Free Farm Fresh Murder by Paige Shelton Page B

out.
    “You know, Ms. Robins, this is a murder investigation. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know if Mr. Justen attempts to reach you again.”
    “Sure,” I said, appropriately subdued. I should have told him sooner.
    “Now, what about tonight?”
    “What about it?”
    “Is there someone you can call—someone you can ask to come over or someplace you can go? I’ll have officers drive by throughout the night, but I want you to feel comfortable.”
    “Oh, I’ll call my sister.” I wasn’t sure if I would or not, but she’d welcome both me and Hobbit. I didn’t think I’d be uncomfortable, though. Even though Officer Brion was pretty convinced that Abner had something to do with Matt Simonsen’s death, I still had at least a little doubt. If Abner’d been on my front porch, he’d probably just wanted a friend to talk to. But I couldn’t deny the chill that zipped up my spine as I thought about the axe—really, could Abner have used it to kill someone?
    “Very good. Would you like me to wait while you call?”
    “Oh, no. All is well. I actually have an alarm system.” I did, though I hadn’t activated it in years. I thought I still had the code written on a piece of paper in a drawer somewhere.
    “Well, then, thank you for your time, Ms. Robins. I’ll be in touch, and please let me know if you hear from Mr. Justen again.”
    “Of course.”
    I watched the officers drive away. I kept Hobbit at my side as I locked everything and searched for the security system code, to no avail.
    Finally, after about fifteen minutes of watching television in my bedroom and imagining all sorts of mysterious noises, I called Allison and told her we were coming over.

Eight

    I still didn’t sleep well.
    It wasn’t that I was concerned about safety at Allison’s house, but I spent most of the night being angry. I was almost 100 percent certain that Abner had been the shadow on my porch. Why the mystery with me? Why hadn’t he just shown himself? Why hadn’t he called again?
    I woke the next morning, anxious to get up and get to work—just not the work at my stall. Without question, I was determined to figure out who killed Matt Simonsen. That earlier jab of denial about the murderer potentially being Abner was lessening with every moment that passed. It wasn’t so much that I believed he did it, but if he did do it, I was ready to face that reality and do whatever was necessary to bring him to justice. No matter that we were friends, this craziness had to stop.
    Allison and I were up and out of her house early—Hobbit had no interest in rising from the guest futon we’d shared, and Allison’s husband would get their son, Mathis, up, dressed, and fed. Large coffees and even larger donuts were our breakfast as I drove us along the highway, precrack-of-dawn.
    “I understand your determination, Becca,” Allison said in between coffee sips, “but be careful.”
    “I will. I won’t do anything crazy, but we know these people, Allison—farmers’ market people.”
    “Everyone’s a mystery in some way or another. You’ve seen that with Abner. Maybe the murder had absolutely nothing to do with market people.”
    “That’s what I’m going to find out.”
    After a moment of thought she said, “Okay, let me know what I can do to help.”
    I nodded in the darkness. I thought about telling her my observations of Carl Monroe at the previous day’s meeting, but I didn’t. There might have been nothing strange about his actions—I’d look into it further, though, then maybe tell her.
    “So,” she continued. “Jessop Simonsen should be working at Smithfield today. I called Mrs. Simonsen yesterday to let her know about the dinner and the fact that we would have a moment of silence for Matt. She was actually very happy that we were continuing with our plans, by the way. And she said that Jessop has to work. He can’t deal with sitting around all day thinking about what happened.”
    “I guess I get