Death of a Bad Apple

by Penny Pike

  “Can you describe her?”

  “The girl seemed about my age, not bad-looking but not that hot, if you know what I mean. Long brown hair. Oh, she was wearing an apron that had a glass of wine and some grapes on it.”

  Tiffany.

  “Did you hear anything they were saying?” I asked.

  Willow shook her head. “They were too far away and it was too noisy. But it’s weird ’cause now he’s, like, all over that chick with the long black hair. What a player.”

  Well, this was another side of Tiffany I hadn’t seen. She wasn’t exactly the quiet little mouse I’d guessed her to be. In fact, it sounded as though she had quite the temper.

  I stepped aside to let another customer order coffee and surreptitiously watched Nathan and Paula for a few moments. Willow was right. From Nathan Chapman’s body language, it was obvious he was flirting with Paula. That guy was something else.

  “Thanks again, Willow,” I called over to her as she handed the next customer his coffee order.

  “No prob,” she said, then added, “Hey, Darce. Remember. Let me know if you need any help solving the you-know-what.” She glanced at the customer.

  I nodded, then headed for Jake’s truck.

  I knocked on his window and it slid it open. “Here’s your Poison Apple latte,” I said, handing it over, “direct from our own Coffee Witch.”

  “She’s here?” Jake asked.

  “Yep,” I answered, and held out my hand. “That’ll be one apple cream puff.”

  He passed me the delicate puff pastry, nestled in a paper holder. “You headed back to the bus?”

  I nodded.

  “Meet you for a glass of wine after we’re finished?”

  “Can’t wait,” I said.

  “And maybe another trip through the hay maze?” he added, grinning.

  “Not funny. I’m never going in that hay maze again, ever.”

  He laughed. “Well, I heard there’s a scarecrow contest later today, where people actually dress up as scarecrows. The most creative one wins some money. Shall we check it out?”

  “As long as the scarecrows aren’t too scary,” I said. “Personally I think scarecrows are kind of creepy, like clowns. But then, maybe I’ve seen too many horror movies with scarecrows.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

  I smiled. “Don’t forget. I owe you a birthday dinner. I’ll ask around for some restaurant suggestions. I’d like to find someplace nice. And this time, it’ll be just the two of us.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I headed back to the school bus with the remaining coffees, planning to gear up for the onslaught of festival customers with a good dose of Willow’s coffee concoction. But my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t help wondering if Nathan Chapman was really trying to hook up with Paula Hayashi.

  Or was it the other way around?

  • • •

  With the increase in the number of weekend festival-goers, the day sped by. Aunt Abby sold out her large supply of tarts a little before she closed up shop at four. She insisted on staying inside the bus to prepare more tarts for the final day of the festival, freeing Dillon and me to take a much-needed break. I tried to get her to join me, but her idea of relaxing was to do more baking.

  “Are you coming to the scarecrow contest?” I asked her before I left the bus. Dillon had already fled on his new scooter, no doubt headed for one of the paths that went around the nearby orchards. I thought about absconding with Aunt Abby’s scooter and joining him, then decided I’d probably run it into a tree, break an ankle, and spend Jake’s birthday in the ER.

  “I’ll try,” she said, already elbows deep in a bowl of floury mixture. “Go have some fun with Jake. You’ve earned it. I appreciate all your help.”

  I hated to leave her to work alone, but she’d insisted. Like Henny Penny, she’d always been the type of cook who preferred to do it herself. She only let Dillon and me help with the simple tasks while she took care of the heavy cooking. She could use a few tips on delegating, but there was no arguing with her.

  I found Jake waiting for me at our usual picnic table with two glasses of wine. Disappointed he’d already gotten our drinks, I frowned and sat down.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you want any wine?”

  “It’s not that,” I said, taking a sip. “I was hoping to use it as an excuse to talk with Crystal again. I thought she might know more about the fire at her tent.”

  “Sorry about that,” Jake said, stifling a smile. “I forgot you were on the case. So, where’s Detective Shelton when you need him, eh?”

  “Seriously. Aunt Abby said he’s out on a ride-along with Sheriff O’Neil to see how country law enforcement works.” I took another sip and let the appley flavor linger in my mouth a second. “I don’t suppose you learned anything more from Crystal?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I can charm information out of people too, you know.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

  “Besides, I think the old girl is sweet on me,” Jake teased. “You know, some women like me for more than just my cream puffs.”

  I gently slapped his arm. “So what did she say?”

  Jake set down his wineglass. “The fire was definitely set, at least according to Crystal. I didn’t confirm that with the fire chief, but I don’t think she has any reason to lie.”

  I nodded. “I figured as much, what with the other fires also being deliberately set. Does she have any idea who might have done it? Does she know anyone who has a grudge against her, as well as Honey and Red?”

  “She said she figured it had to be someone from the GMO company when it came to Honey and Red, but she couldn’t come up with a reason for the fire at her tent. Maybe someone at Eden Corporation wants her winery too, for whatever reason.”

  “But she didn’t think they’d be interested in the winery.”

  “She also mentioned the Jefferson Farm.”

  “Jefferson?”

  “Yeah, remember J.J., that kid who waited on us last night at the restaurant? He said his dad recently sold their family farm to Eden Corporation. She thinks that’s just the beginning. And she believes Eden will try to intimidate anyone who refuses to sell, even her.”

  “Wow,” I said, and took another swallow of wine as a digestif for this information. Then I wondered—was this information real, or more just Crystal’s opinion? “Do you think her suspicions are valid?”

  Jake shrugged and glanced at the people milling around the tents, tables, and activity areas. The numbers were diminishing, but there was still a good crowd, mostly teenagers and young adults. I guessed they were here for the scarecrow contest, hay maze, scooter rides, trampolines, and other non-food-related fun.

  “I do think the fires are connected, since they involve apple growers,” Jake answered. “But the fires don’t fit the murder of Roman Gold—aka Reuben Gottfried. That’s the orange in the apple barrel. Crystal believes the person who killed Roman also set the fires and that everything is connected to Eden. If so, there’s still a missing link.”

  I nodded. “I’ll ask Dillon to find out more about Reuben Gottfried, see if there’s any connection between him and one of the fire victims. Maybe he can dig up something we haven’t learned yet.”

  “And maybe Detective Shelton and Sheriff O’Neil will turn up something,” Jake added. “I have a feeling those two aren’t just doing a ride-along. Detective Shelton’s a lot like you, Darcy. If there’s a puzzle, he’s determined to solve it, even if it’s not in his jurisdiction.”

  An announcement came over the loudspeaker, breaking into our conversation: “Attention: The scarecrow contest will take place in fifteen minutes over by the hay maze. Come and vote for your favorite scarecrow. Remember, the winner receives a hundred-dollar prize!”

  I thought I recognized the voice as the man in charge of the festival—Nathan Chapman. He was certainly a busy man.

  Chapter 15

  I
was surprised Nathan Chapman could tear himself away from the ladies long enough to do the job. The man apparently had all kinds of talents.

  Jake and I moseyed over to the maze area where a nice crowd had already gathered. The side of the maze was roped off with bright red caution tape, creating a single-file aisle that I guessed would corral the line of wannabe contest winners. I saw a few contestants wander by, covered in makeup, stuffed with straw, and clad in patchwork outfits. Apparently folks around here enjoyed dressing up like scarecrows in hopes of winning the prize.

  Tiffany appeared from a large tent marked with a sign that read SCARECROW MAKEOVERS, where contestants could change into their costumes in private before the contest. She seemed to be giving orders to her young staff, sending them in different directions, having them test the microphones, gesturing for them to keep the judging area clear from the slowly invading crowd. I recognized one of the guys helping her—J.J.—Dillon’s friend from college.

  I looked around for Nathan, thinking he must be nearby too, but I didn’t see him. Maybe Crystal had given him another talking-to, discouraging him from hanging around her daughter. Or maybe he’d found someone else to hang with, like Paula or any number of young attractive women at the festival. I wondered where Crystal was. Still pouring wine at her new tent location and making sure the crowd got enough of her apple “juice”?

  “This is one of the highlights of the Apple Festival,” came a voice behind me. I turned around to see Sheriff O’Neil talking to Detective Shelton.

  “You made it,” I said to them.

  “Darcy,” Detective Shelton said by way of hello. “Jake. Have a profitable day today?”

  We nodded. “Aunt Abby’s tarts sold out completely,” I said. “She’s working on more for tomorrow. Have you seen her yet?”

  Detective Shelton nodded. “I stopped by the bus. She said she’d meet me here as soon as she’s done. That woman never rests. I admire her energy.”

  “No kidding,” I said. “So, how was your tour of Apple Valley? Did you learn anything more about the murder?”

  A few bystanders glanced at me when I said the word “murder.”

  Sheriff O’Neil frowned and said in a low voice, “Still looking into it.”

  Either that meant no or it meant the sheriff didn’t feel like sharing anything with me or the people around us. No worries. I’d get it out of Aunt Abby later, after she got it out of Detective Shelton.

  I turned back in time to see Tiffany duck into the scarecrow-prep tent again. A few seconds later Crystal popped out of the tent and retrieved a microphone from one of the teenagers, then disappeared inside once more. I spotted Paula, tough to miss in her colorful leopard leggings and too-tight zebra-printed top. Her long black hair rippled like a cascading waterfall down her back each time she spoke to Adam, who stood next to her like a puppy dog, looking as if he hung on her every word.

  Aunt Abby scooted up on her new electric scooter. She’d freshened her makeup, but had missed the imprint of her hand on her neck made from what I suspected was flour.

  “Just in time!” I said, and leaned over to wipe off the evidence with my fingertips.

  She hopped off the scooter, hit the kickstand, and looked up at Detective Shelton, who towered over my petite aunt. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Nope,” the detective said, smiling down at her. Never had there been a more mismatched pair.

  “Good!” she exclaimed, more excited about the scarecrow contest than I expected. I looked at her suspiciously.

  “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” I said.

  There was a twinkle in her eye. Yep, she was up to something.

  Tiffany appeared again from the tent, holding a microphone, followed by Crystal and J.J. I spotted Willow, who had apparently sneaked away from her coffee truck. She was waving to J.J., who blushed and gave a quick wave back. Huh. Had Willow already made a friend? She was an attractive girl, but country-boy J.J. didn’t seem to be in city-girl Willow’s league. Still, there definitely seemed to be an attraction between them, the way they were grinning at each other.

  Tiffany shouldered her way to the front of the crowd and stood at the center of the designated area, holding the mic and ready to speak. To my surprise, in the moments she’d been gone, she managed to transform herself into a scarecrow and now wore a long patchwork dress with puffy sleeves, wild mismatched socks, and leather boots. Her hair was streaked in a rainbow of spray-on multicolored dyes and braided into two pigtails. She’d drawn on oversize eyelashes, perky eyebrows, and large freckles with a brown eyebrow pencil, and rouged her cheeks and lips with apple red lipstick. I couldn’t decide if she looked like some kind of monstrous rag doll or mad clown, but it was a noticeable change from the fresh-faced young country girl she usually appeared to be.

  She cleared her throat, then began. “Ladies and gentlemen, apple lovers from everywhere, welcome to Apple Valley’s Annual Scarecrow Contest!” The shy woman I’d met seemed to have come alive under that disguise.

  Tiffany waved her hands to hush the eager applause. When the noise died down, she continued. “In a minute our ten human scarecrow contestants will be lining up along the side of the hay maze. I’ll introduce each one by name and hold up the Clap-O-Meter, so you can clap for your favorite living scarecrow. The contestant who receives the loudest applause will win a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate to spend on anything here at the festival!”

  Another roar of applause burst forth. Everyone, it seemed, was excited about the scarecrow contest.

  “Oh, I’m so glad I didn’t miss anything!” came another familiar voice behind me. I turned around to see Honey, her cheeks flushed, no doubt from rushing to the event.

  “Honey!” Aunt Abby said, giving her friend a hug. “I was worried you weren’t going to make it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it!” Honey said. “I was over in the scarecrow tent, helping Red. Every year he enters the contest. You should see him.” She broke into smile. “He looks like he stepped right out of The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Red is dressed up like a scarecrow?” Aunt Abby asked, her sparkling eyes wide.

  “Never misses this. Each year he comes up with something different, then sets the latest one up on the farm. He loves making scarecrows for his trees—it’s kind of his hobby. He calls it his Orchard Army.”

  “I didn’t know scarecrows were used in tree orchards. I thought they were only in cornfields,” Aunt Abby said. “You can tell I’m not a country girl.”

  Honey laughed. “Oh, scarecrows are a staple around here. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. And they really work, not just on crows, but all kinds of birds and wild animals that dig up the seeds, trample the seedlings, and eat the fruit off the trees. A lot of folks have switched to using aluminum ribbons that shimmer in the sun and scare the critters away, but Red is old school—and a little superstitious. Scarecrows are supposed to be supernatural. You’ll find stories about them in everything from Nathanial Hawthorne’s work, to comic books, to horror movies. There are scarecrow festivals and contests all over the country.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t realize how popular scarecrows are.” Thank goodness they weren’t common in the city, I thought, or I’d be totally creeped out.

  “Wait till you see the contestants competing today,” Honey said. “I got a preview inside the tent.”

  Before she could tell us more details, Tiffany called for the crowd’s attention again.

  “All right, everyone! Are you ready for the scarecrow parade? Here they come!” Tiffany announced the contestants by their scarecrow names as they appeared from the tent and lined up along the side of the hay maze behind her. The standouts were a fisherman scarecrow named “Hodmedod,” a hatchet-wielding scarecrow named “Lusty Bordon,” a pirate scarecrow named “Jack Scare-oh,” a bonneted, little old lady scarecrow named “Tattie Bogal,” and a really hideous zombie scarecrow named “Jeepers Creeper.”

  “Which one is Red?” Aunt Abby asked Hon
ey.

  She blinked and strained her neck to see the contestants through the crowd in front of us. “I . . . I don’t see him. . . . I wonder what happened. . . .”

  “And now it’s time to vote!” Tiffany announced through her mic.

  I watched as she had J.J. hold the retro Clap-O-Meter next to each contestant. Every time the crowd clapped, the needle on the gizmo moved, measuring the amount of noise produced. Excitement seemed to be running high as each contestant was applauded.

  One of the scarecrows I hadn’t noticed before caught my eye. He—She? It?—was dressed in a green shirt and green tights, with a rope belt around its waist, and a red cape at its back. A hemp hood covered the scarecrow’s head, with two eyeholes cut out. Straw stuck out from the ends of the sleeves, leggings, and hood. It was an odd interpretation of a scarecrow, and I wondered where the idea had come from.

  Just as Tiffany announced the name of the mysterious scarecrow—“Jonathan Crane, aka Scarecrow from DC Comics”—I knew who it hid beneath that mask. But it wasn’t the identity that gave it away—it was the familiar ratty tennis shoes.

  “That’s Dillon!” I shrieked to everyone around me.

  “Where?” Aunt Abby asked.

  I pointed. “Right in the middle of the scarecrows. Look at the shoes!”

  “Oh my,” Aunt Abby said. “I didn’t recognize my own son!”

  Jake and Detective Shelton just shook their heads.

  “I hope he wins!” Aunt Abby said, suddenly beaming with pride. “Everyone clap for him!”

  Tiffany continued to hold the Clap-O-Meter next to Dillon, garnering him a nice loud applause. But as she moved on, I knew he had some stiff competition from Jack Scare-oh and Lusty Bordon.

  After the last contestant received his Clap-O-Meter results, the crowd hushed. Tiffany held up the mic to announce the winner. “First, I want to thank all of our scarecrow contestants today. They did an outstanding job, didn’t they?” More applause. “Now, for our winner. The one-hundred-dollar gift certificate goes to. . . .” She paused and looked around at the crowd. “Scarecrow number six—Jonathan Crane, aka Scarecrow!”