Crops and Robbers (10 page)

“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?”

“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.”

“Thank you, Sam,” I said.

“You’re welcome. Now, get out of here. Go visit your mom and have dinner with Ian. Let me know what you think of Bistro.”

“You waiting for Gus?”

“Yeah.”

I got in my truck and steered up my driveway, then glanced in my rearview mirror. Sam was getting in his car. Either he was going to wait inside the car for Gus, or he was leaving, too. Maybe he
had
come to the house to look around some more, but something told me he’d also been there because he was worried about me. I appreciated the gesture.

What I wasn’t so sure I appreciated was that moment on the top of the hill, that moment that felt like something shifted, something that shouldn’t have. No matter how much my mind tried to make it not so, I knew things had changed somehow between Sam and me. I couldn’t allow myself to think about it now. I just couldn’t.

I put Sam and the moment we’d shared out of my mind and focused on the trip to visit my jailbird mother.

“Gin!” Through the bars, my mother put her cards on the table
between her and my dad.

“Again?! Polly, you could let me win one game.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she said. “You deal.”

“I see you’re fine,” I said as I stepped through the open doorway and into the large room with the small holding cells. The room was stark and unfriendly except for the large window that looked out to the parking spaces in front of the building. If it weren’t for the window, the gray walls and grungy linoleum floor would make the space almost unbearable.

Fortunately, Mom’s cell had been equipped with some puffy bedding, a nice pillow, and a comfortable chair.

Dad also had a nice setup. He wasn’t in the neighboring cell but outside all of them, with his own comfortable chair and a stack of bedding. I wondered if it was Allison or Sam who had stocked the place.

“Becca!” They said cheerily.

“Come have a seat,” Dad said as he stood and offered me the comfortable spot.

“Okay,” I said. I’d prepared myself for somber moods and perhaps a tear or two. But I should have known better. Jason and Polly Robins had lived their lives looking for the positive in everything; why would being accused of murder and being thrown in jail make that different?

“We have some donuts from earlier today. Want one?” Dad reached for an open box.

“No, thanks. Don’t want to spoil my dinner.”

“Good enough.” Dad reached into the box and pulled out something chocolate covered that looked delicious.

“How’re you doing, Mom?” I asked.

“I’m fine. They’re taking care of me, Becca. Please don’t worry. This will all get worked out. Sam and his fellow officers are smart and, I suspect, good at what they do. We have every confidence.”

It wasn’t that my parents had ever really disrespected law enforcement; they’d just always been a bit distrustful toward any sort of “establishment.” Their kind and sincere-sounding words about Sam and the other officers were somewhat off-putting.

“Good,” I said unsurely.

“Oh. We’ve found a hypnotist. She’ll be here Monday morning, right before the bail hearing.”

I shook my head. “Bail hearing?”

“Yes, we’ll go before the judge—Eunice Miller, she’s been around forever—Monday. She probably won’t grant bail, though, and Mom will be held on remand. We’re a pretty big flight risk, with our RV lifestyle. The hypnotist will come by first and see if she can get Mom to remember anything important,” Dad said cheerily.