Death of a Bad Apple (14 page)

“Mo-om!” Dillon said. “I told you not to tell him! He'll know it came from me.”

“But he had to know, Dillon. Otherwise, that's obstruction of justice, right, Wes?”

“It's okay, Dillon,” Detective Shelton said. “The sheriff and I already knew.”

Dillon frowned at him. I sensed he was disappointed not being the only one who could dig up information.

“So, what does that mean?” Honey asked. “Is Paula a spy? Is that GMO company really planning to take over our farms? It's already happened at the Jefferson Farm. You know we can't compete with apples that grow faster, require less water, are pest-resistant, and look perfect. That's why Roman was here, right? To spy on us.” Tears welled in her eyes.

I saw her statement as proof that she had nothing to do with Roman's death. But the sheriff and
detective might have felt she'd just provided a motive. Get rid of Roman and eliminate the threat.

“There's something else,” Sheriff O'Neil said, taking Paula's vacated seat. He pushed her untouched plate aside and folded his hands on the table. “I talked with a few of the farmers—Adam, Nathan, Red. When I asked them where they were the night Gold was murdered, they admitted they were here at the inn.”

Honey's face flushed. “Oh, I'm sure they left before . . . before anything happened. It couldn't have been very late.” She glanced at Aunt Abby, Dillon, Jake, and me. “You all saw them. Remember, Red stopped by and had some wine. Then Nathan dropped in and then Adam told us about the fire?”

“But they came back later that night, didn't they?” Sheriff O'Neil said to Honey.

Honey frowned.

“You were heard arguing with them,” the sheriff added.

Honey flushed and shot me a look.

Uh-oh. She knew I was the one who'd told the sheriff that I'd overheard her with the men. I hadn't know how many, but apparently it had been all three.

“Yes, well . . .” Honey looked down at her feet, obviously flustered. “Like I said, we were just having a discussion. It was nothing. I don't even remember—”

“Tell me about your conversation with them, Honey,” the sheriff insisted.

She looked up at him, frowning. “All right, yes, they came back here that night. We talked about the drought, then about the festival. They were upset. Something about one of the vendors getting more space than the others. Honestly, that was all we talked about, Sheriff. It had nothing to do with the GMO apples or Eden Corporation or Roman or anything else. In fact, none of us had any idea Roman worked for Eden Corp.”

I was no detective, but it was obvious from her lack of eye contact and nervous hands that she wasn't telling the whole truth. And from the frown on the sheriff's face, I had a feeling he'd sensed this too. Had the three men said something different to the sheriff about why they'd been by so late at night? Something other than their discussion about the festival?

When he'd announced that both Roman and Paula worked for Eden, Honey seemed genuinely surprised. So, was she holding something back? And why?

When the sheriff was done with his questions, we returned to our rooms and gathered our things for the second day of the festival. Friday had been well attended, but even bigger crowds were expected today. Aunt Abby still had plenty of prepping and baking to do, as did Jake. We headed over to the festival site in our food trucks and Jake parked next to us along the side of the road designated for the mobile vendors.

Dillon and I helped Aunt Abby with her tarts, and soon the Big Yellow School Bus smelled like caramel-apple heaven. I caught Dillon sneaking a few “damaged” tarts, but I saved my appetite for one of Jake's fresh apple-infused cream puffs, right out of the oven. With only a few minutes before the festival was set to open, I offered to get coffees for Aunt Abby and Dillon, then swung by Jake's truck and suggested a
trade—a coffee for a cream puff. We made a deal, and I went in search of a coffee vendor among the other food trucks.

To my surprise, I spotted a familiar truck at the end of the line, and my heart leaped. The outside of the truck sported a cartoon drawing of a sexy witch stirring a large caldron of what was supposed to be witch's brew—in this case, coffee. The Coffee Witch was in town!

I waved to Willow, the young woman behind the service window. Willow was part of the Fort Mason food trucks crowd, and her bewitching coffees always garnered a long line of caffeine-addicted patrons. She'd been a big help with solving a murder a few months before and was always handy to have around for intel. Even while whipping up coffee drinks, she seemed to hear all the gossip. I wondered if she'd already learned anything interesting with the apple crowd.

As usual, her mostly black hair was dyed blond at the tips, cut at an angle, and moussed into spikes. Fast, perky, and full of energy—no doubt fueled by caffeine—Willow was busy serving her magical elixirs that ranged from Simple Spells (vanilla lattes) to Potent Potions (double-shot mochas) to Enchanted Espressos (triple-shot espressos). I had a feeling the Coffee Witch would make a whole bunch of new fans here in Apple Valley, once they fell under her addictive spell.

I waited my turn, then stepped up to the window. “Willow! What are you doing here?”

“S'up, Darce?” Willow said, leaning over on her elbows. “You didn't think you guys were gonna do this gig without me, didja? Thought I'd run up here today and check it out.”

“I'm so glad you did! I could use a good jolt. Don't tell me you have some kind of apple-infused coffee drink.”

“They wouldn't let me in if I didn't,” Willow said. “Wanna try my cinnamon-apple latte? It's really spicy and goes really good with all those apple desserts they're selling around here. I'm calling it the Wicked Queen's Cuppa Poison.”

“Sounds awesome,” I said. “I'll take four.”

“Comin' up,” she said, turning to her espresso machine. “Hey, I heard someone got murdered up here,” she shouted over the noise of the coffeemaker. “Déjà vu, eh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Someone at the B and B where we're staying was killed. What have you heard?” Back at Fort Mason, the Coffee Witch was the place to go for the latest dirt.

She shrugged as she worked and spoke over her shoulder. “Guy in the Apple Fun Funnel Cakes truck said it was some writer. Probably stuck his nose in where it didn't belong.”

“Yep, that's what we writers do,” I said.

Willow laughed. “I didn't mean you. Besides, you're not a regular writer.”

I smiled patiently. In her early twenties, Willow was still young and didn't always think before she
spoke. Then again, maybe she was right. Maybe I wasn't a “regular” writer, now that I was working in a food truck while writing a cookbook.

“So, you gonna solve the crime again like last time?” Willow set the four paper cups of coffee into a carry tray and pushed it toward the open window.

I handed her some bills. “Oh, sure. In my spare time, when I'm not slaving away in the school bus for Aunt Abby. Or maybe I'll just let the cops handle it this time.” I grinned.

“Well, if you need any help, let me know. Remember how I helped you solve that last murder?”

I smiled as I took the cardboard tray filled with coffees. “Will do.”

“Oh, hey,” Willow said. “See that tall old guy over there?” She pointed out the window. I turned to see Nathan Chapman talking with Paula Hayashi. He stood close to her, grinning, and had his hand on her arm. She, in turn, leaned in and touched his chest with her fingertip. Hmmm. Nathan without Tiffany? Paula without Adam? I wondered what these two were talking about.

“Yeah,” I said, “that's the guy running the festival. Nathan Chapman. What about him?”

“Well, a few minutes ago, I thought there was going to be another murder.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Seriously. He was ordering one of my cinnamon lattes and all of a sudden he started coming on to me.
Can you believe it? He's, like, old enough to be my father. Jeez.”

I thought about Nathan and Tiffany and their age difference, not to mention Paula and Adam. What was it with these May-December romances around here?

“Anyway, he was asking me my name and where I was from and what time I got off and stuff, and then this chick comes out of nowhere and starts saying something and shaking her head and then he tries to calm her down and takes her over by that hay maze and she looks like she's crying and he looks like he's trying to comfort her and she finally stomps off. Then he looks around to see if anyone was watching and takes off.”

“Can you describe her?”

“The girl seemed about my age, not bad-looking but not that hot, if you know what I mean. Long brown hair. Oh, she was wearing an apron that had a glass of wine and some grapes on it.”

Tiffany.

“Did you hear anything they were saying?” I asked.

Willow shook her head. “They were too far away and it was too noisy. But it's weird 'cause now he's, like, all over that chick with the long black hair. What a player.”

Well, this was another side of Tiffany I hadn't seen. She wasn't exactly the quiet little mouse I'd guessed her to be. In fact, it sounded as though she had quite the temper.

I stepped aside to let another customer order coffee and surreptitiously watched Nathan and Paula for a few moments. Willow was right. From Nathan Chapman's body language, it was obvious he was flirting with Paula. That guy was something else.

“Thanks again, Willow,” I called over to her as she handed the next customer his coffee order.

“No prob,” she said, then added, “Hey, Darce. Remember. Let me know if you need any help solving the you-know-what.” She glanced at the customer.

I nodded, then headed for Jake's truck.

I knocked on his window and it slid it open. “Here's your Poison Apple latte,” I said, handing it over, “direct from our own Coffee Witch.”

“She's here?” Jake asked.

“Yep,” I answered, and held out my hand. “That'll be one apple cream puff.”

He passed me the delicate puff pastry, nestled in a paper holder. “You headed back to the bus?”

I nodded.

“Meet you for a glass of wine after we're finished?”

“Can't wait,” I said.

“And maybe another trip through the hay maze?” he added, grinning.

“Not funny. I'm never going in that hay maze again, ever.”

He laughed. “Well, I heard there's a scarecrow contest later today, where people actually dress up as scarecrows. The most creative one wins some money. Shall we check it out?”

“As long as the scarecrows aren't too scary,” I said. “Personally I think scarecrows are kind of creepy, like clowns. But then, maybe I've seen too many horror movies with scarecrows.”

“Don't worry. I'll protect you.”

I smiled. “Don't forget. I owe you a birthday dinner. I'll ask around for some restaurant suggestions. I'd like to find someplace nice. And this time, it'll be just the two of us.”

“Sounds good.”

I headed back to the school bus with the remaining coffees, planning to gear up for the onslaught of festival customers with a good dose of Willow's coffee concoction. But my mind was elsewhere. I couldn't help wondering if Nathan Chapman was really trying to hook up with Paula Hayashi.

Or was it the other way around?

•   •   •

With the increase in the number of weekend festival-goers, the day sped by. Aunt Abby sold out her large supply of tarts a little before she closed up shop at four. She insisted on staying inside the bus to prepare more tarts for the final day of the festival, freeing Dillon and me to take a much-needed break. I tried to get her to join me, but her idea of relaxing was to do more baking.

“Are you coming to the scarecrow contest?” I asked her before I left the bus. Dillon had already fled on his new scooter, no doubt headed for one of the paths that went around the nearby orchards. I thought about absconding with Aunt Abby's scooter and joining
him, then decided I'd probably run it into a tree, break an ankle, and spend Jake's birthday in the ER.

“I'll try,” she said, already elbows deep in a bowl of floury mixture. “Go have some fun with Jake. You've earned it. I appreciate all your help.”

I hated to leave her to work alone, but she'd insisted. Like Henny Penny, she'd always been the type of cook who preferred to do it herself. She only let Dillon and me help with the simple tasks while she took care of the heavy cooking. She could use a few tips on delegating, but there was no arguing with her.

I found Jake waiting for me at our usual picnic table with two glasses of wine. Disappointed he'd already gotten our drinks, I frowned and sat down.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “Don't you want any wine?”

“It's not that,” I said, taking a sip. “I was hoping to use it as an excuse to talk with Crystal again. I thought she might know more about the fire at her tent.”

“Sorry about that,” Jake said, stifling a smile. “I forgot you were on the case. So, where's Detective Shelton when you need him, eh?”

“Seriously. Aunt Abby said he's out on a ride-along with Sheriff O'Neil to see how country law enforcement works.” I took another sip and let the appley flavor linger in my mouth a second. “I don't suppose you learned anything more from Crystal?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. I can charm information out of people too, you know.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Besides, I think the old girl is sweet on me,” Jake
teased. “You know, some women like me for more than just my cream puffs.”

I gently slapped his arm. “So what did she say?”

Jake set down his wineglass. “The fire was definitely set, at least according to Crystal. I didn't confirm that with the fire chief, but I don't think she has any reason to lie.”

I nodded. “I figured as much, what with the other fires also being deliberately set. Does she have any idea who might have done it? Does she know anyone who has a grudge against her, as well as Honey and Red?”

“She said she figured it had to be someone from the GMO company when it came to Honey and Red, but she couldn't come up with a reason for the fire at her tent. Maybe someone at Eden Corporation wants her winery too, for whatever reason.”

“But she didn't think they'd be interested in the winery.”

“She also mentioned the Jefferson Farm.”

“Jefferson?”

“Yeah, remember J.J., that kid who waited on us last night at the restaurant? He said his dad recently sold their family farm to Eden Corporation. She thinks that's just the beginning. And she believes
Eden will try to intimidate anyone who refuses to sell, even her.”

“Wow,” I said, and took another swallow of wine as a digestif for this information. Then I wondered—was this information real, or more just Crystal's opinion? “Do you think her suspicions are valid?”

Jake shrugged and glanced at the people milling around the tents, tables, and activity areas. The numbers were diminishing, but there was still a good crowd, mostly teenagers and young adults. I guessed they were here for the scarecrow contest, hay maze, scooter rides, trampolines, and other non-food-related fun.

“I do think the fires are connected, since they involve apple growers,” Jake answered. “But the fires don't fit the murder of Roman Gold—aka Reuben Gottfried. That's the orange in the apple barrel. Crystal believes the person who killed Roman also set the fires and that everything is connected to Eden. If so, there's still a missing link.”

I nodded. “I'll ask Dillon to find out more about Reuben Gottfried, see if there's any connection between him and one of the fire victims. Maybe he can dig up something we haven't learned yet.”

“And maybe Detective Shelton and Sheriff O'Neil will turn up something,” Jake added. “I have a feeling those two aren't just doing a ride-along. Detective Shelton's a lot like you, Darcy. If there's a puzzle, he's determined to solve it, even if it's not in his jurisdiction.”

An announcement came over the loudspeaker,
breaking into our conversation:
“Attention: The scarecrow contest will take place in fifteen minutes over by the hay maze. Come and vote for your favorite scarecrow. Remember, the winner receives a hundred-dollar prize!”

I thought I recognized the voice as the man in charge of the festival—Nathan Chapman. He was certainly a busy man.