A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4)

by Amanda Flower

  Becky dozed in the front seat as I drove the few short miles to our rented house. I poked her in the arm. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  She muttered about five more minutes. She sounded like me. I was the one who hated mornings. Finally, I coaxed her out of the car.

  A bouquet of red tulips sat on the cement step in front of our door. I froze.

  “Oh look, flowers!” Becky dropped her bag in the middle of the yard, ran, and knelt next to the bouquet. “I love tulips. You love them too.”

  I made a face.

  “Oh, right.” She covered her mouth. “You got sick in the tulips yesterday.” She plucked a florist’s card from bouquet. “They’re from Curt,” Becky said. “Do you want me to read the note to you?”

  “N—”

  “Red, I’m sorry about yesterday. What I told you was the truth. Curt.” She held the card between her thumb and index finger. “What does that mean? What did he tell you?”

  “It’s not important.” I gave her a hand up.

  “It’s that weird he chose the flowers you got sick on? Someone needs to tell Curt that’s poor etiquette.”

  I laughed trying to cover my dismay over the flowers. “What do you know about etiquette?”

  “They had a special about it on television a couple of months ago. I know what a fish fork is now. Do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think so.’

  Becky placed the flowers in the kitchen window while I fed Gigabyte and listened to his grievances about being abandoned for a night. As I left, the cat followed me all the way to front door meowing and snarling. It was going to take more than a can of tuna to make up for this, and he wanted me to know it.

  The bus wasn’t leaving the inn for another two hours, and I told Timothy I’d drop off Becky and return to the inn, but what about Pearl?

  I sent him a text before I headed to the county hospital.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Inside the hospital, I stepped up to the receptionist. “I’m here to see Pearl Kennerwell.”

  She clicked on her keyboard. “She’s in room two eleven.”

  I thanked her and headed for the elevator. As soon as I exited the elevator, I saw Officer Riley standing outside of a room to the right. He folded his arms when he saw me coming. “The chief’s in there.”

  “Can I go in?” I asked.

  He looped his thumbs through his duty belt. “Nope.”

  “Come on, Riley, maybe I can help. Pearl’s my friend. I helped Chief Rose talk to her before.”

  He grunted and opened the door just a crack. Through the narrow opening, I spotted the police chief sitting below an IV drip. The tubing from the drip stopped at the top of Pearl’s thin frail hand. Pearl’s pink nail polish was chipped. It was all I could see of her.

  “What is it, Riley?” the chief asked.

  “Humphrey is here, boss,” her officer replied.

  A sideways smile spread across the chief’s face. “Send her in.”

  Officer Riley pushed the door in for me. After I cleared the threshold, he closed the door again. I pulled a second chair up close to the bed. Pearl’s eyes were closed, her cheeks sunken in. Her complexion was the color of a cinderblock.

  “Don’t worry, Humphrey, she’s still with us,” the chief whispered.

  I blinked at her.

  “You looked like you were about to pass out.” She eyed me. “You didn’t stop for an Italian sausage on the way here, did you?”

  I paled.

  Chief Rose touched Pearl’s arm. “Mrs. Kennerwell, Chloe is here to see you.”

  Her eyelids fluttered. “Chloe, it was so nice of you to come. You’re such a dear, sweet girl. I hope my daughter is just like you.”

  “Daughter?” Chief Rose barked. “I thought you didn’t have any children.”

  Pearl squeezed her eyes shut. A tear leaked out from her right eye. “I did once.”

  “Did she die?” The chief asked.

  I elbowed the police chief in the side.

  “Ouch!” She rubbed the spot on her ribcage.

  “Let’s talk about the more recent past. What happened last night? What were you doing in the lounge with the bookend?” Chief Rose asked.

  The police chief didn’t seem to realize she sounded like she was making accusation in the board game Clue. I scanned the tiny hospital room for Colonel Mustard.

  “I’ve had trouble sleeping, and I got up to close the curtains. The moonlight was so bright.” She smiled at me. “When I did, I saw your note slipped under the door.”

  My pulse quickened. “Note? What note?”

  Her mouth drooped. “There was a note from you saying you couldn’t sleep, and if I woke up, I should join you in the lounge for a cup of tea. It sounded like the perfect alternative to tossing and turning in bed all night. I went to the lounge but was surprised it was dark. Your note implied you’d already be there, but I thought maybe you ran up to your room for something. That’s the last thing I remember thinking.”

  I bent closer to the bed. “Pearl, I promise you I didn’t leave you a note.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “Someone tricked me.”

  “Do you still have the note?” the chief asked.

  “I took it with me to the lounge because the handwriting was so nice. I wanted to compliment Chloe on it.”

  “That proves it wasn’t Chloe. She has terrible handwriting. She’s from the keyboarding generation,” the police chief said.

  “Oh, that’s a shame. It was very pretty.” Pearl moved her hand and flinched as the IV pulled at her skin.

  The radio at the police chief’s waist crackled.

  Chief Rose stood. “We didn’t see any evidence of a note near where you fell. I suspect whoever attacked you took it with him or her, but I will have my officers search the inn’s lounge again to be certain. I’ve got a callout, so I have to go.” She sidestepped my chair to the door.

  Pearl’s eyes slid closed again.

  Chief Rose opened the door. “You coming, Humphrey?”

  I folded my hand on my lap. “I’ll stay here a little while longer and visit with Pearl.”

  She nodded. “Remember what to do if you learn anything significant.”

  “I do.”

  She left the room.

  “Pearl?” I touched her thumb. “You said before that you and Ruby were alone, that neither of you had children, but now, you mention a daughter. Can you tell me about your daughter?”

  Her eyes slowly opened. “Remember when I told you Ruby made all the hard decisions for me. That was the hardest of all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was the nineteen fifties, and I was nineteen and pregnant.” She looked out the window, which faced a brick wall. “I wasn’t married. In my time, having a child out of wedlock could ruin a girl. My boyfriend didn’t want anything to do with me or the child. He told me to get rid of the baby.” She shuddered. “Ruby was the only other person I told. We were always close, more like sisters than cousins. She took charge over the situation just like I knew she would. Somehow she convinced both sets of our parents we were accepted to a ladies refinement school in Texas. Our parents gave us money to go because they thought we would return to Mississippi fine, cultured ladies and be able to snatch up rich husbands.

  “Instead of going to the school, we went to a little town outside of Austin. Ruby found a job as a waitress, and I stayed in the tiny apartment we rented until the baby was born. It was the worst time in my life. Ruby delivered the baby, a girl. We agreed before the child was born I would give her up for adoption. Ruby found an orphanage in Austin that would take her.” She cleared her throat.

  “When it came time to sign the release papers to give the baby up, I couldn’t do it. I was too weak, but Ruby knew it was the right thing to do. I had to do it if I ever wanted the chance of finding a good husband. It was the right thing to do for the baby too. What kind of life would I give her on my own? Because I couldn’t do it,
Ruby signed her name on the papers and claimed the baby was hers to give up.”

  My fingers curled around her thumb. “No wonder you were so close to her.”

  She turned her face back to me. “She was so strong. She should be the one still here. I don’t deserve to be. I’m the weak one.”

  The door opened and Dr. Bryant strolled inside. “Chloe,” he said with surprise. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you around here anymore.”

  “I’m not a patient. Just visiting a friend.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose that makes it all right. How are you feeling, Mrs. Kennerwell?”

  “Poorly,” she said.

  He nodded as his finger zoomed around his iPad’s screen. “You had a nasty bump on your head, but I’m happy to tell you there is no sign of concussion. That’s a miracle considering your age and heft of the blunt object. You should be released later today.”

  “Will I be able to fly home tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” She closed her eyes.

  He smiled and pointed his iPad at me. “Remember, Chloe, I don’t want to have you as a patient again.”

  “I remember.”

  He left the room.

  “Pearl, I’m going to have to leave for the inn. It’s that last day of the tour here in Ohio.”

  “I understand,” she murmured with her eyes closed.

  I released her hand. “Thank you for telling me about Ruby and your daughter.”

  Her eyes fluttered opened. “You’re the first person I’ve told that story to in a very long time. I hope my daughter is like you.”

  Pearl’s words brought tears to my eyes. For too many years, I was the daughter my father did not want. That was changing, but rejection does not heal overnight. To hear Pearl say she wished her daughter was like me meant more to me than she would ever know. “What was her name?”

  “I never picked one. I couldn’t bear to.” She closed eyes.

  I kissed her on the top of her head, careful to avoid the bandage, and left the hospital.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  In front of the Dutch Inn, Timothy helped the passengers onto the bus. When the last person climbed on, he said, “I think we should have a new rule.”

  I folded the day’s itinerary and stuck it into the back pocket of my jeans. “What’s that?”

  “When there is a crazed killer on the loose, text messages are not sufficient means of communication.” He gave me a pointed look.

  “I’m sorry, but the idea to visit Pearl didn’t strike me until after I dropped Becky off. If I drove all the way back here first, there wouldn’t have been time to see her before the bus left.”

  He folded his arms. “You could have called.”

  “You would have argued against my idea,” I said.

  “I’m going with you today. You didn’t think I would let you go with this group again without me, did you?”

  “Nope,” I said. I was glad for the company.”

  “Where are we going first?” Timothy asked.

  “It’s the Sutter farm.” I made a face.

  “The deacon won’t say anything to you in front the tourists,” Timothy said.

  I gave him an Are-You-Kidding-Me look. The deacon had never been shy about sharing his opinion about the Troyers or me before, so how would a group from Mississippi stop him?

  “Stop standing around talking, and get on the bus,” Hudson bellowed.

  I gripped the railing and pulled myself up the first large step. “Timothy’s coming too.” Hudson rubbed his bald head. “You need more muscle?”

  Officer Nottingham was already aboard under Chief Rose’s orders.

  “Yep,” I replied.

  “Whatever,” Hudson said. “Just get on the bus. The sooner this day is over the better.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  On the drive to the Sutters, we passed the Troyer farm. A white van from the State Department of Health idled in the Troyer’s driveway. Timothy and I leaned close to the window for a better look. It was yet another time I wished the Troyers had a phone in their farmhouse so that we could call them and ask what was going on. That answer would have to wait until the tour ended for the day.

  The Sutter farm was three miles down the road past the Lambright farm where Ruth’s closest friend Anna lived. The Sutters’ ran a small vegetable farm. Most of the deacon’s income came from the storefronts he rented to Amish businesses in tow.

  The deacon, Aaron, and a half dozen other Amish men, including Bishop Hooley, waited for the bus as it rolled up the Sutters’ long driveway. Aaron, the men, and the bishop waved. The deacon did not.

  “What a beautiful farm,” Bitty said.

  Charles snapped photographs.

  Bitty poked her husband in the ribs. “Charles, put the camera away. You don’t want to offend our hosts, do you?”

  Charles replaced his camera in its case with an all-suffering sigh.

  I needed to see those pictures.

  Outside the bus, the guests milled around the bus, and Deacon Sutter’s flashed a phony smile at the group. If he was surprised to see Officer Nottingham and Timothy with us, he did not show it. “Wilkim. We’re so happy you are here with us today. We will begin with a short demonstration on thrashing wheat.”

  “Oh, I always wondered how flour is made,” Bobbi Jo said. “Won’t this be exciting, Jimbo?”

  The large elderly man narrowed his eyes. “Will there be free samples of Amish bread too?”

  The deacon held his gaze. “Nee. After what happened a few days ago, the district decided that we would not be able to give you any food from any of our farms. It is for your own safety.”

  Jimbo’s mouth fell open. “So we’re going to starve?”

  “Jimbo,” I interrupted. “There will be plenty to eat back at the inn.”

  He grunted.

  Finally, the deacon led the group to the barn. I fell to the back of the pack with Bitty and Charles. “Charles, can I see your camera?” I asked.

  He gripped his camera bag tightly in his hand and stopped walking. “Why? I’m not taking any photographs. I can’t leave it on the bus where it could walk off. It’s an expensive piece of equipment.”

  “I know that,” I said quickly. “I would like to look at the photographs you’ve taken, especially those from Saturday morning.”

  Bitty placed her hand over her heart. “Do you think Charles may have taken a picture of whoever hurt Ruby and Dudley?”

  I shrugged. “It’s worth a look.”

  Charles’s jowls shook. “You can take a peek, but Chief Rose already looked through my pictures and made copies of every photo I took on Saturday. She didn’t seem to think they were of much help.”

  Here I was thinking I was a detecting genius and the police chief was two steps ahead of me. “Can I still have a look? Maybe I will pick up on something she didn’t.”

  He nodded. “All right.” He handed me the camera bag. “Do you know how to use it?”

  “I do.”

  “Because if you break it, you buy it. Come on, Bitty, I don’t want to miss the wheat.”

  They continued on their way to the barn. I searched the farm from a shady spot where I could view the photographs on the camera’s screen without glare. A toolshed with a small porch in front was a few yards from the barn. I perched on the cement step and opened the camera case.

  I whistled. It was the first time I had been able to see Charles’ camera up close. It was a Nikon with three interchangeable lenses, easily worth two grand. Carefully, I removed the camera from the case because I knew Charles would hold me to “you break it, you buy it.”

  I switched it on and changed the setting to view pictures. I groaned. There were over four thousand photos stored on the camera. This is going to take forever.

  I scrolled back to the beginning of Saturday. It started with images of the group climbing on the bus at the Dutch Inn. It was a shocking to
see Dudley and Ruby among those pictured. Ruby smiled brightly at the camera as she stood next to Pearl. Dudley was in the background of a second photograph, making notes on a clipboard. I wondered if those notes were about the tour or about his side gambling business. The camera captured Earl in the same picture. In the image he anxiously watched Dudley. I knew now he was trying to deal with his gambling addiction, but I wondered what Chief Rose thought when she saw the image the first time.

  The next fifty frames were shots of the countryside from the bus. I paid closer attention when I recognized Troyer’s farm. Five shots of Naomi and Thomas playing with Mabel. Because of the angle, I could tell Charles was above the children when he took these. He must have still been on the bus. More pictures of buggies, cows, the tourists exploring the farm. There were some Amish in the shots, but mostly in the background. It appeared Charles at least tried to be respectful of the culture’s aversion to cameras.

  Surprisingly, there were only three interior shots of the Troyer dairy barn. The third shot showed a scowling Mr. Troyer. I was sure he told Charles to put his camera away. I concentrated on the two other pictures. The first was of Mr. Troyer milking the cow. Several of the tourists were in the picture, including Bobbi Jo, Jimbo, Fred, and Nadine. The second shot was of the snack table. Clearly when he took the picture it was before anything happened. The muffins sat in the baskets, and the small plastic cups of milk waited in straight, symmetrical lines. Seeing those milk cups, I couldn’t help but wonder if Ruby and Dudley had been poisoned by chance. There was nothing to indicate that one cup was different from the next.

  I sighed. If Chief Rose didn’t find anything of interest, why did I think I would?

  I turned off the camera and repacked it. Why did I feel like I was back to square one?

  Charles waited for me outside of the barn. I handed over his camera. “You were careful with it, weren’t you? You didn’t drop it?”

  “I was careful,” I reassured him. “You have some great pictures there, Charles. You have a great eye.”

  His jowls wiggled. “Oh, well, I dabble is all.” He smiled.

  Bitty poked her head out of the barn. “Charles, you’re missing the wheat smacking.”