A Plain Malice: An Appleseed Creek Mystery (Appleseed Creek Mystery Series Book 4) (22 page)

“What’s wrong with her?”
I asked.

“She’s sad
,” the girl replied.

I touched Timothy’s arm. “I’ll go check on her
, and then we can go to the old Gundy place.”

He nodded but looked as if he wanted to say something.
Ivy’s presence stopped him.

I left the kitchen.
Why did I pick a fight with Timothy like that?
I owed Timothy an apology. I had been on my own since I was fourteen. Yes, the Greens took me in after my father left for California, but I made my own decisions, paid my way through college and graduate school, and chose my own career. No one has taken care of me since my mother died. I didn’t know how to be taken care of. I didn’t want to be taken care of. I wanted to be an equal partner. How did I explain that to Timothy?

He
grew up Amish. For him the idea of the woman paying her own way was foreign.
I bet Hannah would be elated if Timothy did this for her
. I smacked myself on the forehead.

I marched through the lounge and paused
as I spotted Pearl sitting alone in the garden. A door leading to the garden stood open in the corner of the room.

“Pearl?
Are you all right?” I asked.

She turned. Tears streamed from her eyes.

I sat next to her on the garden bench and put my arm around her shoulder.

She wiped at her eyes. “Thank you, Chloe. You are such a dear girl. If I had a daughter, I hope she would be a bit like you.”

I dropped my arm. “Pearl, why did Earl visit you at the hotel?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

A conversation with Earl was long overdue.

Ephraim walked out of the inn and kicked a tuff of grass as he headed in the direction of the river. I chewed on my lip. I didn’t
want to leave Pearl alone when she was so distraught, but I needed to talk to the elusive teenager.

The door between the garden and lounge opened, and Ivy came out with a cup of tea for Pearl.

She held the cup out to Pearl, but the older woman would not take it. “I think I would rather have my tea in my room.”

“I can help you to your room,” Ivy said.

“Thank you, Ivy,” Pearl murmured.

I helped Pearl to her feet, and Ivy led
her back inside the inn. I texted Timothy, “Meet you at the pickup in twenty minutes.” I hoped that was enough time to track down Ephraim before going to the old Gundy farm.

There was a garden path between the inn and river. Tiny white pebbles marked the way. Halfway down the path, I found Cheetos rolling on his back under a Bleeding Heart that was three feet tall. As far as good cat lives go, Cheetos
had hit the jackpot. The path ended at a spiny hedge. I touched the hedge, and the needles of its sharp points pricked my fingertips but not enough to break the skin.

It was yew. Chief Rose had said it was
a common plant in Ohio, so I shouldn’t be surprised there was a yew bush in Jane’s garden. I dropped my hand and the branch sprang back and forth. The tour spent Friday night at the Dutch Inn before going to the Troyer farm the next morning. Anyone on the tour would have had access to the plant and plenty of time to brew a pot of yew tea.

The closer I came to the river, the grass grew thicker and higher,
reaching past my ankles. Ephraim sat on an embankment and tossed stones into the water. He turned and frowned when he saw me standing a few yards away.

I touched the tip of a cattail, and it bobbed back and forth. “This is a beautiful spot.”

“Do you need something, Miss?” he asked.

“I would like to talk to you,” I said.

He scrambled to his feet. “Is something wrong with your stay?”

“No.”

He scooped up the small mound of stones from the ground and waited.

“What were you doing at the Troyer farm yesterday?”
I asked.

“I wasn’t there.”

“I saw you, and Grandfather Zook saw you.”

He
held the stones palm up and clenched his fist around them. One of the stones fell to the ground. “My
mamm
will be upset if she knows I went there. I was supposed to be in the shed mending fishing tackle.”

“Why were you there?”

“I thought I could help out. That’s all.” He tossed the remaining stones into the river. They bounced off a fallen tree before disappearing into the current.

“Help out how?”

He dipped his black felt hat down over his eyes. “Just help out.”

“Were you helping Deacon Sutter?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You were speaking with him last evening.”

“When someone comes to the inn, it’s my job to greet them. There’s nothing more to it than that.” He adjusted his hat back on the crown of his head. “And I don’t have to answer your questions.”

I took a step closer to him.
“Are you close to Ruth or Anna?”

His head snapped in my direction.
“What are you talking about?”

“You seemed interested in them at the Troyer farm yesterday morning.”

He scowled and scooped up more stones. “The Troyers might be fine with you in their business, but I’m not. Leave me alone,
Englischer
.” He threw the stone into the middle of the river and stalked away.

There was definitely something the teen wasn’t telling me
. The question was did it involve the girls or the deacon? I didn’t know which possibility was worse.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Timothy’s truck rocked on the pitted road leading onto the Old Gundy farm. When we had visited the farm last winter, we trudged across a deep field of snow. Now, the spring revealed a road. Timothy gripped the steering wheel, and Mabel whimpered in the tiny backseat of the pickup. “I hope the new owner makes improving this road a top priority.”

I braced myself
as the truck wobbled through another rut. “It’s strange to be back here.” The last time Timothy and I were on the Gundy property was to face down a killer.

I touched Timothy’s necklace under my shirt. The
memories from here weren’t all bad. This was where he’d given me the charms.

The
stand of three pine trees and the old Gundy weathered barn were gone. The only indication either had ever been there were, the patches of hay protecting the newly planted grass. Its absence came as a shock. Despite all the sadness that had surrounded that barn, it had been beautiful in an old and forgotten way.

Beyond the new grass, three
large orange barns stood in a straight row. A fourth building was under construction about twenty yards away from the nearest barn. It could have been a house or a commercial office building. With just the framing up it was hard to tell. A luxury trailer, like ones that rock stars travel around in when on tour, sat in front of the construction.

Mabel hung her head over the seat as if she needed a better look.

“This place is open for business,” Timothy said.

“
Those are the first orange barns I’ve ever seen. Interesting color choice,” I joked, but Timothy wasn’t laughing.

Light brown and white spotted Guernsey
dairy cows grazed on the pasture.

I pointed at them.
“Look at all those cows. There must be eighty of them. They must be the reason the barns are up before the road was mended.”

Timothy shifted the truck into park.
“Mabel. Stay.”

The dog snuggled into the
seat, happy to nap in her favorite spot.

As I hopped out of the pickup, the door to the luxury trailer opened. A man about my age stepped out. He wore khaki
pants and a white polo shirt with some kind of logo over the breast pocket. I was too far away to decipher what the logo said. His light brown hair was styled in a short fauxhawk, so short that maybe it was unintentional. He wore black plastic-rimmed glasses that settled perfectly on the planes of his angular face. He gave us a friendly wave. As he approached, I saw the symbol on his shirt was a dairy cow inside of a recycle sign. Under the symbol, the letters read, “Tate and Katts’ Organic Growers.”

The man
smiled. “Can I help you with something? If you came to ask for directions, I might not be much help. I’m new here.”

“We don’t nee
d directions,” Timothy said, holding out his hand. “We stopped by to say hello. I’m Timothy Troyer.”

The man eagerly shook his hand. “Alex Tate. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve been here a couple of months, but I admit that I have been too busy to go into town much.
I’m glad you dropped by. It’s important to know your neighbors.” He smiled at me in turn. “Welcome to Katts’ Buttermilk Farm.”

I was about
introduce myself when Timothy said, “This is my girlfriend, Chloe Humphrey.”

I hid my surprise that
Timothy felt the need to introduce me as his girlfriend. True, Alex Tate was attractive in his urban way. I stifled a smile.

Alex shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Chloe.”

As we shook
, I noticed a black tattoo on his forearm. It was some type of elaborate cursive lettering, facing inward. Because of the angle of his arm, I couldn’t make out what it said.

“Where’s
Katts?” Timothy asked.

Alex laughed.
“In his comfy home in Westerville. I live on the property and handle the day-to-day operations.”

“On you
r own?” Timothy sounded dubious.

“I have a crew of ten men.
One of the great things about moving out here, there are a lot of experienced farmhands in Knox County looking for work. I even have a couple of Amish guys on my payroll.”

Timothy shoved his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans.
“You seem young to be overseeing such a large farm.”

“I’m twenty-five.”
Alex seemed to be unfazed by Timothy’s uncharacteristic rudeness. “I have a BA and an MS in agriculture from Ohio State. I’ve worked on organic farms since I was nineteen. Sure, I’m young, but I work hard and am passionate about what I do.”

“So this is dairy farm?”
I asked. “We couldn’t help but notice the cows when we drove up.”

“Dairy and vegetables
to start. I suppose right now, it’s just dairy. We haven’t planted yet because so much time was put building the barns for the cattle. I’m afraid we won’t have any crops. There’s a short window of planting time in Ohio.”

“You could grow
winter wheat,” Timothy suggested.

“
I thought about that. It would be a good starter cash crop. By this time next year, we’ll be fully operational.” He snapped his fingers. “Did you say your name was Troyer? Are you related to the Amish family by that name?”

“My parents own that farm.”

Alex looked Timothy up and down. “You don’t look Amish.” He glanced at me. I definitely didn’t look Amish.

“I’m not,” Timothy said and left it at that.

Alex rocked back on his heels. “I’ve driven by there a few times. It looks really charming and cows appeared healthier than I’ve seen on other Amish farms. Not all Amish give their livestock the respect they deserve.”

Timothy bristle
d. Alex seemed unaware how that comment could be offensive.

“Does your family farm organically?”
Alex asked.

“No,” Timothy said.

“Organic is the way to go. It’s better for the cows, for us, and for the environment.” He took a deep breath as if he were about to scale a soapbox.

Timothy crossed his arms.

It was time for me to step in. “You said you’ve only been here two months?”

Alex patted the side of his fauxhawk—maybe the hairstyle was on purpose after all. “That’s right.”

Timothy scanned the grounds. “You’ve accomplished a lot in that time.”

“I wanted to
move here sooner. We bought the land in January, but I had to wait to for the snow to melt to do much of anything. It was a tough winter, you know.”

We knew.

Alex surveyed his land with obvious pride. “I have big plans for this place.”

“Like what?”
Timothy asked.

“I want to build an organic market and maybe a small boutique restaurant.
”

I gestured at the construction. “Is that building going in now?”

Alex nodded. “Yep.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help i
t when I saw Alex’s enthusiasm. Timothy was another story. “You’re a long way from town,” Timothy said. “How will you attract people to come out here to shop and eat?”

“It will be a challenge at first, but I
’m up for it. Look at Young’s, that big Amish restaurant and flea market, they are even farther from town, and they are doing a booming business. Do you know it?”