Apple Cider Slaying

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  I stuffed the last bite of sandwich between my lips and headed for the door.

  It was time to open the gates.

  My phone rang on the way across the field, and Dot’s photo appeared on the screen. I smiled at the sight of her. “Hello?” I answered.

  “I’m on my way over, but I just finished having coffee in town,” she said, foregoing a greeting. “Guess who I was with.” Her words poured into one another, a contagious blend of enthusiasm.

  “Jake?” I guessed. I couldn’t imagine who else would get her so worked up. She saw her friends and family almost every day. I glanced over my shoulder as I moved toward the fruit stand and orchard gates. The air was different than when I’d gone inside. Charged somehow. I concentrated on Dot’s enthusiasm instead of the silence. “Does this mean you finally got brave enough to answer his call?”

  “No.” She laughed. “I ran into him in town, and he asked me out in person. It would’ve been rude to say no, so I agreed and he bought me a latte at that new place by the bank!”

  I smiled. “I’d ask you how it went, but clearly it was awful.”

  “He’s just as sweet and kind as I remembered. Smart too. Loves his family. Loves nature. Loves this town. He’s going to meet me at the festival later, but he went to help Mr. Sherman look for something first.” Dot sighed. “I just wish he wasn’t so young. It’s creepy, right? I mean, I could’ve been his babysitter ten years ago.”

  “You’re four years older than him, not forty,” I reminded her. “This is hardly a cradle robbery.” A strange sound caught my ear and lifted my intuition. I turned in search of it. Was I being watched? Followed? I listened hard as the wind whistled through the trees and giant ornaments creaked on barren branches. “I hope you’re almost here because I’m starting to freak out.”

  “Almost,” she said, “and I know you’re about to be swamped, but do you want to ride over to the hospital together later and visit your granny? We can talk about Jake then. Analyze the conversations for dual meanings. Interpret his body language and the subtle nuances in his speech. I won’t dare say a word at the festival. Too many listening ears.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but if you had coffee with him in public, half the folks here are already going to be talking about it.”

  She groaned because I was right.

  “Did you say I’m about to be swamped?” I asked, turning back to look for the kittens who’d been under my feet a moment before.

  A car door shut on her end of the line. “Yeah. Assuming you’re planning on letting all of us in.”

  “What?” I spun back to face the fruit stand and orchard gates, then jogged a few more paces for a clear view of the crowded parking lot and mass of smiling faces on the other side of the wide steel barrier.

  “Oh my gosh.” I pressed a hand to my heart as folks began to wave.

  “Well, don’t cry,” she said, her voice echoing through the night and phone speaker at once.

  Dot unlatched the gates and dragged them wide open.

  And the crowd came pouring in.

  Two hours later, my cheeks stung from icy wind and ached from a perpetual smile. Everyone I knew had come out to support Granny and me. They came on dates and in groups, as families and friends. Every table and chair was full. Every game had a line of players and plenty of helpers. People were absolutely everywhere.

  Pride swelled in my chest. If nothing else, all these people would now know Smythe Orchard was open all year long. And that was priceless.

  I just had to convince Mr. Sherman to fund me.

  I sipped a hot cider and bopped my head to Loretta Lynn’s “Good Old Country Christmas” piping through outdoor speakers near a makeshift dance floor. I hadn’t planned for dancing, but there were apparently quite a few local couples who couldn’t be stopped, and they knew a line dance for every song. The only thing that would make the moment more satisfying would be if Colton finally showed up. I couldn’t reach him by phone, and none of the deputies I’d seen tonight knew where he could be. Everyone thought he was already here. They were certain of it.

  So, where was he? Hopefully not like Farmer Bentley or Granny.

  Dot and Jake appeared, strolling along chummily until I caught Dot’s eye. I waved. She would know if it was too soon to call the hospital and see if something had happened to him. She pivoted in my direction. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Have you seen Colton?”

  Jake frowned. “Who?”

  “Sheriff Wise,” I corrected. “He was supposed to be here. All his deputies say he was on his way, but his cruiser isn’t in the lot and there’s no sign of him.”

  “Maybe he drove his truck,” Jake said, “and there are a lot of people here. You’ve probably just missed him.”

  I looked to Dot for an opinion.

  She didn’t look convinced. “I’ll see if I can find the sheriff, but you know who else you’re missing, right?”

  “Who?” I’d barely voiced the question when the proverbial light bulb snapped on, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Mr. Sherman!” I burst into a jog in the direction of the barn, and my phone rang. Dot’s face was on the screen.

  “What?” I asked, feeling the panic squeeze my lungs. How could I have let myself get so distracted that I forgot about the most important meeting of my life?

  “I just didn’t want you to walk alone. It’s dark, so I’ll stay on the line until you get there. And just in case Mr. Sherman’s been there and gone, I’ll keep my eyes out for him in the crowd too. Jake says we can tell him you were caught up with all these customers because you’re so in demand.”

  “Bless you.”

  The sun had lost its battle against twilight, changing the sky into gorgeous shades of periwinkle and mauve where blinding orange and gold had hovered on the horizon. Overhead there was nothing but an inky dome filled with winter stars.

  I stared in awe at the barn on the horizon as I ran. The regal structure had stood tall and strong for more than one hundred years. It had been part of so many lives. Part of history. The walls had seen more than I could imagine, and thanks to its future cider shop, the beloved Mail Pouch barn would see so much more.

  “Aren’t you nervous walking alone at night now?” Dot asked.

  “I hadn’t been, but thanks for bringing that up,” I said.

  “Sorry, I’ve just been thinking about all your threats. The things you’ve seen and experienced lately,” she said. “I hate them, but I admire you for your fortitude. I always have.”

  “My fortitude?” I asked. “Because I haven’t locked myself in a fortress until this is over? Believe me, if I could find a fortress, I’d be setting up my cot.”

  She chuckled. “No. It’s not just this. You always take everything in stride and you overcome the bad stuff. You’re steadfast. I can’t even follow through with giving a guy my number and then answering the phone.”

  I heard a low chuckle in the background on her line, presumably Jake.

  “Yeah, well, I recently came to the conclusion I have a problem.” I laughed. “I can’t seem to leave anything unfinished. It’s more like something to be medicated than admired.”

  “Perspective,” she said.

  “I guess, but you know what bugs me?” I asked while we were on the subject of my inability to let things go. “Why did someone vandalize the barn? It’s separate from everything else, and we never use it. The trees, I get. Circling my house with lighter fluid, I get. But why mess with the Mail Pouch barn? How did the vandal even know I’d see the fire before the fire burned out by itself in the can? And why not just light the whole place up?”

  “Wow. Count your blessings,” Dot said. “If you overthink it, you could jinx yourself.”

  That was true, but I couldn’t stop pulling the thread. “How many people really knew about my cider shop plans? And how many of them knew I was meeting with Mr. Sherman that night?”

  “Well, you are being stalked,” she said. “It’s probably reas
onable to assume the location for the shop and the meeting time could have been overheard.”

  I stopped outside the closed barn door and looked back at the lights and merriment of the festival. “Mr. Sherman called me to set the meeting up that night. I was in Granny’s kitchen. No one overheard me, and it was almost closing time at the bank.”

  “What are you saying?” Dot asked

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe you should come back here and wait for him tonight, or I can come to you.”

  A set of headlights flashed over me as I reached for the barn door. A bolt of panic lanced through me in response. “Someone just pulled onto the access lane behind the barn.” I fixed my attention on the large truck, heart tightening with each breath. “What does Mr. Sherman drive?’

  “He’s got a big truck,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve seen him out hauling his four-wheelers or Jet Skis.”

  A shadowy figure slid down from the cab and headed my way, one hand lifted overhead in greeting. “Sorry I’m late,” he called.

  I sighed in relief, pushing my paranoia aside. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s him.”

  “Thank goodness,” Dot said. “Tell him Jake and I say hello, and call me as soon as you’re done.”

  I disconnected hesitantly, instinct prickling over my skin.

  Mr. Sherman had known about our meeting the night of the fire. He’d been the one to make the arrangements and set the time. He’d also been late.

  He drove a truck like the one that ran me off the road. Like the one that had nearly killed Farmer Bentley. Dot said he used it to haul his four-wheelers.

  I shivered as the pieces of my puzzle fell soundly into place. Lots of people had trucks and ATVs, I reminded myself. Except . . . who else knew about our meeting?

  My phone rang, and I answered in instant relief. “Colton?”

  “Winnie!” He barked. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the orchard—” The words lodged in my throat as Mr. Sherman came clearly into view. Gun raised to my chest.

  “Good. Find one of my deputies and stick tight until I get there,” Colton said. “I’m on my way, but, Winnie, I know who’s been doing all this, and I can’t find him.”

  The banker opened a palm, a silent request for my phone.

  “Winnie?” Colton pressed. “Did you hear me?”

  Fiery tears burned paths across my cheeks. “It’s Mr. Sherman,” I croaked.

  The banker took my phone and crushed it under his boot.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Inside,” he said, flicking his wrist to indicate I should enter the barn.

  I obeyed, praying I wouldn’t die in the place where I’d planned to start my future. “You said you were running late from work the night someone trashed the barn, but you were the one out here messing it all up, weren’t you?” I turned to face him, hoping Colton was close, or that he’d call a deputy who’d look for me. Dot knew where I was, someone just had to ask.

  Mr. Sherman shut the door behind us.

  Everything I’d been missing slammed nauseatingly into place. Mr. Sherman was the one who’d been threatening me. The same man who’d hurt Granny, ran me off the road, and nearly killed Farmer Bentley. He worked at the bank. He knew about my plans for the cider shop, the dates and times of our scheduled meetings, and all the properties Farmer Bentley was buying. I’d had all the right clues, but I’d been putting them together wrong.

  “Sit down,” he said, stalking forward.

  I moved backward on instinct.

  He spun one of my new chairs around and set it in front of the makeshift support beam. Sweat dripped over his temples and beaded on his lip despite the aching cold. “Sit.”

  I flinched at the urgency in his voice. “You don’t want to do this,” I said. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Shut up.” He pulled a length of rope from his pocket. “I’m out of choices.”

  “Not true,” I said, shaking my head erratically. “You always have choices.” Don’t kill me, for example.

  “You can still get back in your truck and run. Leave town. Start over on a pretty island somewhere.”

  “Sit!” he bellowed, and my knees somehow bent.

  I fell into the chair and planted my feet to keep from rocking against the newly erected support beam. I wanted to talk him out of shooting me, not be squashed to death by hundreds of pounds of tchotchkes and café décor. “Everyone knows I’m meeting you here tonight,” I said. “If anything happens to me, they’ll know it was you.”

  “I didn’t put it on my calendar,” he said. “It’ll be your word against mine, and you’ll be dead.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’ll still be caught. You have to know that, and you don’t want to go to jail,” I guessed.

  He rubbed his face, pointing the gun away from my chest long enough for me to catch a full breath. His watch came into view. It hadn’t been there the last time we’d spoken.

  Another truth registered. “Jake was late meeting Dot tonight because he was helping you look for something,” I said. “You were looking for your watch. You thought you’d lost it while you were killing Mrs. Cooper. That was why you came back to the press building that night. You were the one who knocked me down the stairs.”

  He lowered the gun again, aiming for my chest. “I had to try to find it,” he said. “If it was here, and one of those CSI guys found it, they would’ve linked it to me by some random miniscule little thing, and then I’d be in prison. I couldn’t have that. Lucky me, it had fallen off in my truck. Now, put your hands behind your back.”

  “No.”

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  I debated my chances of escape by running past him. If I could get outside, I could get help.

  Mr. Sherman’s hands shook. He wiped sweat from his upper lip. “Do it. I need to get out of here.”

  Kenny and Dolly squeezed their tiny bodies between the slightly open barn doors and trotted inside. My heart seized. I wanted to shoo them back to safety, but it was too late.

  Mr. Sherman caught my gaze and swung his gun toward my babies.

  “Don’t!” I shouted, pushing my wrists behind my back. “Fine. Here.”

  “Smart girl,” he said, moving around to stand behind me. He worked the ropes confidently over my icy skin in long complicated patterns while the kittens rolled end over end at my feet, enthralled in their game. I wondered briefly if the gunshot or sound of my body crashing onto the floorboards would distract them.

  “That ought to hold you,” Mr. Sherman said, stepping back to face me.

  I wiggled my wrists and felt the scratchy texture of plastic garland between them.

  He’d tied me to the pole.

  I gave the heavy burden overhead a cautious look and tried to keep still. If he shot me, at least my collapsing body had a chance of knocking all the storage down on him. I tested the binds gently. They didn’t give. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. “Why did you kill Mrs. Cooper? Why did you try to kill Farmer Bentley?”

  Mr. Sherman stepped back, a look of genuine shock on his brow. “You mean, you don’t even know?”

  I waited, assuming the answer was obvious.

  He ground out a hearty string of curses.

  “I told you that you didn’t have to do this. I don’t even know why any of it is happening.”

  “Well, it’s too late now.” He pulled the hammer back on the gun.

  I held my breath. No one would hear the gunshot over the festival music and crowd. Dot would be the one to find me. She was the only one who’d come looking for me when I didn’t show up later with details about my special one-on-one meeting with the banker. I stared at him. The man who’d taken so much from me. The one who planned to take so much more. “At least help me understand why I have to die. Are you working for Extra Mobil? You’re what? A killer for hire now?”

  “No,” he said. “Extra Mobil paid me to buy land at below market value from owners I knew were in financial trouble.
I’m a banker. A good one. Not some hired gun.”

  I hiked an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  He groaned and rubbed his face again. “Everything was fine at first, then Bentley figured out what I was up to. He started approaching failing farm owners before I could get to them, and he offered fair market price for the parcels. I couldn’t compete with that.”

  My stomach dropped. “Extra Mobil is coming to Blossom Valley,” I said. And Farmer Bentley was buying the properties, not to sell mineral rights to the oil company, but to protect us from what was coming by making sure Extra Mobil never got their hands on enough land to make a move.

  “That stupid farmer drained his entire life savings buying up properties to keep me from them.”

  I shook my head, horrified by what Mr. Sherman had done in response. “He got in your way, so you tried to kill him.”

  “He figured out my deal with Extra Mobil and threatened to go public. I couldn’t let that happen, but I couldn’t break my deal with Extra Mobil either because they brought me in on retainer.”

  I stalled the efforts to free my wrists so I could think about that. “Like a lawyer?”

  “Like they covered my gambling debts so I didn’t lose my house. Or a kneecap,” he muttered, beginning to pace before me. “All I had to do was purchase enough adjoining properties under the name they provided. It should have been easy money. Half this town’s broke.”

  “Was Mrs. Cooper broke?” I asked, resuming the efforts on my binds. I supposed it was possible. All those plastic surgery costs had to add up. “Did she freak out when you made the offer?”

  “I never made her an offer,” he snarled. “Bentley had started warning people about me. When he told her, she threatened to make a big stink. I stopped by her place to talk her down, but she was already worked up when I got there. She kept yelling and I couldn’t think.”