Colton stretched onto his feet and stuck Blake with a long, silent glare. “Excuse me. I need to make a call.”
I stared at his retreating back.
“So, Winnie,” Mary said, breaking the tense silence and drawing my eyes to hers. “We’d love to hear more about your cider shop. Do you make the ciders yourself?”
“Yes,” I whispered, then cleared my throat a few times. Blake moved a glass of water in my direction, and I guzzled it. “Thanks,” I croaked.
Mary smiled sweetly as she waited for me to pull myself together.
“The orchard produces three basic flavors of cider,” I began the canned explanation through a tight throat. “I start with those, then add ingredients to create specialty flavors. I’ve been doing it since eighth grade Home Ec. You should stop by sometime. I’ll set up a few samples for you, and I know Granny would love to give you a tour of the orchard.”
Her eyes lit. “Absolutely.”
David shot Blake a pointed look before smiling politely at me. “Our boys aren’t always so intense. I hope they haven’t ruined your evening.”
I cast a dubious look in the direction Colton had gone. Intense was his defining characteristic. Wasn’t it? “It’s okay. It’s been that kind of week,” I said, turning back to David.
“Especially for you, I hear,” he continued. “The boys were with you after you found that man in your truck. It must’ve been awful. They said you knew him?”
I fumbled mentally with the way he referred to Colton and Blake—two large, thirty-something county sheriffs—as “the boys,” but plowed ahead. “Yes, sir. I knew Mr. Potter.”
He shook his head mournfully. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Mary linked her arm in his. “Well, don’t you worry. Colton will figure this out. Our boys are very good at what they do.”
I nodded, overcome with emotion and the strange lure of gaining his mother’s acceptance. “Colton has saved my life, you know? More than once.”
Her lips curved with pride, and her eyes crinkled at the edges. “We know.”
I flicked my gaze to Blake. According to him, Colton had never mentioned me.
“You’ve made quite the impression,” Mary said, her smile growing. “Not an easy thing to do, but we’ve heard it all. ‘Mama, she’s smart.’ ‘Mama, she’s funny.’ ‘She’s loyal.’ ‘She’s strong.’”
Blake pretended to cough, then drew a finger across his throat, indicating she should stop there.
She frowned. “Well, anyway.” She sat back. “We’re glad you’re here.”
My heart hammered. I loved that his parents approved of me, and that Blake seemed to like me too, but the knot in my gut had begun to tighten. Was I misleading him? His folks? Was I overthinking it all? Were we just great friends, and he knew it?
I looked over my shoulder to be sure the exit hadn’t moved.
Birdie Wilks and her husband were at the hostess stand. She took notice of me staring and began to move in my direction.
I stood on instinct, then remembered my manners. I smiled at the Wises staring up at me. “Pardon me a moment.” I caught Birdie halfway through the dining area and redirected her to the ladies’ room, where I immediately checked under every stall for feet. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said when the coast was clear. I’d been wishing for a hole in the earth to open and swallow me, but this worked too. I got away from the table for a moment, and I could speak privately to Birdie. “I need to ask you a question about the Potters.”
“Shoot,” she said, digging a tube of Mary Kay lipstick from her purse. “You look like a showstopper in that outfit,” she said, watching me in the mirror. “Whoever the lucky man is, he might need a defibrillator by the night’s end.”
I tried to imagine that. If anyone needed resuscitating by the night’s end, it would be me, thanks to the extreme awkwardness of our dinner party. “I’m actually here with Sheriff Wise’s family,” I said, knowing she’d find out eventually if she hadn’t already recognized them somehow. “We met in town, and they invited me for dinner.”
“Hmm. I didn’t even see him,” she said, painting her puckered lips in ruby red. “And I don’t know where you’ve been hiding all those curves, but it ought to be a crime.” She dropped the lipstick back into her bag, then used both hands to lift and adjust her bosoms. “I used to be shaped like that, but you can’t fight gravity forever, kid. Embrace it while you can.” She pulled a tissue from the dispenser and kissed it before tossing it into the trash.
I crossed my arms self-consciously and tried not to compare our figures in the mirror. I’d been gone too long already and needed to focus before the Wises thought I’d run away permanently. “Did Mr. and Mrs. Potter have some kind of a falling-out a few months ago? Some sort of rift that might’ve been ongoing?”
Birdie frowned. “Where’s this coming from?”
“I’m not sure.” I gave my best explanation based on the sudden lack of Facebook couple photos, and her shoulders drooped. She did know something! “Out with it,” I told her. “I’m sure you want to protect your friend’s privacy, but I can’t help her if I don’t know all the major issues that were going on in their lives. So, what happened between them?”
Birdie looked at the floor, then the ceiling, debating. When she finally looked at me, she said, “We think Jacob was having an affair. Hellen called him out on it, but he wouldn’t come clean.”
“So, the affair wasn’t confirmed,” I said. “She only had a suspicion.”
“She knew,” Birdie said. “A wife knows these things. We don’t need proof. We can sense them, feel them.” She pressed an overdramatic fist to her chest, like a local theater performer. “Right here, and Hellen knew.”
I fought the urge to perform a slow clap for the performance, then realized I was cranky. I needed to eat and go home. This dinner had already been too much, and I hadn’t even ordered yet. “Fine. Who was he seeing?”
Birdie squared her shoulders and hitched her chin. “You didn’t hear it from me, but he was seen at Brittany Ann Tuttle’s home on more than one occasion. After dark.”
I blinked. “Brittany Ann?” She was at least fifteen years younger than Mr. Potter, barely older than me. Not to mention married with a home, land, and three small children. “How’d she have time for an affair?” I hadn’t fully adjusted from adopting two cats a year ago.
“Lust,” Birdie said. “You know how men can be.”
I frowned. I understood what she was implying, but I was starting to feel bad for Birdie if these were the kinds of men she knew. “Have you told the police? Has Hellen?”
“No!” Birdie’s expression morphed from somewhat superior to aghast. “Of course not,” she whispered loudly. “That isn’t the sort of thing you spread around, especially after the man’s dead.”
“This is exactly the sort of thing the police need to know. What if the affair is the reason he’s dead? What if Brittany Ann’s husband found out and put a stop to it?”
She blanched. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
I pressed the heels of my hands against my closed eyes and counted to ten. This night was too much. Too. Much.
My phone rang. I dropped my hand to remove the device from my bag. “Oh, it’s the mechanic!” I accepted the call and listened closely while Birdie waited. My smile grew with each passing word. No damage. Sheriff approved the release. No charge. Take care of that beauty. “Will do!” I checked the time when I disconnected. “My car’s ready, but Mr. Murphy’s closing up shop in an hour,” I told Birdie. “I have to go.”
“What about Brittany Ann?” she asked.
“I’ll visit her tomorrow. After I talk to Nate’s wife. I got sidetracked from that today.”
Birdie nodded. “Keep the affair quiet if you can. No reason to speak ill of the dead if there isn’t any.”
“I won’t tell unless I need to,” I said, wrenching the door open and stepping quickly into the hall. “Don’t tell anyone else I’m helping you.�
�
“Got it,” she said with a satisfied smile. The expression went flat a heartbeat later.
I followed her gaze to Colton in the hallway.
“What’s that?” he asked, peeling himself off the wall where he’d been lurking outside the ladies’ room.
“Uh.” My heart banged in my chest like boots in a dryer. “Um.” I floundered for words, turning back to Birdie for help.
She let the restroom door close between us.
Traitor.
Chapter Twelve
Colton watched me squirm, busted discussing a plan to continue my investigation, despite everything, and all because I had a curiosity that would not stop. Also, I had a deep innate desire to please older women. Whether that was because I loved and respected Granny so much, and the feelings transferred to all mother figures, or because my own mother had abandoned me, I couldn’t be sure, and I probably didn’t want to know. “Why did you agree to come here tonight?” he asked.
“Blake invited me,” I said, a simple response to a highly complicated question.
Colton crossed his arms. “Yes, but why did you agree?”
My nose wrinkled. I wasn’t sure why, but the question felt loaded, and I was already in enough trouble with him tonight. “What do you mean?”
His eyes tightened. “Why?” he repeated.
I lowered my gaze as a waiter passed with a tray of food in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. When I returned my attention to Colton, he was staring. Waiting. “Because he asked,” I said, truthfully. “Blake seems like a really nice guy. He invited me to have dinner with his family at a lovely restaurant. Why would I say no?” I tented my brows in challenge.
“Maybe because you just met him and you don’t know anything about him,” Colton explained flatly. “He could be a dangerous lunatic.”
“He’s your brother,” I deadpanned. “Of course he’s a lunatic.”
Colton’s lips quirked at the corners. “What did he say when he invited you?”
“What do you mean?” I frowned and scooted closer to him in the narrow hall, making room for another waiter and a busboy, both loaded down with plates and cups on trays and in tubs.
He waited, head angled low for a look into my eyes. The familiar scent of him enticed me closer, but I held my ground, tipping my head back only to return his gaze.
“Was it something he said that convinced you?” Colton asked. “Did you agree because you are polite? Or was it because he’s so darn ‘Tall, Dark, and Yummy’?”
I lifted a finger between us, prepared to argue, but not finding the words. I’d thought Blake was incredibly handsome when I’d first met him, but only realized later that it was probably because I thought Colton was drop-dead gorgeous in a know-it-all, overly masculine way and the pair shared a familial resemblance. Not that I’d utter any of that aloud this side of eternity.
Colton shifted, impatience knitting his brows. “Are you here as his friend? Are you here to meet my parents? Are you here looking for more information on Mr. Potter to share with Birdie Wilks?”
My jaw fell open. “Rude.” I held my tongue until a pair of teens passed us on their way to the ladies’ room. “What’s going on with you tonight? Do you want me to leave? I can make an excuse and slip out. I don’t want to ruin your visit with your folks, and they’re only in town a few more days.”
“No.” Colton rubbed his brow, then the back of his neck. “You’re right. I’m letting work get to me. It doesn’t matter why you said yes to my brother. You did, and I’m glad you’re here. We should probably leave it at that and get back to dinner.” He motioned me toward the dining room with a dramatic swing of one arm.
I relaxed my stance and smiled back, not quite ready to leave our little piece of hallway. “I agreed to dinner because I like Blake. I think he’s fun, and I like you, but I don’t know anything about you. I thought meeting your parents and seeing you interact with them would help me get to know you better. I thought tonight might tell me more about who you are behind the badge.” My cheeks heated at the confession. “Heaven knows, you aren’t offering up any details.”
A parade of emotions passed quickly across his features as he processed my words. “You’ve never asked me for details.”
I shrugged.
Colton rocked back on his heels, a sudden look of interest and wonder in his crystal-blue eyes.
“Stop gloating, or I’ll leave.”
He offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Don’t leave. You just caught me off guard. That’s all.”
“Fine,” I agreed, turning on my heels toward the dining area.
Colton set a broad palm against the small of my back as we walked, and I fought a goofy smile. I plastered what I hoped was a normal-looking expression on my face and kept my chin up, eyes forward. We parted ways at the table, under scrutiny of three sets of eyes. I reclaimed my seat beside Blake, and Colton slid onto the bench closer to his dad.
His mother looked startled. “What took you so long? The waiter came for our orders, and you weren’t here.”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I ran into a friend and got to talking. Colton saw me and waited.”
“Oh.” His mother’s expression cleared. “That was nice.”
His dad tapped a finger to the menu before him. “I’m having lasagna,” he said. “My doctor says I should have a salad, but I want lasagna.”
I lifted my menu and hid behind it.
Blake nudged me with his elbow. “Did you two finally get the chance to talk?”
“Blake,” Colton warned from across the table.
“What?” he asked. “I’ve got a curious mind. You understand.” He caught me in his sincere blue gaze before flicking it to his brother.
I nodded. I understood the power of curiosity better than anyone I’d ever met.
Blake returned his attention to Colton. “All right, let’s circle back a minute. If there’s a chance the man I saw at the cider shop was the fugitive you tried to put away, then Winnie’s in danger. I think we need to address that.”
Their mother gasped and pressed a palm to her chest.
Their father looked to Colton, who gave another definitive dip of his chin. “Why?” he asked.
Blake beat his thumbs against the table’s edge. “Because he wants to punish Colton.”
Their mother gripped her husband’s hand and let her horrified expression move from Colton to me.
I longed to slide under the table, where I could have a proper mental breakdown in private. Unfortunately, it seemed my frame had gone rigid, and my limbs had turned to cement.
Their dad cleared his throat. “Sounds like any chance we had at a normal dinner is out the window. I guess we’ll have a normal-for-us dinner instead.” He offered me a polite smile, then switched his gaze from Colton to Blake and back. “Start from the beginning. It’s been a while since I’ve heard the story of your fugitive.”
“He was my informant,” Colton began, retelling the tale of the man who’d ambushed him and killed his partner, then two additional officers more recently while escaping from a prison transport. Colton’s testimony at the man’s trial had cemented his fate. Life without parole in a high-security prison.
I listened through ringing ears and ordered a house salad when the waiter returned. When the order arrived, I dutifully pushed the chopped veggies around with my fork, too nauseated to eat anything.
When it was my turn to carry the story, I repeated the entire exchange I’d had with the man at my cider shop. The words had amounted to very little, but the Wises hung on every one.
Their voices mixed and mingled with the tinkling of silverware and white noise in the busy restaurant. Hashing possibilities. Forming theories on Samuel Keller’s intent, itinerary, and next move. Their steady voices were secondary only to the whirring of panic in my head.
Colton’s phone lit and vibrated on the table, where he’d left it in view. “I have to go,” he said, checking the message. “Something’s come up, b
ut we can finish this tonight. I’ll stop by to see you at the rental on my way home.”
I snapped to my feet, eager to know what had Colton leaving in the middle of an important conversation, and desperate for fresh air before I collapsed from stress. “Me too. Take me,” I said. “The mechanic called when I was in the ladies’ room and told me I can pick up Sally.” I looked at my watch, suddenly unsure how much time had passed and whether or not the body shop would be closed. “Please?”
Colton pressed his lips. He glanced at his phone, then back to my face. “Murphy’s?”
I nodded, hoisting my purse onto one shoulder. I needed more than air. I needed to go home, warn Granny about the fugitive, then barricade my house.
“Blake?” Colton asked.
Blake waved a fork, unaffected. “Holler if you need me.”
“Thank you,” I said, dragging my gaze to each of the Wise family members still seated at the table.
They nodded our excusal, and Colton started for the door.
I hustled to keep pace as he crossed the parking lot to his truck. He beeped the door locks open before we reached the vehicle, then climbed inside and gunned the engine to life before I could get my seat belt in place. “What’s going on?” I asked, bracing myself as we launched from the parking spot.
“My doorbell camera spotted Samuel Keller on the porch.” He pressed his thumb against his cell phone, unlocking the device, then handed the device to me.
A video of the man from my cider shop centered the screen, as crickets chirped in the background. He smiled and waved at the camera.
I gasped. “He knows he’s being watched, and he doesn’t care.”
“He’s getting bold,” Colton said. “That comment he made to you about small-town cops being lax, tells me he thinks I’m losing my touch.”
“Are you?” I squeaked, still gawking at the killer on camera.
The Cider Shop Rules Page 11