Bitter Harvest

by Wendy Tyson

  A tree swayed and the noise caused Megan to jump. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She figured it was left over from her last experience here, and she kept going.

  Something on the Sauer property across the street caught Megan’s attention. She squinted, then realized it was only the glint of metal in the dying sunlight. The Sauer property did look neater. No more refuse. No more old cars. No more—

  Cars.

  Like an old Honda. The Sauers bought old vehicles at auction. Some they fixed up, others they sold. They had connections. Knew where to get the best deals.

  Was it possible? All this time she’d been thinking of Jenner, but someone else had a lot to lose—Glen Sauer. If his farm was to constitute the majority of the land needed for the development, clearly he stood to make a lot of money. What might he do to protect that opportunity? He had time—a farmer’s schedule was busy, but flexible. He had means. And he had motive.

  If Ted Kuhl had learned of the proposal and had gone to Otto, he may have talked with others. Others who also knew that Ted wanted the deal to fall through. Glen may even have been one of those others.

  Megan waved at Denver. When she failed to get his attention, she texted Clover. “Are the Sauers at the chili cook-off?”

  “Dunno. Saw Glen earlier. May still be here. Why?” Clover responded. “It’s a hit. Everyone <3s Alvaro’s chili.”

  Megan responded: “Good. Heading to Sauers’ farm. Text me if you see them.” With that, Megan texted Denver to let him know she was going to take a walk around the Sauer farm. Then she turned off the phone’s ringer.

  The Sauers’ farm was quiet. Night was pressing in, so Megan kept to the outskirts, looking around occasionally to see if Denver was still in the car. Satisfied that he was there, she pushed forward.

  It wasn’t unthinkable to envision Glen Sauer as a killer. He had a cruel streak; just ask Gunther. And as a farmer, he would be used to giving medication. A shot of peanut oil into Ted Kuhl’s vein would be no problem. He could easily subdue Ted—he probably weighed twice as much as the smaller man.

  But Emily? If he hurt her too, where would this end? Who else would he need to quiet? And what about Lily? She was missing too.

  Megan’s sense of urgency heightened. She pulled her phone out once more. Not wanting to make any more noise than she had to, she sent Bobby King a text just in case, letting him know her thoughts about Glen Sauer.

  She’d reached the spot where she’d followed Sammy. A few feet ahead was the path to the old chicken barn, and beyond that, the turkey shed and the barns that housed the cows. From what she could see though, nothing was out of place. She turned, realizing she’d lost sight of Denver’s car. She was about to head back when something new caught her eye: a piece of jewelry on the ground near the stone chicken barn. She shone her flashlight on it. A gold cross, the one Emily often wore.

  Heart thumping, she bent to pick it up. It felt light and insubstantial in her grasp, and she placed it in her pocket. She stopped and listened, holding her breath so she could hear more clearly. Nothing—no voices, no baby crying. But Emily had been here. She lifted her hand to open the chicken barn door, then noticed it was locked. A rusty chain was wrapped around the door handles.

  It hadn’t been locked just days ago. This was new.

  Megan rattled the chain. It stayed affixed to the door.

  She took the flashlight and pulled it through the chain. She tugged down on it once, then twice. Nothing. Breathing hard, she pulled the flashlight through again. This time, she summoned all her strength and gave a sharp downward thrust. Nothing. She did it again and again, each sound a sharp stab to her nerves. On the fifth thrust, the rusty chain broke.

  Megan opened the door and shined the light inside. Emily Kuhl lay huddled on a dirty comforter, unconscious.

  Megan ran in and knelt beside her. That was when she heard another sound at the door. Terrified, she turned. Denver was standing there with a finger to his lips. He jogged the ten feet to Emily and turned her over, placing his ear near her mouth and his hand on her heart.

  “She’s alive,” he whispered. “Drugged.”

  “Lily?” Megan mouthed. Where was the baby?

  Thirty-Five

  “We’ve got to get her out of here,” Denver said. “Hurry. I don’t know what those daft bastards gave her, but her pulse is weak. Very weak.”

  “Where’s Lily?”

  “Call King. Hurry. Get an ambulance.”

  Megan nodded. She pulled her phone from her pocket while Denver picked up Emily. Emily was a tall, broad woman despite her thin figure, and lifting dead weight was difficult. Denver slung her over his shoulder with impressive strength, pointing toward the door.

  “You take her,” Megan hissed. “I’ll go to the house and look for the baby.”

  “Don’t confuse bravery with recklessness, Megs. The police will be on their way. Call King.”

  Megan already had her finger on the number pad, trying to get through. “I can’t just leave a child—”

  Only she never got a chance to finish the thought. There in the doorway lurked the silhouette of a person. And that silhouette carried a shotgun.

  Irene Sauer was unnervingly quiet. She swung the shotgun, pointing it at Megan while she motioned toward the back of the barn. “Move it,” she said evenly. “And put the woman down.”

  “What are you doing?” Megan asked. “Irene, be reasonable.”

  “Now.” Irene clicked off the safety. “Please.”

  Denver placed Emily back on the blanket. Megan backed up so that she was behind the first pillar, her back to the rear of the barn. She tried to catch Denver’s eye, but his attention was focused on Emily. It was hard to tell if Emily was still breathing.

  “Ye may have a dead woman here,” Denver said to Irene. “Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “Give me your phones,” Irene said. Her voice was low but commanding.

  Megan slid her phone across the concrete floor. Denver did the same. Still looking at them, gun cocked, Irene picked up the phones. She backed up slowly toward the door, the shotgun pointed first at Denver, then Megan.

  She slammed the door shut without another word. Megan could hear a chain rattle, the clink as a new lock fell into place.

  “She’s not going to make it, Megan. Not if we don’t do something.” Denver had his finger on Emily’s neck, feeling for a pulse. “Her breathing is shallow and labored. I think they gave her a horse tranquilizer, or something like it. Too much maybe.” His voice was calm, but Megan could hear the underlying urgency.

  Megan glanced around, searching for an escape. Beyond the pillar, on the other side of the building, stood a high shallow row of windows.

  Megan said, “If you can help me get up there, I can get through. I’ll run down the road to your car and get help.”

  Denver shook his head. “Not alone. I’ll go.”

  “You need to stay with Emily. I’m useless in a medical situation. Plus, I don’t think you’ll fit through the windows.”

  After a moment, Denver nodded. She was right and he knew it. What choice did they have?

  “Here.” Denver pulled his sweater off and handed it to Megan, leaving him in a t-shirt in the frigid barn. “Use it to cover your fist.”

  Denver knelt down and Megan climbed on his shoulders. His height made her eye level to the windows.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. She did the same, and shot her hand through the window, protected by the sweater. Glass shattered, and the sound echoed off the cavernous walls. Megan tensed, expecting Irene to come plowing back in any moment. She used the sweater to pull out the biggest shards, trying to smooth the bottom sill so she could get through, her heart careening beneath her ribcage.

  Denver glanced at Emily, whose chest was still. “Hurry,” he said, his accent thick.
>
  He knelt down again. Megan slid back to the floor. This time she climbed up with her feet planted squarely on Denver’s shoulders.

  “Now,” she whispered. He heaved up and she pulled herself through the window. “A little more.”

  Denver stood straighter, pushing Megan’s legs up with his hands and arms. Bits of glass sliced into Megan’s arms and abdomen. She felt something wet drip down her forehead.

  “Are you okay?” Denver’s voice was a strained whisper.

  “I’m fine. One more push.”

  Denver shoved her gently through the window. She slid down the smooth wood barn exterior, landing on her hip and right shoulder on the other side. Her head slammed into the barn siding. Quickly she stood up, ascertaining the damage. No broken limbs—just cuts and scrapes. She gulped in the cold fresh air, grateful to be out and alive.

  Megan glanced around, trying to get her bearings. She could see a form in the distance, moving stealthily through the darkened property. Irene. Megan weighed her options. Head to their house and look for Lily? But if Glen was there, she’d be in trouble—and then they’d lose Lily, Emily, and Denver. Or go after Irene? Irene was broad and stocky, strong from her work on the farm. But she was also twenty-five years older. And she had Megan’s phone. Without it, Megan would lose valuable time driving into town. Megan took off after Irene, determined to get the key, the gun, and their phones. She needed to call for an ambulance or Emily was going to die.

  Irene stopped at a shed outside the cow barn. Megan could hear the cows inside, mooing and moaning. The sour smell of manure permeated the air. A door slammed, and Irene disappeared inside the shed. Megan took advantage of the lull, running and tripping through the path. She had trouble seeing out of her left eye. She swiped it. Red liquid stained the sleeve of her sweater.

  The shed door opened again. Irene came out, only this time she was carrying the gun and something else. A few more steps and Megan could make out what it was: a gas can.

  She was going to light the barn on fire.

  With Emily and Denver inside.

  Megan’s head was pounding, her throat felt raw. She forced herself to take a step forward, then another, quietly closing the gap between her and Irene Sauer. Not quietly enough.

  Irene froze. She looked around, then lifted the gun, deciding where to point it. Megan tried to hide in the shadows of the cow barn. Too late. Irene’s gaze latched onto Megan and she began to rush forward, gun aimed at Megan’s head. There was no time to think. Megan ran toward Irene. With a loud grunt she threw all of her weight at the older woman. Irene went down hard. The shotgun flew from her hand. The gas can tumbled to the cement.

  Megan felt anger rage through her. She pushed Irene’s face into the ground, making no effort to be gentle. With her weight centered on Irene, she reached for the gun with her foot, nudging it closer until she could grab the weapon. She pointed the muzzle against Irene’s skull. Irene moaned.

  “Don’t move,” Megan hissed. “Where’s Glen?”

  “In town.”

  Unsure whether to believe her, Megan felt Irene’s pockets for the phones. Her mind flashed to Emily—and Emily’s missing daughter.

  “Where’s the baby, Irene?” When the woman didn’t answer, she pushed her harder against the ground. “Where is Lily?”

  “In the house.”

  Megan couldn’t very well get up with Irene under her. Her mind waded through encroaching haze, determining its next step. She needed to call the police, but the gun weighed so heavily in her hands. Something buzzed in the distance. It took Megan a moment to realize the sounds she heard were sirens. Not near enough, but quickly closing in.

  The ambulance seemed to take forever to get to the hospital. They’d needed backups—three in all. One for Emily and Lily, one for Irene, and a third for Megan. Megan was released into Denver’s care after ninety minutes. From there she headed to the police station, where she gave Bobby King her statement.

  “How’s Emily?” Megan asked. “Will she be all right?”

  Bobby’s face swam before her. “You have a concussion,” the doctor had said. From the expression on King’s face, she still looked a mess.

  “Emily,” Megan repeated, “and the baby. How are they?”

  “Lily was in the house. She was fine. But Emily?” King shook his head. “Lucky Denver was there.” King stopped talking. He was tight-lipped and solemn. Megan didn’t think Emily Kuhl was all right at all.

  Thirty-Six

  The apple-picking finale was moved to the next week out of respect for the victims. It was less a celebration than a day of fellowship and atonement. The crowds of tourists had dissipated, scared off, perhaps, by Winsome’s fifteen minutes of fame on the evening news. Whatever the reason, Diamond Farm hosted a more temperate affair, with clusters of Winsome residents talking, drinking apple cider, and inevitably discussing what had happened.

  Megan, Bibi, and Lily were there with Denver. Emily had made it through the night thanks to Denver’s quick actions, although she would need a week to recuperate. She was staying at the farm, where Clay and Porter were available if she needed help. For her part, Megan was recovering nicely. She had stitches on her stomach, arm, and forehead, but the fogginess in her head had cleared. She stood by Denver with a glass of spiced cider in one hand and the handle of Lily’s stroller in the other.

  “Good to see you,” King said to Megan. He was there with Clover, as much to let the townsfolk know things were okay as to enjoy the gathering. “You look much better than you did when I last saw you.”

  Megan smiled. “I bet.”

  “Thank you,” King said. “For quick thinking. Things could have turned out much worse.”

  “I’m afraid we ruined the chili cook-off.”

  “Ophelia will never forgive you.” King smiled. “Although she’s dealing with her own legal issues, so I wouldn’t expect many complaints from her right now.”

  “Jenner?” Bibi asked.

  “Finally came clean—after we confirmed that he’d been in Winsome when I spoke to him after Otto’s death. Not near Philadelphia as he claimed.”

  “The sweater vest?” Megan asked. “That always bothered me.”

  “Otto was carrying a recording device in the pocket. Jenner ripped the sweater and the device off Otto, they tussled, and Otto fell. It really was an accident—Otto’s death, at least.”

  “Jenner was trying to keep Otto quiet?”

  King nodded.

  “Otto was angry when Ted finally convinced him of what Jenner was doing, how Jenner used Oktoberfest to up the price of the development. Jenner was the promoter, as you thought, and he figured he could get top dollar for matchmaking the deal if Winsome looked like the quintessential small, safe American town, and the Sauer farm was a sought-after provider.”

  “Ironic,” Bibi said. “And Otto threatened to go public.”

  King nodded.

  Megan said, “So he wasn’t having an affair with Ophelia? All those emails and meetings were about this.”

  “Yes. Ophelia shared her role. The committee had no idea she was Jenner’s sister-in-law. The threat of jail time is a great truth serum. At first Otto was trying to find out if Ted was telling the truth about the development plan. Then he confronted Ophelia—and Jenner got involved. They offered to buy him out. He refused. The meeting at the solar farm was a last-ditch effort to convince Otto, only Otto had other ideas.”

  “And his loyalty to Winsome killed him,” Bibi said.

  Denver, whose gaze had fallen on a group of Winsome residents pulling a wagon loaded with Granny Smith apples, turned his attention to King. Denver had fared better than Emily or Megan—but his haunted expression said he hadn’t gone unscathed.

  Denver said, “Irene Sauer. I never would have guessed—until I realized the horse tranquilizer she used on Emily was probably what was used to
overpower Ted.”

  King nodded.

  “You’re right. We finally got the toxicology reports. They showed that Ted had been drugged, then the fatal peanut oil injected. It was meant to look like an accident. Irene is denying it, but even her husband seems to believe she did it.”

  “Glen wasn’t involved?” Bibi asked.

  “We think Irene acted alone. She wanted this for Glen. For their retirement. It was too much money to let slip away. When Glen told her that Ted was making noise, she acted.”

  “She’s a big woman. Built the way she is, used to hauling feed and tending livestock, she could have dragged Teddy.” Bibi frowned. “Farming can be a thankless profession, especially in today’s world. I never much liked the woman, but I never saw her capable of this.”

  Denver said, “Irene should have known that the toxicology tests would turn up the drugs.”

  King crossed his arms across his chest. “She gave him just enough tranquilizer to subdue him—helped along by the alcohol. She took him to the shed—and that’s where she injected the oil. She wanted it to look like he accidentally consumed peanuts. Drunk, running from his problems. She figured we’d look no further.”

  Megan thought of something. “The bad reviews. It was Irene, wasn’t it, who smeared his name online. She wanted Ted to leave town.”

  King agreed. “We think so. But that will have to play out in court. Unless the woman decides to confess.”

  Megan was relieved to know that both Ted’s and Otto’s deaths were finally explainable. Horrid—but with answers. “Still…the way Irene burned the car, her willingness to burn down the chicken barn with people inside.” Megan squeezed Denver’s hand. He squeezed back. “Pretty cold-blooded acts.”