I filled him in on what I’d learned about the gas company and the rumors about Farmer Bentley’s multiple recent property purchases. Then, it was my turn to ask the questions. “Do you know which pieces of land he bought?” I asked. “Because if Farmer Bentley killed Mrs. Cooper because she wouldn’t sell, he could be coming for Granny next.”
“That’s why you think the killer would go after your grandmother? For her land?”
“Granny’s property borders Mrs. Cooper’s land. I don’t know which properties Farmer Bentley has already purchased, but if they’re all connected over one big area, it would make sense that Granny’s would be next. Think about it. Someone poisoned the trees, and I think someone’s trying to keep me from getting my cider shop open. Each time the banker comes out, there’s a travesty to deal with. Makes me look like a bad investment.”
Colton sat back. “Any other suspects?”
“Sure. I’ve considered the fact Oscar might be lying about the content of his argument with Mrs. Cooper, or that her son, a Nashville land developer, might’ve wanted her property for some nefarious reason, or that someone at Extra Mobil is behind her death. I suppose it could even be somebody I haven’t considered yet, but right now I’m leaning toward Farmer Bentley as my main person of interest.”
“How did you know Timothy Cooper was in town?” Colton asked. “Have you spoken with him?”
“No.” My jaw dropped and my heart rate spiked. “He’s in town? How long has he been here?” According to the Facebook updates, he’d planned to fly her home for a funeral in Nashville.
“He says he drove all night after I called.”
I raised my brows, sensing a but.
“But I’d only left a message for him on an answering machine. I asked him to return the call, but instead, he’d shown up at the station the next morning. Said he’d assumed the worst when he couldn’t reach his mama.” Skepticism was thick in Colton’s tone and heavy on his brow.
“You don’t believe him.”
He rolled his shoulders back and swept his gaze around the room before returning his attention to me. “I might’ve panicked if I’d come home to a vague message like I’d left him, too, but you can bet I would’ve been calling as I drove. The police. My mama’s neighbors. Hell, he could’ve dialed the diner and gotten the whole scoop, but he didn’t make one call.”
“You think he could’ve been here when you left that message.” That he could’ve killed his mother. “I don’t suppose he drives a big, dark-colored pickup truck?”
Colton gave a stiff dip of his chin. “He does, but they’re not so uncommon. Oscar drives one, too, and so does that ex of yours.”
I pressed a palm against my suddenly queasy stomach. He was right. I’d seen Oscar with his truck before and after the hike. “Oscar was outside Doc Austin’s office a few minutes before I found the threatening note on my windshield,” I said breathlessly, “and I saw him at Sip N Sup while I was there talking with Farmer Bentley. I’d blown it off as coincidence, but what if it was something more?”
A vein at Colton’s temple throbbed, and he pressed a fingertip against it. “But you came here to see Dr. Davis.”
I hiked my shoulders to my ears. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just gathering information and hoping that eventually the truth will come out.”
Colton’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“You asked,” I reminded him. Something else came to mind. “Hank drives a BMW sedan, by the way. Not a pickup.”
“You sure about that?” Colton asked.
I made a crazy face. “I’ve known him all my life and we dated for nearly five years, so yeah. Hank always picks a flashy car. Usually a BMW, though I suppose he might’ve changed to an Audi or Lexus.”
“Wrong,” Colton said. “He’s driving a midnight blue Chevy. I ran into him at his interview with Extra Mobil earlier this week.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Ginny wiggled back into view, delivered our meals, and proved to be an extremely attentive waitress. I concentrated on my malt and fries while Colton settled down. When it was time for our checks, she left them on the table. Mine arrived face up, the total circled with a smile face. Colton’s bill was folded neatly down the middle into a little tent. “I never charge a lawman for his supper,” she said before sauntering away.
I made a goofy face. “So why leave the bill?” I muttered in her absence.
“She didn’t.” He dug into his wallet without opening the tent.
I put my napkin on the table with an intentional flourish, and the breeze flipped Colton’s paper tent onto its side. My mouth fell open. “It’s just her phone number.”
“It happens,” he said, tucking the paper into his wallet and leaving more than enough money on the table to cover both meals and a fat tip. “It’s on me. I invited you, so it’s my treat.”
I didn’t argue. I sipped the remains of my melting malt and tried not to think too much about how often women bought Colton’s meals or left him their phone numbers. It happens. What did that mean? Where did it happen? Who were these women exactly? Were they from Blossom Valley? Were they friends of mine? I released the straw and stared at the handsome man across from me. Why had he never crossed my path or mind until tragedy struck?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. “I only take the numbers because I think it would be rude to leave them behind, if that’s what you’re wondering. I don’t want to ruin her day by making her feel rejected.”
I sighed. “That’s actually kind of sweet,” I admitted. Assuming it was true, and he really didn’t plan to call her later. “I was wondering why we never met before all this started.”
He eased back in his seat, stretching long legs beneath the table and cocking his head over one shoulder. “We met,” he said. “You just don’t remember me.”
“What? When?” That couldn’t be true.” I would have remembered him. Wouldn’t I?
Colton’s phone buzzed and he frowned at the screen.
I craned my neck for a look at the screen.
Clarksburg PD.
He rejected the call, stood, and zipped his coat. There was fresh strain in his eyes as he waited for me to join him.
I couldn’t help wondering if this call was related to the one he’d received the other night in my barn, and why the sight of the numbers seemed to hurt him.
“I used to see you around plenty,” he said, falling back into our conversation. “We met a couple times in passing.”
I wasn’t sure how that was possible. “When?”
“Last year, I guess. Summer and fall, then you kind of vanished.”
“Oh.” I fixed my eyes on the door. I’d become a temporary hermit after my breakup with Hank, but I didn’t want to talk about that.
Colton tipped his hat at Ginny on our way out. “Have a good day.”
He stopped on the sidewalk in front of our cars in the lot. “You want to lead the way back home, or should I?”
“I’ll go first,” I said, sliding easily behind the wheel of my red Mustang and feeling the tension I hadn’t realized was gathered between my shoulders release.
He went to his cruiser and dropped inside.
I took a minute to send him a text before pulling out. I’d forgotten my manners inside.
Thanks for dinner
His response arrived before I’d gotten the shifter into reverse.
Next time, we’ll eat local.
I smiled at the little screen, then into my rearview before pulling into traffic with him on my tail.
The sun was low in the sky before we crossed the river back to West Virginia. I eased my foot off the gas as we wound along the darkened country roads outside Blossom Valley. Deer were often thick along the roadsides at dusk in December. I didn’t want to think of the damage a collision would cause to one of those sweet creatures. Or my Mustang. The sheriff let his cruiser fall back a few yards, probably thinking the same thing.
A moment later, the em
ergency lights flashed to life on top of his car.
I frowned at the sight of them in my rearview mirror. The cruiser’s siren barked to life, and I coasted onto the shoulder.
Colton’s engine roared as he zoomed past me. I stared, baffled by his disappearing taillights. A moment later, a bevy of siren sounds rang through the night. Oh no.
I pressed hard on the Mustang’s gas pedal and jumped back onto the road, racing toward whatever horrible thing had happened this time. I tried to keep my imagination in check, but an onslaught of awful possibilities was already circling in my mind. Had the man on the four-wheeler come back to burn down the orchard? Had he lashed out at someone else I loved? Hurt the kittens? Harmed Dot? I pressed the pedal with purpose and rocketed back through town. I caught up to the line of emergency vehicles and stuck close, drafting easily along in their wakes.
Soon the convoy slowed in the road’s center, and I debated what to do.
Cars and trucks lined the shoulders. Their passengers spilled onto the lawns and fields around them, gathering to watch as first responders piled out of the emergency vehicles. I pulled off the road, sliding into line behind a rusty red pickup and searching the scene for an indication of what had happened. I could only assume there had been a traffic accident, and I prayed deeply that it had nothing to do with a killer’s revenge on me.
I left the Mustang and followed the bystanders’ gazes on foot, past the ambulance and fire truck I’d followed to the scene. Down the center of the darkened road. Through a sea of floodlights.
Fear and anxiety mixed with the worry I’d find Dot on the other side of this mess, and my feet kicked into a jog. Colton stood outside his cruiser, parked at an angle across the yellow lines. His head was bowed before a familiar tan and cream pickup truck that had been overturned beside a broken tree.
Farmer Bentley lay motionless in the grass several yards away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
My head swam, and the earth tilted.
“Ma’am.” A man in full firefighter gear stepped into view, blocking the ghastly crash from my sight.
I forced my eyes to meet his gaze while my mind struggled to process the nightmarish scene behind him. “There’s only one vehicle,” I rasped, my throat too thick to sound sensitive or human. Had something happened to Farmer Bentley as he drove? A stroke? Heart failure? Had he swerved to miss a deer? Was he run off the road?
“I’m going to need you to stand with the crowd,” the fireman explained.
I nodded but couldn’t find my legs to move me.
He frowned, concern altering the expression on his serious face. “Are you okay? You look like you need to sit down.”
I worked to swallow the growing lump of emotion in my throat as a cacophony of sounds roared around us. The drone of voices. Onlookers speaking to one another and into cell phones. First responders passing orders and information among themselves and through walkie-talkies. The hum of the fire truck’s ever running engine. The rattle and slam of vehicle doors.
My stomach heaved and jolted. My ears rang. “Is he dead?” I asked, locating my voice before my limbs. It was abrupt and insensitive, but I had to know.
The fireman offered a remorseful smile and opened his arms, corralling me away. “I need you to step back. Off the road. Take a seat and breathe.”
I stumbled away, following his orders, onto the sidelines. Colton was gone. His cruiser hadn’t moved, but he was invisible to me among the floodlights, flashing lights, and crowd.
I watched with bated breath as paramedics loaded Farmer Bentley onto a gurney. It was last night all over again. It was Granny in the grass, unmoving. My eyes, nose, and throat stung with panic as I waited to see what would happen next. Would they cover him with a sheet? Had he died on impact? Were the paramedics too late?
An EMT strapped an oxygen mask over his face and hoisted an IV bag into the air. She grabbed the gurney with her free hand, and a man in a matching uniform clutched the opposite side. Together they raced Farmer Bentley to the ambulance.
He was alive.
I rolled tear-blurred eyes skyward and thanked the stars for this miracle.
“Winnie?” The sound of Colton’s now familiar voice turned me around. He strode toward me from the busy street, cutting through the clutch of uniforms as a tow truck arrived for Farmer Bentley’s pickup. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. My mouth was parched and my thoughts were fuzzy, but I was okay. I wet my lips and tested my voice. “He lived.”
“Yeah.” Colton set a tentative hand on my arm. “Maybe you should sit for a minute. You’re flushed and you don’t look too steady. I got worried when one of the firemen said a little brunette nearly collapsed out there. I had a feeling he was talking about you.”
“There are a lot of brunettes,” I said, feeling slightly better than I had a few moments before.
“How many would walk into the middle of an accident scene when every other civilian is clearly standing aside?”
“I thought it might be Dot.”
Colton pursed his lips and sighed. “Come on.”
I followed his lead to a massive boulder at the end of a nearby driveway and let him help me onto it. The homeowner had stenciled their last name and street number across the center. My feet dangled over the paint. Seated on the stone, I was eye level with Colton.
He angled himself to block my view of the wreckage. “How are you doing?”
“Better than Farmer Bentley,” I said softly. “There’s only one vehicle. What does that mean?”
Colton lowered his gaze to his boot for a long silent beat before answering. “We’ve got a witness who claims a big black truck ran Mr. Bentley off the road.”
I covered my mouth to stave off the slap of nausea reverberating through me. “A truck like the one that ran me off the road?”
Like the one Mrs. Cooper’s son drove, I thought. And Hank.
My stomach clenched with the residual pangs of betrayal left over from our breakup. Hank had kept secrets from me then and he was still doing it now. We’d spent hours together at his sister’s birthday party, but he’d never mentioned losing his job in Ohio or applying for one closer to Blossom Valley. When I’d mentioned Extra Mobil, he’d said that was his competitor. Why was he always lying to me? And where did it stop? Suddenly his suggestions about why Farmer Bentley might’ve bought those properties felt as contrived as our entire relationship had been. Bile clawed up my throat, and my stinging eyes lifted to the ambulance visible beyond Colton’s left shoulder. I’d told Hank it was Farmer Bentley buying up the land.
Colton’s jaw locked and popped as his eyes searched mine. “I’ll call the lab in the morning and try to rush a match on the paint from your bumper.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I told you Farmer Bentley was my number one suspect, and I was wrong. I shouldn’t have said that about him.” Emotion choked me to silence. It was silly and irrational, but I wondered if the accident was somehow my fault. Maybe the killer had seen me speaking privately with Farmer Bentley at the Sip N Sup. Maybe he’d overheard me asking about him. Maybe I’d painted a target on him and now he was clinging to his life. Unbidden tears slid over my cheeks, and Colton opened his arms to me.
I slid off the rock and wrapped my arms around him.
Colton’s posture was stiff. His hands were fists against my back. Nothing like the embrace he’d offered as I’d cried for Granny. “This is not your fault,” he said.
I shuddered at the ice in his voice and pulled away. “You’re upset with me.”
He shook his head. “I’m upset because that could have been you.”
* * *
By six o’clock, I was at the hospital and desperate for good news. The minute I was steady enough to drive, I’d headed straight for Granny. Even if she wasn’t awake yet, I needed to see her. I wanted to hold her hand and kiss her cheeks.
Visiting hours were in full swing when I arrived, and the elevator was packed as I squeezed on board. The car sto
pped at every floor, dropping off and picking up passengers in a painfully slow ascent. Thankfully, Granny’s room was on the fourth floor and not the twelfth or I wouldn’t have made it to her before midnight.
“Excuse me,” I said as the number four illuminated. “This is me.”
I edged my way free of the tiny crowded vessel, then hurried in the direction of Granny’s ward. Scents of bleach and bandages peppered the air. The halls teemed with folks carrying balloons and flowers in every direction. Some giddy and chipper, others solemn and grave. I wished I would have brought something for Granny. I hadn’t even thought to buy her flowers before I left this morning. My heart sank at the image of her alone in the silent stark white room.
I picked up the pace, doubly eager to see her and tell her about my strange emotional day. I hated what had happened to Farmer Bentley, but I couldn’t help thinking that the accident removed him as a suspect for Mrs. Cooper’s killer and my current stalker. That was a relief. I didn’t know him well, but Farmer Bentley was a staple in the community. He was loved, and it was nice to know he wasn’t a secret psychopath in farmer’s clothing.
The door to Granny’s room was closed when I arrived, and for one brief moment I worried about what I might find inside. Then, I heard the unexpected hum of laughter. I reached for the knob, but the door opened before I could turn it.
“See y’all tomorrow,” a woman I recognized from Granny’s quilting club stepped out. The man behind her had a palm on her back. “Oh!” she started before pulling me into a hug. “Winona Mae,” she cooed. “Don’t you worry, sweetie. Your granny is a tough old nut, and she’ll be just fine. You’ll see.” She released me and gave my cheek a pat. “You’ve got plenty on your plate now, so don’t stay here too long. You go home and rest. The ladies and I will be around at dawn to fix breakfast and help out at the orchard.” With that, she headed toward the elevator. The man nodded at me as he passed, hurrying along behind her.
“Thank you,” I said a moment too late.
I stepped across the threshold of Granny’s room and paused as another rush of emotion blew through me. Granny was unconscious, but she wasn’t alone, and the room wasn’t stark white or silent as I’d expected. The space was packed full of colors and people. Friends gathered in the corners and along the walls, talking and laughing. Some traded stories about my grandparents or the orchard. Others shared snacks from a makeshift buffet. Pizzas, fried chicken, and potatoes had been delivered from Granny’s favorite joint and set up on the empty bed across from Granny. Helium balloons skated over the ceiling, caught in a current of heat from the overhead vents. Dozens of brightly colored messages like GET WELL SOON! and FEEL BETTER FAST! were taped to the wall above her bed and signed by dozens of well-wishers. The nightstand and windowsill were heavy with flowers. My heart was heavy with thanks.
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