Death of a Bad Apple

by Penny Pike

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” I asked, after watching his face tighten as he spoke about his problems.

  Adam played with the pie, mashing it into mush. “Actually it’s worse than just not having enough water. With the drought, the trees have a harder time fighting off pests and disease. The roots are stressed and the limbs are dying. It’s like I’m growing an apple graveyard out there. That’s why I’m so angry with these GMO people. They swoop down the minute we have problems and don’t offer to help. They just want to buy us out and get rid of us. We small-scale farmers can’t compete with the big corporations.”

  “But people still want organically grown fruit,” Aunt Abby offered. “Now more than ever.”

  “Yeah,” Adam said, “but only if it’s available. Those GMO apples are taking up more and more shelf space.”

  Detective Shelton, who’d been listening intently as Adam shared his woes, cleared his throat. “Adam, do you know of anyone who might have wanted to kill Nathan Chapman?”

  Adam shook his head. “To tell you the truth, I thought maybe Nathan might have killed Roman.”

  That made me sit up. “Why?” I asked, beating the detective to the punch.

  “Because he hated those Eden Corp people more than anyone. After all, he was head of the Apple Festival, and if there was no more festival, there was no more need for Nathan Chapman.”

  “But Paula said he told her he was thinking of selling his farm to Eden Corporation. Maybe he wasn’t that interested in the festival anymore.”

  “That’s bull. The festival—and representing his family’s legacy—was everything to him.”

  “Was he really descended from Johnny Appleseed’s family?” Aunt Abby asked. “Are you sure it wasn’t just something he made up to impress the tourists?”

  “Why would he make up something like that?” Adam said, frowning.

  “I might know why,” came a voice from the hallway. Dillon entered the dining room, holding his open laptop in one hand. He sat down at the other end of the table.

  “What have you got?” I asked Dillon, mentally crossing my fingers that he’d uncovered something significant that would help free Honey and identify the killer.

  Dillon didn’t answer at first. He set down the laptop and tapped on the keyboard. Finally he began reading from the screen. “Okay, well, it’s a little confusing, but I found out that Johnny Appleseed had two brothers named Nathaniel—one born in 1776, two years after John, and the second one in 1781. Weird, huh?”

  “Very weird,” I said. “Why would the parents give two of their sons the same name?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dillon said, squinting at the computer screen, “but they had two different mothers. John’s father—also Nathaniel—was married to Elizabeth in 1770 and then he married Lucy Cooley in 1780. I’m guessing the first wife died.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said. “That happened a lot back then. Women often died in childbirth, or she could have contracted a contagious, deadly disease.”

  “Yeah, so anyway, the second Nathaniel Cooley was actually John’s half brother from another mother, born in 1781. He’s the one who joined Johnny Appleseed in spreading the word of apples, but he quit after a while, went back home to Ohio, got married, and had a bunch of kids. Guess what he named his son?”

  Dillon looked up from the screen to see if we were following.

  “Nathaniel,” I said. “So you’ve been to Ancestry-dot-com, but where is this going?”

  “I’m getting there,” Dillon snapped. “And this is way beyond that simple site. So this Nathaniel the fourth, middle name Cooley, was born in 1810, along with four other kids. He lived to the ripe old age of ninety.”

  “Wow,” Aunt Abby said. “Hope I live that long.”

  Detective Shelton smiled at her.

  Dillon continued. “Okay, so they had nine kids, including three boys, one named John Chapman, but no Nathaniels this time.”

  “Again, what does all this have to do with murder?” I asked, growing impatient.

  “Dude, the Nathan Chapman that ran the festival and was killed, he claimed he was a descendant of Johnny Appleseed Chapman’s family, right? Johnny Appleseed never married or had kids, but his half brother, Nathaniel, did, and his son, Nathaniel, named one of his three sons John. That’s probably the one Nathan claimed was his great-great-great grandfather.”

  “Okay,” said Aunt Abby, “you lost me halfway down the family tree.”

  “Nathan Chapman really was a descendent of a John Chapman,” I summarized for my aunt, “just not the Johnny Appleseed Chapman.”

  “Not exactly,” Dillon said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “All three of Nathaniel’s sons died before the age of three, including the one Nathan claimed was his relative.”

  “Whoa! I’m so confused,” I said. “What does all this mean?”

  Dillon smiled condescendingly. “It means that the present-day Nathan Chapman, who’s supposed to be a descendant of the John Chapman family, really couldn’t have been.”

  “So he lied about being related to the Chapman family?” Detective Shelton clarified.

  Dillon nodded. “Dude, not only that, but listen to this. Nathan Chapman isn’t even his real name.”

  Aunt Abby blinked. “You’re kidding! How do you know?”

  Dillon shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s what I do, Mom.”

  “That’s true! You’re a genius, Dillon!” Aunt Abby practically squealed.

  “I think we’re getting off track here,” the detective said. “If his name’s not Nathan Chapman, then what is it?”

  Dillon looked at Adam. “Ethan Bramley.”

  Everyone turned to Adam. His face was as red as the apple place mat in front of him.

  “He’s your brother?” Aunt Abby said to him.

  Adam looked down at his mangled pie. “Half brother.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, almost speechless.

  “Unfortunately yes,” Adam said, looking down at his mashed dessert. “You guys can probably figure out why I chose not to share that information with anyone. My half brother was a liar and a cheat and knew absolutely nothing about family.”

  “In fact,” Dillon added, “he was an ex-con.”

  Adam looked up, his face even redder than before. He sighed. “It’s true. He was in prison for a while. Now can you see why I didn’t want anyone to know we were related?”

  “What was he in prison for?” Detective Shelton asked.

  Adam cleared his throat. “Manslaughter. He accidentally killed a guy in a bar fight over some woman. He didn’t mean to, but they sent him to Folsom anyway.”

  “But he owned the farm adjacent to yours, didn’t he?” Aunt Abby asked. “I think Honey told me that.”

  “It’s actually my property,” Adam confessed. “Was, anyway. I gave it to him so he could start over, make a good life. What a mistake. I had to hire a bunch of guys to work the place after he started running around again, drinking and gambling and chasing women. The only reason I helped him was that he was family, and that means something around these parts to most people.”

  I was slowly putting one and one together, if not two and two. “So all this time you’ve been covering for your half brother, working both farms, spending your own money on extra hired help. Then Paula Hayashi comes along and pays you some attention and you think maybe she likes you. And then you catch Nathan flirting with her and . . . and you didn’t like that, did you, Adam?”

  Adam stood up suddenly, nearly knocking his chair back. He jabbed a finger at me. “You listen here, lady!”

  “Hold up,” Jake said, raising a hand.

  Detective Shelton stood up next to Adam, no doubt ready to act if needed.

  “Hey, my so-called brother went through women like they’re candied apples,” Adam spat. “He’d had half the women in this town. I was ashamed of him, but I tolerated him for the sake of my parents and because he needed me and because that’s what we
Bramleys do. But if you’re implying I killed him just because he was flirting with that witch, you’re dead wrong.”

  Jake looked up at Adam. “Now that he’s dead, what happens to the farm?”

  If looks could kill, Jake would have been a dead man. Adam stared at him so long I thought he might be having some kind of seizure. Finally he blew out a breath of air and spun around, this time knocking his chair over. He stomped out of the house, leaving the rest of us staring at the slammed front door.

  Chapter 20

  “Well, that was quite the bombshell,” I said, breaking the silence.

  Detective Shelton righted Adam’s overturned chair and sat down in his own.

  “Nice work, Dillon!” Aunt Abby congratulated her son, and patted him on the back. “He’s quite the white hat, you know.”

  “White hat?” I said, frowning. “You mean he’s a good guy, like in the movies?”

  “Mo-om!” Dillon whined. “Don’t say that! I’m not any kind of hat—white, black, or gray. That’s a stereotype.”

  “Black hat? Gray hat?” I repeated, even more confused.

  “It’s better than calling you a hacker,” Aunt Abby whispered to him, adding a final pat.

  “Mom, a hacker isn’t necessarily a criminal, you know.” He shot a glance at Detective Shelton.

  “Would you two please explain what you’re talking about!” I demanded.

  Dillon rolled his eyes, then took a deep breath and began speaking to us as if we were school children. “A black hat is just a media term that stands for hackers who break into security systems either to steal information or to insert malware. What they do is usually illegal.”

  “Always illegal,” Detective Shelton quietly interjected.

  Dillon avoided his gaze. “White hats break in to show companies that their systems are weak.”

  “Like you did at the university,” Aunt Abby added.

  Dillon glanced nervously at Shelton. “Hey, I paid for doing that, even though I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I only used open sources—I didn’t hack. Only UC Davis didn’t see it that way because I didn’t tell them ahead of time.”

  Detective Shelton shifted in his seat. We were in a gray—hat—area here and I felt the cop’s discomfort.

  “So, what’s a gray hat, anyway?” I asked. “Someone who breaks in and can’t decide to use their power for good or evil?”

  “Ha-ha,” Dillon said, not even close to laughing. “A gray hat is someone who may technically commit a computer crime, but he doesn’t do it for personal gain. That’s what I did when I broke into the campus computer. Since I didn’t tell them ahead of time that I was going to do that, they accused me of wanting the information for my own use. But that wasn’t true.”

  “But it’s still illegal,” the detective said, still eying Dillon.

  “Technically,” Dillon reiterated without looking at him.

  “So the stuff that you dig up on the Internet, like what you found on Nathan Chapman, or whatever his name is,” I said, “is that white, black, or gray?”

  Dillon shrugged again. “Gray, if you want to call it that. What I’m trying to do is find out stuff to help Mom’s friend who’s been accused of a crime. That’s why I’m checking out other people—to find out if they’re hiding anything that might be suspect.”

  “They call that invasion of privacy,” Detective Shelton interjected. “A misdemeanor or a felony, depending . . .”

  Dillon groaned. “Not if I use public sources that are available to anyone who cares enough to dig around. If I use the Internet to find out stuff without authorization, then yeah, I guess I’m guilty of invasion of privacy. But like I keep telling you guys, I’m just trying to help Mom’s friend by finding out the truth. I’m not disclosing the information to the public.”

  “He’s right,” Jake said, the attorney in him revealing itself. “Dillon’s not using the information for publication, to offend, with malice, or put the person in a false light.” I could just picture him in court, wearing a suit and tie and reciting all that legal lingo. I had a feeling the female jurists hung on his every word. “But they could still sue you.”

  “So sue me,” Dillon countered. “Anyone can sue anybody, these days. You know that. But if it’s the truth, they won’t win.” He shot a look at the detective.

  “All of this is debatable,” the detective said, “but that’s not important at the moment.”

  “True,” I added. “We’ve just learned that Nathan Chapman wasn’t who he claimed to be and in fact was half brother to Adam Bramley, who was covering for him.”

  “And now Nathan’s dead,” Aunt Abby said as she rose from the table. “Anyone want more pie or coffee?”

  I smiled at her non sequitur. “None for me,” I said, “but if there’s more wine . . .”

  She nodded and headed for the kitchen.

  “So, what do we know?” I asked the others while we waited for Aunt Abby to return. “Did someone find out who Nathan really was and then killed him?”

  “That seems unlikely,” the detective said, “unless he threatened them and the killer murdered him to protect him—or her—self.”

  I tried coming in from another angle. “All right, then maybe he was murdered because he was planning to sell his property. Maybe his half brother, Adam, killed him when he heard about his brother’s plans. After all, he was the one who had the most to lose if Nathan sold the farm. Adam wouldn’t inherit it back, assuming he’s in Nathan’s will.”

  “But we still have the murderer of Roman Gold, aka Reuben Gottfried, to ID,” Jake said.

  Aunt Abby returned with a tray filled with two coffee cups, two glasses of wine, a cup of tea, and a Red Bull. She set the coffees in front of Detective Shelton’s and her own place, then came around the table and handed Jake and me our wine, before giving Dillon the energy drink.

  “You know,” Aunt Abby said as she took her place at the table with her tea. “We’ve learned so much about all these people and yet Honey is still at the sheriff’s office and we still don’t know who killed those two poor men.” She topped off her summary with a sip of the fragrant hot drink. Was that apple I detected?

  I took a swallow of wine and let the cool liquid begin to work its magic on my tense muscles.

  “Dillon,” I said after licking my lips. “Would you put on your gray hat again and see if you can find out more about Red Cortland, Honey’s friend? It seems odd that he disappeared around the time of Nathan’s murder. And while you’re at it, check out Crystal and Tiffany, see if they have any secrets that might embarrass them somehow.”

  Detective Shelton sighed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he mumbled into his coffee.

  Dillon picked up his laptop and soda and headed up the stairs without saying good night.

  Aunt Abby yawned. “You two should get to bed,” she said to Jake and me. “Wes and I will wait up for Honey. I’m sure she’ll be home soon.”

  “I hope so,” I said, but having my doubts. I rose with my wine in hand and turned to Jake. “You coming?”

  “Do you mind if I wait to hear from Casey, my lawyer friend?” he said, remaining in his seat. “He should be at the station by now, so I should know something soon.”

  “Keep me posted,” I said. But before I reached the stairs, I glimpsed car headlights through the front window and stopped. “Someone’s here!”

  “Honey!” Aunt Abby got up, rushed to the door, and opened it.

  I joined her and peered around to see Sheriff O’Neil’s squad car. He opened his car door, lighting up the inside, and stepped out. I strained to see if anyone else was in the car, but the sheriff closed his door, turned, and faced his anxious greeting party.

  “Where’s Honey?” Aunt Abby asked, her face fallen.

  The sheriff shook his head slowly. “Sorry, folks. We’re going to have to keep her awhile longer.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Aunt Abby peered up at him, confused. “Why? What about her lawyer?” S
he glanced at Jake.

  “He’s there, but we’ve had to formally charge her. She won’t be going home until the judge sets bail on Monday.”

  “That’s absolutely crazy!” Aunt Abby was nearly beside herself. “She didn’t do anything!”

  “I’m afraid that’s not what the evidence says,” Sheriff O’Neil said.

  “What evidence?” Aunt Abby asked. “The apple corer? That apple stick? Anyone could have used those things to make her look guilty.”

  “Actually there’s something else,” the sheriff said.

  “What is it?” Aunt Abby demanded. “A smoking gun?”

  The sheriff shook his head at my aunt’s sarcastic statement. “Remember the seeds we found in her pocket?”

  “Yeah, so?” Aunt Abby said. “They were just a bunch of apple seeds. That doesn’t make her a murderer.”

  Sheriff O’Neil sighed. “Forensics looked at the seeds we found in Nathan Chapman’s mouth under a microscope, then did some testing. They matched the seeds in Honey’s pocket.” He looked at Aunt Abby and added, gravely, “Both seeds came from Honey’s apple orchard.”

  • • •

  “Well, I’m not leaving the inn until Honey is cleared and back here where she belongs,” Aunt Abby said to Sheriff O’Neil after we’d settled back at the dining table and caught him up on Dillon’s discovery. I had a feeling this was going to be a long night for all of us—but worse, of course, for Honey.

  “You’re barking up the wrong apple tree, Sheriff,” Aunt Abby continued, fiddling with her tea bag as she spoke. “You need to take a closer look at Adam Bramley. We just figured out that he had the most to lose.”

  “How so?” the sheriff asked, glancing around at us.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Aunt Abby said, her eyes flaring. Detective Shelton laid a hand on hers to calm her down. She took a deep breath and started again, counting out each point on her fingers.

  “First, Adam could have killed Roman for trying to buy out his half brother. Second, he could have killed Nathan or Ethan or whatever his name is, because he wanted his land back and because he was flirting with Paula. And third, he has a violent temper. We all witnessed it tonight. I think he’s your killer.” She rested her case.