“I’m not the one saying it. I’m just bringing it to your attention.”
“What you should be doing is defending me. I’m your wife’s sister. Your daughters’ aunt.”
“I’m well aware of who you are,” he muttered, pulling into the drive-through line at the local coffee shop.
“Well, then, why aren’t you jumping to my defense?”
Because I’m wondering too, he almost said. “What I’m doing is due diligence. I’m checking all the facts and trying to get them to line up. So far, they’re not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were mugged in broad daylight in a well-traveled area, but not one person saw the attack.”
“It happened in an alley!” she cried, her voice shaky.
“An alley just about anyone can see into if they take the time to look.”
“It happened so fast. There wasn’t time for anyone to see it.” She was crying. He knew it, and he should have felt bad, but he was still mad as all get-out, and she was part of the reason for that.
“Maybe not, but people are wondering, and I think maybe you should take a really hard look at what you’ve been saying. I think you might want to consider that there are a lot of people in town who have hired Jet, who have liked the work he’s done for them, who find him to be honest and forthright. You, on the other hand—”
“Don’t you dare bring up the cupcake thing!” she snapped. “Don’t you dare.”
Then she disconnected. Just like that. Ended the conversation without ever denying that she’d made the story up.
Which, when he thought of it, was not like Daisy at all. She loved to prove a point, to be right, to commit to something and stick with it.
So why hadn’t she shouted her innocence to the world?
Why hadn’t she demanded a meeting at town hall, where she could share her grievances and demand an apology?
It worried him, he’d admit it.
Because if Max was right and Daisy had made the entire thing up, if she was accusing someone of something that hadn’t even happened . . . that was a crime, and she could be punished with jail time.
He needed to talk it out with someone. Preferably not someone who worked for the Apple Valley Sheriff’s Department.
Apricot popped into his head. She’d listen without judging. She’d give whatever advice she could. She’d probably prescribe teas and tinctures to help with Daisy’s high-strung nature.
Thinking about that made Simon smile, until he remembered that Apricot didn’t want drama, she didn’t want risk, she didn’t want any of the things he had in his life. She didn’t want to be honest either, and that, more than anything else, was the kiss of death to whatever they’d had.
“Can I help you?” the young woman at the drive-through window asked.
“Only if you can shoot me back in time so I can start my day again,” he replied.
“Excuse me?” Her smooth brow furrowed, her hand paused over the computer keys.
“I’ll take a large coffee and a cheese Danish,” he said. Neither would taste as good as what he could get at Charlotte’s, but he wasn’t ready to face a bunch of questions from a bunch of well-meaning people. He didn’t want to talk about Daisy or Jet or the mugging. He just wanted to eat something for lunch, go back to work, and pretend the day had never happened.
The problem with pretending was it didn’t change things.
It didn’t make fiction truth or truth fiction.
All it did was allow a person to hide his head in the sand and ignore things that were right in front of his nose.
For example, a sister-in-law who was just kooky enough to make up a story that would get her every bit of the attention she seemed to need.
Three days after her disastrous lunch, and Apricot hadn’t seen hide nor hair of anyone from the Baylor family. That should have pleased her. It didn’t, because she missed them.
Simon.
The girls.
Even crazy Daisy.
She missed them, but she was not going to call Simon. What would be the point? No amount of apologizing could change what she’d done. She’d blown something really pleasant because she’d been worried about having her heart broken. Funny thing was, she’d spent the past three days feeling like it had been.
She scowled, dropping an armful of tree trimmings into a wheelbarrow she’d dragged from the dilapidated shed she’d found at the edge of the orchard. It had been filled with old farming equipment. Hand tools. Trimmers. Nothing any of the guys she’d hired would use, but she liked the feeling of history, of constancy that came with holding something that someone else had used decades ago. Of course, she hadn’t asked Dusty if the building was on her land, but she figured he’d show up eventually if it wasn’t and tell her to put the wheelbarrow back.
Or maybe not.
He’d spent most of the last few days mooning over Rose.
Apricot had spent most of the past few days avoiding her family. Even now, at seven in the morning with rain just starting to fall in a light, sweet mist, she wasn’t inside. She was out in the orchard, working her butt off, because that was a heck of a lot easier than listening to Rose or Lilac’s advice about her love life.
The one she did not have, because she was a coward. A boring one.
“It sucks to be me!” She dropped another armload of branches and leaves onto the others.
“What’s that, Apricot?” Jet asked from the rung of a ladder that leaned against one of the larger apple trees. His upper body and head were shrouded by leaves and branches, but his thin legs were clearly visible.
“Just talking to myself.”
“You know you do that a lot, right?” He peered out from between leaves and frowned. “You might want to go see someone about it.”
“How about you just stick to trimming trees and save the helpful advice for someone else?” she responded, bending down to gather a few more fallen branches.
“Bad morning with the family, huh?” he responded.
“Bad lifetime with the family,” she muttered.
“At least you have them to complain about. One day you might not, so maybe you should just enjoy what you’ve got while you got it.”
“Do you have to be so smart, Jet? Because I’m trying to bemoan my fate, and you’re not making it easy.” She dropped the third armful in the barrow, stretched a kink out of her back, and tried really, really hard to be thankful for what she had.
“Hey, I just call it like I see it.” He ducked his head back inside the canopy of trees and went back to work trimming the top branches. “Besides, if you ask my granddad, he’ll tell you I’m more smart aleck than smart.”
“I doubt it. The way I hear things, your grandparents think the sun rises and sets with your smile.”
He laughed, tossing a couple of small branches down. “They’re pretty great people. I just wish they didn’t have to go through all this stuff with the crazy librarian. She actually showed up at our house last night and demanded to be allowed to search my room. She still thinks I took her wallet and phone.”
“I hope your grandparents sent her packing.” And she wondered what Simon had thought about his sister-in-law’s escapades.
Which made her wonder about Simon.
Which made her wonder if she was the biggest fool in the world for not just picking up the phone and calling the guy.
“Nah. We let her take a look. I’ve got nothing to hide. Poor lady got to my underwear drawer and nearly had a heart attack. It was right around that time that she decided that maybe she didn’t need to search my room after all.”
Apricot laughed. Probably her first real laugh in three days, and it was at poor Daisy’s expense. The woman really did need to get on a strict regimen of herbs and tinctures. A vegan diet might help too. “Did you report her to the police?”
“Granddad said that would just be cruel. She’s already made such a fool of herself in town, people look at her sideways when she walks down
the street.” He tossed several branches onto the ground, looked down at her again. “It’s starting to rain, you know.”
“You can stop for the day.”
“We’ve barely started, and I like to get a job done once I sign up for it.”
“You didn’t sign up for this. I volunteered you.” That was nearly the truth. She’d actually asked him to join the orchard crew while he was waiting on custom-ordered windows to be delivered. With everything else on the exterior of the house complete, Jet had packed up and told her he’d be back when the windows arrived. She could have let him go, but he’d had a look that bordered on desperation, and she’d thought that maybe his college expenses were piling up or that he was helping his retired grandparents with their mortgage.
Whatever the case, she’d known he needed the money, and she could certainly use the help.
He tossed a couple more branches down, then climbed halfway down the ladder. “You know I appreciate the work.”
“And you know that I appreciate you being the one person on the orchard crew who begins work at the crack of dawn like I do.”
He shrugged. “You’re the only person I know who is willing to let me make my own work schedule. That really helps when it comes to school. I’m taking full advantage of it.” He climbed the rest of the way down the ladder, his hair already wet from rain, his body still holding on to the lean, lanky build of youth. “Of course, today I’ve only gotten an hour in.” He glanced up at the cloud-laden sky. “And it looks like that’s going to be all. Might be all for a few days. I heard we’ve got a storm blowing in.”
“That’s great. All that rain will be good for next year’s growing season.”
“That’s what I like about you, Apricot.” He brushed her hands away from the wheelbarrow. “You’re always an optimist. Me? I’m just thinking about the money I’m not going to make and about the fact that I’m standing here in wet clothes.” He pushed the load to the edge of the orchard, rolled it onto the cart she’d rented, and dumped it there. “You want me to put the wheelbarrow back in the shed?”
She was going to tell him not to bother. She didn’t mind a little rain. She’d grown up walking through the woods while rain poured down, and she loved the sound of it on the tree canopy, the soft slap of it on the ground.
Of course, if she told him she was going to keep working, he’d feel obligated to do the same. “Sure. I’ll grab the ladder.”
“I’ll get it. I took it out. Plus, this place is packed with stuff. It’s not easy to get the ladder in and out.” He rolled the wheelbarrow into the shed, calling out as he went. “You going to the apple festival next weekend?”
“Of course. Rose has been working nonstop to get ready for it. She’s got a hundred cases of tinctures to sell.”
“She got anything for arthritis? My grandma’s hands are . . .” Something knocked against the wall of the shed, and she figured he must have been shoving the wheelbarrow into place.
“Shit!” He came running out, his face white as a ghost, his eyes dark and glassy.
“What’s wrong?” She grabbed his arm, afraid he’d been bitten by something. It was late in the season for snakes, but there were plenty of other varmints that were gathering their stores for the winter. Opossums, raccoons, rats. They could all be mean when they were cornered.
“Holy crap! This is bad, Apricot. Really bad,” Jet gasped.
“What? Were you stung? Bitten? Are you having a heart attack?” She probed his jugular, and he brushed her hand away.
“I shoved the wheelbarrow so hard that I knocked over the planter. There was a bunch of dirt inside it.”
“No problem. I’ll sweep up the dirt. It’s been in there so long, it’s dry as a bone. I could probably just leave the door open and let the breeze blow it—”
He grabbed her hand, yanked her to the door. Pointed, his finger trembling. The planter was on its side, the dirt that someone had left in it spilled out. And there, right on top of the mess, was a wallet and a shattered cell phone.
“That’s not what I think it is, is it?” she whispered as if being quiet could change what she was seeing.
“I don’t know. Shit! What if it is?” Jet wasn’t at all worried about quiet. He looked ready to run, his eyes frantic, his face pale.
“Did you look in the wallet?”
“No. I didn’t want my fingerprints on it.”
“Maybe it isn’t Daisy’s.”
“And maybe it is, and if it is, it’s going to lead the police right to me. We need to put them back under the dirt and pretend we never saw them.”
She grabbed his arm before he could start hiding the evidence. “You know we can’t do that.”
“I suppose you’re going to say we should call the police,” he grumbled.
“First, I’m going to see if they’re Daisy’s. If they are, we’ll call the police. If they’re not, we’re still going to call the police.” She lifted the wallet, brushed dirt off its faux leather cover, opened it.
There was Daisy, staring back at her from a really, really, really bad driver’s license photo.
“Sweet corn fritters, it is hers.” She sighed.
Chapter Sixteen
“Daddy!” Rori nudged Simon’s shoulder, forcing him from a comfortable doze on the sofa. He was tired as all get-out, so he kept his eyes closed and prayed she’d go find her aunt.
“Daddy!” She nudged him again. “The kittens are missing.”
He groaned and opened his eyes.
Her face was about three centimeters from his. She had a couple of little freckles on her nose and a whole lot of worry in her eyes. “What’s that?”
“The kittens. They’re gone.”
“Are you sure?” He’d seen them when he got home at eight. Hadn’t he? He couldn’t really remember.
“Yes. They were here last night, and now they’re gone.” Her lower lip trembled, and the first tear slid down her cheek.
So, of course, he did what any good father would.
Made promises that he might not be able to keep. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m sure they’re in the house somewhere. We’ll find them. I promise.”
“But me and Evie already looked everywhere, and they’re not here.” She pressed her palms to his cheeks and looked deep into his eyes. “Evie said they maybe got eaten by Mr. Plumber’s mean old dog.”
“Where is Evie?”
“She’s trying to get into the attic.”
“What?” He was up like a shot. “You know I’ve told you girls to stay out of there.” He planned to put down flooring, but currently there was nothing but support beams and insulation.
“But she has to look for the kittens. If they didn’t get eaten, they’re hungry and scared. I’m just so worried about them, Daddy.” She ran along behind him, but he was too busy yelling for her sister to pay much attention.
“Evangeline Rose! You had better not be in that attic!” he hollered as he sprinted up the stairs.
“I’m not. Yet,” she responded, her voice muffled.
He ran into his bedroom, scowling as he caught sight of Evie, her legs and lower body dangling out of the hatch door in the closet ceiling. He snagged her by the waist and pulled her down. “What have I told you about going in the attic?”
“What’s going on?” Daisy appeared in the doorway, a frilly apron tied around her waist. Seeing as how she hadn’t spoken more than five words to Simon since their phone conversation three days ago, he was surprised she hadn’t just stayed in the kitchen, cleaning the breakfast dishes.
“Our kittens are gone, Aunt Daisy,” Evie said, her face smudged with dust. “Have you seen them?”
“They were here when I woke up.” She shrugged. “Maybe your father accidentally let them out when he got home.”
The girls both shot horrified looks in his direction.
“Did you, Daddy?” Rori asked, looking like he’d just shot an arrow straight through her heart.
“Of course I didn’t. I walked in
the front door just like I always do. I didn’t see the kittens when I came in. Did you water the flower boxes on the back porch, Daisy? Maybe they got out then?”
“Oh, so now you’re blaming me.” Daisy’s hands settled on her hips, her eyes narrowing.
“I’m not blaming you. I’m asking you a question,” he explained, taking both girls by the hands and leading them out of the room. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“Last night at bedtime,” they said in unison.
“And you didn’t go outside this morning?”
“We brought the garbage out, but they were gone before then, Daddy,” Rori said. “I noticed they were missing as soon as we got up.”
“They had to have gotten out last night then. It’s possible they’ve found a nice place to sleep and they’ll come home in a little while.”
“Or it’s possible they’ve been eaten,” Evie added.
“They weren’t eaten,” he assured the girls, even though he wasn’t actually sure. The kittens were tiny, and there were plenty of coyotes roaming around the outskirts of Apple Valley. They’d been known to sneak in and take chickens, geese, and even a small domestic animal or two.
“Well, then where are they?” Evie demanded, her hands fisted on her hips, her lower lip out. She was going to cry. He could see it coming.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to figure it out.”
“I bet Apricot can help us,” Rori suggested. “She likes to help people.”
Daisy snorted.
“She does!” Rori said. “She helped the art teacher. Mrs. Lauren had a terrible back pain and Apricot gave her tea to make it better. Maybe she has tea that will make the kittens come home.”
“There is no such thing,” Daisy snapped. “The problem is, you weren’t careful enough when you took the trash out. They probably slipped out with you and wandered off. More than likely they will find their way home. If they don’t, I guess you’ll have learned your lesson about responsibility. It’s something both of you could use a little more of.”
“No need to be harsh, Daisy. The girls feel bad enough.”
“I’m not being harsh. I’m teaching them valuable life lessons.” Daisy smoothed a few wrinkles out of her apron and fluffed her hair. “It’s called good parenting.”
The Orchard at the Edge of Town Page 23
