Death of a Bad Apple (13 page)

Wes sat down. “Well, it's out of my jurisdiction, but if you need any help, Murph, I'm happy to do what I can while I'm here.”

“You stopped off there?” Aunt Abby asked the detective.

“Common courtesy,” Detective Shelton explained. “I don't want to step on any toes. I'm just here for a weekend vacation.”

“Hey, you're always welcome here,” Sheriff O'Neil said. “And this murder case is a real puzzler. So far we don't have many leads other than the weapon and opportunity.”

Honey bowed her head, as if sensing the sheriff might be referring to her. After all, it was her so-called weapon and she certainly had plenty of opportunity. She lifted the bottle of wine from the coffee table and poured herself another glass.

“So, fill me in,” the detective said after taking a small sip.

Aunt Abby and Honey took turns sharing the details with Detective Shelton, although I had a feeling he'd already learned most of the information from Sheriff O'Neil.

When they were done, Aunt Abby asked, “So, what do you think, Wes? Any hunches?”

He raised an eyebrow. “So, Dillon, you said Roman Gold was hiding something?”

Dillon took in a breath and was about to answer when the sheriff sucked the wind out of his sails with two words: “Reuben Gottfried. Yeah, we know.”

Dillon frowned.

Detective Shelton steepled his fingertips. “So, the CEO of this mutant apple company is murdered—with an apple corer, no less. The killer knew where to find the weapon
and
the key to Gold-slash-Gottfried's room. Then the killer went upstairs and stabbed him without any of you hearing anything, leaving you to find the body the next morning. Have I got that right?”

We all nodded silently. Somehow the detective had managed to make us all sound like accomplices for being sound asleep at the time of the murder.

“And these fires,” he continued. “You think they might be related?”

“I'm sure of it,” Honey said. “Those GMO people are targeting us apple growers, so they must think setting fires to our places will intimidate us.”

“Then why would someone murder the CEO of the company?” Detective Shelton asked.

“Because one of the farmers found out he set the fires and killed him,” Honey said.

“Wasn't the latest fire at the festival tent set after Gottfried was killed?” Detective Shelton asked. “Wouldn't that indicate the CEO wasn't the fire-starter?”

There was silence among us.

“Just spitballing here,” Jake said, “but what if Roman or Reuben or whoever he is and Eden Corporation was in competition with another GMO company for the land up here? Maybe someone from that company knew what Roman was up to and decided to eliminate the head of Eden.”

Detective Shelton turned to the sheriff. “Got any leads on other companies in this area competing with this Eden Corp?”

“Not that I know of,” he said, “but I'll check.”

More silence as we sipped our wines.

“Maybe,” Honey said quietly, “someone who doesn't like me is trying to make it look like I
murdered my own guest in my own house with my own weapon.”

Detective Shelton's eyebrows rose. “Do you have any enemies, Ms. Smith?”

She looked at Sheriff O'Neil, as if he might know of some, then shrugged. “I don't think so. I've never done anything bad enough to cause someone to do this.”

Sheriff O'Neil cleared his throat and then said, “Maybe the fires aren't related to the murder at all. Maybe we're dealing with two separate crimes here—murder and arson. Someone murdered the CEO of a GMO company. Someone else set the fires in the area.”

“Seems awfully coincidental,” I said. “If we can find a connection between the two, I think we can find both the murderer and the firebug.”

The front door of the bed-and-breakfast suddenly swung open. Everyone turned to see who had entered.

In stepped Paula Hayashi, followed by Adam Bramley. One from each camp, I thought. Paula represented the GMO company, while Adam was head of the American Apple Association. How had they become so chummy?

The smiles faded from Paula's and Adam's faces when they turned and found us all staring at them.

“Wow,” Paula said, removing her coat. “This is just like an Agatha Christie mystery with all of you gathered in the proverbial parlor.” She looked at the sheriff. “I'll bet you're playing the part of Hercule Poirot in this potboiler?” Then she turned to Detective
Shelton. “But who are you supposed to be? Miss Marple's alter ego?”

Uh-oh. She didn't know who she was dealing with.

The detective set down his glass and stood up, rising above us like a mountain. His dark, piercing eyes narrowed as he focused on her.

“I'm San Francisco Homicide Detective Wellesley Shelton. And if you're a guest here, I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

Boom, lady! You've been served!

That stopped Paula Hayashi in her high-heeled tracks. Adam Bramley looked as if he wanted to disappear into the wall behind him. The rest of us just enjoyed watching Detective Shelton do his thing.

Sheriff O'Neil gestured toward the parlor. Detective Shelton entered, sat down on the couch that was flanked by the other two couches, then turned around and said, “Have a seat” to Paula and Adam. Adam bowed his head as he made his way inside while Paula hesitated a moment before entering. She glanced at Sheriff O'Neil, then took a seat on the couch on the detective's left while Adam slumped into the couch on the detective's right. Neither Paula nor Adam looked at each other, as if both wanted to distance themselves from the other.

Detective Shelton looked back at the rest of us standing nearby. “Would you all excuse us, please?”

Sheriff O'Neil turned to Honey. “Why don't you wait in the dining room until we're done here? Honey, would you be kind enough to get everyone some coffee?” He pulled the sliding wooden doors to the parlor closed.

Disappointed at not being able to witness his interrogation, I veered to the dining room to wait for news from the interrogation.

“No coffee for me,” Aunt Abby said. “I'm going to bed.” She yawned as she detoured toward the stairs.

I stopped and turned to her. “You're not going to wait up and see what they find out?”

“Wes will tell me . . . later.” She smiled. I knew what that smile meant, and it had nothing to do with what the detective might or might not tell her later.

Dillon started to follow her up.

“Dillon? You too?” I called to him.

He shrugged. “I got a few things I want to check. I'll catch you later.”

I turned to Jake and Honey, who stood in the doorway to the dining room.

Honey sighed. “I'm going to go clean up the kitchen. It's a mess from all my baking. Would you two like some coffee?”

I shook my head, not wanting the caffeine to keep me up. Jake said no and thanked her.

As soon as Honey left, I looked at Jake, still standing at the edge of the room. “Well, I guess it's just you and me.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jake said, then pressed his lips together for a moment. “I'm bushed. What do you say we call it a night? It's been quite a day, and we have to get up early again tomorrow.”

“Seriously? You're abandoning me too? I have to wait down here all by myself?”

Jake took my hands. “First of all, you don't have to wait. I'm sure Detective Shelton will fill us in tomorrow at breakfast. Unless, of course, he can't. And second, aren't you tired? You worked all day in the school bus, then got lost in a hay maze that you thought was on fire. Besides, didn't you grill Paula on the way out of the restaurant and essentially find out nothing? I doubt Paula or Adam will share much with the detective either. There's really nothing more we can do tonight. At least, in terms of solving a murder.” He gave me a sexy grin.

In spite of being disappointed that he wasn't going to hang around for the results of Detective Shelton's inquiry, I melted a little. Maybe he was right. I hadn't slept well the night before, and hoped that night I'd get at least a few hours of uninterrupted z's, although I doubted it. While my body ached for rest, my mind was boiling like a pot of hot apple cider.

Jake nodded toward the stairs and I followed his lead.

“All right, you win. I'm tired too. I just wish I could do something for Honey. She seems depressed about all this, and probably worried about her implication in the murder.”

“Let the cops handle it,” Jake advised. “Sheriff O'Neil seems fairly competent, in spite of being a small-town officer, and you know Detective Shelton is sharp. If Paula or Adam knows something about the murder, the officers will find out—eventually.”

I knew they were capable, but it wouldn't hurt to do a little investigating of my own. “What if there's another murder?” I shivered.

Jake stopped on the second-floor landing. “Darcy, there's no reason to think that. I'm sure Roman Gold was murdered for a reason. Don't go imagining we have a serial killer in our midst. You're perfectly safe here and so are the others. Roman had something to hide and it got him killed.”

I nodded as he unlocked our door and opened it for me.

“I need a shower,” he said once we were inside. “Join me?”

I laughed. “Are you saying I need one too?”

“Nope. Just thought you might like a soapy body massage. I'll even wash your hair.”

I blushed and giggled as we entered the room. “You get the soap; I'll get the shampoo.”

Twenty minutes later we were clean and cuddling in bed. Jake put his arm around me, and I nestled onto his chest. In a manner of seconds I heard regular
sounds of his soft breathing. I envied how easily he could fall asleep.

I lay awake for the next half hour, going over the events of the day, the murder and the fires, and the detective's interest in talking with Paula and Adam. What was up with Tiffany and Nathan? Who killed Roman Gold? Who was setting those fires?

I sighed and began counting my breaths, something I did to help me get to sleep. The answers—if there were any—would have to wait until morning. I just hoped we all woke up and found ourselves alive.

•   •   •

I must have slept like the dead, because I didn't wake up until Jake nudged me. He was already showered, shaved, and dressed. “Breakfast time,” he whispered, and kissed me.

I bolted upright and glanced at the clock. “Why didn't you wake me!” I fluffed my flat hair, rubbed my eyes, and swung my legs out of bed.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you. I figured you needed the sleep.”

“Yeah, but I need breakfast too! And I need to get ready for work. Where are my clothes? My shoes? My hairbrush?” I ran around the room collecting various items necessary to put myself together. “You go on down. Save me a seat and some food. And coffee.”

Jake smiled at my wild-eyed dance of panic. “You sure? I'm happy to wait for you.”

“No! Go! I'll be down in five minutes.”

He arched an eyebrow. Apparently he didn't
believe I could work a miracle in such a short time. I'd show him.

As soon as the door clicked closed, I pulled on yesterday's jeans and a fresh top and slipped on my dusty Toms. I ran a brush through my hair and then scrunched it to trade that “just got out of bed” look for an “I meant to wear it this way” style. As promised, I was down the stairs in five minutes flat. Maybe six.

Aunt Abby, Detective Shelton, Dillon, and Jake were all seated when I arrived at the dining table. Paula was conspicuously missing, plus our hostess. And the dead guy, of course. Honey appeared seconds later from the kitchen with the first breakfast plates. The smell of apple sausage and apple waffles with caramel syrup perfumed the air.

“Good morning, Darcy,” Aunt Abby said as I sat down next to Jake. The others smiled or nodded.

I immediately took a sip of the coffee from one of Honey's dainty porcelain cups. After a good jolt of caffeine, I managed to say, “Good morning, everyone.” I nodded at the empty chair. “Where's Paula? Did you ask her—” Before I could finished my sentence, everyone looked up at the staircase.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Honey tremble as she set down a plate in front of Detective Shelton. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered. “I hope she's all right. Maybe I should check on her—”

We heard a door slam upstairs.

Paula appeared at the landing, dressed in tight black capri pants, a plunging red sweater two sizes too tight for even her, and a long colorful knitted scarf
that hung around her neck like a stole. She stopped when she realized we were all staring at her.

“Ask me what?” she said, making a face as she continued down the steps. “You all look like you've seen a ghost. Did I forget to zip my pants or something?” She laughed, apparently thinking she was funny, then stopped again at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh. . . .wait a minute. You all thought . . . because I was late . . . that I might be dead or something.” She laughed again and seated herself on the other side of Detective Shelton. “Sorry. Not this time.” She smiled at the detective, who ignored her. Aunt Abby, however, caught Paula's flirtatious grin and glared at her.

I decided to provide a distraction before a food fight broke out.

“So, Detective Shelton. How do you like it here in Apple Valley? A nice change from the city?”

Honey reappeared with two more plates, then spotted Paula and frowned. She set the plates down in front of Jake and me and quickly returned to the kitchen.

Detective Shelton shrugged. “Fine if you like peace and quiet. Me, I'm a city guy. I can't sleep unless I hear sirens wailing, horns honking, trucks backing up, and neighbors playing loud music.”

Paula laughed. “Me too,” she said. “Country life bores the hell out of me. I can't wait to get back home and away from all this healthy fresh air.”

Honey brought in plates for Dillon and Paula. After serving them, she sat down, plateless, and sipped her
coffee. “Please begin,” she said, noticing her guests had waited until everyone was served.

“Aren't you having anything, Honey?” Aunt Abby asked. She looked worried for her friend and rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment. “This breakfast is delicious.”

“I don't eat much in the morning,” Honey said. “But I'm glad you're enjoying it. The apples are from my orchard, of course, and the caramel syrup is my own secret recipe. Be sure to pour it on your waffle while it's still hot.”

Dillon and Detective Shelton didn't hold back and dug in as soon as permission was granted. The rest of us savored each bite. All except for Paula, who ignored her plate of food and focused on her coffee.

I wondered what Detective Shelton had learned the previous night, and whether the sheriff had confronted Paula about her real job, but it wasn't the time or place to ask, so I decided to see if I could subtly find out more about her. She'd mentioned “home,” so I thought it would be a good place to start. “So, where is home?”

“Here and there,” she said, adding more sugar to her coffee. “In my work, I travel a lot. You know how it is.”

“In your photojournalism work, you mean?” I asked pointedly.

“Uh, yeah. Always on the go.”

“That's funny,” I said, setting down my fork.
Enough of this charade. “Actually I heard you're in the apple business too.”

“What?” she said, looking at me as if I were crazy.

Honey glanced me, then at Paula.

“No, of course not,” Paula said. “I told you before, I'm here to take pictures for an article. My publisher should be sending another writer down today. What's with the questions?”

Before I could ask another question, there was a rap at the front door. We turned to see Sheriff O'Neil let himself in. Was this a social call? Or business? I wondered.

“Morning, everyone,” he said as he headed toward the dining table. “Sorry to disturb you, but I need to have another word with Ms. Hayashi.”

Paula sighed. “Look, Sheriff, I told you and the cop here everything I know about the murder, which is nothing. This is starting to become harassment. I'm just trying to do my job and you're not making it easy.”

“And what job would that be, Ms. Hayashi?” Sheriff O'Neil asked. “Because you're no photographer, like you told me last night. It's time to cut the crap, lady. You're a vice president at Eden Corporation, something you neglected to mention.”

“You neglected to ask me,” Paula shot back.

I glanced at the sheriff. I wondered if he'd held on to the information last night to see if Paula might reveal something important—or incriminating.

The sheriff bit his lip, as if to keep himself from
speaking in anger, then calmly said, “You realize, Ms. Hayashi, withholding information borders on interference with a police investigation. You could be prosecuted for obstruction of justice.”

Paula threw her coffee spoon down on the table. “We have lawyers for that kind of thing,” she said. “Coming here was my assignment and I was supposed to keep it to myself. Who told you, anyway?”

“I don't name my sources.”

I glanced at Dillon, but he was hunkered down, busy shoveling waffle sections into his mouth. I was certain he was the one who'd somehow tipped the sheriff. Then again, maybe Aunt Abby had told Detective Shelton and he'd shared the information with the sheriff. Or the sheriff figured it out on his own. Either way, the bad apple was out of the bag. I was just surprised it had taken so long.

“Well, you'd better be careful relying on anonymous sources for your information,” Paula snapped. She rose from the table. “That's pretty sketchy police work. I've committed no crime, so if I'm not under arrest, you'll have to excuse me. One of the farmers is showing me the ins and outs of the apple business.”

“I wonder if he'll still be interested in providing all that information once he learns who you really are and who you really work for,” Sheriff O'Neil said.

I thought it was interesting how tenacious the sheriff was being. I figured he would have held back that information until he had more on Paula, but maybe he was baiting her, thinking she might say or do
something incriminating. He was certainly sharper than he looked.

Paula's face reddened even more under her heavy makeup. She licked her lips, as if trying to come up with a response, then threw her napkin down over her coffee mug and stomped out of the room and up the stairs.

I looked at the sheriff. “So, where
did
you get your information?”

The sheriff glanced at Detective Shelton, who cleared his throat but said nothing.

Aunt Abby raised her hand as if she were in grade school. “Um, that would be me.”