Apple Cider Slaying

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  I swallowed the lump in my throat as pride and appreciation for my community stung my eyes.

  “Winnie!” Dot called and the crowd turned, open-armed, toward me.

  I was passed around the room, swaddled in an overindulgence of hugs and vows to assist me at the orchard any way I needed in Granny’s absence. Everyone volunteered to man a game, station, or booth at the winter festival, which they insisted simply had to go on. For Granny.

  Dot handed me a plastic cup of soda, then tapped hers to mine. “I came right over after work. Figured you’d already be here. Everyone else started showing up after that.”

  I gave her another hug, then filled her in on the accident that had kept me from arriving sooner.

  “Goodness.” She pressed a palm to her heart. “That’s awful about Farmer Bentley. That could’ve been you.”

  I rubbed my suddenly tired eyes and sipped the soda. “That’s what Colton said.” And it wasn’t any less nauseating to hear the second time.

  Dot lifted a brow.

  “I ran into him in Winchester.” I rested a hip against the foot of the spare bed and unloaded everything that had been weighing on my heart and mind for a week. I retold the story of my trip to see Dr. Davis, the motivation behind it, my lunch with Colton, Ginny the flirty waitress, and the fact Mrs. Cooper’s son was in town and no one knew exactly when he’d arrived. Then, for no logical reason, I told her about Colton’s hugs.

  She mouthed the words, “Shut. Up.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” I backpedaled. “I was pretty shaken both times, and I’m sure he was just being kind.”

  “He bought you lunch,” she countered. “He didn’t have to do that.”

  “He was being friendly.” Besides, I thought wryly, his lunch had been free, thanks to Ginny who “never charges a man in uniform.”

  “You know he isn’t friendly, right?” Dot asked. “Polite, yes. Friendly, no. Rumor has it he keeps his distance for work purposes. I guess you never know when you might have to arrest your friends if you’re the sheriff. Better not to get too close.”

  “He has friends. Everyone has friends.”

  “Yeah, hunting friends. Fishing buddies. A tailgating crew. But those are all the same handful of guys. All men he grew up with, served in the military with, or met somewhere else. He doesn’t keep a local circle. Some folks think he got burned back in Clarksburg, and he’s being more careful this time. I think it’s probably tough being the new guy in a small town and the sheriff on top of that.”

  I thought of the call he’d rejected from Clarksburg PD today. Had that been one of his friends who’d hurt him? And what about the detective who’d called the other night?

  I watched Dot watching me. “Did you vote for him?” I asked. I hadn’t, but then again, I’d barely looked at the competition. I’d liked Sheriff Hatcher just fine, and he’d been in the position all my life. It seemed almost rude that anyone had run against him.

  “Sure,” Dot said. “I voted for Wise.”

  “Why?”

  “Sheriff Hatcher wanted to retire, and my mama said Colton Wise was a good man. Seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “I didn’t know Sheriff Hatcher wanted to retire. Why did he run again?”

  Dot shrugged. “I think it’s hard for some folks to let go. They think retiring means admitting their purpose is gone. They get their identity so wrapped up in the job title that they don’t know who they are without it. Like when moms have a breakdown because the last kid leaves home.”

  “You’re very wise, Dorothy Summers,” I said, admiring the way she so easily saw past people’s actions to their intentions.

  “Sheriffing was Sheriff Hatcher’s purpose for more than thirty years. It’s no wonder he had a hard time letting that go.”

  “Sheriffing?” I teased.

  “It means ‘to sheriff.’ ”

  I laughed.

  “You want some pizza?” she offered. “Or are you still full from lunch with the mysterious and hunky Sheriff Wise?”

  I lifted my plastic cup. “This Coke is plenty, thank you.” Together, Dot and I welcomed incoming guests, promised nurses we’d keep it down, and hugged folks goodbye as they left.

  Eventually, it was time to go home.

  I dug in my pocket for my keys, a fresh question on my tongue. I considered saving it for later, but I was beginning to realize some things about myself. For one, I wasn’t as long on patience as I’d always imagined myself, and for another, my curiosity rivaled the proverbial cat. “Dot?”

  “Yeah,” she asked as she quietly packed up the leftover food.

  “Colton said he knew who I was before Mrs. Cooper died. He says we met, informally and more than once last year, but I have no memory of it. Do you think that’s strange?” I carried a stack of empty cups to the tiny, overstuffed trashcan and piled them carefully on top.

  Dot gave a sad smile. “Which part? It’s a small town, and you work at a popular diner. You go to school at the local college. You’re out and about a lot, especially last year when you had Hank, who was a needy handful. He’s probably the reason Sheriff Wise never registered on your radar. You missed a lot back then, but you were in love and that’s to be expected.”

  “It shouldn’t be that way. Having a significant other should make us better versions of ourselves, not worse.”

  Dot didn’t argue.

  “I didn’t call you enough,” I said, remembering how much of my time Hank had consumed. When I wasn’t at work, in school, or studying, I was with him, and he liked to do things alone. Just the two of us. No couples’ dates or group events. Just lots of appearances at local parties and hoopla, and even more quiet nights at home. Sometimes I was even with him while I studied. “I was a bad friend.”

  “You were busy,” she allowed, generously. “It’s fine. It happens. Sometimes with guys like Hank, you don’t realize you’ve fallen into a black hole until you climb back out. For the record, I’m glad you’re out.”

  “I learned something about Hank tonight,” I said, the words coming slowly to my tongue. “He drives a truck now and it matches the description of the truck that chased me and caused Farmer Bentley’s accident.” I suddenly understood why I hadn’t seen his BMW in the diner parking lot or outside his sister’s party.

  Dot stilled. Her bright eyes filled with some mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. “Are you sure?”

  I blew out a little breath to steady my nerves. “I know that’s not exactly a smoking gun in a town like ours, or anywhere maybe, but it’s weird, right? And he had an interview with Extra Mobil.”

  Dot paled. She turned to take a seat on the bed.

  Tension weighted the air around us, and I lowered myself into the empty chair at Granny’s bedside. “I told Hank about Farmer Bentley buying up all the land, and now Farmer Bentley might die. What if that’s not a coincidence?”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I jumped. The world seemed to spin back into motion as I looked at the screen. “It’s the bank!”

  I swiped the screen to take the call. “Hello?”

  “Miss Montgomery?” Mr. Sherman asked. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, Mr. Sherman.” I said, smiling like a lunatic at Dot and pointing wildly at the phone. “I was just visiting my granny. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Very well, thank you. I’m calling about your loan application.”

  I listened carefully as papers shuffled across the line.

  “I’m trying to close as many files as possible before the holiday break, and yours seems to be in limbo. I have everything I need except record of a completed interview.”

  “Would you like to reschedule your tour of the Mail Pouch barn?” I asked, obnoxiously overeager. “I’d love to tell you more about my plans. I hear the third time is a charm,” I said.

  Dot’s eyebrows had vanished beneath her bangs.

  “I don’t think so. It’s been a long day for me,” Mr. Sherman answered, “but like I say, I�
��d really like to complete this file and make a decision so we can move on. Maybe you’d like to stop into the bank tomorrow.”

  “Or,” I said, “you could stop by Winterfest on your way home tomorrow night. You might be surprised by what you find.” I crossed my fingers, hoping all those volunteers made good on their offers. “Festival begins at five sharp,” I said, forcing a big smile into my voice.

  He sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll run home to change and have dinner first, then come out to see what all the hoopla is about. How’s seven?”

  “Tomorrow at seven,” I repeated. “I won’t keep you long, and you won’t regret it.”

  “See you then, Miss Montgomery.”

  I disconnected the call, then grabbed Dot’s hands. “I need the names and numbers of everyone who said they’d help out at Winterfest tomorrow. Mr. Sherman is coming!”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A bundle of Granny’s friends arrived with the sun and began setting up the various booths and activities. They came with open hearts, willing hands, and a ton of donations from extra food and holiday decorations to things I hadn’t known I needed until I saw them. Birdie Wilks had even borrowed her husband’s coffee truck and decked it out in holiday lights for the occasion. Volunteers were scheduled to come in waves all day to execute the plans I’d made several nights ago and photocopied today for quick reference. More folks were signed up to man the games and stations throughout the night once the gates opened. Winterfest was shaping up to be ten times the event I’d imagined Granny and I handling together, and I wished more than anything that she could be there to see it.

  I spent the first portion of my day in town picking up supplies. The lists I’d made under extreme sleep deprivation were surprisingly handy since I couldn’t hold a thought in my head beyond the mental countdown to Winterfest. More specifically, the countdown to my meeting with Mr. Sherman, aka the man holding a golden ticket to my dreams.

  I handed out fliers and candy canes on the street as I shuffled through the newly fallen snow, packing purchases into Sally’s back seat and trunk. An unexpected overnight snowfall had blanketed the town in sled tracks, snowmen, and enthusiasm. It was the perfect day for Winterfest. “Hope to see you tonight!” I called to everyone willing to take my brightly colored promotions. If even a third of the folks who’d received a flier or saw the ad in the paper came out for the event, Winterfest would be a rousing success.

  I slid behind the wheel after my last stop and cranked Sally’s heater. I pointed the vents toward my face and kneaded my frozen hands in front of them. My leather driving gloves were stylish and kept me from touching the icy wheel directly, but they were useless for warmth. After a morning of walking around Blossom Valley, carrying packages, and delivering the goods to Sally, my fingertips were numb.

  My phone buzzed with an incoming text from Dot, and I had to peel my gloves off to check the message. She and some fellow park rangers had arranged to come by at lunchtime and transform ten dozen Granny Smith apples into caramel-covered delights. All I had to do was pick up the bags of caramel and various toppings.

  I sent a quick reply.

  Done!

  The toppings were already in my trunk with the other supplies.

  I scrolled through my missed messages while I waited for Sally’s engine to warm up, then played the voicemails. My phone hadn’t stopped ringing with offered donations of time and supplies since I’d announced I needed help. As it turned out, my community didn’t only want to attend Winterfest, they wanted to be a part of it too. By the end of my final voice message, I had a dozen more volunteers for everything from ticket taking to late night cleanup. I returned every call and accepted every offer with gratitude. Normally, my pride would have interfered. I would have insisted everyone just have a good time, make memories, and let me handle the labor, but I couldn’t afford to be prideful tonight. Not when the success of the festival could change my life. I needed Mr. Sherman to see that Smythe Orchard mattered to Blossom Valley, and Granny’s business was something folks could get behind.

  Dot sent another text.

  See you in 20!

  I double-checked the time and felt my first real strike of panic. Time had gotten away from me.

  On my way!

  I tucked my phone into my purse and eased onto the freshly salted road, then headed home with care because not everyone else did. A flurry of mental to-do lists flipped and scrolled in my mind. Sally was stuffed to the gills with supplies, holiday décor, and goodies. I just hoped I’d have time to complete all my personal tasks before the festival began because my first priority tonight was to blow Mr. Sherman’s mind.

  I’d spent the night locked inside the Mail Pouch barn preparing. I’d cleaned, decorated, and spruced everything I could. Then I’d rearranged what was left of the crates, pallets, and giant wooden spools, careful to hide the threat in the floorboards. Tonight, my future cider shop would be off-limits to festivalgoers. I couldn’t risk anyone making a mess, intentional or otherwise, before my private meeting. To be sure the barn stayed in the condition I wanted, I’d roped off a perimeter for the festival, limiting festivities to the large flat acre of land between the parking lot and first rows of trees. Designating and controlling the space would make it easier to find the games and food stations, mingle with friends, and keep track of children, not to mention improve the speed and ease of cleanup.

  My big fancy plans at the barn were exclusively for the banker’s benefit.

  According to the list I’d written nights ago, I needed the basics for a festive table setting so I could give Mr. Sherman the full cider shop experience, if he ever came back. Now that he was definitely returning I’d gotten overexcited and significantly carried away.

  I’d started my morning in search of a nice table cover and place setting at the general store and wound up at the hardware store pursuing an open box sale on light fixtures. I fell in love with several coordinating pieces and on my way to the register, I bought a mass of assorted shiplap for forty percent off. It wasn’t like me to shop at all, but happening upon the sales felt serendipitous, and who was I to argue with fate?

  Sally and I crawled up the gravel lane nearly an hour later, careful not to bottom out or lose her load. My heart sped as I took in the massive visual changes to our property. I’d only been gone four hours, but it was an utter transformation. The crew of enthusiastic volunteers had added blue lights to the white perimeter fence and giant red bows to the posts, then saturated every horizontal object in sight with garland and twinkle lights. Helpers waved from all over the property, welcoming me home.

  I felt my chest tighten with gratitude. Enormous sparkling ornaments hung on the snow-dusted limbs of our most visible trees. More lights wrapped their trunks and illuminated key paths from station to station throughout the designated festival zone. A small sled ramp had been arranged near the fruit stand, populated with a hodgepodge of borrowed sleds and mounds of snow likely removed from the fully cleared parking area. I kept driving until I made it to the Mail Pouch barn to unload my impromptu purchases.

  I’d fully intended to meet Dot in twenty minutes after our texts, but I saw an estate sale on the way and had to stop. The darling table and chairs set supporting the sale sign near the road was perfect for my night’s agenda, and I knew it would be gone if I waited. When I stopped to make an offer, the seller gave me an unbelievable deal, a second set to go with the first, and even offered to deliver them both. By the time I left with all my newfound treasures, Sally was bursting at the seams. I’d had to bust out the bungee cords to keep her trunk from spilling my things all over the road.

  I moved at double speed, getting the barn doors so I could apologize to Dot before she killed me. She’d only had an hour for lunch, and it had been that long since I’d said I was on my way.

  “What’s all this?” Dot’s voice cracked on the crisp winter air.

  I spun around, busted, and guilt wrinkled my nose. “I’m so sorry. I never shop, and I could
n’t stop. I got carried away. Are you mad? Please don’t be mad.”

  She shook her head. “I went through Granny’s pantry and found everything we needed to finish seven dozen apples. The other rangers went back to work about ten minutes ago. They’re covering me the rest of the day so I can stay and help.”

  My shoulders sank. “I’m sorry I missed them. What an awful impression.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “At least you made time to buy all this old dusty junk, am I right?” She eyeballed my overflowing car suspiciously. “You’ve got a real The Beverly Hillbillies situation going on here.”

  She was right. All I needed was a rocker and a granny on Sally’s roof and the vision would be complete.

  “Help me carry it all inside?” I asked.

  Together, we moved boxes of milk glass teacups, saucers, and bowls. Bags of handmade aprons, table runners, and placemats. Vintage serving trays, pitchers, horseshoes, and more. I’d even found a box of framed photos from Blossom Valley older than the barn. The estate sale had been a very successful stop for me. In the end, I had a hand-selected hodgepodge of pieces that coordinated just enough to be quirky and endearing. Kind of like me.

  The tables were delivered before we finished unloading Sally. I thanked the man enthusiastically and invited him to return for the festival. Warm cider on the house.