Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery)

by Connolly, Sheila

  The power line she’d noticed ran straight to the building.

  Did someone actually live here? Was she trespassing? Did she really believe that some hairy hillbilly would emerge with a shotgun and run her off? Max was barking furiously now. If Meg had hoped to approach quietly, that wasn’t going to happen—but why would she have needed to? In any case, Max’s noise hadn’t produced any response from inside the building or from the surrounding woods. She knelt down next to him again and said, “Find him, Max,” and unhooked the leash.

  Max ran straight for the building, but not for the sorry excuse for a front door. Instead, he went around to the side, where a sort of lean-to with a slanted roof clung to the side of the main building. Max had parked himself in front of the lean-to’s door and was scratching and whining. Meg came closer and called out, “Seth?” No answer, but Max didn’t stop. On inspection, Meg found there was a surprisingly new and unrusted hasp and padlock on the door.

  Now what? She pounded on the door: no response. Max continued to paw at the doorsill. All right, she’d get the door open, somehow. It fit closely enough that prying it open with a branch wouldn’t work—she’d have to break the lock. She looked around until she found a rock. Welcome to the wonderful world of breaking and entering, Meg, she thought as she raised the rock and brought it down on the lock. It didn’t budge: somebody had done the job right and bolted it through the door rather than just screwing it into the surface. She tried again, and again, until finally the hasp snapped, sending the padlock tumbling to the ground. At the first sign of a gap, Max pushed himself into the small structure; Meg followed more slowly, hesitating a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim light in the windowless space.

  The space was crammed with a hodgepodge of old wooden boxes and a few newer cardboard ones stacked on top. The floor was occupied by a body: Seth’s.

  And he wasn’t moving.

  25

  Meg dropped to her knees beside him, even as she took in details. The space was tiny, so he was jammed into a small space with no way to move. He was breathing, so she knew he was alive, and wrapped clumsily but thoroughly with duct tape. Nothing over his mouth, but she guessed that even if he yelled, there was no one around to hear him. Max, of course, had not hung back, and was bouncing around ecstatically licking Seth’s face. Meg reached out a hand and touched Seth’s face: it was hot. Too hot. It was then that she realized how incredibly hot the airless enclosed space was. It had to be over a hundred degrees in the lean-to, with the sun hitting it full on.

  Her face was already dripping sweat. Seth’s wasn’t.

  The realization hit her with an almost physical blow. Oh hell—dehydration. Heatstroke. Bree had warned her about it more than once, had insisted that they keep drinking water all the time they were out irrigating. Now and then they’d even drenched themselves with water between tank runs. Heatstroke was serious. How long had Seth been cooped up here, without any water? Since early morning?

  She laid a hand on his shoulder and shook him, noting that his shirt was stiff with dried sweat. Even his arm felt hot. She fought to keep her panic under control. “Seth? Wake up!” Please, please, wake up.

  His eyes opened slowly, and it took him a moment to focus, first on Max, who was still licking his face. Then his gaze turned slowly to her. “Meg?”

  Relief hit her in a wave. “Yes, it’s me. Let me get this stuff off you.” She cursed the fact that she didn’t have a knife or anything useful with her. Of course there wasn’t anything in the shed that could be used to cut—someone had wanted him to stay here, not figure out a way to escape with a handy sharp tool. For how long? Until he died? In the end she had no choice but to laboriously unwind the tape that circled his body with excessive thoroughness. She tried hard not to acknowledge that even with his hands free, he wasn’t making much of an effort to help himself. She pulled the sticky lengths of tape away and threw them across the small room in sheer frustration. “Seth, can you sit up?”

  He regarded her blankly, as though she was speaking a foreign language. If he couldn’t sit, then he couldn’t stand or walk, and how the hell would she get him out of here? Was whoever had done this planning to come back? She pulled on his near arm until he was in a more or less upright position, leaning against the interior wall of the shed. “Seth, what happened? Why are you here?”

  Maybe moving had helped get his blood flowing again, because his eyes finally focused. “I . . . I’m not sure. I was looking for something—oh, right, following the electric line—and I came to this cabin and the . . . I think somebody knocked me out. Is anyone around?”

  Why was it that he took it upon himself to investigate every problem this blasted town had? Was he really the only person in Granford who could look for electricity thieves? Meg shook her head. “Not right now. So you’ve been here since this morning?”

  “I think so. What time is it?”

  So he could have been here all day, cooped up in the heat. Not good. “Past six. Whose property is this?”

  “The town’s. Nobody’s lived here for years.”

  “Can you stand?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” He struggled to get his feet under him, but when he tried to stand upright, he wavered and then dropped back to the floor. “Damn, my head hurts.” He leaned his head back and shut his eyes.

  Things were going from bad to worse. Walking back to her car or the road would apparently be out of the question for him, Meg could see quickly. What were the alternatives? She pulled out her cell phone and called Art. He answered with another abrupt “What?”

  Meg said quickly, “I’ve found Seth, but I think he’s extremely dehydrated.”

  “Where are you?” Art demanded.

  “I’d guess about a mile from where the van is, straight back in the woods. There’s a building here, kind of a rough cabin, and that’s where I found him.”

  “Can he walk out?”

  “I don’t think so. Can you send someone?”

  “No can do. We’re fully engaged here and the fire’s probably headed in your direction.”

  Could things get any worse? “Can you send the ambulance?”

  “Sorry—I had to ship a couple of guys to the hospital with burns. It’s bad here.”

  She had to get Seth moved, but he couldn’t move. No way was she leaving him here, when whoever had done this to him might be coming back, and a forest fire might be headed in this direction. “Okay, what’s the treatment for heatstroke?”

  “Symptoms?”

  “High temperature, no sweat. Headache. Can’t stand up, much less walk.”

  “Damn, damn, damn. Okay, look, the most important thing is to get some water into him, and get his body temperature down. Is there water there?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t checked out the cabin, but if it has power it might have water.”

  “Power?” Art said.

  “Yes. Seth said he was following the electric line this morning.”

  “So there’s probably water. Like I said, get water into him, but not too much at once. He’ll probably need electrolytes, too, but we can worry about that once you get him out of there. Dump cold water on him. If there’s a hose, spray him down. You’ve got to get him mobile. I’ll try to alert the medics, but I can’t promise anything. Gotta go. Let me know once you get moving and I’ll try to find someone to meet you.” He hung up.

  Meg looked back at Seth. His eyes were open and he was watching her, but without much comprehension. She knelt by him again. “Seth, I need to find water, in the house. I’ll be right back. Max, stay.” Max obediently sat down next to Seth, pleased that he’d done his job of finding his master—and unaware that it wasn’t over yet.

  Meg hurried around to the front of the main building. There was a shallow porch across the front, and while the corners were dusty, the central part leading to the door wasn’t, suggesting that someone had been using it regularly. The door was flanked by grimy windows. She peered into the nearer one and was surprise
d to see what looked like scientific equipment rather than ordinary furniture. Even more surprising was the sight of a window-unit air conditioner on the far side of the single room—and she could hear it humming. Who the hell would cool a cabin in the middle of the woods?

  She turned to examine the door. Damn, this one had a real dead bolt lock, so a rock wouldn’t help her much. She’d have to break a window to get inside. She jumped off the low porch and went back around the side to get the rock she had used before, but when she returned to the front, someone else was there, approaching from the other side. She stiffened, until she realized that she recognized him: Gabe Aubuchon. She felt a stab of relief.

  “Gabe? What are you doing here?”

  He looked startled. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  That wasn’t the reaction she had expected, but it didn’t matter. “Look, I really need your help.”

  “Why are you here?” he asked again.

  Gabe was acting very oddly, Meg thought. “Do you know this place?” she asked.

  “You’re trespassing,” Gabe said.

  Now she was getting seriously concerned. If she was trespassing, so was he: Seth had said the property belonged to the town. Was Gabe here on an innocent bug-hunting trip, or was there something else going on?

  Stay calm, she told herself, although that did little for the pounding of her heart. She knew how far away she was from other people, so she was on her own. Maybe Art knew where she was, but he was kind of busy right now. Gabe had always seemed cheerful and helpful. Christopher had hired him, which should mean something. But nothing explained his odd demeanor at the moment.

  Wait—was he the one who had stuffed Seth into a hot, dark place where he could have died in the heat? Still could, if Meg didn’t get him help? If Gabe was the one who locked up Seth, maybe he didn’t know she’d found him. Gabe had approached from the other side of the building, so he probably wouldn’t know that Meg had broken open the door. Maybe she could spin this out until she knew a little more. “I was looking for Seth Chapin. He hasn’t been seen around town today, and his van is parked on the road not far from here.”

  “Why would he be here?” Gabe asked, without inflection, giving nothing away.

  “I don’t know,” Meg said. “I followed the road from where his van was, and this seems to be the closest building. Maybe he was looking for something.” When that brought no reaction from Gabe, she pressed on. “Is this your place?”

  “I don’t live here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Does this have something to do with your research for the university?” she countered. What was this, Twenty Questions? She didn’t have time to waste. “Look, do you know if there’s any running water here? Like, inside?”

  Maybe she’d given too much away. As she watched, Gabe’s expression shifted, then shifted again, although she had no idea what he was thinking. “You found him,” he said flatly.

  So much for pretense. Meg squared her shoulders. “Yes, I did. Did you lock him in there?”

  Gabe nodded, without taking his eyes from her face. “He was snooping around.”

  “And you had to stop him?”

  “Yes. He was going to spoil everything.”

  Spoil what? she wondered. Not that she cared. Whatever Gabe had been doing here in seclusion, it had nothing to do with her. She had only one thing to worry about right now: moving Seth to somewhere he could get help. “Gabe, all I want is to help Seth. If he doesn’t get some water, get cooled down, he could die. I need your help.”

  Gabe looked blankly at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Hyperthermia. You get too hot, you die.”

  “I didn’t know. I’m from Maine—never gets that hot there.” Now he looked stricken. “This wasn’t supposed to happen . . . I didn’t mean . . . Look, Meg, I’m not a bad person. Really, I’m not. But things kinda got out of hand, and I don’t see how I can fix it without making it a lot worse.”

  “Gabe, I don’t know what you mean,” Meg said carefully, not that she cared—she needed to worry about Seth first. “Just tell me, is there water inside?”

  “If I let you inside, you’ll know what I mean. All of it.”

  She struggled to keep her voice level, calm. “Gabe, I need water, and I need it now. There’s a fire to the west of us, and it may be headed this way. And unless you help me, Seth will end up dead.”

  Gabe’s body sagged. “He showed up and I didn’t know what to do, so I stuck him back there until I could figure it out.” Gabe’s mouth twitched. “I can’t let someone else die.”

  That made no sense to Meg, unless . . . “Gabe, are you talking about David Clapp? The logger?”

  He nodded and looked down at his feet. “That was an accident.”

  But why would Gabe have killed that logger, accidentally or otherwise? Meg’s brain seemed to be working too slowly, probably because of the panic she was trying hard to suppress. And then she made the connection. “Gabe, if I look inside this building, will I find beetles?”

  Gabe’s head came up, and he looked almost relieved. “Yes.”

  “That’s what all the equipment is for? You’re rearing your own? And seeding them in the forests around here?”

  He nodded. “That logger guy caught me in the act at Nash’s place—I was putting some where people would be sure to find them, because nobody had noticed them yet. But I swear, he tripped. I never touched him.”

  But you hid the body so you could go on doing what you were doing, Meg added to herself, but now was not the time to split hairs. It was time to go for broke. “Gabe, you found Seth Chapin snooping around here this morning, and you wanted to stop him, so somehow you managed to lock him into the shed, right?”

  Gabe nodded. “He asked me if I was the one stealing power and told me I was trespassing. I couldn’t let him shut me down—my beetles would die.”

  Gabe hadn’t figured out yet that the game was up. First the logger had found him, and then Seth, and now her. He couldn’t keep silencing everyone. Surely he must see that? “But you didn’t plan to hurt him, did you?”

  Gabe shook his head vehemently. “No! I needed time to think. I mean, I’m not a killer. I couldn’t look him in the eye and just . . . do it.”

  Thank heavens for that. But a corner of Meg’s mind wondered, But he could tie him up and let Seth die from heatstroke? Seth wasn’t a violent person; how would he fare against someone who was trying to cover up a murder, not to mention a number of other crimes? They were probably evenly matched, physically. How had Gabe managed it?

  And hadn’t he figured out that heat could kill?

  Meg sniffed and smelled smoke, stronger than before. She had to act fast. Meg said carefully, “Gabe, I’m pretty sure that Seth is suffering from heatstroke, and that’s serious. He needs water. He needs to get cooled down. I don’t think you are a killer, Gabe, but if you don’t help me help Seth, he will die. Is that what you want?”

  Gabe looked close to tears. “This is so screwed up. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

  Should she play one more card? Did she have anything to lose? “Gabe, Art Preston, Granford’s police chief, knows where we are. He’s going to come here as soon as this fire is under control. He’ll find us, because Seth is his friend and he won’t stop looking until he does. No matter what you’ve been doing, whatever happened along the way, this will only get worse if you let Seth die.” And you’ll have to take me out, too, because I’m not going to let that happen. Meg managed not to say that out loud.

  Gabe’s anguish was clear on his face, and Meg all but held her breath. Then his expression shifted to one of resignation: he’d given up the fight.

  He nodded once, decisively. “All right, let’s get him inside. I’ll crank up the AC and open up the refrigeration units—that should help. And there’s water.”

  26

  “Gabe, I’m going to need help getting Seth inside—he can’t stand.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Let’s go, t
hen.” But when they reached the lean-to, Gabe was greeted by a growl from Max, standing guard over the still-prostrate Seth.

  “Whoa,” Gabe said, backing away.

  Good judge of character, Max, Meg thought. Out loud she said, “It’s okay, Max. Friend. Come here.” Max stepped out of the lean-to reluctantly and moved next to Meg, alternately watching Gabe and Seth. Gabe stepped into the shed. “Sorry, man,” he said to Seth, as he reached down to pull him up. The two of them almost toppled when Seth couldn’t maintain his balance. There was not enough room for Meg to help, but in the end Gabe managed to gain control. “We’re going inside now, okay? It’s cooler there, and there’s water.” He backed out and got Seth turned in the right direction, and together they somehow lurched around the building to the front. Meg trailed behind, trying to restrain Max, who was eager to help.

  When Gabe shoved open the door, blessedly cool air rushed out. Meg followed Gabe and Seth and closed the door behind her. Max had followed them in, and she said sternly, “Sit.” He did, but he remained watchful. Meg scanned the room for a chair or stool for Seth, but the room was crammed with a mini version of the lab she had seen at the university. Gabe seemed to recognize her predicament. “There’s a desk chair in the next room.”

  Meg went through a door to what appeared to be the only other room in the place, although she spotted a basic bathroom in the corner. There was a cot and a table that served as a desk, piled high with papers, with the chair in front of it. She rolled it back quickly into the lab room, and Gabe maneuvered Seth into it. “Can you get some water, Gabe?” she said. Then she knelt in front of Seth and waited until he focused on her. “How you doing?” She laid her hand over his on the arm of the chair: still too hot.