Farm Fresh Murder (7 page)

“The police do.”

I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down. I had Abner on the phone and the police still wanted to talk to him. Maybe I could—what did they call it—talk him in? “Abner, they’ll figure it out. If you’re innocent, they’ll figure it out. It’s what they do.”

“I saw you at my house last night.”

“Okay. Well, I’m sorry we were trespassing. I understand if you’re mad at me.” In truth, I was mad at him. Why hadn’t he let us know he was there? But now wasn’t the time to scold.

Abner was silent.

“Abner?”

“I know who killed Simonsen.”

“Who?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Oh, come on, Abner. If you know anything, you have to tell the police. This needs to get solved—you owe it to Mr. Simonsen’s family to tell what you know. Shoot, you owe it to yourself to clear your name.”

“I saw the murderer plant the axe.”

“Okay. Let’s go tell the police.”

Silence again.

“Abner?” I looked at my phone. The call had been disconnected. “Dammit, Abner!”

Hobbit nudged at my knee. And just like that, my head-clearing therapy was negated. I stood and pondered what to do next. Should I call Officer Brion? Allison? Abner hadn’t told me anything, really, just that he hadn’t killed Simonsen, but he knew who had. Why in the world wouldn’t he share that with the police? Or with me—I could take it from there. Unless he really had killed Simonsen and just wanted me to play along.

“I have no idea, girl,” I said. And I didn’t. I was confused to the point that I was shaking my head to myself.

I didn’t call anyone. Not yet, at least. Abner wanted to talk to me. Maybe he’d call again and tell me more—either more truth or more lies, whichever. But if he did call again, I planned on being much better prepared.

So, who killed Matt Simonsen? I thought as I looked around
the tent.

Farmers’ market meetings were an unusual sight, to say the least. First of all, meetings weren’t standard operating procedure for a gathering of farmers and artists. We were a restless crowd, made up of people who didn’t do much in a committee way. We each did our own thing and didn’t bother with group decisions. Sitting around in a meeting went against our grain. But the good part of any rare meeting we might have was the treats—everyone brought a little something. I contributed some blackberry jam, and there was an assortment of fruit, cookies, pies, and breads. And Betsy, whose tomatoes were heavenly, brought a full basket, a couple good knives, some salt, and my new favorite topping for her fruit: peanut butter.

As the tent filled and people grabbed their food, I sidled my way next to Betsy.

“So, I heard that you heard the argument between Abner and Matt Simonsen.” It wasn’t subtle in the least, but I was never very good with subtle. Plus I didn’t want her to later think I had greeted her with ulterior motives.

Her green eyes flashed and opened wide. She was the most granola person I knew, and it worked well on her. Her long, straight brown hair was thick and smooth—if I’d tried to grow my hair past my shoulders, my head would have been covered in blond frizzy, stringy things. Her skin was flawless and would have looked painted if she tried to wear makeup—I didn’t wear much myself, but my skin was freckled, and when I occasionally spread on some foundation, the improvement was noticeable. She wore bohemian dresses in contrast to my overalls and jeans. She was also very smart, with a quick wit that often left me laughing and wondering where she came up with such stuff.

“Well, Becca, I think I heard the argument. That’s what I told the police.”

“What do you think you heard?”

“Hmm
.
The police have that information. I’d feel wrong about sharing it with just anyone.”

“I understand. It’s just that Abner is such a good friend. I hate thinking he actually killed someone—if he’s innocent. You might ease my mind.”

She smiled slyly. “Come on, Becca. What’s up?”

I guided her to the side of the tent and bent close to her ear. “I just want to figure this out—it isn’t that I don’t have confidence in the police. I do, but they don’t know us the way we know us.” I waved my hand, taking in the world of farmers’ market vendors we lived in. “We might be able to help things progress faster. While this is unsolved, I don’t think our safety is in jeopardy, but I do think our businesses are.”

That got her attention.

“Well, keep it to yourself,” she said. I nodded in agreement. She hesitated another moment but finally spoke again. “They were yelling, and I heard Mr. Simonsen call Abner a stupid son-of-a-bitch. Abner then said something to the effect of ‘If you’d died all those years ago, we wouldn’t be dealing with this—I could just kill you now and we could all finally move on.’ That’s all I heard.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“I don’t know. That’s all I heard.”

“None of that sounds like Abner.”

“I know, but he was very angry. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Me, either.” I tried to imagine those words coming from Abner, but I couldn’t. And I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “Well, thanks, Betsy.”

“Sure. Let me know what you find out.” She turned and went back to the other vendors.

I maneuvered to the food but found I wasn’t hungry anymore. Hobbit stayed at my heels as though she’d actually been trained instead of treated like another human.

I glanced around the small crowd—of the fifty-something vendors who worked at the market, only about thirty had shown up for the meeting. Most of my friends were there: Linda, Herb and Don, Jeanine, Barry, and Brenton. I knew most of the others, too, but hadn’t had the time (or taken it) to get to know them all that well.

As much as I tried
not
to look for him, I noticed Ian there, too. He was in a tête-à-tête with Barry. He looked in my direction when I took a seat. He half smiled and half waved as Barry commanded his attention. I wondered if Ian knew anything about corn or was being forced to learn.

I sat on the other side of the room. Not because I was being coy, but because all the chairs on his side were taken. I was pretty sure that Ian’s wave and smile to me paled in comparison to the light his eyes took on when he saw Hobbit. I was glad she didn’t see him. It would have been humiliating to have her abandon me to sit beside someone else.

“Thanks, everybody, for coming in this afternoon. I hope I haven’t disrupted your day too much.” Allison stood at the front of the tent. She was back to her normal self: beautiful and confident. I knew the murder had taken, and would continue to take, a huge toll on her, but she was the consummate professional and she knew that business for her vendors had to go on. In keeping with their respect for her, the crowd quieted quickly and gave her their full attention.

“Yes, thanks, everyone,” she repeated. “We’ve had a rough couple of days and I wanted to bring as many people together as possible to try to address all concerns or questions. Of course, if you’d like to talk to me in private about anything, please just let me know.

“I know that some of you knew Mr. Simonsen personally. Our condolences have been extended to his family, and we offer them to you as well. I didn’t know him myself for very long, but he seemed like a very nice man. I’ve already spoken to his wife—Mr. Simonsen might have only begun working at our market, but he worked at many others over the years. He and his son worked together over at Smithfield for a long time. His son, Jessop, will continue to run their peach business over there. Those of you who know him might want to send sympathy to him or to Mrs. Simonsen.”

I glanced around, but no one had the shifty eyes of someone who had murdered someone the day before. I was curious, though—who, other than Abner and Barry, in this group had known Matt Simonsen, and how well? It wasn’t the appropriate time to interject such a question. I tried to figure out who was missing from the meeting, who was and wasn’t there yesterday. So much had happened, and between talking to market vendors both in person and on the phone, I couldn’t put together in my head who had been where and when. I silently chastised myself for not paying better attention.

“We will place a small plaque on the front of the office building honoring Mr. Simonsen.” Allison cleared her throat. “It’s always difficult to broach the subject of getting back to work when a tragedy occurs, so please forgive me if this offends anyone—but I just want to remind you that the police have given us the go-ahead to continue with our jobs. I’m not saying this to rush anyone. But I know that sometimes getting back to work can help—of course, do this at your own speed, but I want you to know that we’re cleared to do so. Does anyone have a question? Don’t be shy.”

Jeanine raised her hand hesitantly.

“Jeanine.”

“Well, I wonder . . . well, I can’t help but . . . Allison, how safe or unsafe are we?” Jeanine’s face was still pale and drawn. She probably hadn’t gotten much sleep.

“I think we’re very safe, Jeanine, but we should all be careful. The police think that the murderer came here specifically for Mr. Simonsen.” Allison cleared her throat again. “They feel we’re safe. I’d love to tell you that I’m one hundred percent sure that nothing else awful is going to happen at Bailey’s, but the truth is, we should all be aware and perhaps use the buddy system. I’ve put together a list of potential buddy groups. It’s based on your schedules and the locations of your stalls, and if you’ve told me you despise someone, I promise I haven’t paired you with them.” The room snickered along with Allison’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Perhaps we could unload and load in pairs for a while. And we should all watch out for each other. I’ll post the list after the meeting. If I need to make any changes, let me know.”

“Who’s my partner?” Jeanine said.

“Brenton.”

Jeanine seemed to think a moment before she nodded. “Brenton, you good with that?”

“Absolutely, we’ll trade eggs for dog biscuits.”

“I don’t have a dog,” she said flatly.

“I know someone who can solve that problem.”

Jeanine’s face finally flooded with the color of someone not so petrified. She and Brenton were actually pretty good friends and had worked next to each other for some time.

“I like your plan, Allison,” she said.

Leave it to Allison to have a good plan. The collective mood in the tent changed noticeably. Jeanine’s smile was genuine, and Brenton leaned back on his chair and stuck a piece of straw in his mouth.

“Good. I suppose the other thing is the fall equinox party. You’ve all worked very hard this year, and I’d love to treat you and your families to dinner on Sunday night as planned, but in light of what has happened, does anyone think that would be an inappropriate thing to do? Should we cancel or postpone?”

At first everyone was silent, and then a low murmur spread through the tent. This was a rough question—a party after such a horrible incident didn’t seem right, but the dinner was looked forward to and changing it to a day other than the Sunday before the equinox didn’t fit with either the idea behind it or the fact that some vendors would be gone from the market after this weekend.

“Oh, hey, Allison, I have an idea,” Brenton said as he pulled the straw out of his mouth and sat up. “Let’s still have the dinner, but let’s have it in Matt Simonsen’s honor. I didn’t know the man, but he worked the land like most of the rest of us. He’d have appreciated the spirit behind it, I’m sure.”

The murmur turned into sounds of agreement.

“Does anyone object?” Allison asked. “Okay, then, we’ll keep it scheduled. Any other questions?”

“Where’s Abner?” a voice called from the back of the tent, but I couldn’t tell who it was attached to.

“Abner is taking some time off,” Allison said. I didn’t point out that the official word for him was “missing.”

“I don’t think he should be allowed to come back to the market until we know for sure he’s not a killer.” Goddard McElroy stood and leaned on his cane. He was a part-timer who sold baked potato meals out of a cart. His cart held a variety of toppings that melted perfectly over the hot potatoes. I often wished he was at Bailey’s full-time. He was only in his forties but had a bad foot that required him to use the cane. He was never outspoken, so his words caught us all by surprise.

Of course, Allison handled him perfectly. She kept her voice calm but firm. “He hasn’t been arrested—please, let’s not be judge and jury, folks. Abner has been here a long time. He’s our friend, and until there’s proof otherwise, he’s as innocent as the rest of us.”

Goddard hesitated for a beat but then nodded and sat down.

Bo Stafford raised his hand. Bo was a mystery to me. He was a big wrestler-type guy who couldn’t be much older than about twenty, and he hadn’t worked at Bailey’s for very long. He grew and sold onions—white ones, red ones, little ones, and big ones. They were delicious, but his introverted personality hadn’t done much for his business.