by Hillary Avis
Ed frowned. “Is something planned? I hadn’t heard about it.”
I winced. I really should have thought this through. “Well, not planned planned. But if you want to throw your name in the hat now, I’m sure you’d get dibs on delivering the eulogy, since you guys had such a close relationship. You probably have a lot of nice things to say about him.”
Ed dropped his keys mid-swing. He stooped to pick them up and unlocked the truck door before he answered me. It seemed I wasn’t the only one stalling for time. “I’m—I’m not sure I’m the right person to do that,” he stuttered.
I played dumb, trying to keep my voice level even though my heart was pounding. “Why not? Did something happen between you?”
Ed looked past me to where the kids were playing in the magical winter wonderland he’d created. He bunched his lips thoughtfully as he stared into the distance. “I wouldn’t say that. We just had a little disagreement, and I wish we’d left things differently.” His eyes focused back on me and he gave a sad smile. “Ah, well, it’s too late now. You never know when someone’s going to make their exit, so you gotta butter their bread while you can reach their plate, if you know what I mean.”
With a goodbye nod, he swung into his truck and pulled out. As I watched him drive away, I mulled over what Ed had revealed. He and Homer, they’d had some kind of disagreement—one that hadn’t been resolved before Homer died. I didn’t know exactly what happened between them, but it sure sounded like a possible motive for murder to me.
Chapter 10
I was surprised to see Eli’s SUV waiting in the driveway when we returned to the farm. He waved at us through the windshield as Andrea pulled her rental car up beside him. He held up a bottle of champagne and pointed to it, a huge grin on his face. I wondered what we were celebrating...and why he’d driven here instead of just walking over from his house.
“I might need a hand,” Peterson said from the back seat, chuckling. I turned to see what he was talking about. Two little heads lay on Peterson’s shoulders, bookending him where he sat wedged between their booster seats. J.W. and Izzy had fallen asleep on the short drive home, exhausted by their snowy adventures in the park.
Andrea and I got out and opened the doors to the back seat to unload the kids, but Eli lassoed me into a hug before I could lift Izzy to take her inside. I could feel the chill of the champagne bottle pressed against the small of my back as he pulled me close. “I have great news,” he murmured against my neck. He planted a swift kiss on my ear and released me, grinning when he saw the blush that had crept up my cheeks.
“Can you get the front door?” I asked him as I ducked into the car to unclip Izzy’s seatbelt. I scooped her up, grateful that my daily farm chores had strengthened my biceps so I was equal to the task. I left the car door open so Peterson could get out and followed Andrea up the front steps. Eli dashed ahead of us, taking the stairs two at a time, and pushed the door open so Andrea, with J.W. in her arms, could enter.
“Aren’t you curious why I came straight from work?” Eli asked as I passed him in the doorway.
I kept my voice low so I wouldn’t wake the twins. “Dying to know. Let me stow the passenger and you can tell me all about it.”
The steep stairs to my attic bedroom with an extra forty-five pounds in my arms nearly did me in, but I made it to the top of the stairs and, feeling triumphant, laid Izzy down on the bed next to her brother. She made a drowsy noise of complaint but quickly settled back into a deep sleep. J.W. moved closer to her, throwing an arm over her shoulders.
“They always sleep like that,” Andrea whispered next to me. “Even when I put them to bed in their own rooms, nine times out of ten, they end up snuggled up together by morning.”
I clutched my chest to demonstrate the deluge of sweetness that flooded my heart. They were such dolls. “You and Steve are doing a great job with them, Andrea,” I whispered back. “I’m so proud of you.”
To my surprise, tears welled in Andrea’s eyes. She blinked them away, swallowing hard. Something I’d said had touched a nerve.
“What is it?”
She shook her head and pasted on a smile, though there was little happiness evident behind it. “Nothing. I just wish Steve were here.”
I gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. It had to be tough solo-parenting twins, especially away from home, without all their usual toys and routines. “He’s flying in tomorrow, right?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head, and a rogue tear escaped, tumbling down her cheek. “He’s not coming. He texted this morning.”
“Shoot.” I pulled her into a hug, and she snuffled against my shoulder. With my arms still wrapped around her, I asked, “Did something come up at work?”
Steve’s job as a cardiologist at one of Chicago’s busiest heart clinics meant he worked long, odd hours and was often on-call at the local hospital, too, even on weekends and holidays. When he did have time at home, he was usually exhausted or asleep, and his planned vacation days didn’t always pan out. Andrea had to be very flexible to accommodate Steve’s unpredictable schedule. It wasn’t much different than being in a relationship with a law enforcement officer, I reflected.
“No.” Andrea’s voice was so quiet I almost couldn’t make out the word. “He just doesn’t want to come. He’s going to his parents’ in Winnetka.”
“Oh, hon.” I pulled away to see her face, smoothing back a lock of blonde hair that was stuck to her teary cheek. “Don’t worry about it. Not everybody wants to hang out with their mother-in-law on the farm.”
For some reason, that made her cry harder. “It’s not you, Mom,” she choked out, forgetting to whisper. “It’s me! I’ve been restless lately and asking a lot of him, and he says it’s too much.”
“You’re not too much,” I said firmly. “You’re just right.”
“Hard to believe when my own husband needs a break from me. I know he gives everything to his work, but I’m so lonely at home with the kids all day, Mom. When he doesn’t even have the energy to listen to me, it feels like I’ve lost my best friend.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
The sound of her voice roused Izzy, who shifted in the bed, grumbling restlessly, though her eyes were still closed. Andrea ducked her head guiltily and motioned downstairs.
I nodded and tiptoed behind her. When we reached the bottom, she caught my arm. “Don’t tell Dad that Steve and I are having problems, OK? I don’t want him to think that I’m”—she hiccupped and lost her breath momentarily, then recovered—“that I’m not trying hard.”
“He wouldn’t think that.” I squeezed her hand again, my heart squeezing even harder at the thought of my sweet girl suffering in silence. “We can talk more later, OK? After Dad and Eli leave.” She gave a nod and I let her hand go just as the pop of a champagne cork sounded in the kitchen.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” Andrea joked as she tried to clean up her face with her sleeve. I handed her a Kleenex from a box behind the couch and she blew her nose noisily before we headed into the other room.
When we got there, Eli handed us each a flute of sparkling wine. He and Peterson held tumblers of the same; I only had two champagne flutes in my limited kitchen cupboard space. I knew it had to be driving Peterson crazy to drink out of the wrong-shaped glass, so I silently switched with him.
“What are we toasting to?” I asked, giving Andrea cover so she could drop her soggy tissue into the trash.
“The inside scoop.” Eli’s chest puffed out slightly as he explained. “The official report won’t drop until tomorrow, but your man on the inside”—he pointed to himself—“heard from his contact at the medical examiner’s office that...drumroll please...Homer’s death wasn’t due to his injuries from the fight! You’re off the hook, Pete!” Eli clinked his glass against Peterson’s flute, who was standing next to him, dumbfounded, and then raised it to meet my tumbler.
I toasted automatically, a swirl of emotions in my chest. It was good ne
ws—great news, even. Peterson wouldn’t have any legal trouble here in Oregon, which meant he could drive back to L.A. tomorrow. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? A return to normalcy. A peaceful Christmas on my little farm with my daughter and grandchildren, no uninvited guests turning up on the front porch.
So why didn’t I feel happier about it?
A glance at Andrea revealed that she had mixed feelings, too. And Peterson was dead quiet as he sipped from his champagne glass. Eli stared around the room, puzzlement etched on his face. “I have to admit, I was expecting a little more enthusiasm about this news.”
“No, it’s great,” Andrea assured him. I wondered if he noticed her red-rimmed eyes above the toothy smile she shot in his direction. “Thanks so much for all your help, Eli. You’ve been so kind and warm to our family.”
“Peterson’s not—” I started to say not my family anymore but thought better of it. I swallowed my words and took the sentence in a different direction. “Not leaving right this second, though. It’s too late to start such a long drive. Is it OK if he stays with you until tomorrow, Eli?”
“Of course.”
Peterson, who’d been completely silent until now, cleared his throat. “Well. I am relieved. Thank you, Eli. Andrea said it so well; your hospitality has been downright overwhelming. Especially considering”—his eyes flicked to me, and then back to the floor—“how it could have gone.”
Now that he was leaving, I felt a pang of guilt at giving him such a frosty welcome. Though I’d divorce him all over again—he hadn’t changed that much—I’d realized over the past couple of days that Peterson had come to Honeytree with the best intentions. He wanted to spend time with Andrea on her terms, which meant bringing all of us together. I couldn’t fault him for that.
“Why don’t we move up Christmas?” I said, feeling rash.
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“Let’s do it tomorrow, so we can celebrate together. Christmas dinner, opening presents, the whole nine yards. It’ll only mean staying one extra day.” My voice rose questioningly at the end of the statement, and I met Peterson’s eyes, hoping to show him that my invitation was genuine. He gave a slow nod, and I turned back to Andrea. “The kids won’t mind getting their gifts a little early, will they?”
She chuckled. “No, they won’t mind at all.”
“Well. I’ll be going,” Eli said gruffly, setting his tumbler in the sink. Something about the way he carried his shoulders was off—he seemed tense, the joy he’d had when he’d passed out the glasses of champagne gone from his posture.
“Stay for dinner,” I said, but he shook his head, his smile tight as he moved toward the front door.
“Don’t want to interrupt your family time.”
I frowned slightly and, with a quick, apologetic look at Andrea, tagged after Eli as he grabbed his coat. I followed him out on the porch and closed the door behind us so we could speak without being overheard. Though it wasn’t yet five o’clock, the sky had already darkened considerably, and the air was chill. Judging by the quiet mutters from the chicken coop, the hens had already put themselves to bed.
“It’s fine, Leona.” Eli spoke before I could say anything. “I’m fine. I’m a big boy; I can make my own dinner.”
“I know you are.” I ran my hand down his uniform shirt front, the buttons bumping under my palm as I smoothed the khaki fabric. “A very handsome, very big boy.”
He made a face. “Now you’re teasing me.”
“I’m not. I’m serious. I just...I don’t want you to feel left out, that’s all. You’re my—” I broke off. I couldn’t say family, not exactly. “You’re my person,” I finished lamely.
He leaned down and kissed my forehead, but he didn’t say anything for a long minute. Then he took a deep breath and let it out in a blast. “Pete and I have been talking and—”
I groaned, slumping into his chest. “Don’t listen to anything he says! He saw me at my worst, Eli. I was so stupid and broken—you have no idea. But I swear, that’s not who I am anymore. I mean, I know I’m crabby sometimes, and I don’t always let you in, but I want to. I want you to feel safe with me, as safe as I feel with you.” I stopped, suddenly conscious that I was babbling.
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth, then disappeared. “What I was trying to say is that you weren’t the only one injured in the divorce. Pete has a lot of regrets, and you two share a daughter. You share grandchildren. You shared decades as partners. I can’t consider myself an equal in this equation just because I love you. I need to step back while you sort things out with him. See what comes of a reconciliation, OK? See what your family looks like when you put the pieces back together.”
“What? No!” I grabbed his arm as he turned to go. “Don’t be crazy. I’m not getting back together with Peterson.”
“He has a lot to offer you, Leona.” Eli stared down at his boots.
I snorted. “Did he tell you that? Then I’ve got a hen that lays golden eggs to sell you.”
“I’m serious. A big house, fancy cars, vacations around the world.” He gestured to the cottage. “Plus a happy family. Anything you want, you can have with him. I can’t give you any of that.”
“Yeah, but you have blueberries. He doesn’t have blueberries.”
“Be serious,” he chided.
“I am being serious. I had all that stuff for way too long. It sucked. I hated it. You know where I came instead? Back here to Honeytree. To be with you.”
This time he couldn’t stop his smile. “You didn’t want me around, remember? I distinctly recall you telling me to get off your property. More than once.”
I giggled in spite of the serious topic at hand. “I told you—I was stupid and broken then. It took being here, being around you and Ruth and everyone to put myself back together again. To remember who I was and what I wanted out of life.” I stood on tiptoes to steal a quick kiss, mostly to reassure myself, and then settled back down on my heels. “I don’t want fancy, I don’t want fuss, I don’t want Christmas in Paris. I’m a simple girl who wants a simple life on my little farm next door to a hot blueberry farmer. That’s it, OK?!”
“OK. I can’t argue with that.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, Pete’s right about you.”
My heart sank. “I thought we just agreed that I’ve improved since then.”
“When we were talking last night, he told me that it was no use trying to fit you into a box. He said no matter how long you stayed in it, eventually you were going to bust out, so I shouldn’t even try.”
OK, so maybe Peterson had learned something from our marriage after all. “Stay for dinner?” I pleaded.
Eli shook his head firmly. “Not tonight. But tomorrow, if you’re open to it and you don’t think Andrea and Pete will mind...?”
“Yes. I want you to come. It won’t be a real Christmas without you.”
“Then I’ll be there.”
Chapter 11
December 23
The next morning flew by in a blur of grocery shopping and farm chores. After lunch, Andrea and I took turns wrapping gifts at the kitchen table and getting the dinner prepped while Peterson did his best to keep up with the twins outside. He must have made a dozen laps around the house, following J.W. and Izzy as they chased the flock of chickens, before he collapsed on an Adirondack chair to watch them from the porch.
Andrea grinned out the window at them while she peeled sweet potatoes in the sink. “Does your house chicken eat potato peelings, or should I throw these out?” she asked, turning to me.
“Compost,” I said automatically. I stuck a red bow on top of the present I’d been wrapping and paused. I hadn’t seen Boots all day. Usually she sat on my lap while I drank my coffee, begging for breakfast crumbs, but with the twins around, I hadn’t been doing too much sitting. “Did Boots sleep in your room last night?”
“No, why?”
I frowned. She hadn’t slept on her usual perch on the back of the recliner, eithe
r. In fact, I didn’t recall seeing her since a certain bathroom incident with a certain ex-husband a few days ago. It wasn’t too uncommon for Boots to disappear every once in a while, when she decided to spend a night on the roost in the coop with her sisters. But three days in a row? She’d never stayed away from the house that long before.
I stood up from the table. “I need to go check on the chickens.”
Andrea nodded absentmindedly, humming to herself as she sliced the peeled sweet potatoes and arranged them in careful rows in a baking dish. I slid my boots on and grabbed a jacket on my way out the door, blowing past Peterson on the porch as I clomped out into the yard.
Alarm Clock noticed me right away, chirruping from his perch on top of one of the fence posts near the orchard. The group of hens that J.W. and Izzy had been chasing heard his alert call and veered toward me. The rest of the flock stopped their grazing in the cropped green grass under the apple trees and swiveled their heads in my direction.
“Chick-chick! Come get a treat!” I called. Though I didn’t have the bag of dried mealworms in my hand, the chickens seemed persuaded to at least investigate my offer. As the birds crowded around me, pecking hopefully at the toes of my boots and every speck on the ground, I scanned the flock for any sign of Boots. She was a little red layer, like the vast majority of my hens, but I could usually tell her apart by her slightly crooked toes and the colored zip tie around her left leg.
She wasn’t there. The chickens lost interest when I didn’t produce any actual treats and began to disperse. The loud song of a hen who’d just laid an egg caught my ear. Of course—Boots was probably just holed up in one of the nest boxes, working on her daily delivery.
To keep up the flock’s production during the chilly, dark winter months, I’d installed a low-wattage heater and a light on a timer inside the coop; so far, instead of the steep drop expected this time of year, my hens were still laying about ninety-five percent their usual rate. Boots was likely attracted to the warmth and heat rather than laying her egg in her favored summertime spot, the planter of pansies on the back porch, or her favored winter spot, the laundry hamper.
