Murder in the Apple Orchard

by Sandi Scott

  “I’ll have your room ready shortly, milady.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account,” Georgie said. “I’ve had one of those mornings.”

  “Would you care for an elixir? Perhaps you’re peckish. Might I get you something to eat?” the maid asked.

  “No, my sister is picking up some brownies from the diner down the street,” Georgie sighed. “We’ve been at the Apple Harvest Orchard this morning and, you know, I can only take so much pumpkin spice flavored stuff.”

  The maid looked at the door to the suite and then to Georgie.

  “Very good milady. Shall I finish making up the room?”

  “Oh, honey, call me Georgie. Take your time,” Georgie wanted to tell the handmaiden about her experience and get her take on it, but it seemed like a long story with heavy, weighted words that were too much to spit out of her mouth a third time.

  “Have you ever been to the orchard?” Georgie asked instead. “My sister and I were just there.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t say anymore.

  “What did you think of the place?”

  “It was fine.”

  Georgie couldn’t help herself. She knew that Maggie had knocked her off her game, but this maid knew something. Her curiosity was worse than that of an alley cat on garbage day.

  “You sound like you have an opinion of the place,” Georgie took a seat at the desk. “Care to share? I’d love to know the local perspective.”

  The maid looked at Georgie, then the door, and then took a seat on the bench at the edge of the bed looking at Georgie.

  “Look, I do this job as a side hustle for my kid’s tuition. Private school is costly.” Georgie wanted to laugh at the surprisingly southern accent the woman had. Scarlett O’Hara sounded like she was from Jersey next to this little peach. “But I’ve not only heard about some bad things at that place, I’ve seen them.”

  “Really?” It didn’t take much for Georgie to focus on what she was saying instead of how she was saying it.

  “It doesn’t surprise me, at all, that the whole thing come to a head with a murder,” she said.

  “How do you know it’s a murder?”

  “Because I live around here,” she huffed. “Georgie, let me tell you that in small towns like this, when a person talks, they always say more than they are saying.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Take Mrs. Slute,” the maid leaned back a little. “The nicest woman on the planet. Never a sour word or expression on her face. Raised a right proper young lady. But chooses a scoundrel to sire that baby.”

  “I take it you mean Mr. Slute.”

  “The one and only,” the maid scooted closer, looked at the door, then back at Georgie. “I can’t tell you how many times he’s stayed in this very establishment thinking we don’t know who he is and that we won’t suspect the name Smith in the guestbook.”

  “You’re kidding,” Georgie found herself scooting closer. “But it’s just down the street from the orchard.”

  “He’s one of those thrill seekin’ cheaters,” the maid said, matter-of-factly. “It ain’t worth the trouble if there ain’t the chance of someone walkin’ in on him or recognizing him. He puts his women up in the suite downstairs because it has a separate side entrance.”

  “You said women?” Georgie asked.

  “Oh, yeah. He’s got a few numbers in his Rolodex, that’s for sure.”

  “Is there anyone you recognize from the orchard, or around town?”

  The maid tapped her chin, looked at the door, and then at Georgie. “I don’t know her name, but he’s got some blond woman who wears the Apple Harvest Orchard sweatshirt every time she comes. She only carries a small bag of things with her. Sort of skittish. Nervous, for sure. I don’t know if she lives around here, but she does work at the orchard.”

  “You’ve been very helpful... uhm, what is your name?” Georgie reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

  “Loretta. Loretta Mae Sinclair.”

  “You’re obviously not from around here,” Georgie laughed.

  “No ma’am. I’m from Emmetsville, South Carolina. My husband’s job brought us to the Midwest. It sure is cold this time of year.”

  “Will this be your first winter here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We just moved here about six months ago.”

  Georgie had to laugh again, “Well, just wait until January. Have you ever seen snow?”

  “No ma’am.”

  “Get ready,” Georgie laughed again and handed her the money. “Thank you for the information and for tending our room. I apologize for the mess. It’s my sister. She’s a bit of a hoarder. It’s hard for her not to live with piles of things around her.”

  Just then, Aleta walked in with a large white carryout bag.

  “See what I mean?” Georgie looked at Loretta. “She’s already bringing more things into the room.”

  “Whatever my sister is saying about me is a lie,” Aleta walked in and put the bag on the desk next to her sister. “Brownies and cherry pie.”

  “Well, I’ll take my leave now, ladies. Please ring me if I may be of any further assistance,” Loretta had slipped back into character and bowed gracefully out of the room.

  “You won’t believe what I just learned,” Georgie said.

  The sisters took their snacks, spread out picnic-style on the fuzzy rug that was in front of the television and turned on a crackling fireplace video that was surprisingly soothing.

  Once Georgie had finished telling Aleta everything she’d learned from Loretta, they finished their desserts and were sipping on a bottle of water.

  “You think the blond is Paula?” Aleta asked.

  “Who else could it be?” Georgie licked her fingers. “That cherry pie was delicious. You could tell they used real shortening, not that healthier stuff.”

  “Who wants the healthier stuff?”

  “Exactly. Hey, let’s go to the thrift store and do a little shopping. Have lunch at the diner. Then, we can go back to the orchard tomorrow. If we don’t stumble across anything substantial, then we head for home.”

  “Fine by me,” Aleta agreed. “I still think we’ve got a lead with Paula.”

  “A lead to having an affair. So, Xabat is a cheater. That doesn’t make him a murderer. And, it was his future son-in-law.”

  “Come on, Georgie. Did you like all of your in-laws?”

  “You’ve got a point,” she chuckled.

  Chapter 13

  “Another successful trip to the thrift store,” Georgie hooted as she emerged from the bathroom in her new fall ensemble. She wore dark brown leg warmers over black stretch pants and an oversized brown blouse with her shawl.

  “Didn’t you buy a hat?” Aleta asked.

  “Oh, I did,” Georgie walked over to the huge garbage-sized bags full of clothing she’d purchased and started rummaging around. “There you are.”

  She pulled out an olive green beret and quickly put it on, tugging it to one side.

  “You look very Parisian,” Aleta smiled.

  “And you look very nice yourself,” Georgie replied. “I love that color on you. You know, my beret would match that sweater almost perfectly. Do you want to wear it?” she asked, smoothing the sleeve of Aleta’s new khaki colored sweater and admiring her black slacks.

  “No,” Aleta replied.

  “It would look lovely.”

  “No.”

  “It won’t mess up your hair. It’ll be festive,” Georgie urged.

  “No.”

  “Fine. Be a dud,” Georgie finished putting on her make-up.

  “I’m not a dud. I just don’t like hats.”

  “Who doesn’t like hats?” Georgie squawked.

  “I don’t. They always itch my forehead.”

  “You’re crazy,” Georgie shook her head as they left the castle and headed towards the orchard.

  Apple Harvest Orchard was busy again with school buses and caravans of families coming to visit.

>   “I can’t get over the fact that a murder hasn’t really dampened the spirits of the folks visiting,” Aleta said.

  “What can you say? People are morbid.”

  “Well, I’d say that if I were just referring to you. But, most people in general might shy away.”

  “If they did, Barnum & Bailey would have never had a circus. Freak shows would have never pulled in the kind of money they did. I’d go to one.”

  “A circus?”

  “No. A freak show.”

  “I don’t know if using the term “freak show” is very acceptable these days,” Aleta said in a hushed voice as they walked towards the gift shop.

  “Right, because there are so many pin-heads and bearded ladies we need to worry about. What about the bearded lady in our family? We just called her grandma.”

  Aleta laughed loudly.

  “See? And you’re laughing at the poor woman. God rest her soul,” Georgie crossed herself. “I’m just saying if you are weird enough, be proud, and self-assured people like me will pay money to take a gander.”

  “Grandma did have a healthy five o’clock shadow.”

  “Didn’t she though?” They linked arms. “And I can’t prove it, but cousin Mimi was a pin-head for sure.”

  “No, she wasn’t. They have a genetic defect that alters their features,” Aleta took a deep breath. “Mimi was just... ugly.”

  “You can say that again.”

  After paying the small entrance fee and getting two Styrofoam cups of coffee, the ladies decided today was the day they were going to talk to the illusive Charlotte Slute.

  As if on cue, once they stepped outside, the cool air wrapping around them and the smell of apples filling their noses, they heard a ruckus that drew them around several rows of trees to a small gathering of staff.

  “I’m trying to do my job here, Charlotte,” Paula hissed. “I can’t have this. It just won’t work.”

  “Paula,” Charlotte stood still wearing a white turtleneck sweater and blue jeans with a bright orange and yellow fall vest over it. “This is not what we discussed. It’s...”

  “It’s what I discussed with Xabat,” Paula threw back those words as if that was the end of things. Her audacity was palpable.

  “Charlotte, I think you need to let Paula handle things out here the way she sees fit.”

  “Why?” Charlotte looked at her husband as if she were begging for help. “She doesn’t have any idea what she’s doing. We’ve had more than one contractor cut ties because of her. What does it take for you to see what’s going on, Xabat?”

  “I can’t believe you are bringing that up,” Paula hissed. “I can’t believe she’d do that.” She looked at Xabat who frowned at his wife.

  “Charlotte, that is unfair. You aren’t out here to see how hard Paula works,” Xabat interrupted.

  “Apparently no one is, because the rest of the staff say she doesn’t do much of anything.”

  “I don’t have to take this. That’s it,” Paula waved her hands dramatically. “I’m done. I’ve had it with this.”

  “No,” Xabat put his hands up. “This is getting way out of hand.”

  “She obviously thinks I don’t do any work, Xabat,” Paula spoke as if Charlotte weren’t even there. But Xabat knew his wife was there and he scowled at her.

  “You apologize to Paula right now.”

  “What?” Charlotte looked at him as if he’d just punched her. He might as well have.

  “Apologize to Paula, Charlotte. You were out of line. This is unfair and I think you need to say you’re sorry. Paula is here every day busting her ass to make this orchard a success and... and you listen to whatever gossip is going around. You rarely left the house even before Tony’s accident.”

  “You always tell me that I’ll just get in the way,” Charlotte spat back. Even from where Georgie and Aleta were, they could see her body shaking.

  “You don’t have any idea what needs to get done out here. Paula does, and she does her job,” Xabat replied. “Now, you need to say you are sorry.”

  “I wouldn’t say I was sorry,” Georgie whispered to her sister. “I’d tell Xabat and Paula to see themselves out the door. Don’t let it hit you where the good Lord split...”

  “I get it,” Aleta said. “And I agree.”

  Charlotte looked from Xabat to Paula and back again. She started to cry and the Kaye sisters were sure she was going to just explode into a tirade of obscenities that might just make the trees nearby curl up and die on the spot.

  “I’m sorry, Paula,” Charlotte muttered pitifully. “I’m just not myself. With Veronica still in bed and all the wedding plans to cancel I...”

  “I accept your apology, Charlotte. But you hurt me. You really did.”

  Charlotte continued to apologize before Xabat told her it was enough.

  “We’ve got to get back to work now, Char. We just don’t have time to be screwing around like this. Every day we have delays and every day that’s money we aren’t making.”

  Georgie saw a glint in Charlotte’s eye when Xabat said that. It was almost like she knew something he didn’t. He was talking, but Charlotte’s mind was processing something entirely different.

  “I hope we won’t have any more problems like this in the future, Char. I really do. Because I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

  Charlotte bit her lower lip and turned from the duo heading back toward the house. After a few steps, she started to run.

  Georgie didn’t want to miss her. She took off quickly with Aleta close behind. In their attempt to try and be stealthy, they lost Charlotte in the orchard again.

  “You’d think it would be easy to keep track of someone in these rows, but it’s impossible,” Aleta panted.

  “Do you think Xabat and Paula saw us?” Georgie asked.

  “No. But I’ll tell you this. If my husband ever took some other woman’s side over mine and made me act like that, I’d have his belongings on the front stoop before he knew what hit him.”

  “I’m with you on that, sister,” Aleta took a big gulp of air. “Now what do we do?”

  “We should split up.”

  “Split up? Nothing good ever comes from us splitting up, Georgie.”

  “What are you talking about? Look, you go to the farmhouse and see if you can track down Charlotte. You are a much more sympathetic soul for her to confide in. I will follow our dynamic duo and see if I can find out anything about them. We’ll meet back at your favorite table by Marvin in the food court and compare notes.”

  Aleta agreed and they split up, heading in opposite directions.

  Chapter 14

  There were lots of children running back and forth between the trees. They were all wearing the same bright yellow tags that had the name of their school printed on it like dog tags – “If found please return to St. Mary’s School, 1st grade, teacher Sister Anna Lucia Conceptione”.

  Georgie chortled to herself at the sight of the little boys running, because all little first grade boys ran. They didn’t walk. They didn’t crawl. They ran everywhere, even when they weren’t in a hurry. It made her think of her grown sons, Jonathan and Andrew. They were no different. It was such a joy watching little boys be little boys. Each one of them was happy running and jumping, then gulping down food in order to go get a few extra minutes of more running and jumping.

  Sure, her daughter Catherine was a joy, too, but in a different way.

  Although each child was unique, Georgie couldn’t help but see Stan in each of their faces. They would always be her constant reminder of the man she’d loved so much. Her heart panged as she thought of the dilemma she was in with Stan right now.

  She wanted to be happy for him. Truthfully, at first she was. But this Maggie person was a bit of a loon. It was obvious she made no attempt to get to know Georgie or even learn to tolerate her. That made Georgie nervous about how this woman might treat their children. Sure, they were grown, but Georgie and Stan were still their parents. Aft
er all these years of being divorced but still being great friends, was it going to be ruined by some bimbo from the department?

  Georgie was hit with an idea. As soon as she got back home, she’d give Leto a call. He’d been promoted and then transferred from Stan’s precinct to the twelfth precinct. Leto Murphy knew Stan almost as well as Georgie did. One of the casualties of police work is that your partner becomes family, whether you like it or not. Thankfully, Leto was a good cop and a good man. Georgie knew Leto would be straight with her.

  “I’ll just ask Leto if he knows who Maggie Huff-n-Puff is and what’s her story,” Georgie decided, nodding to herself confidently. That could come back and bite you, her pesky inner voice pointed out.

  But, Stan did the same thing with Obby, and he wasn’t a cop or tied to any police work. He’s a civilian. She tried to smooth out the ethical wrinkles in her plan.

  Finding out about Maggie is what a jealous woman would do. That thought made her wonder if Charlotte had ever done any snooping into Paula’s background.

  There were a lot more people at this end of the orchard. With a playground that had a clubhouse, slides, a choo-choo train, and paintings on big planks of wood with holes to peek through, the entire place was swarming like an anthill.

  The sound of playful shouting and giggles made Georgie smile. The kids chased each other back and forth. Their cheeks were red and they were all sweaty, even though it was a beautiful temperature outside; no higher than sixty-five degrees.

  Having this much fun required a lot of energy. Moms were going to have a peaceful ride home and an early bedtime tonight. Yup, Georgie remembered the routine well.

  It took those few steps to decide she wouldn’t go snooping around on Maggie. She had more important things to do than that. When she got back home, she’d have paintings to finish and the house would need a thorough cleaning to get ready for the colder weather. Plus, she had yet to decide on Halloween costumes. Yup, there were definitely more important things to worry about than Stan’s love life.