Apple Cider Slaying

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  I took the main road back through town, then turned onto the county route that led to the orchard. Streetlamps were fewer and farther between as I headed deeper into the countryside. The inky path before me twisted and curved like a black satin ribbon wound tightly through the mountains.

  Sally hugged the asphalt, unaffected by the things that had me clutching her wheel. Electricity and intuition had the hairs on my neck standing firmly at attention, despite the distance I’d put between myself and the dark Sip N Sup parking lot. I’m safe, I reminded myself. I’m safe and almost home.

  The earlier threat clung to my thoughts like static on flannel. Leave it alone. I’d provoked someone dangerous, and I needed to do exactly as the note instructed. I needed to trust the sheriff to get things done right.

  Except I couldn’t.

  I had to save Granny’s reputation and her orchard. I had to identify my stalker before he got his hands on me instead of a piece of paper and a marker.

  I slowed instinctively for the next downhill curve then blinked as a set of headlights flashed on in my rearview mirror. The growl of an engine broke the still of the night. The vehicle lurched forward, closing the distance between us at unsafe speeds. I nudged Sally’s pedal lower, hoping to navigate the upcoming curve safely, then look for a place to pull off and let the speed demon pass. The deep ravine on my right would keep me in place until then.

  BEEP! The driver suddenly blared his horn. A moment later he began to flash his lights as well.

  As I slowed from shock, the truck knocked into my bumper. The impact sent me left of center, tires squealing all over the road. I jerked Sally back into my lane as an oncoming car sped past in the opposite direction. Behind me, the psychopath tailgated closer, until his headlights and grill were no longer visible in my mirror. I stomped the gas and charged downhill at a reckless pace, taking my chances on the winding road before me, unwilling to allow my assailant to catch me and spin me over the cliff.

  I tightened my aching grip on the wheel, struggling and desperate to keep Sally between the lines as we flew down the mountain. A log truck blinded me with its bright lights as I rocketed around the next curve, and I whimpered with fear as Sally rocked in the wind from its passing.

  I jerked the wheel toward the first available inch of berm at the base of the hill and braced myself as the offending pickup barreled past at double the posted speed, headlights flashing, horn screaming, engine roaring.

  I pried my trembling fingers off the wheel and cried as the truck vanished into the night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I called the sheriff’s department after I calmed down. I reported the crazy driver and told police dispatch everything I could remember about the incident. The report would be filed for me, and I’d get an emailed copy to use at the body shop where I’d have Sally’s bumper looked at.

  I forced myself back onto the road and drove home in fear the crazy truck might reappear around every turn. When I finally arrived, I collapsed onto my couch, still in my uniform and too exhausted to bother with pajamas or any other portion of my usual bedtime routine.

  I dragged the pink patchwork quilt off the back of my couch and over my body, my mind racing, pulse settling. I had a feeling the truck that had attempted to run me off the road was connected to the note I’d found on my windshield and that the sheriff would be looking for me in the morning, but there wasn’t much I could tell him. I didn’t get a license plate number, a look at the driver, or the make and model of the truck. Even as it roared past me, it was little more than a dark blur to my tear-filled eyes.

  I fell asleep determined to make tomorrow a better day. Tomorrow, I’d be a woman of action instead of a sitting duck waiting to see what awful thing would happen to her next.

  * * *

  I woke at dawn, then hurried to help Granny with the kittens who’d slept at her house because of my late shift. I didn’t tell her about the incident with the truck. Partially because I wasn’t ready to talk about it, but also because I wasn’t hurt and didn’t want to worry her about something that was already over and couldn’t be changed. When we parted ways, I took the kittens home and prepared to make a few specialty ciders with the ingredients Granny had picked up for me. She was certain she could handle the orchard customers on her own, assuming anyone showed up, and if business somehow got busy, she had a clutch of her girlfriends on standby. Though, neither of us thought it would come to that.

  I had the day off from the diner, and a growing list of things to do before the festival, starting with the ciders. I lined stockpots on the four burners of my stove and poured a jug of plain cider into each. As the contents heated, I measured ingredients from bags and boxes into cups and bowls, then clustered them together beside the pots where they were headed. I chopped fresh apples, peeled oranges and lemons, then began to stir the fresh flavors into the waiting ciders. Orange juice and lemon zest in one pot. Cinnamon and sugar in another. A chai tea bag here. Caramel and vanilla extract there. Soon, the ciders were simmering, and the delectable scents of all my favorite things floated heavily in the air.

  I repeated the processes several times before checking the clock and switching gears. I bottled and labeled the final products, then stowed them in my fridge. It was almost time to go to town.

  I had plans to price materials for the cider shop and meet contractors about potential renovations. Afterward, I’d stop by the bank and corner Mr. Sherman about my business proposal, then lure him back to the orchard with promises of free cider and sweets. I’d finally realized that Mr. Sherman was the key to my ideal cider shop scenario, but he wasn’t the only way to make the dream come alive. After feeling like a victim in my personal life the last few days, I’d resolved not to make the same mistakes when it came to business.

  And I made a backup plan.

  As backup plans went, mine wasn’t very good, but that was why it wasn’t Plan A. In the backup scenario, I would drain my savings account and open the cider shop without Mr. Sherman’s help. I’d be a dead broke entrepreneur praying her business wasn’t one of the thousands that failed every year, but I’d have a cider shop. If the shop succeeded, I could pay myself back with the revenue instead of paying the bank. If the business failed, I’d lose everything. My dream. My business and my life savings, not to mention all hope of helping Granny save her orchard. The terrible backup plan also depended on me having enough money to open the shop at all, and the only way I could know that for sure was to start getting quotes for everything. Since the barn had never been anything except a barn, the renovations needed were extensive and daunting. Heating and cooling, duct work and plumbing, electrical updates, and a septic system for starters. I needed a contractor to divide the space, put up walls, install floors and ceilings, a kitchen and bathrooms, plus a dining area. After all that, I’d still need décor, tableware, and appliances. I had no idea what any of it would cost, but I was going to find out. Today.

  A honking horn drew my attention, and I grabbed my jacket with a smile. Dot had the day off, too, and she’d volunteered to keep me company. She’d even said she’d drive. So my day was off to a fantastic start.

  Dot waved from behind the wheel. She wore torn blue jeans, knee-high brown boots, and a tan sweater with narrow layers of lace along the bottom. Total country chic. Her signature look, outside of the park ranger uniform. I’d chosen soft, dark washed skinny jeans for the day and paired them with my favorite cowgirl boots and a pale gray V-neck sweater. I brought my black motorcycle jacket, knit scarf, and hat in preparation for the predicted temperature drop this afternoon.

  I tossed my purse on the floorboards, then buckled up beside her. “Good morning!”

  “Hey!” she said, adjusting the volume on her favorite country station. “How are the kittens? And Granny? And you?” She gave me a bright smile and shifted into drive.

  “The kittens are fine,” I said. “Healthy. Growing. A bit rambunctious, but the internet says that’s to be expected. Granny’s a trooper. She’s
trying to gather information from the gossip mill by plying folks with cider samples. She hasn’t gotten anywhere so far, but she’s trying. I’m at my wit’s end with absolutely all of this.”

  “Today will be better,” she said. “Where should we go first?”

  “Higbee Plumbing on Market. From there I made appointments with another plumber, three electricians, and two general contractors. They’ll all want to see the barn eventually, but right now I’m only looking for ballpark figures. I took a ton of photos to help them get a feel for the space.”

  “Good thinking ahead,” she said, turning onto the county road at the end of Granny’s drive.

  “Thanks.” A bandage on her forearm caught my eye. “Hey, what happened to you?” I asked, pointing to the injury.

  She rolled her eyes. “I was bitten. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I smiled. Dot would tell anybody anything, unless the story threatened to embarrass her, and those were my favorite kinds of stories. “Please?”

  “No.”

  “Come on. I could use the pick-me-up.”

  She slid her eyes my way. “You assume the tale of my injury will make you happy.”

  I nodded fervently.

  “Fine, but you can’t repeat it. Not to anyone.”

  I mimed locking my lips and tucking the key into my pocket.

  “I had to lead a workshop on animal safety for a bunch of preschoolers at the nature center yesterday. They were on a field trip, and I was explaining the dangers of approaching wild animals.”

  “And something bit you?” I gasped. “While you were teaching kids about safety? That’s awful.” Dot had led similar preschool sessions before, and they normally ended in something for me to laugh about because unlike animals, children never liked her. “So far this isn’t one of my favorite stories.”

  She groaned and let her head tip over her shoulder. “I haven’t told you what bit me.”

  I grinned.

  “When I corrected a kid for tapping on the snake tank, he spun on me. The kid, not the snake.”

  My mouth fell open. “The kid bit you?”

  “Yep. I had to update my tetanus shot after being bitten by a preschooler during a presentation on how to stay safe around wild animals.”

  A loud and inconsiderate bout of laugher bubbled out of me. “That was a much better story than I’d expected. I especially enjoyed the twist ending.”

  “I was due for the shot anyway.”

  I gave her my widest, goofiest grin.

  She turned onto the main drag through town and shot me a curious look. “Have you run into Hank yet?”

  I felt the smile slide off my face. “Thankfully, no. I have enough problems already.”

  “Well, good. Rumor has it he’s still complaining about the way things ended between the two of you. He says it was all a misunderstanding and you should’ve let him explain.”

  “I don’t even want to know where you heard all that,” I said. I had enough problems without opening that can of worms again. “Leave it to Hank to break my heart one Christmas, then come back a year later to stir up trouble again.”

  Hank had lied to me for months, visiting and interviewing with a big oil company in Ohio while pretending things were fine with us and even alluding to a Christmas proposal. Instead, he’d landed a huge money-making opportunity with the out-of-state company and made the announcement over Thanksgiving turkey at his mama’s house. He was moving after the new year. Somehow he managed to be shocked when I didn’t celebrate his good news. Worse, he’d expected me to drop my entire life and move with him. We weren’t even engaged. Why would I do that? What would happen if we’d broken up and I was isolated in Ohio? I finished his mama’s lovely holiday dinner with smoke curling out of my ears, and I cut him loose after pumpkin pie and ice cream. I hadn’t looked back since.

  Okay, I looked back a lot, but he didn’t need to know it.

  “Well, he’s looking for you,” she said. “It took him all of two minutes to hear about the mess with Mrs. Cooper and your granny, and he’s hoping to lend his shoulder should your weary head need a place to rest.”

  I pretended to gag. “I have pillows.” Pillows were great. They didn’t make life-changing plans behind my back.

  The friendly reminder that news traveled fast brought something else to mind. “Have you heard anything about me confronting Oscar, the trail master?”

  “Yep.” She nodded. “Everyone has. Folks think it’s great that you’re going after answers like you are. Protecting family is one of Blossom Valley’s most cherished virtues.”

  That was true. Depending on the situation, protecting family occasionally trumped all else, including basic laws, manners, and a bevy of other things. Too bad all those supportive people weren’t coming out to the orchard to buy a bushel and support Granny. “Birdie Wilks said I upset Oscar. I didn’t mean to, and I wish I hadn’t, but I can’t help wondering why he was upset. He made it sound as if there was barely an argument between him and Mrs. Cooper. More like she was just in a bad mood and took it out on him over trail mix and the fact he gets regular spray tans at Sunny Buns.”

  Dot wrinkled her nose. “Well, there’s a visual I could’ve lived without.” She slowed to the reduced speed limit through town. “He probably knew it looked bad. Them fighting right before someone killed her. I’m sure he didn’t want any fingers pointed his way.”

  “Could be,” I said. “I saw him outside Doc Austin’s office a few minutes before I received that awful note under my wiper.”

  Dot slid wide blue eyes my way. “What?”

  “I didn’t see him leave it, but I have been wondering. Is he innocent or just a really good liar?”

  “You think he could’ve killed Mrs. Cooper?” Dot asked.

  “He was quick to offer up a pair of nameless boyfriends.” Had he only wanted to shift my attention away from him?

  “The whole town’s got a hold of that bone,” Dot said. “It’s been a long while since something this bad happened here. Now, gossips are having the time of their lives fielding and relaying all sorts of information, and the conspiracy theorists are speculating Mrs. Cooper was a rogue agent from a federal bureau of some sort or possibly a member of witness protection.”

  “That all sounds very exciting, but I’m willing to bet the reason behind her death is simple, whatever it is. As far as I can tell, she had a small humdrum life like the rest of us and a crotchety attitude unlike most. She probably made someone mad or hurt their feelings and they lashed out. It was probably an accident. Heat of the moment. You know?”

  “Makes more sense than thinking she was a rogue operative in hot pink heels and pedal pushers,” Dot said. “Hey, have you been able to remember anything else about the truck that ran you off the road last night?” I’d called Dot the moment I’d arrived safely at home. She’d stayed on the line with me until all the tears had passed and offered repeatedly to come over despite the hour.

  “No. Why?”

  “No reason. I just thought I could help keep an eye out for similar vehicles and take note of the drivers.”

  “The truck was black, I think, or maybe dark blue.” I pictured the flashing headlights and my heart raced all over again. “It wasn’t a small truck, but it wasn’t a giant one either.” I groaned. “I’m a terrible eye witness. I made a statement over the phone, but I had so little information the deputy I spoke with wasn’t sure anything could be done with it.”

  Dot released the steering wheel with one hand to pat my shoulder. “You were scared to death. I’m not sure I’d have had the presence of mind to know it wasn’t an elephant chasing me.”

  I squeezed her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t know what I’d do without Dot in my life, but I was sure I’d cry a lot more. “Turns out Sally’s fine,” I said, finding the silver lining. “There was a little paint left on her trunk from when the truck pushed me, but I think it’ll buff out. No need to file an insurance claim and raise my rates.”

 
She offered me a fist, and I bumped it.

  Several hours later, we’d survived all of my scheduled appointments with potential contractors for the cider shop and an avalanche of information on costs, products, warranties, and availability. My head spun, but Dot helped me organize all the paperwork between meetings so I could keep it straight later when I had to make the tough decisions. The heartbreaking truth was that I simply couldn’t afford to do what I wanted without a small loan or a big miracle.

  We headed toward the ice cream parlor on foot after the final meeting. I needed a chocolate malt to drown my sorrows and possibly a few french fries to drag through it.

  I zipped my coat against the biting wind. Temperatures had plummeted as promised and a flurry of snow floated in the air, melting quickly as it hit the ground. Holiday décor seemed to have popped up on street lamps and in shop windows overnight. SEASON’S GREETINGS banners hung from light posts and wreaths hung on shop doors. Strings of chasing lights wrapped leafless trees and squatty shrubs along storefronts. Despite the bonus weeks of lovely weather, winter was on its way.

  There was no one else in line for ice cream, so we were on our way back to Dot’s ride in no time. She pumped the straw in and out of the thick creamy malt as we leaned into the frigid wind. “What if you get another kind of loan?” she asked. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be all or nothing. You could use your own money for as much as you feel comfortable with, then get a personal loan for the rest if Mr. Sherman won’t approve a business loan for the whole amount.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I just wish Mr. Sherman would take a chance on me. Forget the trouble the orchard’s in. I want him to trust that I will be good for the money, and I will successfully reach my goals.”