Fruit of All Evil (12 page)

My “trip on the ledge of Sam's building” must have been far
less important than Jeanine's whereabouts. I didn't see Sam for a long time. He was probably talking to Allison and Barry and whoever else might know more about Jeanine Baker.

Jeanine had had her egg stall ever since I'd started working at Bailey's. She was shorter than me, but very strong. I doubted she'd ever worn a stitch of makeup, her hair was cut boyishly short, and she had one of those faces that made her look like she was somewhere between the ages of fifty and seventy. And her farm fresh eggs were phenomenal—until I'd tried them, I hadn't known the difference “fresh” made when it came to eggs. I didn't purchase eggs from anyone but Jeanine.

Jeanine was also paranoid. About everything and everyone. It was rare that she trusted anyone with anything. I knew she admired and trusted Allison and Barry of Barry Good Corn, but they seemed to be the only two people she'd relax around. Whenever she and I had a conversation, I sensed that she was on edge and couldn't wait for the conversation to be over. I didn't take it personally; it was just the way Jeanine was. Plus, the entire world trusted Allison. I couldn't fault Jeanine for keying in on my sister's strengths.

I couldn't begin to imagine why Madeline Forsyth would have called her. I could imagine, though, that such a call—no matter the reason—might send Jeanine into some sort of panic. But what would Jeanine do with that panic—run away? Kill Madeline? Surely not the latter.

I didn't know exactly when Jeanine had left Bailey's yesterday, but usually she brought only enough eggs to last part of the market day. She was the sole operator of her farm, and she had to get home to attend to her chickens and prepare for the next day. The care and feeding of livestock wasn't something I dealt with. Where I could use my days off or any extra time here and there to create inventory, farmers with livestock had to stick to a schedule.

Even though I wasn't looking forward to discussing my activities with Sam, I hoped he'd share something about where he thought Jeannine was.

I didn't have much time to ponder, though, because suddenly business picked up and I went into full work mode. A few customers morphed into a nonstop flow of them; some wanting my jams and preserves, and others in search of the pie they'd prepurchased from Linda. I had to give her kudos for getting the pies done. She knew they
loved
her pies. If she hadn't finished them, I'm sure her customers would have understood, but not without having to hide irritation or anger.

“Hey,” someone said after a twenty-minute rush.

Ian was suddenly behind me.

“Oh, hey again,” I said as I turned.

“I've got to head out for another install, thought I'd let you know.”

“Thanks. I hope it goes well.”

He squinted. “Becca, you okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

“Let's see, it's been a crazy couple of days. You've seen a dead body, now you're an undercover maid of honor. You have a lot going on. I think we should reschedule the Maytabee's presentation.”

“Undercover Number One,” I corrected him. “No, let's not reschedule. You said they only meet monthly?”

“Yep.”

“Even without a murder and a wedding, next month could be crazier than this month. Bailey's will be really busy. I wasn't going to work on Monday anyway. We might as well keep it scheduled. And thanks again for getting me the ‘in.' ”

“You're welcome.” Ian squinted again.

“What?”

“Becca, you're not going to ‘investigate' this, are you? Madeline's murder, I mean. I know how much you care for Linda, and I know you'd like to pull off this surprise wedding. But you know you need to leave the investigating to the police, don't you?”

I wasn't going to lie to Ian, even if I wanted to.

“I'm not going to be stupid,” I said. “But I might ask some questions.”

“The last time you asked a few questions about a murder, you got pretty beat up. I'm concerned the same will happen again.”

He was one hundred percent correct, but that still didn't change my plans.

“How about this?” I began. “How about I keep a good distance from anyone who might be dangerous and leave the real investigating to Sam? I won't do anything . . . well, anything important, without calling him and letting him know. He's at Bailey's right now and wants to talk to me. I'll be up-front with him, too.” All this forthrightness made my throat hurt, but I didn't want to lie. In fact, I wanted to do exactly as I said. I hoped I'd be able to stick by my words.

“Promise?” Ian's expression was doubtful.

“Scout's honor.” I held up a two-fingered peace sign.

Ian laughed and reached for my raised hand. He put my first two fingers together and raised the third. “Now, cover your pinkie nail with your thumb. That's an appropriate Scout's honor.”

“You were a Boy Scout?”

“Yes, but that was long before the tattoos.” He smiled.

“I'll be careful, Ian, I promise.” I looked up into the dark eyes that could make me do just about anything, with the possible exception of agreeing to meet his family.

“You'd better. I'm going to need help with all that lavender,” Ian said. He tipped up my chin and kissed me quickly. “See you tonight?”

“Absolutely,” I replied as he turned to walk away. The strain between us was definitely dissipating, but I'd still have to give him an answer soon.

I watched as he and Sam greeted each other in the aisle. I couldn't hear their conversation, but it seemed to be just simple hellos.

“Sam,” I said as he made his way to my stall.

“Becca.”

“Did you find Jeanine?”

He shook his head. “Becca, what were you doing on the ledge of my building last night?” It was like him to take ownership of the government building, just like he probably called Monson “my town.”

“How did you know?”

We were interrupted by a customer who wanted three jars of blueberry jam. The delay allowed Sam's serious face to relax slightly. I always liked talking to my friend Sam better than to the police officer Sam.

“Really, how did you know?” I said after the customer walked away.

“You just told me.”

“What?”

“The night janitor saw an open window. He shut and locked it, then later thought maybe he should let me know about it. I remembered the direction you'd come from when you walked through the station. I guessed.”

“You're a good policeman, Sam.”

“Becca, putting any illegalities aside, that wasn't a safe maneuver.”

“I know. I realized as much when I got out on the ledge. I tried to get back in, but your janitor was too quick, and . . .” I paused.

“And?”

“I guess I wish it hadn't been the janitor who shut the window. I thought that whoever did it might also be the killer. I thought maybe I'd narrowed it down to the dinner guests. Now, it could be anyone.” I bit at my bottom lip.

Sam looked at me for a long moment and then said, “Exactly. That's why you should have volunteered the information about someone shutting you out on the ledge. It might have been valuable to the investigation.” He sighed. “Becca, I really wish you'd let the police do our jobs.”

I nodded. “Okay, I will,” I said hesitantly. I'd just told Ian I would be up-front with Sam, but it wasn't going to be easy.

“Did you discover anything on your excursion? And what were you trying to discover in the first place?”

“Originally, I wanted to know if Linda was in the interview room. I wanted to know if she was a prime suspect. I knew you wouldn't let me walk though the station to find out.”

“True.”

“I made my way into the men's bathroom. From there I went to the cells. I talked to Linda for a minute, and then you saw me come through the station again. That was all.” I'd had a moment like this with Sam before—a moment when there was something I knew he should know but I wasn't ready to share quite yet. He—the police, at least—should know what I overheard in the bathroom. Drew's end of the conversation was suspicious, but I wasn't going to make him look guiltier than he might be. There were plenty of other avenues to explore, and I had a plan to find out more about Drew before I told the police. I fought the urges to do what I knew I should do and what I wanted to do—keep quiet. What I wanted, won.

And just like that, I broke my promise to Ian.

“What did you and Linda talk about?”

“How terrible it was that Madeline had been murdered. How awful it all was. How the wedding was postponed. Nothing much beyond that.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Sam nodded.

“But there is something . . .” I began, thinking I might have something I was willing to share that could be useful to the investigation.

“What?”

“This morning, really early, Drew's cousin Alan came by my house to bring me some of Linda's pies to deliver to her customers. He was . . . well, he was strange.”

“In what way?”

“He wanted to know if I'd ever consider selling my land.”

Sam thought for a minute. “Okay.”

“He was sort of pushy.”

“That might not be strange. He might be pushy by nature. Besides, Alan recently sold some land outside Smithfield, and he's looking for some around Monson. He was working with Madeline to find something. He has to invest quickly or pay some sort of tax penalty.”

Is this what
in between things at the moment
meant?

“Okay, but still, he was either kind of creepy or it was too early in the morning for me to process normal conversation. He didn't stay long, but it was a minute or two too long, if you know what I mean.”

“Noted. Thanks for telling me. See how easy that was?” Sam smiled, cracking his tough image. I liked it when he did that.

“Now, how about you share? Anything you want to tell me?” I smiled.

This time Sam laughed. Any minute now, his slicked-back hair would spring a curl.

“Well, I sent Officer Norton out to Jeanine Baker's farm, but haven't heard back yet. I thought I'd go myself. You want to come along for the ride?”

“Really? On official police business?”

“Tell me you weren't going to go out to her place alone. I figure if you go with me, I can at least attempt to keep you out of trouble.”

In fact, I
was
going to check on Jeanine after work.

“Can I have five minutes?” I asked.

“You can have three,” Sam said as he looked at his watch.

I still had two of Linda's pies, but they were easily taken care of with a conversation with Herb and Don and a handwritten sign on Linda's stall. I still had plenty of inventory, but didn't have time to pack it into my truck, so I just put it in boxes and set them under the display tables.

I'd gone well over my three minutes when Sam's phone rang.

“Sam Brion,” he answered it. “Okay. Yes, sure. On my way.” He snapped the phone closed. “Sorry, Becca, gotta go. Can't wait.”

“Was that about Jeanine?”

“Gotta go.”

“Can I still come? I'll clean the rest of this up later,” I said. I didn't want to miss whatever was happening on the other end of the phone conversation.

Sam hesitated, then nodded stiffly. “Come on.”

For the first time in all the years I'd worked at Bailey's, I left my stall unattended without so much as a note letting customers know when I'd be back. The market manager wouldn't be happy, but at least I'd made sure that Linda's pies were in good hands. Fortunately, since the market manager was my fraternal twin sister, I didn't think she'd kick me out of Bailey's for one small infraction.

Or at least I hoped she wouldn't. She did take her job pretty seriously.

Much to my hippie parents' disappointment, I'd never ridden
in a police car. And my truck could barely go over fiftyfive miles per hour, so the high-speed drive to Jeanine Baker's chicken farm in the front passenger seat of Sam's police Charger was an adrenaline rush like I'd never experienced.

Sam kept his eyes on the road. I double-checked my seat belt, held on, and tried not to yell, “
Wheee
!”

“What did Officer Norton find?” I asked.

“It's what she didn't find.”

“What?”

“No Jeanine and not very many chickens.”

Jeanine might be out, but it was unlikely that she'd taken her chickens with her. I understood Sam's rush.