“I don’t know.”
Farmer Bentley’s eyes suddenly widened and he spun on Reese. Her lips moved quickly though I couldn’t hear what she said as he slapped the file shut.
Dot jerked around on her seat to pretend she hadn’t been watching.
Anxiety pricked and snapped at my skin.
Reese sauntered back with the coffee pot a moment later, looking gravely disappointed. “I didn’t get a very good look. Official papers, maybe legal documents, and some aerial maps. He caught me peeking before I made heads or tails of it.”
“Thanks for trying,” Dot said. “You did great.”
Reese didn’t look satisfied. “It wasn’t my best work. He’s quick for an old guy.”
I couldn’t help wondering if he was quicker than Mrs. Cooper. My tummy sank with the ugly thought.
The service bell rang and Reese smiled. “That’s me,” she said, lifting a hand to Freddie in recognition of the order. He nodded from the kitchen.
“Wait,” I blurted before she could dart away. “Why was Farmer Bentley looking at me?”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “I improvised and told him you were picking up his tab. You can add my extreme willingness to help you to the tip.” She filled a mug with coffee and slid it my way. “This one’s on the house.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Reese dropped me a wink and flitted away.
I really needed to learn to walk like that.
Dot climbed off her stool. “I’ll let you take it from here. I’ve got to get to work.”
“Okay.” I climbed down beside her. “I guess I’m going to see a man about a folder.” I practically had to now. If I was paying for the man’s meal, I should at least get to ask him a couple questions. I knew I was being nosy and I’d promised Colton I wouldn’t, but I really wanted to know what Farmer Bentley was studying over there. And why.
I crossed the diner self-consciously after watching Reese float around, then paused at the tableside.
“Hi, Farmer Bentley.”
He folded his arms over the closed file. “You bought my meal.”
I forced a smile. “Seems so.”
He worked his jaw side to side, appraising, before asking, “Why?”
“It’s part of my pay it forward campaign,” I improvised, unsure where the lie had come from without notice, and a little disappointed by the fact that it had.
“What’s that?”
“It’s when someone does one nice thing for three people, then those three people do nice things for three more people each, and kindness spreads through a community. Sometimes farther.”
He pinched one of his big gray caterpillar eyebrows between his thumb and first finger, probably trying to decide if I was full of manure. A small, wry smile tugged his lips. “I could get behind something like that.”
Guilt twisted in my core for lying to the old man. Now, I really needed to do three nice things to make up for it. I took a deep breath and slid onto the bench seat across from him. “Can I ask you something?”
His caterpillars crowded together. “Depends.”
“When I was at the bank yesterday, I overheard someone say you were interested in Mrs. Cooper’s property. Is that true?”
He turned his attention to the stack of files under his protection and began to cram the wad of unruly pages into line. Corners and headers of legal documents and letters poked free in every direction. He’d been hasty snapping the files shut in front of Reese and hadn’t taken the time to straighten them up. A rush of color bled across his cheeks and over the top of his balding head.
I hoped he wasn’t the one who’d been telling me to leave it alone, because if that was the case I’d just completely outed myself as Meddlesome Montgomery. I glanced outside, debating making a run for Sally. I didn’t need to keep talking. I could pay his bill and leave. Or I could stay and ask the questions burning holes in my heart and mind.
The diner door opened before I found my tongue, and Oscar stepped inside. He held my gaze as he strode forward, choosing a booth across the way and sliding onto the bench that faced me.
Fear lifted the fine hairs along the back of my neck and curled my toes inside my boots.
Was it a coincidence that Oscar had turned up here? Now? Or was I right to fear he’d been following me? Blossom Valley was small and the diner was popular, I reasoned, turning my gaze back to Farmer Bentley.
I dug deep for a few drops of bravery, then pressed on. I needed answers before paranoia ruined my small-town life. “I’ve also heard that you recently purchased some other properties around town.”
His brows raised slightly but he maintained a steady frown.
“Are you planning on expanding your business?” I asked congenially.
He slid out of the booth, buttoned his jacket to his chin, then pulled the mess of files against his chest. “I think I’ll pay my own bill, thank you.”
“Farmer Bentley,” I called after him. “Wait.”
He shot me a warning look, then marched woodenly to the register.
I slumped against the padded vinyl seat back and watched as he paid, then climbed into his old tan and cream Ford pickup and trundled away.
“Well?” Reese asked, manifesting pleasantly at my side. “Was I right? Were those legal papers in his folder?”
“I don’t know. He never opened them in front of me.”
“Bummer,” she said. “You want some more coffee?”
“No, thanks.” I hadn’t touched the first cup. Good thing it was on the house.
I pushed onto my feet, and left Reese an unreasonably large tip. My first of three acts of kindness. Then, I scurried out the door avoiding any more direct eye contact with Oscar in case he was a killer.
Sally’s engine purred to life as I twisted her little silver key and stared, forlorn, at my reflection in the mirror attached to my visor. The meeting with Farmer Bentley hadn’t gone very well, but I’d been close enough to spot a familiar logo on several of the papers trying to escape his secret files. The thick blue and gold initials, E.M., stood for Extra Mobil, a major US oil company. What I didn’t know was why a small-town farmer would have so many papers with their initials. Sadly, I had an idea of who might be able to guess.
Hank.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Six hours later, against my better judgment, I’d swallowed my pride and offered to drive Granny to Hank’s sister’s birthday party at the local park pavilion and party hall. The pavilion was fine in better weather or when the sun didn’t set before dinner, but it wasn’t great for fall or winter events. Tonight, the building was alight with activity. Sounds of music and laughter spilled from the windows and door. The pavilion, on the other hand, was loosely occupied by displaced party-going smokers huddled around a glowing firepit.
“Ready?” Granny asked, bundling up before stepping into the cold.
Not even close.
I scanned the lot for signs of Hank’s beloved sedan, but didn’t see it. Maybe he’d ridden with his folks, or if I was lucky, he’d left town.
We walked arm in arm along the stone path toward the packed party hall. I shuddered at the sight of the fire. It would take some time before the sight of open flames reminded me of s’mores and hot dogs again instead of threats and menacing murderers.
We slid into the party as a couple with a sleeping toddler hurried out.
“I hope there’s tater salad,” Granny said. “Someone always brings a killer tater salad to these things. I’ve tried recreating it at home, but I can’t touch the flavor. There must be a secret ingredient.”
“I’ll check out the buffet when I drop the gifts off,” I said. And while I was over there, I’d be sure to look for Hank’s mama’s dump cake. Nothing I’d ever eaten compared to that hunk of heaven. It involved crushed pineapple, canned cherries, and a vanilla cake mix that made regular appearances in my dreams.
Granny unfurled her scarf and gave the room a sour look. “It’s a shame this is the best hal
l we have in Blossom Valley. It hasn’t been updated since my prom.”
I would have laughed, but it was true. The place was old, with yellowed walls and a water-stained ceiling. Gina and her family had done a good job of camouflaging the worst eyesores with signs and streamers, but no matter how they dressed it up, it was still an old stone building at the local park.
Some folks used our local church halls for parties, which were affordable but had restrictions. No alcohol, for example, even locally made wine. When the pastors had tried allowing that, a few troublemakers ruined it by bringing in moonshine. They argued the moonshine was also locally made, but the church didn’t think it was the same. So, the alcohol ban was back in place. Plus, some popular music selections were frowned upon for their content and the church insisted all parties ended by 9:00 p.m. House parties were hard to end at all and always left a mess for the owners. That whittled the choices down to the park hall and Dante’s Italian, the only restaurant in town with a private room. Dante’s party room only held thirty people, which didn’t make for much of a party.
This town needed my cider shop.
Granny handed me the presents, then went to mingle. I recognized most of the faces as I made my way through the crowd. Some of the partygoers were locals; others were members of Gina’s family whom I’d met during my time spent with Hank. The gift table was piled high with cards, packages, and well-wishes. I made a little space for our gifts beside the basket meant for cards. Granny had gotten Gina a gift certificate for the beauty parlor, and I’d found a photo book of the nation’s remaining Mail Pouch barns. Gina was a talented photographer with a little in-home studio everyone loved to visit, and I’d known she’d appreciate the book as soon as I saw it. Gina had taken dozens of pictures of our barn over the years, and I hoped she’d be willing to sign a few of her framed shots for my cider shop’s décor.
By the time I returned to where I’d started, a hug line had formed in front of Granny. She smiled and laughed and hugged each person, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. At the moment, she probably didn’t. I envied her ability to compartmentalize like that. I hadn’t been gifted with that particular talent. My mind never stopped working, and I carried my every worry everywhere I went.
I smiled and stood supportively at her side while folks shared their condolences for the mess she’d been in all week. I cringed when an elderly man asked her pointedly about how she was getting by. She responded with stories of our kittens’ hijinks and how they’d been spared from becoming orphans when Dot had brought them to me.
She didn’t mention last night’s intrusion, the threat, or fire.
She also didn’t mention Mrs. Cooper’s untimely demise or the sheriff’s brief and misguided notion that she might have caused it.
Just hugs, humor, and hospitality as she invited everyone, personally, for a visit to the orchard. She even sold the suddenly frigid temperatures as “perfect for our new campaign, Christmas at the Orchard, and the upcoming first annual Winterfest.”
The crowd listened with rapt attention and went along behaving as if everything was fine, at least where Granny was concerned. Me, on the other hand, folks eyed warily. My presence had no doubt reminded them of my ugly breakup with Hank last Thanksgiving. I shifted my gaze away from a pair of staring ladies I only vaguely recognized, and I fought the urge to go home. Talking to Hank tonight was a terrible idea, especially after I’d blown him off publicly at the diner. What was I thinking? I should’ve invited him over privately to apologize and ask my questions instead of showing up unexpectedly at his large family gathering.
Gina breezed into view, sliding between two older gentlemen and scanning the crowd for something. She spotted me a moment later. “Winnie! You came!” She ran to me on four-inch heels and wrapped me in her arms. “I didn’t think you’d come.” Gina was every bit as attractive and athletic as her brother, but with less drive to make a name for herself somewhere. Gina was happy where she was and with who she was. I appreciated that in a human.
“You look amazing,” I told her. “Twenty-four looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” She blushed and the rush of color reached all the way to the tips of her ears, emphasizing delicate pearl earrings. Her platinum blonde hair had been teased within an inch of its life and piled into a bouffant Dolly Parton or Marie Antoinette would be proud of. “I keep telling my folks I’m too old for these big parties, but they won’t let them go. Someday, when I meet the right guy, I’m going to deplete their party fund permanently on the best darn country wedding anyone’s ever seen. That ought to put an end to the crepe paper and balloons for a while. At least until they rebuild the nest egg.” She laughed.
I hoped my cider shop would be up and running before she got married. Gina would want to have the ceremony and reception in Blossom Valley, and she deserved a nice indoor option in case of weather that didn’t involve water-spotted ceilings.
She stepped back and looked me over. “Do you realize we haven’t run into one another since last Christmas? You look fantastic.” Gina made a slow circle around me. “It looks like you’ve lost a few pounds, not that you’ve ever needed to, and your hair’s longer. I like it. It’s great.” She came back to face me, a bright smile on her lips. “Honey, you look hot.”
I snorted. “Did you say someone spiked the punch?”
Gina crossed her arms still smiling. “It’s not just the physical stuff. You’re happy. I can see it in the glow of your skin and twinkle of your eye.” Her jaw dropped. “You’re seeing someone.”
“No.” I shook my head, smiling back. “I’m overwhelmed, stressed out, and frequently terrified these day. Does that count?” I guessed it made sense that she would assume I looked this way while in a relationship. She’d only known me while I was dating her brother, and if she swapped terrified for infuriated, then my current emotions matched up pretty closely with where I was at the end with Hank.
Her smile drooped slightly, and she inched closer. “I heard about Mrs. Cooper. It’s just awful.”
I nodded.
“How’s your granny doing?” Sincerity colored her words as she cast a careful look in Granny’s direction. The only thing bigger than Gina’s hair was her heart.
“She’s resilient,” I said. “Determined. She’ll be okay.”
“Good.” She stepped back and resumed her cheerful smile. “Speaking of determined, I hear you’re about fit to hang out a private eye shingle. Chasing leads. Searching for justice. You’re causing quite the stir with all your sleuthing.”
“It was stupid of me,” I admitted, “but Sheriff Wise was looking at Granny as a possible suspect, and I wanted to protect her so I thought I could look into things too.”
She pursed her shiny pink lips into a little cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.
I squirmed, unsure what the look might mean. “He’s new here, and I’m not, so I figured I could help.”
“And?”
I laughed. “Turns out he did not want my help.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “City,” she said with a grin. Being the opposite of country, which we all wore proudly and valued highly, city could either be a straight-up insult or an excuse for doing things wrong. Sometimes both. “I heard he came here from the FBI in Clarksburg.”
I chuckled, imagining Colton in a black suit and shades. Maybe I was thinking of the secret service. “Actually, he worked homicide with the Clarksburg police, and he partnered with an FBI task force, but he never worked for the bureau.”
“Look at you,” she cooed, “knowing all about the good sheriff.”
“I read up on Colton when he first looked at Granny as a suspect.”
“I guess you two have gotten close. Spending time together on this investigation.”
“No.” I pursed my lips. “Nothing like that.”
“But you call him Colton,” she prodded.
I plucked the fabric of my shirt away from my chest. Too many people in one room. It was beginning to get a little warm.<
br />
“Wait a minute.” Gina narrowed her eyes and took a small step closer to me. She angled her torso forward, as if we were about to share a great secret. “Is he the one you’re seeing?”
Hank arrived at his sister’s side, a cup of punch in each hand. “Sorry this took me so long. I got hung up with Aunt Betty at the cake.” He passed her a cup, then turned to scowl at me. “I’m a little surprised to see you here. I thought you were planning to steer clear of me until I went home.”
Home. What did he know about home? This was his home. Ohio was somewhere he’d moved less than twelve months ago.
No wonder I left him.
Gina paled. “Oh, no, no.” She shot him a disbelieving look. “You two are not going to fight at my birthday party. Mama will kill you.”
“Who’s fighting?” he said smartly. “Winnie isn’t even speaking to me. She made that abundantly clear at the diner yesterday morning. In front of everyone.”
The apology I’d planned was suddenly heavy as lead on my tongue and unwilling to move.
Gina fisted a handful of his fitted V-neck sweater and pushed him toward the exit. “Outside,” she snarled under her breath. “Don’t you dare let a single soul see you with anything other than a smile on your face tonight. You might get to go home in a few days, but I live here, and I don’t want to spend another few months avoiding gossip about some big mess my brother made before he skipped town.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” he said over his shoulder as she forced him past me. “I wanted to surprise her with a proposal and a house. She dumped me. You know that.”
“Out.”
Hank snaked a long arm out and grabbed my wrist, towing me in their wake. His fingers pressed against my pulse point, and I hated that my heart rate skyrocketed in response. I loathed the fact he now knew it.
Forced through the front door and into the cold, Hank and I stared at one another.
I wiggled free of his grip, then gave Gina my best forced smile. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said pleasantly. “Don’t forget to eat something and have a slice of cake after y’all sort this out.” She shot her brother a pointed look, then turned on her heels and went back inside.
Apple Cider Slaying Page 16
