Fruit of All Evil (18 page)

I'd called to see if he had anything regarding the investigation that he'd like to share with me. Of course, I couldn't ask him outright for information; I was going to have to do an end run, and the only way I could think of to do it was to pretend I had information I wanted to share with him. I told him about my pedicure with Sally and her insights regarding her family.

Sam spoke to me with lots of
hmm
s and
oh
s, and didn't form any full sentences I could use. After a brief lull in the conversation, I asked, “Sam, since Madeline was killed in her own home and in her own bedroom, do you think the killer was someone who knew her personally? I mean, if it had been someone she foreclosed on, wouldn't they have killed her at the bank?”

He was silent for a moment. I sensed he was thinking, so I didn't interrupt.

“There's something to that, I suppose. The thing you have to be careful of, though, is closing your eyes or mind to other ideas because you're looking for something specific. Profiling is a great tool, but you have to remember it's a tool and not always one hundred percent correct.”

“I get that, but do you think there might be something to it?”

“Maybe. The bank customers are giving us more dead ends than we'd like. I've been looking at the family, but the information from Sally makes me think I need to look deeper. There certainly are some strange dynamics.”

“Did you find out anything about Jeanine? Has she cashed any big checks or anything?” I asked.

“I don't have that information yet.” The tone of his voice told me he did, but I didn't push it.

I was grateful for what he was sharing with me—more than I knew he should share with a civilian. I'd take whatever crumbs he wanted to throw my direction. I tried to come up with something else to keep him talking.

“Okay. So how are the bank customers leading to dead ends?”

“Madeline orchestrated the foreclosure of a number of properties, but not as many as you might think. And some of those who had reason to be angry at her either have left the area or have found another way to make a living. However, I'm hitting some roadblocks at the bank. I'm not getting the cooperation I'd like.”

“How do you mean?”

“People are working hard to hide something, but I can't pinpoint what it is, and I can't be sure it has anything to do with Madeline . . . Well, I'm rambling and telling you far too much, aren't I?”

Shoot, I knew it wouldn't last. “Not at all, Sam. Thanks.”

“Thanks for letting me know about Sally. There's a picture of Madeline forming. There are some big pieces still missing, though. I have to go now, but I want you to be careful, Becca. I know you're nosing around, and I don't want you to get stuck in something you can't get out of.”

“I won't. I promise I'll call you if I think I'm headed toward anything sticky.” I decided not to tell him I was on my way to talk to Linda. I held on to my belief that she wasn't the killer, but even if she was, I held tighter to the fact that she would never hurt me.

“Good. Talk to you soon.”

I closed my phone with a sense of satisfaction. Sam was right, there were pieces coming together that might lead to Madeline's killer. I just wished we'd find a couple of the big and important ones.

My trip to Linda's had more to do with being an undercover Number One than it did with questioning her about her possible involvement in Madeline's death. I also had some other questions I thought I should ask her, and I wasn't going to miss the opportunity.

She wasn't expecting me, and I didn't know if she'd recovered from her migraine, but the drive to her very small farm was worth the effort.

Linda's farm was smack-dab in the middle of a neighborhood. She had a cute little house on a double lot. The house was as close to a gingerbread cottage as I'd ever seen, and the large plot of land behind it would be overflowing with her juicy berries by the middle of the summer. Like me, she wasn't sure how she was able to grow delicious, sweet fruit—it just happened.

The cottage was too small for more than one person, so she was planning to move into Drew's house, but they hadn't decided if they were going to keep the farm so she could continue to grow berries, or if they would sell it and she would buy all her berries and focus on baking. I'd heard some amazing things about Drew's kitchen but had yet to see it. As I pulled into her driveway, a small wave of sadness made me hope she kept the picture-book home. She'd lived there as long as I'd known her.

I parked, made my way to the front door, and knocked three times, which was our code. She opened the door quickly.

“Becca, what a great surprise! Come in.” She had a scarf over her head and a berry-stained apron in place. She looked fine.

“Three questions first,” I said.

“Okay.”

“Do you still have a headache?”

“No.” She smiled.

“Are you super busy?”

“Uh, not really. I was just finishing up some pies, but they'll be out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Good. Can you come with me when they're out?”

“Where?”

“I didn't say you could ask a question. Do you have time to come with me, get out of the house, for an hour or so?”

Linda thought for a moment. “Yes, I think I can.”

“Good. Then I'll come in for a minute.”

Linda pulled the pies out of the oven and set them to cool. She offered me a piece of blueberry, and because I was neither stupid nor crazy, I happily accepted and ate it while she cleaned ingredients off her face and hands, and changed into a shirt that wasn't berry stained.

“Thanks for taking care of my customers yesterday, Becca. I was down for the count,” she said once we'd climbed into my truck and I steered it toward Monson's small downtown.

“No problem. It's understandable. I'm glad you're better. I know you must still be upset.”

She waved away my concrn. “So, where are we going?” she asked.

“You'll see.” I cleared my throat. “How are you and Drew doing? You know you can talk to me about anything, Linda. How's he holding up?”

“Oh, fine, I think. He's taking care of the arrangements. Actually . . .”

“What?” I said as I turned down the dial on the old AM radio.

“You know Drew. He always does the right thing, the appropriate thing.” She sighed. “Frankly, I think he's too controlled right now. His mother was just murdered, and he's . . . well, he's functioning. He knows what needs to be done, and he's doing it. He won't accept any help from me. I don't know if Alan is helping him or not, but he's staying with Drew. I'm afraid Drew's not taking the time he needs to grieve. Like I told you, he and Madeline hadn't been close for some time, but still, she was his mother.”

“Why hadn't they had a relationship?” I asked, hoping for something specific and filing away the information regarding why Alan was always driving Drew's car.

“I don't know the entire story, but Madeline was Madeline and Drew wanted his own life. When we got together and it seemed to be something that would be permanent, Drew and I thought we should try to make things better between him and his mom. It was rough, and I wonder if it wasn't a mistake. She wasn't making it easy on either of us.”

“I'm sorry, Linda.”

“Thanks.”

“So, is he still reporting for duty?”

“Yes, he is,” she said, exasperation in her voice.

“You don't want him to go?”

“Of course not, but not because I want him here for me. I'd already come to terms with the fact that he was going to be leaving. I just think it's bad timing, and frankly, though he might believe he's doing the right thing, I think it's terribly inappropriate.” She took another deep breath and laughed. “Well, aren't you sorry you said I could talk to you about anything? I think I needed to get that off my chest.”

“Do you feel better?”

“A little, thanks.”

“I get what you're saying. Will he change his mind?”

“I don't think so, and . . . well, I suppose he has good reasons.”

“What are they?”

“I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you afterward.” Linda forced another laugh.

I looked at her. “Oh, top-secret stuff?”

“Something like that. I guess I need to be more patient about it all if I'm going to marry him.”

“I have a deal for you. You can be patient for the rest of the world, but you can always tell me how you really feel. I won't tell anyone, and I won't ever hold it against you. Ever.” Linda's eyes were tearing up. “Well, I suppose you can even cry if you really need to.”

“I'm so glad you came to get me. Where are we going, anyway?”

I stopped in front of one of the two small women's clothing shops in Monson. This one had nicer things, like dresses. The other one, a block down, was where I usually purchased my overalls, both short and long. The shop we were in front of was Veronica's, and the one down the street was Viola's.

“Well, this is going to seem weird, and might make you mad, especially considering what we were talking about, but I had an idea.”

“I'm listening.”

“We were going to go dress shopping today for the wedding, right?” She nodded. “Well, I know the chances of the murder being solved before Drew leaves are slim, but what if it does get solved?”

“What if?”

“Let's be prepared.” I flicked a small spider off the dashboard. “Let's try on some dresses. If there's time, I'll take you and Drew to the justice of the peace. I know, I know, it's not the ideal wedding, but it's better than nothing. And if it can happen, we don't want to be caught without dresses, do we?”

Linda looked at me a long moment, then turned her attention to Veronica's display. Three mannequins, all with their hands posed on their hips, stood in the window. One wore a blue housedress, another wore a denim dress, and the third was done up in a red sequined number with a headband. A red feather boa completed the ensemble. Linda turned to me and said, “You know, it's rather surprising how sweet you can be.”

I grimaced. “You make me want to change my mind. Come on; let's go in before I come to my senses.”

Of course, the real plan was to have the surprise wedding at Bailey's, but I wasn't going to tell Linda that much. I already had Ian on the hunt for a rented tuxedo that would fit Alan. Drew would wear his dress uniform, and I knew it was always in a state of readiness. If the wedding could happen, it would happen at Bailey's, just as Linda had originally planned, but I wanted at least some surprise.

Sequins were immediately ruled out. When we told Savannah, the young girl working in the store that day, that taffeta and satin were also ruled out, she exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, “But it's a wedding! You want cotton at a wedding?”

“Or denim,” I said with a smile. She didn't think it was funny.

After much debate and many flourishes of all sorts of material, Linda found some suits she liked. They had skirts that fell just below the knees and the jackets were short and simple with two buttons. There was a light cream-colored one that was exactly her size, and three of varied colors that should fit me. I tried the yellow one on first.

I exited the dressing room on my toes, because I'd certainly be wearing some sort of heels for the occasion, and pirouetted.

“Whoa, yellow isn't your color,” Linda said. “But I love the suit. Try the purplish one.”

“Yes, ma'am.” I had no idea yellow wasn't my color. I tip-toed back to the dressing room.

We finally settled on the light lavender-ish suit for me, and I approved wholeheartedly of how she looked in the cream one. She gave a grin of satisfaction in the threeway mirror.

Linda wanted to pay for both suits, but I insisted on getting my own. We confirmed with Savannah that we could return them if the tags were intact. She made sure to add, “And if y'all wear them, we can tell, you know—so don't try to slip one by us.”

We promised not to.

The next stop was for some shoes to go with the suits. One good thing about living in a small town was the complete lack of options. Bradford's Shoes would have what we wanted or we'd have to go barefoot, or in our sneakers. Bradford's was able to accommodate us both with shorter-heeled dressy shoes that matched Linda's suit perfectly, and the cream color worked well with the lavender, too. She managed to buy both pairs of shoes before I realized they'd been rung up.

“Then the coffee break we're about to take is on me,” I said.

We ventured into The Coffee Stop and loaded up on lattes and cookies. I was reminded of my presentation at Maytabee's and felt a little panic at my lack of preparation. I also hoped the Maytabee's owner didn't catch me in The Coffee Stop. That would be awkward.

“Becca, thank you. This was fun. We'll probably end up returning the suits and shoes, but this was still fun anyway.”

“It was fun,” I agreed. And it had been the part of the job as Number One that I'd dreaded the most. Between my painted toes and my new clothes, I was becoming much more girly than I'd ever been.

But I had to get down to business now. There was a chance I'd ruin the good time we'd had, but just as with Sally at the salon, I had to take advantage of the moment.

“Linda, who do you think killed Madeline?” I said between bites of cookie.