Farm Fresh Murder (25 page)

“Yeah.”

We excused ourselves and made our way to the other table. Ian saw us coming first, and his expression went from surprise to mischief. I tried to ignore it.

“Hi, everyone,” I said. Barry and Carl looked away from my eyes, but Ian smiled happily.

“Becca,” he said, “this is Mamma Maria. She works at the Smithfield Market.”

“We’ve met. Hi, Mamma.” I extended my hand. “The pie was simply amazing.”

She blinked in thought, but recognition soon lit her eyes.

“Of course. Preserves, right? Becca?”

“Good to see you again,” I said. “This is Sam Brion.” I introduced him to everyone around the table, and though I could tell Barry thought he knew Sam, he wasn’t certain from where.

“And this is my son, Nick,” Mamma said as she put her arm around the little boy. “Carl was kind enough to bring him early.”

“Oh, are you and Carl dating?” I asked. The only person who wasn’t surprised at my bluntness was Sam. I think he liked it.

“Well, um, I think we are. Kind of. We only recently started dating, I guess.” Mamma’s face was red, and Carl sat a little taller.

Suddenly, my thoughts were pulled into something I couldn’t define. I looked at Carl’s long frame and realized I was missing something important; something that most definitely had something to do with the murder. But, sadly, I couldn’t put my finger on it—it had to do with Carl’s height, but not because he might be the murderer. What was I missing?

“Becca?” Sam said, nudging me lightly in the side.

“Huh? Oh, sorry. So, may we sit with you awhile?” I asked. I couldn’t leave these people yet. There was something here, and I needed to understand what it was.

“Well . . .” Barry began.

“Of course,” Ian said. “Let me get you some chairs.”

Ian and Sam gathered a couple of chairs, and we sat. I looked around the table and focused my thoughts toward each person.

Ian was the outsider in this small group; that was obvious. Carl and Barry had a connection that I didn’t understand.

“So, Mamma, how are things at Smithfield?” I asked.

“Fine. Very good, actually. It’s a great business to work in, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. So, how did you and Carl meet? Did you two already know each other when I visited with you that day?”

Mamma’s face changed from friendly to confused. “Well . . .” she began as Sam laughed lightly to ease the moment, but he didn’t retract my question. “Yes, I think we knew each other, met shortly before the day you were at Smithfield, if I’m remembering events correctly. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Where did you meet?”

“At Smithfield.” She looked around the table for some help.

“Becca, what do you want to know?” Carl said, his tone impatient.

“Well, Carl, I want to know how well you knew Matt Simonsen. Did you and Mamma meet when you were at Smithfield, perhaps visiting Matt Simonsen?”

Carl looked at Sam and then back at me. I suspected that he knew exactly who Sam was.

“Of course I knew Matt, Becca. We’re both in the peach business. But I wasn’t visiting Matt when I met Mamma. I was at Smithfield for another reason when we met.”

“What was the reason?” Sam asked.

“It was specifically to see Mamma Maria,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “I’d heard about her, so I went there to meet her. I was visiting her the day I saw Becca. It was that simple.”

“Why did you run from me?” I asked, not deterred by embarrassing a man I recently thought was one of the nicest I’d ever known.

“I didn’t mean to be so dramatic,” he said. “I saw you talking to Mamma, and I guess I just didn’t want . . . my personal life is personal, Becca.”

I nodded stiffly. I got that, but still, something on the edge of my memory tapped at my consciousness. But I wasn’t letting it in yet.

“Were you talking to Barry before the party? Were you dressed in a trench coat and a hat and talking to him at his stall?”

“What? No.”

There must have been a lot of chatter in the room, because the sudden silence was alarming. At first I thought it was because of my bold questioning, but then I realized it was something happening behind me. I turned and craned my neck to look at the entrance.

Allison was escorting someone into the room. That someone was really tall and wore a trench coat that looked eerily similar to the one I had just been talking about, but no hat.

“Who’s that?” I mumbled.

Barry, who was next to me, leaned toward my ear. “That, my dear Becca, is Pauline Simonsen.”

“Pauline Simonsen is tall?” I said the first thing that popped
into my head.

“Very,” Sam said.

He was right. She was probably more than six feet. Matt had been tall, Barry was tall, but Abner was short. I remembered Barry telling me that everyone thought it odd that Abner and Pauline got together because they didn’t fit together well—was the height difference what he meant?

I silently chastised myself for not stepping out of stereotypes. Why couldn’t Abner and Pauline have dated?

“Damn,” I said. I turned to Barry. “Is that who you were talking to in your stall?”

“No.”

“Barry?”

“Excuse me,” Barry said as he maneuvered himself out of the chair. “I’m going to give my condolences to the widow.” To the best of his body’s ability, he made his way toward Pauline, who was at the entrance and talking to Allison.

The noticeable silence was slowly ending. It was clear that Allison wasn’t going to make any sort of announcement about our special guest, so everyone went back to their own business. The band was in the middle of a break, which I was grateful for.

Not only was Pauline Simonsen tall, but she was still striking. I thought of the picture that had been in Abner’s house of him and the blond woman. Pauline wasn’t blond—she had reddish hair—but her face, though older, seemed to be close to what I remembered. Her features were sharp and dainty, and somehow combined nicely on her tall but thin frame. It must have been the same woman, though the earlier version had bleached hair. This version’s hair reminded me of her son, Jessop. I looked around to see if he’d joined her, but I didn’t see him.

Was Pauline the person Barry had been talking to? The only answer I could come up with was maybe, maybe not. I turned to Sam. We spoke at the same time.

“I think we should go talk to her.”

Barry was now standing with Allison and Pauline. He held Pauline’s hand as the two of them shared a moment of conversation. Allison didn’t budge, and I was proud of her. Manners were always high on her priority list, but at the moment she focused on the two people in front of her. She wanted the murder solved, too, and she wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to maybe learn something pertinent.

Out of the corner of his eye, Barry saw us approach. He turned a nasty look our direction and said good-bye to Pauline.

“Ms. Simonsen, this is my sister, Becca, and our friend Sam,” Allison said as we approached.

Pauline extended her long-fingered hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” she greeted each of us.

“So sorry for your loss,” I said as I shook her hand gently.

“We’ve met,” Sam said. It probably would have been wrong not to remind her that he was a police officer, but I wished he hadn’t.

“Ah, yes, Officer Brion, I believe? Well, it’s nice to see you out of your police mode.”

“I hope you’re well, Mrs. Simonsen.”

“I’m . . . all right, thank you.” She turned her attention to Allison. “You’ve been extremely kind. Matty only worked at Bailey’s a short time and . . . well, all of your efforts have been appreciated. I wanted to be here earlier for the moment of silence, but was held up at home.” She paused, which automatically made me think she was lying. “I just, well, I just want everyone at Bailey’s to know that I don’t hold anyone here tonight responsible for the . . . what happened. I know Abner Justen is a suspect and I heard he’s been arrested, so I . . . gosh, well, I wanted to say thank you and tell you that I think all of this horribleness is behind us now.”

“Abner was arrested? I hadn’t heard,” I lied.

We all looked at Sam, Pauline included. He didn’t bat an eye or say a word, and he did it without looking uncomfortable or uncertain.

“Well, I don’t know anything for certain,” Pauline continued when it was obvious that Sam wasn’t going to confirm or deny anything, “but I got a phone call from a friend who works downtown, near the jail. She thought she saw him being taken in.”

“I see. Well, that’s a relief. That must ease your mind,” I said.

“Quite a bit, actually. From the beginning, I thought he killed my Matty.” She looked purposefully at Sam.

“Really? Why?” I asked.

“There’s a history there that I won’t go into, but it wasn’t pretty.” Her eyes teared, and I felt a twinge of pity for her. I told the twinge to go away.

“When was the last time you and Abner spoke?” I asked.

“Oh, a long time ago.” She smiled through watery eyes. “Barry”—she nodded in the direction he had gone—“and Abner have lived close to me and Matty for years. We’ve all known each other since we were very young.”

I tried not to let it show, but I wanted to shake my head like cartoon characters did after they’d been hit by an anvil. I knew Barry’s address, but the one address I hadn’t thought to explore was the Simonsens’. I assumed they lived in Smithfield. Had I been wrong? I looked at Sam, who read my confusion. He wasn’t confused at all—he knew where everyone lived. I hadn’t asked enough questions.

“I know where Abner lives, Ms. Simonsen, but where do you live? And I thought Barry lived across town from Abner.” I literally scratched my head.

Her eyes opened wide. “Oh. Sorry, yes. Barry sold his farm some time ago—oh, my gracious, a long, long time ago—to Carl Monroe; I don’t know him all that well, but he’s a nice man. I think I’ve been reminiscing so much lately that I still think about Barry living next door. Anyway, it’s probably been decades.”

Barry used to live in Carl’s monster house? He’d told me that he’d gotten out of the peach business. So Carl’s orchard used to be Barry’s?

Pauline Simonsen had the full attention of her audience of three. I didn’t think she was as confused as she seemed—I thought she was putting on an act, but I couldn’t figure out if it was for the benefit of Allison, me, or Sam. And even though she said she was sure Abner was the murderer, it seemed that she’d found a way to throw Barry into the suspicion pile, too. Apparently, she wanted us to know they had all lived near one another at one time.

“Decades? When was this, exactly? What was the precise date that Barry moved?” I asked. I wasn’t sure of the relevance of such information, but it seemed like the right question to ask.

Pauline’s eyes dried and then flashed. Her pretty face suddenly wasn’t as soft as it had been. It was as though that question had made her angry. “I . . . I can’t remember right now. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“No, I don’t really know,” Pauline said as she sniffed and looked at me. Apparently, she had tired of my questions. “I suppose I should go, but I really did want to thank you.” She turned to Allison.

“Thank you for coming by,” Allison said soothingly. “We’re all so very sorry for your loss. Please let us know if you need anything at all.”

Pauline Simonsen turned and left the party tent with sure, almost defiant, steps.

“I didn’t mean to offend her,” I said. “I just couldn’t quite figure her out.”

“It’s okay,” Allison said. “No disrespect to the dead or the grieving, but there’s something about that woman that rubs me the wrong way. I hoped you’d get to the bottom of it.”

“Really?” I looked at her and then at Sam. “Did I mess anything up?”

“Not at all. I was hoping the same thing as Allison. It was odd, the way she almost acted as though she wanted to answer my questions until she suddenly didn’t. I talked to her and her son after the murder. They were both genuinely shocked at what had happened, but you’re right, Allison, there was something . . . almost fake about her tonight, like she’d scripted her words. And the way she mentioned Barry . . .” Sam looked toward the table Barry had been sitting at. He wasn’t there.

“Do you think she really heard about Abner’s arrest?” I said.

“I suppose it’s possible, but I think more people at the party would be talking about it if someone had seen him being taken in.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this, I want to know what’s up with her. It’s rare that I feel something so wonky from someone. Excuse me. I need to see to the band.” Allison took off.

I watched her walk away. “You know, she knows people better than anyone. There must be something up with Pauline if she says there is.”

“I don’t disagree, but ‘wonky’ doesn’t hold up well in a court of law.”

“Right. Who should we question next?” I asked, excited at the idea.