  “Sure,” I said.

  She smiled conspiratorially. I hoped she wasn’t a killer, because I was beginning to really like her.

  “Come on,” she said.

  I looked around. There wasn’t another soul in sight, no humans or animals. It was just us, the mansion, and the vamps.

  I fol
lowed as Betsy stepped surely along a cobblestone pathway to the front door, which was probably made from a whole tree. The dark wooden door was massive—tall and wide and carved with delicate vinelike detail. It was foreboding enough to scare away even brave solicitors, but not Betsy.

  As she knocked, she looked at me and said, “It’s an act. The whole castle is some sort of compensation thing. I don’t know Nobel well enough to guess exactly what he’s compensating for, but I know he’s terribly insecure. Building this behemoth is somehow his way of dealing with all that.”

  “You’re knocking. Do you think someone’s inside?” I asked.

  “No, but it never hurts to make sure.”

  “Good point.”

  No one answered, and we were greeted with the type of silence that leaves no doubt that no one’s home.

  Betsy tried the button on the door handle, but it didn’t budge.

  “Didn’t think that would work,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go around back. I was allowed to walk around outside when I was here. If I remember correctly, there’s a sliding glass door.”

  I hoped she didn’t plan on breaking the glass if the door was locked, but I just nodded and followed her. I looked up and around the building and surrounding trees as we made our way. I was looking for security cameras, but I didn’t see anything that made me think we were being watched or recorded. Unfortunately, that didn’t help settle the hair that was standing up on the back of my neck. We were out in the middle of nowhere, and the setting was creepy and disturbing.

  And I liked it. More than I could admit to anyone, including myself, I liked acting on my curiosity no matter what risks were involved. There was something so compelling about the search for answers or truth that I didn’t want to resist it.

  Betsy watched her feet, which made me think that either she wasn’t worried about security cameras or she knew for certain they didn’t exist or she didn’t care.

  It was just as wooded behind the castle as it had been in front of it, but after only a short distance back, the trees cleared to a wide-open countryside. I could look through the trees and see rolling green hills past the tree line. I was glad there was no fence. If I needed to run, at least I wouldn’t have to climb or leap over anything.