then commented that we needed some family-only time.
Sam kept his distance from the rest of us, and before he left he stated that none of us were to leave town and once the results of evidence testing were in, he was sure he’d want to talk to us more.
His last gesture before leaving was a small nod to me. I thought he was trying to tell me that he’d do whatever he could to quickly find out what happened to Joan. I also thought his eyes apologized for what he might have to do: arrest me or my mother. I wasn’t worried about myself, but I’d felt my face burn with fear at the thought my mother might be found in some way guilty.
My mother couldn’t kill anyone, could she? When Allison and I were little girls, she wouldn’t even kill spiders or mice, but instead found a way to take them out of the house and set them free in the woods.
Every creature has its place, girls, and that place definitely isn’t always in our house. I’m just going to help these lost souls find their way back to where they really belong.
Mom was about peace, love, and rock and roll, though the last part had mellowed over the years. She and Dad recycled everything. A few months earlier, Allison and I were perplexed at a plan they shared with us for converting their RV so that it ran on corn, or some such thing. We never got the full story.
Neither of them had a violent or murderous bone in their body. They would do whatever they had to do to protect one of their daughters from danger, but insults didn’t fall into a serious enough category to kill.
“Perhaps we should have you hypnotized,” Dad said. “Maybe that would help you remember.”
We were gathered in my infrequently used front room. Allison and I looked at each other in the familiar way we’d had since we were little and hadn’t quite understood much of the metaphysical nature of our parents’ beliefs.
“I suppose that’s a possibility,” Mom said. “Or, given time, maybe it will all come back.”
“Mom,” I interrupted, “do you know who Bo Stafford is?”
“Sort of. I know his mother, actually. We were friends in high school, good friends. Do you remember Miriam, Jason?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t know Bo other than the fact that he has a stall at Bailey’s,” Mom said.
“He came and talked to me today about Joan and how she and some other restaurant owners had once bought onions from his family’s farm. Then, one day, they just stopped.”
“That could have hurt their business,” Mom said.
“Probably some, but I got the impression it was more a personal affront to Bo’s mom than a blow to their business,” I said. “Do you know anything about their financial status?”
“Miriam always seemed to have enough money for all the high school things, but I don’t know more than that.”
“Bo has his own view of the world, Becca. He’s not a bad guy, but he sometimes finds the worst in everything and everybody,” Allison added. “He’s pretty protective of his fellow market vendors. He might take the insult to your products personally.”
“Personally enough to kill?” Ian asked. He’d been quiet most of the evening. Meeting my parents for the first time under such circumstances wasn’t what either of us had hoped for, but they’d still greeted him with welcoming hugs.
For a long moment, we were silent.
“I don’t know,” Allison finally said.
Somehow, we’d managed to eat dinner—quickly made sandwiches. Well, most of us had just picked at our food. It was rare that we were all together, and though we were still in shock, we all wanted to try to enjoy each other’s company.
I suddenly wanted to get in my truck and go talk to Bo Stafford myself, but Sam had made me promise I would stop being so eager to investigate murders. This was different, though. I was even more invested in the outcome of this case than I had been in the previous two I’d thrown myself into. My mom was involved, and nobody messes with my mom.
Still, I
Sam kept his distance from the rest of us, and before he left he stated that none of us were to leave town and once the results of evidence testing were in, he was sure he’d want to talk to us more.
His last gesture before leaving was a small nod to me. I thought he was trying to tell me that he’d do whatever he could to quickly find out what happened to Joan. I also thought his eyes apologized for what he might have to do: arrest me or my mother. I wasn’t worried about myself, but I’d felt my face burn with fear at the thought my mother might be found in some way guilty.
My mother couldn’t kill anyone, could she? When Allison and I were little girls, she wouldn’t even kill spiders or mice, but instead found a way to take them out of the house and set them free in the woods.
Every creature has its place, girls, and that place definitely isn’t always in our house. I’m just going to help these lost souls find their way back to where they really belong.
Mom was about peace, love, and rock and roll, though the last part had mellowed over the years. She and Dad recycled everything. A few months earlier, Allison and I were perplexed at a plan they shared with us for converting their RV so that it ran on corn, or some such thing. We never got the full story.
Neither of them had a violent or murderous bone in their body. They would do whatever they had to do to protect one of their daughters from danger, but insults didn’t fall into a serious enough category to kill.
“Perhaps we should have you hypnotized,” Dad said. “Maybe that would help you remember.”
We were gathered in my infrequently used front room. Allison and I looked at each other in the familiar way we’d had since we were little and hadn’t quite understood much of the metaphysical nature of our parents’ beliefs.
“I suppose that’s a possibility,” Mom said. “Or, given time, maybe it will all come back.”
“Mom,” I interrupted, “do you know who Bo Stafford is?”
“Sort of. I know his mother, actually. We were friends in high school, good friends. Do you remember Miriam, Jason?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t know Bo other than the fact that he has a stall at Bailey’s,” Mom said.
“He came and talked to me today about Joan and how she and some other restaurant owners had once bought onions from his family’s farm. Then, one day, they just stopped.”
“That could have hurt their business,” Mom said.
“Probably some, but I got the impression it was more a personal affront to Bo’s mom than a blow to their business,” I said. “Do you know anything about their financial status?”
“Miriam always seemed to have enough money for all the high school things, but I don’t know more than that.”
“Bo has his own view of the world, Becca. He’s not a bad guy, but he sometimes finds the worst in everything and everybody,” Allison added. “He’s pretty protective of his fellow market vendors. He might take the insult to your products personally.”
“Personally enough to kill?” Ian asked. He’d been quiet most of the evening. Meeting my parents for the first time under such circumstances wasn’t what either of us had hoped for, but they’d still greeted him with welcoming hugs.
For a long moment, we were silent.
“I don’t know,” Allison finally said.
Somehow, we’d managed to eat dinner—quickly made sandwiches. Well, most of us had just picked at our food. It was rare that we were all together, and though we were still in shock, we all wanted to try to enjoy each other’s company.
I suddenly wanted to get in my truck and go talk to Bo Stafford myself, but Sam had made me promise I would stop being so eager to investigate murders. This was different, though. I was even more invested in the outcome of this case than I had been in the previous two I’d thrown myself into. My mom was involved, and nobody messes with my mom.
Still, I
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