Apple Cider Slaying

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “He’d be crazy if he doesn’t,” she said. “And I don’t think he’s crazy. Cheers to nothing but good news ahead.”

  We tapped our takeout cups in a toast and straightened our postures as the wind relented its wrath. Winter was coming, but the day was beautiful. The sun was bright against the majestic autumn-colored mountains. I had a big chocolate malt and my best friend at my side. Anything seemed possible. Maybe Dot was right. If Mr. Sherman didn’t budge on the business loan, there was always another way to get where I wanted. There was only one way to find out.

  “I left a significantly improved business plan with Jake a couple days ago,” I said. “He promised to pass it on to Mr. Sherman for me. It might mean more coming from a junior loan officer than from the person wanting the loan,” I said. For all I knew, Mr. Sherman loved the revised plan and was drawing up paperwork for my loan as I spoke. Maybe another impromptu drop in at the bank was in order.

  A tall, dark-haired man in sunglasses rounded the corner ahead of us and I nearly swallowed my tongue. It took me a minute to realize it wasn’t Hank. Though it would have been just my luck to want so desperately to avoid him, then literally walk right into him.

  “Has he called yet?” Dot asked.

  “Hank?” I squeaked.

  “No.” She slid me a sly grin. “Mr. Sherman.”

  “Oh.” I sighed. “No. I haven’t heard back, but I was just thinking the bank isn’t too far from here. If Mr. Sherman’s not in, Jake might be.”

  “Someone was just talking about Jake,” Dot said. “I can’t remember how he came up, but I said I remembered him from when he worked with you at Sip N Sup, and the other person said he’s as sweet as ever, but all grown up and handsome now.” She wiggled her malt cup and watched me, waiting for confirmation.

  “He’s definitely grown into his height and filled out nicely, but I’ve always thought he was handsome. He was just a little more awkward about it five years ago. He seemed just as kind and ready to help as ever when I met with him. He’s one of those rare good guys, I think.”

  “I don’t think good guys are rare,” Dot said. “I just think the one guy you caught turned out to be a toad. We should go say hi.” Dot pointed her cup at the bank as it came into view across the street.

  “Perfect,” I said. “I’ll invite Mr. Sherman back to the orchard if he’s in.”

  Dot hit the button at the crosswalk. “Excellent.”

  I steeled my nerves and felt my stomach rock as I prepared to face the man who held the fate of my dreams in his hands.

  “Hey, what did you decide to name the kittens?” Dot asked as we hurried across the street. “I’ve been thinking about them, and I kind of like Harry and Sally or Apples and Cider. Pumpkin and Spice. Something like that.”

  “I went with Kenny and Dolly.”

  Dot’s eyes went wide and she bounced on her toes as we landed outside the bank. “Love it.”

  “I thought you might.” I pulled the glass door open and motioned her ahead.

  The bank was quiet as usual, still scented like cinnamon and playing soft but upbeat holiday tunes. I smiled at the six-foot Christmas tree that had sprung up in the front window, boxes of trimmings and twinkle lights at its feet, then led the way to Jake’s office and leaned through the open doorway. “Knock, knock,” I said.

  Jake’s fingers froze on the keyboard and a broad smile split his face. He pushed away from the desk and greeted me with a hug. “Twice in a week? When did I get so lucky?” He released me and his gaze landed on Dot. “You’re both here to see me? Clearly, I’m doing something right.”

  “I stopped in to see what you thought of my business proposal. Dot just wanted to say hello.”

  She lifted her hand in a hip-high wave. “Hello.”

  He hugged her. “It’s great to see you again. It’s been years. I think everyone in town comes through here except you.”

  “Direct deposit,” she said, “and cash machines. I spend most of my banking hours in the national park.”

  “Still.” He rocked back on his heels. “Couldn’t hurt to stop in and see me sometime.”

  Dot blushed. “I guess not.”

  Mr. Sherman’s voice caught my attention, and I slipped away from my friends. He opened his office door and ushered another man in a suit to the front door. When he turned back, I was there.

  “Hello,” I said brightly. “How are you? You look well.” Actually, he looked startled and a little confused. “We don’t have an appointment,” I said. “I just wanted to stop in and personally invite you to come back to the orchard and finish that tour we started. I’m sure you have my business plan by now, and I’d love the opportunity to finally show you the space where my cider shop will be one day. I think once you’ve seen the location, you’ll understand the value my shop will bring to the orchard and our community.”

  His shoulders and chin fell an inch. “Let’s step into my office.”

  I followed on his heels, performing a silent fist pump for Dot and Jake, but they were engrossed in a private conversation, oblivious to my wild excitement.

  Mr. Sherman unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat behind the desk, then motioned for me to take the seat across from his. The office was simply decorated, well-organized, and speckled with photographs of Mr. Sherman and other middle-aged men sailing and fly-fishing. “Miss Montgomery,” he began, pulling a folder I recognized as my own off a stack at the corner of his desk, “it’s very nice of you to stop in again, and I appreciate the amount of work you’ve done on the business plan Jake delivered to me on your behalf. It shows great initiative.”

  “Thank you,” I said quickly, feeling an imminent but coming on. “If you have any questions or concerns, I’d be happy to answer or address them.” I folded my hands over my knees to keep them from bobbing. I was twenty-eight years old, so why did it feel as if I’d been called into the principal’s office? “Granny’s got a great lineup for this week’s cider tasting,” I rambled, leaving him no room to ask his questions. “It’s all part of my Christmas at the Orchard program. Folks are loving it, and I have a winter festival planned as well. I hope to make it an annual tradition.”

  He watched me, arms resting in parallel on his desk, framing my folder. Confliction flickered over his brow. “Miss Montgomery—” he began again.

  “Look,” I said, inching forward on my seat. “Smythe Orchard is a risk, yes, I know that. Granny clued me in on the financial problems a few weeks ago, but the problems aren’t with the product or the orchard. She took a lot of time off to grieve after losing Grampy, then she didn’t know how or where to start when she was ready to reopen. Some shady out-of-town contractors took advantage of her when she called around looking for farmhands to gather the harvest, and it was a downhill snowball from there. Every obstacle was bigger than the last, each delay led to more debt, and eventually the orchard wasn’t able to regain its footing. It’s sad and unfortunate, but the financial state of the orchard doesn’t reflect its potential. It only reflects the impact of Granny’s grief on the business, and the results of a marriage made at a time when husbands handled everything and women maintained the house.” It pained me to say it because Granny was a strong independent woman and my role model, but until Grampy passed, she’d never even pumped her own gas. The day I’d learned that was the day I learned that strength comes in many forms and with many definitions. “Don’t invest in the orchard,” I said, feeling guilty but knowing all the banker saw was numbers, and our numbers were bad. Plus, the current owner was loosely suspected of murder. “Invest in me instead.”

  His gaze flipped up to meet mine. “You?”

  “Yes. My credit is perfect. My savings is substantial. I’ve never been in any kind of trouble and my current GPA is 4.0. I’m one hundred percent responsible in all aspects of my life, and I would never be reckless with money. Mine or anyone else’s.”

  He sank back in his seat and tapped his finger against the edge of his desk.

  I held my br
eath and mentally berated myself for the outburst.

  “All right.”

  “All right?”

  He nodded. “You wrote one heck of a business plan, and you have a point. The family orchard could go out of business tomorrow, and it wouldn’t necessarily stop your cider shop from succeeding, especially considering the sizable revenue you’ve projected for renting the space for events. Maybe your Granny will turn things around with your help and the Smythe Orchard will last another generation or more in this community, or maybe it will only produce enough apples to satisfy your cider shop’s needs. Either way, the two are separate concerns for me.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s hard to gauge the sound versus faulty investments sometimes, but I’m willing to come back out and take another look at your future business site.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’m sound and so is my plan. With it, I can get the orchard stable again too.”

  He shoved onto his feet with a chuckle and extended a hand to shake. “I miss the optimism that comes with youth.”

  I accepted his hand, then let him corral me toward the door. “Thank you. You won’t regret this.”

  “It’s just a visit, Miss Montgomery. I’ll do my best to keep an open mind.” He lifted his arm to check the time, then dropped it back to his side. The distinct tan line on his wrist sent a flood of nostalgia through my heart.

  Images from a thousand fishing trips with Grampy crashed over me like tidal waves. I’d learned grief was like that, arriving in sudden and unbidden attacks, summoned by things as silly as a stranger’s tan line. Still, in that moment, I could hear his laugh and smell his aftershave. Granny wore Grampy’s wristwatch now, but I’d never forget how much his father’s gift had meant to him, or how much Grampy still meant to me.

  I waved goodbye with an ache in my chest, then hurried in Dot and Jake’s direction.

  Dot was the first to notice my approach. She halted their conversation mid-sentence. “Well?”

  “He agreed to come again and see the barn!”

  She grabbed both my hands and we pretended to scream silently for a few seconds, then separated like normal people. I tossed hair off my shoulders. She adjusted the hem of her sweater. “Time to go?” she asked.

  “I think so.” I hugged Jake goodbye, then waited while Dot dug in her purse for something.

  “Jake?” Another bank worker approached on shiny patent leather heels. She smiled sweetly at me, then paused while Dot handed Jake a receipt from her purse.

  He pocketed the paper and smiled, then turned to the waiting employee. “Yes?”

  The woman’s voice was soft but audible. “Mr. Bentley is on line one. He’d like to talk to you about Mrs. Cooper’s property.”

  “Great,” he said. “Put him through.”

  Dot grabbed my elbow and hauled me toward the door, then pushed me outside. “I just gave Jake my phone number,” she said. “Is that insane? And all I had to write it on was an old receipt. I hope it wasn’t for deodorant or razors. I don’t want him thinking I’m sweaty or stinky. Or hairy.” She made a horrified face, then looked longingly over her shoulder at the bank behind us, as if she might return and ask for a look at the receipt. “I thought about asking him for his phone so I could type my contact information in, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I am a few years older. He might think I’m gross or something.”

  I laughed. “It’s a four-year difference, not forty. He’d be crazy not to call,” I said, replaying her sentiment when I’d been worried Mr. Sherman wouldn’t call.

  She smiled.

  I kept an eye on the bank as we climbed into Dot’s Jeep. “Did you hear that lady tell Jake that Farmer Bentley wants to talk about Mrs. Cooper’s property?”

  Dot reversed out of her parking spot and eased onto the road. “What? No. I was trying to get out of there before Jake unfolded that receipt with my number on it. As soon as I gave it to him I felt like a complete moron.”

  “He’ll call,” I said again. “One of the tellers told Freddie’s wife that Farmer Bentley has been buying up properties for months. Do you think he could want Mrs. Cooper’s land too? Do you think it seems a little soon to be asking about Mrs. Cooper’s stuff?”

  Dot shrugged. “I don’t know how any of that works, but I am a little surprised he’d want more land at his age. He already has one of the largest farms in the county, and he’s at least your granny’s age.”

  Those had been my thoughts exactly. I hated to wonder if a nice old man could be a killer, but if I was right about his intentions, moving in so fast on a property that wasn’t even for sale yet struck me as significant. “Did you know Mrs. Cooper had a son in Tennessee?” I asked, recalling his Facebook update.

  “No. Since when?”

  “About forty years, I guess. His Facebook profile says he’s a real estate developer in Nashville. I wonder if he gets her property now that she’s gone?”

  “Probably,” Dot said. “Why?”

  I wasn’t sure, but I suddenly couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Cooper’s death had more to do with her land than her surly disposition. “I think I should talk to Farmer Bentley,” I said. I wanted to know why he was in such a hurry to get ahold of that property. And if he’d been in touch with her son before he called the bank to ask about it.

  What if he’d offered to buy the land before her death, and she’d said no?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Mr. Sherman didn’t call that afternoon. So I spent the night obsessing over whether or not he’d call at all, and I woke exhausted for my early shift at Sip N Sup. I left the kittens with Granny before racing out the door, still wiping sleep from my eyes, a travel mug of black coffee in one hand and a slice of toast caught between my teeth.

  The temperature had plummeted overnight, leaving the air crisp and the grass coated with the sparkling evidence of an overnight frost. Very good news for my upcoming winter festival. I finished the toast with enthusiasm, watching each puff of breath become a little cloud of ice crystals and float away as I headed for the car. I hauled the zipper on my coat to my chin before sliding behind Sally’s wheel and adjusting the vents to circulate her heat.

  I’d finished all the games and displays for the festival while I’d fretted over Mr. Sherman into the wee hours, and Granny had spent her evening stringing lights and greenery along the entire perimeter fence, giving the orchard an inviting and magical glow. She’d even painted and erected multiple large wooden signs announcing Winterfest and Christmas at the Orchard. The results were fantastic, festive, and fun. Anyone who could drive by without stopping now was either a grinch or a scrooge, and I didn’t want them here anyway.

  Granny had also arranged another lunch with the stitching crew. It was a secret meeting this time, so hopefully they’d make it to the gossip without being interrupted. As an added bonus, I suspected that she might learn even more today than she would have before because time had passed and everyone had had more opportunities to hear something useful they could share.

  I took my time getting to work. It was the first time Sally and I had been back on the road together since the crazed truck had tried to kill us. The drive was lovely, but the view from just outside the Sip N Sup was not.

  Hank’s familiar silhouette was parked at the counter, clearly visible through the large windows. I gripped the wheel a little tighter and felt my stomach flop. It had been a year since our ugly breakup, but I wasn’t ready to face him. I let my head drop against the seat back and considered calling in sick. I’d never done that before, but with everything that was going on, I was sure Mr. Kress would forgive me.

  I scanned the lot for signs of his overpriced foreign car so I could park as far from it as possible and not be tempted to kick the tires on my way inside. I didn’t see it, but my gaze caught on the sheriff’s cruiser, and I groaned.

  I took another look inside the diner, and Sheriff Wise lifted his cup in my direction, letting me know I’d been spotted.

  Now, I couldn’t leave or the sheriff
would assume I was avoiding him and come looking for answers I didn’t want to give. New plan. I’d go to work, act completely natural, and avoid both men.

  I pulled Sally into an open space around back and counted to ten before getting out.

  I didn’t work a lot of morning shifts, so I couldn’t help wondering if the sheriff normally had breakfast at my place of employment, or if he was there on business. Asking about me and Granny. Listening to the local gossip flow from a dozen sexagenarians all hopped up on caffeine, carbohydrates, and syrup.

  I yanked the strings on my apron corset-tight as I crossed the lot to the back door and slipped inside. I would not let the sheriff or Hank ruin my day. Let the sheriff ask about me, I thought. It was fine by me because there was nothing nefarious to be found. Maybe that fact would finally get him pointed in the right direction—away from me.

  I clocked in four minutes before my shift started and gave Mr. Kress a grouchy thumbs up. I should’ve had more coffee before leaving Granny’s, but I’d been in a hurry. Losing sleep was making my lifelong aversion to mornings worse by the day.

  I strode into the dining area on sheer determination and the sounds of clanking silverware. I spotted Hank immediately. He was seated at the end of the counter, looking like a young Patrick Dempsey. His crisp white button-down and designer wool coat made my ridiculous heart skip a beat. I’d always been a sucker for a clean-shaven, nicely dressed man.

  “Miss?” he said, lifting his mug from the counter and stunning me with his confident smile.

  I grabbed the pot and told myself not to pour it in his lap. The sheriff was watching. “Hello,” I said politely refilling his mug. “Can I get you anything else? Maybe just the check?”

  He chuckled. “Thanks, but I just ordered. It’s been too long since I’ve had my Sip N Sup usual.”

  “Enjoy.” I turned on my toes and reconsidered the steamy pot in my hands. His usual consisted of two eggs, two sausage links, hash browns, and pancakes with a bottomless cup of coffee. Hank wasn’t going anywhere for a while. I never understood how his lean, athletic frame seemed to magically absorb the calories without impact. If I added creamer to my coffee, my pants wouldn’t zip.