The Final Tap (6 page)

I sat beside him on my bed. “There wasn't anyone else to stay. I couldn't get ahold of Grandpa, and Benji has class.”

“Is he your Krissie? Are you going to marry him like Dad is marrying Krissie?”

I bit the inside of my lip.

“Because if you want a Krissie, that's okay with me. Dad got one. It's only fair that you can have one too. It doesn't have to be Chase. Whatever Krissie you want is okay. I know you'll make a good choice. You're good at picking out things. You always do a good job picking out my clothes, and this morning Mrs. Cooper told me I was a snappy dresser.”

I laughed with tears in my eyes and wrapped my son up in a bear hug. He yelped and struggled to wriggle away. “You have no idea what an exceptional person you are, Hayden Cambridge.”

Fifteen minutes later, Hayden and I came down the stairs with Tiffin on our heels. Chase was sitting on the couch reading a novel from my bookshelf. He set the book aside. “Are you ready to party while your mom is gone?”

My son's face lit up. “Yeah!”

Oh boy. “Try not to wake up any of the neighbors during your wild party,” I said.

Hayden wrinkled his brow. “Mom, the closest neighbor is far away.”

“Exactly,” I said pointedly to Chase.

He grinned in return.

I went to the door and got ready for a trek across the frozen tundra. Chase joined me at the door while I pulled on my gloves. “Thanks again for doing this,” I said. “I really do appreciate it. I know there must be things you'd rather do on your night off than hang out with a
five-year
-old.”

“Not really,” he said.

I searched his face to gauge whether or not he was teasing me again, but all I saw was sincerity. My conversation with Hayden upstairs flashed across my memory, and I broke eye contact. “I should be back by nine. Hayden's bedtime is eight, but it's okay for him to stay up a little later until I get back.”

Chase nodded. “Got it.” He opened the door for me but didn't step out of my way.

I pulled down the scarf covering my mouth so that he could hear me. “Is something wrong?”

He looked as if he wanted to say something but had changed his mind. “Nope. Nothing's wrong. Go catch a killer. Hayden and I will be fine.”

I left, wondering what else he'd wanted to say.

ten

I knew where the
shelter house was located in the large, wooded park surrounding Barton Farm. It was a popular location for children's birthday parties, and I'd been to my share there. It was about a fifteen-minute walk from my cottage, but considering the dark and the cold temperatures, I opted to drive. Plus, I was running late and didn't have enough time to find my way there in the dark.

By the time I arrived, the parking lot was half full. The red pickup truck I parked next to had a maple leaf decal in the back window. I recognized Gavin's white truck by the front door. He was perched on the bumper. He jumped off of it when I got out of my car. “You found someone to watch Hayden?” He sounded slightly disappointed.

“I told you I would. Chase is watching him,” I said.

Gavin's eyes widened, but he knew better than to comment on that. He cleared his throat. “I still don't think this is a great idea.”

“I disagree.” I lowered my voice as an elderly man with a cane shuffled through the shelter house's door. It banged closed after him. “Gavin, Dr. Beeson's death has been ruled a murder. He did have a heart attack, but someone stabbed him in the chest.”

In the yellow security light over the shelter house's door, Gavin paled. “Oh no. And the detective thinks I did it?”

“Exactly. That's why it's even more important that we see who else might have a motive.”

He glanced at the closed door. “You're going to find an entire room of suspects here. No one in Sap and Spile liked him.” He paused. “Before we go in there, I just have to warn you. They might not be too excited to see you. My father knows you're coming, of course. He's not happy about it, and the other men won't be either.”

I eyed him. “Is this a secret club like the Masons or something?”

Gavin shook his head. “We don't do anything in secret. It's just that you'll be the only woman there.”

I arched my brow. “Women don't tap trees?”

Another elderly man climbed out of his car and gave me the
once-over
as he shuffled into the shelter house.

Gavin lowered his voice. “It's a men's club.”

My mouth fell open. “You could have shared that little fact with me this afternoon.”

“I just was so shocked by your insistence on coming that I didn't think to mention it. Maybe they won't make a big deal out of it. They're all very interested in Dr. Beeson's death. He was the president of Sap and Spile. Now they'll be scrambling for position.”

I pulled at my gloves. It was warmer than it had been the night before, but it was still below freezing. “Scrambling for position? Don't you have a vice president who could step in and take over until someone else is elected?”

“Yes,” was his tentative answer.

I frowned.

He waved away the next question forming on my lips. “Let's go in. We can spend all night talking about the crazy way that Sap and Spile is run. I think when you meet everyone it'll make more sense.”

As soon as Gavin opened the door, I could hear the rumble of many male voices coming from a meeting room to our left.

I followed Gavin inside and removed my stocking cap but not my coat. The shelter house didn't have any central heating and was sparsely furnished with a half dozen wooden picnic tables. It was warmer than outside, though, because there was an enormous hearth, big enough to hold two
full-grown
men, on the far side of the room. A huge fire raged in the middle of the hearth, giving off heat. Most of the men were close to that end of the room.

“Brace yourself,” Gavin said under his breath.

“Brace myself for what?” I asked, but he was headed toward the fire.

I squared my shoulders and walked across the room after him. Slowly, I became aware that all conversation had ceased when I'd entered the shelter house.

The men who stood around in small groups or sat at the tables stared at me. There were roughly twenty men in total. Gavin was definitely the youngest. The rest looked like retirees, or just a few years shy of that. There was a mixture of confusion and outrage on the men's faces. I was now beginning to understand why Gavin had told me to brace myself.

To the right of the fireplace there was a small round table that held a photograph of Dr. Beeson. In the photo, he was in the woods holding up a tree spile—the hollow metal peg that's drilled into the maple tree to begin the run of sap. He wore a plaid coat and beamed at the camera. Beside the photograph was a stack of
Maple Sugar and the Civil War.
A small sign said that cash and checks were accepted. Checks could be made out to Conrad Beeson. I hoped that his family had some way to cash those checks now that he was dead. I wondered if he had children other than Corrie, the daughter Gavin had mentioned to the detective.

Gavin was speaking to his father, who scowled at me. Nevertheless, I was about to join them when a small man approached me. He was just a little over five feet tall and bald. I was only five two, so it wasn't often that I met a man who was shorter than me.

“We're so glad that you came,” the man said. “We're hoping you can shed some light on Conrad's death. Gavin tells us you were the one who found him.”

“I was one of the people. My assistant Benji was with me.”

“Is Benji a dog?” he asked.

“No, she's a girl.” I was glad that Benji wasn't there to hear this comment. She was pretty sensitive when it came to the canine she'd been named after, and when Benji was sensitive, she threw things. I examined the man and felt like I'd seen him before, but I couldn't place him. “Have we met?”

He shook his head. “Not formally. I was at the Civil War reenactment at Barton Farm this summer.”

It was possible that's where I'd seen him. But there had been several hundred reenactors on the Farm that weekend, and I'd been dealing with another murder.

He held out his hand to me. “I'm Robert Stroud.”

“Oh,” I said, immediately recognizing the name of the maple sugar expert who'd bowed out before I hired Conrad Beeson to take his place. “I'm so glad that you're feeling better.”

He blinked at me from behind his glasses. “Better?”

I nodded. “You've been sick. I'm happy to see you out of the hospital so soon.”

He sniffed as if I'd offended him. “Hospital? I was never in a hospital.”

“You
were
in the hospital,” I argued, not sure why he would deny it. “That's why you couldn't teach the tree tapping class at the Farm.”

“Whatever gave you that idea? I was looking forward to teaching the course. I was sorely disappointed when I got your call telling me that the course was canceled.”

I blinked at him. “My call? I never called you. The course isn't canceled.”

He glared at me. His friendly demeanor had completely vanished. “Yes, you did. You called me just two days ago and told me that you were sorry, but there weren't enough participants signed up for the course, so it was canceled. I offered to teach free of charge to those who'd signed up. It didn't seem right to me to leave those who wanted to learn about tree tapping with nothing. You said that you thought it was better just to cancel the course and try again next year.”

“Robert,” I said, becoming aware that the other men in the room were now watching us as the conversation became more heated. “The class wasn't canceled. I never called to tell you that. Someone claiming to be your daughter called me and said that you were in the hospital.”

“Daughter?” He stepped back. “I don't have any children. Why would you take some woman's word for it? You could easily have called me to confirm.”

“And you could just as easily have called me back to
double-check
on the cancellation. It seems to me that we both were played.”

“Who would do that?”

I shook my head. Who would call me and pretend to be Stroud's daughter? And more importantly,
why
would they do that?

“I'm sorry for the confusion,” I said finally.

“Do you still want me to teach the class?” Stroud asked eagerly.

I hesitated, given his extreme reaction to the
mix-up
, but the tree tapping class was at ten the next morning. I was running out of time to find a replacement, and if I didn't want to be stuck teaching it myself, I really didn't have any other options. “Actually, yes. Dr. Beeson was going to teach the class in your place, so—”

“Beeson!” he snapped. “You told me the course was canceled, and you hired
him
of all people?”

“Like I said,
I
never called you,” I said through gritted teeth. “Just like it wasn't really your daughter who called me to tell me you were sick.”

“Robert.” A
severe-looking
man with a mane of gray hair approached us. “It's time to bring the meeting to order. Since you're the vice president, that would be your responsibility.” He didn't add
now that Beeson is dead
, but it was implied.

“Oh, right, thank you, John. If you could excuse me, Ms. Cambridge,” Stroud said politely.

I blinked at the sudden shift in his demeanor.

He shuffled to the front of the room, where there was a long table. The huge fire snapped and crackled behind him, giving the proceedings an almost medieval feel. In the middle of the table there was a gavel, and he picked it up and stared at it as if he was surprised to have it in his hand. He whacked it on the tabletop. “Gentlemen.” He nodded to me. “And lady. This meeting of the Sap and Spile Club is now called to order. May your trees produce sap.”

“Long live the syrup,” the men in the room said in return.

I wondered which alternative universe I'd landed in, one where maple sugar was treated like a deity of some sort.

Stroud cleared his throat. “As you all know, our president, Conrad Beeson passed away quite suddenly this afternoon. Gavin has brought Kelsey Cambridge here to talk to us about the incident.”

I shot Gavin a look. That wasn't what I signed up for. I was there to size up the suspects, not give a
show-and
-tell.

Gavin stepped forward. “I asked Kelsey to come here tonight because she can tell us about where and how she discovered the professor.”

“Was he murdered?” a man in the back of the room asked.

“If anyone deserved it, it was Conrad. Insufferable man,” another voice added.

I spun around, searching for the comment's origin, but I just met the hostile gaze of irritated tree tappers. Gavin had said that I would find an entire room of people at Sap and Spile that wanted Beeson dead. It appeared he'd been right about that.

Stroud smacked his gavel on the tabletop again. “Order, please!”

The room grew quiet.

Stroud took a deep breath. “I know that we're all upset over Conrad's passing, but we can't allow our emotions to run away with us.”

A man snorted in the back.

This time I managed to see who it was. He was tall, with thick black hair, and I would place him in his forties—which with the exception of Gavin was young for this crowd.

“Don't be ridiculous, Robert,” the man said. “No one here is broken up over Conrad's death. He was an absolute parasite.”

I could have been wrong, but I thought the man's voice sounded like the voice that had said Conrad deserved to die. I inspected him with interest. It appeared I had my first real suspect.

“Now, Buckley, you know that Conrad made a huge contribution to the maple sugar community in New Hartford and the entire state of Ohio.”

Buckley moved to the front of the room. The other members of Sap and Spile quickly stepped out of his way. I guessed he was someone who was accustomed to having others move for him. He marched to the front of the room and plucked one of Beeson's books off of the pile. “I, for one, am glad that I won't have to hear about this anymore. Ever since it was released, all Conrad could talk about was his book and what a great work it was. This is what I think of it.” He tossed the paperback into the fire behind Stroud's table.