Page 84 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

SAM

I watched Truman come to life with all of those friends and colleagues in his kitchen.

He was a natural host, bustling around offering refills of coffee or answering questions about the new plants he was growing on the windowsill.

After a while, I noticed Truman was smiling and relaxed, even laughing at one of Pim’s stories while the two older men held court at the kitchen table.

At one point, Barney Balderson showed up to check on Truman, and I could tell he was not a happy camper.

“Why are all these people here?” he asked Truman near the front door. I was trying not to eavesdrop, but my feet were glued to the floor.

I expected him to tell Barney about the pension fund situation since they were close and Barney was a member of the Aster Valley community as well as anyone, but he didn’t.

“They came to check on me because of the fire,” Truman said instead.

“You should be resting,” Barney said. “All this attention must be making you uncomfortable.”

Truman pushed up his glasses, and I noticed a furrow of confusion between his eyes. “No? It’s nice, actually. It’s really nice that everyone cares.”

“Well, be that as it may, it’s time for them to get back to work and allow you to get on with your day. We have quite a few tasks to organize to get the shop officially closed down.” They moved into the kitchen where I was pretending to inspect a cabinet door handle that wasn’t even pretend-loose.

“Closed down?” Truman asked. “You mean boarded up?”

“Hi, Mr. Balderson,” Chaya said politely. “I think Sam here volunteered to do some of that work. He’s certainly strong enough to haul those big sheets of plywood around.” She reached out and squeezed my biceps.

I tilted my head at her. She hadn’t been the least bit flirty with me, so why was she acting this way now?

Truman blushed. “He doesn’t need to do that.”

Barney looked annoyed. “Certainly not. I’m sure we can hire some manual labor to knock out those menial tasks. I thought we could make a punch list of what all needs to be done.”

Tiller and Mikey wandered over, and Tiller chimed in. “We’re happy to help. We have nothing scheduled today, so Sam can put us to work.” He clapped me on the shoulder and met my eyes. “And we’re going to go ahead and pick up another car so you can have full use of the SUV.”

I opened my mouth to argue, and Tiller cut me off. “We need a second car here anyway, so this isn’t about you.”

They were good friends, and I loved seeing their support of Truman. Tiller and Mikey had always been the kind of friends to drop everything and come running. They’d helped Sophie with the baby plenty of times when no one else had been available.

“Call us when you know how we can pitch in,” Tiller said before leading Mikey out. Everyone else eventually said their own goodbyes until Chaya, Barney, and I were the only people still sharing the kitchen with Truman.

I didn’t want to make things awkward for Truman, so I decided to duck out.

There was no harm in letting Barney help make a to-do list. Truman needed friends who were going to be able to help him for more than a couple of days.

“I need to run a few errands and pick up some supplies. Are you okay here for a bit?”

Truman looked surprised, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll swing by the shop and find out how much plywood you need. If you think of anything else you want from the hardware store, just shoot me a text.”

I turned to say goodbye to Chaya and saw her give me a wink. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant until she made a big deal about “sticking around to help out.” Somehow, I was already on good terms with Truman’s best friend, and it made me feel an odd sense of relief.

As I made my way into town on the rented motorcycle, I enjoyed the fresh mountain air in my face and the twists and turns of the road leading to town.

The Honeyed Lemon looked even worse in the daylight than it had last night.

From what I could see through the broken windows, the interior was nothing but a collection of black char.

The front doorway was blocked with a pile of debris that looked like the twisted remains of the shop’s heavy wooden and glass doors.

The metal lock mechanism still looked intact which wasn’t surprising considering any arsonist with a brain would have come in from the dark alleyway in the back.

I was surprised to see only one official-looking vehicle parked nearby. Maybe I could get a look inside and see if there was anything salvageable to take back to Truman.

After making my way around the building to the back door, I carefully stepped inside.

Off to one side of the back hallway was a storage room full of shelves dripping with dirty water and the charred remains of cardboard boxes.

Shattered glass jars covered the dirty wet floor, and a terrible smell with an acrid spice tinge permeated the place.

I was grateful Truman wasn’t here to see it.

“Stop right there,” a voice boomed from further inside the shop. “This is a crime scene, and it’s unsafe for entry. Remove yourself the way you came. Carefully.”

A crime scene? Did that mean arson had been confirmed?

“I’m a friend of the owner. He wanted me to check to see what we needed to do to protect his assets,” I replied.

A helmeted man ducked through the doorway from the main part of the shop. He was dressed in a protective jumpsuit and wore a face mask. I wanted to kick myself for not thinking about the possibility of toxic fumes or particulates.

I quickly did as he asked and waited for him in the small parking area behind the shop.

“And you are?” the investigator asked, pulling down his mask.

“Sam Rigby.”

He seemed to relax before introducing himself as the state fire investigator and handing me his card.

“Dirk Bromley. We’ll be here most of the day completing our investigation.

We’d like to ask Mr. Sweet some questions.

Do you know if he’ll be stopping by today or if we should plan to interview him at his residence? ”

“He’s at his farm today. He runs part of his business from there, too.”

He nodded. “We’ll head over to talk to him after lunch.”

I texted Truman to make sure the plan was okay with him and then gave the investigator the farm’s address.

Dirk said I was welcome to begin boarding up the place, and when I asked if there was anything of value inside, he said that was something he’d only be able to discuss with Truman.

He indicated that a sheriff’s deputy would remain at the property until it was appropriately secured.

That didn’t ease my mind until I recognized the deputy Truman had described as the man who’d taken his statement the other day.

I hesitated for a few moments before finally deciding to give him further information. “If you determine it was arson, you need to know that Truman has an active harasser.”

The man’s eyes widened only slightly before he resumed his professional expression. “Can you give me the person’s name and the particular details of this harassment?”

I summarized it as much as possible and told him that if the fire was set deliberately, it was most likely done by Patrick Stanner, which was tricky considering his relationship to the county sheriff.

The investigator nodded, but I could see I’d given him information he’d rather not have had. It made the situation much trickier.

“And does Mr. Sweet still have the note left at his house?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ll make sure you get a chance to see it when you come by for the interview.”

He nodded and reentered the building while I continued on to Mikey and Tiller’s place to shower, dress, and swap out vehicles again.

Tiller and Mikey came with me to board up the shop, but rather than do the heavy lifting, Mikey took the opportunity to wander up and down the street and pop his head into most of the shops to chat up the owners.

He was unassuming and social enough to put people at ease right away, and most everyone already knew him as “that famous footballer’s boyfriend” anyway.

When he returned to the shop, he’d amassed a ton of helpful information.

“Bearwood Realty has had their sign vandalized five times this year. They don’t pay into the pension fund.

They assumed the vandalism was done by pranksters.

The coffee shop hasn’t had any problems at all.

They don’t pay into the pension fund, but Yasmin’s brother is the sheriff’s department accountant.

Oh, and Dr. Allan’s vet clinic doesn’t pay either, but his mother is the receptionist at the sheriff’s department. Small towns, am I right? What else?”

He took a minute to think about it while I got even angrier on Truman’s behalf.

“Bolo’s Market pays into the fund. When their alarm gets tripped, they get incredible response rates from the department, so they said they’re never stopping their payments.” Mikey sighed. “This place is fucked-up.”

“I wonder what the mayor’s involvement is,” I said. “How does the county sheriff’s department get away with running this town like it’s their own?”

Movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I realized I’d said that in hearing distance from Deputy Stone.

Fuck.

The man politely looked away, but it was clear he’d heard. Was he going to go back and tell the sheriff what I’d said?

I thought about confronting him about the situation, but that would put him in a position where he couldn’t simply forget what he’d just overheard. And, damn, did I want him to forget.

Had I just put an even bigger target on Truman’s head?

“I’ve got to get back to the farm,” I said, tossing my tools in the back of their SUV. “I don’t want him to sit through the investigator’s interview with just Barney for support.”

Mikey asked what was going on with Barney. “I really thought they were an item.”