The Final Tap (3 page)

“You mean like blood spatter?” Benji asked. Apparently, she'd recovered from her queasiness in the woods.

I blanched. “Just make sure there's no sign of anything related to what happened to Dr. Beeson.”

“We'll take care of it,” Judy promised.

four

Before Benji could make
another comment
about my coat, I went down the short hallway beside the cafeteria to my office. As I passed the open and airy dining room, I gave a sigh of relief. Everything was set up for the children's pancake lunch. Little pitchers of maple syrup sat on every table, along with recyclable paper plates and cups. The children would be eating fruit as well as pancakes, and there was milk, orange juice, and water to dri
nk.

Alice had set bud vases with daffodils on each table. I didn't know if the children would appreciate the decoration as much as the pancakes, but I certainly did. The bright yellow blossoms reminded me that spring would be here soon, no matter what the thermometer read on the outside. In my opinion, spring couldn't come soon enough.

All the while, worry over Beeson tickled the back of my mind. I whispered a voiceless prayer for him.

As much as I wanted to go compliment Alice on her work, I put my head down and kept walking. I didn't want to startle her with my bloodied appearance. I made a mental note to tell her how nice it looked the next chance I got. It was my managerial style to praise my employees every chance I had, but I thought under the circumstances this could wait until later.

I unlocked and opened my office door, hanging my
blood-spattered
coat over the back of the chair. Working on the Farm, I'd been covered with all manner of muck, but this was the first time it was another person's blood. I tried not to think about it. I knew I would throw my coat away before I'd take it to the local dry cleaners. New Hartford was a small town, and a
blood-covered
coat would certainly make tongues wag. The Farm was already a topic of idle conversation after the events of last summer that led to Maxwell Cherry's death. I grabbed my old black down coat and headed outside.

Instead of leaving through the visitor center's main exit, I slipped out the
Employees Only
exit on the side. My boots crunched as I marched through the layer of snow on my way to the pebbled path that wound through the Farm.

The path was packed down from dozens of feet that had trampled it the last two days during the school visits. I was pleased with how much interest there was in our maple sugar program from the local schools, and I hoped to expand the program by several days next March, although I might schedule everything a week later in order to get warmer temperatures.

As I walked down the snow and
ice-encrusted
path, I kept making mental lists in my head about how I could make the school visits better next year. I hoped my lists would distract me from what had happened to Beeson. It didn't work. A tiny part of me was afraid the Farm might be sued. It could be even worse if he died. I shook my head. How could I even think about the Farm at a time like this, when the poor man was suffering? What had he been trying to tell me? I wished that I knew.

The smell of hot maple syrup floated out the open door of the sugarhouse. The whitewashed building was small and could only hold twenty tightly packed people at a time, maybe
twenty-five
if most of them were children. Because there were fifty students from the elementary school at the Farm at the moment, many spilled out into the trees. Jayne was speaking to the teachers and children outside the sugarhouse. I gave a sigh of relief. I was happy to see the members of my staff step up in a time of crisis. Jayne was doing a pretty good job of relating the history of the Farm.

I waved to her before squeezing into the back of the sugarhouse. I watched Gavin run a long wooden paddle back and forth through the maple sugar that was boiling in a long, stainless steel trough. “We heat the sap to a constant temperature between 212 and 219 degrees Fahrenheit to remove the water,” he said. “Does anyone know what happens to the water?”

A boy with glasses raised his hand. “It evaporates.”

Gavin beamed at the boy. “That's right! The water evaporates and leaves behind the sugar. When enough water evaporates, the sugar becomes maple syrup. To be considered maple syrup in the state of Ohio, the content has to be
sixty-six
brix or higher. Does anyone know what a brix is?”

No one said a word.

He chuckled. “I didn't know what it was either when I was your age. A brix measures sucrose or sugar content. It's a measuring tool used for soda, fruit juice, and other liquid that contains sugar. For maple sugaring, less than
sixty-six
brix is not legally maple syrup.” He paused. “If it's too diluted, it can't be sold as maple syrup. What does diluted mean?”

“It has too much water,” a girl said.

“That's right.” Gavin grinned at the class. “Maybe you guys should be teaching me. You know most of the answers already. The brix one was a wringer. I bet your teachers didn't know the answer to that one either.” He winked at them.

The kids grinned back. I relaxed. Gavin had everything well in hand. Maybe I could slip away and find out what the police were doing at the crime scene.

Gavin stopped stirring the sap and walked down the metal trough to the part that was closest to his enraptured audience. He pointed to the end section of the trough, which was partitioned from the rest by a metal wall. The space was about a foot across and slowly filling with maple syrup. “The maple syrup moves from the large portion of the trough to this smaller one,” he explained. “This way, we can add more sap to the main portion without diluting the syrup we've already made.” He held up what looked like a huge coffee filter. “This is what I use to strain the syrup. There are tiny minerals in the sap that are collected by the tree. Even though they're invisible to the human eye, we don't want them in our maple syrup. This filter will strain them out.” He set the filter into a bucket, turned on the tap from the trough, and let syrup run from the end of the trough into the
filter-lined
bucket. “And that, my friend, is how maple syrup is made. Any questions?”

A dozen small hands flew into the air, and kids hopped in place, hoping to catch Gavin's attention.

Spotting me, Gavin nodded to me over their heads. “Why don't we save these questions for the session after lunch in the classroom? Don't forget them! I want to hear every last one you have. Now, I think we can all go back to the visitor center and warm up. I have some great games planned.” He paused dramatically. “And I've heard that the Barton Farm cook has some hot pancakes and fresh maple syrup waiting for you.”

A cheer went up from the children. The teachers grimaced at each other. I believe the words “sugar rush” flashed in their heads in bright neon letters.

The class filed out, and I waited for Gavin by the door of the sugarhouse. “That seemed to go well,” I said.

“They're a great group of kids,” he replied.

Jayne led the teachers and students back to the visitor center. I was grateful, because it gave me a chance to talk to Gavin without being overheard.

“Jayne said that professor was hurt. How is he?” Gavin asked.

I sighed. “I'm not sure yet. He was still alive when the paramedics drove away.”

“That's something.”

“The police are still here,” I added.

“They are?” His eyes widened. “Why?”

I frowned. “Because Dr. Beeson was hurt. They have to investigate.”

“An accident doesn't need police.”

I thought of the hand drill sticking out of Beeson's chest. It hadn't looked like an accident to me. “They don't know it was an accident.”

“They think he was attacked?” he yelped.

“I don't know yet,” I said.

Gavin didn't say anything as we started walking back to the visitor center. “I hope this doesn't sounds callous, Kelsey, but if you need someone to fill in for Beeson to teach the tree tapping class, I can do it. I'd be happy to.”

“I'd love your help, Gavin, but remember, there'll be the school visit at the same time. You can't be in two places at once. I'll have to find an alternative. It's horrible to think about replacing Dr. Beeson already, no matter how difficult he was to get along with. But no matter what happens, he'll be in no condition to teach tomorrow.”

Gavin opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something more, but he was interrupted by a teacher waving at him. His face cleared. “I'd better go see what she wants.”

I nodded and watched him walk with the teacher to the visitor center. The whole time, I wondered why he was so keen to teach the class, and what he'd been about to say.

five

I returned to the
lobby of the visitor center. The volume had increased tenfold with the arrival of the kids from the sugarhouse. The teachers tried to control the volume, but it was no use with the excited talk of pancakes. A heavenly aroma filled the entire building.

Gavin whistled to get their attention. The room fell silent. “Who wants pancakes?”

A cheer went up from the students that shook the rafters. After some scrambling, they filed into the dining room.

Officer Sonders stepped through the sliding glass doors. “Ms. Cambridge?” He waved me over.

I followed the officer outside. “How's Dr. Beeson? Is there any news?”

“He's in surgery.” He cleared his throat. “Detective Brandon and the chief are at a statewide law enforcement meeting in Columbus today. They're on their way back now.”

“Are they hurrying back because you think a crime has been committed?”

He shook his head. “You'll have to ask them that question. The scene is secure. No one should go over there, understood?”

I nodded. “Do you think it's safe to have the children here? Should I send them back to the school?”

Sonders' mouth twisted. “We searched the woods. There's no one there. But to be safe, I'll hang around here until the children are gone, if that's okay with you.”

I nodded.

“Any chance I could get some pancakes?”

I smiled. “Sure. Just tell Alice, our cook, that I sent you.”

He grinned and went back into the visitor center.

I sighed. As much as I wanted to go check out the scene myself, I wouldn't have the chance with Officer Sonders on the grounds. It would not do if I was caught snooping around. It appeared that I'd have to wait until the detective and police chief arrived.

Two hours later, the school group left, Officer Sonders was called away, and I was in the dining room helping my staff clean up from the pancake lunch. As I scrubbed at a streak of maple syrup on the tabletop with a hot rag, I decided that during the next day's school visit, the pitchers of maple syrup would not be sitting out on the tables. That had turned into a disaster. This was the third major spill I'd cleaned up between making calls trying to line up an instructor for the tree tapping class. At present, I wasn't having much luck at either.

I was scrubbing the table for all I was worth when someone behind me cleared his throat. I turned to find Chief Duffy and Detective Brandon standing there. Chief Duffy was a sixtyish man with a slight paunch hanging over his belt. His most striking feature was a full beard, cut in the style favored by generals during the Civil War. The chief was an avid Civil War reenactor and had even served as a Confederate general in the reenactment that Barton Farm had held during the summer. The beard gave him a playful teddy bear look that few took seriously. At least, that few took seriously until he threw them into jail.

While I could compare the police chief to a cuddly teddy bear, I doubted that anyone would put Detective Candy Brandon in the cuddly category. As always, the detective's auburn hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, and her curvy figure was disguised as much as possible with a suit one size too large. Despite her efforts to make herself appear otherwise, she was beautiful in an ice queen sort of way. She was also my favorite paramedic's
ex-fiancée
. Chase had told me during the summer that they'd broken up because she didn't want children and that was a deal breaker for him. I suspected Detective Brandon still had feelings for Chase by the fact that she'd detested me on sight. She had to know about his pursuit of me. The other EMTs did, teasing Chase relentlessly about it, and those guys liked to talk. Personally, I didn't have anything against the detective other than her suspecting me of murder last summer. That kind of stuff builds a rift between people.

Chief Duffy also knew Chase well because he was Chase's uncle. It seemed like everyone in New Hartford was intertwined in some way. That was the good and bad part about living in a small town.

Detective Brandon's face now rested in a scowl. That wasn't unusual, but the lines of concern on the usually jovial police chief's face were.

I dropped my rag onto the table, and it stuck to the spill. “How's Dr. Beeson?”

Detective Brandon wrinkled her nose at the spilled syrup. Her reaction to the mess was a testament to me that she didn't have any children in her life. Cleaning up syrup was nothing compared to a whole host of other messy things parents and guardians had to deal with on a regular basis.

I wiped my hands on my jeans. “This is about Dr. Beeson, isn't it?”

The chief pulled on his gray beard. “I'm afraid it is.”

“He died,” I said, as sure as I was of my own name.

Detective Brandon's narrowed eyes focused on me. “And how would you know that?”

I frowned. “I found him with a drill in his chest on the other side of the pasture. I saw his injury.”

“Now, ladies,” Chief Duffy said. “Let's not start hissing at each other.”

Both Detective Brandon and I scowled at the comment. At least we agreed on something.

“You're right that we're here about Conrad Beeson,” Chief Duffy said. “Yes, he passed away while in surgery.”

My shoulders sagged. When I was in the woods holding Dr. Beeson's hand, I'd told him he would be okay. At the time, I hadn't really believed it, but his passing had turned me into a liar. It was heartbreaking to hear he'd died. I didn't particularly care for the man, but any loss of life was tragic. He must have people in his life who would miss him.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” I said sincerely.

Detective Brandon appeared skeptical at my comment. Her reaction made me wonder what she and jovial Chase had talked about when they were together. He must have driven her absolutely insane with his constant banter.

“It's a shame,” the police chief said. He hooked his thumbs under his duty belt. “It's even more of a shame now that the county prosecutor has asked for an investigation into the professor's suspicious death.”

I swallowed. “He was murdered?”

“Looks that way. It's hard to believe he could fall on a drill like that by accident. The medical examiner will make the official call, but we're treating it as a murder until we hear different. Unfortunately, it might be a tricky call to make since the doctors at the hospital performed surgery on his heart. The medical examiner will have to really look hard to determine where the drill bit entered his chest.”

I shivered.

“It's a real miracle that he didn't die right there on the spot,” Chief Duffy said.

Maybe it was because of what I'd gone through last summer, but I was willing to bet Barton Farm that Beeson didn't just happen to fall on his drill. I debated whether I should share what he'd said. It would muddy the waters, but I couldn't keep it to myself. I cleared my throat. “Before the EMTs showed up, Dr. Beeson tried to tell me something.”

“What was that?” The detective leaned forward. All of her attention was zeroed in on me.

I tried to ignore her close proximity. “He just kept repeating ‘they.'”

“They who?” Detective Brandon asked before I could even finish.

I set my irritation aside. “I don't know.”

“Did he say anything else? Anything at all?”

I thought for a moment. “He said, ‘They did.'”

“They did what?” Detective Brandon snapped.

I glared at the police detective. I knew she had to ask these questions, but she didn't have to have such an attitude about it. “I don't know. That's all he was able to say before the EMTs arrived.”

“That's all you got from him?” Detective Brandon's tone was accusatory at best.

I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans and frowned at her. “Chase and the other paramedics were trying to save his life. I didn't think it was a good time to give the poor man a twenty question quiz.”

Her eyes flashed when I said Chase's name, and maybe I mentioned him just to get a rise out of her. I wasn't above that.

The police chief rocked back on his heels. “Very interesting. Still doesn't mean that he was murdered. ‘They did' could be anyone, and in reference to anything.”

“There's something else,” I said, thinking I'd gone this far and might as well share all I knew about the professor's demise. “There weren't any tracks leading to where Dr. Beeson had fallen.”

“What do you mean, there weren't any tracks?” Detective Brandon asked.

“Benji and I followed his footprints across the pasture. On the other side of the pasture, his tracks disappeared into the snow. I mean, completely disappeared. Benji even suggested alien abduction as a possible explanation.”

The detective snorted.

“
But
,” I said, “on closer inspection, I saw evidence that the footprints might have been wiped away by someone.”

“By ‘someone,' you mean another person,” she said.

I shrugged. “Or Benji's aliens.”

The police chief chuckled. The detective did not.

“We need to see the scene,” Detective Brandon said.

“I'll finish cleaning up,” Alice said from the doorway to the kitchen. I hadn't even realized she was there. I groaned inwardly. As good a cook as Alice was, she was a horrible gossip. Everything I'd just told the police would be common knowledge at Barton Farm before the end of the day.

I thanked her before turning to the police officers. “Let's go.” I nodded to their feet. “It's a good thing you're both wearing snow boots. The snow is pretty high in some spots.”

Outside, the late afternoon sun had chased away the gray skies, and now the temperature was inching its way above freezing. Water dripped from the visitor center's eaves and gutters in a steady stream, and the breeze held the scent of spring. The weatherman might have been right after all. I crossed my fingers that it would be warm enough for the sap to run for the tree tapping class after all—if there was to be a class. Time was running out to find a replacement for Beeson. It might come down to me teaching the class myself. I was no expert, but I thought I could wing it in a true emergency.

I didn't have any time to relish the coming spring as Detective Brandon said, “You were going to show us the scene.”

“Right,” I said. “It's this way.” I walked straight ahead toward the
split-rail
fence that surrounded the pasture and climbed over it. Betty and Mags eyed me and went back to chewing their hay.

Chief Duffy climbed over the fence with a grunt. It took some effort for a man that size to cross the four foot fence.

The detective, however, held on to the top rail and stared at the oxen. “What about them?”

“It's perfectly safe,” I said. “As long as you don't charge them, they'll leave you alone.”

She frowned and climbed over the fence without another word.

The officers followed me across the pasture, Detective Brandon taking care to put either the chief or me between herself and the oxen at all times. As much as I wanted to comment on this, I kept my mouth shut. Provoking the detective over her obvious discomfort around livestock wouldn't win me any brownie points, and I was already in a deep deficit where she was concerned.

On the opposite side of the pasture, we climbed over the
split-rail
fence again. “I'm going to have to lay off Mrs. Chief's fine homemade cookies if I have any hope of getting back in shape for the reenactment season,” Chief Duffy said as he went over the fence.

Detective Brandon rolled her eyes. I would have loved to know her opinion on her boss's hobby, but then again, I had a pretty good idea what it was.

I pointed at the ground. “Be careful where you step. The brush marks began here.”

“Everything here is trampled,” Detective Brandon said with a sniff. “There'd be no way to find any tracks even
if
anything was left when you and Benji first arrived.”

I ignored the implied insult she'd shot my way. “The EMTs were more focused on getting Dr. Beeson to a hospital than worrying about messing up tracks.”

The detective stared at the ground. “So you and Benji were the only ones who saw brush marks. Officer Sonders said nothing about them.”

“I forgot to bring them to his attention in all the confusion,” I said.

The detective sniffed, as if she doubted my story.

“We need to talk to your assistant,” Chief Duffy said. “Is she back at the visitor center?”

I shook my head. “She's a college student, and she had class late this afternoon. She's gone for the day. But I can give you her cell phone number if that would help.”

“It would,” the police chief said. “Show us where you found the professor.”

I led the pair into the forest. It was an easy path to follow with the many footprints left by the EMTs in the snow. Detective Brandon was right—there was no sign of the brush strokes in the snow. I swallowed as we came upon the bloodstained spot where the professor had lain.

Crime scene tape was strung from tree to tree around the blood stain. Officer Sonders' handiwork, I assumed.

Detective Brandon shoved her hands into the pockets of her thick winter coat. “Because of your revelation about the brushstrokes, we're going to have to call some of the officers in to search the scene again while it's still daylight.”

The police chief nodded.

As the detective touched the edge of the crime scene tape, Chief Duffy turned to me. “Any idea why Dr. Beeson would be this far from the visitor center?”

I averted my eyes from the scene. “That's a good question. Benji and I met with him this morning in the sugar maple grove on the other side of the pasture, not far from my cottage. He was frustrated with the weather.”