Death of a Bad Apple (10 page)

Next, I remembered one of the tips about listening for clues. I listened for a few seconds and thought I heard muffled sounds of cars but couldn't be sure where they were coming from. The hay bales must have created some kind of acoustic barrier.

Finally I decided I'd keep turning right, a trick I'd learned in Girl Scouts while doing outdoor orienteering. I'd forgotten the logic in that, but I didn't have a lot of other options, other than cheating and using my GPS, and I refused to do that. I wanted to beat Jake, fair and square—or I'd never hear the end of it.

After a few more minutes, I noticed I was straining to see the bits of hay I was tying into knots. It was getting dark. I switched on my cell phone flashlight
and it flickered. I checked the battery. Only ten percent left. Great. Maybe it was time to whip off my bra and wave it around like a sailor lost at sea.

Two little kids ran past me. They'd come out of nowhere and disappeared just as fast. Punks.

“Hey, kids! Wait up!” I called, running after them. I turned a corner, thinking I heard them, but there was no one in sight.

I was alone.

It was getting dark.

And I didn't have a clue how to get out of this maze.

That was when I smelled smoke.

Oh my God! Smoke!

The hay maze was on fire! And I was trapped like a rat with no clue how to find the exit. I did what anybody inside a flammable tinderbox would do—I screamed.

“Jake! Jake!”

I thought I heard my name being called, but I couldn't be sure. The hay bales seemed to muffle all sound. Trying not to panic, I pulled out my phone, saw I only had ten percent battery life left, and did exactly what the rules told me not to do—I called 911.

“Nine-one-one,” the calm operator said.

I didn't have much time left on the phone.

“I'm trapped inside a hay maze!” I sputtered, not thinking straight.

“I'm sorry, but we don't handle those calls
anymore,” the operator said. “You'll have to call the maze operator and have someone locate you.”

“Wait! No! The maze is on fire! And I can't find my way out.”

“The maze is on fire?”

The female operator didn't sound at all convinced. I wondered how many crank calls she'd gotten that were similar.

“Yes! I'm at the A-MAZE-ing Scarecrow Maze at the Apple Festival. Please, can you send someone? There are other people in here too. A group of teenagers. Some little kids!”

And Jake.

The smell of smoke was growing stronger. I wondered how close it was to me. These hay bales could go up in flames in a matter of minutes if not seconds.

“Hello?” I said, when there was no response from the operator. “Are you there?”

“Please hold,” the operator said.

She was putting me on hold!

And then my cell phone went dead. So much for using GPS now.

I stuffed my useless phone in my pocket and started rushing through the twisting and turning maze as fast as I could, hoping I'd stumble onto a way out.

“Jake!” I screamed after each corner I turned.

No response.

I kept running and screaming.

And then I thought I heard something. Sirens.

Thank God!

I was surrounded by walls of dry hay, ready to go up like a giant match. But would the firefighters be able to reach all of us in here in time?

The sirens grew louder.

“I'm in here!” I screamed, jumping up in hopes someone might see the top of my head bouncing up and down, but it was hopeless. These bales were stacked at least eight feet tall. There was only one thing left to do.

I unhooked my bra, slithered out of it, and began waving it over my head like a marooned castaway on a deserted island. I had no idea if anyone would see it, but I couldn't just wait inside the maze for the flames to lick my feet. I kept running around corners, waving my bra, praying I wasn't going in circles, praying I would find the exit soon—or that someone would find me.

Frantic, I turned a corner—and ran smack into Jake.

“Jake! Oh, thank God!” I said, embracing him briefly. “We've got to get out of here. The maze is on fire—”

“Calm down, Darcy. It's okay. We're safe,” he said, holding me tight.

I broke loose. “No, we've got to get out. And make sure all those kids are out! Who knows how long it will take the firefighters to put out the fire?”

“The maze isn't on fire,” he said calmly. “We're all right. Everybody's all right.”

I frowned at him, not comprehending his words.
“What do you mean? What about the smoke? The sirens? I don't understand.”

“There was a fire. It's out now. But it wasn't the maze.”

I stared at him. “How do you know?”

“I've been out of the maze for about fifteen minutes, waiting for you,” he said, taking me by the hand and leading me down a narrow path. “When I smelled the smoke, my first thought was the maze too, but then I saw it was coming from another part of the festival area. I called nine-one-one and reported it, just in case no one else did. They got here in minutes and were able to put it out quickly.”

“Anyone hurt?” I said, following his lead through the twisting maze.

“No, everyone's fine.”

“Thank God.” I stopped suddenly and looked at Jake. “Wait a minute. You've been out of the maze for
fifteen
minutes! While I was lost inside here this whole time, you found your way out and you've been
waiting
for me?”

He shrugged and led me on, turning and twisting confidently, as if he'd laid out the maze himself. “What can I say? I've got some kind of innate sense of direction. Most men do.”

“Are you seriously saying men don't ask for directions because they don't
need
to? That's ridiculous!”

He shrugged.

He led me around another corner and stopped.

I looked up. There was the exit sign, right in front of my hot, sweaty face.

Jake knew better than to say anything, but he grinned and shrugged, as if he'd just gotten lucky.

“How did you
do
that?” I asked, amazed and irritated at the same time.

“Like I said, I was born with it.”

I glared at him. “So you knew you had an advantage all along and made a bet with me anyway?”

“Yep,” he said simply.

I shook my head. “Not fair.”

“Sore loser?”

“Never! What are you going to make me do now that you've won?”

“I'll let you know,” he said. “By the way, why are you carrying your bra?”

I felt my face fill with heat. Crap. I quickly wadded the undergarment into a ball and stuffed it into my jacket pocket. “Never mind,” I said.

He tried to suppress a smile, but it didn't work. To make matters worse, he raised a naughty eyebrow.

“Oh, stop! Let's go find out about that fire. It's the fourth one so far—the third in two days. You said no one was hurt.”

“Everyone's safe,” he said.

I turned to him. “How do you know?”

“When I saw where it was coming from, I ran over
to see if I could help, but the firefighters arrived and got it under control.”

“Where was it?” I asked.

We exited. Jake took my hand and led me to over to the area that housed the food and craft tents. It looked as though one of the tents had caught fire, burning the canvas off the steel frame and leaving the vendor's table blackened and scorched and the area around it water-soaked.

“Oh no!” I said when I realized it was the Wise Apple Winery tent. “Where are Crystal and Tiffany?”

Jake pointed in the direction of some people who had gathered around to gawk at the spectacle. I spotted Crystal talking to one of the firefighters, her daughter standing silently beside her.

I looked at Jake. “Does Crystal know what happened?”

Jake shrugged.

“The firefighters?”

He shook his head.

I couldn't help wondering if this fire was deliberately set.

I glanced around. Some distance away, standing in the shadows and watching the scene, was Nathan Chapman.

•   •   •

Somebody called my name. I turned around to see what looked like two big kids on electric scooters coming right toward me. One was short and petite and had a big smile on her face. The other one was a
guy, tall and hunched over the handlebars. They both wore black helmets.

“Oh no,” I said under my breath. Jake grinned at the spectacle that was Aunt Abby and Dillon. They looked absolutely ridiculous.

“What are you
doing
?” I asked my aunt as she came to a halt a foot away from me. Dillon did a figure eight around me before coming to a stop. They were smiling like oversize school children playing hooky.

“Riding electric scooters,” Aunt Abby said proudly as she stepped off and tapped the kickstand with her foot. “It's fun! And great exercise.”

Exercise?

“Where did you get them?” I glanced around for a vendor who was crazy enough to rent these two people any kind of vehicle.

She pointed behind her, but tents blocked my view of anything but more tents.

“It's a place called Scoot! You can rent these Razor electric scooters by the hour and they have these paved and dirt tracks you can ride on.”

“Wanna try, Darcy?” Dillon asked me. He had a smirk on his face.

“Uh, no, thanks. I've had enough excitement for one day.”

“You talking about the fire?” Dillon asked. “Yeah, we saw the smoke. That's why we rode over. What's up?”

“Aren't you supposed to stay on the designated path?” I asked.

“If you rent them, yes,” Aunt Abby said, “but we were having so much fun, we bought these.”

I blinked. “You
bought
those? You can't be serious!”

“Why not?” Dillon said. “They're awesome. They go up to fifteen miles an hour. And we can use them to tool around Fort Mason, Golden Gate Park, a bunch of places.”

My relatives were both nuts.

“So, what's up with the fire?” Dillon asked again, gazing in the direction of the scorched tent.

I looked at Jake, praying he wouldn't tell him my side of the story—being lost in the maze, certain I was about to be incinerated, braless.

“Uh, apparently the Wise Apple Winery tent caught on fire somehow,” I answered before Jake could rat me out. “We were just about to see if we could find out anything.”

“Seems kinda hinky,” Dillon said. “Isn't this, like, the tenth fire in Apple Hill? This place is jinxed.”

“The fourth,” I corrected him. “But that's not all,” I continued. “The tent that burned—the Wise Apple Winery? It's owned by Crystal Cortland.”

“Who's that?” Aunt Abby asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Remember the fire yesterday at Red Cortland's, Honey's friend?”

She nodded.

“Remember the two women who arrived a few minutes later?”

“The older blonde and the younger brunette? I
remember,” Aunt Abby said, and then it dawned on her. “Oh! She's Honey's boyfriend's ex-wife.”

I nodded. “And it's her tent that caught on fire.”

Aunt Abby frowned as she processed the information. “That's odd. Honey's storage building catches on fire. Her boyfriend's barn burns down. Now the ex-wife has a fire. Plus, wasn't there another fire before all this? It seems coincidental even for a small town like this.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I said. “Luckily no one's been hurt—or killed. It looks like Crystal and her daughter, Tiffany, managed to escape. They're standing over there—” I turned around to indicate where we'd seen them talking to the firefighter, but Crystal was now talking to the guy who'd alerted her to the fire at Red's.

“Oh yeah,” Aunt Abby said. “What's his name again?”

“Adam something,” Jake answered. “He owns the Adam's Apples Farm and heads up the American Apple Association.”

How did Jake remember these things? I guess, being a former attorney, he had a knack for storing details and pulling them out as needed. No doubt a handy tool when in court. Being a journalist, I had to write things down so my information would be accurate—and I wouldn't forget it all.

“Nice-looking man, for his age,” Aunt Abby said. “And isn't that the woman who's staying at the inn?”

I turned again to see Paula Hayashi standing a few feet away from the trio. She was holding up her
camera and taking pictures. I wondered what her photos would have to do with the story Roman Gold was working on. And why she was still in Apple Hill when the journalist she'd been working with was dead. Was someone else coming to finish the assignment? The story couldn't have been that important. Could it?

Or had it turned into a different kind of story?

“Well, we've got to load these scooters into the bus and get back to the inn,” Aunt Abby said. “I've got a bunch more tarts to make for tomorrow.”

“I'm starving!” Dillon whined. “Can't we eat first?”

Aunt Abby looked at me. Uh-oh. I knew what she was about to ask.

“So,” she said, “where are you two going for dinner? Maybe we'll join you, if you don't mind.”

I forced a smile. It wasn't that I didn't want to dine with my aunt. I was just hoping to have a romantic dinner with Jake to celebrate his birthday, but she seemed oblivious of that. Oh well, that could wait until tomorrow for his official birthday.

“Uh, great,” I managed to say. I looked at Jake. “Where's that place you mentioned?”

“It's called the Peel and the Core,” Jake said. “It's back a few miles on the highway. We passed it on the drive up.”

“How about we meet you there in about fifteen minutes?” I said. There was one more thing I wanted to do before we left the festival area. As Aunt Abby and Dillon hopped back onto their Razor Scooters
and rode them the few yards to the school bus, I headed for Crystal and Tiffany, who were still talking to Adam. Paula stood on the sidelines—listening? I wondered.

“Where are you going?” Jake called to me.

“I'll be right back,” I answered. “I just want to ask Crystal a question.”

“Okay,” he said. “I'll meet you at my truck. Try not to get lost.”

“Very funny,” I called back. Not.

I sidled up to Crystal, waiting for a break in her conversation with Adam.

“Are you all right?” I asked when there was a pause.

Startled, Crystal whirled around. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was just wondering if there was anything I could do,” I offered.

Crystal's eyes narrowed. “You're that food truck girl, right? Staying at Honey's place?”

“Yes. I bought a couple of glasses of wine from you a little while ago. I just thought I'd check and see—”

“We're fine,” Crystal said, cutting me off. “We're not liable for the tent, and my insurance will cover any wine loss. And Adam here has graciously found us another tent for my business. But thank you.”

I turned to Adam. “That was nice of you, Mr. Bramley, right? I guess it pays to be head of the Apple Association.”