5 Merry Market Murder (23 page)

“Excuse me, Evie,” I said as I put one hand on her shoulder and pointed with the other one. “Do you know them?”

She squinted across the street, even lifted her glasses once, replaced them, and squinted some more. “I don’t think so.”

“They’re Joel and Patricia Archer. They used to work for Reggie, but I’m not sure when.”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember them, Becca, but it has been a long time.”

I looked at Evie, then at Mom and Dad, who had both raised their eyebrows slightly. They knew I was searching for something.

“Okay, good to know. Sorry to interrupt.”

I left them to their conversation again, turning back to watch across the street. My thoughts were still jumbled, but they came to quick order a second later.

Patricia Archer peered furtively in every direction. The crowd was so busy enjoying the parade that she thought no one was paying any attention to her, but there we were, Hobbit and I, watching her every move.

Once convinced she could get away with it, she reached to the tree and plucked off a small three-by-five flag ornament. I didn’t know for sure, but I thought it was painted wood. She dropped it into her bag and then turned to Joel, who’d been blocking her from one side as well as pretending not notice what his wife was doing.

My mouth fell open. I was torn between yelling and telling my mom on her. A part of me wanted to run across the street and confront her; another part just wished I hadn’t seen the theft.

I didn’t excuse my quick departure. I just stepped away from my parents and Evie and into the street. The large crowd and my short stature made it difficult to both see and move quickly.

A bunch of “excuse me’s” later, Hobbit and I reached the other side of the street and the red, white, and blue tree. Joel and Patricia had moved on, but I didn’t know in which direction.

I pulled out my phone and was relieved that Sam answered on the first ring.

“I just saw someone steal an ornament,” I said.

“Who?”

I told him the details and he instructed me to meet him at the police station.

Hobbit and I hurried.

• • • 

“There have been a lot of thefts,” Sam said. “There always are, apparently. Considering the ornaments you’ve been given, we’ve been asking more questions of those who’ve decorated trees. A bunch of ornaments go missing every year. It’s a hazard of having the parade out in the open and amid a crowd. Gus said there are so many fingerprints on the goldfish that we’d never be able to figure out who gave it to you.”

“What about the cameras? Anything?”

“I’m afraid not. None of them were pointed toward the goldfish tree.”

He handed me a cup of what I knew was the worst coffee ever brewed, and sat in the chair behind his desk. We were the only ones in the station.

“That’s not very helpful in trying to find whoever’s been leaving me the ornaments.” I took a sip; I was right, it was terrible. I tried to control the reactive face contortion that always came with police station coffee, but I was sure I wasn’t successful. Sam either didn’t notice or had seen the reaction so often that he ignored it.

“Not at all.” Sam sighed. “Vivienne’s tracking down Joel and Patricia. She’ll get the flag back and she’ll scare them enough that they’ll admit if they’ve been your Secret Santa. She’s good at that.”

“What do you suppose Patricia used to look like? I mean, she has the long, blonde hair, but when she was younger, maybe she looked like Mamma,” I said.

“Maybe, but I think her act of theft makes her more suspicious than her hair.”

“You think I’m being silly?”

“No, Becca, I don’t think you’re being anything but you. I may not understand the way everything in your mind works, and I assure you, sometimes you make me want to laugh like I’ve never laughed before, but only in good ways. And then sometimes you put it all together despite not one iota of proper police procedure. It’s probably one of the things that made me . . .” He stopped.

I froze as I waited, but he took too long, and I’ve always had such a problem with patience.

“I’m crazy about you, Sam Brion,” I said, bitter coffee aftertaste and all.

Sam smiled and the phone on his desk rang. He put his hand on the handset but didn’t lift it right away. “It’s about time you realized that. And, just in case you haven’t figured it out, I feel the same way about you. I’m head over heels for you, Becca Robins. I have been since the first moment I questioned you regarding the gruesome murder of Matt Simonsen. We’ll graduate to the
L
word soon, I’m sure of it.” He picked up the handset. “Sam Brion.”

I was sure I’d care about who killed Reggie Stuckey again soon, just not for a few minutes.

Such romantic moments would be typically followed up by more romantic moments, but it wasn’t meant to be that night.

I lost count of the leads Sam mentioned that he had to chase down, and then I lost track of him. I wasn’t able to find my parents again. I wasn’t able to find anyone. Hobbit and I wandered a little, helped some of the highest bidders load their trees, and then we went home.

I woke early the next morning, excited about the idea of Sam and I cutting down our own tree but concerned he wouldn’t be able to take the time away.

I got ready quickly and pulled out my phone just as I was hurrying to the kitchen to start the coffee and let Hobbit out.

“Hey, Becs,” Sam said as he answered. “I wanted to call, but then it got late and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, just police stuff. Don’t know much more of anything yet. Still looking for Joel and Patricia, and Brenton. It can take time.”

“I know your work should come first, but do you think you’ll able to go up to Ridgeway Farm?”

“Yes, but I’m in Smithfield now. Should we just meet there?”

“Sure,” I said, more pleased that he’d be able to go than disappointed we wouldn’t be going together. “What’s in Smithfield?”

“Evelyn Rasmussen. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her last night. I’m going to in about twenty minutes. I don’t expect it to take long. If you leave there in about a half hour, we should both make it up to Ridgeway at about the same time.”

“I can do that. Oh, Sam!” I’d made it to the kitchen and had finally taken the time to look out a window. “It’s snowing.”

Sam laughed. “A little.”

“That’s perfect; a perfect day for going to chop down our own tree.”

“I agree. The roads aren’t bad, but drive carefully and I’ll see you in about an hour.”

“Good luck with Evie.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s snowing, girl!” I said to Hobbit.

I threw on a jacket and we ventured outside to the chilly air and the lightly falling snow. A dusting of white covered everything, but it wouldn’t last long and it didn’t seem like it would get heavy.

The morning was perfect; Hobbit agreed. Our morning run made both my lungs and toes cold, but the chill was welcome.

Ridgeway Farm was in a hilly pocket of South Carolina. It would probably have been fine to take Hobbit along, but I’d forgotten to ask Denny, Billie, or Ned about their rules regarding pets, and I didn’t want her to have to sit in the truck and look out longingly to trees she’d never be able to explore if they didn’t welcome dogs on the property. Reluctantly, I left her home again, but since it was cooler she chose a spot by the couch inside. If and when it warmed up, she’d use the doggy door and go back outside.

I had another heart-to-heart with her regarding the importance of being aware and being careful. I thought she might be getting tired of the lecture.

She looked at me with one high eyebrow as if to tell me it was time for me to get over being concerned about leaving her alone. We’d had one scary incident but no others.

“Okay, girl, I’ll work on it,” I said before I left, making sure the door was securely locked behind me. I might stop lecturing, but I doubted I’d be able to stop double-checking the door.

As I drove, I sang Christmas carols aloud because I couldn’t find any on my AM-only radio.

Though the concern about Reggie’s killer had returned, it was close to impossible not to be content and downright happy about so many things. My life hadn’t ever been tragic or sad, but I’d made my share of mistakes and had my share of lonely holidays. Both my divorces had become final during the month of November. I’d had two particularly strange Christmases where I didn’t want to be around anyone but myself and, after the second split, Hobbit. And I’d been the one to prompt the separations. Divorce was usually awful, even if it was necessary.

But this year was different and wonderful.

“And, I’m not going to jinx it by dwelling on it. I’m just going to enjoy it as long as possible,” I said in between “Jingle Bells” verses.

The turnoff to Ridgeway Farm from the main highway was marked by two large hand-carved signs. “This way to Ridgeway,” they both read, each with large arrows pointing off into the hills. The borders of both signs were made up of wood-burned pine trees.

For the first time ever, I turned onto the road. I couldn’t believe I’d never been there before. I hoped Denny would let me use the ax to cut down the tree. I hoped I could handle it.

The elevation increased as I drove on, which meant there was more snow, but still not too much, and not enough to be of concern.

The forest on each side of me was full of leafless oaks. I kept an eye out for when the oaks transformed into pines, but it looked like I’d have a number of hilly curves to maneuver before I made it to the farm.

The road was twisty enough that when my cell phone buzzed I pulled over before I answered it.

“Sam? You on your way?”

The only words I heard were, “Yes . . . there . . . careful . . . file . . . Evelyn.”

“I’m almost there,” I said with the hope that he’d understand more from me than I did from him. “The road isn’t too snowy, just curvy.”

“Wait . . .”

“Yeah, I won’t start without you.” I laughed.

The phone went dead, so I dropped it on the seat and put the truck back into drive.

I may have thought that Reggie Stuckey’s farm was spectacular and wonderful in a Christmas card kind of way, but Ridgeway Farm was a whole new level of stunning.

The curvy road suddenly ended and straightened out as though it were an arm gesturing forward.
Just take a look at this place.

Ridgeway Farm was a little slice of heaven. The forest of oak trees was suddenly behind me, and after a short, fifty-yard drive, those tall trees weren’t even in my peripheral vision. Somehow I had been deposited into a wonderful and scent-filled pocket of pine, and only pine, in never-ending, neat rows. Because of the slopes and hills I could see that the rows were made up of different-sized trees. I’d ask Denny about harvest time and how long a tree needed to grow before it could be harvested. I’d ask about what it took to take care of the trees. I suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about growing Christmas trees.

Amid the trees, in a small but groomed clearing, were two giant barns flanking a house that was so idyllic it was probably made of gingerbread.

“Wow,” I said as I stopped the car. The entire scene might have been as charming without the thin layer of fresh white snow, but I felt privileged that I’d chosen this day to come up and chop down my first Christmas tree.

Denny had mentioned that the farm would be busy, but currently there were only a few vehicles parked in a small area next to one of the barns. I followed the obvious ruts in the path and pulled my truck next to a newer-model red version and stepped out into the heady-clean, crisp, naturally scented air. I wondered if I could get drunk if I sniffed too deeply for too long.

“Hello!” Ned called from directly outside the closest barn. He was dressed in a red-plaid flannel shirt and jeans and had a Santa hat on his head.

“Hi,” I said as I walked forward to meet him. “This place is amazing!”

“Thank you. We don’t ever get tired of it. Your boyfriend here, too?”

“He’s on his way, should be here in a minute.”

Ned looked behind me toward what must have been the doors of the magical wardrobe I’d driven though. Surely this was the edge of Narnia.

“Is there a reason to be concerned?” I said.

“No, not at all,” Ned said. “It’s the first real snow this year, but it’s not bad. There are no road issues yet.”

“Yet?”

“There won’t be, I’m overreacting. I always do with the first snow.” Ned laughed.

I turned to look toward the oak forest. No Sam yet, but he was close behind, I was sure. I looked up at the thick clouds above. A few small, light snowflakes landed coldly on my cheeks, but I didn’t think we were about to face a big storm.

“It’s fine. Really,” Ned said. “Go on into the barn. We’ve got warm drinks and places to sit while you wait. I need to head out to make sure a couple customers are doing all right out there, but Denny and Billie are both around. Make yourself at home. When your friend gets here, one of us will show you the ropes.” Ned smiled reassuringly before he turned and stepped around the barn.

The tall, wide doors to the barn were closed but I could probably get in with just a pull of one of the handles. If I hadn’t caught sight of Denny going toward the other barn across the property, I would have pulled one of those handles and gone into the warm place with the hot drinks and lots of seats.

I hello’d and waved at Denny, but he was focused on whatever task he’d set out to do. He wasn’t dressed as Santa, but he did wear red jeans, a white sweater, and a hat that matched Ned’s. He walked with long strides, his attention on the ground in front of him, his face serious as he pulled open a door and went inside. He carried an ax with sure authority; I wanted to hold an ax that way.

I was curious enough to follow him over to the other barn, but I wasn’t sure what the rules were. Were customers invited anywhere, or just the barn that Ned had directed me to go into?

I looked around, and not finding anyone to ask, shrugged, and hurried across to the other barn.

Someone would stop me if I was doing something they didn’t want me to do.

One of the two doors on the second barn was slightly ajar, and a yellow band of light trailed out to the dark ground that was now flecked with bits of snow.

“Denny?” I said as I leaned into the opening. There was no answer, but I thought that this barn might have been off-limits to customers. This was a storage barn, full of equipment, tools, and the random parts of things that could be found on most farms. “Denny?” I said a little louder.

There was still no answer but something metallic crashed somewhere toward the back corner, a corner that was mostly blocked and hidden by an old tractor.

I threaded my way through the opening and stepped carefully over and around debris.

The light became brighter as I got closer to the corner and then the space became fully illuminated when I moved all the way around the tractor.

I should have said “hello,” or repeated “Denny,” but I was struck momentarily silent by what I saw.

Santa’s workshop would have been the first way to describe the corner space. A long worktable served as the focal point, but it was surrounded on three sides by shelves of tools and . . . toys? No, not toys; ornaments. Christmas tree ornaments filled the shelves. The ornaments were made of all different materials. Many had been painted, but some were just plain wood or metal or other material.

Denny had set the ax on the table and picked up something else. I was sure it was another ornament. In fact, it was a big ornament, made of wood and painted to look like an elf; an adult female elf.

Nothing I saw was in itself scary, but I was scared nonetheless. I felt like I needed to leave that barn. Quick.

But Denny finally heard me when I took a step backward, my heel hitting something wheel-like and creaky.

Denny’s head shot up. He saw me and his face fell at first, but he tried to cover his surprise, and maybe disappointment, with a quick smile. “Becca, hello,” he said, but he didn’t put down the ornament. “I didn’t know you were here yet.”

“I just got here. Sorry to interrupt. I saw Ned and he told me to wait in the other barn but I saw you come in here . . .” I was talking too much.

“Oh, well, it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t—I could hear that much in his voice.

Denny finally put the ornament on the table. As he walked around toward me, I took another step backward, but this time I fell. As I went down, I reflexively put my hand out and it hit something sharp.

“Ow!” I said, but I still tried to get up.

Denny was by my side, pulling me up by my arm an instant later.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I protested.

“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding. Profusely.”

I looked at my hand. He was right. I didn’t look down to see what had cut my palm because I was so surprised by all the blood dripping down my fingers.

“Come here, there’s a sink and some towels over here,” Denny said as he pulled me toward the workshop and farther from the front doors.

“I’m okay,” I said again, but we both knew I wasn’t.

Denny had my hand under running water only a few moments later.

“I’ve got to clean it. It’ll sting,” he said, and he didn’t hesitate to squeeze a pile of liquid soap onto it.

It stung meanly; the pain would have made my knees buckle if I weren’t so hyped with adrenaline. I had the presence of mind to notice that the goose bite was on my other arm, so now I was injured on both sides. I needed to get out of that barn.

“Here, we need to keep pressure on the towel. You don’t need stitches, but I’ll put some bandages on it.”

I held my good hand over the towel as Denny continued to direct me by holding on to my arm. He guided me to a stool next to the table and told me to sit. I did, but I was plotting how I was going to get around both him and the table when even the briefest opportunity presented itself.