Crops and Robbers (23 page)

I sighed. “Feels like one dead end after another.”

“I don’t believe in dead ends. I believe in route diversion. We’ll find something.”

True to form, though Sam shared too much with me, I hadn’t told him about the note or the list, but it wasn’t because I was trying to keep a secret. I would tell him and Aldous if I could make some connection to something important to the case, but for now my and Ian’s thievery didn’t mean much of anything except that we—okay, I—was overly curious, and pretty much everyone knew that already.

Sam veered the Mustang to the right. Manny’s was in between Monson and Smithfield, on the main road that was still a state highway. From this road, the border of the town was made up of woods on one side of the road and open fields on the other side. Manny’s was nestled in the middle of a dense patch of trees. It was set in a man-made pocket of the woods, and I always thought the setting belonged in a fairy tale. The building did, too. It was a low, long gingerbread cottage that had once been a small roadside motel. An old unlit neon sign was still at the front of the parking lot. “Travel Stop” was written in dusty gray glass tubes. Taking out the sign would mean digging up concrete, so it had remained in place but unlit since Manny purchased the property. I noticed that the parking lot, marked with potholes and stray weeds, could use a remodel. Now might be a good time to get rid of the old sign even if it had become a reliable and well-known landmark.

Manny had created his own neon sign, in big, blinking red letters, and it hung on the front of the building and simply read, “Manny’s.” The sign, the building, and the woods combined to make Manny’s look like either an accident or a quirky new take on architectural design.

Sam parked the Mustang in the crowded lot, and we stepped carefully over the beat-up asphalt to the front door. Country music played from speakers on the outside of the building, well placed to entertain those who chose to wait outside for a seat inside. Even though the parking lot was crowded, there weren’t people waiting tonight, so we were pretty confident we’d get seated quickly.

The distinct aromas of garlic and oregano greeted us as we entered the noisy restaurant. The waitstaff were mostly teenagers dressed in black pants and red shirts. We were greeted by a girl with a bright red ponytail and bright pink lipstick.

“Welcome,” she said cheerily. “Table for two?”

Sam nodded.

“Terrific. This way.”

We followed the ponytail down one aisle, then to the left. Manny’s was dimly lit, but I could still see fine. Every table was covered in a red tablecloth and a battery-operated faux candle. The tables and chairs were made of thick dark wood, and every chair had armrests. I loved both the food and the atmosphere.

“How’s this?” she asked as she stopped at a table next to a half-wall divider.

“Great,” Sam said as he held out my chair.

“Is Manny here?” I asked the girl. I hadn’t thought to check before we made the trip. He sometimes worked at his other restaurants, but this one was by far the most popular, so it was where he could usually be found.

“I saw him about an hour ago. You want me to find him?”

Manny wasn’t shy about talking to customers. In fact, he seemed to enjoy that part of his job more than cooking the pizza.

“That’d be great,” I said.

“I’ll send him over.”

“Do you smell all the oregano?” I asked as Sam sat in his own seat.

He laughed. “Yes, I do. Should I run back out to my car and grab some handcuffs?”

“Funny. I know. I’m grasping at straws, but I want to talk to Manny. No, I want to smell him up close.” I also wanted to try to find a way to ask him about the note, but I didn’t count on that opportunity presenting itself.

“That should be interesting,” Sam said.

“I’ll sniff so he doesn’t notice.”

Sam laughed again.

Our table was close to the kitchen but still far enough away that the location wouldn’t have been distracting under normal circumstances. However, it became more than a little distracting just moments later, when a scream echoed out into the seating area from behind the swinging kitchen doors.

Sam turned to look toward the doors, and I leaned to look around him.

A door swung open and another teenager in a ponytail propelled herself through it and into the dining room. Her eyes were panicked and she screamed again. By now, Sam was standing and I was scooting my chair backward.

The teenager screamed again and then yelled, “It’s Manny! He’s . . . he’s . . . he’s dead!” She fell to her knees.

“Call 9-1-1, Becca,” Sam said. He turned and hurried toward the teenager.

I was stunned still for an instant, but I finally pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. As the rest of the room fell into a mass of concern and panic, I dialed 9-1-1 and told the operator to send help to Manny’s as quickly as possible.

The screaming teenager had been correct in her assessment:
Manny Moretti was dead; she happened upon his body as she was taking a bag of trash out the back door to one of the large Dumpsters.

Even in nonwork mode, Sam took control of the situation and calmed the panicked crowd as he kept an eye out for more danger. He was certain that some people left the building before he could stop them, but the police were there so quickly that he surmised they’d been able to talk to almost everyone who’d been on the premises when the body had been found—in a state similar to Joan’s, with a knife sticking up from its chest.

I was relegated to the Mustang as Sam helped the police officers as well as stayed out of their way. Though this Manny’s was closer to Monson than Smithfield, the restaurant was in Smithfield’s county. Sam’s jurisdiction stopped at Monson’s border.

The parking lot was a buzz of activity, and I only caught sight of Sam now and then.

More than anything, I wanted to join the crowd of people who were questioned and then released to go home, but my ride was busy.

I was officially fed up with dead bodies. I hadn’t seen Manny’s, but I’d heard enough to know the details.

What was going on? Two people—two restaurant owners—killed in less than one week. I wanted to call Ian or Allison or my parents, but adding insult to my attitude, my cell phone didn’t work in the parking lot. We weren’t allowed to reenter the building where I knew I had reception.

There was one small bit of good news, but I almost felt bad for thinking about it—almost. My mother was locked away in a cell in Monson. She couldn’t have killed Manny. Would this help to prove her innocence?

I hoped, but I cringed at that hope, too. It would be natural of me to think along those lines, but it was also inappropriate.

I took a deep cleansing breath and resigned myself to sitting in the Mustang and waiting patiently for Sam.

I would have stuck to that plan, too, if only I hadn’t seen a flash of color in the woods.

The woods that surrounded Manny’s were thick in some spots, not so thick in others. In an area that seemed extra dense, to the right and at the back corner of the restaurant, I thought I saw something red, something like a piece of fabric from a shirt or a jacket move from behind one tree to another one. It was a flash of color more than a flash of anything substantial. I could have been imagining it.

I sat up straight and glued my eyes to the spot where I thought I’d seen movement. Even if I had, it might not mean anything. But something told me to pay attention.

Nothing else flashed, but as I strained and squinted, I thought I saw something else—a small piece of something red seemed to be sticking out slightly from the side of the second tree. It was only a small triangle of red, but it was enough to pique my curiosity.

I spied Sam talking to two of the Smithfield officers. I was certain they knew each other, and I was certain that they wouldn’t want me interrupting them.

I got out of the car, shutting the door loudly. If Sam happened to look my way, I’d wave him over. He didn’t.

I could walk around the perimeter of the parking lot that bordered the woods and glance quickly at what I thought I might be seeing. I wouldn’t try to be sneaky, and if Sam saw me, he’d be either irritated or curious enough himself to join me.

I walked to the edge of the parking lot and began to mosey toward the trees. I almost felt like breaking out into a whistle, but I thought better of it. Sam wasn’t paying me any attention; no one was.

Doubt that I had seen anything diminished with each step. There was definitely something red sticking out from behind the tree. It still looked like a small piece of fabric. I took a few steps into the woods. If there was a person attached to the red thing, I wanted to see them with enough time to run from them if I needed to. Unless the person was only about six inches in diameter and hiding behind a tree, I was certain there was no one there. I stepped back to the parking lot. Now I was concerned about evidence. If there was some in the woods, I didn’t want to be the one to trample it. I hurried further down the parking lot border and then took two very careful and tiptoed steps back into the woods to get a closer look.

Close up, the piece of fabric was larger than I’d thought. It was probably a good four inches square, but with uneven frayed ends. It looked as though something made of thin cotton fabric had gotten caught on a sharp baby limb that stuck out from the tree trunk. I crouched to get a better look, but my assessment of it didn’t change.

Was this the tree I had thought I saw the flash move to? There were so many trees, I wasn’t so sure now. But if it was the same one, then where did the person wearing the red fabric move to next? I’d thought I’d been looking so closely, but I hadn’t seen further movement. Maybe all I’d seen in the first place was the fabric on the tree. Or, maybe whoever or whatever had had it ripped from their clothing was still close by, and even with my cautionary moves, I was being stupider than I’d ever been.

Suddenly, I spooked myself enough to cause bumps and hair to rise on my arms. At that moment, something snapped behind me, as though someone had stepped on a twig.

I was alarmed enough that I reacted without thinking. I grabbed a fallen tree limb that was probably about eight inches long and three inches in diameter. In one swift move, I stood and swung the limb at whatever was sneaking up on me.

Fortunately, I missed the most damaging spot: Sam’s head. But I did thwack him on the arm pretty good.

He hadn’t drawn his gun the day he’d come upon Ian and me discovering a bloody ax almost a year earlier. He didn’t have it drawn today either.

But the officers who flanked him didn’t know me, and my assault on the police officer was enough for them both to reach for their weapons and assume the stance.

Sam said, “Ow, Becca!” as he reached for his arm.

“Oh, Sam, I’m sorry. I was . . . I got . . .”

“Brion—you know her?”

For an instant I thought he might deny knowing me, but shortly he nodded. “Yeah, weapons down, fellas. She’s with me, believe it or not.”

The two officers, both of them young and serious, glanced at each other. One of them jerked his mouth into a small smile as he said, “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The officers lowered and holstered their guns.

“You’ve got witnesses if you need us,” the talkative officer added. I didn’t think he was funny.

“I might take you up on that, but for now let’s see what she found.”

Sam shot me a small glance of questioning disapproval, but he didn’t dwell on the assault. He stepped carefully toward the fabric square.

“Is this what brought you out here?” he asked me.

“Sort of. I thought I saw someone. Someone who moved from that tree”—I pointed—“to this one, I think. But I didn’t see them after that. I saw this . . . redness, and wanted to figure out what it was. I made sure no one was around, and I tried not to trample anything as I looked. I was being careful.” I casually set the limb down on the ground.

“Remind me to remind you what careful is. For now, what did the person you thought you saw look like?”

I thought back, but it had happened too quickly. “A flash of red is all I can be certain of.”

“Maybe you just saw this and thought you saw a person?”

I thought harder. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. No, I’m pretty sure I saw a person, but I would be afraid to give a valid description, other than they were wearing something red. Something that is now torn.”

Sam nodded. “You boys will probably want to take this in and search the area for other evidence.”

They stepped around us.

“Come on, Becca. I think we can go now.” Sam led the way out of the woods and back into the parking lot.

“I’m sorry about your arm,” I said.

He waved away the apology. “No problem. You sure you can’t remember what you saw?”