Picture Me Dead (31 page)

“It
is
a farm. We've solved it, and the owners should definitely be arrested,” she murmured sarcastically. “David, listen to yourself. We've found a farm that we're not sure is even the right address. What do we do now that's legal and makes sense?” Ashley said, more to herself than to David.

“We get out and look around.”

“We can't just walk around on private property.”

“
I
can.”

“Listen, we need more information, David.”

“Yes, and I intend to get it.”

Ashley was startled when he opened the car door and got out. She swore, starting to open her own door to follow him. But there was one thing she and David Wharton agreed on, and that was the fact that Stuart hadn't wound up half-dead on the highway of his own volition.

She opened her glove compartment, knowing that her police-issue gun should have been turned in and definitely shouldn't be in service.

She was glad to have it anyway, she thought as she pulled it from the glove compartment and put it into her leather over-the-shoulder handbag.

David was already moving along the front edge of the property. At the moment, she thought, they could easily be seen across the low growing fields.

“David, where the hell are you going?” she demanded.

“To that line of trees.”

“We're sneaking up on someone, right? David, if someone is looking right now, we're pretty damn obvious.”

“Then get down.”

“The car is visible.”

He stopped dead. “Right. Go back and get it. Pull up behind those trees there, on the property line. Hurry.”

“You're insane. No wonder the police are furious at you. I should just drive away.”

“But you won't. You won't leave me—and you know that Stuart was on to something.”

He lengthened his stride as he headed for the cover of the trees. Ashley swore and went back for the car, moving as quickly as she could. She cursed thinking that if anyone was watching, they looked incredibly suspicious.

She quickly moved the car down the road. What was apparently the far east line of the property had a stretch of fence along it, and the fence was bordered by trees and foliage. She exited the car, looking at the long line of trees.

“David?” she said, and realized she was whispering. As far as she could tell, no one was anywhere nearby. “David?” she said again, louder, her tone almost angry.

Gritting her teeth, she started walking along the line of trees, moving quickly. The fence was barbed wire, but she saw no sign of it being electrified. In fact, it seemed to be no more than a marker. Trees and foliage grew on both sides of the barrier. As she kept walking southward, the property line made a sudden jog to the right. After that, the neat rows of field suddenly disappeared, and it seemed as if she was in an overgrown jungle. A mosquito buzzed around her cheek. Swearing, she slapped at it.

“David, you damned idiot,” she snapped angrily, twisting around to head back. She was going to leave him. Her sense of responsibility didn't cover maniacs who dragged her into something, and then deserted her.

She turned back in what she thought was the right direction. A moment later, she found herself in a field. Tomatoes. There was a man bent over a plant working, wearing jeans and a denim work shirt with the sleeves cut off. A cotton kerchief was tied around his neck, and he wore a baseball cap against the sun. Before Ashley could duck back into the trees, the man straightened. He was young; as he lifted his cap to wipe his brow, she saw that his hair was sandy-colored and short-cropped. He smiled at her. “Well, hey. Where did you come from?”

“I…wow…I'm sorry. I'm lost.”

His smile became one of polite skepticism. “You're lost in the back of a field of tomatoes?”

He started walking toward her. There was nothing threatening in his behavior; he kept smiling. She noted that there was a basket containing bright red tomatoes where he had been standing. There was a bulge just below his hip. She was tempted to call out in Mae West fashion,
Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

It was a knife. He came close enough for her to realize that he had a leather sheath attached to his belt. It looked like a big knife.

It was daylight. The sun was streaming down on a stretch of lazy farmland. The man was about her own age, smiling, apparently pleasant, and not alarmed at a trespassing visitor, merely amused.

She was still glad of the .38-caliber gun in her shoulder bag.

“So you're lost…well, welcome anyway. Do you need to use a phone? Would you like to come up to the house for a glass of water or anything?”

“I have a cell phone, thanks.”

He nodded. “Can I get you something to drink? The sun can be brutal out here.”

No!
All she wanted to do was get the hell away. She was torn between feeling like an idiot and suffering from a tremendous sense of unease. But if anything terrible was going on around here, it was unlikely that the young man would have invited her in for a glass of water.

And what an opportunity. She could talk to the man and see inside the house.

“I'm really sorry to have bothered you,” she said quickly. “I was looking for some property, and out here, well, finding a street address is nearly impossible. I'd thought that maybe, if I followed the fence…I thought the place next door might be the address I was looking for.”

“I doubt that,” the young man said. He extended a hand to her. “I'm Caleb. Caleb Harrison. Come on up to the house. It looks like a trek, but it's not really so far.”

“Really, I don't mean to bother you.”

“You're not bothering me. Living way out here, I don't see too many people, so I'm glad for the interruption. This is a back-to-basics kind of life. A lot of hard work, but time to smell the roses, too, you know?”

“Yes.” She was standing dead still, reminding herself that she had a gun, and she knew how to use it. And she would be an idiot to miss a chance to see the property.

She extended a hand. “I'm Monica Shipping,” she said, using the first name that came into her mind. “And thanks, I'd love a glass of water.”

As they walked, he pointed out his tomatoes and strawberries. “Up by the house, there are all kinds of vegetables. They grow great here. Our neighbors have citrus trees. Not a great place for them, but they seem determined.” As they neared the house, she noted the numerous buildings that stretched out behind it, toward the rear of the property. “See here?” he said, stopping by the garden. “Cabbage, carrots, you name it. We're completely self-sufficient. We're all vegetarians, so that makes it easy, really.”

“All?” Ashley inquired with a smile. “How many of you live here?”

“Right now? There are eight of us.”

“Are you married? That's a big family.”

“More like a group of friends.”

“A…religious group?”

He laughed. “No. More like a commune. Just a group of people who enjoy farming, being together—and out of the mainstream bustle and trauma of life.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“Are you interested?”

She smiled carefully. “I don't know…. I have to admit, I've never thought about anything like this.”

“Well, come in. See the place.”

He brought her to a step that led up to a little porch. There was a screen door, which was closed, but the wooden door behind it was wide open. There was no air-conditioning, she noticed. The day was bright, but they weren't in the dead heat of summer, so inside, the temperature was pleasant enough.

She felt as if she had walked into a New England farmhouse. There was a knit rug before a hearth, and comfortable-looking, if slightly worn, overstuffed sofas with homey throws tossed over them. There were two rocking chairs, a basket of someone's knitting and a pile of magazines. The titles she could see included something about cabinetry and home gardening.

“Come in the kitchen,” he invited.

She did so. Vegetables littered the counter. Someone was getting ready to prepare a large meal. A large vegetarian meal, she realized.

They might be self-sufficient, and they might have eschewed air-conditioning, but they did have electricity. He opened the refrigerator. “Water, and lots of juice.”

She was thinking that at the moment, she could use a double espresso, which she was sure was entirely out of the question here. “Water would be fine, thanks.”

He poured her a glass of cold water, then indicated a seat at the kitchen table. She sat and looked around. The place really was charming. Copper pots and accessories hung from ceiling hooks. Mason jars filled with various preserves lined the windowsills. The chairs were covered with handmade cushions in a cheerful blue.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“My pleasure.” He smiled. “I get to see tomatoes in that field all day. You're the first beautiful woman who's ever appeared. It's a bit unreal.”

“Thanks again,” she said.

“So what do you do?”

“I'm an artist. I do sketches.”

“For tourists?”

She didn't correct him.

“But you're looking for property in this area?”

She laughed. “Yes. But I'm afraid I'm not as idealistic as you seem to be. I thought I'd just like a lot of land, some space.”

He nodded. “A lot of people feel that way. You must be good, though, if you can afford a plot of land this big.”

“Well…you know tourists. It's all in the perception. You get one person saying they must have a sketch by a certain artist, and whether you're any good or not, your work is the hot item to bring home.”

“If you ever need a bunch of tomatoes to sketch, let me know.”

“I will.” She set her glass down. “I really have to get back.”

“I'll walk you to your car.”

“No, no. I've taken way too much of your time.”

“It's been a pleasure. Please, I hope you come back. Hey, on Saturday nights, Maggie—our resident folk guitarist—plays some great stuff. Please come back by and see us, if you're free.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will.”

He walked back out with her, but when she insisted she could find her car, he headed back to his tomatoes, while she kept walking toward the road. She knew she was being watched and fought the temptation to look back. It struck her as strange that eight people supposedly lived there, but she hadn't seen anyone else.

She kept her eyes on the road, then walked along it to the barbed wire fence to reach her car. She didn't see hide nor hair of David, and she was cursing him when she slid into the driver's seat. She revved the engine and started driving slowly down the road.

“Where the hell are you, you idiot?” she muttered. At that moment, he suddenly burst out of a group of trees about twenty yards in front of her. She drove closer and stopped, switching off the engine while she watched him work his way through the tangled landscape. Once he reached her, he hopped in swiftly.

He touched her face, giving a sigh of relief. “I was about to call for backup.”

“Backup?”

“Well, I guess I should have said I was about to call the cops, but since you're still kind of an almost-cop, I said backup.”

“I should have left you here, you idiot. I got caught traipsing around out there.”

“Yeah, I saw you with some guy.”

“I ran into him in a tomato field. I was trespassing, but he was decent about it.”

“Tell me everything.”

“It's a nice house, clean as a whistle. He says he lives there with seven other people. They're doing their best to live off the land. It's a commune.”

“What were the others like?”

“I didn't see any of the others.”

“Then where the hell were they?”

“I don't know. Maybe they have day jobs before they turn back into hippies at night. He didn't threaten me in any way, I didn't see any marijuana growing in the midst of his tomatoes. So…all that, and I didn't really get a damned thing.”

“We need to find out who owns the place,” David said.

“The guy told me his name was Caleb Harrison.”

“Biblical.”

“He said the place had nothing to do with religion. I know all kinds of guys down here named Jesus—it's a popular Hispanic name, you know—and they're not religious fanatics in the least.”

“I think we should look around some more.”

“I think we should get off this road and then argue about where to go from here,” Ashley said firmly, turning the key in the ignition again.

David didn't get a chance to answer. There was a thump on the back of the car.