Free Farm Fresh Murder by Paige Shelton Page A

be the one to find it.”
    “He’s the best,” Officer Norton repeated. “He’ll figure out the Bailey’s killer, we have no doubt.”
    I cringed at the words she used. Bailey’s should never be associated with a murder. And yet, now it was—at least temporarily.
    Officer Brion reappeared a moment later, carrying in his hands the one thing that would tell both him and me who had most likely been on my porch.
    “Ms. Robins, did you notice these out by your strawberries?” He held up a bouquet of flowers—wildflowers, to be exact.
    “No, this is the first time I’ve seen them.” My heart hollowed as I realized that it had been Abner on my porch, and I’d not only sped away from him in fear, but called the police on him, too.
    “I think I checked everything pretty well, but why don’t the two of you look for further evidence out in Ms. Robins’ strawberries and pumpkins?” he said to the other officers. “Ms. Robins, let’s you and I sit down and get to the bottom of your relationship with Abner Justen.”
    We sat in my kitchen and I poured him a tall, cold glass of iced tea. He was very thirsty and didn’t act as though he was going to light into me, so I relaxed. His tough police exterior seemed to be somewhere else, most likely with his uniform. He wasn’t brusque as he asked this round of repeat questions.
    “You didn’t see the person, though?”
    “No, just the shadow.”
    “So it might not have been Abner.”
    “No, but I know his arranging. He put that bouquet together. If it wasn’t him on the porch, it was someone who’d gotten the flowers from him,” I said.
    “Why would Abner be at your house?”
    “Well, like I told you, we’re very good friends.”
    “But you still claim you didn’t know where he lived until last night?”
    “Yep.”
    Officer Brion glanced at me over his iced tea. He was a nice-looking man in that way you’d never notice when he was in uniform. He had almost generic features: medium brown hair and light brown eyes, but once his hair got a little messy, he wasn’t so generic. He was probably in his early forties, in good shape but not as good as Officer Norton, and he didn’t smile easily.
    “I confirmed that Mr. Justen is secretive about the location of his property, but why do you suppose he told Mr. Cartwright the address so easily?”
    “He must have really wanted one of Ian’s pieces of art. They’re pretty wonderful,” I said, but I doubted that Sam had any use for yard artwork. Besides, we’d been down this road before.
    “But Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Justen hadn’t been acquainted before the yard art transaction?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Hmm. He must have really liked that art.”
    “Uh-huh.” I sensed that he was trying to get me to say something specific, but I had no idea what it was—I worked much better in the worlds of obvious and blatant.
    Okay, it was odd that Abner gave Ian his address so easily. Very odd. Had they known each other? I was under the impression that they hadn’t, but I didn’t know for sure. I hoped my face didn’t show my sudden doubt.
    “What else can you tell me about Mr. Justen? We can’t find record of him ever being married. Do you know anything about his personal life?”
    I sighed. “No, nothing. As well as I knew him, I really don’t think I knew him at all, Officer . . . Sam. I’m trying not to be angry about that because everyone has a right to their privacy, but I at least tell my friends where I live and give them my phone number. Anyway, during our excursion last night, I did see the pictures. Do you know who the blonde was?”
    “No, I was hoping you might.”
    “No clue.”
    Sam sipped at his tea and looked in the direction of the dining room. I decided to fess up.
    “There is something else,” I said.
    “What?”
    “Abner called me today.”
    “Oh?”
    I gave him the details, sparse as they were. He took notes and said he’d check my phone record to see what he could find