I don’t know what I expected – a quick confession, a brash denial, blows between the two suspects – but instead, Ace and Homer just nodded when Santiago mentioned poison and said something to the effect of “how terrible” and “that’s too bad.” To say they underreacted would be, well, an understatement.
But given that my dad almost always underreacted to nearly everything, I wasn’t as surprised as I might have been. It seemed to be a facet of the personalities of some rural men to take anything in stride, at least in a public setting. My dad had been known to fly off the handle and punch a wall or two in his younger years, but only rarely, and only ever in the privacy of his own home.
Now, it seemed like Ace and Homer had received the same stoic training my dad had received, some sort of lesson about acting strong and tough no matter what, I imagined. In this case, though, it looked far more like acting or downright lying than it did some macho nonsense.
“Either of you know what might have happened?” Santiago asked.
The two men stared at the sheriff and then looked at each other. “I think he suspects one of us,” Ace said.
“Seems he does,” Homer added. “Sorry, Sheriff, you’re barking up the wrong old trees here.” He stood and stretched before picking up his two beer cans. “I best be off, though. Need to feed the cat before she climbs the roof and gets onto my bed through my window again.”
I stared at my dad’s best friend and then glanced over at my dad, who had a very puzzled expression on his face. But when he didn’t say anything, I didn’t either.
“Well, if either of you think of anything,” Santiago said as he rose to his feet, “you’ll call me, right?”
“Sure thing, Sheriff,” Ace said as he stood, too. “And I’ll be down tomorrow to give my statement on that other matter.”
Homer glanced at the older man but didn’t say anything. “See you at lunch tomorrow, Sheriff.”
I glanced over at Santiago, who kept his gaze leveled on the two men as they walked across the yard. “Looking forward to it.”
Once the men were in their cars and pulling out, I turned to Santiago. “What was that?”
“That? That was two men with a pact,” Dad said.
“A pact?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Just trust me, Pais. Those men made a promise to each other this afternoon, and they aren’t going to break that promise if they can help it.” Dad dragged himself to his feet. “I’ll help any way I can, Santi, but that’s a mighty hard stone wall you’re facing.”
“I can be a bit of a jackhammer when I need to be, Lee. Don’t you worry.” He shook Dad’s hand and then sat down again beside me on the porch floor. “This all just got a lot more complicated.”
I sighed and leaned my shoulder against his. “When doesn’t it get more complicated?”
“When you die,” Saul said and followed my dad inside.
After everyone else left, I decided I wanted to give the house a good once-over before Sawyer came back the next morning. Nothing was harder in terms of cleaning than trying to vacuum a house when your toddler kept unplugging the machine.
I apologized to Santiago that I wasn’t much for sitting around and thinking anymore but that I didn’t mind if he did, and he said, “Are you kidding? I couldn’t sit still if I wanted to. Give me a dust rag.”
So for the next two hours, we organized toys (and claimed a few for Goodwill), vacuumed, dusted, and even cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. By the time we were done, the house looked and smelled amazing, and Beauregard was thoroughly annoyed by the commotion. He seemed to get over it, though, when I sat down, turned on the TV, and picked up my sewing basket while Santiago took out his phone and began a new game of Words with Friends with my stepmom. They were fierce competitors, and I didn’t dare interfere in their battle.
My eyes were tired, and it had been a long day. But I wanted to make progress on Father Winter, and so I took out the hoop, made a goal to finish at least two ten-by-ten squares and set to work. Once his game was done, Santiago turned on Manifest, and I actually managed to finish three squares while we binged through two episodes of our new favorite show. The mystery was getting intense, and I found myself wishing that I got “callings” that led me to help. Maybe if I did, I could help Santiago find who had killed Melvin Smith, Junior.
I wanted to ask him a million questions about the case, but I knew that both of us needed to let it rest for the night, let our minds work on things behind the scenes so that we could sleep.
The next morning, I woke at seven and texted Sawyer’s dad to ask him to bring him to my new shop at ten. I wanted to get an early start on work, and I knew Sawyer would love helping me as well as playing on the big equipment in Saul’s lot.
When Saul had offered me the space, he had stipulated that rent was only to be comprised of Sawyer visits and occasional baked goods. So after giving my boy a big hug, hearing a bit about his camping adventures, and being sure he had eaten a good breakfast (“Two waffles, Mom,” he assured me), I made good on my rent and walked him over to see Saul.
My son had gone through all the usual phases of being afraid of strangers and friends alike, but now he was in one of those delightful developmental moments where he loved the people he knew and was always excited to see them. Today was no exception, and as soon as the two spotted each other, they grinned and ran to meet like they were in some romantic movie on the beach. Only with gravel and construction dust.
Saul scooped Sawyer up and spun him around, and I wished I’d pulled out my camera because this was precious blackmail material for the future. The moment ended too quickly for me to film, however, and soon they were headed my way with what I could already tell was a request.
“Mom, can I go with Uncle Saul to his contruckton site? He needs my help.” Saw’s vocabulary was amazing, but his pronunciation always won the day.
“Sure, Saw, you can go to the contruckton site.” I looked at Saul. “Text me the address and I’ll pick him up in a couple of hours.” I looked back at my son. “We have a hamburger date, remember?”
“Hambooger, Mom. You don’t say it right,” he said seriously.
“Alright, there, Mr. Know-It-All. Have fun,” I said with a laugh, “and don’t forget to wear your hard hat.”
“Already in the truck,” Saul said as the two headed off to Saul’s pickup, where he had installed a car seat just for my son. My boy was lucky to have so many people who loved him so well.
Back at my shop, I still had to unload the plow that Ace had insisted I take home the previous day. It was a lovely piece and would make a great focus point for someone’s garden, but I felt uneasy about having this or any of the other things he’d given me since he might be a murderer after all.
Still, I figured if he was a killer, it was probably better that I not insult him by returning his things, and so I decided to display the plow out in front of the store with a collection of mums that I’d just bought to decorate with. I added in a few decorative gourds and pumpkins, and soon I had a veritable autumn theme going on.
Inside, I didn’t have much left to do but be sure everything was priced, twiddle with the displays, and make up my signage about how people could bring in salvage from their property. I decided all that could wait, though. I really needed to get out my bonus newsletter so I could get folks their twenty percent off coupon for opening weekend.
I needed something more for the letter, though, so I researched “round barns,” as I had learned even the eight-sided one like ours was called “round,” and wrote up a little article. Apparently, Octonia’s round barn had been one of just over four hundred in the U.S. I was very glad that we’d preserved the poles and beams, and I was even more thrilled that someone was going to turn them into a house.
With my article written, my coupon image made, and the email scheduled for prime email time of one p.m., I felt like I was in good shape for the day and decided to take Mika lunch before picking up Sawyer at the site near home. Saul had texted with the address and said they were having a grand time riding in the forklift so to take my time. I decided to honor that request and grabbed some veggie subs from the local deli in the Gas N Go for Mika and Mrs. Stephenson.
When I got to her shop, Mika pulled out some flavored seltzer from her fridge, and Mrs. Stephenson produced a stash of cheese crackers from her own bag. Now, they had a great meal, and while they ate, we spent the next half-hour talking about nothing important except the best weight of yarn to use for mittens if they were going to get wet. Apparently, I learned, heavyweight wool was the only way to go.
As they finished up their food, I headed out to my car to ride out and get Sawyer, but before I could get my door open, a large hand slammed against the top of it and kept me from opening it. I spun around and stared right into the face of a very large, very angry young man. His pale skin was red with what I could only assume was anger, given the glare in his eyes, and he seemed quite determined to stay in this position with me pinned against my car.
Fortunately, I had my keys in my hand, so I was able to force my arm up into his face. “Back up or I’ll drive this into your eye.”
Apparently, the threat was enough because he backed up and let me step to the side. He didn’t move far, though, and while I was tempted to dash back into Mika’s store, I expected his long arms would grab me before I got two feet. Instead, I shoved my hand into my back pocket and pressed down one of the volume buttons and the power button on my phone and hoped this feature I’d read about to dial 911 worked.
“You killed him,” the man growled as I tried to inch a bit further toward the back of my car.
The last thing I wanted to do was engage in a conversation with a guy this angry, but I didn’t have much choice since ignoring him was, I was certain, only going to enrage him further. “Killed who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My father. I don’t know what you did, but I know you killed him.” The man stepped a bit closer to me again.
Sometimes, sympathy in the face of anger took people off their guard, so I tried it. “I’m so sorry to hear about your father’s death. I lost my mom. It’s terrible.”
My tactic did not have the desired effect because he took a long step toward me and pinned me against my car again, this time with one arm on each side of my head. “Do not compare me to you, Paisley Sutton.”
Well, at least I was clear that he was threatening the person he wanted to threaten. “Please give me some space.” I started to raise my keys again, but he pushed my arm down to my side.
“I am not giving you anything. You are a murderer, and you will pay.” His grip on my arm tightened.
“Okay then,” I whispered. “Then call the police. Tell them what you know. Let them investigate.”
The man spat a laugh right into my face. “Are you kidding? Do you think I’m stupid? You’re dating the sheriff. How in the world could I expect they’d actually investigate?” He leaned closer to me.
But then, he was gone, and when my eyes refocused, I saw him pinned to the ground beneath Savannah and Santiago. Apparently, my call had gone through. I slumped against my car and watched Savannah slide cuffs around the man’s wrists.
As soon as he was secure, with Savannah keeping a firm grip on his shoulder as he sat on the curb, Santiago came over and put my face between his hands. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I think so. Who is that?”
“Melvin Smith.”
I stared at Santi for a minute. “Another one?”
Santiago smiled. “The grandson. Yes.”
“Seriously, people need to buy a baby name book.” I tried to laugh, but my chest was still tight with fear. “I think I need to sit down.”
He opened my car door, and I slid into the back seat, too overwhelmed to even notice, much, the stash of raisins behind Sawyer’s car seat.
“Stay put,” Santiago said. “I’m getting Mika.” He jogged off in the direction of the shop, and I managed to pull my phone out of my pocket and see that it had, indeed, dialed 911. In fact, the dispatcher was still on the line, softly calling my name.
I put the phone to my ear. “Santiago and Savannah made it,” I said. “Thank you.”
The woman on the other end let out a long breath. “Good. See you soon, Paisley.” I hung up and made a mental note to take her some flowers . . . and learn her name.
Then, I called Saul, briefly explained what had happened, and asked if he could bring Sawyer to me. “Will do,” he said, “after we get burgers, if that’s okay. He’s been talking about hamboogers all morning.”
“Thanks, Saul. See you in a bit.” I let the phone drop beside me on the floor and then leaned my head against the back seat. Now that my brain was clearing, I had a minute to think. Clearly this Melvin Smith thought I had killed his father, and I guess since the man had been at my house just before his death, it wasn’t such a big leap.
Maybe the grandson didn’t know about Leo Farrow or his grandfather’s involvement. Or maybe someone had pointed a finger at me, although I couldn’t think of who. Even if Homer or Ace had poisoned Smith, I didn’t see either of them as someone to pass the blame to me.
I didn’t have much time to think it all through though because just then Mika and Mrs. Stephenson rushed over, and I was soon bustled back into the store, covered with a warm blanket, and handed a cup of hot tea.
“Your dad and Lucille are on their way,” Mika said. “I hear there are vanilla scones coming, too.”
I laughed. There was not an emergency that Lucille didn’t have a baked good for.
As Santiago and Savannah took Smith to the station, I tried to gather myself. Sawyer didn’t need to see me being all shaky and sweaty, so I closed my eyes, held my tea with both hands, and took some deep breaths.
The next thing I knew, a tiny body was climbing into my lap and nestling his head under my chin. “Mommy, we can just snuggle?” Saw asked.
I had apparently fallen asleep, and I’m pretty sure that there is no better way to wake up than to the person I love most in the world giving me comfort. I wrapped my arms around him and said, “Thank you, Saw. Let’s snuggle.”
As I peered over his head, I could see my friends and family gathered together at the table in the back of the store, but when Santiago glanced my way, he smiled and nodded. Clearly, they were okay without me for a few minutes.
Sadly, Saw’s snuggling portion of the day was over quickly, and soon, he was up and charging through the store after Mika, who had created a new form of freeze tag involving purple yarn and my father. The three of them were zooming around as Santiago, Savannah, Lucille, Saul, and I sat at the table.
“I need to get your statement, Pais,” Santiago said as he squeezed my hand. “Are you up to giving it now?”
I nodded and told them exactly what had happened at my car. He and Savannah took notes, and when I was finished, she said, “Excellent. That’s enough for an assault charge if you want to press charges.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to press charges, but I didn’t know if I had the energy to do that. Between the shop opening, Sawyer, and this whole murder situation, I was already feeling pretty overwhelmed. I looked at Santiago. “Do you need me to press charges?”
Santiago studied my face. “It’s really up to you, but in terms of the investigations or your safety, we don’t need Smith in jail, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t be certain, of course, but I think his attack on you was driven by grief and very focused. I don’t think he’ll hurt you or anyone else again.”
Lucille put her hand on my arm. “You need to do what you think is best here, Paisley.”
I sighed. “I don’t want to press charges, but can you communicate to Smith one condition for me?”
“I’ll pass along any message you want,” Santiago said, “just know I can’t make him comply.”
“Understood. Please ask him if he’ll bring his grandfather to my shop tomorrow morning to talk with all of us.” I didn’t exactly know what I was planning to ask either man, but it felt like the least we could make out of this situation was a chance to solve two murders.
Santiago tilted his head and looked at me. “Okay. But Savannah and I will both be there.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said. “Lucille, will you see if Dad can convince Homer and Ace to come back, too?”
A hand on my shoulder preceded my father’s voice. “I don’t think that will be a problem. And Stephen Davis’s niece, too, if that’s okay. I talked with her this morning.”
Santiago looked up at Dad and nodded. “Thanks for convincing her to come in.”
I looked between the two men. “Did she know anything?”
“Not much,” Savannah said, “but she was going to ask around in her family. She seemed really open to helping.”
I picked up my now-cool tea mug and took a sip. “Well, looks like we’re going to have quite a gathering in the morning.”
Sawyer and I spent the rest of the afternoon at home, playing, watching videos of small children tumbling over, and simply hanging out. I answered a few emails in response to my grand opening email, and by the time we’d had dinner and Saw was asleep, I had some serious interest in several of my items in the shop because of photos I’d included in the email. It looked like the grand opening was going to be a fun weekend . . . but first I had to get there.
While I stitched the fur lining on Father Winter’s cloak and caught up on Ted Lasso, I thought a bit about our gathering in the morning. I wasn’t quite sure what had prompted me to want to talk to either of the living Melvin Smiths. The first two I’d met hadn’t been exactly pleasant people, but I knew there was something we needed to know – something we were missing.
Plus, I’d learned in my years of reporting and research that sometimes stories come forth when people can bounce memories off of each other. Someone remembers one detail which reminds someone else of another. Soon, everyone is remembering more and sharing stories . . . and usually laughter. I didn’t know if we’d get to laughter in the morning, but I hoped we’d get to the stories.
I slept fitfully that night, and my dreams all spiraled around a deep, dark hole, shards of glass, and a long, rusty knife. When my alarm went off, I was almost grateful to wake up. Almost.
Sawyer, however, barely moved as I slid out of bed and headed downstairs. Apparently, he needed to catch up on some sleep from his week in the woods with his dad, and I was grateful for a little quiet time to get my head on straight.
Beauregard, however, had other ideas about quiet and began meowing with the gusto of a tiger as soon as he heard my feet on the stairs. I came into the living room to find him talking away to me from his fully reclined position on the couch. Clearly, whatever he needed wasn’t urgent enough for him to give up his comfort.
So I made my coffee before I filled his bowl. I could sense his dirty look from behind my back as I stirred in my creamer, but I didn’t care. Today, I was going to need to stand up for myself in lots of ways, I expected, and so I practiced on my testy Maine Coon.
With Sawyer finally dressed in his Avengers shirt and his grubbiest jeans so that he could help the members of Saul’s crew “organize” the work lot, we loaded up, cat and all, and headed toward my shop. I always loved stores that had animals in them – bookstores with dogs or cats, the hardware store I’d seen once in LA with a resident bunny – so I was determined that Beauregard would become a fixture at my little shop. He didn’t like the idea, I don’t think, but he didn’t like much of anything so I decided to forego his wishes – and ply him with treats, lots of treats.
As soon as we arrived, Sawyer trotted off with a woman who ran one of Saul’s crews and Beau settled into the wicker basket that I’d lined with a real sheepskin. He gave me a kind of nasty look but then began to snore, so I figured that was probably as good as I was going to get.
I had brought the coffee carafe from home and was thrilled when Dad and Lucille pulled up with a platter full of Lucille’s infamous biscuits and sausage gravy. Dad also took a steaming tray of scrambled eggs out of the back seat, and before I knew it, they had a veritable breakfast bar set up on a folding table just outside the shop.
As I set up folding chairs in a semicircle, Santiago pulled up with a few more seats. Savannah and I double-checked to be sure we had chairs for everyone we expected, and when we felt sure we were ready, we all sat down with a huff. We had about ten minutes before everyone was due to arrive, according to Saul, who had already helped himself to some biscuits and gravy, and we needed to strategize a bit.
“So this was your plan, Pais. What are you thinking?” Dad asked.
I sighed. “I’m honestly just hoping that someone will share the truth and that we can corroborate what they say based on the others’ reactions.” As I said my strategy, I realized it was a little lame from a police investigation point of view. It definitely wasn’t something that would hold up in court, but my hope was that once the truth was out, people would find they didn’t have the energy to protect it anymore.
I’d seen that happen more than once in my research. Someone finally tells a great family secret, and suddenly, it doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. In this case, of course, murder was a very big deal, but maybe, just maybe, the men who were coming would feel that once it was out, it just needed to be out all the way. I could hope.
Santiago nodded. “I think it could work, Paisley. I do. But you do know that we’ll then have to get formal statements.”
“Will we?” Savannah asked as she pulled a slim tape recorder from her pocket. “I was thinking. What if Paisley asked for permission to record? She could tell them up front that she may use what they say in future articles for her newsletter, and we could circle the group on record and introduce ourselves, that way it would be clear we are police officers.”
Lucille laughed. “The uniforms won’t give that away?”
“Not on a recording,” Savannah said with a wink. “It’s not foolproof, and a judge could throw it out, but maybe . . .”
“Do you think they’ll still talk if they’re being recorded?” Santiago asked.
I nodded. “My experience is that people often forget they’re being recorded if we don’t make a big deal about it. Maybe just start the recorder and put it in your cup holder, Savannah?”
“Sounds good,” she said.
“It’s worth a shot,” Dad added, sounding more than a little nervous himself. “Anything you need me to do?”
Santiago looked at me. “Pais?”
“Actually, I’m hoping you’ll kick off the conversation, Dad, tell them what you remember, maybe suggest that you aren’t sure you’re remembering things correctly?”
Dad smiled. “That’s easy since that’s the truth. I’m not sure how to make heads or tails of any of this.” He looked over my head toward the gate. “Show’s on.”
I turned and saw Homer and Ace walking in with Melvin Smith and an older man with exactly the same ears as his grandson. Beyond them in a pickup by the road, I saw a woman watching us, and when she stepped out, Savannah leaned forward and said, “California Davis-Baca, Stephen Davis’s niece.”
I smiled. Everyone had come, which was something, and not a small something either. I realized they could either be here to be sure they weren’t implicated or simply to throw blame somewhere else, but at least everyone was in the same place to talk about the same thing, finally.
Lucille stepped right into her favorite role as host and invited everyone to the table for food. Once plates and mugs were full, I told everyone that I was glad they were here, mentioned that unless anyone objected, Savannah would be recording our conversation, and then asked everyone to introduce themselves. Most of us knew each other, so this felt a little silly. But fortunately, California Davis-Baca was from out of town, so it didn’t seem so weird.
Introductions done and recorded, I again thanked everyone for coming and took the liberty of suggesting that everyone had been invited to help out my dad. “You know my dad is my hero, so it means a lot to me that you’re all here,” I said.
Dad didn’t miss a beat and said, “I know I was there that morning. But I really don’t know what I remember anymore. The barn. A rolled-up rug. But that’s about all I’ve got. I’m hoping you can help me fill in the rest of the story.”
A silence filled the space around us, and, for a brief moment, I wondered if everyone was simply going to keep their mouths shut. But then California said, “I think my uncle may have killed Leo Farrow.” The corners of her mouth were turned down in a deep frown, and it looked like maybe she was trying to hold back tears.
Ace studied her face a moment and said, “No, he didn’t.” He looked at Homer but didn’t say anything further.
Melvin Smith, the younger, looked at Ace and then at Homer and then over at his grandfather. The older Melvin stared at his hands but then quietly said, “I did it.”
Santiago’s eyes shot over to the man and then to Ace before landing on Homer, who was gazing into the middle distance behind Dad’s head. “Gentlemen, someone isn’t telling the truth here,” Santi said. “Ace, care to say anything?”
I admired Santiago’s efforts to let the men speak for themselves, but I could feel my anxiety rising. Something was going on here, and I was determined to figure it out. “Please, tell the truth.”
Homer’s gaze landed on my face. “My father killed Leo Farrow,” he said firmly. “He did it.”
Ace’s shoulders tensed, but then he said, “No, that’s not true either. I killed him. I stabbed him.”
I threw my hands up in the air and shouted, “So what? Did you all take turns stabbing the man? What is going on here?”
Santiago put a hand on my arm. “They’re protecting each other, Paisley. They know I can’t make an arrest if I don’t have a clear perpetrator, so they’re covering up the truth.”
None of the men would meet my eyes, and I felt the weight of what Santi had said sink in. “Is that true? Don’t you want justice for Farrow? Don’t you feel guilty?” The anger was clawing at the inside of my rib cage, and I wanted to shake these men.
California looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, Paisley. Men, please, don’t you think Mrs. Farrow and her children deserve the truth after all this time?” Her voice was soft and pleading. “This is all so messed up.”
Santiago nodded, “But given that we had a clear suspect” – he looked at Ace Watkins – “until a few minutes ago, I wanted to wait to talk to the family until I had made an arrest.” He sighed. “Now, though, I guess I’m going to have to talk to them.”
A fleeting glanced passed from Ace to Homer to Melvin Smith, but no one said a thing.
After a few more moments of tense silence, Dad spoke up. “Will you all tell the truth about this? Did the four of you take Farrow’s body in that rug and dump it in the old privy at the barn? Am I remembering that correctly?”
Again, the men looked at each other and then Melvin Smith said, “Yes, the four of us did that. We know that’s a crime. We will gladly take our consequences.”
“Exactly.” Ace looked at Dad and then at Homer. “And we’re sorry you boys had to see that.”
I let my head fall back and stared at the light-blue sky above me. In four days, I was opening my new store, and I so wanted to do that with this all cleared up, for Santiago’s sake and my dad’s. But also for mine. I wanted a clear and happy grand opening, but that was seeming less and less likely.