Death of a Bad Apple (6 page)

“What? Already at a loss for words?” Jake teased.

“Never!”

We selected our tiles. Mine sucked. Two
A
's, two
O
's, an
R
, an
S
, and an
N
.

Then we picked to see who went first.

Jake picked
B
. Lucky.

I took a deep breath, then turned over an
A
.

“Yes!” I said, pumping my fist. “You're going down!”

I spent the next few minutes trying to come up with a brilliant word to collect my double-word points. SON. RAN. ROO. NOR. Seriously? I needed at least a four-letter word to preserve my boasts, but all I could come up with were SOON, SOAR, and ROAN.

Too bad I didn't have a
C
or a
P
; then I could have spelled CRAP.

“Problem?” Jake said, looking smug as he sipped his wine.

“Just thinking,” I said, stalling.

And then I saw it. I laid down my killer word.

“Boom!” I said.

Jake looked down at the double-five-point word.

ARSON.

After a rousing game of Scrabble, Jake and I went to bed and enjoyed each other's company long after the competition ended. I fell asleep in his strong, protective arms, dreaming about him as a big bad biker and me as his leather-clad biker chick.

Unfortunately just as I was about to be swept off my feet and onto his Hog, my insomnia kicked in. Lying there in the dark, I became aware of muffled voices. I looked over at Jake, thinking he might be talking in his sleep, but he was snoring softly, out cold. I wished I could sleep so soundly.

I sat up, straining to hear the voices, and glanced at the time. It was after one a.m. The voices seemed to be coming from outside the window rather than outside my door. I slipped out of bed, pulled on my robe,
moved to the window, then peered out. Looking down, I could just make out three—or was it four—dark figures standing in the shadows below. From their size and stance, it looked like at least two men and one woman and one I couldn't make out, but they were so obscured by the darkness that I couldn't see their faces. I had a hunch the woman was Honey Smith, since it was her house. While I couldn't be absolutely certain, who else could it be?

From my vantage point, the conversation looked heated, with gesturing, finger pointing, and arm waving. I opened the window and pressed my ear to the screen. I could hear the woman who I guessed was Honey and caught a few words between Jake's snores.

“. . . right under our noses . . . ,” I thought she said.

One of the men mumbled something, then pointed at Honey.

“. . . ruin our festival . . .” and then “. . . run out of town . . .”

Another man—he was wearing a baseball cap—shook his head. Was that Red, Honey's farmer boyfriend? Then again, it could have been anyone under that hat. Maybe Nathan Chapman, the festival organizer? Adam Bramley, head of the Apple Association?

Or someone else?

I pressed my nose against the screen, trying to make out more details to identify the small group, but I was at the wrong angle and the dark was too penetrating. Curious, and knowing I wouldn't be able to
get back to sleep anyway, I tiptoed across the room so as not to wake Jake, then opened the door. It creaked loudly.

I froze.

I looked back. He was still sound asleep. If that didn't wake him, I figured nothing would.

I stepped out and closed the door behind me. The hall was dark except for two small night-lights that barely lit the floor. I continued tiptoeing toward the stairs, praying I didn't step on a creaky board and alert the whole house. Each time I took a few steps, I stopped and listened for any kind of sound, but aside from the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs, all was quiet.

Slowly I made my way downstairs and tiptoed to the front door, which stood ajar. Sidling up behind the door, I peered out through the crack in the doorjamb, hoping to catch a glimpse of the people talking.

The door suddenly swung back and hit me in the head.

“Ow!” I cried, and reached for my forehead.

“Oh my goodness!” Honey said. “I didn't see you there! What are you doing?”

Uh-oh. Caught red-handed. I had to think fast, but with the oncoming headache, I wasn't at my best for lying.

“Uh,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I was. . . . just coming down to get a drink of . . . to see if you had any aspirin—I forgot to bring some and I've got this
darn headache. Then I saw the front door was open . . . so I was going to close it. . . .”

Oh, what a tangled web we weave. At least the headache part was now true.

“I'm so sorry the door hit you!” Honey said. “I was just . . . uh, locking up and I thought I heard something outside. You know, these fires have got me a little jumpy. But it was nothing.”

Ah, so we were both pretty good liars.

“Anyway, let me get you that aspirin. Or do you want Tylenol, Advil, Aleve?”

“Anything's fine.” I massaged the small lump on my head. “I didn't mean to startle you like that.”

“No worries,” she said, heading for the kitchen. I followed her, wondering why she hadn't mentioned the men she'd been talking to outside.

“Is the bed comfortable? Are you sleeping all right?” She reached into a cabinet and pulled down three bottles of painkillers for me to choose from. I took the bottle of Advil and poured out a couple of pills.

“Oh yes, the bed's wonderful. I just have trouble sleeping anywhere. I'm a bit of an insomniac. The littlest thing wakes me and then I can't get back to sleep.” At that point, I wondered if Honey might suddenly realize I'd overheard her talking.

Instead, she said, “I know how that is. Since the fire here, I've had trouble sleeping too, and now with this latest one at Red's . . .” She drifted off as she filled a glass with tap water and handed it to me.

I swallowed the pills and gave her back the glass.

“You know what might help?” she said, opening the freezer compartment of her refrigerator. “A warmed-up slice of my apple crisp, with a side of caramel-vanilla ice cream.”

I started to demur, but when I got a glimpse of the dish she pulled out of the refrigerator, my tongue froze in my mouth. Who could say no to a serving of warm apple crisp with a side of caramel-vanilla ice cream? Not me.

“Have a seat.” Honey gestured to the stool next to the kitchen island. I sat down, figuring resistance was futile. Not only was Honey insistent, but so were my taste buds. I had a feeling I would be wearing a larger clothing size after the weekend was over. But this little dessert break might also give me a chance to ask Honey about her clandestine nighttime conversation.

I watched as she cut two slices of the crisp, slid them onto a plate with a fancy spatula, and popped them in the microwave.

“So you didn't find anything?” I asked, after inhaling the sweet fragrance of cinnamon, baked apple, and cloves as she pulled the dessert out of the microwave.

She turned to me and frowned. “What?”

“Outside,” I said. “You said you heard something outside and went to find out what it was. You didn't find anything?”

“Oh no. Must have been jackrabbits or foxes. We get a lot of wild creatures around here. The apples
attract almost every kind of critter. Deer are the worst.”

She continued to ramble on. Was I making her nervous?

“I'm glad it was nothing,” I said as she slid one of the desserts onto another plate and set it in front of me. The ball of ice cream next to the warm crisp was already beginning to melt. I took a bite of both.

“Oh, wow,” I said. And I meant it. “Best. Apple. Crisp. Ever.”

Honey looked pleased. “Glad you like it. It's one of my favorites.” She hadn't even touched hers.

“It's funny,” I said after a few more bites. “I was lying in bed and I thought I heard voices. Maybe I dreamed it.”

Honey pushed the crust away from her dessert, as if examining the texture of the apples beneath. “Voices?”

“Yeah, crazy, huh? They seemed to be coming from outside my window.”

Honey set down her fork. “Oh, it was probably the TV. Sound travels in these old houses. I need to remember to keep it down.”

TV? I hadn't noticed the sound of a TV on my way downstairs, or even when I reached the front door. No, it was voices I'd heard. Besides, a TV wouldn't explain the men I'd seen outside.

Honey was lying. The question was, why?

I finished my apple crisp, practically licking the
plate, and patted my stomach. “That was incredible!”

“Would you like more?” she asked. “There's plenty.”

“Oh no. If I eat anything else, I'll never get back to sleep. Thank you so much. That was delicious.” So good, I'd almost forgotten my headache.

Honey smiled and carried the plates to the sink. Mine was clean. Hers was untouched, aside from the forking it had received. “I hope you can get some rest now. Those pills should kick in soon. In fact, take the bottle, just in case.”

“My head feels better already,” I said as I stood up and took the proffered bottle. I knew I wasn't going to get anything more from her tonight. And at this point it was too late to say I'd actually
seen
the others she'd been talking to. “Good night, Honey. Thanks again.”

“It's my pleasure,” she said warmly. “See you in the morning for breakfast. Hope you aren't tired of apples. We're having apple pancakes with a warm apple compote, apple bacon, and apple bread toast.”

I was so full I could barely muster any enthusiasm, but I knew I'd be hungry again in the morning. “Sounds lovely,” I managed. “See you then.”

“And sorry about the door!” she added.

“I'm fine,” I said. With that I headed out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and back to bed, where Jake still slept, undisturbed. As I pulled up the covers and snuggled back into his arms, I couldn't help wondering why Honey hadn't told me about the men she'd been talking to outside. What was it I'd heard?
Right
under our noses? Ruin our festival? Run out of town
? What had she meant? And who had she been talking to?

I closed my eyes. They popped open again as I had a last thought. While I was wondering what Honey Smith had really been up to outside, maybe she was wondering what I was really doing behind that front door.

There was no way I was going to sleep soundly the rest of the night.

•   •   •

“Ruin . . . run . . . right under our noses . . . ruin . . . run . . . right under our—”

“Darcy!” I heard a voice call from the shadows. I tried to find the source, but it was too dark.

“Darcy!” came the voice again.

I shot up in bed like a corpse coming back from the dead.

“What. . . .what?” I blinked and rubbed my bed hair. Disoriented, I looked around the strange room, softly lit by the morning sun peeking through the lacy curtains. I turned to see Jake lying next to me. He was frowning.

“Oh God, was I snoring?” I asked, blushing at the thought.

“No, you were talking in your sleep. I tried to wake you a couple of times, but you were in deep. Sorry if I startled you.”

I closed my eyes and instantly recalled the nightmare I was having.

“What did I say?”

“Something like ‘run, run.' Was someone chasing you in your dream?”

I sighed. “I guess. I can't really remember. Three or four people, holding lit torches . . .” I shivered at the thought and turned to Jake again. “What do you think it means?”

He shrugged.

“Don't you analyze your dreams when you wake up?” I asked, surprised. “I thought everyone looked for clues to their subconscious wishes and fears.”

“Well, mine are mostly about food and sex. Pretty clear.”

I elbowed him.

“But I think maybe the fire at Red's last night might explain yours.”

“The lit torches?” I said. “You're probably right. As for the three figures, I think I can explain that.” I told him about hearing the mostly unintelligible voices from my window during the night, then going downstairs and trying to listen in on the conversation and getting hit in the head by the door when I got caught by Honey. I left out the part about the apple crisp, but I was sure it had contributed to my restless dream as well.

“So you don't know who the other guys were?” Jake asked, rolling out of bed. He slipped on his plaid boxers and stood up.

I looked at the ornate clock on the nightstand. It was a little after seven. I reached for my robe and pulled it on. “No. All I know is, it looked like they
were having an argument. But the men were gone by the time I got downstairs.”

“Well, I'm going to jump in the shower. We're supposed to be at the fairgrounds by nine to set up. The festival starts at ten.”

“Don't use all the hot water,” I called after him. With my robe tucked tightly around me to fend off the chill, I moved to the window and looked out, trying to recall more details of the scene I'd witnessed in the middle of the night. Maybe the whole thing
had
been a dream.

I glanced back at the nightstand. There sat the little bottle of pain pills Honey had given me for a headache. I peered into the antique mirror that hung on the wall nearby and lifted my hair from my forehead. There was a small bruised lump the size of a quarter from where the door had hit me.

That was no dream.

•   •   •

By eight a.m., all the guests at the Enchanted Apple were gathered at the large oak table in Honey's dining room for breakfast—all but Roman Gold. Even Dillon had managed to crawl out of bed and show up for Honey's apple pancakes. And he'd actually changed out of his usual morning attire—his cartoon
pajamas—and was wearing baggy jeans and a
Star Wars
LEGOs T-shirt.

“Did everyone sleep well?” Honey asked. She stood at one end of the table, holding a pitcher of orange juice. I was a little relieved to see it wasn't apple juice. From all the apples I'd be eating over the weekend—and had already—I wouldn't have been surprised if I began to sprout apple blossoms.

The guests either nodded or mumbled, “Yes,” to Honey's question. We offered to wait for Roman before digging in, but Paula said Roman wasn't much for breakfast, so we went ahead without him. Dillon broke the ice with the first bite and we all chowed down. Even after that midnight slice of apple crisp, I found I was hungry again. Must have been the country air. Besides, the apple pancakes with warm apple syrup melted in my mouth like apple butter.

After Honey made sure we were all served, she joined us at the table.

“I heard you had guests last night after we all went to bed,” Jake said out of the blue.

I shot him a look and tried to kick him under the table but missed. I even thought about stabbing him with my fork. What was he thinking, sharing what I'd told him about last night?