by Wendy Tyson
“What are you doing?” Megan asked. “Irene, be reasonable.”
“Now.” Irene clicked off the safety. “Please.”
Denver placed Emily back on the blanket. Megan backed up so that she was behind the first pillar, her back to the rear of the barn. She tried to catch Denver’s eye, but his attention was focused on Emily. It was hard to tell if Emily was still breathing.
“Ye may have a dead woman here,” Denver said to Irene. “Do you want that on your conscience?”
“Give me your phones,” Irene said. Her voice was low but commanding.
Megan slid her phone across the concrete floor. Denver did the same. Still looking at them, gun cocked, Irene picked up the phones. She backed up slowly toward the door, the shotgun pointed first at Denver, then Megan.
She slammed the door shut without another word. Megan could hear a chain rattle, the clink as a new lock fell into place.
“She’s not going to make it, Megan. Not if we don’t do something.” Denver had his finger on Emily’s neck, feeling for a pulse. “Her breathing is shallow and labored. I think they gave her a horse tranquilizer, or something like it. Too much maybe.” His voice was calm, but Megan could hear the underlying urgency.
Megan glanced around, searching for an escape. Beyond the pillar, on the other side of the building, stood a high shallow row of windows.
Megan said, “If you can help me get up there, I can get through. I’ll run down the road to your car and get help.”
Denver shook his head. “Not alone. I’ll go.”
“You need to stay with Emily. I’m useless in a medical situation. Plus, I don’t think you’ll fit through the windows.”
After a moment, Denver nodded. She was right and he knew it. What choice did they have?
“Here.” Denver pulled his sweater off and handed it to Megan, leaving him in a t-shirt in the frigid barn. “Use it to cover your fist.”
Denver knelt down and Megan climbed on his shoulders. His height made her eye level to the windows.
“Close your eyes,” she said. She did the same, and shot her hand through the window, protected by the sweater. Glass shattered, and the sound echoed off the cavernous walls. Megan tensed, expecting Irene to come plowing back in any moment. She used the sweater to pull out the biggest shards, trying to smooth the bottom sill so she could get through, her heart careening beneath her ribcage.
Denver glanced at Emily, whose chest was still. “Hurry,” he said, his accent thick.
He knelt down again. Megan slid back to the floor. This time she climbed up with her feet planted squarely on Denver’s shoulders.
“Now,” she whispered. He heaved up and she pulled herself through the window. “A little more.”
Denver stood straighter, pushing Megan’s legs up with his hands and arms. Bits of glass sliced into Megan’s arms and abdomen. She felt something wet drip down her forehead.
“Are you okay?” Denver’s voice was a strained whisper.
“I’m fine. One more push.”
Denver shoved her gently through the window. She slid down the smooth wood barn exterior, landing on her hip and right shoulder on the other side. Her head slammed into the barn siding. Quickly she stood up, ascertaining the damage. No broken limbs—just cuts and scrapes. She gulped in the cold fresh air, grateful to be out and alive.
Megan glanced around, trying to get her bearings. She could see a form in the distance, moving stealthily through the darkened property. Irene. Megan weighed her options. Head to their house and look for Lily? But if Glen was there, she’d be in trouble—and then they’d lose Lily, Emily, and Denver. Or go after Irene? Irene was broad and stocky, strong from her work on the farm. But she was also twenty-five years older. And she had Megan’s phone. Without it, Megan would lose valuable time driving into town. Megan took off after Irene, determined to get the key, the gun, and their phones. She needed to call for an ambulance or Emily was going to die.
Irene stopped at a shed outside the cow barn. Megan could hear the cows inside, mooing and moaning. The sour smell of manure permeated the air. A door slammed, and Irene disappeared inside the shed. Megan took advantage of the lull, running and tripping through the path. She had trouble seeing out of her left eye. She swiped it. Red liquid stained the sleeve of her sweater.
The shed door opened again. Irene came out, only this time she was carrying the gun and something else. A few more steps and Megan could make out what it was: a gas can.
She was going to light the barn on fire.
With Emily and Denver inside.
Megan’s head was pounding, her throat felt raw. She forced herself to take a step forward, then another, quietly closing the gap between her and Irene Sauer. Not quietly enough.
Irene froze. She looked around, then lifted the gun, deciding where to point it. Megan tried to hide in the shadows of the cow barn. Too late. Irene’s gaze latched onto Megan and she began to rush forward, gun aimed at Megan’s head. There was no time to think. Megan ran toward Irene. With a loud grunt she threw all of her weight at the older woman. Irene went down hard. The shotgun flew from her hand. The gas can tumbled to the cement.
Megan felt anger rage through her. She pushed Irene’s face into the ground, making no effort to be gentle. With her weight centered on Irene, she reached for the gun with her foot, nudging it closer until she could grab the weapon. She pointed the muzzle against Irene’s skull. Irene moaned.
“Don’t move,” Megan hissed. “Where’s Glen?”
“In town.”
Unsure whether to believe her, Megan felt Irene’s pockets for the phones. Her mind flashed to Emily—and Emily’s missing daughter.
“Where’s the baby, Irene?” When the woman didn’t answer, she pushed her harder against the ground. “Where is Lily?”
“In the house.”
Megan couldn’t very well get up with Irene under her. Her mind waded through encroaching haze, determining its next step. She needed to call the police, but the gun weighed so heavily in her hands. Something buzzed in the distance. It took Megan a moment to realize the sounds she heard were sirens. Not near enough, but quickly closing in.
The ambulance seemed to take forever to get to the hospital. They’d needed backups—three in all. One for Emily and Lily, one for Irene, and a third for Megan. Megan was released into Denver’s care after ninety minutes. From there she headed to the police station, where she gave Bobby King her statement.
“How’s Emily?” Megan asked. “Will she be all right?”
Bobby’s face swam before her. “You have a concussion,” the doctor had said. From the expression on King’s face, she still looked a mess.
“Emily,” Megan repeated, “and the baby. How are they?”
“Lily was in the house. She was fine. But Emily?” King shook his head. “Lucky Denver was there.” King stopped talking. He was tight-lipped and solemn. Megan didn’t think Emily Kuhl was all right at all.
Thirty-Six
The apple-picking finale was moved to the next week out of respect for the victims. It was less a celebration than a day of fellowship and atonement. The crowds of tourists had dissipated, scared off, perhaps, by Winsome’s fifteen minutes of fame on the evening news. Whatever the reason, Diamond Farm hosted a more temperate affair, with clusters of Winsome residents talking, drinking apple cider, and inevitably discussing what had happened.
Megan, Bibi, and Lily were there with Denver. Emily had made it through the night thanks to Denver’s quick actions, although she would need a week to recuperate. She was staying at the farm, where Clay and Porter were available if she needed help. For her part, Megan was recovering nicely. She had stitches on her stomach, arm, and forehead, but the fogginess in her head had cleared. She stood by Denver with a glass of spiced cider in one hand and the handle of Lily’s stroller in the other.
“Good to see
you,” King said to Megan. He was there with Clover, as much to let the townsfolk know things were okay as to enjoy the gathering. “You look much better than you did when I last saw you.”
Megan smiled. “I bet.”
“Thank you,” King said. “For quick thinking. Things could have turned out much worse.”
“I’m afraid we ruined the chili cook-off.”
“Ophelia will never forgive you.” King smiled. “Although she’s dealing with her own legal issues, so I wouldn’t expect many complaints from her right now.”
“Jenner?” Bibi asked.
“Finally came clean—after we confirmed that he’d been in Winsome when I spoke to him after Otto’s death. Not near Philadelphia as he claimed.”
“The sweater vest?” Megan asked. “That always bothered me.”
“Otto was carrying a recording device in the pocket. Jenner ripped the sweater and the device off Otto, they tussled, and Otto fell. It really was an accident—Otto’s death, at least.”
“Jenner was trying to keep Otto quiet?”
King nodded.
“Otto was angry when Ted finally convinced him of what Jenner was doing, how Jenner used Oktoberfest to up the price of the development. Jenner was the promoter, as you thought, and he figured he could get top dollar for matchmaking the deal if Winsome looked like the quintessential small, safe American town, and the Sauer farm was a sought-after provider.”
“Ironic,” Bibi said. “And Otto threatened to go public.”
King nodded.
Megan said, “So he wasn’t having an affair with Ophelia? All those emails and meetings were about this.”
“Yes. Ophelia shared her role. The committee had no idea she was Jenner’s sister-in-law. The threat of jail time is a great truth serum. At first Otto was trying to find out if Ted was telling the truth about the development plan. Then he confronted Ophelia—and Jenner got involved. They offered to buy him out. He refused. The meeting at the solar farm was a last-ditch effort to convince Otto, only Otto had other ideas.”
“And his loyalty to Winsome killed him,” Bibi said.
Denver, whose gaze had fallen on a group of Winsome residents pulling a wagon loaded with Granny Smith apples, turned his attention to King. Denver had fared better than Emily or Megan—but his haunted expression said he hadn’t gone unscathed.
Denver said, “Irene Sauer. I never would have guessed—until I realized the horse tranquilizer she used on Emily was probably what was used to overpower Ted.”
King nodded.
“You’re right. We finally got the toxicology reports. They showed that Ted had been drugged, then the fatal peanut oil injected. It was meant to look like an accident. Irene is denying it, but even her husband seems to believe she did it.”
“Glen wasn’t involved?” Bibi asked.
“We think Irene acted alone. She wanted this for Glen. For their retirement. It was too much money to let slip away. When Glen told her that Ted was making noise, she acted.”
“She’s a big woman. Built the way she is, used to hauling feed and tending livestock, she could have dragged Teddy.” Bibi frowned. “Farming can be a thankless profession, especially in today’s world. I never much liked the woman, but I never saw her capable of this.”
Denver said, “Irene should have known that the toxicology tests would turn up the drugs.”
King crossed his arms across his chest. “She gave him just enough tranquilizer to subdue him—helped along by the alcohol. She took him to the shed—and that’s where she injected the oil. She wanted it to look like he accidentally consumed peanuts. Drunk, running from his problems. She figured we’d look no further.”
Megan thought of something. “The bad reviews. It was Irene, wasn’t it, who smeared his name online. She wanted Ted to leave town.”
King agreed. “We think so. But that will have to play out in court. Unless the woman decides to confess.”
Megan was relieved to know that both Ted’s and Otto’s deaths were finally explainable. Horrid—but with answers. “Still…the way Irene burned the car, her willingness to burn down the chicken barn with people inside.” Megan squeezed Denver’s hand. He squeezed back. “Pretty cold-blooded acts.”
“Irene did what she felt she needed to do under the circumstances,” King said. “She’d followed a slippery slope and there was no climbing back up. Right or wrong, she thought she was making the right choices.”
Where had Megan heard those words before? She glanced up at the trees, thinking about family and choices and treasures that would stay buried—for now. Birds called overhead. It was a perfect fall day, the cool air laced with the sweet smell of fermenting apples. Lily cooed in her stroller, and Megan knelt down to adjust her blankets. When she looked up again, she saw her Aunt Sarah across the orchard, talking to the older man Megan had seen eons ago sitting alone in the café. Megan watched the two of them—her tall, long-legged body and his broad shoulders and thick gray hair.
“The only thing I wish we could have solved was your mountain stalker,” King was saying. “Never did figure that out.”
“Speaking of stalkers, when Megan and Denver were at the Sauer farm, who called the police and for an ambulance?” Bibi asked. “Megan said it wasn’t her or Denver.”
A shadow passed over King’s features. “That’s a mystery too.”
“Well, the only good news is that the development won’t go through,” Bibi said. “With Jenner in trouble and the Sauer farm sullied by Irene’s actions, the buyers walked away.”
“Could happen again,” Denver said. “Just a matter of time.”
But by now, Megan wasn’t listening. Gaze on Aunt Sarah, she dialed Clay’s cell. She had a favor to ask of him. And he agreed immediately.
Thirty-Seven
The man was standing by the farthest field, near the horse pasture. Mark’s newest horse, the rescue with the lame leg, was outside, nibbling at grass by the fence. The horse looked well now, a white bandage on his left front leg the only indication of prior trouble. Megan watched the man watch the horse. She saw the tilt of the man’s head, the breadth of his shoulders. She recognized others in the set of his jaw.
She approached quietly. “I have something of yours.”
The man spun around. He seemed neither surprised nor happy to see her. Megan held out the knife. “I think this belongs to you.”
“How did you know?”
Megan pointed to his hands, which held a universe of tiny burn scars. “Tell-tale sign of a knife maker.”
He nodded. He had a broad face, clear skin, and deep-set green eyes. His nose was a little too big, and his tufty hair created a salty halo around his head. He was fit, if a little thick around the middle. Tall, broad, with the shoulders of a lumberjack.
“I guess I should thank you. For calling the police and summoning that ambulance Friday night.”
A slight nod was his only reaction.
Megan stood there, wanting to say more. She knew he’d been the one in the woods. That he’d been squatting in the trailer on the Kuhls’ property. That he may have saved Emily’s life with a call to the authorities. She said none of these things, however. But she didn’t leave. She let the silence press against them, trapping them in an awkward bubble.
Until a dog barked, then whined. Clay came running through the field, startling the horse. He held Sammy’s leash, and the dog pulled him toward the man, tail swinging back and forth in mad little circles.
“Nora,” the man said. A smile crept over his face. Megan recognized the smile as her own.
Clay questioned Megan with his eyes. She simply nodded. When Clay handed the man the leash, Megan turned to leave.
The man made no attempt to stop her.
Nearly two weeks had passed since the incident at Sauer farm, and Megan finally had the courage to stop by Sarah’s cottage.
The autumn leaves had mostly fallen, and brilliant hues had given way to mud browns. Her aunt was outside, raking the remaining leaves with an oversized rake. She stopped when she saw Megan and put down the tool.
“Come in for tea,” Aunt Sarah said. “And a story.”
Megan followed her aunt inside. Once settled in a chair in Sarah’s kitchen, she had misgivings—she shouldn’t have come. But it was too late for that.
“He was a hard-edged man,” Sarah said. She was standing by the stove, waiting patiently for the water to boil, her back blessedly to Megan. “Poor, earning only what he could by doing odd jobs. His daughter was his pride and joy. His wife, an obedient little thing, didn’t understand her demanding husband or her wild-eyed child. She just attended church and thought things would turn out fine if she followed the rules.”
“Aunt Sarah—”
“One day he found out his daughter was pregnant. He couldn’t imagine a bigger disgrace. Even more, he couldn’t imagine a more bitter disappointment. He’d done what he could to make sure she had a better life than he’d had. He’d had her schooled, had her attend church, made all of the little sacrifices a parent makes for a child. And here she was, throwing it all away on a farmer’s son from Winsome.”
The whistle blew on the tea kettle and Sarah paused while she poured. When she turned to give Megan her cup, her eyes were misty. “He threatened to beat her within an inch of her life. Told her there’d be worse things coming if she didn’t get married.” Sarah put up a hand. “Before you say anything, know that your mother loved Eddie. Your mother loved him—and you—as well as a confused teenager could. But she had four adults telling her what to do, and she did it.”
“Marrying my father.”
Sarah nodded.
“Did Bibi know?”
Sarah sat across from Megan. Her face, so full and rich with character, contorted into a mask of pain. “Yes.”
“She knew my mother was forced to marry my dad and she went along with it?”