Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3

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Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 19

by Amanda Flower


  You do, too. But I didn’t bother to argue with her. She didn’t need to know that I didn’t tell Chief Rose right away because Curt had threatened her.

  “Nottingham tells me that you haven’t filed an official complaint.” With the fading sun, the lightbulbs in the parking lot’s lampposts flickered on one by one. Chief Rose’s peculiar green eyes reflected the yellow light like a cat’s.

  I held my ground. “No, I didn’t. I see no point in aggravating Curt and Brock. They promised to leave us alone.”

  Chief Rose started to respond, but I jumped in. “If they bother Becky or me, I will report them, but I haven’t seen them or their pickup since. I have to believe they are keeping their word.” I calmed myself with a deep breath. “It’s getting late. If there’s nothing else, Becky and I would like to head home.”

  “Not so fast,” the police chief said. “I have something else to talk to you about.”

  “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

  She shook her head. “No, because you’re the key to this whole case. You’re the one who is going to lead me to the killer.”

  I watched her. “How am I going to do that?”

  “I saw your little meet-and-greet with Hettie Glick this afternoon. I know you’re poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  Becky’s mouth fell open. “You spoke with Isaac’s aenti?”

  I shivered as the sunlight and air temperature fell in tandem. “Yes, Timothy and I both met with her.”

  “Good, you admit it.” Chief Rose placed a hand on the side mirror, but it popped off and fell to the ground. She picked it up and handed it to me. “You’ll want to get that fixed so I don’t have to write you a citation.”

  I ground my teeth.

  “I’m impressed by the way you’ve been able to insinuate yourself with the Amish in the county even though you’ve only been here a short time. A meeting with Hettie Glick is the Amish equivalent of an invite to the Vatican.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That has to be an exaggeration.”

  “Not by much,” she said. “I’ve been the chief of police in Appleseed Creek for five years and haven’t got so much as a ‘hello’ from her.”

  “She was willing to talk to me because I was with Timothy. I doubt she’d speak to me if I had been alone.”

  “Regardless, I need your help.”

  I smirked. “Why? You’re the chief of police.”

  She wagged her head, her eyes fixed on me. “I may be able to get the townsfolk to talk to me, but the Amish are a whole other story. You can.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  She pointed a thumb at Becky. “They seem to like you.”

  Becky rubbed her hand up and down her arm. I handed her the car keys. “Becky, you can get in the car if you are cold.”

  She took the keys and climbed into the passenger seat. The Prizm door groaned as Becky shut it.

  Chief Rose glanced at Becky through the glass. “Now, I can speak more freely,”

  “What can you say to me that you can’t say to Becky?”

  “She wouldn’t understand what I’m about to say.” The chief didn’t budge. “You will.”

  My forehead wrinkled.

  “You’re in a profession like mine.”

  I laughed. “I’m a computer programmer. You are a cop. I don’t see the similarity.”

  “We both work in a man’s world. I’m sure you have to fight for your place among the computer geeks, and I have to fight for my place among the cops.” She smoothed the front of her neatly-pressed uniform. “I need to save my department. You’re going to help me.”

  “Save it from what?”

  Through the windshield Becky watched us. I noticed what the chief apparently did not—the passenger side window was open. Becky could hear every word.

  “Village council wants to shut the police department down. They think Appleseed Creek is too quiet and peaceful to need its own police force. They believe the sheriff’s department is enough protection. We both know that’s not true, don’t we?”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “The sheriff gave me this case. He thought it was a simple open-and-shut thing. If he had been running the show, Becky would have been charged with vehicular manslaughter the day of the accident.”

  I glanced at Becky. She placed her hand to her mouth. She can hear us all right.

  The chief continued. “Like you, I think there is more to it than that. I was vindicated when the forensic mechanic found the cut brake line.” She leaned forward, and the yellow light from the parking lot lamp cast shadows on her sharp features. “If I solve this case, I will save my department. How could the village council say we don’t need a police department when there has been a murder in Appleseed Creek?”

  I shivered. It was the first time the accident had been called murder. In my mind, it had always just been an accident. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Same thing you have been doing: checking in with the Amish, following leads I can’t. Oh, and I need you to report back to me.”

  “The Amish I speak to don’t expect me to turn around and tell the police. The Troyers are my friends.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me. “All the Troyers? I heard Becky’s parents weren’t speaking to her.”

  Becky appeared to gasp.

  “Timothy and Becky are my friends.” My tone was sharp.

  Chief Rose took a step closer to me and whispered, “I’d be careful with Timothy Troyer if I were you.”

  I shrank back. “What does that mean?”

  She eyed me. “He’s not the perfect Amish boy he’d have you believe.”

  “He’s not Amish anymore.”

  A sly smile played on her face. “I wondered if you noticed that. Now, do we have a deal?”

  I agreed to nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  On Wednesday afternoon, butterflies somersaulted in my stomach as I crossed the campus to Dean Klink’s office. He wanted a report on how I planned to cut spending in my department. I had one. Would he like what I came up with? Probably not.

  I stepped through the glass doors that led to the administrative building. It was strange to think I had only been working at Harshberger for two weeks. It seemed like so much longer.

  Dean Klink’s secretary, Irene, raised one of her penciled-on eyebrows as I entered her office. She picked up her phone. “Miss Humphrey is here to see you, sir.”

  “Chloe, so good to see you!” The dean spoke as if he hadn’t just seen me a few days earlier. “Let’s go to my office.” He pointed to the open doorway.

  I sat on one side of a paper-covered coffee table, and Dean Klink sat on the other. Behind him a bookshelf filled with management and higher-education tomes lined the wall. A three-by-four wooden shadow box hung next to the only window, hundreds of fishing lures decorating its shelves.

  He stood and removed a dragonfly lure from the box. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “They are.” The detail and bright colors of several of the lures surprised me.

  “Here.” He handed it to me. A serious-looking hook sat at the end of the lure. Is this for shark fishing?

  “That one’s for salmon fishing. I used it two years on a fishing trip in Alaska. I reeled in a forty-pound King Chinook with that one.” He clapped his hands, and I returned the lure. With care, he set it back into place. “Have you thought anything about our last meeting?”

  Did our discussion on the softball bleachers qualify as a meeting? It felt more like an ambush to me. “I have.” I handed him a proposal of several areas the computer services department could cut back.

  He flipped through the pages. “There aren’t any personnel reductions.”

  I folded my hands in my lap.r />
  “This only cuts seventeen percent from the budget. I asked for twenty and would love twenty-five.”

  “Dean Klink, I’ve only been here a few days. I don’t feel that I know the staff well enough yet to let anyone go. I’m still learning everything each person does. Can I have until the end of the fall semester?”

  He shook his head. “The college can’t afford it. You have until the end of this week, or I make the decision for you.”

  “That’s not enough time. I—”

  “It will have to be because I have to answer to my boss, the college president, about how I’m going to reduce the budget.” He sighed. “I know these are tough decisions, Chloe, but they are the ones you were hired to make. Now bring me something I can use tomorrow morning.”

  I left the dean’s office deflated.

  From the green, I could see the hood up on my rental car. I increased my pace. A man was bent over the engine. I called out before reaching the car. “What are you doing?”

  Joel pulled his head out from under the hood. “I saw this death trap out here and wanted to make sure it had all its moving parts.”

  I furrowed my brow, and something in me snapped. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  “Excuse me for trying to help. Is taking care of cars something else you’re so good at? Considering the dead Amish bishop, I don’t think so.”

  “What do you know about cars?” I peered under the hood, my arms crossed, checking to see if anything had been tampered with. The brake line looked fine. Good thing I had seen those photos on the Internet that showed how to cut one.

  Joel glowered at me. “I work on antique cars, which this contraption doesn’t qualify for. This is just junk.”

  “You work on cars?” Could Joel have cut my brake line?

  “Does it surprise you that I have a life outside of Harshberger?” Joel released the prop rod and let the hood slam shut. “We both know that most of your interests are off campus.”

  I stumbled out of the way and watched him lumber toward Dennis. I stood in the parking lot a few minutes, waiting for my heart rate to come back down. My cell phone rang, and I jumped. It was a local number but not one I recognized. “Miss Humphrey?” The male voice sounded like it could be on the radio.

  “Yes.” I took a seat on a bench outside my building.

  “I’m Tyler Hart,” the radio voice said. “You called my office yesterday. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to answer. I was in court, and I can’t seem to keep a secretary on my payroll.” He laughed. It was a rich deep laugh that reminded me of Santa Claus.

  “Thank you for returning my call.” I walked over to a nearby park bench and sat.

  “You need a criminal lawyer,” the Santa Claus voice said.

  I dropped the stack of files onto the bench beside me. “Yes—I mean, no—I mean not for myself, for a friend who is in some trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “She was in a car accident and the person in the other . . . um . . . vehicle died.”

  I heard the lawyer’s deep intake of breath. “That is serious. When was this?”

  “Last Friday.”

  “She was driving the car?”

  “Yes.” I paused. “And she doesn’t have a license.”

  Hart clicked his tongue. “This doesn’t sound good for your friend.”

  “I know.” I straightened the files sitting next to me on the bench, but only succeeded in making the stack less tidy.

  “Was the accident in Knox County?”

  “Yes.”

  The sound of typing came though my cell phone. “I’m at a computer now, and the only fatal accident that happened in the county last Friday was an auto-buggy collision.”

  “That’s the one.”

  He whistled. “Her name is Rebecca Troyer.”

  “That’s right. Will you take the case? Billy from Uncle Billy’s Budget Autos recommended you.”

  He laughed. “Billy’s one of my best clients. I wish he was able to stay out of trouble though. I’ll tell you what, why don’t you and Miss Troyer stop by my office later today?”

  “Are you available after five?”

  “Sure. I’m usually in the office well past seven.” He rattled off the address.

  I hung up my cell and gathered the files into my lap. I would need to do more research on Tyler Hart before our meeting. I wanted to make sure he was the right lawyer for Becky. I stood, trying to concentrate on the different places that I could search for Hart online, but thoughts of Joel peering under the hood of my rental car hood weren’t far from my mind.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Before I left campus to pick up Becky from the greenhouse, I drove a lap around campus, testing my brakes. Testing the brakes every time I started the car had become a habit. They seemed fine, and the telltale brake light was unlit. Then again, I wasn’t entirely sure the Prizm had a functioning brake light.

  Could Joel have really been the one who cut the brake line?

  At the greenhouse, I inched through the glass door. No one was at the cash register. “Becky?” I waited. “Cookie?” No one replied.

  Crash! The sound came from the hothouse.

  I ran through the shop to find Becky standing over a broken ceramic pot. Dirt scattered across the cement floor, and a cactus stalk lay in pieces.

  I rushed toward her. “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes were wide, sad. “I can’t do anything with this stupid cast.”

  I pulled a large garbage can close to the broken pot and started tossing pieces of broken pottery into it.

  “Careful,” Becky said. “Don’t let the plant stick you.” She grabbed an extra pair of heavy-duty leather gloves off the utility shelf and tossed them to me.

  I put them on, but because my hands were so small, the fingertips extended an inch past where mine ended.

  Becky also wore a glove on her good hand and began throwing broken pieces in the can. She groaned. “Cookie and Scotch left me in charge of the store. They had a meeting at the bank. I knew Scotch wanted to change this display table to highlight our cacti, so I wanted to do it before they got back as a surprise. I should have known I can’t do anything right.”

  “That’s not true.” I examined the cactus. “But I don’t know why you tried to move such a huge plant by yourself. That pot must have weighed thirty pounds.”

  “I’ve carried things much heavier than that.”

  I glanced up at her from where I crouched on the cement. “Not with a broken arm.”

  Becky took a deep, staccato breath as if she might start crying again.

  I offered her a smile. “When will they be back?”

  Her eyebrows inverted. “I don’t know. They’ve been gone for three hours.”

  “And you watched the store by yourself the entire time?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. I had one customer, and she only wanted to buy fertilizer. Yesterday we only had four customers all day.”

  That didn’t sound good. Again, I wondered why Cookie and Scotch hired Becky. They didn’t have the foot traffic to need the help.

  Becky and I cleaned up the rest of the mess, and following her direction, I arranged the plants on the display table. By the time we finished I was covered in sweat.

  Cookie’s voice floated into the hothouse. “Hello?” She and Scotch entered the room.

  Scotch used a cane to support himself. He examined the display table. “Becky, did you do this?”

  Becky swallowed, and nodded, her eyes still wide. “I know you wanted to do it, Scotch, but I thought it would be a nice surprise for you and . . .”

  “It is a nice surprise.” He clapped his hands together. “You’re a jewel, Miss Rebecca.”

  Becky beamed.

&n
bsp; Cookie perched on a gardener’s stool. “Chloe, you didn’t like the makeover I did on Becky.”

  I licked my lips. “Well, it’s not that I didn’t like it—”

  “You think she looks better now?”

  I glanced at Becky’s outfit. She wore a plain pink T-shirt, her first pair of jeans, and light makeup. I looked back to Cookie. “She looks more like herself.”

  Cookie sniffed. “I suppose you are right. Not everyone can pull off my style.” She removed a compact mirror from her long skirt pocket and admired her reflection. In the muggy hothouse, her eye makeup ran down her cheek. She powdered her nose and seemed unconcerned by her reflection.

  “That’s so true,” I said.

  Becky bowed her head to hide a smile.

  Scotch hooked his thumbs through the belt loops in his overalls. “Any customers?” Scotch sounded hopeful.

  Becky nodded. “One.”

  Scotch’s face fell. “It is toward the end of summer. The planting season is over. I’m sure it will pick up in the fall when people plant bulbs and need supplies to overwinter their plants.”

  Cookie sighed. “You must be right, dear.”

  “How was the bank?” Becky asked.

  Scotch and Cookie shared a grimace.

  Becky frowned. “Did I ask something wrong?”

  Cookie forged a smiled, but didn’t answer the question. “The display is wonderful. Thank you, Chloe, for helping her.” Cookie’s overplucked eyebrows shot up. “Scotch, it’s already after five o’clock. We don’t want to keep the girls. I know they have lots of things they’d rather be doing, and you need to get ready.”

  Scotch’s brow drooped.

  “For the thing . . .”

  “Oh! Oh! The thing,” Scotch said. “That’s right. Yes, you girls run along.” He stepped behind Becky and me and pushed us toward the exit. “Becky, we will pick you up tomorrow at nine like always.”

  I dug my toes into the cement to slow the pushing. “I have an appointment after work tomorrow. Can you drop off Becky at our house, too?”

  Scotch continued to usher us out. “Of course, of course. Now, run along.”

 

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