Crops and Robbers (7 page)

Mom was about peace, love, and rock and roll, though the last part had mellowed over the years. She and Dad recycled everything. A few months earlier, Allison and I were perplexed at a plan they shared with us for converting their RV so that it ran on corn, or some such thing. We never got the full story.

Neither of them had a violent or murderous bone in their body. They would do whatever they had to do to protect one of their daughters from danger, but insults didn’t fall into a serious enough category to kill.

“Perhaps we should have you hypnotized,” Dad said. “Maybe that would help you remember.”

We were gathered in my infrequently used front room. Allison and I looked at each other in the familiar way we’d had since we were little and hadn’t quite understood much of the metaphysical nature of our parents’ beliefs.

“I suppose that’s a possibility,” Mom said. “Or, given time, maybe it will all come back.”

“Mom,” I interrupted, “do you know who Bo Stafford is?”

“Sort of. I know his mother, actually. We were friends in high school, good friends. Do you remember Miriam, Jason?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t know Bo other than the fact that he has a stall at Bailey’s,” Mom said.

“He came and talked to me today about Joan and how she and some other restaurant owners had once bought onions from his family’s farm. Then, one day, they just stopped.”

“That could have hurt their business,” Mom said.

“Probably some, but I got the impression it was more a personal affront to Bo’s mom than a blow to their business,” I said. “Do you know anything about their financial status?”

“Miriam always seemed to have enough money for all the high school things, but I don’t know more than that.”

“Bo has his own view of the world, Becca. He’s not a bad guy, but he sometimes finds the worst in everything and everybody,” Allison added. “He’s pretty protective of his fellow market vendors. He might take the insult to your products personally.”

“Personally enough to kill?” Ian asked. He’d been quiet most of the evening. Meeting my parents for the first time under such circumstances wasn’t what either of us had hoped for, but they’d still greeted him with welcoming hugs.

For a long moment, we were silent.

“I don’t know,” Allison finally said.

Somehow, we’d managed to eat dinner—quickly made sandwiches. Well, most of us had just picked at our food. It was rare that we were all together, and though we were still in shock, we all wanted to try to enjoy each other’s company.

I suddenly wanted to get in my truck and go talk to Bo Stafford myself, but Sam had made me promise I would stop being so eager to investigate murders. This was different, though. I was even more invested in the outcome of this case than I had been in the previous two I’d thrown myself into. My mom was involved, and nobody messes with my mom.

Still, I was aware enough to know that her involvement was a big reason
not
to throw myself into the investigation. I wouldn’t be able to be objective. I’d wanted her to wash up before we called the police. If I’d had my wits about me, I might have suggested we hide the body, too.

The realization of this shook me. Even if my mother had killed someone, I shouldn’t consider hiding evidence.

I looked at my mom and dad. They were always so sure of themselves and their beliefs. They were confident without being cocky or preachy. I’d even liked them when I was a teenager. They were nice people.

It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Bo at the market. That’s what I’d do—talk to him where the world could observe the conversation. There’d be nothing fishy or suspicious or investigative-like about it.

Suddenly, I wanted the next day to arrive quickly. Or, I wanted this day to be over, I wasn’t sure which. My guests must have felt the same way. Shortly after dinner, Ian, Hobbit, and I were walking everyone to their cars.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Mom said as she, Dad, Ian, and I watched Allison and her family get in their 4Runner. Even though the sun hadn’t fully set, it was getting late and the evening had come to a weary end for two-year-old Mathis. Allison sent me a knowing glance out the passenger-side window as they pulled onto the state highway. She and I needed to talk without everyone else listening. She’d be at my stall the next morning. I nodded as they drove down the road. I’d be there early.

“I know,” I said to Mom. “Of course it will be fine.”

“Definitely,” Dad said with enthusiasm. Too much enthusiasm.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, dear. We’re going to stop by the market in the morning,” Mom said as Dad held open the passenger-side door of their rented Prius.

I had thought briefly about not working the next day, but it would be Saturday, and a Saturday in August would be busy. I hadn’t given any notice to my customers that I wouldn’t be there, and I was already taking Sunday off. Plus, I really wanted to talk to Bo and check in with Allison.

Mom and Dad drove back to their RV, which was parked at a nearby campground. I’d tried to convince them to stay with me, and Allison had tried to convince them to stay with her, but neither of us succeeded. The RV was their home.

Hobbit stood on one side of me and Ian on the other. He put his arm around me, and I leaned into his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Not at the moment, but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“What do you need to do to get ready for tomorrow?”

“I’m good. I’ve got plenty of inventory ready, and my next Maytabee’s shipment isn’t until next week. I don’t have to prep anything tonight.”

“Good. You could use some rest.”

“Are you staying?” Hobbit, having mastered the English language, perked up and wagged her tail at the question. She adored Ian.

“Of course,” Ian said to us both.

“You sure you don’t have things to attend to?”

“I’m sure. Come on, let’s get some rest.”

Ian directed me into the house, checked everything that was supposed to be checked, closed all windows despite my mild protests, locked all doors, and then set the infrequently used alarm.

I’d never been one for nightmares. I could watch the scariest, bloodiest movie ever made and still sleep deeply and undisturbed, but that night I dreamt about what had happened in my barn. In my sleep, deep in my heavy dreams, I saw every gruesome detail, except the most important ones: Who killed Joan Ashworth? And why?

Of course Hobbit had a starring role in my nightmares. I was
relieved to wake up and find that she was still fine. I wasn’t going to leave her home alone, though. Ian took her, with the idea that he’d drop her off with his landlord, George, if he got in a bind. It was a good plan, and I was grateful for the available dog-sitting options.

I was at Bailey’s extra early. I planned on finding and talking to Allison as soon as possible. It was rare that I was anything but late to the market, but I hadn’t slept much anyway. Nightmares didn’t make for good rest. As the sun barely peeked over the horizon, I pulled my truck into the load-unload area behind my stall. I was running on fumes from so little rest, but I was aware enough to notice the reprieve of cool early morning air that would give way to stifling heat soon enough.

Instead of finding Allison either at my stall or answering her phone as I expected, I found an unlikely pair outside Bo Stafford’s stall. Bo and Jake Bidford were standing next to each other and surveying something.

Other than with the restaurant association, I didn’t think I’d ever seen Jake at Bailey’s, but Bo had mentioned that he purchased onions from him sometimes. Maybe I just hadn’t paid attention.

“Bo. Hi, Jake, what’s up?” I said as I joined them. “Oh,” I continued after I saw what they’d been looking at.

Bo’s display tables were in pieces on the ground of his stall. It was as if someone had taken a hammer to them, breaking wood and pulling out nails.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” Bo said. “When I got here this morning, I found it this way.”

“I just got here,” Jake added.

“Have you called Allison?” I asked Bo.

He nodded. “I told her all about it. She’s on her way.”

As if on cue, she appeared at my other side.

“Sorry, Bo, I got here as quickly as I could. I called Sam. The police are on their way. Jake,” she turned to him, “you didn’t see anything either?”

“No, nothing,” he said.

Allison, her hands on her hips, looked closely at the mess in the stall. “I’d recommend staying out of there for now. We’ll let Sam tell us what to do.”

Bo and Jake nodded again.

I admired Bo’s effort to remain coolheaded as he suggested to Jake that they conduct whatever business they had behind the stall in the load-unload area and work directly from Bo’s truck. They disappeared through a neighboring empty space and out the back.

“Jake come here often?” I asked Allison as we walked back to my stall.

“Every now and then, why?”

“I have never once seen him here. Is it weird between the two of you?”

Allison laughed. “You’re early today, Becca. Lots of people come to the market earlier than you—particularly business owners who buy groceries. And Jake and I were a million years ago. In fact, Tom, Mathis, and I love to eat in his restaurant.” She waved away any further discussion along those lines. “I feel badly for Bo, and guilty that this happened to him on my watch.”

“Someone had to have been pretty gutsy to do something like this when there could have been other vendors around.”

Allison shrugged. “We’re mostly tent walls, Bec. I suppose anyone can make their way in if they really want to. And even though people get here early, we’re pretty empty and dark in the middle of the night. I’d been resisting because we’re such an easygoing group and haven’t had any problems, but I want to have some security cameras installed this afternoon. No one really leaves much inventory on the premises, but these display tables can be expensive. I can’t let this sort of thing happen to my vendors.”

“Do you think it had anything to do with the murder yesterday?” I asked, though I hadn’t wanted to. I thought I might sound too paranoid.

“I hope not,” Allison said, but she hadn’t shrugged off the question like I thought she might. “Anyway, you’re doing okay? Heard from Mom or Dad yet?”

“I think I’m okay.” Lots of people had asked me that question recently. “No, I haven’t heard from either of them.”

Bo, without Jake, appeared in the aisle from out of the empty stall again, and Allison went to talk to him.

I still wanted to talk to Bo about his farm’s affiliation with the restaurant association, but that would have to wait for a better time. I continued toward my stall. I had an extra table that Bo could use; it wouldn’t be the same sort of walled table he used for his onions, but at least it would be something. I knew I could find other vendors willing to temporarily part with some of their display supplies.

Word hadn’t spread yet about Joan’s brutal murder in my barn. As soon as it did, I’d be answering everyone’s questions. I could only imagine the concerned and maybe suspicious glances. It would be the second body that I’d found in recent months. The first one was Madeline For-syth, and I’d been with a group of people when her body had been discovered. I was sure that once the latest news got out, people would think, if not say, something about me seeming to be the common denominator when it came to finding dead people. And I wondered how the story of my mother’s being at the scene with blood on her hands would change as it passed from person to person. The facts were horrible enough already; the exaggeration likely to occur over time and telling would make the story even more unbearable.

I couldn’t worry about that now, though. At the moment, no one was mentioning Joan, and everyone seemed to want to help out a fellow vendor.

Less than thirty minutes later, those of us who had tables or racks to spare had delivered them to the aisle outside of Bo’s stall. Allison and Bo were talking with one of Monson’s newest policemen, Officer Rumson, who was dressed in plain clothes and looked as though he hadn’t had time to brush his short hair that morning. Allison had said she’d called Sam. For whatever reason, he’d sent another officer, who I guessed had been awakened and called to duty.

From what I could observe and overhear, there wasn’t much to investigate. The tables were destroyed, but nothing else seemed to offer a clue to what happened. The tables had been touched by so many people over the years that it was a waste of time to dust for fingerprints. Bo was told he could clear out the mess whenever he wanted to.

Once Officer Rumson had taken a few pictures on a small digital camera and then traveled down the aisles to see if anyone had seen anything strange or unusual, we converged on Bo’s stall. We had it cleaned out and set up for business in record time.