Death of a Bad Apple (20 page)

With that she turned and headed up the stairs. We all got up. Detective Shelton glanced at Jake and me, then shook Sheriff O'Neil's hand and told him he'd come by the office in the morning.

Sheriff O'Neil also bade us good night and, with hat in hand, left.

I locked the door after him, shut off the lights, and took Jake's proffered hand. I followed him upstairs to what I was sure would be a night of tossing, turning, and troubled sleep.

•   •   •

I awoke in the middle of the night, roused by sounds outside my door.

Footsteps, to be exact.

I could hear the old floorboards of the inn creaking with each step. I sat up and stared at the door. A light underneath flickered past.

Someone was out there!

I shook Jake, but he didn't budge. His soft snoring continued, uninterrupted. Figuring it was that last glass of wine that put him in such a deep sleep, I threw off the covers and tiptoed to the door. Checking to make sure the door was locked, I pressed my ear against it and listened for any sound coming from the other side.

The creaking footsteps faded away. The light I'd seen underneath the door was now gone.

I stood still, listening, then heard another creak, this one more distant.

It had come from the staircase.

“Jake!” I called softly, not wanting to alert the intruder, but Jake was out cold. And there was no way I was going into my aunt's room to wake Detective Shelton. Besides, I hated the thought of being one of those scared women who woke their sleeping mates every time they heard a sound.

Moving as slowly and quietly as I could, I turned the lock, praying it wouldn't make a loud click and alert the possible intruder. I got ready to open the door, figuring if I spotted someone, I'd scream and wake Jake and the rest of the house.

No one was there.

I glanced around for something to use as protection before heading out. My room lacked the antique tools that were displayed in the dining area, displaying only pictures of varietal apples that hung on the wall.

Think!
I told myself.
Before the intruder gets away!

I thought about all the stuff I had in the bathroom.
My razor—what? Slit his wrists? My hair dryer? Heat him to death? My shampoo? Make his eyes water? Crap! Whatever happened to the days when we carried hat pins and used hair spray as Mace?

I spotted my cell phone lying on the dresser.

Yanking it from the charger, I tapped on the app selections, then typed in “police siren.” Choosing from a dozen variations, I picked the free one and watched it load, which seemed to take forever. My spur-of-the-moment plan was to creep downstairs with my thumb ready to press the button for the siren as soon as I confronted the intruder. Not only would it scare him, but it would bring the others running.

As soon as the app was loaded, I gently twisted the doorknob, trying to keep it from making any sound. It was a trick I'd learned when I was a kid playing hide-and-seek. If I opened a door slowly, it tended to creak, but if I jerked it open fast, it didn't.

It worked—no sound.

Using the dim light from my cell phone, I headed down the hall to the stairs, walking along the floor as close to the wall as possible to prevent more creaking—another trick I'd learned as a kid while trying to hide. Step by step, I made my way down the stairs, keeping my thumb hovering over the siren app button and an eye for anything that moved.

I spotted a subdued light in the kitchen.

Whoever it was had to be in there!

I tiptoed down, ready to hit the police siren app at any second.

As I approached the kitchen, I realized the dim
light was coming from the open refrigerator. Suddenly the intruder spun around.

He was holding something metallic and sharp in his hand.

“I've got a knife!” he yelled.

I jumped a foot, screamed, and reflexively hit the police siren. The shrill, pulsing noise filled the house. It was loud enough to wake the dead—or dead asleep.

Seconds later, Jake, Detective Shelton, and Aunt Abby were standing beside me.

The detective switched on the kitchen light, spotted the intruder, and pointed his gun at him. The man, wearing a black hoodie and what looked like pajama bottoms, lowered his weapon—a pie server.

“Dillon! What the hell?”

“What?” Dillon stood with his mouth open. “I was hungry! Is that a crime?”

“Oh my God, you scared the crap out of me!” I stared at him in disbelief. “Slinking around in the middle of the night when there's a murderer on the loose. Are you crazy?”

“I wasn't slinking,” he argued. “I was being quiet so I didn't wake anyone.”

“Why are you awake at this hour, anyway?” I asked. “It's two a.m. You're usually comatose all night.”

“Like I said, I was hungry.” He gestured at the half-eaten apple pie on the counter with the pie slicer. “I was about to cut myself a piece when you came creeping around. Besides, I couldn't sleep.”

“Why not, dear?” Aunt Abby came forward. “Are you all right? Do you need some hot milk?”

“No, Mom, I don't need hot milk. I haven't wanted hot milk since I was five. I've been on the computer, digging around, trying to save your friend. I was going to wait until morning to tell you, but now that you're all up . . .” He glanced at each of us.

“What did you find?” I said, the little hairs on my neck tingling. “More of Adam's secrets? Nathan's? Roman's? Paula's?”

“Dude!” Dillon held up his hands, including the one that still held the pie server. “Calm down. Let me get my pie, and I'll tell you.”

“I'll make coffee,” Aunt Abby said, then added, “Decaf.”

I shambled off to the dining room to wait for Dillon. The room seemed to have become our mystery-solving meeting place. When I noticed Jake and Detective Shelton weren't following me, I quickly realized why. No man could resist Aunt Abby's pies, not even at two in the morning. Finally the three guys entered the dining room, each one holding plates of warm apple pie.

Dillon put his plate and laptop on the far end of the table and sat down in his usual spot. Jake took the seat next to me. Detective Shelton settled on the other side of us, leaving an empty chair for Aunt Abby.

“So, what did you find out?” I asked before Dillon could take a mouthful. He ate a bite anyway before beginning.

“Okay, I looked up Red Cortland first, even though I don't think he's a killer. He doesn't seem the type.”

“There is no ‘type,'” Detective Shelton interjected.

Dillon ignored him. “But then I figured he had a lot to lose like the other farmers if Eden started eating up all the properties around here. He could have killed Roman to help keep the company away, so I checked him out.”

“And . . . ?” I asked, growing impatient with the meandering way Dillon told a story.

“Dude, chill.” He took a breath. “Okay, I found out his divorce from Crystal was pretty messy. I managed to get a hold of the court documents—they're open to the public,” he added, shooting a glance at Detective Shelton, “and Crystal made all kinds of accusations, things like he walked out on her with no explanation, he rarely sees his daughter, yada yada.”

“A contentious divorce,” I summarized. “That's not uncommon. But what does that have to do with killing Roman or Nathan? It seemed like Nathan was one of Red's friends.” I thought about the argument he and the other men had had with Honey that first night we'd arrived. Maybe they weren't such good friends after all.

“I'm not done yet,” Dillon said, then helped himself to another mouthful of pie. Aunt Abby entered with a tray of coffees and passed them out to everyone, waitress-style. When all were served, she joined us.

I waited for Dillon to finish his latest bite. “So, anything else?”

“What did I miss?” Aunt Abby interrupted.

I sighed. “Nothing. Dillon found Red and Crystal's court papers and a few angry comments from
Crystal, but there were no surprises there. I'm hoping he has more.” I looked at him.

Dillon smiled. His eyes twinkled, just like his mom's when she was hiding something.

I leaned in. “Dillon?”

“Okay, well, I noticed something in the court report that made me curious.”

“What was it?” Aunt Abby asked before sipping her coffee.

“There was a file marked ‘sealed,'” Dillon said.

“Sealed? Did you get inside?” I asked.

Dillon shrugged. “Dude, I'm not a magician.” He took another bite of pie.

“That's it? That's all you have to tell us?” I said. “You couldn't get into the sealed file?” I was tired, crabby, and completely exasperated at this point, and I just wanted to go to bed.

“Well, not yet, anyway,” he said, his mouth still full. He swallowed, then added, “But I will.” He stared down at his pie, not daring to look up at the detective.

After being pumped up with anticipation, I felt deflated by Dillon's lack of anything solid. He certainly was confident about his skills, but if he hadn't been able to break into the sealed file already, why did he think he could eventually?

I rose from the table. “I'm going back to bed. Thanks for trying, Dillon. Let me know if you find out anything else. But next time, wait until morning.”

“No probs, Darce,” Dillon said. “Just so you
know—medical files aren't easy to access, but there may be a back door.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Detective Shelton wince.

“Was the sealed file a medical file?” I asked Dillon.

Dillon nodded and finished the last bite of pie.

When he didn't volunteer more information, I asked, “What kind of medical file?”

“Won't know that until I break . . . er, get in.”

“Whose file was it? Red's or Crystal's?”

“Red's.”

I thought for a moment. Why would a medical file be important in a divorce case? And why was it sealed? True, medical information is confidential, but Dillon had had no trouble finding out the details of the divorce, so why the secrecy with this file?

“Now I see what kept you up all night,” Aunt Abby said, patting his arm. “Trying to get more information for Honey's case. I'm sure you'll figure it out, dear. And we're all very grateful.”

Detective Shelton shook his head and rose from the table, having finished his pie and coffee. “I just want to go on record: I heard nothing. I know nothing. And I don't want to know anything about any illegal activity. Good night, everyone.”

“Hey, I haven't done anything illegal,” Dillon called out, then added, “Yet,” under his breath.

“I'll be right up, sweetie,” Aunt Abby called to Detective Shelton as he headed for the stairs.

Jake rose, collected the pie plates, and took them
into the kitchen while Aunt Abby gathered the empty coffee cups and followed him. Dillon remained at the table, punching keys and frowning at the results.

“You need to get some sleep,” I said to him. “You've done enough for tonight. You can try again in the morning.”

Dillon didn't appear to hear me. He continued clicking and frowning and clicking again, occasionally chewing on his nails between what I guessed were failed attempts. I knew what it was like to be driven. I felt the same way about this murder situation, and I was frustrated we hadn't come up with anything substantial to help Honey.

Tomorrow was Sunday, giving us only one more day to clear her name and find the killer before we had to return home and get back to our jobs at the Fort Mason food trucks. If Abby didn't show up at her usual spot, she could lose her place, and that meant she'd lose a considerable amount of business. Still, I knew she wouldn't leave until all this was settled. When it came to helping her friends, she was stubborn that way, much like her son.

And much like me. Apparently it was in our blood.

The thought of blood made me think of Red's sealed medical file. What was up with that?

•   •   •

I slept soundly for the first time since I'd arrived at the inn and awoke to find Jake missing from the bed. I checked the time—eight a.m.—got up, and looked for him in the bathroom, but when I found it empty, I
figured he'd already showered, changed, and gone down to breakfast. I jumped in the shower, cleaned up in record time, then got ready to meet the others downstairs to see if there was any news.

As soon as I entered the dining room, I stopped. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

Dillon lay slumped over his laptop.

It wasn't until I noticed the rivulet of drool, not blood, coming from his mouth that I let out a breath of air. Thank goodness. Maybe we didn't get along all that well. Maybe he dressed like a teenage boy and ate everything in the house and wore a rat on his shoulder just to bug me, but I really didn't want anything to happen to him. Besides, he made life interesting.

I glanced around, found a small pillow on one of the couches in the parlor, and brought it over to him. Gently, I lifted his head, moved the laptop away and substituted the pillow, then carefully laid his head back down. I looked at the computer screen to see if he'd left any clues to his late-night searches, but it had turned into his screen saver, an electronic maze filled with colorful chomping heads in continual movement. Retro Pac-Man.

I checked the kitchen, smelled coffee, and noticed the pot was half-full, but there was no sign of Aunt Abby, Jake, or anyone else. Pouring myself a cup, I headed for the parlor to look for Jake and spotted him through the sliding glass door that led to the garden. He was sitting in a white wicker chair on the stone
patio, talking to Sheriff O'Neil and Detective Shelton.

I slid open the door and let myself out, closing it behind me so as not to wake Dillon.

“What are you guys doing out here?” I asked, helping myself to one of the empty wicker chairs that encircled a pond filled with lily pads. “Jake, why didn't you wake me?”

“You needed your sleep,” Jake answered. “I didn't want to disturb you.”

I looked at Detective Shelton. “Where's Aunt Abby?”

“She's gone to the station to see Honey,” Sheriff O'Neil answered instead. “I told her Honey needed a few things and your aunt offered to pick them up and take them to her.”

I nodded, yawned, and sipped the coffee, hoping it would make me more alert after being up half the night. I was still feeling the hangover effects of the deep sleep I'd been in and wasn't quite ready to fully wake up.

“How
is
Honey?” I asked the sheriff.

“Bonita—Deputy Javier—said she had a good night,” Sheriff O'Neil replied. “Red visited and they watched some cooking show on TV.”

Wow, I thought. Too bad the city jails weren't more like the country jails.

The men were quiet for a few moments as they drank their coffees, but I sensed there was something unsaid going on between them. I glanced at each one, then frowned. “Has something happened?”

Before anyone could answer, Jake looked at something behind me.

I spun around to see what had caught his attention, then gasped at the disturbing visage before me.

“Dillon!”

Dillon stepped out through the sliding glass door looking as if he'd been run over by a tractor. His hair stuck out on one side, while the other side was smashed down to a matted mess. His right cheek bore the imprint of the keyboard he'd lain on when he fell asleep, and dried drool had left a slimy sheen on his chin. The two-day stubble only added to his frightening appearance. I was glad no children or animals were staying at the inn. They'd have been scared out of their wits.

“S'up?” he said, lumbering toward us like the undead. He dropped into another wicker chair and reached for my coffee that I'd set down on the small table next to me. Before I could grab it, he'd snatched it up and chugged it like water.

Sheriff O'Neil stared at him while Jake stifled a grin. Detective Shelton just shook his head, giving me a brief thought. What if the detective ended up marrying my aunt and Dillon became his stepson? Yikes.

And worse—would that make him my uncle Detective?

“Are you all right?” I asked Dillon after he finished my coffee. He sat back and leaned his head against the chair.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn't get much sleep. Tried to find out what was in that medical file.”

The three men shared a look. I was sure something was going on between them.

“What's up with you three?” I asked.

After a moment of silence, Jake said, “The sheriff may have learned something about that file.”

Dillon frowned. “You did?” he said, eyeing the sheriff.

I leaned in. “What did you find out?”

Sheriff O'Neil shrugged. “Nothing yet. After Wes told me about Red's medical file, I called a friend of mine—a nurse—and collected on a favor she owed me. She's going to check it out, let me know what's inside. I'm waiting for her call back.” He patted his pocket, where I guessed he kept his cell phone.

“Good,” I said, although I didn't hold out much hope for finding an answer to the murders in a medical file. Still, the information might lead to something.

“However,” the sheriff added, “it may not be admissible in court.”

Dillon groaned. “Dude, I spent all night trying to get in there and all you had to do was make a phone call? And it
still
might not work?”

“Hey, Dillon,” I said to him. “If it hadn't been for you, we wouldn't have known about the file.”

“Well, don't get your hopes up,” Sheriff O'Neil added. “It may be nothing, but I thought it was worth checking out.”

Dillon laid his head back down and closed his eyes. “Bet you didn't find the e-mail Red sent to Nathan Chapman—or whatever the dude's name is.”

“E-mail?” I repeated.

“What e-mail?” Sheriff O'Neil asked.

Dillon shrugged nonchalantly. “I printed them out. They should be in Honey's office.”

Sheriff O'Neil got up and headed inside. A few minutes later he returned with a sheet of paper in his hand.

“Why didn't you tell me about this?” the sheriff said, standing over Dillon.