Death of a Bad Apple (23 page)

Crystal looked over at the maze, then at her watch. “What's taking them so long?”

“Maybe Jake found something important,” I offered.

She finished taping together the last box, leaving an extra bottle on the table.

“Might as well drink this apple cider, since it won't fit in the box,” she said. “Would you like some?”

“Uh, sure,” I said, figuring I'd stick around until Jake and Tiffany returned. I still had a few more questions I wanted to ask about Nathan that Crystal might be able to answer.

Crystal glanced around. “The glasses are all packed up. Would you mind getting us a couple of paper cups from Violet over there?” She pointed to the elderly woman across the way. “It looks like she hasn't packed everything away yet.”

I nodded and headed for the Apple Sauced booth, where the woman with a wrinkled, apple-doll face had been selling applesauce “in ten flavors!” according to her sign. As I approached, she was meticulously putting plastic spoons in a large box—one at a time. The paper cups she used to hold individual servings of her “sauce” were still sitting on her table. I glanced at the list of flavors—everything from apple strawberry, apple blueberry, and apple mango, to apple peach, apple cherry, and even apple chocolate. How had I missed that one?

“Hi, could I steal a couple of paper cups from you?” I asked her.

She leaned over and cupped her ear. “Pardon me?”

“I said, could I have a couple of your paper cups?”

“Of course,” she said. “That's about all I have left.”

“Sold out, eh?” I said a little louder. I took the proffered cups from her gnarled hand.

“That I did,” she said as she continued to load plastic spoons into the box.

I thanked her and returned to Crystal, who stood watching me.

“Thanks,” she said, taking them from me. She set them on the table.

“That's Violet Melvin,” Crystal said as she opened the bottle of cider. She waved and smiled at the elderly lady, and I glanced back. Violet Melvin waved in reply. “She's a sweetheart,” Crystal continued. “Each year she comes up with a new applesauce flavor. Did you get to try her latest—the chocolate one?”

I turned back to Crystal, who held out my filled cup. “No, is it good?”

She angled her head. “Different. Last year she sold peanut butter applesauce. Now, that was good.”

Crystal slipped into silence as she recapped the apple cider. I sipped my tangy drink, wondering what was taking Jake so long. . . .

Moments later I felt a sudden rush of blood to my head, as if someone had poured sand over me. I blinked, trying to clear away the sensation. In a wave of dizziness, I swooned and caught myself on the table, using it to steady my suddenly tingling legs. I tried to set down the cup but managed to spill the rest of the cider all over the table.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” I said. Although I was seeing double, I could tell the cider had spread all over her personalized Wise Apple Winery tablecloth.

Crystal looked up at me. “Are you all right?”

I looked down at the table, trying to focus, and noticed a blur of white in the cider spillage. I blinked again and the white blur became white specks.

With a sudden realization, I glanced up at Crystal.

“You look pale,” she said, reaching out. “Can I get you something? Do you need to sit down?”

“You . . . you . . .” I tried to talk, but my tongue felt thick and numb.

“Here, let me help you,” Crystal said, coming around the table.

“You put . . . something in my drink. . . .”

My thoughts were a jumbled mess, but my
fight-or-flight instinct still managed to kick in. There was no way I could defend myself against Crystal in this condition, so flight won.

I backed away from her, looking for help. Violet Melvin had disappeared. I scanned the area for an escape route and spotted the scooter, but I didn't think I could drive the thing in my condition. Instead, I bolted, running as fast as my wobbly, unreliable legs could carry me.

“Stop!” I heard Crystal call.

I glanced back. Crystal stood on the scooter, her hand on the accelerator handle.

Uh-oh. She'd catch up with me fast on that thing.

I kept running, sensing she was right behind me but afraid to look. She would reach me in seconds if I didn't think of something—fast. I had to find a safe place. The vendor tents I passed were empty—or if they weren't I couldn't tell. Everything looked blurry to me.

I spotted the hay maze looming ahead. There was no way Crystal could follow me in there with the scooter. It was my only chance.

Plus, Jake was inside! If I could reach him, he'd be able to handle Crystal easily.

Unless she had some sort of weapon.

And would I be putting Jake in jeopardy if I managed to find him?

Just as I reached the entrance to the maze, I glanced back. Crystal was only a few feet behind me, close enough that I could make out the scowl on her face. Her expression told me everything.

I was going to be her third victim.

I ducked under the crime scene tape and dashed into the hay maze. She couldn't follow me if she stayed on the scooter. The turns were too sharp to maneuver easily. My mind felt foggy, but it was clear enough to know I needed to keep moving if she decided to follow me on foot. Surely I could lose myself in here again—and keep away from Crystal—at least until I found Jake.

I had to reach him before Crystal did.

I thought about screaming Jake's name, but I knew Crystal would hear me and figure out where I was, so I kept speeding along, darting around corners, twisting and turning, as quietly and quickly as I could. I prayed I'd run into Jake before Crystal ran into me.

I'd been running around like a mouse in a maze for what seemed forever when I tripped over something. I landed facedown on the not-that-soft hay-covered path with a thud. “Oof.” I grunted, then felt my chest tighten as the wind was knocked out of me.

I couldn't breathe!

Panicked, I struggled to get up, dizzy from running and the effects of the drug Crystal had put in my cider. I looked down and saw what had tripped me—a man's shoe.

Nathan's? No. I wasn't thinking clearly.

I looked up and realized the shoe had fallen from one of the many scarecrows set up on hay bales inside the maze. This one, towering over me atop a high bale, resembled the scarecrow from
The Wizard of Oz
. I picked up the shoe, thinking I might be able to use
it as a weapon against Crystal if she found me, and was about to race on.

And then I smelled smoke.

This time there was no mistaking it. The smoke was coming from somewhere inside the maze. The distinct smell of burning hay proved it.

Oh no! Crystal had set the maze on fire!

But why would she do this now? To kill me, obviously. What about her daughter? Didn't she remember that Tiffany was in here too?

Then it dawned on me. Crystal wasn't worried about Tiffany—the young woman knew her way around the maze like the back of her hand. And no doubt Crystal did too. She'd probably been inside many times herself. But she knew I didn't have a clue how to get out. I only hoped Jake would be able to escape in time with Tiffany before the fire consumed the entire maze.

Meanwhile, he didn't even know I was in here.

I was trapped, with no sense of where to go. All of these bales of dry, bundled hay could go up like a match in minutes.

I started screaming, then stopped myself.

I had to think.

I looked up at the scarecrow overhead. He seemed to be mocking me from his high perch. I grabbed a hunk of straw, lifted my leg, and tried to get a foothold between two stacked bales. The bales wobbled as I pulled on them, but I had no choice. In spite of my shaking legs, I had to try to climb up.

The first chunk of hay slipped out from the bale
and I fell back on the ground. Pushing myself up, I tried again, grasping a larger handful of hay as I secured my footing between two bales. The bales were tied with twine, giving me an extra handle to hold on to, but moments later the bale I'd grabbed came tumbling down, bringing me with it.

I needed another strategy. Instead of trying to climb straight up like Spider-Man, I needed to use the bales as a staircase. I climbed up on the bale that had hit the ground, then pulled at another one that was over my head, rocking it back and forth until it finally gave and fell down. Like children's blocks, the bales began to form giant steps.

I climbed up the second one, then the third. I stood up slowly, still wobbly from the drug as well as the tenuously stacked bales of hay that could come tumbling down at any minute.

The smoke was intense by the time I reached the top and I could see billowing gray clouds overhead. There wasn't much time before the whole maze attraction went up in flames, with me inside.

I looked out over the top of the bales, trying to orient myself, but all I could see was smoke. Where was the exit?

Suddenly, through the haze, I spotted Jake. He stood outside—thank God—along with Tiffany, and was talking on his phone. No doubt he was calling the fire department, but I was sure they wouldn't arrive in time. The hay would be a pile of ash by the time they got here. And so would I.

I was about to wave and scream at him when the
bale I stood on began trembling violently. I looked down to see Crystal. She was shaking the bottom bale. There was fire in her eyes.

On the ground lay what looked like pruning shears.

I crouched down to keep my balance. I had to do something. If she knocked me off this bale tower, she was sure to kill me with those shears.

I grabbed hold of one of the bales next to me and rocked it until it gave. It rolled off and landed next to Crystal.

Missed!

She looked startled, then began violently rocking the bale that held me. I reached for another nearby bale and managed to push it down. It landed on the other side of her.

Missed again!

The smoke was beginning to burn my eyes, but Crystal didn't seem to notice as she continued to shake my foundation.

With one last violent jerk from Crystal, my footing slipped. I lost my balance and came flying down, along with the two bales that were underneath me. One of them landed on Crystal, giving me a second to scramble backward—and grab the pruning shears. The smoke enveloped us, setting us coughing.

Just in time, I saw her come at me.

I opened the shears to defend myself.

One of the blades caught her in the side. She bent over and screamed in pain.

I recoiled in horror. I had just stabbed someone!
Suddenly I hoped she wasn't mortally wounded. I didn't want to be responsible for someone's death, even someone who was trying to kill me. And at the moment, I realized Crystal was my only hope of getting out of this fiery maze. If she died, I probably would too.

I dropped the shears and tried to hoist her up. As blood gushed from her wound, I wrapped her arm around my shoulder.

“Crystal, we've got to get out of here. You have to show me the way!”

Holding her side, Crystal grunted, then nodded to the left.

“This way?” I asked, hoping she wasn't planning to kill us both by leading me astray.

She grunted again. I held her close and dragged her along, following her nods and grunts. The smoke was so thick I could hardly see. My eyes burned, my throat was raw, but at least the effects of the drug had dissipated. As the cover of smoke encroached, my only thought now was praying that Crystal could find the way out.

After an eternity of turns and twists, coughing constantly, I spotted the exit sign. “We're there!” I
said, adrenaline giving me the strength to make it the last few feet.

I dragged her out and we both collapsed on the ground, choking and coughing.

I thought I heard sirens. . . . Then someone was calling my name. . . . Then a familiar face appeared. . . .

“Jake,” I whispered.

Jake rode with me to the hospital, that much I remember. An oxygen mask was cupped over my face and two paramedics hovered over me so I couldn't see him, but I felt his hand squeezing mine—and I'd know that soft yet strong hand anywhere. They wheeled me into the Mother Lode Hospital and into Emergency, where a doctor checked me out, bandaged my twisted ankle and sore foot, and let me recover in a private room for a couple of hours before releasing me.

Jake stayed with me the whole time while I mostly slept off the drug Crystal had given me. It turned out to be Rohypnol, the date-rape drug, but luckily I didn't have much in my system, thanks to my clumsy spill.

“How're we doing?” a cheery nurse said as he entered my room. My eyes fluttered open and I glanced
at Jake, who sat up in his chair next to my bed. The nurse picked up my chart from the end of the bed. His name tag read Z. Valdez.

“Much better,” I said, dying to get out of the hospital and spend the rest of my recovery time under the care of Aunt Abby at the inn.

Jake gave me a relieved smile and watched as the nurse checked my blood pressure, heart rate (a gizmo attached to my index finger), IV bag, and the monitors that beeped nearby.

“Yes, you're looking remarkably good,” the nurse said, cranking the bed up a few inches, so I was in a forty-five-degree angle. “The doctor will be in in a few minutes to see you.”

“Will I get to go home?” I asked, sitting up even farther.

“That's up to the doctor,” he replied, “but I don't see why not.” He returned my chart and headed out the door.

I sat back and let out a breath of air. “Thank goodness,” I said. “I hate hospitals. I just want to go home—or at least back to the inn—and check on Aunt Abby and Honey. A bowl of Aunt Abby's chicken noodle soup will do more than anything they can give me here.”

Jake laughed. “I'll see what I can do about whipping up a chicken noodle cream puff for you.”

I grimaced at the thought. “Don't go to trouble. Just nothing with apples, please.”

He laughed again. At that moment, the doctor entered the room.

“Hi, I'm Dr. Dietz,” she said. “I hear you're feeling a lot better. You had a quite a scare, didn't you.”

I nodded and sat up again. “I'm hoping I can be released.”

“Well, let me examine you and see about that.”

After doing a rudimentary exam, Dr. Dietz listened to my breathing. I was certain she heard smoke in my lungs, the way she was frowning, but apparently that was her “doctor” expression.

“Sounds clear,” she said, pulling off her stethoscope. She signed my chart, then added, “As soon as the nurse removes your IV, you're good to go.”

I was dressed in my filthy clothes in less than five minutes after the nurse pulled the plug.

Jake escorted me out of the room and down the hall toward the exit. Just as I reached the double sliding glass doors, I stopped.

“Wait,” I said to Jake, and turned around.

“What? Did you forget something?”

I shook my head. “Crystal's here too, isn't she?”

Jake shrugged. “I guess so. Why?”

“I need to see her.”

“What for? She tried to kill you. And a minute ago you couldn't wait to get out of this hospital.”

“I know, but I need to ask her something.” I headed for the information desk, manned by a couple of gray-haired women wearing pink and white candy-striper outfits. Poor things, stuck in those uniforms meant for young girls who delivered magazines and snacks.

“Hi,” I said to both of them. They dropped their welcoming smiles and frowned at me.

“Are you all right?” the one with bright red lipstick asked.

“Do you need a doctor?” said the other one who wore a cross around her neck.

I must have looked as if I was coming, not going, but I shook my head. “No, I'm fine. Just a little scrape. I fell. . . . Uh, do you have a patient here named Crystal Cortland?”

I sensed Jake come up behind me.

The lipsticked volunteer typed the name into the computer, then squinted at the screen. “Yes, she's in room 302.”

“Are you a relative?” the cross-bearing woman asked.

“Yes,” I lied. “She's my . . . aunt.”

Jake cleared his throat. I tried to elbow him quiet but missed.

“Take the elevator to the third floor, then follow the yellow line to room 302.”

“Thanks,” I said, then headed in the direction they'd both pointed. Jake caught up with me and pulled my arm.

“What are you doing?” he said. “She could still be dangerous.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “I'm sure she's heavily medicated after being stitched up for that stab wound. I need to find out if she's all right.”

The elevator door opened and we stepped in. I pushed the number 3 and we waited in silence as the
doors shut and the car began to rise. It stopped abruptly at the third floor and we headed out through the open doors. I spotted the yellow line and followed it to Crystal's room.

I paused before entering, took a deep breath, and asked Jake to wait outside for me.

“No way,” he said, frowning.

“Please? I want to ask her some questions and I'm afraid she won't open up if you're there.”

Jake shook his head, but he opened the door for me and I entered—alone.

“Crystal?” I whispered as I stepped into the room. The television was on and Crystal appeared to be watching a reality show on cooking. She looked over at me and clicked off the sound.

“What are you doing here?” she said, moving her hand to her side—the spot where I had stabbed her—as if to protect it.

I winced. I could see the thick, large bandage that covered most of her right side and wondered if she was in pain.

“I . . . wanted to come by and see how you're doing,” I said gently, not wanting to upset her. I was afraid she might lunge for me and hurt herself, or call the nurse to get me kicked out of her room.

“You stabbed me!” she said. “How do you think I'm doing? I'm lucky to be alive.”

I stepped in closer, fairly certain that with all the wires and tubes connected to her, she wouldn't be able to really retaliate, other than throw a bedpan at me.

“Yeah, I'm sorry about that. But you did try to kill me.”

“Only because you stuck your nose in where it didn't belong. What do you want?”

“I want to know why you killed Roman and Nathan. Was it all to protect your daughter, to keep Nathan out of her life?”

She looked at the TV screen for a moment, then back at me. “I'd do anything for Tiffany,” she said. Tears suddenly sprang to her eyes. She sniffed. “She's everything to me. And that man doesn't deserve to be called her father.”

“I understand, considering how hard it was for you to have her in the first place, but he was her father. And why kill Roman? What did he do to deserve that?”

Crystal's tears ran down her blotchy face and she grabbed a nearby tissue to wipe them. “He was blackmailing me. With all his snooping around, he found out about Tiffany's paternity and threatened to tell her and everyone else if I didn't agree to sell my place to him and get others to do the same. He was an awful, awful man, and he didn't deserve to get away with his plan.”

I nodded, mostly just to keep her talking. I didn't agree with her, but I felt she needed a little understanding and sympathy.

“I still don't understand why you killed Nathan, Tiffany's biological father. Would it have been so bad if they'd had a father-daughter relationship?”

“That sleazy, womanizing alcoholic? Can you imagine having someone like him in your life and
having to call him ‘father'? Red is her father. He's the one who raised her from birth. He's the one who deserves the title, even if he did leave us. I couldn't stand the thought of Nathan trying to take over that role. I didn't want to take any chances. I had to stop him—permanently.”

“And you didn't think telling him to stop would be enough?”

“No! Once he found out the truth—that he was Tiff's real father—he wouldn't let go of the idea of playing daddy. It made me sick. When I saw him go into the maze, I was sure he was going to meet up with Tiffany again, try to win her over. So I followed him. When I found him—alone—we argued again. He threatened me, told me he didn't care if everyone in town knew the truth. He wanted to be in Tiff's life. I had no choice. I stabbed him.”

Wow, I thought, marveling at her skewed logic.

“Then you planted those seeds to make it look like Honey killed him,” I added.

She shrugged. “Honey stole my husband. She was going to get what she deserved too.”

I wanted to argue that Honey hadn't stolen her husband, but there was no point. I wanted to know why Crystal had done what she'd done. The district attorney could have that argument with her later.

“Did you set those fires too?” I asked.

“I only set the fires to try to make it look like those GMO people would stop at nothing to get their properties. I never meant to hurt anyone. Not then, at least.”

“Well, I hope you get better soon,” I said, sighing. “I better go—”

“Wait!” She tried to sit up, then held her side and lay back down. “Have you heard anything about Tiffany? Is she okay? She hasn't been by to see me.”

“I'm sure she's fine. She's probably with her dad—Red. He's the only family she's got right now.”

Tears flowed from Crystal's eyes again as my words hit home. I couldn't help feeling sorry for the woman, even after what she'd done. She'd been driven to the brink by pressures from the GMO company, the threat of exposing her daughter's parentage, and the loss of her husband to another woman. She just didn't realize the lies, the secrets, the tentative house of cards she'd built had to come tumbling down sometime.

“Good-bye, Crystal,” I said, heading for the door.

“Please,” she called out. “Tell Tiffany I love her. I did it all for her.”

I nodded and left the room, eager to get back to Jake, Aunt Abby, and the comfort of some chicken noodle soup.