A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4) (29 page)

“It was last minute. We didn’t even make the final decision until a week before we were set to leave.”
She threw a slice of pepper on the grass beside her.

“Do you usually travel on the spur of the moment like that?”

“No, but Melinda was so enthusiastic when she heard about the trip, I thought why not.” She tossed another pepper. “She can be a bit of downer, so to see her excited about something made me excited about it too. People shouldn’t go through life like it’s a chore. It’s an adventure and should be treated as such.” A third pepper hit the grass. “Plus, I have never been to Amish Country, so why not?”

“Umm, Gertie, why are you throwing all your peppers on the grass.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I like them for flavoring, but they are too slimy to eat.”

I sat next to her. “Does your family ever want to go on these trips with
you?”

She took a bit of her sandwich and thought for a minute. “I have one son still living, but he’s in a nursing home in Utah. Poor boy, he took after this father as far as he
alth goes, not me. Everyone else has gone home to be with the Lord. I suppose you could say Melinda is the only family I have. I’m her only family too. She never married and doesn’t claim any other relatives.”

Melinda returned with our lemonade. She handed the first plastic cup to me. “This one is for you, Chloe.” She handed the next cup to Gertie. “And here is yours.”

“Thank you, Melinda. I was just telling Chloe how we came on this trip.”

Melinda’s mouth turned down.

Gertie set her lemonade cup on the grass and shoved her half-eaten Italian sausage at me. “I know just the thing that will go with this lemonade.”

Uh-huh.

She stuck her hand in her massive patchwork purse and removed a plastic sandwich bag. Inside was a twisted gray strip of what I assumed was fish. It resembled a molted snakeskin.

Gertie pulled the fish strip and held it out to me.
“My fish jerky. It’s about time you tried it.”

Reluctantly, I took it. I could feel both she and Melinda watching me.

“Go on, now,” Gertie urged.

I took a tiny bite.
It tasted like crunchy salt rock which had been scrapped up from the bottom of the Mississippi.

Gertie watched me intently. “Good,
ain’t it?”

“
Mmmmm.” I grabbed my lemonade and took a huge gulp.

The centurion rubbe
d her hands together. “I knew you would like it.”

I willed my gag reflex to remain calm. “Gertie, I think I will save the rest for later.”

“If that’s what you want to do. You got a strip of largemouth bass there. It stays fresh a long time.” She handed me the sandwich bag. “Catfish is my favorite, but it doesn’t keep as well because it’s a fatty fish.”

I tucked
the fish jerky into my purse and chugged more lemonade.

Chapter Thirty-Two

By the time we reached the Dutch Inn in Appleseed Creek later that afternoon, my stomach was rolling. I was happy everyone was in a light stupor from too much food and too much information, so no one complained when I said I had no more Amish lessons to share until dinner that evening. The sound of light snoring floated from the back of the bus.

All I wanted to do was
crawl to my room and lay down on the bed. A pounding headache throbbed behind my forehead. I placed a hand to my temple. It came away damp. That Italian sausage was a very, very bad idea. Or was it the fish jerky? If I made it back to Knox County alive, I promised myself I would never touch either ever again.

I felt the bus shutter to a halt, and heard the sound of tinny voices next to me in
the aisle.

Hudson
held onto the railing in front of my seat. “All right. Time for you to get out too.”

He had to be kidding.
Moving seemed impossible.

“Get out, kid. My number one rule is no hurling on the bus.”

Slowly, I opened my eyes and his face blurred. With all the energy I could muster, I gathered my bag struggled to my feet.
Bed. Get in the inn and go to bed.

“There’s som
e guy out here waiting for you,” Hudson said. His voice was distant too.

Timothy.
Timothy would take care of me. Thinking of him brought tears to my eyes.

Somehow
, I stumbled to the bus door. The steps looked like a mile down. I teetered, and a hand reached for mine and helped me down. I stared at it. It was a man’s hand, but it didn’t belong to Timothy. In slow motion, I turned my head. Curt.
What was he doing there?
He helped me down to the blacktop. “Red,” was all he said.

“Pull her away from the bus,”
Hudson barked.

I felt C
urt lead me to grass lawn beside the driveway. Hudson cranked over the engine, and the bus pulled out of the driveway.
Where was he going?
Should I follow him?
I could no more follow him than I could fly.

“Red?”
Curt’s voice dipped with concern. “Are you okay?”

I blinked a blurry goatee-covered face.
“No.”

“I need to talk to you.” His tone was urgent, pleading.

“Another time. I can’t talk to you right now, Curt.”

How did he know I was here? Has he been watching me again? I thought he changed.
My thoughts hit me in a muddled string. I needed to lie down now.

“
It can’t wait. It’s already waited long enough.” His father’s dog tags hung from his neck.

I closed my eyes for a moment.
Mistake. It only seemed to make the earth tilt more. “Is it about the prison ministry? I already told you it’s a good idea. I haven’t had time to work on the website yet.”

“It’s not about that.”
He grasped my upper arms. I didn’t know if he did that to keep me upright or hold me in place.

“
Whatever it is can we do this another time? Please. I’m not feeling well. I think I might be car sick or—”

His grip tighten
ed on my upper arms. “I just need five minutes. Let’s go to the garden. I think I need to sit down. There’s a bench there.”

“Fine.”
Arguing with him to leave me alone would just prolong my agony. “But please hurry. I don’t feel well.”

He guided me into the garden. There was a white iron wrought backless bench in the middle of a bed of red tulips. Curt lowered me on the bench. Sitting was wonderful. I would never discredit the greatness of sitting again. He sat beside me. The bench was so small our leg
s pressed up against each other. I didn’t care I was way beyond caring about my personal space.

Curt turned my body to face him.
“Chloe, look at me.”

I blinked.

“I love you, Chloe,” he blurted out.

Brock was right? This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening.
He called me Chloe. He never calls me Chloe.

“No, you don’t,” I
whispered.

He jerked his head back and even through my blurred vision I could see a small piece of the angry Curt I remembered from
months ago.

Curt grabbed my elbow. “I know what I just said must be shock. I was surprised by
it myself. My counselor said if I had to tell someone something that was bothering me, I needed to say it. Bottling it up inside leads to anger.”

I wished his counselor hadn’t done that. More than anything
I wished I could lie down on top of the flowers. He took my hand. “Chloe, I love you.” He paused. “I’ve loved you for a while now, longer than I have even known.”

The headache intensified.
“Curt, you know Timothy and I are dating.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched or at least I thought it did it was hard to tell as my vision was still unreliable
. “I know, but you could date me too. And between the two of us, you could decide who suits you better.”

That wasn’t going to happen.
Ever. I already knew who suited me better. I didn’t want to hurt Curt’s feelings more, but I had to put a stop to this.

“You
’re the only girl for me,” he whispered and took my face into his hands.

I tried to pull away. “I can’t—”

He kissed me. His goatee felt coarse against my skin, and my insides revolted. I jerked my head away from him, bent over, and threw up on the tulips.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Gentle fingers held my hair back away from my face as I expelled a series of dry heaves into Jane’s beautiful garden. As the last heave shook my body, a water bottle was thrust into my hand. “Here, drink this. It will help. You might want to swish it around in your mouth to get the bad taste out. I’ve seen a lot of foul stuff, Red, but this might be the winner.”

Red?
The name hit me like a tennis racket to the side of the head. I jerked my head up so quickly it connected with Curt’s chin. “Ouch!” we both cried out.

The head knock forced me to look down.
Big mistake. Jane’s flowers weren’t so pretty anymore. Ugh. I had to look away.

I tried to scramble to stand and Curt grabbed me by the waist to steady me.

“What are you doing to her?” Timothy’s voice was razor sharp. “Get away from her.”

I felt Curt jerk away from me. Still too weak to stand on my own, I began to falter. Timothy caught me as I was halfway to the ground.

“What did you do to her?” His question came out in a snarl and sounded nothing like Timothy.

I shivered.
“Timothy, Curt hasn’t done anything wrong. I was sick, and he helped me.” Nausea washed over me again. “I think I might be sick again.” I doubled over. This time it was Timothy who held my hair.

Vaguely,
after my last bout of a turned stomach, I felt Timothy pick me up and carry me to his truck. He laid me across the bench seat and placed my head on his lap. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was aware of was an antiseptic smell assaulting my nostrils.

“Morning
, Sunshine.”

My eyes opened
slowly fighting against the hospital room’s glaring fluorescent lighting.

“There you are.”
Chief Rose’s royal blue-lined brown eyes and short poodle curls seemed even more out place under her police department cap than normal. “Have a nice nap?”

“Terrific.
” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

A hand
offered me a small plastic cup of water. “Here, drink this.” It was the exact phrase Curt used in the garden, but it was Timothy who handed me the water this time.

I accepted the cup and took t
wo small sips. It made my stomach clench, but it was enough to satisfy my dry mouth for the time being.

Chief Rose sat on the edge of my bed.
“Humphrey, we have to talk about your latest escapade.”

“There will be time for that, Greta.” Timothy’s voice was firm. “The nurse said Chloe needs to rest.”

“She looks perfectly fine to me,” Chief Rose argued.

Timothy set the water cup on a side table.
“What are you a doctor now?”

“Troyer, don’t take you
r protective attitude out of me.”

“You caused
this. It was your idea for her to get on the bus with those people,” he said.

“I didn’t hear her say ‘no.’”

“Like you would let her. You just steamrolled her into doing whatever you want.”

I lifted my hand from my chest.
“Hello, I’m right here, and I know I look half-dead, but I am very much alive and can hear you.” I blinked in confusion. “How did Chief Rose cause me being sick? She wasn’t the one who gave me that Italian sausage. I have food poisoning.”

The chief turned her head toward me.
“It wasn’t food poisoning.”

“What?”
My mouth was dry again. I feared it may become a permanent condition. “Can I have a little more water?”

Timothy was at my side
in an instant, forcing Chief Rose to step away. He held the paper cup for me while I drank.

When I was done, I waved him away. “What do you mean this wasn’t food poisoning?”

The chief and Timothy shared a look.

“What’s going on?”
I tried to push myself up in the bed but failed miserably.

The room door swung in. “How is our patient feeling? Awake, I see. Chloe, we have to
stop meeting like this,” the dark-haired doctor said. His hospital ID read, “Dr. Bryant,” and I’d recognized him from my other stays in the hospital since moving to Appleseed Creek.

“Since we hadn’t see
n you in a few months, we figured that you stayed out of trouble.” He held the breast flaps of his lab coat. “But now here you are. You couldn’t stand to be away from us too long.”