I smiled. “I would’ve liked her. No gender-specific tasks. Girls keep house, and boys do the rest.”
He barked a laugh. “At Grandma’s house, if you had two hands, you were qualified for the job. Whatever it was.”
“Yep. I definitely would’ve liked her.” I took a bite of my sandwich and imagined meeting the woman who’d had such an impact on Colton.
“She would’ve liked you too,” he said. “I was on assignment overseas when she passed. I didn’t get the message until the funeral was done.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling my spirits drop and the tug of grief waiting to pull me in.
Colton nodded. He raised his eyes to mine. “You have a big heart. It’s one of my favorite things about you. You genuinely care about this town and the people. You’re wholly devoted to everyone and everything you touch, especially your family. I like that. My grandma didn’t raise me, but I can understand the bond you have with yours, and I have an idea about what the loss of your grampy must feel like. Grandma was one of the most influential and important people in my life to the very end, and in many ways, she still is.”
Breath caught in my throat as I took in each of his precious words. Colton had never said so before, but he saw me. Really saw me. And he’d nailed the description to a T. I cared. Deeply. About everything, and it was wonderful and infuriating and exhausting, but true. Emotions rose hard and fast to the surface, both at his acknowledgment of who I was and at his mention of Grampy. Grampy had truly been the guide for my path while he’d lived, and his words guided me still.
Colton stilled, looking a bit surprised at himself. He was finally opening up, and the only person more surprised than me was him. His mouth twitched, and a small smile edged its way across his face. “My grandma was pretty great.”
“So are you,” I said, my mouth moving again without a filter. I pushed the corner of my sandwich between my lips before I went on.
He traded his empty plate for his laptop and typed a few seconds before quitting again. “Back at ya.”
Colton didn’t say anything else until I’d collected his plate and carried it to the sink with mine. “As a member of law enforcement, I’m supposed to see frauds coming, but I’ve been burned on and off the clock,” he said. “I don’t let people in easily because doing that has bit me more often than I want to admit.”
I turned to stare at him, still seated in the living room, eyes fixed to his laptop screen. “That’s just proof that you’re human, and that you chose to believe the best in those people. Whoever you’re talking about specifically, they failed you. Not the other way around.”
“I failed my partner when I trusted Samuel Keller.”
I took a step in his direction. “Had he ever given you reason not to trust him before?”
“Not that I’m aware, but maybe I missed something.”
“Probably not,” I said. “I’m sensing there was also a girl.”
“Why do you say that?” he hedged.
I stifled an eye roll on my way back to the couch. “Because there’s always a girl. Everyone’s got an epic broken-heart story by the time they reach our age.”
He made a sour face. “Victoria.”
I waited for details, ignoring the intense rush of dislike I felt toward a woman I’d never met. If he didn’t go on, I’d understand. I avoided discussions about my time with Hank whenever possible.
“In hindsight, it wasn’t all her fault,” he said, taking responsibility for everything as usual. “We were young, and my expectations were too high.”
“What happened?”
He stilled. “I’ve come to realize that being in a relationship with a lawman is tough. There’s a constant level of distress for people who care about them. It’s the same for people in the military, firefighters, and anyone else putting their lives on the line professionally. The job puts pressure on the significant other, and that adds stress to the relationship. I was with Victoria while I was in Clarksburg working on the joint task force. I was gone more than I was home, and most of what I did, especially where it related to the FBI, was confidential. There were only so many hours in a day, and when push came to shove, I chose the job more often than I chose her. So, she decided to find someone who had time for her when I didn’t. I cut out early one day to surprise her and found some guy at her place, paying all sorts of attention to her.”
I cringed. “That stinks.”
He looked embarrassed by the confession, so I hurried on before he decided never to tell me another personal story.
“If Victoria wasn’t happy with your relationship, she should’ve broken up with you, not cheated on you,” I said. “Again. This was about her, not you. Cheating is selfish and cowardly, two things you are not.”
“I trusted her,” he said flatly, still trying to carry some responsibility.
“You are no more responsible for her behavior than you are for Samuel Keller’s. Lots of people get life sentences in maximum-security prisons, but they don’t all kill their transport guards and begin a revenge scheme on the cop who built the case against them. Actually,” I said smartly, hoping to break his brooding funk, “I think it’s quite pretentious of you to assume you are the puppeteer of all mankind.”
Colton barked a short laugh. “Well, it’s not as if I can control anything you do, so I suppose you’re right about that.” He deflated against the chair back, looking thoughtful. “I prefer to think there’s something I could do differently to prevent negative outcomes. Otherwise I’m helpless.”
“Human,” I said, “not helpless, and for what it’s worth, I like you, I respect you, and I want to maintain this friendship, but that isn’t going to keep me from doing what I want to do. When I let my curiosity get me into messes, that’s on me, and it has nothing to do with you.”
“I really can’t stop you from meddling in my investigations.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Except you should stop thinking of it as meddling. Think of it as helping. I know this place. You’re still new here. That makes me an asset.”
“It makes you something,” he mumbled. “Rolling back to the topic of our exes, how’s Hank doing?”
I tensed. “Fine. Why?”
“I saw him up at the fort passing out flyers. For hunting. He doesn’t strike me as an outdoorsman, but he seemed pretty passionate on the subject. He even asked me to set up sting operations throughout the county at locations where satellite footage shows corn being planted in the woods.”
“Can you do that?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be a huge waste of resources and manpower?”
“Yes and yes,” he said. “So, I declined.”
I smiled. The sting operation suggestion didn’t surprise me. Hank was a dog with a bone. “‘Real men hunt,’” I said, recalling the goofy flyers. “So, Granny and I are going to get our licenses in the morning. We’re meeting her needlepointing crew at the registration office, and Sue Ellen is taking a van load of ladies from her church later this week.”
Colton sat a little taller, nose wrinkled. “All right. What am I missing?”
I explained the situation, then showed him a flyer I’d made to promote the registration event. I’d used a cartoon border of little deer, bass, turkey, trout, and pheasants around bright blue and gold words.
Keep WVA Beautiful.
Hunting license sales help support wildlife
resources.
Get your license today!
Colton smirked. “You really do care about everything.”
He set the flyer aside, concern troubling his brow once more. “What were you and Birdie Wilks talking about in the ladies’ room tonight? I assume it had something to do with Mr. Potter’s death, but I’d like to know the details. Please,” he added with a congenial smile.
I appreciated the manners, so I told him everything.
“Brittany Ann Tuttle?” he asked. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“She’s a sweet girl,” I said. “My age. Three little kids. Nice h
usband. They attend most town events, but otherwise spend a lot of time at their home. They have several acres, so I imagine it’s more fun out there than being in town anyway.”
Colton’s eyes lit as he reached for his laptop. “I’ll see what I can find on her.”
I grabbed my computer as well.
We typed in silence for a few quiet minutes, then I turned my screen to face him, Brittany Ann’s social media up for view.
“Facebook?” He laughed.
“It’s my number-one online resource,” I said.
He typed again, bringing up the same page on his laptop, then he paused to scroll through her lovely family photos and read her silly, gushy praises for everything from a full night’s sleep to a sunny day.
I followed along from my seat on the couch.
“See?” I said. “She’s a delight, and I’m having a hard time imagining her cheating on her husband, especially with Mr. Potter, a man old enough to be her daddy.”
“Mr. Potter was only fifty,” Colton said.
“And Brittany Ann is thirty.”
He grimaced. “All right.” He rubbed his chin and typed some more. “Let’s see what I can learn.”
I craned my neck for a look at his screen, but my angle was wrong.
A moment later, he grabbed his phone and made a call asking whoever answered to run Brittany Ann and her husband through the system.
I mouthed the word cheater, and he grinned.
He finished the call, looking proud of himself. “Brittany Ann and her husband have clean records, but that doesn’t mean they’re innocent. Every criminal has a first offense, and some have many before actually getting caught.”
“You think Brittany Ann could’ve killed her old-man lover? Why? Wouldn’t it be more likely that his wife killed him for cheating? Or that Brittany Ann’s husband killed him?”
He shrugged. “I’ll find out.”
“It’s not fair you’ve got a whole crew of deputies and state tech support on your side. All I have is Facebook.”
“You’re not the sheriff.”
I ignored his statement of fact, recalling I had something better than all the tech support in the world for this case.
I had Granny and her stitching crew.
Chapter Fourteen
I showered and dressed in a hurry the next morning, trying and failing to catch Colton before he left. We’d stayed up late, chatting about Blossom Valley and getting to know one another. It was nice, and I’d hated to go to bed, but eventually fatigue had won the battle. I’d woken to an empty home and Colton outside, working from his truck as promised, making notes with a pen and pad of paper pressed to his steering wheel. By the time I’d brewed a pot of coffee and poured a mug for him, he was gone.
The orchard had been open an hour before I finally stepped off the porch and into the sunlight with Kenny Rogers and Dolly at my heels. The day was chilly, and frost clung to blades of semi-frozen grass in the shade. My breaths lifted before me in little puffs of steam. The unseasonably warm days had ended. This was the perfect weather for a Fall Harvest Festival.
I smiled and waved at families tossing bean bags at apple-themed cornhole boards near the large white tent by the gate. The tent doubled as a ticket booth and a seasonal farmers’ market, where Granny often greeted and mingled with guests.
Parents snapped photos of small faces peeking through cutouts in large wooden boards painted with barnyard scenes. One child was a smiling farmer, another his spotted puppy, the third, an apple atop the staggering pile.
Kenny Rogers and Dolly rampaged through the tall grass, hunkering then launching at one another before tearing off in a top-speed game of chase.
I slowed to watch Granny and Delilah load a group of guests onto the big hay-filled wagon for a tour of the property. Sue Ellen was perched on the tractor, twisted at the middle to watch the group’s progress. I smiled. The fall festival was always a hit. Something about the last few moments before Thanksgiving put everyone in a strange state of anticipation. People were genuinely happy, and they wanted to seize the moments. It’d be time to carve the turkey before we knew it, then the rest of the winter would whip by and we’d land in a new year, cursing the way time flew. The happiest moments always passed too quickly.
I swallowed hard and told myself to stay in the moment. Make memories. Stop rushing through my life and pay attention to today. It was too easy to forget we weren’t promised another one.
Delilah flipped the hinged step onto the full wagon and latched the small safety gate, then waved overhead to Sue Ellen, who gave a whoop before pulling away.
Granny was the first to turn back. She caught sight of me, and her smile brightened. “Winnie!”
“Hey, Granny.” I closed the space between us and hugged her tight. “Looks like another busy day.”
“Yep,” she said proudly. “It’s been a great year all around, thanks to your cider shop.”
“I think your festival stands on its own.” Always had. Folks came to the Fall Harvest Festival because they loved and supported Granny, plus it was a tradition, and Blossom Valley loved traditions. “I should probably fix up some flyers and take them with me into town. Try to spread the word to the tourists.”
“Smart,” Delilah agreed, jumping in on our conversation with ease. “You look lovely, Winnie. Where are you off to? Another big date?”
I gave my well-worn jeans and thermal shirt a long look. Definitely warm and practical. Lovely? Not so much. “I’m going to run some errands before I open the cider shop.”
“Like what?” Granny asked, a little too innocently.
“I thought I’d visit some folks. Maybe deliver some cider and strudel.” I returned her sugary smile, debating whether or not to tell her the whole story, but hating to drag her into my mess if I could avoid it. It wasn’t as if she could join me, even if she wanted to. She had an orchard full of fall festival guests to tend to.
“Still pursuing Mr. Potter’s death?” she asked.
“Maybe?” I hedged. “Why?”
Her sweet smile fell. “I know Birdie wants you looking into this thing,” she said, taking my hand gently in hers. “I also expect you’re feeling obligated to do as she asks, because she’s your elder, and I taught you right. But respecting your elders is meant to show manners. You give them your seat when they need one or help them carry a package, maybe fetch them some tea. The rule doesn’t apply to finding murderers or otherwise putting yourself in danger. Birdie was wrong to have asked you for this.”
“He was in my truck,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “In Grampy’s truck.”
The goose honked nearby, and I stiffened. For a moment I imagined falling flat onto one side like Boo.
“There’s Waddles,” Delilah said, breaking the tension. “We looked all over for him earlier. Where have you been, little fella?”
I stepped back as the goose approached. “I think he’s come to see me,” I said, forcing my shoulders away from my ears. “He seems to turn up everywhere I go around here.”
“Aw!” Delilah sang. “He likes you.”
“Sure,” I said. “He likes me like cats like mice.”
Granny moved with me, refusing to be distracted from her question. “Who are you visiting today?”
“Hopefully Polly Brumble. It looks like Nate had a beef with the noise levels at the pumpkin patch, so I’m hoping to talk with his wife,” I said.
Delilah’s shrewd blue eyes widened. “Nate, the butcher?”
“His wife,” I restated. “Nate left a few scathing reviews and ugly complaints online, and I want to know if she ever saw him get mad enough to confront Mr. Potter directly.”
Granny checked her watch. “I suppose Nate’s at the butcher shop by now, and his wife’s a doll. You should be safe on that mission.”
“Excellent,” Delilah said with a clap of her hands. “We’ll stay here and get the festival games started.”
I waved good-bye and headed for Sally before Granny changed
her mind. I also wanted out of the way in case Delilah planned to use Granny’s baked goods as prizes. I’d seen people trip their mothers at the church’s cake walk to get their hands on one of Granny’s pies.
* * *
Nate’s house was adorable. I’d never paid any mind to it before, but it was loaded with curb appeal. A small white bungalow with a black roof and shutters. Two stout dormers overlooked the front yard, both with flower boxes in bloom. Mums in alternating purple and gold lined the walkway. A wreath of festive silk leaves with a broad scarlet sash and bow adorned the door.
I took the sidewalk to the porch, then rang the bell. A chorus of hound dogs bellowed in response. Several moments later, Nate opened the door.
I hopped back. “Oh. Hello.”
He frowned at me while his wife struggled with four overzealous hounds, several feet behind him.
“Sit!” she called uselessly, being dragged closer by the second.
“Quiet!” Nate thundered, and the dogs fell still and silent, each taking an immediate seat where they were. Nate’s gaze skimmed over me, thick brows furrowed over dark, deep-set eyes. “Sorry about the dogs. They just get excited. You know how that is.”
“Sure.” I glanced over his shoulder at Polly, debating my next move.
“What can we do for you?” Nate asked, rolling the unbuttoned sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows. His attention lingered on the bag of cider and strudel dangling from my fingers.
“I’m Winona Mae Montgomery,” I said, working up a smile and considering my options. Did I want to talk about Mr. Potter in front of Nate? No. Did I want to come back when it was just his wife and the Hounds of the Baskervilles? Also no. “Penny Smythe’s granddaughter.”
Nate’s brows rose, and recognition lit up his eyes. “You’re the one who found that pain in the—”
The Cider Shop Rules Page 13
