Crops and Robbers by Paige Shelton Page B

ate, we discussed lavender. Before the end of the summer, Ian would have his land prepped to plant the lavender for next year’s crop. But before then, he was hoping to have some sort of combination workspace and partial living space built. He wasn’t planning on moving completely yet, but he wanted to be able to sleep, shower, and fix food without having to travel back to his apartment or my house. It had been some time since we’d gone over the details, and I was interested to hear if anything had changed.
    Unfortunately, we didn’t get far into the conversation when Ian suddenly said, “Here she comes. And it looks like she sees us this time.”

Ten

    “What are you doing here?” Betsy said quietly as she stopped at the table. She glanced back and forth between me and Ian.
    “Having dinner,” I said.
    “Why here? Why tonight?”
    “I guess I wanted to see what kind of place stayed open the night after their owner was killed.” A pang of regret bit at my stomach. That sounded nasty and no matter the confrontation that morning, I had no right to be nasty.
    Betsy’s face fell. “You don’t know anything about this business. And, this is none of your business.”
    “Really? You accused me of killing Joan. You made it my business,” I said, the pang of regret dissipating.
    “I see I was wrong. It was your mother instead.”
    It was rare that I wanted to hit someone, but I had an unladylike urge to throw my fist at her face.
    “Okay, I think we should be going. Come on, Becca.” Ian’s voice was calm but tight. Of the two of us, I’d be more likely to cause a scene, but he wasn’t happy about the direction this seemed to be headed.
    But then, much to my surprise, Betsy changed. Her face softened and she took a deep breath as she held her hands out in a truce. She looked at Ian and offered him a quick smile.
    “Whoa, I’m so sorry,” she said.
    Ian and I were silent.
    “This has been rough,” she continued. “Originally, I stopped by Bailey’s this morning to tell the manager that I’d be handling things with the restaurant association, but when she wasn’t in her office, something came over me and I lashed out—at you, unfairly, and I apologize. And I know your mother’s been arrested but not convicted. I’m so sorry.”
    At least that answered why she was at Bailey’s.
    “Okay,” I said, trying not to sound too cautious or rude, considering she was apologizing. “I get it.” I looked at Ian, who looked just as dubious as I felt.
    “I see you’re done with your dinner. Would the two of you come back to my office for a minute? We can talk better there, and I can give you the information I meant to give the market manager, who I believe is your sister?” I nodded. “I’ll have some dessert brought back, on the house.”
    “Sure,” I said too eagerly.
    Ian’s eyebrows rose.
    “This way.” Betsy turned and made her way to the door again.
    Ian stood and extended a hand to help me out of the booth.
    “Thanks.” I took his hand. “See, I won’t have to sneak anywhere.”
    “Let’s be cautious,” he muttered in my ear.
    “Always.”
    There was a hallway behind the door. It wasn’t long or well lit. There were two more doors on one side of the hall and two on the other. The first one on the right was the only one open; a flood of light pushing through it beckoned us in.
    “Come on in. Sit down,” Betsy said from behind her desk. The office was very bright, especially compared to the hallway and even the restaurant. Betsy’s desk was covered in stacks of paper, but the rest of the office, the file drawers, and a credenza were neat and clean except for a varied collection of ceramic cat figurines.
    Ian and I both took chairs opposite Betsy. Neither of us knew what to say, so we remained silent as she looked through one of the stacks of paper and muttered to herself.
    “Here we go,” she said as she pulled out a single piece of paper as well as a stack that was about a quarter