Crops and Robbers (24 page)

“I’m sure. Sorry about that.”

Sam’s serious side had won this evening. I saw it in the way he walked and the way he looked around, his eyes taking in everything.

“What are you looking for?”

“Other than someone wearing something red that’s torn, I’m not sure. I’m just looking. Maybe there’s something that will catch my attention, something out of place or someone who seems suspicious.”

I nodded and looked around, too, but I knew my vision wasn’t the same as his.

Sam held open the passenger door of the Mustang, and I hopped in and buckled the lap belt. He continued surveying the scene even as he made his way to his side of the car, sat in the driver’s seat, and buckled his own belt. I almost didn’t want to disturb his thoughts, but a few questions were burning on my tongue.

I forgot the questions when I noticed that the sleeve of his shirt was torn and dirty. I didn’t think as I reached to the sleeve and rolled it up.

“Sam! I really got you good,” I said. His arm was scraped and red where I’d hit him with the limb. He was sure to have a terrible bruise.

He glanced down at it and then back at me with a small smile. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he said good-naturedly. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated. He rolled the sleeve down and started the car. “Now, let’s get out of here. You still hungry?”

I was, but I wasn’t sure that was the appropriate thing to say. He didn’t give me a chance to respond. He said, “Let’s grab some sandwiches and take them back to the jail. I have some questions for your mother.”

“You do? Why? What questions?”

“Let’s call Mr. Astaire and make sure he’s either still there or will come back,” Sam said.

“Why? Something about the murder scene?” I said as I sat up.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Sam?”

“You didn’t get very close to that piece of fabric, did you?” he said.

“I was going to, but someone snuck up on me. Why?”

“It smelled strongly of oregano.”

As Sam steered the Mustang back to Monson, I called Aldous, Ian, and Allison. I didn’t know who would or wouldn’t be able to meet back at the jail, but I had a strong feeling that something good was finally about to happen.

If you’re keeping score, it turned out that nothing great hap
pened. In fact, and unfortunately, the evening ended in a most horrible way.

Sam and I picked up tacos instead of sandwiches. Ian was still on an install, and Allison was still in her meeting, but Aldous was there, with an almost victorious attitude. His hope was even more inappropriate than mine had been.

He began by insisting that Sam release Mom from jail.

“I can’t release her, yet, Mr. Astaire. I don’t have anything. I made sure the officers in Smithfield are gathering any pertinent evidence. I asked them to be extremely careful in looking for and gathering fingerprints from the knife. They are searching the wooded area for anything else. They’ll do a good and thorough job. They’re great at what they do. I just want to ask Polly a couple questions. I wanted you here,” Sam said.

Aldous was again perched on the chair right outside my mother’s cell. Mom was inside, sitting on the cot. I could tell she was working hard to look like being behind bars wasn’t getting to her. Dad had returned shortly after Sam and I had left. He hadn’t been able to find the tools he needed to fix my door, so that hadn’t been done. He was cranky he hadn’t been able to complete the task he’d set out to do. Plus, Mom being in jail was getting to him, too. As “go with the flow” as Polly and Jason Robins were, enough was finally becoming enough. He sat on a chair next to Aldous.

“But it’s an identical murder, knife placement and all,” Aldous said.

“Yes, but that could be either a coincidence or a copycat.”

“You have a restaurant-owner killer running rampant throughout the area. You know it isn’t Polly Robins. You must release her.”

Sam ignored the demand. “Aldous, I’d like to ask your client a couple questions. If you permit me to ask them, you will wonder why I’m asking them and where I got the information. I can’t tell you that—well, I suppose I could, but I don’t want to. You okay with that?”

Sam and I had already discussed this. No one knew that I had told him about what my mother had said while she was hypnotized. It wouldn’t be difficult to figure out who’d shared the details, but Sam wouldn’t confirm I’d been the leak.

Aldous was still wearing his Pee-wee Herman suit, his hair still neatly combed. He sat with his hands folded on his lap and his legs crossed at the ankles. He looked at Sam, at Mom, at Dad, and finally at me. I didn’t blink, but he did. It was as if it suddenly became clear to him that Sam was one of the good guys. Sam was doing what he could to both investigate a murder and still look for ways my mom wasn’t guilty. It was a rare thing to find in a law enforcement officer, and Aldous was smart enough to know that he needed to be less combative and more cooperative.

“I suppose so,” he finally said, keeping a pride-saving, aloof tone to his voice.

“Thank you,” Sam said. “Polly, do you remember what you said . . . or remembered during the hypnosis session?”

“Yes, clearly.”

“Good. Did you say something about something you smelled?”

“Yes. I smelled something similar to oregano. It was strong.”

“Okay. Thanks. Now, did you recall any other details, perhaps what the person who smelled like oregano was wearing?”

“No, Sam. I know that I didn’t remember that. I think their face was covered, though.” Mom shook her head slowly.

While I’d given him the highlights, I hadn’t gone into total detail regarding the hypnosis. I hadn’t told him how much my mother
didn’t
remember.

“I understand, Polly, and I appreciate your honesty, but I wonder if you’d do me a favor—would you relax, close your eyes if you need to, and see if anything comes back to you at this point? It’s okay if it doesn’t, but I wonder if you’d try. I might be close to something, but I need your help.”

“Of course.” Mom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She sat up straight, but her shoulders were relaxed. She folded her hands on her lap and breathed evenly. As long as I’d known them, my parents had been meditators. It wasn’t difficult for either of them to fall into a deeply relaxed state. It was a skill that neither Allison nor I had had the patience to cultivate.

We were all silent. Dad was mostly relaxed, Sam remained patient, I tried not to look anxious, and Aldous bit at a fingernail.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed—only seconds, or had it been minutes?—before Mom opened her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sam, I’ve got nothing. I’ll keep working on it.”

“That’s fine, Polly, I appreciate you trying. Just let me know.”

“May I ask what sort of detail you’re looking for?” Aldous said.

“Nothing specific, just something . . . more,” Sam said as he stood from the chair.

I knew he was hoping Mom had a memory of something red, but he’d told me firmly that I wasn’t to plant that in her mind. It would mean something only if she came up with it on her own.

“I see,” Aldous said. He, too, knew Sam was after something specific. He glanced at me as I did my best to look like I knew nothing, which probably only made me look like I knew everything but wasn’t telling.

“I’ll leave you all to visit,” Sam said. He turned to Aldous. “Thanks for coming down on such short notice. Levon would approve of your dedication.”

Aldous nodded. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam glanced at me quickly as he left the room. He was reinforcing his instruction not to tell Mom about the fabric.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Well,” Aldous said after Sam left, “it’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s good news we have another murder. Hopefully, they’ll find something that leads law enforcement to a different suspect.”

“I hope so,” I said. “However, I’m very sorry about Manny,” I added. I was—terribly sorry, in fact, but there wasn’t currently space in my mind to give that thought the attention it deserved.

“Oh,” Aldous continued, “I received a call from a Betsy Francis, who was Joan’s assistant at the restaurant. She scheduled an appointment with me and Sam for tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” I said.

“She said she might have something pertinent to the case. She stressed ‘might’ and said not to get too excited. I tried to get her to meet this evening, but she said she couldn’t get away.”

“What could she have?”

Aldous shrugged. “I suppose I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Shoot,” I said. Betsy had asked for a meeting? She must have something good. And why hadn’t Sam told me? “What time tomorrow?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

“What?” Aldous said. “You’re not invited.”

“He has a point, Becca-girl,” Dad said, using my childhood nickname. “You aren’t an attorney, and I doubt Ms. Francis would share with you what she wants to share with the police and Mr. Astaire. It’d be better if you didn’t attend.”

He did have a point, but I was more than curious. Maybe I’d just happen to be downtown and run into her.

“Of course,” I said so agreeably that my mother’s eyebrows rose.

Aldous excused himself for the evening, making sure my parents didn’t need anything further.

The three of us chatted casually for a while, but I could see that they were both tired. Once they convinced me that I looked like I could use some rest myself, I left them to their cots and cages.

“Hey,” Sam said as I entered the area with the officers’ desks.

“Oh, I thought you went home.”

“I wanted to make sure you got to your truck okay.”

“It’s just out front,” I said.

“I know, Becca,” Sam said. “Call it being polite, I don’t know. It seemed wrong to just leave without making sure you got out of here okay.”

“Oh. Thanks, Sam. Sorry.”

“No problem.”

As we walked outside, it felt like ages had passed since I’d parked and left with Sam in his Mustang. It was just dark enough to make me acknowledge I was tired. My head was still buzzing with . . . with everything, but I was most definitely tired. I was looking forward to some deep sleep.

“Let me see your arm,” I said as we stood by the truck. I reached for Sam’s sleeve and rolled it up gently. “Aah, that’s going to be ugly.” The scrapes seemed somehow deeper, and the redness had already begun to turn into a purplish bruise. I wanted to blame it on the streetlight glow, but I didn’t think that was it. “I’m so sorry.”

Sam put his hand gently over my fingers.

“Becca, like I said, I’ve been through much worse.”

I looked up and into his eyes. At the moment their icy blueness was shadowed in the darkness. It was odd not to see and read those eyes.

Suddenly, the world did what it had done when we’d stood on the slope of land on my farm. It didn’t tilt so much as it rippled a little.

Sam cleared his throat, removed his hand from mine, and put his hands on his hips in an awkward stance.

Later I wondered, even if Ian had been in the general vicinity, if I could have stopped myself from doing what I did next. I hoped so, because if I couldn’t have, I was a worse person than I thought.

I stepped up to my tiptoes and leaned forward to kiss Sam. On the lips. For more than a second. Much longer than “just friends” should ever kiss.

He remained in the funny stance, but his lips participated willingly.

I finally pulled away and gasped.

“Oh, dear God, I am the worst person on the planet. I’m . . . ,” I began.

Finally, he unfroze as he put a finger on my lips.

He smiled just a little as he said quietly, “You make up for your horribleness with your kissing skills. If you say that was a mistake, I’m going to have to arrest you.”

I wanted to speak again, but he said, “Shhh,” before I could get a word out.

“Now,” he continued. “I’m not going to tell anyone what just happened. You and your family and Ian are all friends of mine. I will not do anything to jeopardize that—unless of course you decide someday that that kiss was something you want to explore further. Then, Ian and I will battle it out like gentlemen, probably with some sort of lethal weapons, but don’t worry about that. You need to know that I will not hold that kiss against you or use it against you. In fact, for now I’m planning on acting like it never happened. But if and when you want me to acknowledge it again, just give me the word. I’m here, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going anywhere. Ball’s in your court, Becca.”

I nodded, now afraid to say anything. Somehow, my own hands now covered my mouth.

“Good night, Becca,” Sam said as I got into the truck and he shut the door.

“Drive safely,” he added as he stepped back and up to the curb.