Apple Cider Slaying

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  I forced my thoughts back to the crisis at hand. “What do you suppose was the point of all this?” I asked. “I get the point of the message left behind, but why would anyone want to trash this place? If the fire had gotten out of control and burned this down, the entire country would be short a piece of its history.”

  The sheriff leaned on his broom, just inches from the set of jagged letters carved into the floor. “Honestly, I think all of this constitutes a threat.” He cast a conflicted gaze around the room before fixing it on me.

  “Go on,” I urged. Clearly there was something more he wanted to say. “I need to know.”

  “I think the manner in which this message was delivered is a distinct escalation from a paper tucked under a windshield wiper. This threat is permanent and was made using something that could probably kill you. The potential of fire damage was likely by design, meant to show you he’s in control. I think he wants you to see that he knows you and he knows what you care about. Also, that he’s willing to take it away if necessary.”

  I took a step back, eyes wide, mouth dry. “What?” My mind jumped to the one thing left on earth that I truly cared for above all else, my life included. Granny. Did the man who did this know that too? Would he go after her next?

  “I think it’s more important than ever that you make it clear you’ve taken the warnings to heart and are leaving my investigation alone. Someone clearly has an eye on you.”

  My knees buckled and my stomach pitched. I took a seat where I stood, then leaned forward and told myself to breathe.

  “Hey.” Heavy footfalls rattled the boards beneath me. A moment later, Colton crouched into view. “I’m not trying to scare you. I’m trying to help you see the danger. You can trust me to get to the bottom of this without your help. I know I’m relatively new around here, and you don’t know me very well, but I’m excellent at this job.”

  I lifted my gaze to meet his. Everything I’d read online had confirmed his last statement. “I was only trying to help clear Granny.”

  “I know,” he said. “For the record, that choice was misguided and dumb.”

  I narrowed my eyes and bit back a scathing retort. He sighed, lowering himself onto his backside before me. “If I put myself in your position, I suppose I can see how you thought you were helping.”

  We stared at one another for a long quiet beat. The figurative wall that collapsed between us resulted in a floodgate of zigzagging energy. My pulse leaped, and my cheeks heated.

  “I got a flier for your winter festival in the mail today,” he said. “I’m thinking about coming.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  He bobbed his head. “I thought I might even come around early and help you set up. It seems like a two-woman show out here most days, and you’re probably going to have a couple hundred people that night.”

  A couple hundred? Hope soared in my heart. “You think?”

  “Yeah. That’s my best guess based on how much these people seem to love you guys and this place. Plus the fliers were pretty good.”

  I smiled. “I guess I could use some help, then.”

  Colton’s gaze fell away momentarily, and it came back to me a little shyer, less sheriff-like. He stretched onto his feet and offered me a hand. “Then it’s a date.”

  My mind latched on to the word date. I stared into his inviting blue eyes, trying and failing to will his intentions out of him.

  He cocked his head at my hesitation and let his hand fall back an inch. “Or not.”

  My cheeks flooded with heat again, and I hiked up my smile before sliding my palm over his. “It’s a date.” I was on my feet with an easy tug from his hand. Electricity ran up my arm and into my chest. I pulled in a sharp breath.

  Considering all my other peculiar responses to Colton Wise lately, I should have been prepared for the shock of his touch, but I wasn’t. I could only imagine the expression on my face as I tried to form it into something casual and friendly.

  Colton held on to me a beat longer than absolutely necessary. Had he felt it too?

  I stepped back, freeing his hand and shoving my electrified palm into my pocket.

  He kept his eyes on me, a peculiar expression etched over his features. “That man you spoke with at the diner this morning—” he began.

  “Hank.” I cut him off. I knew where that was going. “I was out of line.”

  “The two of you were a couple once?”

  I stifled an eye roll. As if he hadn’t heard all the gory details of my abandonment by now. “We broke up last Thanksgiving. Why? What are people saying?”

  “Nothing,” he said, looking a bit mystified. “Of all the people I asked about you, no one ever mentioned a boyfriend. I just assumed you didn’t date.”

  “Why wouldn’t I date?” I asked, feeling a bit slighted by the comment. “I mean, I don’t date now because the last attempt turned out to be a huge mistake, but why would you assume I didn’t date at all?” I crossed my arms over a suddenly hollow center. Did he think there was something wrong with me?

  “It’s just that most folks said you keep to yourself. You work. Go to school. Help your granny. I figured it didn’t leave much time for dating, and people you went to high school with actually said the words, ‘Winnie didn’t date.’ Kids who recognized your name from college said you didn’t go out with them or hang out at the party scene. I guess I can’t understand why no one bothered to mention Hank.”

  I was suddenly profoundly thankful for a community who’d protected my privacy when faced with a prime opportunity to dish some excellent gossip. “I didn’t date in high school because my mom did. She got too serious with someone, which is how I came to exist.” I shook my head, willing myself to shut up. He hadn’t asked for an ugly backstory. “I don’t hang out with my classmates in college because they’re all under twenty-three, and I passed that birthday five years ago. I’m officially an old maid in comparison.”

  He smiled cautiously. “And Hank?”

  That was a good question. “I’ve known Hank all my life. He’s a decent guy, though a little too driven by money, appearances, and prestige in my opinion. We had things in common once and started dating a few years back. It ended poorly, but before that he’d been the only man who’d kept my interest or given me that little zip of excitement when he came near.”

  Until now.

  I pushed the pointless observation aside.

  He pulled the buzzing phone from his pocket. The words Detective Hanson were centered on the screen. Colton rejected the call.

  He returned to his broom without comment, suddenly detached from the moment, the conversation, me.

  “You okay?” I asked. “Was that call about Mrs. Cooper?”

  His gaze snapped back to mine. “No. That was nothing.”

  “Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

  His Adam’s apple moved slowly as he swallowed, apparently regrouping. “I’m thirty-three,” he said finally.

  “What?”

  “You’re five years older than your classmates, so you feel like an old maid. I’m wondering what that makes me in your eyes. Being five years older than you.”

  I didn’t answer. We both knew that wasn’t what he’d been thinking about.

  “I never asked about the truck that came after you the other night,” Colton said a few seconds later. “I was out on another call or I would’ve come to see you.”

  “It’s fine,” I said absently. “A little paint on Sally’s bumper from the nudge, but it’ll buff out.”

  A flash of interest lit his eyes. “There’s paint?”

  “Not much. No damage.”

  “You’re going to have to show me that when I walk you home. If there’s enough paint there to get a sample, I’ll be able to name the make and model of the truck that hit you.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, still distracted by the fact he’d avoided a call from a detective then seemed temporarily out of sorts over it.

  I pumped up the volume on my favor
ite country Christmas songs and got back to work. I used the time to mentally review the conversations I’d had with Mr. Sherman before we’d arrived at the barn. Had he made up his mind about my loan? If he said no now, how would I know if it was because of me or the creep who kept committing crimes on Granny’s property? How could I get him back out here for one proper uninterrupted visit? Wait until the killer was caught? Would Mr. Sherman consider it then or was my fate already sealed with him?

  A few songs later, the barn was clean, and the lazy patter of rain had stopped.

  Colton hefted the final pallet onto a stack against the wall as something scratched at the back of my mind. “What’s up?” He tugged off the work gloves he’d donned for the heavy lifting and gave me a curious stare.

  “I’ve been thinking about the business loan I applied for. One of Mr. Sherman’s concerns about the orchard is the condition of our trees. He found some unhealthy-looking leaves on his first visit and assumed the trees were sick, but I know they aren’t. Not with any kind of disease that will spread and hurt our yield anyway. I’ve seen diseased trees. That’s not what this is, but what if the tree problem is related to our case?”

  Colton wiped a sleeve across his brow and headed in my direction. “My case, and what do you mean?”

  “I think the trees were sabotaged, and I can’t help wondering if whoever poisoned them is the one behind everything else.” I hadn’t thought the tree situation could be connected to the murder at first, but what if it was? “What if hurting the trees was the first crime in this crazy spree? What if Mrs. Cooper had been headed home from our place, caught the person in the act, then threatened to tell on him. He might’ve killed her to shut her up.”

  Sheriff Wise set his hands on his hips. “I meant what happened to your trees?”

  In the wake of every other crime happening this week, I’d completely forgotten to tell him. “Bring a flashlight. I’ll show you.”

  * * *

  I was back at the Mail Pouch barn first thing the next morning with some wood stain, putty, and a sanding block, prepared to erase the simple two-word threat from my barn and my life. Colton had collected soil samples from the trees on his way out the night before, and I was certain he’d find the culprit once he figured out what had been used to hurt the trees. He also managed to get a little paint off Sally’s bumper, but he wasn’t convinced it would be enough to identify the truck that hit me. Still, he’d promised to try.

  My breaths were visible in the cold air as I huffed and puffed over the carved wood, using all the elbow grease I could muster against the threat on the floorboards. My sanding block lost its grit before making much of a dent in the jagged gashes, and putting my weight into it wasn’t doing much either. “I was afraid you’d give me a hard time,” I muttered to the angry letters staring up at me, “but I came prepared.” I worked the wood putty from my pocket and applied it liberally to the deep groove of the first letter, then used a small plastic putty knife to smooth it out. Once that dried, I’d sand again, repeat the process as needed, then stain. I gave the rustic floor a long exam. I might have to stain the entire surface a much darker color than I’d planned, but it beat the alternative of opening a homey cider shop with a threat carved into the floor.

  My phone rang, and Dot’s face graced the screen. I wedged the device between my ear and shoulder as I finished filling in the rest of the letters. “Hey, you!” I answered, thrilled by the distraction. “I thought you had to work this morning.”

  “I do. I stopped for coffee at the Sip N Sup on my way over to the park,” she said softly.

  “Why are you whispering?” I whispered back, ducking my head and raising my shoulders to my ears, as if whatever affected her might come across the line to me as well.

  “Farmer Bentley just walked in,” she said. “I remembered you saying you wanted to talk to him, so I thought I’d tell you he was here. Then, you won’t get any ideas about going to his home where he could kill you if he’s a murderer.”

  “Jeez. I wasn’t going to go knock on his door.” Farmer Bentley was at least seventy, but I wasn’t dumb enough to initiate a chat with any potential killer alone.

  “Well, now you don’t have to,” she whispered. “Get over here.”

  I hesitated, my gaze drifting back to the recently puttied floorboards. Did I really want to talk to a murder suspect at all?

  “Are you on your way?” Dot prompted.

  “I told Colton I’d let him handle the investigation from here,” I said. “Someone vandalized the Mail Pouch barn and he stayed to help clean up. He was really nice and helpful, and he said he thinks Granny’s innocent, but I’m in serious danger, so I promised to leave this alone.”

  “Colton? You mean, Sheriff Wise?”

  “Yeah.” I rubbed my forehead. That was going to be a long conversation once she got me alone again.

  “And you told him you’d leave this alone, so you’re leaving this alone?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I think I have to.”

  Dot made a soft raspberry sound. “Get down here!”

  “I can’t!” I yelped. “I just told you–”

  “Do you remember that time in sixth grade when you thought our homeroom teacher was a dancer at that gentlemen’s club off Route 20?” she asked, interrupting my complaint.

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  “No?” she asked, her voice hitching an octave.

  I flopped back on the floor and crossed my legs. “It was an honest mistake. I saw a bunch of skimpy clothing on her passenger seat when I was crossing the lot before school.”

  “Uh-huh,” Dot said. “And you asked her why she had them, even though it was none of your twelve-year-old business.”

  “Hey, we had a right to know who we were locked in a school with all day,” I protested, “and those clothes were utterly inappropriate for public view.”

  “And you got a detention by sneaking in at recess to go through her desk in search of proof she worked at the gentleman’s club,” Dot continued.

  “I found the truth, didn’t I?”

  Mrs. Crosby and half the female faculty met on Wednesday nights at the old Skate-A-Way rink for roller derby. I’d had no idea there was such a sport or that women enjoyed doing it in outfits that were highly inappropriate for school.

  “Uh-huh. Give your regrets to Colton. I’ll make sure Farmer Bentley doesn’t leave before you get here.” Dot disconnected.

  I hauled myself off the floor and dusted my backside with both palms. Dot thought she knew me so well. As if a lifetime of friendship had somehow given her a key to my brain.

  Ridiculous.

  I shifted foot to foot, admiring my work on the barn floor and trying desperately not to wonder why Farmer Bentley had been allegedly buying properties all over town and using them for nothing. His behavior didn’t make any sense, but neither did most of what had happened this week. Could he have wanted Mrs. Cooper’s property too? Had she told him no? Would he poison our trees to try to convince Granny to sell the orchard once the trees began to die?

  I tapped my toe.

  I paced.

  The wood putty needed time to dry before I could do anymore with the floor, and I had to make a trip into town for more holiday décor anyway. If I left now, I could visit with my best friend before she went to work . . .

  * * *

  Sally and I made good time getting to Sip N Sup, probably because the roads were clear and I was excited to see Dot.

  She waved when I walked in.

  “Good morning,” I said, scanning the room to see who was there.

  Dot tipped her head to indicate the corner booth where Farmer Bentley sat alone. “I didn’t have to do a thing to keep him there. I thought I’d have to strike up a conversation about my mama and hope he knew her, but he’s on his third cup of coffee going through those files. Hasn’t looked up once.”

  I leaned inconspicuously back for a look around her shoulder at the thin, gray-haired ma
n in saggy Wranglers and a flannel button-down shirt. He seemed content. I definitely didn’t want to bother him.

  “Go ahead, ask,” Dot said, smiling like a know-it-all.

  “What?”

  “You want to know what’s in the files.”

  I dragged my gaze back to her. “Do you know what’s in the files?”

  Dot waved at Reese, and the perky blonde waitress headed our way.

  Reese smiled at everyone she passed, corkscrew ponytail bobbing behind her.

  “How is that she can make crossing the diner look like fun?” I asked.

  “I can’t be sure,” Dot mused, “but I’m leaning toward youth and beauty.”

  “We’re not old,” I told her.

  Dot rolled her eyes.

  “Hey, y’all,” Reese said, leaning her hip against the counter beside me. “What’s up?”

  Dot shot Farmer Bentley a look. “He’s your table, right?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Can you get a look at what’s in those folders he’s looking at? Don’t let him know you’re looking. Try to peek and report back to us?”

  Reese laughed, straightened her apron, and sashayed away.

  I looked to Dot for interpretation. “Was that a yes?”

  “Reese never says no to anything.”

  Reese grabbed a coffee pot and went to check on Farmer Bentley. He covered his cup with one hand. No more coffee. Reese struck a hands-on-hips pose and said something that drew the man’s attention to me. As he looked my way, she repositioned herself closer to his shoulder and craned her neck for a look at his open folder.

  I waved when he held my gaze, a definite question in his eyes.

  Beside me, Dot lifted a coffee mug to her lips. “Do you think he knows what we’re up to?”