Death of a Bad Apple (5 page)

“Crystal harbors no ill will toward me, and I none to her,” Honey said. “Just because her ex-husband and I are close doesn't mean she and I can't be friends. After all, this is a small community and we all need to get along.”

Aha! So Honey Smith was seeing the winemaker's ex-husband. And everyone was fine with that?

“Well, thank you, then,” Nathan said as he took the proffered wine. Honey brought him a chair from the chair room and insisted he sit down. He set the chair next to me and gave me another flirty smile. His alcoholic breath nearly knocked me over.

Paula leaned forward, distracting him from me, thank goodness. “So you're really a descendent of the legendary orchardist known as Johnny Appleseed?” Doubt laced her tone.

I studied Nathan Chapman and tried to remember what Appleseed looked like from my childhood books. Tall and lanky like the man in front of me?

“Yes, Mr. Chapman, is that really true?” Roman asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Just like a reporter to question everything.

“Indeed, it is,” Nathan said. “My uncle never married and had no children, but his brother—half brother, really—had five children, including my great-great-grandfather. I was named after him.”

“But didn't John Chapman do most of his planting in the Midwest?” Roman asked. “He didn't get as far as California, did he?”

I shifted, becoming more uncomfortable. While I wasn't terribly impressed with him, if he wanted to call himself a descendant of Johnny Appleseed, what difference did it make?

Nathan took a long gulp of wine before answering, then smiled, reminding me of a slick politician. “That's a common mistake. Like I said, my great-great-grandfather, Nathaniel, accompanied John on several of his many treks, before he married and settled down on his own farm. He's the one who actually brought the apples to Apple Valley, but Johnny is the more famous one because of his lifelong dedication to planting apple orchards. Thanks to me, he's a big part of our Apple Valley Festival. We even have a scarecrow contest named after him.”

“Nathan's really put Apple Valley on the map with all he's done for the festival,” Honey added.

“Interesting,” Roman muttered, frowning at Nathan as if considering whether the man was telling the truth or not. I had a feeling he didn't believe a word of it.

“Nathan's also a vegetarian and an animal rights
activist, just like his great-great-grand-uncle,” Honey said. “Isn't that right, Nathan?”

The man nodded, trying to look humble, but he was clearly enjoying all the accolades.

“So, what's your take on the GMO apple controversy?” Roman the reporter asked.

Oh, great. We were going to be here all night. I poured myself another glass of wine and sat back, wishing I could just go to bed. With Jake.

“NoMoGMOs,” he said, laughing as he quoted the name of the group Red had mentioned earlier. “Seriously, my ancestors never would have approved of this kind of scientific mumbo jumbo. Gene splicing, DNA, bacteria, insecticides. These superapples add up to superweeds, superbugs, and superchemicals from supercorporations who claim they're helping us farmers, when really they're cutting us out.”

“You realize that GMO products have been on the market for years and are still facing the same stigma they did forty years ago,” Roman noted. “Corn, soy, canola, zucchini are all GMO produce, just to name a few. My research indicates they're safe to eat and have the potential to feed millions of starving people, which the little farmer simply can't do. Isn't that important? Isn't this more about politics than science? In fact, isn't it antiscience?”

Wow.

I looked at Nathan for his reaction to Roman's baiting. He'd turned red in the face and the grin was gone.

“Who are you again?” Nathan asked.

“I'm sorry,” Honey said. “I should have introduced all of you to Nathan. Where are my manners? Nathan, this is Roman Gold. He's doing a story about the Apple Fest. In fact, I thought you were the one who arranged for Roman to do the publicity.”

Nathan suddenly flushed and cleared his throat. “Oh . . . uh . . . no . . . uh.”

Hmmm. After all that grandstanding, now Nathan seemed to be uncomfortable talking to a reporter. Maybe he was worried going public with his opinion could damage his business? Before Nathan could continue, there was yet another knock on Honey's door. This was getting to be Grand Central Station.

“For God's sake! Now who?” she said, losing a little of her hostess polish.

As she opened the door, I caught a distinct whiff of smoke.

And it wasn't coming from the fireplace.

“Oh my God!” Honey said as she stood at the front door. From the wide-eyed look on her face, I had a feeling she'd smelled the smoke too.

“Adam!” she said to the person standing on the porch. “What's happened?”

“Call nine-one-one!” a man's voice shouted. “There's a fire! My phone is dead!”

Red jumped up and rushed over to Honey. I stood, the hairs on my arms prickling, and joined them. The man at the door, dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket, a cowboy hat, and boots, was gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Instead of pulling out her phone, Honey ran outside, followed by Red Cortland and Nathan Chapman. Meanwhile, Jake got out his cell phone and dialed 911, then called out to the group scanning the area, “Where should I tell them to go?”

“Oh dear Lord,” Red said. “The smoke's coming from my farm!”

Red ran to his pickup truck and hopped in. Seconds later I heard the engine rev up; then the truck spun around and sped down the driveway and onto the road.

“Where's his farm?” Jake asked, still waiting for information to tell the operator.

“Next door!” Honey called out.

“What's the address?”

“Nineteen forty-seven Old Orchard Road.” She ran back into the house, grabbed some keys hanging behind the front desk, and headed for her own pickup truck parked at the side of the house. As Jake gave the information to the operator, Nathan ran to his truck to follow them.

“Darcy?” Aunt Abby said, coming up behind me. “What's going on?”

Roman and Paula rose from their seats on the couch and joined us on the porch.

“Apparently there's a fire next door. It's Red Cortland's farm,” I said. “Someone named Adam stopped by and told Honey to call nine-one-one.”

“I smell smoke.” Paula hugged herself against the chill as she walked to the driveway and glanced around. “How close is next door?”

I looked up at the moonlit sky and saw gray smoke drifting in from the east.

“Fire trucks are on their way,” Jake announced, slipping on his jacket and pulling out his keys. “I'm
going over there. They might need help until the trucks arrive.”

“I'm coming too,” I said, following him.

“Me too,” Aunt Abby added, scurrying forward.

“Let's take my car,” I said to Jake, so he wouldn't have to drive his cream puff truck.

He nodded and the three of us dashed to my VW Bug.

“We'll meet you over there,” Roman called to us. He and Paula headed over to his late-model gold Lexus. Nice car for a writer, I thought briefly. Most of my writer friends had either inexpensive compacts like my Bug or money-saving Priuses.

I didn't have time to think about Roman Gold's financial situation—not with the sound of sirens approaching. They grew alarmingly louder as we drove to the end of the driveway. Before we could make the turn onto Old Orchard Road, two fire trucks whizzed by on their way to Red Cortland's farm.

I only hoped they made it in time to save whatever was on fire.

•   •   •

Red's farm “next door” was probably half a mile down the road. We arrived moments after the fire trucks and watched as firefighters quickly got the blaze under control. However, the burning barn looked to be a total loss. Under the streetlight, it looked to be nothing more than a black, skeletal two-story frame that no doubt went up like a match. The smoke was still thick and acrid, and set us all to coughing.

The three of us got out of my car. I grabbed a couple of bottles of water I'd brought along for the drive to Apple Valley and headed over to Honey, Red, Nathan, and the man Honey had called Adam. They stood on the periphery of the activity, watching the firefighters continue to hose down what was left of the smoking ruin. Lights from the fire trucks lit up the area, bringing the disaster into focus.

Red looked on helplessly, saying nothing, occasionally shaking his head. A few feet away stood Roman while Paula skirted the area taking pictures with a fancy camera she'd pulled from her bag. I eased up to Honey and noticed Red had his arm around her as if to comfort her. By her grim facial expression, she looked as if she was taking the fire harder than Red himself.

I raised the bottles and offered them to Honey and Red. Honey shook her head, but Red took a bottle, twisted opened the cap, and drank half, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Looks like they've got it under control,” I said, not knowing what else to say to a man who'd just lost his barn in a fire.

He nodded, but remained mute.

“Thank God none of the animals were harmed,” Honey said.

I wondered what animals she was referring to. Did Red have horses or cows or other livestock on his farm?

“The dogs are okay,” Red mumbled, motioning toward two golden retrievers tied up to a nearby tree
with long lengths of rope, tails wagging, tongues hanging out. “They were sure scared when I got here,” Red added. “Barking at the barn and running around like wild animals.”

Concerned about the dogs, I looked around for a container, spotted a bucket a few feet away, brought it over to them, then poured in the water from the second bottle. The dogs lapped it up quickly.

“Who could have done such a thing?” Honey said when I returned to her side.

I frowned. “You think this was deliberate?”

“It had to be,” Honey insisted. “This is the third fire in less than a month. That's no coincidence. Someone is trying to burn down our properties, I'm sure of it.”

“That is troubling.” Roman's voice came from behind us. I turned to see him studying the burned wreckage. “Do the firefighters have any idea how it started?”

“Not yet,” Honey said, “but we'll find out—as well as who did it—if it's the last thing we do.”

Roman's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. For a reporter, I expected him to ask more questions, but he sauntered off toward Paula, who had stopped taking pictures and was now talking to the man—Adam—who'd alerted Honey about the fire. I guessed he was another apple farmer, although by the look of his Western apparel, he seemed more like a cattleman than an orchardist. At the moment he seemed enthralled by whatever Paula had to say, nodding and grinning, reminding me of a shy high school
freshman talking to the head cheerleader. I wondered how he'd happened to be in Honey's neighborhood and spotted the fire. Did he live nearby too?

My random thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a white SUV that pulled up close behind where we stood. It screeched to a halt and skidded a few inches on the gravelly driveway. Everyone turned to get a look at the new arrivals under the streetlight.

Two women got out of the car. The driver, a blonde I guessed to be around fifty, spotted Red and walked over to him. The woman's younger companion, around twenty-something, stood back, scanning the site. In the light from the streetlamp and the fire trucks, I could see the two resembled each other. They both had round faces, pert noses, and full lips. But the younger one's hair was brown and their figures were different. The older one might once have been slim, but she had filled out around the waist, probably from age. Meanwhile, the younger one was a head taller and still svelte. Mother and daughter? I guessed.

The older one grabbed Red's arm when she reached him. “Oh my God, Red, what happened?”

Red shrugged while Honey eyed her. “Don't know,” he said simply. “Barn caught on fire. All the equipment inside burnt up. Don't know if I can salvage anything. Have to wait and see.”

Honey addressed the woman. “It's all under control now, Crystal. The firefighters put out the fire. There's nothing more to do. It's over.”

Crystal. The name rang a bell. Then I remembered,
this was Red's ex-wife. I glanced back at the younger woman I guessed to be their daughter. She definitely resembled her mother more than her father, which was probably a good thing. While Red was adorable in his way, his round nose, bushy eyebrows, and small eyes would not have been attractive on his daughter.

“How did it happen?” Crystal asked, still gripping Red's arm. “You're always so careful.”

Red shrugged. “No idea. Have to wait till the chief does his investigation.”

Honey shook her head. “We don't need an investigation to confirm this fire was deliberately set. Three fires in such a short time? Somebody's trying to send a message.”

“You think so?” Crystal said. “If that's true, someone could have been hurt, or even killed. I wouldn't put it past those GMO people who are trying to buy up everybody's property. How are Pippin and Mac?”

I realized she was referring to the dogs, named after apple varieties, but before Red or Honey answered, the younger woman joined the small group. “Sorry about this, Dad,” she said to Red.

Red acknowledged her comment with a nod, then added, “It'll be all right, Tiffy. I'll rebuild. Don't you worry about it.”

“Your dad's right, Tiffany,” Crystal said. “He bounces back quickly, always has.” She turned to her ex-husband. “Isn't that right, Red?”

I caught Honey rolling her eyes. What was going on between the two older women and Red? They
could claim they were all on good terms, but at the moment, something festered underneath.

“By the way, Red, you missed Tiffany's maze run-through tonight,” Crystal said. “I just picked her up from the festival site. Did you forget?”

Red glanced at his daughter. “Sorry, Tiffy. I got caught up. . . .” He shot a look at Honey, who looked away as soon as their eyes met. “Hope it went well.”

“It was fine.” Tiffany sighed. “Mom, I'm tired. I'm going back to the car. You coming?”

“I'll be right there,” Crystal said. As soon as her daughter was out of earshot, Crystal turned to her ex-husband. “You know, Red, just because we're divorced doesn't mean you don't still have a daughter. You could come by the winery and see her once in a while, or show up at her events, or take her out for lunch sometime. She misses you, especially since you left so abruptly.” Crystal shot a look at Honey.

Red didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the threads of smoke still wafting up from the water-soaked wood.

“This isn't the time, Crystal,” Honey said sharply. “His barn just burned down, for God's sake. Leave him alone.”

I thought there was going to be a catfight, but instead Crystal pasted a fake smile on her face, gave Red's arm another squeeze, and headed back to her SUV. She peeled off, her spinning wheels spitting gravel.

Red walked over to talk to one of the firefighters. Honey turned to us and said, “We should probably be getting on back to the inn. The fire's out. Not much
more we can do here, and we've all got a big weekend ahead.”

Roman, who'd appeared out of nowhere, added, “I agree. I'll go find Paula.”

I noticed Paula was still deep in conversation with Adam, the man who'd alerted Honey to the fire. In spite of their differences in age and personality—she was obviously outgoing, while he seemed out of his league—the pair seemed to have hit it off quickly, judging by the way they stood so close to each other as they talked. At one point she put her hand on his arm and his grin widened. I wondered what Roman thought about that.

“Paula!” I heard him call to her.

Paula stopped her conversation and looked around, then spotted Roman and waved. “Be right there!” She pulled out what looked like a business card and handed it to Adam. He took it, smiled, tucked it into his pocket and patted it, then said something I couldn't make out. I didn't need to be an expert at body language to know she was flirting her ass off, though, and he was eating it up. Had she sensed a photojournalistic opportunity in talking with Adam, or was she actually attracted to the cowboy old enough to be her father?

None of my business.

Moments later she reached out and shook Adam's hand, holding it a second longer than necessary, and then laughed at something he said before joining Roman at his car.

I caught up with Jake and Aunt Abby, who'd been watching from the sidelines, and we headed for my car. After we climbed in, Jake behind the wheel, we followed Honey's truck back to the bed-and-breakfast.

“I'm going to turn in as soon as I straighten up a few things,” Honey said once we were inside the house. The spark had gone out of her voice. “Let me know if there's anything you need. Otherwise, I'll see you at breakfast in the morning.”

After locking the front door behind us, Honey headed for the kitchen while Roman and Paula climbed the stairs, followed by Aunt Abby.

“Aren't you coming?” my aunt said, pausing halfway up.

“We'll be up in a few minutes,” I answered, noticing Jake had wandered back into the parlor. I spotted him sitting on the couch by the now-dying fire, finishing his glass of wine. “See you in the morning,” I called back to my aunt.

I followed him in and joined him on the couch. He poured me the last of the apple wine and handed me my glass.

“Not sleepy?” I asked him, enjoying this quiet moment by the fire. After he clinked his glass against
mine and took a sip, he reached over and withdrew a long, flat box from a nearby shelf.

“You're kidding,” I said as he set a box game on the coffee table. “You want to play Scrabble? Now?”

“Afraid I'll beat you?” he asked, opening it.

“I'm a wordsmith, remember?” I said. “You haven't got a prayer.”

“Ah, but I'm a former attorney, and I know a lot of legal mumbo jumbo, like thereto and caveat and corpus.”

I laughed. “So? I use words that sound real but aren't. Like preventative and conversate and irregardless.”

“Bring it on, babe.” Jake handed me a tile holder and set one in front of himself. “I'm onto your chicanery.”

“You'll get no pretense from me, you . . . you . . .”