Bushel Full of Murder (16 page)

The journey off the road and down the small berm was bumpy and too wild for my tastes. Both Peyton and I were knocked around enough to end up with small cuts on our faces (oddly in the same spots on our right cheeks, though we had no idea how we got them) and plenty of bruises and sore muscles that wouldn’t hit full force for a day or two.

Neither of us lost consciousness, which I thought was a good thing. I didn’t hit my head and she didn’t think she had hit hers.

“That was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen,” I said when I was sure we were both okay enough for me to get mad.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said. “Really, really sorry.”

I sighed and realized that neither of us had been buckled
in. It was an odd moment to notice such a thing, but it’s where my attention went. At least until I heard the approaching siren.

“I’m sorry,” Peyton said again, her voice lined with complete defeat and the certain approach of tears. “Becca, I don’t think I’m going to get out of this okay. I really do think someone is trying to frame me. But it’s important for me to tell you that I am innocent.”

I looked at her a long moment. She didn’t look like a little girl anymore, but she was still my little cousin, the one Allison and I had gotten into more trouble than we should have. She was family. And I believed, in that deep-gut-feeling, I-just-know way, that she was telling me the truth. I hoped she was.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” I said.

A second later, Sam was at the passenger door of the truck, and Officer Vivienne Norton was opening the driver’s side door. She yanked Peyton out of the truck.

I opened my door. “I’m fine,” I said to Sam.

We’d been pretty good about keeping our public displays of affection to a minimum, particularly when he was on duty. I didn’t think he currently cared who was watching as he put his finger to my chin and turned my face toward him.

“You’re really okay?” he said, his icy blue eyes both intense and scared.

“I’m fine. Not hurt.”

He helped me out of the truck and inspected my face again. I didn’t know he carried a handkerchief but one appeared, seemingly from his back pocket, and he dabbed at the cut.

“It’s not deep. No stitches,” he said.

“That’s a first,” I said with a laugh.

He smiled briefly and then pulled me into a hug that was so close I thought he might never let me go, and I was okay with it.

I could hear his fast heartbeat and feel his strong arms locked around me.

“Becca,” he muttered, but I didn’t think he was talking to me.

“I’m fine. Totally.”

He kissed the top of my head but still didn’t let go. “I know. I know.”

Sam and I had been in a hairy situation or two, and a few years earlier, long before we’d met, he’d lost his fiancée to a tragedy, something for which he blamed himself. I knew that he’d tried not to be overprotective of me. No, that wasn’t it. He’d tried very hard to
hide
his overprotectiveness. I didn’t know if he was currently overreacting or not, but I figured it was best just to ride out the moment. Plus, he smelled really good, like soap and laundry detergent, topped off with a slight peppermint-y wave of that mystery gunk he put in his hair. And his strong arms were so comfortable.

It was only Peyton’s scream for help that took me out of the moment. When she yelled my name, I pushed back from Sam and ran around the truck. He was right behind me.

“Peyton!” I said as I ran toward her.

Officer Norton had my cousin, my now grown-up cousin who was once cute and little and who’d always been sweet and kind, down on the ground on her belly. Officer Norton had her knee on Peyton’s backside and had pulled her wrists behind her back, securing them with steely handcuffs.

“Step back, Ms. Robins, or you’ll be interfering with police
business,” Officer Norton said. Her voice was calm and even, but she still somehow managed to instill fear into me.

“Becca,” Sam said as he put his hand on my arm and ever so slightly pulled me back.

“Sam?”

He nodded and then turned his attention to Vivienne. “Viv, here, let me help.”

In one quick, almost flight-like movement, the two of them lifted Peyton to a standing position.

“Are you hurt, Ms. Chase?” Sam said as he inspected Peyton’s face with almost the same intensity that he’d inspected mine, but only with concern, no deep fear for her.

“That beast of a woman might have ripped my arms out of my sockets, but I’m okay.”

“Good. All right, we’re going to get you and Becca to a doctor to make sure you’re all right but I need to . . .” Sam looked at me briefly. There was no apology in those icy eyes. “Peyton Chase, you are under arrest for the murder of Robert Ship . . .”

The rest of everything Sam said was lost in the ocean noises filling my head. He was reading my cousin her rights. She was being arrested for murder. Murder. And all the while, waves pounded my ears and crashed around in my head. I didn’t want to process what he was really saying.

A few seconds later, another police cruiser pulled up and another officer joined us. I didn’t know him, but as I watched his long legs move down the berm, he reminded me of a grasshopper. Sam instructed the grasshopper officer and Vivienne to transport Peyton to the doctor and then back to a cell at the small downtown police station.

When the other cruiser had sped away with Peyton’s fearful glance out the back window eating at me, Sam directed me to the passenger side of his car.

“What about her truck?” I said.

“I’ve got some people coming out to take care of it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Where are we going?”

“My house.”

“Sounds good.”

I’d only recently learned that Sam had also been trained as an EMT. When we got to his house, he sat me on the couch and gathered his cache of medical instruments. He gave me a concussion test and checked my vitals.

“Not exactly the way we should get to play doctor, is it?” I flirted.

Fortunately, he’d already determined that I was fine, so he could truly smile this time, the concern and fear now mostly gone from his eyes.

He took the stethoscope out of his ears. “I love you, Becca.”

I blinked with surprise. “I love you, too.”

He smiled at me again, but this time it was a sideways, all-knowing smile. I liked it when he did that, but it always made me wonder what I was missing.

“What?” I said.

“You’re adorable,” he said. “And it seems you’re just fine physically. You don’t even need a Band-Aid.”

“You’re adorable, too.”

He cleaned the cut one more time, and then put some antibacterial cream on it.

“Good as new, and still adorable,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He leaned in for a kiss. It was a quick one, but not without promise.

“See, there’s a little doctor play right there,” I said, still flirting badly but trying.

This time he laughed. “As wonderful as that sounds right now, I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t first let you know that your cousin was arrested under my orders.”

“Oh. Okay, well, that must mean you have some strong evidence.” I swallowed hard. I did not want that to be the truth.

“We have some evidence,” he said as he leaned back into the couch, his medical bag still open on the coffee table in front of us.

“Care to tell me what it is?” I said.

He looked at me, his mouth straightening sharply, and he said, “We have a handwritten recipe card. Harry confirmed with the owners of the restaurant in Arizona where Peyton worked that it’s their recipe card. He was up early this morning talking to them. That’s why I left so early myself.”

I nodded. “Wait. Okay, I know enough of the story to know that Peyton was accused of stealing a recipe from the restaurant, though I didn’t visualize a handwritten recipe on a card. Anyway, where did you find the card that makes you think she killed Robert Ship?”

“It was on him. It was in his hand.”

“What?”

“We didn’t pay a bit of attention to it initially, but the medical examiner finally called us late last night to ask if we wanted the card back. He didn’t think it was important at first, but then thought he should ask.”

“In Robert Ship’s hand?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that could mean . . . I have absolutely no idea what that could mean, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that Peyton killed him.”

“True, but how else would he have gotten the recipe? He must have somehow gotten it from her.”

“Taken it from her truck? I don’t know, but I don’t think she put it in his hand after she killed him, and I can’t see how he was holding it before he was killed.”

Sam shrugged. “You’re right and the particulars are yet to be worked out, but it’s a solid piece of evidence.”

“Is it all you really have?”

“It’s the best we have.”

“Then it really isn’t much, is it?” I cleared my throat. I hadn’t meant to sound so snotty.

“Becca, I’m sorry, but between what Harry’s got and what we’ve got, I think it’s only a matter of time before Peyton confesses—though I’m not sure of all the things she’ll be confessing to. She got caught up in stuff she couldn’t handle and she doesn’t have a criminal mind. Her, uh, goodness will come through and she’ll spill the beans any minute now.”

“What about what my mom said about the curls?”

“I think your mom is right about curls being too perfect, but the video just isn’t good enough to trust that that’s what we’re seeing, perfect curls.”

I nodded and thought about Peyton’s insistence that she was innocent.

“Sam, you don’t think Harry is framing her?”

It was Sam’s turn to blink. “Not at all.”

“I know, that was a long shot, but when Peyton talked to me, she was adamant that she was innocent. She’s sure she’s being framed, Sam.”

“Lots of guilty people say that.”

“I know, but . . . she’s
so
sure,” I said.

“She’s family, Becca. It’s hard when family’s done something wrong.”

“You sound sure that she’s guilty,” I said.

Sam gave me a level look. “No, I’m a firm believer in innocent until proven guilty, but things aren’t looking great. I want you to know that, and I want you to know that I have to do my job even if your family is involved.”

“What if it was me? What if I was in Peyton’s shoes?” The questions jumped out of me. On some level, I knew what I was doing. I was making myself mad at Sam. It was a bad play, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“You’re not a killer, nor a thief.”

“But what if I got caught up in something that was over my head? Would you arrest me?”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. He was a by-the-books kind of guy. Of course he would arrest me.

“Becca, you have to know that I would do everything in my power to help and protect you.”

That wasn’t exactly the answer I was looking for, but I was also extra touchy at the moment.

“Will you do everything in your power to help and protect Peyton?” I said after I took a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said.

I was surprised that I didn’t believe him. I looked hard at
those icy eyes and wondered what was really going on behind them. I knew it was a tricky situation, considering he and I were practically living together and he was convinced that someone I cared deeply about, a family member, was guilty of heinous crimes. I didn’t envy his position, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to discuss it with him further at the moment.

“Can you take me back to the market?” I said.

“Becca . . .”

“I’m fine, Sam. I just need to get to work. You need to get back to work, too, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

There were no apologies from either of us on the trip back to Bailey’s, but there were no apologies needed. It was just a sticky situation, that’s all. We’d get through it. I hoped.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” I said when he stopped outside the Bailey’s entrance.

“Always,” he said. “This isn’t what I want, but I think it’s the right thing to do. It’s . . . it’s only because I don’t think we should do anything to compromise Peyton or the ongoing investigation into the crimes that have been committed. But I’ll stay at my house for now. It’s best for you, too, Becca.”

“That makes sense.” It did, but I still didn’t like it. He didn’t like it, either. I was happy to see that in his chameleon eyes.

“I love you, Becca,” he said again.

“Love you, too,” I said. And then I got out of the car way too fast. I wanted to kick myself, but there was no fixing that particular moment. I’d just have to do better next time.

Almost too gently, Sam pulled the cruiser away and steered it out of the parking lot.

“We’ll be okay,” I said to myself. I believed it. I had to.

I also believed that I was going to have to get help elsewhere. No matter what Sam thought, I’d looked into my cousin’s eyes when she was proclaiming her innocence. And I’d looked into those eyes many years earlier when she said she hadn’t stolen the last chocolate chip cookie, and I knew she had lied. A cookie wasn’t in the same league as assault, murder, and theft, but I’d seen her lies and her truths, and I was convinced I knew the difference, then and now.

I marched to Allison’s office and pushed through her door.