The Orchard at the Edge of Town (14 page)

She walked into the room she'd been using. There was a thin green vase on the dresser that looked like it had been handcrafted. The glaze was clunky, the little flowers that swirled up its side primitive. It was pretty, though, in an old-fashioned sort of way. Apricot thought that Shaffer's wife might have made it. She put the feather in the vase and set it on a shelf that she didn't think Handsome could reach.

“Leave it alone. You hear me? I have to bring it back to Charlotte, and I don't want it cat-chewed before then.”

Handsome seemed more interested in exploring the darkness beneath the bed than trying to find a way to reach the feather. How he'd gotten it in the first place, Apricot didn't know. It had been in the vase, plain as could be. Handsome had been confined to her purse the entire time she was in Sweet Treats.

Hadn't he?

She glanced under the bed. He hadn't magically disappeared, but the cat did have a way of appearing and disappearing. Still . . .

She'd have noticed if he'd been sneaking his way over Sweet Treats' shelves, trying to pilfer the feather.

“I'll figure it out Monday,” she said to no one in particular. That's what happened when you went from part of a couple to lone wolf. You kept speaking things out loud like there was someone around to listen.

It wouldn't be long before she started collecting stray cats. In a few months, she'd be the resident crazy cat lady, wandering up and down the streets of Apple Valley, muttering under her breath and reeking of cat urine.

A few months in Apple Valley?

When had that become part of the plan?

Was
it part of the plan?

She walked to the window, pulling back the sheers that had probably been hanging there for half a century. Pretty little swag ties had been wrapped around hooks on either side of the window, the tiny flower print feminine and pretty. Apricot imagined Shaffer's wife using the ties to hold the sheers back during the summer heat.

She opened the window, letting in moist, cool air. Fall was definitely in the air. Apple harvest was just around the corner. This year, there wasn't a lot she could do but pick through the fruit and try to find whatever was salvageable. Next year, the orchard would be lush with ripe fruit, redolent with the scent of healthy, harvestable apples and pears.

A dark shadow darted from the trees across the road and headed straight for her property. Apricot switched off the light, looked outside again. The wind had picked up and the trees swished and swayed.

She'd almost convinced herself that that's what she'd seen. Just trees swaying and leaves moving with the wind. Something moved across her yard, and she jumped back, her heart nearly leaping from her chest. There was someone out there!

Whoever it was skulked across the yard. Not overly tall or overly big. Just . . . there, darting toward the corner of the house. She hadn't locked the back door, so she raced to the kitchen, slid the bolt home and then peered out into the backyard.

There was definitely someone out there.

She could see him moving stealthily along the fence line.

She'd left her cell phone in her purse, and she didn't want to take her eyes off the trespasser long enough to get it. Then again, she didn't want to die.

She crept into the living room, snagged her cell phone and ran back to the window. Nothing. No one. Just the shadowy night and the swaying trees.

Had it been her imagination? Some flight of fancy brought on by fatigue?

She pressed her face against the glass, straining to see into the darkness beyond the window. The yard was empty, nothing moving but the dead leaves that skittered across the yard.

She shivered, sure that a shadow was about to separate itself from the others. She watched for so long her legs ached and her eyes hurt, but whoever had been outside was gone.

“It was probably just Dusty making sure I'm not causing any damage to Rose's property,” she said aloud.

Good thought.

But what if it wasn't?

What if the guy who'd mugged Daisy was out in the orchard waiting for an opportunity to break into the house?

She glanced at her watch. Almost eleven. Dusty wouldn't appreciate getting a phone call this time of night, asking if he was wandering around outside.

Besides, if he was outside, he wouldn't be answering his phone.

She could call the police, but that seemed like overkill. Whoever she'd seen had disappeared, and the best thing she could do was go to bed and forget about it.

She tried. She really did. She lay on the bed that had a hollow in the center from too many years of use. She covered herself with a sheet that was soft with time. She closed her eyes, relaxed every muscle in her body just the way her yoga instructor had taught her. The problem was, her brain wasn't a muscle, and it refused to relax.

Handsome snored beside her, his little body pressed up against her side. At least one of them wasn't having any trouble sleeping. Right at that moment, she wished she were back in LA. At least there, she'd have noise to distract her. She'd forgotten how quiet country nights were. Not a sound from anything but the kitten.

She opened her eyes, stared up at the ceiling. She'd plugged her cell phone into the charger and set it on the bedside table. She could call someone, chat for a few minutes, maybe try to work out some of the issues that were causing her sleepless nights. It was early morning hours in Pennsylvania, but Lilac never cared about things like that. She was all about being there when she was needed and stepping back when she wasn't.

If Apricot called her, all bets were off, though. The entire family would see it as a cry for help, and they'd converge on Apple Valley like a pack of rats on a plate of cheese.

No. She couldn't call Lilac or Rose or Hubert. She couldn't call any of her siblings, because they'd report the call to the family.

You could call Simon
, a wicked little voice whispered.
He's probably still awake.

And—darn it all!—she was seriously tempted to do it.

Those eyes!

Those hands!

That smile!

And his kiss . . . It had turned her blood to molten lava and made her want him more than she'd wanted her next breath.

God! She was a fool to the fifth degree! Had she not just spent five years of her life pursuing love and happiness only to have it all snatched away? Did she really want to go there again?

No! She did not!

Not even with someone like Simon.

Something moved in her periphery, a bit of white just seeming to float across the edges of her vision. She sat up, her heart hammering in her chest, her gaze darting to the thing that still seemed to be moving.

Only it wasn't.

It was just the feather, sitting in the vase on the shelf. Stark white in the darkness, it seemed to glow with its own inner light. She blinked, looked again. Nope. It was just a white feather in a dark room. Nothing magical about it. No power to give anything. Especially not happiness or luck or love . . . or whatever it was that Charlotte had said.

As much as she'd been raised by a storyteller and a free spirit, Apricot had always had her feet firmly planted on the ground. She didn't believe in myths and magic, didn't put any stock in omens and portents. Hard work and the power of personal initiative—that's what got a person what she wanted.

Except when it didn't.

She scowled.

She had what she wanted. A successful business. A family she loved. A nice condo in LA. Money in the bank to buy a new condo in LA . . . because there was absolutely no way in hell she was going to live in the one she and Lionel had shared.

She had it all. Every single thing anyone could ever want.

Except for romantic love.

And, truth be told, that sucked, because she'd planned to have a family and a house and a white picket fence. She'd even gone to the local animal shelter a few times in the weeks before the wedding, just to see what kind of dogs were up for adoption. Because she'd been going to have that too. The dog. The daily walks around the block to give Fido or Fluffy some exercise. She'd been planning in her head the windowsill herb gardens that she'd plant, the flower baskets hanging from the front porch. She hadn't cared much about the wedding. She'd let her future mother-in-law take over as many details as she'd wanted. And she'd wanted to take over all of them.

What Apricot had wanted was what came after.

She hadn't gotten it.

“It sucks. Big-time,” she whispered into the silence.

There was no one around to reply, so she turned on her side, interrupting poor Handsome in the middle of a wall-rattling snore, and stared at the bright white feather until she finally fell asleep.

Chapter Eleven

Someone was banging on the door. Loudly!

Apricot put the pillow over her head and pressed it to her ears. She needed more sleep, and she was going to get it come hell or high water! It would take a force of nature to get her out of bed, and even then, she might just cling to the bed frame and hope for the best.

The doorbell rang.

She moaned. “Go away!”

It rang again.

“Crap and cotton!” she muttered, stumbling out of bed, her baggy pajama pants twisted around her hips.

God! She hoped Dusty wasn't standing on the porch. He'd take one look at her in her pj bottoms and tank top and decide she was a slug for still being in bed at . . . she glanced at her watch. Eight in the morning.

There had to be an etiquette rule about things like that. Who wrote the famous column? Libby? Abby? Adele? Whoever she was, Apricot was confident she'd explained reasonable times for visiting. She was just as confident those times did not include eight in the morning!

She peered out the peephole, saw Jet reaching for the doorbell again.

“Hold on!” she shouted, tugging down the hem of her tank top so it covered her stomach. She opened the door a crack, was about to tell him that it was too early to start working on the house.

“Apricot! You've got to help me!” he began before she could open her mouth. “I'm in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” She opened the door, concerned and a little alarmed by the frantic edge to his words, the wildness in his eyes. He looked scared, and she was suddenly scared for him.

“Law trouble.” His gaze jumped from her face to her head, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before his gaze dropped to her face again.

“You're going to have to give me more details if you want me to help.” She touched her head, felt the short strands sticking out in a hundred different directions. This day was
not
off to a good start!

“That crazy librarian chick is accusing me of robbing her!” he blurted out, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed convulsively.

“Daisy?” She stepped to the side and let Jet rush in. “Why would she do that?”

“I don't know why the hell anyone does anything. I just know that woman is always shushing me and my girlfriend while we're at the library. We'll be there trying to study and discuss our work, and she's hovering around the corner just waiting for an opportunity to tell us to shut up.”

“It's kind of her job to keep people quiet.”

“Is it her job to accuse an innocent guy of robbing her?”

“Are you sure she's accusing you?”

“The sheriff showed up at my grandparents' place around midnight. He wanted to know where I was yesterday afternoon. Why do
you
think that was, because the librarian said I
didn't
do anything?”

Good question, and her brain was too foggy from sleep to think of an answer. “How about we have some coffee and think this through?”

“I don't need coffee, and there's nothing to think through!” he growled, but he followed her into the kitchen, pacing the floor while she started the coffeemaker.

“This sucks,” he muttered. “I'm just getting on my feet, proving myself in town, going to college, and some old—”

“Daisy is younger than me,” Apricot pointed out.

“She acts old. And bitter. She's that too. I heard her longtime boyfriend left town to get away from her. Just proves how crazy she is.” He slouched in a chair. He looked defeated.

“What do you want me to help with?” Apricot asked as she took the chair across from him.

“I know the sheriff is going to show up here to check on my story. I just need you to verify it.”

“You told him you were here?”

“I
was
here.” He nearly spit the words. “I worked twelve hours yesterday.”

“You don't have to tell me that, Jet. I was here, remember?”

“Except when Daisy the dingbat was robbed, remember?” His eyes flashed, but Apricot thought there was more hurt in his gaze than anger. “The sheriff is going to ask you if I was here yesterday, and I need you to tell him that I was. If he asks—”

“Hold on.” She held up her hand. She didn't want to hear him ask her to lie. That would put a bad taste in her mouth and make her wonder why he needed her to do it. “I'm not going to tell him I was here when Daisy got robbed.”

“I wasn't going to ask you to. I was going to ask you to tell him how much work I got done while you were gone.” He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

She'd offended him.

If his scowl hadn't told her that, the daggers he was shooting from his eyes would have. “Okay. I can do that.”

“Yeah, but can you be specific?”

“About?”

He sighed, ran his hand over his hair like he was too old and too tired to deal with her. “You do know what I got done while you were out, right?”

Of course she knew. He'd provided her with a schedule and an itemized list of supplies that he'd need each day. Tomorrow, if she remembered correctly, he was going to paint the front porch. “You fixed the stairs on the back stoop and you painted the east side of the house.”

“That's a lot of work,” he said as if he were trying to convince both of them of the fact.

“A ton,” she confirmed. “And it looks fantastic.”

“Wish fantastic could keep me out of jail,” he responded morosely.

“You're not going to—”

The doorbell rang.

Jet nearly jumped out of his chair, wild fear in his eyes. “I bet that's them!” he cried. “Coming to cart me off to the slammer!”

“You've been watching too many cop shows.” She headed for the front door, calling over her shoulder, “Just stay there while I see who it is. Then we can decide what to do about Daisy's accusations.”

She yanked the door open, blinked twice as she met Simon's eyes. He was in full deputy sheriff's uniform. Crisp shirt and slacks, polished shoes, hat. Sheriff Cade Cunningham stood beside him, his uniform just as pressed, his expression grim. “Good morning, Apricot. Mind if we come in for a few minutes?” he asked.

“Of course not.” She smoothed her hair, realized that Simon was watching, a half smile curving his to-die-for lips, and let her hand drop away. “I have a pot of coffee on, if either of you are interested.”

“I wouldn't mind a cup.” Simon took off his hat, his smile broadening as he scanned her from head to toe. “Looks like we got you out of bed.”

For some reason that made her blush. “I was up. Jet—”

“Jet's here?” Cade asked with a slight frown. Apricot didn't know much about him, but her first impression was that he was fair and thoughtful. She didn't think he'd arrest someone for no reason.

“In the kitchen.”

“I think I have a few more questions to ask him. Simon has a few to ask you, if you have time to answer.” He acted as if she had a choice, but Apricot didn't think she did.

“That's fine,” she responded, but he was already down the hall and disappearing into the kitchen. “Jet isn't going to be happy,” she murmured.

“I'm not exactly thrilled either,” Simon replied, cupping her elbow and leading her into the living room. She knew he was about to interview her, but all she could think about was the heat that coursed through her every time they touched. “My girls are heading off to church with Daisy.”

“So, she didn't wake up dead?”

He smiled and lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. He folded her fingers over it. “That's payment for giving me my first real smile of the day.”

“Should you be kissing a witness's hand?”

“Only if the witness is you.” He motioned for her to sit. “Let's get down to business. Seeing as how Jet is here, I'm sure you've heard that Daisy thinks he may be the person who robbed her.”

“I heard, and I can tell you that he didn't have anything to do with what happened to Daisy,” she said definitively. “He spent all day here working on the house.”

“You weren't here when Daisy was robbed,” he pointed out. “It would have been easy enough for Jet to leave and come back before you returned.”

“He didn't do it, Simon.”

“Was anyone here with him?”

“There were a couple of guys working with him in the morning, but they were gone when I got back.”

“I don't suppose you have their names?”

She'd been introduced, but she only remembered first names and faces. “There was a short redheaded guy named Damian. He looked like he was in his twenties. There was also an older man. Probably in his midfifties with gray hair and brown eyes. His name—”

“Samuel Morris?”

“Sammy is how Jet introduced him.”

“That's him. Sammy retired from rail work a few years back. His wife likes him to take on odd jobs to keep him out of her hair.”

“That's terrible!”

“Not really. He likes to be busy, and she's always happy when he comes home. It's a win-win situation,” he responded absently as he jotted something into a notebook. “What time did you get home yesterday?”

“Three thirty?”

“You're not sure?”

“It was around that time.” Dang! Her cheeks were getting hot again. Just because she was thinking about the park
and
about what happened after their trip to the park.

And, actually, about how much she might like to do it again.

“Did you stop anywhere after you left the park?”

“No. I brought the girls here right after you got the call about Daisy. Jet was painting the east side of the house.” That sounded good. It sounded knowledgeable. It did not sound like the words of a woman who was so busy thinking about the dark rim around Simon's forest-green eyes that she couldn't quite focus on the conversation.

“How did he seem when you got here?” He looked up from the pad and every thought in her head just kind of flew away. “Apricot?” he prodded, and she glanced away, focusing her attention on a splash of sunlight on the wall.

“He seemed fine.”

“Would you like to elaborate on that?”

“Well . . .” She forced herself to think back to the moment she'd arrived home. She'd been distracted, getting the girls out of the SUV and worrying about what had caused Simon to leave them with her. Jet had come around the side of the house, and . . . “He was red-faced and really hot. Sweating a lot, and I was worried he was going to have a heatstroke. I made him come inside and drink a glass of water. It looked like he'd been outside for hours without a break.” There!
That
was important information.

“Did he drive here yesterday?”

“His car was in the shop, so he walked. Sammy brought the paint and supplies in his truck.” Another important piece of information. She was beginning to feel more than a little accomplished!

“So, Jet would have had to hitch a ride with a friend or he would have had to walk to town, right?”

“Right.”

Simon nodded, still scribbling in his notebook. “That gives me a lot to go on, Apricot. Thanks.” He stood, and she realized that the interview was over and that he was walking away.

She figured she'd better follow him into the kitchen, just in case Jet needed her to defend him, but the doorbell rang. Again.

“It's like Grand Central Station around here,” she muttered.

She opened the door, got a face full of kitten fur.

“I told you to keep this critter away from my property,” Dusty snarled as he stepped inside.

She hadn't invited him, but since he hadn't taken his shotgun to poor Handsome, she wasn't going to point it out.

“I'm really sorry, Dusty. I don't know how he's getting outside.”

“That's what you keep saying, and I keep telling you to figure it out!” He yanked his suit jacket into place and straightened his tie. “Good thing I'm heading to church. If I weren't, I'd have gotten my shotgun and put a bullet right in that rat-cat's—”

“That's okay.” She cut him off, setting Handsome down and shooing him away. “I don't really need the details.”

“Well, maybe if you have them, you'll do a better job of keeping that thing locked up.” He craned his neck, looked like he was trying to see into her living and dining rooms.

“Are you looking for something?” she asked.

His skin flushed bright red. “Just wanted to do the neighborly thing and make sure everything was okay over here.”

“Why wouldn't it be?”

“You got two police cars parked in your driveway, girl. Do I have to spell things out for you?”

“There was a crime in town yesterday. The police are questioning everyone.” She left it at that. She didn't want him to know that the police were specifically asking about Jet. Of course, knowing Daisy, she'd probably already told the world. Or, at least, her little part of it.

“I heard 'bout that. That librarian got robbed, right? Wonder if the police will be coming to my place. Maybe I should stay home from church.” He sounded almost gleeful. More than likely this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in years.

“No need to skip church, Dusty,” Simon called out from the kitchen.

He'd been listening, but he didn't come out.

He might have been busy, or he might have wanted to avoid being asked a hundred questions. Which is what would probably happen if he and Dusty ended up in the same room.