Crops and Robbers (20 page)

Hobbit and I sat on the steps in front of the police station as I dialed Ian’s number on my cell phone. I made arrangements to meet him out at his soon-to-be lavender farm. I closed my phone and told Hobbit we were going to see Ian just as Sam reappeared and came out of the building.

“Becca!” he said as he hurried down the stairs. “Sorry, I had to take care of something. Do you have a minute?” He stopped in front of me and looked around before he spoke again. “You wanted to tell me something about oregano? Did you talk to your mom’s attorney?”

“I didn’t. Do you think he’d be angry at me for telling you what happened during the hypnosis?” I said.

“Most definitely. That’s up to you. I won’t push you for a thing. Remember, though, it’s my job to find the killer, no matter where the evidence leads me. Plus, I wasn’t there and didn’t hear anything firsthand. For all I know, you could be making it up.”

“I’m not making anything up.”

Sam rubbed his knuckle over his chin. “Okay, for all I know, your mom made it up. She really wasn’t hypnotized but created a good story.”

“She wouldn’t do that, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. “Just telling you my perspective, the perspective I have to have as an officer of the law.”

“Fine. I won’t give you the details, but I will tell you she thinks she ran into someone—literally ran into them—who smelled of oregano, the spice.”

Sam blinked. “That’s not totally unhelpful, Becca, but there still isn’t much I can do with the information. I will keep my nose on the lookout, though.”

Sam was in work mode, which was my least favorite part of him. But he was a good cop, and I was glad he was on the case.

“Thanks,” I said. I turned and guided Hobbit to the truck. “I’m sure Allison and I will both be checking on Mom again today.”

“You’re more than welcome.”

“See you later, Sam.”

“Becca?” Sam said as I reached the truck. I turned to see that the work-mode Sam, though still in the same clothes and slicked-back hair, had a question in his eyes that I’d never seen in combination with the uniform. It made me uncomfortable.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated only long enough to make me know he didn’t say what was actually on his mind. “Be careful.”

“You, too.”

I drove toward Ian and the lavender farm. I tried not to look in my rearview mirror, but I failed and saw Sam watch us drive away. He and I would need to have a conversation soon, but I wasn’t sure exactly what we needed to talk about. Just something.

I turned on the AM radio and listened to the mid-morning farm report. It was somehow soothing and exciting at the same time and helped me remember all the good stuff: my job, my farm, the wide-open spaces, and all the fresh air. My mother wasn’t a killer, and she’d be released from the holding cell soon. We’d figure it out.

At least I hoped as much.

Ian’s future lavender farm was just past my childhood home, a
short distance into the country outside Monson. It was about ten minutes from my place, which made it close, as farm distances go. When Allison heard that the previous property owner, Bud Morris, was interested in selling, she directed Ian to get in touch with Bud. Before long and after sniffing out some bad bank behavior, Ian was approved for a mortgage and Bud had found a new comfortable home in a retirement community staffed with people who made sure he got three meals a day and didn’t have to worry about much of anything.

Bud had lived in a shack on the land for a number of years but hadn’t farmed it. He’d moved there after losing his wife and son in separate tragedies. When I met him a few months earlier, I worried about his safety in the wobbly structure. Fortunately, Bud was now safe and Ian had been able to purchase land that would hopefully turn into a fertile and beautiful lavender farm. And the shack had been torn down.

Ian hadn’t planted anything yet but was readying the ground for the following year’s crop. He was also building a combination warehouse and living structure that would house his essential oil business as well as his yard artwork business, which had continued to become increasingly popular throughout South Carolina, and give him a place to sleep and clean up when necessary. He had a lot on his plate, but we both saw how, once everything was rolling on its own, he would build the type of life and career he’d always wanted. His lifelong goal was to own land and farm it. The successful yard artwork business had helped his dreams come true even sooner than he’d expected.

When he’d dreamed about owning and working land, lavender hadn’t been part of the picture, but meticulous research and planning eventually steered him in that direction, and it was exciting to watch his enthusiasm.

I parked the truck on the side of the road. In the last couple of days a large hole had appeared where the shack had been. It was larger than I’d imagined it would be.

The soil was gritty and not the same sort of fertile I needed for my strawberries and pumpkins. Lavender requires well-drained soil and lots of sun. Ian’s land seemed to have both.

At the moment he was steering a tractor in a slow straight line. I suddenly decided that there was something very appealing about a man on a tractor.

I’d gotten past any issues I had with Ian being ten years my junior. Other than that one thing, our relationship had been mostly easy—certainly much easier than either of my marriages. Ian and I were in different places in our lives and that was apparent, but neither of us seemed to feel a need to ask the other to reprioritize.

Even when he wasn’t on the tractor, I found him fetching, with his long ponytail and dark exotic skin he’d inherited from some of his Native Americans ancestors. At the moment, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that covered six of his seven tattoos; my favorite, the seventh one, was the small peace sign on his right hand. Hobbit and I got out of the truck. I gave her permission to stretch her legs as I leaned against the driver’s side door and continued to observe the man on the tractor.

He saw Hobbit first, as she ran into his line of vision. When he saw me, he turned off the tractor and signaled me to join him.

“Hey,” he said. “Climb on up.” He extended his hand. “How’s your mom? The hypnotist? The bail hearing? Sorry I couldn’t be there.”

He pulled me up, and I sat in front of him on the tractor’s seat. I loved the high perch—it made me want a tractor of my own. I gave him a full rundown of the earlier events. The late morning was quiet and peaceful without the sound of the engine. Even though the day so far had been stressful, I began to feel myself relax to something more normal.

“Sorry about no bail, but at least she can stay in town,” he said.

“Until the judge gets overruled by a higher court. I’m sure the prosecutor will be all over it.”

“Judge Miller’s well respected. I bet everything will be fine. Again, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“No problem. There wasn’t anything we could do anyway. It was all under the judge’s control. We just observed and hoped for the best. It could have been worse, I suppose.”

“Without a doubt.”

“So, what are you doing with the tractor? I forgot to ask. And why is that hole so much bigger than I pictured it would be?” I pointed.

“I’m tilling phosphate into the soil. I had it tested and it was a little light. Plus, I need to get it more leveled out. I’m not sure if I’m accomplishing that with the tiller, but we’ll see.” The land had a slight slope to it, but that’s what helped it get so much sun. “And the hole is for the basement.”

“I thought it was for the basement, but why is it so big?”

“It’s going to be a big basement.”

“The warehouse will need a big basement?”

Ian hesitated a beat before he answered. “I’ll have to show you my new plans. Of course I’ll need the warehouse, but instead of small living quarters, I’m building more of a house.”

“Oh,” I said.

He cleared his throat. “I figure if I’m building something, I might as well prepare for . . . well, just be prepared, I guess. If I’m building and all. That is.”

We’d talked about living together. It would have been easier on our vehicles to have us both in the same location. But I could never leave my farm, and he currently was a big part of his landlord’s life. George was old and couldn’t see well. Ian’s workshop was in George’s garage with an apartment above. Neither of us could leave him. We’d discussed the possibility that there might be other renters out there who’d befriend him and help him out if needed, but it wasn’t a risk we were willing to take.

And now it sounded like we would have one more place—a nice place—in competition for our time.

“Becca,” Ian said as he wrapped his arms around me. “I mean it—it’s just to be prepared. Think about it. I’m building anyway. I won’t be George’s tenant forever—though I’ll never abandon him. You know I don’t see an end to you and me. I’m not trying to make any statement except that, shoot, I might as well make this entire property as appealing as possible.”

“Makes sense,” I said. It did, but there was still something about it that bothered me, though I knew if I said anything further I’d sound whiny and annoying, so I let it go, for now. “Hey, do you know I’ve only ridden on a tractor a couple times. I’d love to give it another go.”

Ian laughed. “I’m your man, then. Hang on tight. I think we’ll be moving at about three to five miles an hour.”

The ride was perfect and served to put me in an even better mood. I decided to enjoy the moment and worry about the rest later. Having been through bad marriages, I realized how important it was to enjoy the good “couple moments” as they happened.

By the end of the ride, I mentally put another exclamation point on the reasons I love living where I live and doing what I do. I’d never be able to trade these sorts of simple pleasures for things like traffic jams (vehicle traffic jams, that is—I was stuck behind some cows the other day), smog, and belly-to-butt people. My wardrobe, full of T-shirts, overalls, and a few nicer things, was as extensive as I hoped it would ever be.

I hopped off the tractor. “You want to go to dinner again? Manny’s Pizza?” I said as Ian dismounted, too. “Jake had no idea—well, no serious idea he was willing to share—as to why his name was on a note that Joan had written. He and Viola lied to me, but I’m not sure why or exactly what the lie was. I told him Joan dropped the note at the market, so I lied too. I’d like to smell Manny and see if there’s a way to ask him about the note. Oh, and Jake and Betsy have gone out a couple times. He wouldn’t tell me much about their relationship, but I think it’s interesting that they’ve dated.”

Ian laughed. “I don’t suppose Jake likes to talk about his personal life with the sister of his high school girlfriend.”

“I don’t think that was it. That was ages ago. I think Jake’s just naturally shy. Anyway, want to go out with me again tonight? Since oregano has now become a curiosity and Manny works with lots of oregano, his seems like the next logical restaurant.”

“Do we get to break into his office?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m in. Should we invite Sam? I know he loves Manny’s, and I bet he’d keep us within the parameters of legal activity.” Ian smiled.

“Sure,” I said without thinking. I didn’t understand what was going on between Sam and me, but something told me we shouldn’t invite him to dinner with us. Too late.

“I have to head downtown to ask about some building permits. I’ll stop by and visit your parents and invite him.”

“Great,” I said.

“What?” He’d heard something in my voice. “Should I not visit your parents?”

“No, nothing. I think they’d love it if you visited them. I’m just distracted. I’ll see you later.”

Our kiss was filled with the scents of tilled land and fresh air. I was head over heels for Ian and loved kissing him, but I tried to put something extra special into this one.

“Mmm,” he said as he lifted an eyebrow. “Looking forward to seeing you later.”

I gathered Hobbit and we got back into the truck. I watched Ian climb aboard the tractor again and begin the slow movement over the land. Finally I waved good-bye.

Dinner was still many hours away, but I had plenty to do.

Other than knowing that my mother didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t have any solid idea as to who murdered Joan. The clues were sparse and scattered, to say the least, plus I wasn’t even sure if they were real clues. The possibilities currently seemed endless, and the only “leads” were the smell of oregano and a cryptic note and list that might be nothing more than random scribbles.

Clinging to the only thing that I thought substantial, I decided to talk to Herb and Don at Bailey’s. Their oregano was fresh, delicious, and very popular. Joan had liked it; so had Manny. I didn’t think it would hurt to ask them some questions, even if I wasn’t sure exactly what the questions were.