The Cider Shop Rules

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “I work for him,” he said. “Worked.” He ran a palm across his lips. “He gave me a job when no one else would. I’ve been here two years now. Potter was a good man. This shouldn’t have happened.”

  “I agree,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m Winnie, by the way. I run the cider shop at Smythe Orchard.”

  “Wes,” he said, offering me his hand.

  “Why wouldn’t anyone else hire you?” I asked, my thoughts circling back to the strange comment. Wes seemed nice enough. He looked presentable, was articulate, and must’ve been a hard worker or he wouldn’t have lasted at the pumpkin patch for two years.

  He wrung his hands and averted his eyes. “My mom’s sick,” he said. “I quit high school to care for her when she couldn’t work anymore, but we needed money. I tried to get a job, but I didn’t realize how tough that would be for a dropout. All companies see is a young, uneducated quitter. Mr. Potter was the only one willing to give me a chance. He told me I was a hard worker, and he wanted me to take the night courses offered at the high school and get my GED. No one ever believed in me like that before, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I do.” I wasn’t sure what else to say, but I liked the idea of having a friend at the pumpkin patch. “I’d like to come back in the daylight and look around after the sheriff and his men are finished. Would that be okay with you?”

  “Sure,” Wes said, “but the sheriff wants us closed tomorrow.”

  I mulled that over, unsure if that would be a better or worse time to peruse the grounds. On the one hand, no one would be around to mess up any missed evidence. On the other hand, it would be easier for Colton to spot me if he dropped by.

  The low drone of male voices drew my attention, and I froze. The voices might belong to friends of Mr. Potter’s, dropping by to pay their condolences to his wife, or the voices could belong to the sheriff and his deputies coming to speak with Wes.

  “One more question,” I said quickly. “Can you tell me anything about today that might explain what happened to Mr. Potter? Did you see him arguing with anyone? Was someone angry about something?”

  Wes’s nose wrinkled. “No. Why?”

  “Well, someone did this to him,” I said. “I don’t know who or why, but it must’ve been someone who was here today before I left.” I shoved the tip of my thumb into my mouth and chewed the nail. “There were so many people here. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  I listened for the men’s voices again, but they were gone. Probably friends of Mr. Potter’s.

  Hopefully friends of Mr. Potter’s.

  “I guess I should get back inside,” I said, suddenly afraid I would be busted by Colton himself. Caught red-handed asking the help about the victim. “I made a tater tot casserole if you’re interested.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, forcing a smile. “I think I need a few more minutes.”

  “I can bring a plate out to you,” I offered.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  I slumped. For all the height and muscles, Wes looked like a lost kid.

  “Okay,” I said, resolving to leave him. I’d be back another day to prod a little more. For now, this was enough. “I’ll see you later,” I said, and slipped back into the night.

  My phone lit and buzzed in my palm, creating a spotlight in the darkness. A new text from Dot.

  Alert! Alert! Sheriff! Sheriff!

  I made a run for the back porch.

  Dot wrenched open the door and pulled me inside just as Colton rounded the corner from the living room.

  He stared at us as we pressed our backs to the closed door.

  I raised a palm hip high and waved.

  He sauntered closer, eyes tight. “What are the two of you doing?”

  We shook our heads in unison. “Nothing,” I said. “You?”

  “I just finished walking the grounds,” he said. “I stopped in to let Mrs. Potter know we’ve finished up for the night.”

  Birdie swooped into view behind him, waving her arms overhead to catch my attention.

  “Excuse me,” I said, slipping away from Dot and moving past Colton. I hurried into Birdie’s personal space, then tugged her several more feet away from the sheriff before stopping.

  She cupped a hand around her mouth and leaned her lips close to my ear. “I just spoke with Hellen, and she says the neighbor has been complaining for two months about the noise whenever they have special events and local bands here. I think you’d better talk to him and his wife.”

  “Okay,” I said. That seemed like a good lead, but I wanted more, and I wasn’t getting anywhere on my own. “Can I talk to Hellen privately for a minute?” I asked, catching the widow in my line of sight. “Maybe we can step into her bedroom or somewhere else with a door and no prying ears. Actually—” I paused. Mrs. Potter looked a little wild and unsteady as she straightened the buffet. “Is she okay?”

  Birdie gave her friend a quick look. “She’s fine. Probably had an extra nip or two of brandy to settle her nerves,” she said. “Why don’t you speak with her another time, and visit the Brumbles as soon as possible? I told the sheriff about the neighbors when he came inside, but I don’t think he took me seriously.”

  “I think he takes everything seriously,” I said, casting a look toward the kitchen, where I’d left Colton alone with Dot. “Did the Brumbles come over tonight?”

  Birdie tented her brows. “Nope.” She let the p pop on her lips.

  “Wow.” Not showing up when your neighbor was murdered was definitely suspicious. “Okay,” I promised. “I’ll stop by their place tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. I’ll let Hellen know.” Birdie craned her neck, scanning the crowd, presumably in search of her friend. “I’d better go and check on her.” She patted my shoulder on her way past.

  Dot hurried toward me, looking thoroughly amped up. She hooked her arm with mine as she motored past, turning and pulling me along with her. “I don’t want to rush you, but I’m worried about Kenny Rogers,” she said. “His wing needs to stay in the splint, and he won’t stop fussing at it.”

  I allowed Dot to pull me onto the porch before I dug my heels in. “What are you doing?”

  “Escaping,” Dot said. “I couldn’t stand another minute of that tension. Sheriff Wise knows we were up to something. He just kept looking at me with this flat expression, like he could read my mind.”

  “I call that his cop face,” I said, moving with her again. “You were smart to run before he started asking questions. He always gets me with the questions.” Plus, it’d been a rough day, and I wanted to go to bed. Not that I’d be able to sleep, but I’d trade my best sneakers for a hot shower and some comfy pajamas.

  We moved swiftly past a dozen parked cars. I peeked over my shoulder a few times as the icky sensation of being watched returned. Normally that feeling was specific to my property, where I suspected Samuel Keller had stalked me before.

  I picked up the pace until Dot and I were both in a sprint.

  We stopped short at the sight of broken pumpkin shells littering the ground near Sally’s tires and stringy orange pumpkin guts smeared over her pretty white hood and formerly spotless windshield.

  “Oh no!” Dot gasped. She inched closer, while I stood frozen and dumbstruck several feet away.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Who would vandalize your beautiful car like this?”

  I dialed Colton and pressed the phone to my ear. “It’s not vandalism,” I said. “It’s a message.”

  Whoever did this wasn’t crazy. More likely, he or she was a killer.

  Chapter Five

  The tow truck arrived quickly and loaded Sally onto its bed. Colton considered her a crime scene now, so I was out two cars in one day. A personal record I wasn’t proud of. His deputies scanned the ground for footprints or evidence to point a finger at the pumpkin smasher, but in truth, there were a ton of people visiting Mrs. Potter tonight, and they all had easy access
to my car and the property, which was a pumpkin patch.

  Eventually, a now-familiar black truck crawled to a stop beside the tow truck. Blake hung his arm through the open window and shook his head at Colton. “You must run a tight ship out here,” he said. “Two crimes in ten hours.”

  Dot moved immediately toward the truck.

  Colton’s frown deepened. “What are you doing here?”

  Blake hooked a thumb in my direction, and Colton blanched.

  “You called him?” Colton asked, looking as if the idea was absurd.

  “Well, yeah,” I said, a little confused myself. I’d assumed Colton would be happy with the choice. Who could be more trustworthy than his brother? “You’re working. Granny’s in Marlinton, and I drove Dot here. It was him or Hank.”

  “Who’s Hank?” Blake asked.

  “No one,” I answered as Colton said, “Her ex.”

  I shot him an annoyed look as I moved toward the open passenger door. Dot had let herself into the backseat portion of his extended cab and left the door agape.

  We drove away with Colton staring in our wake.

  My stomach pinched with misplaced guilt and rightly placed terror. Someone had attacked Sally outside a recent widow’s home where I’d been snooping, which could only mean one thing. I’d ticked off another killer. I didn’t have time to worry about how Colton felt about who drove me home.

  “Hey,” Blake said, catching my eye. A shrinking reflection of Colton in the rearview mirror between us. “Don’t worry about him. You did the right thing. I’ll get you both home safely, and he knows it. Sometimes it just takes him a while to figure things out.” The words sounded sincere, but Blake’s smile seemed to say otherwise, and I couldn’t make sense of the two together.

  “You don’t have to look so pleased that I irritate him,” I said.

  He lifted a palm in mock innocence before hitting his turn signal at the end of the road. “I just like to get his goat. It’s what little brothers do.”

  I considered his words. “How much older is Colton?” The pair looked to be the same age. Though, personality wise, Blake was more like a frat boy and Colton an aging professor.

  “Sixteen months,” Blake said, still smiling. “Mom treated us like we were twins for the first ten years or so. Even dressed us the same. Drove Colton crazy. I never minded. He was my big brother. I wanted to be like him.”

  “Jeez,” Dot said, piping up from the back seat. “Sixteen months? No wonder your mom dressed you alike for a decade. She was probably too tired to remember both your names until then.”

  Blake laughed, bobbing his head and drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel to an old Tim McGraw song. He found Dot’s house without asking for directions despite the fact he’d dropped her at the local vet’s office earlier, and not her home. He waited for her to go inside and close the door before pointing us in the direction of my place. She didn’t seem to notice, and I didn’t mention it, but I added the fact to a growing list of details I’d been mentally collecting about the newest Wise man in my world.

  I scanned the roomy, painfully clean truck cab. No mud on the floor mats. No crumbs or change in the cup holders. It could have been a rental if it wasn’t for the silhouette of a bucking bronco clinging to the rear window and the dummy emergency flasher on the dashboard. I couldn’t help wondering if he ever used the flasher and where he’d bought it. Could I get one for Sally?

  Blake shifted into PARK outside my house several minutes later. “I don’t suppose you have another vehicle around here somewhere?”

  “No, but Granny does, and she’ll be home tomorrow. I’m sure she won’t mind sharing her truck if the need arises. Plus, Sally wasn’t damaged, so I’m not sure how much evidence Colton expects to get from pumpkin guts. I figure I’ll have her back soon.”

  “‘Sally?’” A fresh smile spread. “Like Mustang Sally.”

  I blushed, feeling slightly childish for naming my car, or rather for calling her the name Grampy had given her the day he’d had her battered body towed home to restore. “My grampy named her. It stuck.”

  “I’m pretty sure Wilson Pickett named her, but I can appreciate your grampy carrying on an excellent tradition. Maybe I should name my truck.”

  I rolled my eyes dramatically for effect. “You think on that,” I said. “Don’t ask Dot for help. She’ll name it Kenny Rogers.”

  I opened the door and slid out. “Thanks for being my white knight again.”

  He shrugged. “I look tough and rescue pretty ladies. It’s what I do.”

  I did another eye roll and closed the passenger door.

  Blake powered down the window between us. “Give me a call if you need another ride. I’ve got nothing going on besides marching and being shot up at the fort. Consider me at your beck and call.”

  I stared back, dumbfounded.

  He winked. “I’ll wait for you to get inside and lock up before I leave.”

  I turned silently and marched up my front steps. I’d never had a man at my beck and call before, certainly not a strapping, handsome one, and I didn’t hate the thought.

  Surely he was joking.

  He’d probably only said it to get a crazy response from me.

  I slipped inside and locked the door, then waved through the front window before kicking off my shoes and collapsing onto my couch. Blake gave a little honk as he pulled away.

  I tipped over onto the cushions and curled my legs up beside me. Kenny Rogers and Dolly came to sit on my head.

  The phone rang.

  I groaned and dug it from my pocket, pushing cats aside and hoping it wasn’t Colton calling to complain. I didn’t want any more drama tonight. I had plenty of my own to deal with. I smiled when I saw Granny’s face. “Hello?”

  “What on earth is going on over there today?” she said, sounding thoroughly and appropriately exasperated. “I just got in from the cookoff and checked my messages. I’ve got about a dozen from my needle pointers saying you found another dead body. In your truck! And Sue Ellen says there was a man flirting with you at the cider shop, and Sheriff Wise didn’t look very happy about it, and now someone saw Sally covered in pumpkin guts going into town on a flatbed. What? Is? Happening?” she asked, breaking the last question into pieces.

  I wasn’t sure where to begin. She’d been filled in rather well, evidence the town rumor mill was going strong. I’d had it in my mind to call her tonight, after a hot shower, from the comfort of my bed. I’d planned to relay the details to her, then go directly to sleep. “It was Mr. Potter,” I said finally, realizing that was the only thing she hadn’t stated specifically. “I just got home. Dot and I took Mrs. Potter a pie and a casserole.”

  “Apple pie?”

  “Pecan. Dot baked it. I made a tater tot casserole,” I said.

  Granny sighed. “I’ll fix her some chicken and corn bread tomorrow.”

  I waited through a long beat of silence. “I’m sorry, Granny. I know you’ve known the Potters a long while.”

  “Everyone loved him,” she said, her voice cracking a little at the end. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know.”

  She sniffled, and I imagined her working a tissue under her nose and wiping tears from her cheeks with careful fingers. “I’m heading home after breakfast tomorrow, so try not to do anything rash or dangerous until I get there.”

  I sat up and frowned at the empty room. “Why would I do anything rash or dangerous?”

  Granny gave a low, humorless chuckle. “Just stay put until I get there, okay? Then we’ll sort things out.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not sure what there is to sort out. There’s no need to hurry home. Your friends and I have this place covered.”

  “Well, I’m ready to come home. It sounds like my grandbaby and my community are in crisis. Plus, my chili didn’t even place. Those darn Stitch Witches rigged the judging.”

  “The Stitch Witches?” I repeated, trying to force sense from her words. “
Your needlepointing nemeses? What do they have to do with the cookoff?”

  “Apparently they’re from this town,” she said, sounding exhausted. “They knew I was coming. Saw my name on the roster and stacked the judges against me. I spent all that time perfecting a recipe that never had a chance.”

  I rubbed my forehead. The Stitch Witches seemed to be everywhere these days, and they were mean to Granny and her needle pointers just for the sake of being mean. Granny didn’t know what to do with that. Honestly, neither did I. So far, she and her ladies had tried killing them with kindness, ignoring them, and swapping ideas for vengeance that they would never perform, but which had proven therapeutic over coffee.

  We disconnected several minutes later, then I went to take a highly anticipated shower.

  As predicted, twenty minutes under a steady stream of steamy water followed by a pair of flannel jammies and fuzzy socks did wonders to raise my mood and lower my tension. I padded to the kitchen and put a kettle on for tea, then grabbed my laptop. I tried searching for information on Blake while I waited, but like Colton, he didn’t keep any social media accounts. Aside from a few accolades for bravery and honor in his local paper and his mother’s Facebook updates, there was nothing to be learned about him.

  I’d discovered most of what I knew about Colton from his mother’s Facebook page, because Blake was right. Colton was a closed book. His mother and sister, on the other hand, kept active and busy pages. In a matter of minutes, I’d learned Colton Wise was thirty-three, thirty-four now, a full five years older than me. He had a big family, retired parents, a schoolteacher and a coal miner, and three siblings. One sister and two brothers, all grown. They attended church, participated in fund-raisers, and seemed to adore Colton, though it was rare to find him in any of their photos. The same was true for Blake.

  I switched gears and looked up Mr. Potter. He didn’t have a personal page, but he had a business page for his pumpkin patch. I scanned the photos for familiar and unfamiliar faces, then took a look at the reviews in case someone had been hurt on the property and blamed him.