Farm Fresh Murder (31 page)

“Abner and I are just friends.”

“Right, whatever you say. The good news was that you drove away. When you pulled into the driveway, I realized that coming to talk to you was a bad idea, even if I’d brought you flowers. I ducked, thinking you hadn’t seen me. I was going to run away. You’d have been suspicious if we’d met then—I realized that.”

I looked at this crazy man. He wouldn’t have run away. He would have killed me. I knew that. His jealousy was something he wasn’t capable of handling.

“You left the flowers in my pumpkin patch?”

“Yep. Another nice touch, I thought. The police were bound to think it had been Abner.”

“Did you come see my sister that day I met you at Smithfield?”

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to know what you were up to, stopping by my stall. I wanted to see if you and she knew something. I got lucky there, too. It was good she didn’t answer—I probably wouldn’t have handled that well, and she’d have become suspicious. How did you know I was there?”

My turn to ignore a question. “At the time I knew nothing.”

“Well, you know something now, don’t ya?” Jessop stood abruptly, propelling the chair right into my bloody leg.

That time I felt the pain. I don’t know if I cried out or screamed, but I bent over with the tidal wave of agony.

“And I’m gonna have to take care of that loose end, aren’t I?”

In that warped moment, when I was in pain and scared to death, I had only one choice, maybe one chance. It was definitely a cheap shot, and it was neither a good idea nor a smart one, but it was all I had. He grabbed my arm and hoisted me up.

I’ve often despised my short stature, especially when compared to someone tall, and in Jessop’s case, extraordinarily tall.

But today, I figured it might work to my advantage.

As I was being yanked, I pulled back the arm that wasn’t in his grip, formed a fist (remembering an odd fact—that you keep your thumb on the outside of the fist that will be used for punching), and thrust that fist forward with the one and only spurt of adrenaline-filled fear I had left.

And somehow, I hit the target. Jessop let go of my arm and went down into the fetal position that men favor when they’ve been damaged in just the right spot.

If we’d been in a movie, I’d have had some clever words to spew. But we weren’t in a movie, and though it would be more than a couple of seconds, Jessop would come back to life, this time probably more murderous than before.

I stepped toward the gun, but he was in the way and grabbed for my ankle. I kicked his hand away and realized—I just had to get out of there.

I left the cabin and started running again.

To get to Carl’s, I’d have to run up the open road. My panicked
mind thought that it wouldn’t be worth the risk, even though I knew someone was there—or had been when I’d driven by earlier. I chose the cover of the woods and the direction toward Abner’s house. I knew the electricity was off, but I remembered seeing a phone plugged into the wall. It was the old-fashioned kind that didn’t need electricity to work.

I ran.

I just ran.

And ran.

And didn’t look back.

Another few minutes or so of infinity and into the darkness, I made it to Abner’s property.

One light provided illumination—it was attached to the outside of the greenhouse and cast a stark line toward the small house. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but realized it must be another emergency light of sorts—one that didn’t run off the main electricity. It was almost totally dark, and the light was an arrow, telling me to get into the house and to the phone.

I didn’t waste a moment checking the doorknob—I knew it was locked. I used my elbow, which fortunately was covered with a sleeve, to break the glass on the door. I reached in, unlocked it, and barreled my way through.

I reached the tattered chair and the phone on the stand that I’d noticed all those days and hours ago.

I yanked the headset to my ear and . . . there was no dial tone.

“Hello!?” I begged, but no one answered. The phone wasn’t in service. “No way.” Just like they did in the movies, I pressed the white plugs, but nothing changed. It was an old-fashioned phone and was stuck into a wall outlet, but it wasn’t in working order. The phone had been shut off, just like the electricity.

I threw the useless contraption at the wall before propelling myself to the front door. There was nothing careful about the way I stepped onto the porch, and the finger of light that had pointed me to the house was now crooked in the middle—right where Jessop Simonsen and his shotgun deflected it.

“You might as well quit running,” Jessop said calmly. “You can’t get away.” He raised the gun and aimed.

I turned and leapt back into the house, shutting the door behind me. I put my back against the wall leading into the hallway and tried to think—
What will he do next? Will he come to the front of the house or the back?

I put my money on his coming to the front, so I made my way to the back. I didn’t remember a back door, but Ian and I hadn’t explored everything.

My frantic heart swelled in relief when I did indeed see a back door. It was past a small bathroom and down a short hallway that was hidden from the front entrance.

I didn’t know for sure where Jessop was, and I couldn’t make my next move until I knew whether I was going to try to escape out the front or the back. I crouched down in the short hallway and listened.
This couldn’t be happening, could it?

Fortunately, Jessop wasn’t being quiet. He was yelling—unfortunately, he had chosen to come to the back of the house. I swallowed a scream of frustration and stood up as I moved away from the back door and toward the middle of the main hallway. He might be trying to trick me—he might turn now and come in the front door instead.

The scream I’d stifled shot out of my throat as Jessop kicked in the back door.

“Becca, really, this is stupid. There’s no place for you to go. I’ve recovered from your sassy-girl maneuver. I can run faster than you. And I have the gun.”

I heard him, but I was in a cold run out the front door as he finished the threat. He was right, though. I couldn’t get away—I wasn’t familiar enough with the woods to think he wouldn’t find me, and the main road was a huge distance from Abner’s property. Jessop was right. He was bound to catch up to me.

But somehow, one more last-chance idea lit in my mind. I ran to the greenhouse, to the side of the line of light. Jessop would see me, but I didn’t need to make it easy.

I went in and closed the door, knowing it wouldn’t lock. The small white light was a gift—the greenhouse was dark except for this small white emergency bulb that didn’t illuminate much of anything.

Perfect.

I grabbed the rope I’d noticed twice before and ran down the middle of one of the aisles, my fingers guiding me by sliding along a table, to the spot next to where Ian and I had found the axe. I couldn’t see much of anything, but I could feel. I groped at the plants on the table and immediately felt the sharp points of what I was looking for: the Carolina horse nettle, Abner’s favorite plant, the plant that he could place in a bouquet with such skill that a thorn never touched customers’ tender fingers. I needed this plant.

Since I didn’t have much time, I was going to reach into the middle of it, to hell with my own skin. But I bent down and did a quick search of the floor under the table and next to the irrigation canal.

My luck was improving—the pockmarked oven mitts were there.

I slipped them on and yanked out as much of the plant as I could manage. I was still stuck in a number of places, but it didn’t matter.

I hurried back along the table, about halfway.

“Becca?” Jessop yelled from outside. He was most definitely out of the house, but he still didn’t know I was in the greenhouse. I’d caught a small break—he hadn’t seen where I’d gone. He’d be here eventually, but I had the one extra moment I needed.

At the halfway point back along the table, I set the trap. This was truly my last chance. I knew the greenhouse didn’t have a back door.

Just as I finished, Jessop came in the door.

“Beee . . . ca, oh, Beee . . . ca, I know you’re in here,” he said.

I scrambled to the back of the greenhouse again. When I spoke, he had to believe where I was. He had to know exactly where to come get me.

“Becca.”

“Okay, Jessop,” I said with a heavy breath. “I give up. I’ve hurt myself—twisted my ankle. I need your help. Do you have a flashlight?”

“No, and the electricity’s off.”

“Go find a flashlight, and you can help me.”

“Right. I’m not leaving until I’ve taken care of what I need to do.”

That was what I wanted to hear.

“Okay, well, promise you won’t hurt me? Come help me, please?” I sounded pathetic. But he didn’t know me well, so maybe he’d buy it.

“Uh-huh, keep talking and I’ll be right there.”

“I’m down the middle aisle. Just come straight down. Thank you. I’m really hurting.”

I heard him step tentatively at first, then with heavier, quicker steps. I was seeing things better, but he had just entered the darkness, so he still wouldn’t be able to see well. Hopefully, he’d come forward with the confidence of someone carrying a weapon.

A cacophony of noises that soon followed told me the trap had been tripped—Jessop bellowed, the shotgun crashed to the ground with a metallic thump, the long plant tables rumbled from Jessop’s clumsy maneuver. And then he broke out in terrible, hair-raising screams.

I darted up and then ran down the next aisle. I could now see the tables fairly distinctly, but I still used my hand to guide the way. I knew I was almost to the door when the shotgun blasted once again, the sound reverberating and shaking the walls.

I screamed and covered my head, and kept running.

The greenhouse door flew open, and the glare from a large flashlight bulb blinded me to a frozen stillness.

“Now I can see you just fine,” Jessop said.

I turned, and saw the shotgun aimed in my direction. My trap hadn’t been perfect, but it had hurt him and slowed him down. He was covered in drips of blood from the jabs and cuts of the persistent thorns of the plant I’d strewn on the floor. It was an old-fashioned trap, one made with sharp things and a rope to trip up the bad guy. As a drip of red slid down the side of his face, Jessop became every horror movie image I’d ever seen, minus the hockey goalie’s mask.

And I was about to die.

But another gunshot shook the room, and I watched Jessop fall instead of me, his shotgun going one direction, his body going the other.

I didn’t know what had happened, but I looked toward the large light. This time it went something like this:

“Becca, you okay?” It was Sam’s voice attached to some person who was hidden in the shadows.

“Uh . . .” was all I could say for some time.

“She wasn’t home. We had a date, and she wasn’t home. Things
she’d said earlier made me think she went to Simonsen Orchards, and then Barry called and told me his suspicions regarding Jessop. I found Pauline at Simonsen Orchards, tied up but otherwise unharmed. She told me what had happened. I just followed her leads.”

“Thank you, Barry, Sam,” Allison said as she put her hand on Sam’s knee. Mathis was intrigued by this maneuver, and he reached out and touched Sam on the knee, too.

We all laughed, and it felt good.

We sat around in chairs and benches on my back patio. Allison, her husband, Tom, and Mathis were there; so were Abner, Carl Monroe, Mamma Maria, Sam, and Barry and his wife, Cloris. Ian, self-anointed Master of Hamburgers, was in charge of the grill, and he was doing a fine job.

At Sam’s mention of the word “date,” Ian sent me a quick and private raising of the eyebrows. I smiled, and he smiled back.