by Sandi Scott
Stan looked at the words on Georgie’s shirt as if he were reading them for the first time. Without saying another word, he turned and walked towards a couple of people he had asked the manager of Apple Harvest Orchard to talk to.
“That could have gone better, I think,” Aleta whispered. As if on cue, Maggie went rushing up to Stan who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“Like I didn’t see her out of the corner of my eye lurking around here trying to get an earful,” Georgie clenched her jaw. Aleta had seen it, too, and had thought of rushing over to distract Maggie from the dramatic scene unfolding, but before she could, it was all over. Aleta couldn’t help it. There was something about Maggie that she didn’t like. It wasn’t because she was getting in between Georgie and Stan; it was something else. But, Aleta thought this was something she’d keep to herself. Stan was a big boy and not her responsibility. He wasn’t Georgie’s responsibility, either. Not anymore.
Chapter 8
“So, what do we do now that you and the head detective are not speaking?” Aleta asked.
“I think we should go talk to the mother. Charlotte is her name. I saw her at the ambulance with Veronica. I think it would be a nice gesture to check in on her,” Georgie said, tugging at her sleeves.
“Not a bad idea. The house is through the main store and out the other end somewhere,” Aleta slipped her arm through Georgie’s. “Do you want a piece of pie, or some cider? I’ll get some from Marvin.”
“I’m not hungry,” Georgie said, as they strolled towards the main barn that was the Apple Harvest Orchard gift shop.
“You’re not hungry for pie? Okay, you need to spill it,” Aleta ordered while squeezing her sister’s arm.
“Spill what?”
“You know what, Georgie. Stan going out with Maggie bothers you more than you care to admit, doesn’t it.”
At first Georgie pinched her eyebrows together, but then she looked at Aleta and nodded her head yes.
“Why?”
“Because, for one, she’s not good enough for him. A crime scene photographer? He will get up in the morning and talk to her about work over coffee. He’ll go to the station and face work. When they have dinner, they’ll talk about more work. And, before bed, he’ll be sleeping next to still more work. He’ll never get a break.”
“You think they don’t have anything else to talk about but the job?”
“It’s obvious that is the only thing they have to talk about. She’s not his type. She’s his co-worker. They are mistaking having the job in common with having things in common. But, it’s all they have.”
Aleta was surprised at what Georgie was saying.
“You know how nice it feels when someone understands your passion. That’s why I like Obby. He understands the art world and why I love to paint and draw and see other artist’s work. But, would I want to talk about that all the time? No. Would I learn anything being around a person so similar to me? No. Would the flame fizzle fast? Absolutely.”
“Why Georgie, you surprise me.”
“What?”
“That makes perfect sense,” Aleta replied. “I thought you were going to go on about how Stan never liked very skinny women and that he needed someone to snap back at him and argue. Not a woman who lets him take charge all the time.”
“That, too,” Georgie pointed out.
“Well, it will only be a matter of time before Stan figures this out himself.”
“I shouldn’t have snapped at him,” Georgie admitted. “But it’s just so obvious to me that they don’t fit. I don’t even think they have what it takes to be good friends. She’s kind of clingy, at least that’s the impression I get.”
“Are you going to say you are sorry to Stan?”
“No. I’m not sorry. But I’ll smooth things out with him,” Georgie shrugged. “He is the father of my children.”
“And what beautiful children they are,” Aleta replied.
“We did make some pretty babies; I’ll give him that,” Georgie smiled, broadly.
They crossed through the gift shop and came out the backside that faced the orchards, pumpkin patch and a couple more barns.
“I don’t see any farm house,” Aleta said, looking in the distance.
“Maybe it’s off down one of these rows of apple trees?” Georgie pointed. “She had come running from the house when Veronica was at the ambulance, crying. It did take her some time to get there. Let’s head off in this direction.”
“That’s as good an idea as any,” Aleta said as they started their journey.
After fifteen minutes, they’d still not run into any farmhouse.
“We are going to get lost.” Aleta picked an apple and polished it on her sleeve.
“We are not. We’ve been walking a straight line,” Georgie replied.
“Look how far away the gift shop is,” Aleta jerked her thumb behind her.
Georgie turned around and looked. It had become considerably smaller in the distance, but she just shrugged.
“Maybe we should just go back to the gift shop and ask. We could walk all the way there and she’s not even home. Maybe, she’s out making funeral arrangements.”
“Yikes, Aleta. That’s morbid.”
“Well, Georgie, it’s got to be done. I’ll be making your funeral arrangements when you die.”
“That’s a scary thought. You’ll probably have me propped up in a recliner with a paint pallet in my hands.”
“Do you really think I’d be so tacky?”
“Yes,” Georgie replied, without hesitating.
“No. You’ll be in a casket like normal people,” Aleta nodded her head. “It’ll just have racing stripes and red and purple flames on the sides.”
Georgie laughed out loud.
“Okay, this journey is getting ridiculous. I’ll find that farmhouse,” Georgie pointed to a ladder propped up against an apple tree.
“What are you going to do, Georgie?”
“I’m going to climb up in that tree and get the lay of the land.”
“You are not! You can’t climb that tree!”
“Aleta, we used to climb trees all the time when we were kids.”
“The key words being when we were kids,” Aleta replied.
“Hold the ladder for me.”
“I will do no such thing,” Aleta folded her arms over her chest.
“Aleta! Hold the ladder!” Georgie ordered.
“I won’t do it.”
“As I am the older sister, I am telling you to hold the ladder.”
“Again with the older sister! Two minutes, Georgie! TWO! You were born two minutes before me!” Aleta shook her head. “And I am not going to help you get up that tree so you can get stuck, or worse, fall and crack open your head.”
“If I fall, it will be your fault, because you won’t hold the ladder,” Georgie harrumphed as she proceeded to start climbing. Aleta rushed to the bottom to hold the ladder in place.
“This is not good. The last thing the Slute’s need is for a patron to fall and get hurt, or killed. Even if that patron is taking her own life in her hands and just screaming for trouble to find her.”
“Would you quit your squawking?” Georgie looked carefully at the branches and stepped up on the thickest one. She held on tightly as she tried to scan the land.
“Do you see anything?”
“No. I have to go up higher.”
“Georgie, please. This isn’t funny anymore. Let’s just go back to the gift shop and ask directions. I’ll buy you a gift.”
“Aleta, relax. I’m just going to go up one more branch and, if I can’t see, I’ll come down.”
“Oh, Lord. Please forgive my lunatic sister before she breaks her neck for all of her past indiscretions, and for the hate in her heart toward Maggie... what was her last name?”
“Huff-n-puff,” Georgie replied.
“No. It was Hoffentop,” Aleta continued. “See how she is, Lord? So please have mercy on her soul after sh
e falls out of this tree and kills herself.”
“I’m not going to kill myself,” Georgie growled as she pulled herself up one more branch.
“Not intentionally, I’m sure.”
“I can’t see anything from here. If you weren’t such a worrywart, I would go up a little higher, but no. Aleta is having an episode, so time to come down the tree.”
“I’ll show you an episode, Georgie Kaye,” Aleta snapped.
“Hey! What are you two doing over there?” a male voice came from behind the two women. They froze.
“Visitors are not allowed to climb the apple trees!” he barked.
“We’re sorry,” Aleta jumped in. “My sister has a condition and, well, it just sort of got the better of her.”
“Aleta?” Georgie hissed as she slowly started to descend the tree.
“My name is Aleta Kaye. This is my sister Georgie,” Aleta said, still holding tightly to the ladder as the man approached.
“I’m Xabat Slute.” The letters X-A-B-A-T were stitched over the pocket of his denim shirt. “This is my apple orchard. I’ve had enough bad news around here. The last thing I need is another person getting hurt.”
Xabat was a large and muscular man for his age. The farming life had obviously kept him in shape. Unfortunately, it had wreaked havoc on his head and left him with just a few salt and pepper strands of hair in a horseshoe pattern.
“My sister suffers from Capgras Syndrome,” Aleta whispered.
“What?” Xabat squinted at Aleta like she was the fine print of a contract.
“It’s a rare disorder where a person thinks that a family member has been replaced with an imposter,” Aleta replied, calmly. “Her therapist recommends nature therapy when she starts to have her doubts about me. She is to immediately submerse herself in a natural setting. Hence, the adventure up your tree. Are you feeling better, Georgie?” Aleta shouted.
“Yes, Aleta,” Georgie’s cheeks were red with embarrassment, as much as exertion. Xabat took over holding the ladder then gently took hold of Georgie’s arm to help her down the last two rungs. “I’m feeling much better. Thank you.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Xabat said.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Slute?” Georgie asked, once her feet were back on solid ground.
“Considering I just lost the best son-in-law a man could ever hope for. I’m doing okay,” he grumbled. “I just don’t understand it. I don’t know why he didn’t come to me. We were close, you know. Very close. I just wish I would have paid more attention. I keep wondering what would have happened if I’d asked him to work late or if I invited him to the house to help in the basement. So many what-ifs.”
Xabat was one of those old school type of men. He didn’t cry. He didn’t pout. Instead, he had a stoic expression that showed he had no idea why this had happened to him and his family.
“Some things just can’t be explained,” Georgie soothed. “It takes time to come to terms with not knowing why things happen.”
“He was on that medication,” Xabat said. “I think it messed up his brain. He would have never done something like this. Never.”
“What medication?” Georgie asked, carefully.
“Pain killers and something for depression. You know, they don’t tell you if these things can even go together. Side effects are sometimes worse than the symptoms.” He looked down at the ground, frowning.
“Was he on the medication long?” Georgie continued to dig. With this information, she was starting to think that maybe Tony suffered from a bad mix of drugs as some people suspected.
“Long enough, I guess,” Xabat replied, sounding exhausted.
“Maybe the police will have some answers for you soon,” Georgie said. “It isn’t much of a consolation, but sometimes it’s the best that can be done.”
“So true,” Xabat said. He smiled down at Georgie. “I like your shirt. It’s festive. I always loved this time of year. Fall and Halloween and all that.”
“How is your wife doing?” Georgie asked before he could go. “I met her yesterday with your daughter by the ambulance.”
“How do you think she’s doing?” Xabat shook his head. “She’s a mess.”
“Please accept our deepest sympathies, Mr. Slute,” Aleta said, wrapping up the conversation.
“Thank you,” he said, eyeballing Georgie’s shirt again before starting to walk off in the direction he was originally headed. “Please, don’t climb any more trees in my orchard. It’s dangerous.”
Georgie nodded and looked at Aleta who was blinking as she held back her devilish grin.
Within minutes, Mr. Slute was out of sight.
“He seemed pretty broken up about this,” Aleta said.
“Yeah.
“Capgras Syndrome? You made that up,” Georgie whispered so as to not be heard.
“Did not. It’s a real thing and I was just waiting for an opportunity to diagnose you with it,” Aleta smirked, tugging at the hem of her sweater. “And, that was one of the nicer afflictions I’ve got tucked in my belt. Just wait until I tap into the pool of lower intestinal abnormalities.”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
“As a matter of fact I do and...”
“Excuse me,” a female voice interrupted their chatter. “Excuse me. What were you talking to Mr. Slute about?”
The Kaye Sister’s turned and saw a bleach blonde woman with heavy black eyeliner approaching them. She was wearing an Apple Harvest Orchard sweat shirt and tight-fitting blue jeans that were tucked into tall rubber boots.
“Excuse me?” Georgie asked.
Chapter 9
“Mr. Slute,” the orchard employee asked. Her brown eyes bore into Georgie and Aleta as she got closer. “What were you just talking to Mr. Slute about?”
“We were just asking him how he was doing, Miss...?” Georgie stared at the strange woman.
“Oh, I’m Paula Hemmingsworth. I’m the property supervisor. I work very closely with Mr. Slute and it is my job to make sure that there are no hiccups in the daily routine of things.”
“So, you must have had a heck of a day yesterday,” Aleta smiled but got a rather testy look back.
“Mr. Slute is a good man. He didn’t deserve this. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tony had planned to do this with the pure intention of causing problems for him.”
“Really? Why do you say that?” Georgie asked.
“Because, everyone knows that Tony was nothing but trouble. He was going to marry Veronica and sink his claws into the family business. Everyone knew that was what he wanted.”
“Is that so?” Georgie studied Paula. She was tan from being outside so much. She wore a gold watch with several bracelets around it and a gold chain around her neck. It seemed rather fancy for someone who was outside most of the time.
“Did you know that Tony was on medication?” Georgie continued.
“I would hope so. He had a terrible temper,” Paula looked around suspiciously and then took a step closer to Georgie. “I heard he also had some people he owed money to.”
Georgie watched Paula’s mannerisms. The woman was as high-strung as a poodle during a thunderstorm, fidgeting with the cuffs of her sleeves, flipping her hair behind her, shifting from one foot to the other. Georgie thought to suggest decaffeinated coffee but restrained herself.
“But, who knows what is rumor and what isn’t,” Paula chuckled nervously. “All I know is the guy was a tough row to hoe and I hope Veronica comes to see that sooner rather than later.” Her eyes widened as she nodded her head.
“How long have you worked at the orchard?” Aleta asked.
“I was officially hired in March,” she nodded.
“It must be wonderful to come to such a pretty place every day and call it your job,” Aleta said.
“I work very hard. Very hard,” Paula replied. “I just can’t believe this has happened. Xabat is such a nice man. He’s just a nice, kind man. He really is. This is
just such a torture for him. You can tell by looking at his face. If you’d been here a week ago, just one week, you’d have seen how Tony acted. If he weren’t on medication, I really think he needed it and, if he were, they needed to up the dosage.”
“Was anyone here scared that Tony might hurt them? If he was as off center as you say. Has anyone else had any altercations with him?” Georgie wanted as many details as she could get. This was turning into a very bizarre story.
“Not that I know of. But, then again, I don’t really talk with many of the other employees. I report directly to Xabat,” she said. “He’s the one who told me about Tony’s mood swings and his verbal abuse. After everything Xabat had done for him. Xabat is a very modest man. He won’t talk about all the kind things he’s done for people. Especially for Tony and Veronica.” Paula stood there like that should’ve been a good enough answer. It really wasn’t, but Georgie let it go. Paula acted like someone who didn’t have a lot of excitement in her life, and this was probably making her feel something like a celebrity. The police were interviewing people. The newspapers would be looking for a quote from someone. Chances were Paula Hemmingsworth probably had a couple dozen cats in her house and they would be getting this blow-by-blow drama for the next several nights.
She stood there for a few awkward seconds, looking at Georgie, then Aleta, and then Georgie again.
“Well, it was really nice chatting with you, Paula, Aleta said politely. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Slute farmhouse is, do you?”
“It’s off that way. Why?” Paula’s eyes narrowed, suspiciously.
“We were going to go and check on Mrs. Slute,” Aleta replied. “I spoke with her when it all happened and wanted to check in. Sometimes, just a friendly word can ease some of the pain.”
“She doesn’t really talk to many people,” Paula offered.
“That’s okay,” Aleta said. “We aren’t going to stay but a minute.”
“Yes, we have to get to that thing,” Georgie ad-libbed.
“Yes. We have a thing to go to and can only spare a minute.”
“Well, if you go back and take a left at the fence post, you’ll see it. But, I doubt Mrs. Slute will be seeing anyone.”
