Crops and Robbers (17 page)

The next morning, my phone rang at 6 A.M. It took me a minute
to gain my bearings.

I’d picked up Hobbit from George’s and we’d gone home. Though Ian didn’t want us to be apart overnight, with his schedule it only made sense that he stay at his place. I promised him I’d lock and alarm everything. Just as soon as I secured the premises, my dog and I fell into an exhausted sleep.

“’lo?” I answered. Hobbit propped her chin on my leg and peered at me. Her eyes glimmered in the semidarkness.

Allison’s voice came through the line. “You need to get up and meet me at the police station. The hypnotist is on her way, and I need to show you some things I found out about Joan.”

“I thought the hypnotist wasn’t until later.”

“She has someplace she has to be. We had to reschedule, make it a little earlier. Then we’ve got the bail hearing.”

“I’m up and almost out the door,” I lied. “I’m bringing Hobbit.” I was going to drop her off with George again, but I’d told him I’d be there at about seven thirty, not six thirty. Hobbit would have to join me with the rest of my family, at the pokey.

I got ready quickly, hurrying Hobbit through her morning routine, and we jumped in the truck.

I wondered what my mom’s bail would be, if there would be a bail at all. My parents were financially comfortable, but I didn’t know how comfortable. Allison and I had enough money to cover a decent-sized amount, but considering she was suspected of murder, the bail might be set way too high.

My stomach knotted at the thought. Hobbit sensed my anxiety and put her paw next to my leg. She was lying on the passenger side of the truck’s bench seat. She peered up at me, and her eyebrows took turns raising and lowering.

“I know, it’ll be okay eventually, but I’d like for it to be fine right now.” I patted her head. I was again grateful Hobbit was okay. If something had happened to her, I’m not sure I could have coped. It would be some time before I could leave her at home alone. But I’d have to leave her home eventually. I couldn’t have her with me at the market all day, and she wouldn’t want to be there. For now, though, she was still going to be with me or with someone I knew and trusted.

More than once since the murder I’d wished she could talk. She’d seen the killer. She’d been manhandled by him or her—the thought made me cringe. If she’d been hurt . . . I couldn’t allow myself to think about it.

She sighed.

At six fifty-five, I pulled into a parking spot in front of the county municipal building, which housed the police station and jail, as well as other government offices. Allison was sitting alone on the middle of the front steps. Her car, my truck, and two police cruisers were the only vehicles in sight.

“Morning,” I said as Hobbit and I got out of the truck.

“You were speedy. Good job. Thanks for getting here. I wanted us to talk before everyone else arrived.” She handed me the biggest cup of coffee that the Maytabee’s Coffee Shop sold.

“Thanks. So the hypnotist isn’t on her way? That was a ruse?”

“She’ll be here in about half an hour. So will Sam and the attorney. Half an hour is perfect for us to catch up. Hey, girl.” She scratched Hobbit’s back.

I would have come no matter what Allison had said, but telling me the hypnotist was on her way had probably gotten me there a few minutes sooner.

“First,” she said, “tell me about your dinner at Bistro.”

“How about I first tell you what Sam and I found behind the barn?”

“What?”

I told Allison about the piece of glass and about the dinner at Bistro. She wasn’t sure whether my leap regarding Betsy’s glasses made sense or not, but she was willing to agree that no stone should be left unturned.

“Did you bring the list?” she asked.

I got it out of my truck and showed it to her along with the note I’d torn out of the notebook.

“This could mean anything, maybe something unimportant, maybe just Joan marking whether or not she liked someone. Yes, no, maybe. I don’t know. Same with the note.”

“I also talked to Jake about the note. I didn’t mention the full list,” I said.

“Well? What did he say?”

“He and his aunt claimed to know nothing about it. They lied, I know.”

Allison looked at the note again. “I agree that it’s weird they lied, but it still might not mean anything. It’s pretty ambiguous. Plus, remember, Joan was murdered. There was a no by Jake’s. Even if it doesn’t have something to do with the murder, Jake might not want to be seen as uncooperative in any way at this moment in time. I just don’t know.”

I nodded absently. “I’d love some of Manny’s Chicago-style pizza. Want to go with me tonight?”

“I wish I could, Bec, but I have a meeting with the market owners. I can’t miss it. Maybe we could go tomorrow night, or you and Ian could go out again tonight?”

“I’ll talk to him,” I said.

We looked through the list again but had no strong theories regarding it or the note.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“A little, mostly through Google and a quick call to the Smithfield Market manager. He’s had some dealings with Joan.” Allison reached for a bright green file folder that was on the ground next to her. She held it on her lap.

“And?” I said.

“And, he really liked her,” Allison said.

“That’s too bad,” I said. “She bought stuff from that market for the restaurant?”

“Not for the restaurant, but for herself. Everyone at the Smithfield Market knew who she was, and they always hoped she’d try something that would prompt her to get the association restaurants to shop there, but she never did. However, when she shopped the market, she was friendly to everyone. She and the gentleman who sells fish, I guess you’d call him the fishmonger, were friends, so she spent a lot of time chatting with him. Jack, the market manager, isn’t one for gossip, but he was under the impression that Joan flirted with the fishmonger—Lyle Shum is his name—but Lyle wasn’t interested.”

“Was Joan married?”

“Was, yes. She was a widow. Her husband died twenty years ago, and from what I could find it looks like she hasn’t been in a serious relationship since, unless she and Lyle were seeing each other. I do know that she was devoted to her son Nobel. One story, from a Charleston-based restaurant gossipy newsletter—it’s somewhere in here—said that the restaurant was all for Nobel. It was his childhood love of food and cooking that prompted her to get into the restaurant business. She’s owned Bistro ever since he was about thirteen.”

“I’ve heard he’s a food guy but not interested in the business end of the business.”

“Here’s a picture of Joan and Nobel from about a year ago.” Allison handed me a photo.

Joan was dressed in red taffeta and smiled for the camera. Nobel didn’t look quite as happy, but he was handsome even with his extra-pale skin tone and puppy-dog eyes.

“He looks uncomfortable or unhappy,” I said.

“That could be for any number of reasons. Maybe his shoes were too tight. He’s mentioned a lot in the articles I found. There are a number of South Carolina restaurant periodicals. It was fun to look through some of them.” Allison tapped the stack of papers in the folder. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got. I’m going to do some more calling around, but there doesn’t seem to be anything extraordinary, either good or bad, about Joan. She was a businesswoman, successful but not obnoxious about it. I’ve yet to find one bad review of Bistro.”

“She did something to make someone mad,” I said. “Something other than insult my products, I mean.”

“Here, this is yours. I made copies of everything.” She handed me the folder.

Even though she hadn’t ever thrown herself into a murder investigation, she was already more organized about it than I’d ever been.

“Thanks.”

I took the file back to my truck and put it in the glove box. I didn’t think the file was top secret, but just to be safe, I rolled up both windows and locked the doors, double- and triple-checking them.

As I turned to rejoin Hobbit and Allison back on the steps, a sound rang from up the street. It reminded me of a bicycle bell, which is exactly what it turned out to be.

I squinted at the approaching stranger on the old-fashioned style but modernly built light blue bicycle. He was dressed in a suit to match the bike, and his short, dark hair was slicked to his head. He had a leather satchel over his shoulder, and he smiled as he pedaled.

“Is Pee-wee Herman in town for a show or something?” I said to Allison.

She stood and brushed herself off. “I have no idea who that is, but he looks like he’s headed our way.”

“Hellooo,” the man on the bike said as he waved at us.

I expected his voice to be high-pitched, but it wasn’t; it was a nice, smooth baritone, rich and southern.

Allison and I waved. Hobbit moved to sit in front of the two of us, cautiously eyeing the stranger on the bike.

The bike came to an easy halt at the bottom of the steps. The man dismounted and hurried toward us. The way he moved reminded me of a ballerina, not in a feminine way, but in an athletic, precise way.

“Aldous Astaire, attorney-at-law,” he said enthusiastically as he extended a hand.

His voice was so friendly that we all returned the gesture, including Hobbit.

“Well, hello there.” Aldous laughed as he shook her paw. “And you are?”

Hobbit panted.

“That’s Hobbit. I’m Becca and this is Allison,” I said.

“So nice to meet you. I am your mother’s attorney.”

“Oh? Our attorney is Levon Lytle,” Allison said warily. She’d been the one to call Levon the day before. “We’re waiting for him and the hypnotist.”

I liked Aldous immediately, but Allison wasn’t so sure.

“Hypnotist? Oh my, that’s why he wanted me here so early?” Aldous blinked into thought for an instant but came back quickly. “Well, Levon felt unwell this morning. I’m sorry he didn’t reach you. He sends you all his regards. I’m his new partner.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Allison said.

Aldous waved away the concern. “We don’t think so, but he couldn’t be here, so I’ll have to do. Cross my heart I’m qualified. I would like to know more about the hypnotist, however.” He cleared his throat.

“What details did Levon share about the case and about my family?” Allison asked.

Aldous spoke with his hands, again in an elegant dancer fashion, but it took a moment to get used to it.

It turned out that, other than the hypnotist, Levon had shared all the details of the case with Aldous as well as his years-long ties to the Robins family and their hippie ways.

But Aldous was unsure of the involvement of anyone “who called themselves a hypnotist.” He didn’t want someone peering into his client’s subconscious in the presence of either law enforcement officers or perhaps a prosecuting attorney. We told him we didn’t think there would be any other attorneys present and we’d ask the police to leave the room.

“Where’re you from?” I asked.

“Originally Charleston, law school at Yale, a couple years in New York City at a firm that relied on most of their new recruits dying from exhaustion. I was tired of the pace and looked for something smaller, something closer to home. Levon’s my aunt’s boyfriend, so here we are.”

In the next minute, two cars pulled up to the curb and parked next to my truck. Sam got out of his police cruiser as the hypnotist, I presumed, got out of her Cadillac. When in work mode, Sam was pretty good at hiding emotions, especially surprise, but even he rose an eyebrow at the hypnotist’s getup.

“Sarie Short, hypnotist,” she said as she extended her hand just like Aldous had.

This time, Hobbit didn’t lift a paw but looked at me as if to say, “And who’s this?”

Sarie Short had driven up in an older-model Cadillac but was dressed as though she was part of a motorcycle gang. She wore a black leather vest and black leather pants. She had on heavy black boots and heavy blue eye makeup. Her bleached blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. She’d had at least one face-lift. She was extra skinny but compensated with cleavage that might have been part of a two-for-one plastic surgery deal—three-for-one if the face was included.

“I’m Allison, and this is my sister, Becca.” Allison shook the woman’s hand.

“Nice to meet you both.” She nodded toward Aldous and Sam. “I’m sorry about my attire today, but I’m part of a biker group and we’re leaving for a ride this morning.” She turned so we could see the back of her vest; it said “Bikers for Babes.” “We ride for some children’s charities. It takes me so long to pour myself into these tight pants that I just went ahead and got dressed for the ride. That okay?”

We assured her it was fine. I expected her voice to be that of a two-pack-a-day smoker, but it was soft and Marilyn Monroe-like. Aldous’s mouth went thin and sideways as he inspected Sarie. I thought I might have seen a glimmer of interest in his eyes, but I didn’t know him well enough to be sure. Sam’s questioning eyebrow quirked approvingly at the mention of her motorcycle-gang’s cause.

“Shall we go in?” Sam said.

It was still early enough that the front doors of the municipal building were locked. Sam let us in and we followed him up the stairs, past the empty receptionist desk and to the door marked “Police.”

Hobbit and I trailed the crowd of one police officer, one market manager, one bicycle-riding attorney, and one motorcycle woman.

As Sam opened the door to the police offices, a nervous rush rocked my stomach. The fact that my mother had been detained here for days now suddenly made me queasy. Hobbit sensed the change and nudged my knee.

I patted her head.

“Hey, Sam.” Another officer was sitting at one of the desks, his fingers working the keyboard of a computer as he spoke. He was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. “Just typing up this last call we got and I’m out of here.”