by Meg Macy
“Look at that huge eagle! Jay did that.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen it before. Nice.”
“Nice? Is that all you can say?” I rolled up the window, given the dust cloud that spiraled up after we crossed the wide cement bridge. The dirt road leading to Richardson’s Farms beyond the village limits needed grading. Every bump and rut jarred my sister’s small car. “You don’t sound that impressed.”
“Jay’s very talented. Everyone knows that, but Kip thinks he should move to Ann Arbor, or Chicago. He’d get more jobs and make a ton of money. No, don’t start arguing with me—it’s his opinion. Not mine.” Maddie slowed the car again and avoided a huge pothole. “I’m hoping for your sake that Jay sticks around. It’s high time you got laid.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Are you sure we have the right number of bears?”
“You didn’t give me the order till last night,” I said crossly. “I stuffed all of them into separate plastic bags this morning while you overslept. Now we need more?”
“Aunt Eve forgot to give me the invoice until Thursday, and I forgot to give it to you. The last few all-nighters with Kip have really worn me out.” Maddie turned onto the road that led to the large parking lot. “Maybe we have enough, but we’re late.”
“It’s only noon! Our event doesn’t start until four o’clock.”
“They changed it to three.”
I groaned. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“I left a voice mail on your phone. At least I think I did. Maybe I should have texted, sorry.” She laughed when my head lolled against the bucket seat. “So have you dated Jay yet? An official date, I mean.”
“We went to Quinn’s Pub Wednesday night.”
“And?”
“We had a burger together. Hey, I saw Flynn there with a TV personality. She’s on one of the big stations in metro Detroit.”
“Oh, brother. Why can’t you stick to what’s important? Forget Flynn! And forget about who he’s dating, and all this murder business,” Maddie said. “Honestly, it’s like you’re not interested in having a relationship. Ever again.”
“That’s not true.”
I wasn’t about to share any details about what Jay and I did after Quinn’s. Maddie didn’t share details with me about Kip. I smiled, remembering Jay’s spine-tingling kisses and warm hands. That led me to wonder about other warmer parts....
The truck in front of us skidded to a stop. I yelped when Maddie braked so hard, the car fishtailed a few times. We ended up sideways on the road. Good thing I’d set my coffee into the console cup holder a few seconds before.
“I really hate that,” she grumbled. “And yeah. I was tailgating, so shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything. But it is always crowded on fall weekends.”
Maddie righted the car and followed the line of visitors into the wide graveled parking lot. I collected the boxes stuffed with our smallest bears and another with five of our larger bears. An invoice for sixty bears made a nice crinkling sound in my pocket. The Richardsons charged two dollars per child—two to eight years of age only. They never took a loss from extra events like these, earning far more from sales of fresh cider, donuts, and apples.
They also made a huge profit by charging admission for the haunted house—an old run-down building on one corner of their large property, newly renovated into an animal shelter—haunted cellar, or this year the haunted maze. Open every weekend until Halloween, too.
We walked past a row of stacked straw bales that surrounded a large slide. The top had a huge piece of painted plywood shaped as a grinning jack-o’-lantern. One man with a toddler on his lap emerged from the mouth and slid down the gentle slope. A woman waiting at the bottom snapped photos with her cell phone camera. The child gurgled in glee.
“Aww, how cute. I don’t remember them having that slide last year,” I said.
“It’s new. Are you going into the maze?” Maddie asked. “You always chicken out of the haunted attractions. I don’t blame you for last year, though. Pretty gruesome.”
“I don’t like clowns, or hanging dummies, or fake blood.” I trudged over the rutted path toward the buildings, grateful I’d worn sturdy sneakers. “That’s such a cool skeleton in the tree branch over there. Look at the skeleton dogs barking at him. Funny.”
“Did you know the Richardsons are selling hard cider now? Kip says it’s really good. He was here last month with the new microbrewery owner. I forget his name.”
“What microbrewery?”
“Over on Baker Road, somewhere. That’s where it’s made.”
“Don’t they need a liquor license to sell it here?”
“No idea. I don’t envy people in the food business. I’ll stick to boutique items, if I can ever get to that point.” Maddie sounded frustrated.
Since Mom had already been bugging her on that subject, I sent her ahead of me. “You take the box of bears out to the orchard on the handcart. I’ll find Emma. She can’t pay us until she gets the invoice, and then I’ll come out to help hide the bears.”
“Okay.”
Maddie skirted the barn, rolling the handcart and trussed boxes over the bumpy ground, and passed families gathered in the picnic table area. A huge red-and-white-striped tent offered shade or protection from rain. I entered the first low building, which held the bakery and sales rooms; wooden bins lined the walls and signs spelled out the varieties of red and green apples like McIntosh, Jonathan, Ida Red, Honey Crisp, and Granny Smith. The adjoining room had long shelves filled with apple peelers, jars of fruit preserves, and recipe books, plus a display table stacked with kitchen placemats, napkins, tablecloths, and aprons.
I followed the scent of fresh donuts to the next room. Emma Richardson left the counter where she’d been selling popcorn, cones of spun sugar, plus candy and caramel apples. I had to worm my way around people lined at the tall counter who ordered cider and other snack foods. The aroma of fresh fried dough, plain or dipped in powdered or cinnamon sugar, nearly made me swoon. My mouth watered.
Calories, schmalories. Cider season was only once a year.
“Here you go!” Emma handed me a cinnamon donut. “I saw you drooling.”
“Mmm,” I mumbled, my mouth full of yeasty, sugar-coated cake. “Mmmph. Um, here’s the invoice for the bears. Sorry it’s a little wrinkled.”
“And here’s your check. We sold all the tickets, and I want to keep the kids corralled in the orchard. We changed the time to three o’clock because of tonight’s Bears on Parade. We figured people would want to get back to the village.”
“No problem.” I folded the narrow check and stuffed it deep into my jeans pocket. “I’d better get out there and help Maddie.”
“I’ve got someone to help you, too.” Emma scanned the room and then waved at a slim girl with long silvery blond hair, who stopped clearing the cluster of tables in one corner and ran over. “This is Lauren Kirby, Sasha. Lauren can help hide the bears in the orchard.”
“I’d love to! Aren’t you dating my older brother?” Lauren tucked her plaid shirt into her jeans. “Jay’s talked about you a lot.”
“He told me you were studying to be an EMT.”
“Yeah, I’m finishing up. Gotta take a CPR course and then the certification exam, but I’m picking up a little extra money here and at the Sunshine Café.” Lauren followed me out to the farm area. “Emma said I could help Holly Parker with face painting, but—she’s such a prima donna. Told me to get lost, basically. The kids are running wild, though.”
“You mean over there?”
A troupe of kids chased each other behind the large pumpkin slide. Toddlers wriggled, jumped up and down, or wailed despite their parents’ attempts to calm them. Paints and ajar of dirty water stood on a side table, along with a plastic plate for mixing colors. Holly Parker was perched on a chair, brush in hand, leaning toward a child who squirmed on a camp stool before her. She frowned when the little girl erupted into giggles.
&n
bsp; “Wow,” I said. “Is there a different way to get to the orchard?”
“Nope.”
Lauren took hold of my arm and strode in that direction. Kids of all ages surrounded us, swaying and hopping in excitement. Holly chatted with the mother while she filled in a butterfly on the child’s plump cheek with purple and pink dots.
“—poor thing. So Gina borrowed my phone, my car, my clothes. She didn’t always ask permission, but we were like sisters.”
Holly had told Detective Mason the same thing, but I still doubted it. She’d embellished stories in the past. Lauren stopped to chat with Janet Johnson, another waitress at the Sunshine Café, who held her little boy on one hip. A few moms asked questions of Holly, in vague terms given the kids present, but others looked uneasy.
“I haven’t heard anything on the news yet,” Holly said, “But I did hear the mayor might be involved. Gina was suing him to get paid for work she did on his re-election campaign.”
“What about that lawyer she was dating?” someone asked.
“Flynn Hanson, of the Legal Eagles here in Silver Hollow.” Holly pushed a strand of dark hair behind an ear. “He does those cheesy ‘Flynn Wins’ commercials on TV. Talk about a huge ego. I hear he calls himself ‘Sexy Beast’ in the mirror.”
I swore she’d caught sight of me in the crowd by her sly smirk. But I kept my eyes on the kids, who ran pell-mell in all directions. Too bad I couldn’t shut out her voice. Lauren and Janet compared their schedules at the café. I hoped they’d be done talking soon.
“Isn’t that an adorable butterfly?” the mother said when her child slid from the stool. “How much are you charging, Ms. Parker?”
“It’s free, and my pleasure to help at the Oktobear Fest events. Who’s next?” Holly raised her voice so that I’d be sure to hear, along with everyone else. “Did you know that the cops identified the fingerprints on the k-n-i-f-e.”
All the women gasped at the news. “When was this?”
“Sasha, why don’t you explain?” Holly beckoned my way. “You’re chummy with the detective on the case. Tell everyone here what you’ve heard.”
“Sorry, but I don’t know anything new.”
The last thing I wanted was to “out” Digger Sykes as a murder suspect. That would start a panic in the village. Plus she’d already bad-mouthed both Flynn and Mayor Bloom.
“Why can’t they explain what really happened?” one mom asked.
“They will, in time,” I said. “Detective Mason solved Will Taylor’s murder.”
“That’s right! Your company’s sales rep was killed,” Holly said, a shade too gleeful. “And now Gina Lawson, who dated your ex-husband. I’d say you’re bad luck to be around!”
Lauren gasped. “That’s not fair—”
“Aren’t you Jay Kirby’s little sister?” she interrupted with a catty smile. “He’d better be careful about getting too friendly with Sasha.”
“Gina was your shop assistant,” I snapped back, “so don’t talk about bad luck.”
My sour tone didn’t go over well with the crowd. Holly must have sensed blood in the water, in the same way she’d gotten to me long ago. She swished her paintbrush in the jar of water and then boosted the next child onto the stool.
“Gina had bad luck, not me. Cissy Davison fired her, didn’t you know? She worked at the Time Turner for less than a month. Then Gina blew Mayor Bloom’s marketing campaign. He wanted a small-town image, but she had all these other plans and didn’t listen. They fought pretty hard over what she came up with, and then he refused to pay her.”
“I don’t blame the mayor,” Janet Johnson said. “It’s not what he wanted.”
“But he could have paid half the fee after she did all that work. The mayor risked a real scandal,” Holly said. “Only now, he isn’t. Gina’s dead. Convenient, huh?”
I changed the subject. “By the way, Holly. Remember you said Gina bought those items off of eBay, the ones the police found.” In spite of her blank stare, I noted how her face flushed dark pink. “How else would you know her box was stored in your shop’s back room.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Odd that my mom’s mink bear was in that box.”
Holly’s outline of a tiger on the boy’s hand looked scraggly. “Gina must have thought it would fetch a good price as a collectible in our shop.”
“Then why not show it to you? Why hide it?” I asked. “And the other things in that box didn’t look like collectibles.”
Holly dabbled her brush into orange paint next. “Maybe they meant something to her. Like personal items. How would I know?”
I wondered if those items meant something to Holly instead. She’d often projected her own feelings, good and bad, onto friends back in high school to avoid taking the blame when trouble arose. I persisted, wanting to dig for the truth.
“What would a carved bird, a scrapbook, an unsigned oil painting, and a mink bear have to do with one another?”
“We’ll never know.” Holly’s self-satisfied smile dug in deeper.
“Too bad your ‘Think Pink’ hoodie is ruined.”
“I’m so mad about that. But I already ordered a replacement.”
After noticing everyone’s surprise at her venomous tone, Holly focused on the task at hand. I knew I’d cracked her composure. The tiger head had suffered, and while she tried adding white to fix the mistakes in the stripes, Holly finally shooed the boy off the stool. The woman who sat down next shifted her infant to one knee and whispered close. They both smiled, as if sharing a secret. Holly glanced over her shoulder at me.
“You’re right about that. How about a tiny pumpkin on the baby’s hand? The paint’s washable if she doesn’t like it.”
“Cute! I wish the police would hurry up and solve the case,” the mother added.
Janet Johnson stepped forward before Holly could reply. “You can’t expect them to snap their fingers and boom, the case is solved. I work at the café, owned by Captain Ross and his wife. Digger Sykes and the other officers work hard to keep this village safe.”
“Digger couldn’t catch a dead rabbit on the Village Green,” Holly said. “He’s totally incompetent. He’d botch his brother Larry’s job, sweeping floors at the Quick Mix.”
That hushed everyone. “That’s a terrible thing to say.” Janet sounded incensed. “I doubt very much that you and Gina Lawson were like sisters. The mayor said Gina always complained about how you stole her marketing ideas—”
“She stole ideas from me,” Holly cut in, “and she wouldn’t listen to any advice! I told her the mayor wouldn’t like her campaign ideas. Gina resented how I was right about that, too. But none of this is your business, anyway.”
Miffed, Janet Johnson marched off with her little boy. The others’ silence must have signaled that Holly had overstepped the bounds. Several mothers grabbed their kids and followed Janet. I felt a twinge of satisfaction, since Holly’s reactions verified her lack of compassion. Especially when it came to Digger Sykes and his brother Larry. Silver Hollow residents felt protective of him and supported Digger’s loyalty to family.
“All right, who’s next?” Holly tried to move on, a fake smile pasted on her face, but sounded shaken. She’d quickly finished the tiny pumpkin on the baby’s hand and cooed at the next toddler. “How about a kitty? A white one?”
I drew Lauren away. “We’re late, let’s go.”
Jay’s sister followed me past several fields of tall corn toward the distant orchards. I tried to forget Holly and her annoying remarks, and hoped people recognized her phoniness. She seemed to top me at every turn, however, striking like a snake. But this time Holly had sunk her fangs into the wrong targets—Digger and Larry Sykes.
We finally reached the lowest-growing apple trees where a small section had been roped off. Maddie looked upset. “Where have you been? I thought you got lost.”
“Ran into Holly Parker,” I said with a groan. “Lauren’s helping us, though.”
“
Hey, thanks.” My sister smiled at Lauren. “Did Jay get his bear finished for tonight’s unveiling at the Village Green? I hope the clothes worked.”
“Yeah, but he had trouble lacing the boots after the sealing coat dried.”
“Quick, hide the bears,” I said, my voice low. “People are heading this way.”
Maddie set up the big sign spelling out FIND TEDDY BEARS HERE on a post at the entrance. Although most of the apples had been harvested, foliage remained thick on the trees. We took bears out of the plastic bags and perched them amid clumps of grass or in Y-shaped forks on the low branches. Lauren even hung one large bear upside down, hidden by leaves.
“Hope some kid finds this one. It’s supposed to rain tonight.”
“Every bear has a plastic bag, so we’ll know if there’s any missing,” Maddie said. “Let’s hope kids without tickets won’t show up, expecting we might have extra bears.”
We finished with ten minutes to spare. Emma Richardson began collecting tickets from adults in line. Toddlers ambled around their parents’ legs, and older kids jumped up and down in excitement. I loved seeing their eager, happy faces.
“—about what happened?” a woman asked. “I never expected two murders in a small town like Silver Hollow.”
“Tough break for Holly Parker,” another said. “She’s here, doing face painting.”
“Wow, that’s awfully nice for her to volunteer,” a third added. “It’s only been a week since it happened, too. Talk about dedication.”
“It’s great that she put the community ahead of her own shop.”
“I heard Gina doesn’t have family, so Holly’s taking charge of the funeral arrangements. Once the police are done, of course, with an autopsy.”
“Wow. Good for her.”
Oh, brother. I ignored the rest of their gossip exchange, knowing now I’d been wrong. People had not seen through the mask Holly put on for the public. Whether or not she had an audience, her true nature remained well hidden.