Crops and Robbers (6 page)

As I spoke, I also observed the scene around us with a detached sense of dread. Sam sat next to my mom, and it looked as though the two of them could be chatting over irrigation issues instead of the blood all over her hands. Officer Norton had taken charge of the EMTs. They ventured into my barn, and then one of them walked to the porch and made sure Mom didn’t need any medical attention. He also made sure I was okay before going back to the ambulance. I thought they might remove the body, but they didn’t.

“You’re sure the body is Joan’s?” Ian asked when I finished talking.

I nodded.

“Okay, and your parents were in your stall when Joan offered her ‘critique,’ so to speak?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone besides Bo say something derogatory about Joan?”

“I don’t think so. Not really. I got a lot of support but nothing else bad.”

“Of course, be sure and let Sam know exactly what Bo said.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“It’s going to be okay, Bec,” Ian said as he put his hand on my leg.

“You sure?” I said, looking into his concerned eyes again. I didn’t want to cry, but I could feel the tears beginning to pool.

“Positive. Sam’s the best at what he does, and I don’t believe your mother did this”—he nodded toward the barn—“this . . . well, from everything you’ve told me, your parents are peace-loving, not violent.”

I sniffed away the tears and leaned my head on his shoulder. “I hope so.”

Another car pulled into the driveway and parked behind the ambulance. Officer Norton greeted the driver, who carried a big camera and wore a baseball cap. I had no idea who the man was, but it was clear that he was there to document the scene. Ian and I were silent as we watched him disappear into the barn.

It seemed that only a few minutes passed before he came out and rejoined Officer Norton. She escorted him to the porch, where he took pictures of Mom, specifically her hands. I swallowed away more tears as she turned them in every direction. Then, she pointed to an area at the side of the barn. Sam helped her stand, and they, along with the guy with the camera, walked to where she’d been pointing. I made a move to hop off the tailgate to join them, but Ian held on to my arm.

“I think we’d better wait here a minute.”

“Yeah, probably,” I said, deflated.

Time passed slowly as the three of them disappeared to where they couldn’t be seen from my perch on the tailgate. I caught Officer Norton looking in my direction. She must have been reading my desire to check what they were doing, so she shook her head slowly.

I sighed and waited until they reappeared, the photographer continuing to take pictures of the ground all the way to the barn’s door.

Sam retrieved something from his car and then used to use some sort of swab on Mom’s hands. He worked quickly and efficiently. Once that was done, he said something to her that had her nodding profusely. He turned to watch the photographer as Mom made her way toward the house.

She looked at me and said, “Can I clean up inside?”

Again I made a move to hop down.

“No, Becca, stay there. You still need to talk to the police. I just need to go in and clean up.”

“Should I call Dad?” I asked.

“Officer Brion is taking care of that,” she said, and she went through the front door.

“Becca,” Sam said as he appeared beside the truck. “I need to talk to you next. Ian, can you excuse us?”

Ian hugged my shoulders before he scooted off the tailgate. Hobbit raised her head and pondered whether she should follow him back to the porch or stay with me; she chose me.

“How’re you doing, Becca?” Sam asked as he peered at my face. I could tell he was trying to keep his as neutral as possible.

“Not so good. How’s my mom?”

“She’s very cooperative,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

“That’s good, I guess.”

“That’s very good. Becca, I need you to tell me about what happened, from your point of view. I take it you knew who the deceased was?”

I nodded and swallowed hard. Again, I recounted the events of the day. The more I talked about it, the worse I felt about Joan’s fate. Because she’d been in my barn when she was killed, I couldn’t help but think her death had something to do with me—the result of some misplaced and exaggerated loyalty to me or my products. Was she killed for insulting my preserves? That wasn’t a good enough reason to be murdered. No one I knew had such a short fuse that ridding the world of a critic would have crossed their minds.

“How well do you know Bo?” Sam asked when I got to that part of the story.

“I’ve worked with him at the market for a long time, but we’ve never done anything together socially. I recently started volunteering with him at the community garden. I’ve enjoyed that. I’ve seen another side of him. He’s good with kids. I think he and his wife have some kids of their own, but I’ve never met her or them. I used to think he was just a big, gruff guy, but I like him more than I thought I ever would.”

Sam took an extra second to write something in his notebook.

“Can you think of any reason Joan Ashworth would have come to your farm and gone into your barn? After your encounter this morning, her appearance here seems unusual at best, strange at worst.”

I looked at his serious icy blue eyes. I understood the need for total professionalism, but I couldn’t help but feel a small stab of betrayal. Sam was my friend, and I didn’t want to let even something as serious as a murder get in the way of that friendship.

“No, Sam. Unless she was here to apologize, which doesn’t make sense, I can’t think of any good reason she was here.”

“Your barn is always locked, right?”

“Always. Hobbit knows not to go in, but since this is farm country, there are a number of critters roaming around. I keep my barn very clean, sanitized almost to the point of obsession. I don’t want an animal to think it’s an appealing place.”

“Have you had any reason yourself to break into the barn recently?”

“You mean the scrapes on the door frame and the broken lock? No, I didn’t make those, and they weren’t there as of this morning. I’m positive.”

Sam nodded again and took more notes.

“Tell me, as close as possible, the exact time you left Bailey’s today and the exact time you got home.”

“I left around two thirty and drove straight home, so I must have arrived around two forty-five, two fifty. That’s the best I can do.”

“Can I see your hands?”

“Uh, sure.” I held them out, palms up first, and then turned them over. They were covered with dirt and a little blood that must have come from Hobbit during our happy reunion. I thought one of the splotches might be jam, but I couldn’t be sure and wasn’t willing to taste test.

Sam inspected them closely. “I’ll need to have Gus come over. He’ll take some samples from your hands, and then he’ll fingerprint you.”

I blinked and said, “Okay. Sam, should my mom get an attorney? Should I?”

He sighed. “At this point, I’m just investigating. Neither you nor your mother is a prime suspect right now. We have to analyze the evidence first. I think it would be wise to consider an attorney, though. It never hurts to be prepared.”

My heart
thunked
and then fell to my stomach. I hadn’t killed Joan, so the appearance of my possible guilt didn’t seriously cross my mind. I’d been concerned about my mother, and I still was, but now I had to add my own potential defense to the mix.

“Got it,” I said weakly.

Sam turned and walked to the man with the camera, who must have been Gus. He waved him toward me and then walked over to Officer Norton. As they talked, I noticed how Sam and Officer Norton stood identically, with their thumbs in their waistbands. Even in the middle of the serious and horrible moment, I couldn’t help but notice Vivienne Norton’s muscular arms, and how they contrasted with her bleached blonde hair and thick makeup, not to mention how they outgunned everyone else’s biceps.

“I’m Gus,” Gus said without much emotion. He wore the baseball cap low and almost over his eyes. I wondered how he managed the camera without knocking the hat off. I couldn’t really see his face, and I didn’t like not having eye contact.

“Becca Robins.”

“Could you stand please, Ms. Robins? I need to get pictures of the blood on your clothes and on your hands,” Gus said as he sat a bag on the tailgate. “I’ll start with the pictures and then take some samples.”

Robotically, I stood, posed, and then showed him my hands as he went to work, first photographing them and then using the same type of extra-long, plastic-contained cotton swabs that Sam had used on my mom to take samples.

I couldn’t accept or believe that any of this was happening. I hoped for the dream scenario. In fact, considering that my parents had shown up in town after being gone for so long, the dream scenario might not be all that far off. Maybe none of this was real. I hoped to wake up soon.

“Would you pinch my arm, Gus?” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“Just pinch it—enough to hurt a little but not take me down.”

“I don’t think I should, but I think I understand why you want me to. I’m sorry to say that you’re not dreaming.”

Gus scratched at his chin and looked at me from under the brim of his cap. “I’m sorry for all you’re going through, but if it’s any consolation, Officer Brion is having me do this more so we can rule you out than prove you did the deed. He wants to make sure all the t’s are crossed and i’s dotted, ya know?”

“I suppose that’s good news, but what about my mom?”

“The other lady—I mean, woman?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe the same thing,” he said unconvincingly.

“Thanks.”

“Hang in there,” Gus said as he snapped shut his evidence bag. “This too shall pass.” He cringed. “I’m afraid I’ve become jaded. Murder is serious business and I shouldn’t just shrug it off. Sorry about that.”

I nodded.

“I’m done here. Take care,” he said.

I watched Gus walk back to his car. He tipped his cap at Sam and Officer Norton before he drove away.

Monson was small enough to make you feel like you knew everyone but big enough to prove you didn’t. And since I worked at Bailey’s, I felt like I knew even more people than if I’d worked in a cubicle somewhere.

Even though I was friends with Sam and I knew most of the other Monson police officers, I’d never met, or even seen, Gus. Since he was the one who searched for evidence in fingerprints and blood, maybe he kept a low profile.

After he left, three more cars pulled into the driveway. Linda got out of her truck with a questioning look on her face and a pie in her hands. My dad got out of a Prius, and Allison, her husband, Tom, and their son, Mathis, got out of their 4Runner. They all stood still and together for a moment and surveyed the scene.

None of us had called anyone, other than the police. Mom thought Sam was calling Dad. I could see he hadn’t yet.

We had some explaining to do.

“She wanted to come see Hobbit and make dinner. You and
Allison were working all day, and she thought it would be a great way to help out,” Dad said as he patted Mom’s hand. We had both cleaned up. Ian and I had even given Hobbit a quick bath. We were all blood free.

The crime scene had been cleaned up, too. Joan’s body had been taken to the medical examiner’s office in Charleston, and Sam had brought in some people to thoroughly clean the barn. I was sure I’d do my own cleaning, but for now I was glad to have it taken care of.

“I remember Jason dropping me off, and I remember Hobbit acting suspicious, and then happy to see me, but I don’t remember anything substantial after that. Officer Brion and the EMT inspected the goose egg on my head and they think I was hit with something, but the next thing I remember is waking up on the side of the barn, walking around it, and then seeing Becca inside it with the body.”

Linda had left too. She’d asked if she could do anything for any of us and then commented that we needed some family-only time.

Sam kept his distance from the rest of us, and before he left he stated that none of us were to leave town and once the results of evidence testing were in, he was sure he’d want to talk to us more.

His last gesture before leaving was a small nod to me. I thought he was trying to tell me that he’d do whatever he could to quickly find out what happened to Joan. I also thought his eyes apologized for what he might have to do: arrest me or my mother. I wasn’t worried about myself, but I’d felt my face burn with fear at the thought my mother might be found in some way guilty.

My mother couldn’t kill anyone, could she? When Allison and I were little girls, she wouldn’t even kill spiders or mice, but instead found a way to take them out of the house and set them free in the woods.