by Sandi Scott
“Probably not, but we’d like to try anyway,” Aleta said, kindly.
Paula finally got the idea and said good-bye to the sisters. She dashed off into the orchard in the same direction Xabat had gone.
“What a weirdo,” Georgie whispered.
“Yes. A little peculiar that one was.”
“I’m not sure what to think about this. Mr. Slute is heartbroken over Tony yet this woman says Tony was a grade ‘A’ jerk who was abusive.” Georgie picked an apple from a low branch and polished it against her shirt before taking a bite.
“I think she’s a lonely lady and this is the most exciting thing to happen in her life, maybe ever,” Aleta said. “She probably doesn’t even talk with Mr. Slute that much.”
“You think she’s lying?”
“I think she’s exaggerating, Georgie. Nothing more than that,” Aleta answered. “But, it might not be a bad idea to tell Stan about it.”
“Are you pushing me to talk to him? After he has the nerve to bring another woman to a murder,” Georgie harrumphed.
“I’m just making a suggestion. You know you guys work these cases better when you are on the same team.”
“Aleta, have you lost your mind? We are never on the same team. I’m always trying to solve these before him and this case is going to be no different. And I don’t need some floozy crime scene photographer to do it.”
“So, should we go see if Mrs. Slute is home?” Aleta asked while rolling her eyes.
“We’ve come all this way. I’d hate to think we missed her because we didn’t try,” Georgie said. “I’m surprised I didn’t see the house from the tree.”
“You almost got us thrown out of here with your shenanigans. Lucky for you, no one will question mental illness for fear of a lawsuit,” Aleta griped.
“Nature therapy?”
“Hey, that was monumental quick thinking under pressure. And besides, I’ll bet that’s a real thing. Somewhere, someone is paying a therapist to tell them to go climb a tree,” Aleta said as they began walking back the way they’d come.
“You might be right, baby sister.”
Chapter 10
“That was a big bust,” Georgie whined as they drove back in the direction of Betty’s Bed & Breakfast. No one answered the door at the farmhouse. But, Georgie was sure she heard movement inside. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not in the mood to storm the castle just yet. How about we go into town?”
“I think that sounds splendid,” Aleta sniffed. “To be honest, if I don’t taste another pumpkin spice, something or the other, it’ll be too soon.”
As they drove into the small part of town where they’d bought some extra clothes for the next couple of days, Georgie spotted a diner with a neon sign that read “Open 24 Hours”.
“What do you say?” she asked Aleta.
“It’s good enough for me.”
The place was well lit and half the booths along the windows were full. Georgie and Aleta found two stools at the counter open and took a seat.
“What’s good for dessert?” Aleta asked the waitress, who was a pretty young lady with braces and a tattoo of a heart in between her thumb and index finger.
“Well, we’ve got pumpkin pie, pecan pie, pumpkin spice pudding...”
Georgie looked at Aleta and was about to order her sister a slice of pumpkin pie with ice cream just to annoy her when she heard the words that stopped her in her tracks.
“...and chocolate caramel brownies.”
“Yes!” Aleta nearly shouted. “We’d like two chocolate caramel brownies each, please. And two coffees.”
“That was close. I was afraid we’d have to choke down a couple of pumpkin pie slices. Actually, I wouldn’t have, but I was going to order you one,” Georgie teased.
“You wouldn’t?”
“For the Capgras Syndrome, yes I would,” Georgie chuckled.
She and Aleta talked about the orchard and their meetings with Mr. Slute and Paula Hemmingsworth as the waitress delivered their brownies and coffee.
“This is delicious,” Georgie mumbled with her mouth full. “I’m glad we ordered two.”
“Me too,” Aleta said as she looked around the diner. “This place is really cute.” And right then, she was struck by a coughing fit.
“Oh, my. Are you okay? Put your arms up,” Georgie instructed.
Aleta did as she was told and put her arms way up and took a few deep breaths.
“How embarrassing,” she stuttered. “It just went down the wrong pipe. I’m fine.” She cleared her throat and took a sip of coffee. “But that was scary. I think we should get our check and go.”
“Go? Uhm, well, okay. Let me use the bathroom first.”
“No,” Aleta put her hand on Georgie’s arm. “This isn’t the kind of place you want to use the bathroom. Let’s go back to the castle and you can put the heated floor on.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll never make it,” Georgie giggled. “I’ll be right baa...” Georgie’s voice trailed off as she stared at the back of the diner. Suddenly, it made sense that Aleta was coughing and trying to hurry her out the door.
There, in the booth off in the corner, were Stan and Maggie sitting close to each other. To Georgie’s horror, they were holding hands.
“Georgie, let’s just go. Come on. We’ll leave a twenty on the counter.” Aleta rummaged nervously through her purse and pulled out a couple of bills. “Come on, honey. Let’s go back to the castle.”
“Okay,” Georgie looked away and missed seeing Stan pull his hand away from Maggie’s and look in her direction. However, both sisters heard the conversation from the booth clearly, as if they had been standing next to it.
“Do you need to go talk to her?” Maggie seemed annoyed.
“No,” Stan said. “Besides, she’s leaving. I’ll talk to her some other time.”
“She has a very strange sense of style,” Maggie said.
“She’s an artist. They all dress weird.”
“Successful ones, maybe,” Maggie snapped.
Stan slowly turned his head to look at his date.
“Maggie, I’m only going to say this once. Georgie is the mother of my children and put up with a lot from me. No one will ever say anything disrespectful about her while I’m around. No one.”
“I’m just saying there is a difference between acting like an artist and actually being one. That’s all,” Maggie shrugged as she blinked innocently at Stan.
“Georgie is an artist. She paints. She’s even had some small gallery showings. Everyone loves her work.”
“I’m sure they do. Everyone loves a local artist.”
Stan stood up and watched as Aleta hurried Georgie out of the diner.
Part of him wanted to dash out after her, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He knew his ex-wife too well.
“Are we getting dessert?” Maggie asked. “I just love all this pumpkin spice stuff this time of year. I can’t get enough of it.”
“You go ahead,” Stan took a deep breath. “Get what you like.”
“GEORGIE?” ALETA RETURNED from the basement where Betty had left them another complimentary bottle of wine. “I’ve got something that might help.” She waved the bottle making her sister chuckle.
“I don’t think I want any wine. But thanks.” Georgie was sitting at the elegant little desk in the corner of their room and looking out the window.
“Are you all right?”
“I don’t know how to say this, but I’m fine.”
“Really?” Aleta set the bottle down and took a seat at the end of the bed.
“It’s a bit of a shock. Yes. Seeing Stan with someone else,” Georgie pinched her eyebrows together. “But, it’s none of my business. Plain and simple.”
Aleta worried the bottle in her hands, picking at the seal and the label.
“I’m not trying to be rude, Georgie, but since when has that stopped you?”
Georgie laughed, “Maybe this will be the first time.”
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“Well, I’m very proud of you. You are being very mature and very reasonable. Stan wouldn’t recognize this Georgie and I think he might be a little disappointed that you weren’t putting up more of a fight over him.”
“I think I’m too old for that.”
“No, Georgie. You’re not too old to fight. You’re too classy.”
“Remember that time in high school when that Michelle-girl got in my face because I was dating her best friend’s ex-boyfriend?” Georgie chuckled.
“Talk about sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“You remember what happened to her nose?”
Aleta started to laugh. “She slapped you first. It was self-defense.”
“I agree.”
“You probably didn’t need to pull her hair after you punched her.”
“Maybe not,” Georgie shrugged.
“And kicking her books down the hallway was probably not completely warranted,” Aleta laughed.
“I swear, I didn’t see them. I was just trying to get to class.”
“We aren’t going to have a repeat of that with Maggie Huff-n-puff, are we?” Aleta folded her arms and looked at her sister.
“My days of fighting over a boy are over. I like the idea of retiring undefeated,” Georgie pointed to the bottle. “Go ahead. Crack that bottle open. We’ll drink to high school bullies, and prom queens, and making out in the back seats of cars.”
“I never did that,” Aleta fussed.
“Do you ever worry about the ground opening up and swallowing you for lying so much?” Georgie giggled.
“Look who I’m being compared to? You had a new boyfriend every week until you met Stan,” Aleta said as she fussed with the corkscrew.
“You had lots of boyfriends, Aleta. Do you think I don’t remember? What about Lawrence Tucci? He was so cute.”
“We only dated for a summer.”
“And there was Bernard Kline. That guy was a sweetheart.”
“Yes, he was a gentleman,” Aleta smiled.
“Felix Turner. I know, for a fact, that he wasn’t a gentleman. That was half the reason all the girls were after that guy. Come on. You didn’t make out with him?”
“No, Georgie. I wasn’t interested. I was looking for a husband, and Felix Turner was not husband material,” Aleta finally got the wine uncorked. “Shoot. I forgot the glasses.”
“Who needs them? Pass me the bottle,” Georgie took a sip. “This is nice. I like white wine better than red.”
“Me too,” Aleta said as she grabbed a glass from the bathroom. “We don’t have to be savages. We can share this glass.” She poured the wine, took a sip and smiled. “This is good.”
After a little more chatter about high school and boys, Georgie decided to make a bold statement.
“I often wondered what would happen if Stan decided to remarry,” Georgie sighed.
“Hold on a minute!” Aleta pounced. “They were just at a diner, eating. We aren’t all aboard the love train. Come on, Georgie. What are you talking about?”
Georgie looked surprised at her sister’s reaction.
“I’m sorry, but I always thought you and Stan would get back together,” Aleta continued. “I’m always hoping for it. There will be a day when I’m not going to be around to keep an eye on you. You need someone, Georgie.”
“First, you aren’t going anywhere. I’m the older sister, remember? If anyone is going to go first, it’ll be me.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Aleta held up two fingers. “Two minutes, Georgie. Are you really saying those two minutes aged you that much?”
“Second, with the lifestyle Stan lives eating chili dogs for breakfast and laying around in his smelly recliner on his days off, he will probably beat us both to the Pearly Gates.”
“He didn’t do that when he was with you. I bet he’d change.”
Georgie laughed before she continued. “Third... and I know you hate to hear this but... I was the one with cancer.”
A hush fell over the room. Aleta’s bottom lip began to quiver.
“Don’t say it, Georgie,” Aleta whispered as she looked down at the wine bottle. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“I won’t say anything. We both know the facts,” Georgie smiled.
It had been over five years since she had been diagnosed, treated and, so far, cured of breast cancer. They caught it early and were able to beat the little devil with medicine, and radiation, and lots and lots of prayer. But every once in a while, it would creep back into the forefront of their minds and present itself like an ugly, cruel distant relative that threatened to stay for an indefinite amount of time.
“So, let’s not talk about leaving or making sure we get babysitters for each other in our old age,” Georgie sniffed back a couple of tears. “Besides, there is just too much life to live, with or without Stan.”
“I don’t care what you say, Georgie. I just don’t care for that Maggie woman.”
“I didn’t say anything about her, Aleta. You are the one focusing on the poor woman.”
“There is something there. Something I can’t put my finger on. But it’s there. She’s not quite right.”
“To be fair, she does take crime scene photos. That is a very unique choice of subject matter. You’ve got to be a little off your rocker to want to snap shots of dead bodies all day, every day.”
“Gosh, when you put it like that, she sounds kind of cool,” Aleta laughed. “Maybe I’m the one with the problem.”
“Now that sounds about right. Sheesh. Where does one begin?” Georgie teased.
For the rest of the evening the ladies laughed and talked about the past, about the future, and especially about Apple Harvest Orchard and the strange set of characters that were starting to make an impression on them both.
Chapter 11
“You look ridiculous,” Aleta scolded. “Don’t be surprised when birds come and nest on your head.”
“This is an adorable and practical cap,” Georgie argued. “I don’t know what your issue is. Someone took the time to sew on every fake orange oak leaf, every tiny plastic acorn, every branch of pips.”
“The only things missing are a couple of gourds and jack-o-lanterns. You remind me of a fall-themed Carmen Miranda with that thing on your head,” Aleta pointed at her sister. “And, I can’t say the rest of your ensemble is that far off from being a full-blown costume, either.”
“These are plain old black jeans, and this is just a ruffled blouse with a ruffled collar and balloon sleeves you can barely see underneath my awesome shawl.”
“Don’t you even think of climbing up a tree in that get up,” Aleta ordered as she tugged on her modest brown wool sweater.
“Fine. But I know you are jealous you can’t do this!” Georgie ripped off her shawl, twirled it around like a toreador enticing a massive bull, only to replace the shawl perfectly over her shoulders again.
“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Aleta asked without cracking a smile.
“A long time. But all that practice in front of the mirror paid off,” Georgie’s eyes were wide with excitement. “Want to see me do it again?”
“No,” Aleta chuckled as they headed towards the apple orchard. They had to park a fair distance back this time. Business was already back to normal after a day of grieving. They were hoping to catch Mrs. Charlotte Slute at the house and have a couple words with her, but as they made their way in that direction, they saw quite a few pieces of farm equipment blocking the path.
“Let’s give them some time and we’ll try again when no one will notice us going to the house,” Georgie said.
“What do we do in the meantime?”
“Let’s pick some apples for Betty. She’s been so good to us. I think she’d appreciate that.”
“Good idea, Georgie. But, only low hanging fruit,” Aleta rolled her eyes.
As they walked into the orchard on a large and deeply rooted tree, they saw something carved into th
e bark.
“Oh, look,” Aleta pointed. “It’s a heart. TB LUVS VS 4-EVR. Do you think that is Tony Beaumont and Veronica Slute?”
“To have another person with those initials would be pretty hard to find, especially in the apple orchard owned by your father. Yes, I think that is Veronica and Tony’s initials.”
“It’s sad. We don’t know anything but what has been told to us about Tony and yet here is this cute little statement they probably carved together.”
“Aleta, you are an old softy,” Georgie teased.
“Please. When you were Veronica’s age, if Stan spray painted your initials over a bridge, you’d be gushing and giggling all over the place about what a romantic thing that was.”
“Painting on a bridge is. It requires you to risk your life to do it,” Georgie harrumphed.
“Why do I talk to you?”
“Because no one is as fun as me,” Georgie bumped her sister with her hip as they strolled further into the orchard.
It was another gray day with a soft blanket of clouds overhead. There was more of a chill in the air this morning than they’d had all season. It carried the smell of burning leaves on it, making it feel like autumn had really arrived. Every couple of paces in the orchard, there were cute signs pointing visitors in the right way, small plaques that gave a brief history of the grounds, and even a couple of Halloween decorations like scarecrows or skeletons.
Georgie was jabbering to Aleta about how they should decorate their houses for the fall, when suddenly she stopped speaking all together.
“What is it? Georgie? Are you okay?”
“Aleta, what does that say?” She pointed to the biggest apple tree in this part of the orchard. On the trunk, freshly gouged, were more initials. Aleta walked up to the tree and squinted in order to read the letters aloud. XS luvs PH.
“So?” Aleta said.
“How many people do you know whose name starts with “X”?
“None.”
“Think, Aleta. Who owns this place?”
“Yeah,” Aleta snapped her fingers. “Xabat. Sure. Isn’t that sweet?”
