Death of a Bad Apple (12 page)

“Oh my God!” I said, staring at Paula as she continued to flirt with Adam. “Roman and Paula weren't covering the Apple Fest at all. They're actually spies for their GMO company.”

Aunt Abby huffed. “And at the moment, she looks like she's doing some kind of Mata Hari thing on Adam.”

“Who's Mada Harry?” Dillon asked.

“She was a spy during World War One,” Aunt Abby explained patiently. “She used her feminine wiles to seduce information out of foolish men.”

Dillon frowned, no doubt processing the information, but he didn't pursue the subject. I'm not sure he knew what feminine wiles were, but he had the good sense not to ask. Given any encouragement, Aunt
Abby would go into much more detail than was necessary.

“So you think Roman and Paula were trying to get some kind of information from the local farmers?” Jake asked. “To what purpose?”

“I don't know,” I said, “but maybe Honey knows something. Let's get back to the bed-and-breakfast inn and see if she can make sense of this.”

Jake paid the bill for everyone, in spite of my efforts to share the tab. Sometimes I thought he was too good to be true. We all thanked him and then Aunt Abby, Dillon, and Jake headed for the restrooms. I lingered at the table a moment, as if making sure I had all my belongings, then crossed over to the table where Paula and Adam sat. They were intimately sharing a single apple strudel topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream that looked divine.

I stopped abruptly, acting as if I was surprised to see them.

“Paula!” I said, feigning surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Paula pulled back her fork and sat upright. “Uh, hi . . . uh.”

“It's Darcy. From the Enchanted Apple Inn. We're guests there, remember?”

“Yes, I know.” She indicated Adam with her fork. “Do you know Adam Bramley? He's one of the biggest apple farmers here in Apple Valley. I'm learning so many interesting things from him about the apple business—for the article.”

Adam blushed. Color seemed to come easily to those apple cheeks of his.

“The article?” I repeated. “Are you still working on that? I thought, with Roman Gold's death, the story might have been killed.” Shoot. Killing a story was a common term for not publishing work that had been written, but what with Roman Gold being murdered, I could have chosen a better word.

“Oh, they're sending someone else to do the story,” Paula explained. “So I'm still taking pictures and interviewing the farmers.”

“I'm sorry about Roman,” I said, trying to look sympathetic.

Paula lowered her eyes and mashed her fork into the remaining dessert. “Yeah. I hope they find out who did it.”

I glanced at Adam. He'd practically turned into a stone, sitting there with no expression. What was it with him?

“Were you close to Roman?” I asked Paula.

“No, no. We weren't friends or anything like that. I just worked . . . I mean, I was just working with him on his assignment.”

Yeah, right, I thought, remembering what I'd just learned from Dillon. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted him dead?”

“Me? I have no clue who might have killed him. Why would I?”

“Do you know if he had any enemies?” I asked.

“Why all the questions?” Paula asked, meeting my eyes. “What's it matter to you?”

I shrugged. “I just thought, since it happened at the inn where we're all staying—”

Adam, who had kept quiet until this point, cut me off. “Maybe it had something to do with those fires we've been having around here.”

Paula shot him a look I couldn't read.

“So you heard about the fire at the festival?” I confirmed.

He nodded. “I was there. Sounded like another case of arson to me. Just like at Honey's and at Red's and that other fire. I'll bet it's one of them Frankenfruit people, trying to threaten our farms.”

I looked at Paula. Her face was flushed and her mouth tight.

Knowing what I now knew about her, I decided to put her on the spot. “What do you think, Paula? Have you heard anything about the GMO companies trying to move into the area? Companies like Eden Corporation?”

Paula set down the fork she'd been holding and sat back, crossing her arms. “No. Like I said, I'm just here to take pictures. But I doubt a big company like Eden Corp would resort to intimidation like that.”

“Still seems suspicious,” Adam added, “if you ask me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jake waiting for me near the exit. It was time to go.

“Well, it was nice to see you both,” I said. “I better get back to the inn. Another big day for the food truck business tomorrow.”

Adam nodded; Paula forced a smile.

“Have a nice night,” I said. “See you at the festival tomorrow?”

“You bet,” Adam said. “I'll be there for the Scarecrow Contest.”

“Paula?”

“Absolutely,” Paula answered. “Don't want to miss those photo ops.”

I left the table, wondering if I should have called Paula on her lie about being a photographer. But I had a feeling I'd learn more if I kept my mouth shut—at least for the time being. Once her cover was blown, she might take off and the sheriff might never get to the bottom of those fires. Or the death of Roman Gold.

•   •   •

On the ride back to the Enchanted Apple, I told Jake what I'd learned—not much in terms of spoken words, but Paula's body language had chattered quite a bit. She'd reacted to the comments about the GMO company and even tried to defend them. However, I still wondered why she was spending so much time with Adam Bramley. What did she hope to gain from him? Access to information about his farm? Leverage for Eden Corporation? He might have seemed like a meek old guy, but those were often the ones with the most secrets.

We arrived at the inn to find Aunt Abby, Dillon, and Honey seated in the parlor, sipping apple wine next to a cozy fire. Honey looked tired. She still wore the khaki slacks, now wrinkled, and a beige blouse, topped by a knitted vest that featured apple pies and black birds. I wondered where she got all her apple-themed clothes. Not that I was in the market.

“Darcy!” Aunt Abby said. “You made it. You took so long, I was getting worried, what with all that's going on around here.”

I waved a greeting to everyone, then took off my jacket and joined the small group in the parlor. Jake hung our jackets on a coatrack by the door that was made from deer antlers and sat down next to me. Honey leaned over and poured two more glasses of wine—one for me and one for Jake.

“Sorry if I worried you,” I said, after taking a sip. “I stopped to talk to Paula and Adam at the restaurant.”

Aunt Abby's eyebrows shot up. Honey looked at me wide-eyed.

“Did you confront her about working for Eden Corporation?” Aunt Abby asked.

I looked at Honey for a reaction to Aunt Abby's announcement, but from her lack of expression, I sensed my aunt had already blabbed it to her.

“I can't believe she lied about her job,” Honey said, “all the while sleeping under my roof!” She took a long swallow of wine, then added, “She's probably the one who murdered that . . . that traitor, Roman Gold.”

“I don't think so,” Jake said, setting down his wineglass.

“Why not?” Honey asked. “She sure doesn't seem very upset about his death.”

“What's her motive?” Jake asked.

“Uh . . .” Honey shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe they were having an affair and he got jealous that she was flirting with Adam, and he tried to kill her, and she killed him in self-defense.”

Wow, I thought. If she could come up with a motive like that, she should be writing murder mysteries, not running a bed-and-breakfast.

“Nah,” Dillon said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his bony knees. “Too obvious. First of all, we didn't hear any fighting or anything like that. And she wouldn't have done it with all of us around. At least, I wouldn't. Plus, I'm sure she's had plenty of other opportunities to kill him, since she worked with him. Did the cops get any prints on that stabby thingy?”

Honey shook her head. “Murph said the apple corer was wiped clean.”

“Do you think he suspects that you did it?” Dillon asked Honey.

The room went deadly silent, except for Aunt Abby's gasp.

“Dillon!” she said.

Honey smiled. “It's okay. I realize things look bad in terms of the murder weapon and all. But I didn't have any reason to kill him.”

“Except,” Dillon continued, in spite of a glare from
Aunt Abby, “you might have already found out he was the CEO of Eden Corporation and figured he came here to worm his way into the apple business.” The kid really had no filter.

“Dillon, you're not helping,” I said.

“Darcy's right, Dillon,” Aunt Abby agreed. “Honey had nothing to do with it. I've known her a long time, and even though we haven't see each other much over the past few years, I'm always right about things like this, aren't I, Darcy? I've always been intuitive.”

The last two times my aunt had been involved in a murder case, she was actually a suspect in one of them, so I could hardly call that unbiased intuition.

“Listen,” Jake said, “until we know more, let's just take a minute and look at what we do know.”

“He's right,” I said, remembering the rules they'd taught us in journalism schools. “Until we know what, when, where, how, and why, we're not going to know who. So far we know what—Roman Gold was murdered. We know approximately when—last night between two and four. Where? In his room, which was supposedly locked. And how? With an antique apple corer. But the big question is why? If we can figure that out, we might be able to figure out who.”

“I'll tell you why,” Honey said, straightening her slouch. “He came here to spy on us farmers—me in particular—to find our weak spots, buy up our property, and then convince the rest of the farmers to convert to his growing methods. If you'll remember, he had a lot to say on the subject the night before he was killed.”

A knock on the door startled us.

What now? Another fire alert? The sheriff come to cart Honey off to jail—thanks to me? Or just another drop-in visit from Nathan or Red or Adam?

Honey stood up, tried to smooth out the wrinkles in her pants, and walked to the door.

She peered through the peephole—something she hadn't done before the murder—and gasped. She stepped back, looking about to faint. Aunt Abby and I rushed over to support her, followed by Jake and Dillon. While Abby wrapped an arm around her, I yanked open the door to see who had caused her to be so alarmed.

Speak of the devil. It was Sheriff Murphy O'Neil. He wasn't smiling.

“Are you here to arrest me?” Honey blurted. She looked pale and drawn. Abby clasped her hand.

Someone in the shadows stepped out from behind the sheriff.

“Wes!” Aunt Abby said, letting go of Honey. Her face lit up when she saw Detective Shelton and she went over to give him a warm hug. “I'm so glad you're here.”

Detective Shelton seemed a little taken aback by the welcoming committee.

“The gang's all here, I see,” he said, eyeing each of us and nodding. Honey looked visibly relieved. Just the way I felt.

“Come in, come in!” Aunt Abby said, taking him by the arm. “How was the drive?”

Sheriff O'Neil followed him in after wiping his
shoes on the
WELCOME TO THE ENCHANTED APPLE
doormat.

“You two know each other?” I asked, glancing back and forth between the sheriff and the detective as they stood side by side in the entryway. They were as different as night and day, and not just because they were black and white. Detective Shelton had at least five inches on Sheriff Murphy, towering over him at six feet plus. He'd also stayed in better shape than his country equal, I thought, noting Sheriff O'Neil's expanding paunch, compared to Detective Shelton's muscular physique. The sheriff's pale, freckled complexion and fine lines reflected his Irish background, while the detective's smooth coffee-colored skin made him look years younger than the Irishman. Both still had their hair, but Detective Shelton had only begun to gray, while Sheriff O'Neil's once blond hair had given way to mostly white. It was hard to believe they were the same age.

“Went to the academy together,” Detective Shelton said, acknowledging his peer. “Long time ago, right, Murph?”

Sheriff O'Neil gave Detective Shelton's shoulder a buddy slap. “We were just kids. Can't believe we're both still trying to catch criminals.”

Looking more relaxed now that she wasn't being arrested, Honey took the men's coats, then herded everyone into the parlor. Detective Shelton sat down beside Aunt Abby while Sheriff O'Neil stood by the fireplace, warming his hands.

Honey disappeared into the kitchen while the two
lawmen reminisced; then Honey returned with two more wineglasses and handed one to Sheriff O'Neil and one to Detective Shelton. “You must be Abby's friend from the city,” she said to the detective.

Aunt Abby blinked. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I forgot to introduce you. Honey, this is my boyfriend, Wes. He's a homicide detective for the San Francisco Police Department. Wes, this is my old friend Honey. She owns this adorable bed-and-breakfast.”

Did my aunt really just call Detective Shelton her boyfriend? OMG.

The detective stood up, grinning sheepishly, and shook Honey's hand. “Nice to meet you. Abby's told me a lot about you. I understand you had some trouble here last night.”

There's a cop for you,
I thought. Getting right to the elephant in the room.

Honey nodded and glanced at Sheriff O'Neil.

“Wes stopped by my office when he got to town,” Sheriff O'Neil said. “I was telling him about the murder on the ride over. We don't get many homicides in Apple Valley and we can always use another expert set of eyes on a case like this.”