Apple Cider Slaying Page 6

  Granny squeezed me goodbye, and I strutted into the day fizzing with renewed purpose. Smythe Orchard couldn’t afford to be closed longer than absolutely necessary. It was already mid-November. Winter was coming, and I hadn’t secured a loan to open my cider shop.

  I needed to get Mr. Sherman back out to see the Mail Pouch barn, and that was going to be hard enough after what happened yesterday. It would be downright impossible to convince him this was the perfect business location for my shop if the orchard was closed.

  I resolved to learn something useful from Mrs. Cooper’s hiking club if it killed me.

  I just hoped it wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I hustled to the cars, ponytail swinging. I’d dressed in a red long-sleeve T-shirt with gray yoga pants and a hoodie, then paired that with my most comfortable sneakers. It seemed like a sensible outfit for hiking and was also not my favorite, in case I took a tumble and ruined them. I’d dropped a water bottle in a drawstring backpack on my way out this morning and tucked a ball cap inside as well.

  I let myself into the massive forty-by-sixty-foot pole barn where the vehicles were kept and flipped on the lights. Grampy’s garage and workshop smelled of oil and old cigars. He’d been gone three years, but his favorite scents had long ago permeated the metal walls. The ceiling was high, at least twelve feet at the peak with exposed rafters and the occasional abandoned bird’s nest. His old cassette player still sat on the workbench beside a stack of Johnny Cash tapes. His tacklebox and fishing pole still poised at the ready, in case anyone stopped by wondering if the bass were biting.

  The Mustangs took center stage. A red, white, and blue collection of previously junked vintage Fords that Grampy had nurtured back to greatness. Each car had required untold hours of love, work, and dedication, but Grampy had seen beyond that, and now each car turned heads. I liked to think the junked vehicles had just needed someone to believe in them, and he had. He’d taken his time, years even, working on them in the moments between running a growing orchard, raising a wild daughter—then, a needy granddaughter—and loving his devoted wife. Eventually, he’d brought out the best in the cars the way he’d brought out the best in me. Maybe that was another reason I loved the Mustangs so much. I could identify with them.

  I unearthed the ball cap from my bag and tugged it over my hair, threading the ponytail through the little hole in the back. Then, I plucked a set of keys from the peg on the bench and smiled.

  Grampy had three beloved, restored treasures and one sturdy and reliable work truck. The truck was great in bad weather, but today was expected to be one of the prettiest days of the year, despite the fact we were closer to Christmas than Independence Day. So, the decision was easy. I’d drive Sally, my favorite Mustang. Sally was a 1968½ Ford Mustang 428 Cobra Jet in Wimbledon White. I’d learned to drive in Sally, went to the prom in Sally, and Grandpa had driven me to my high school graduation in Sally. It was supposed to be my college graduation gift one day, and I wished more than anything that he’d lived to see me earn that degree. Sally’s sisters included a 1964½ Ford Mustang in Nightmist Blue with a white top and a 1984 Ford Mustang SVO in Bright Red, but Sally was the one that sang to me.

  I dropped behind the wheel and tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, then donned my sunglasses, opened the garage door, and eased Sally outside. A crew of men in Blossom Valley Sheriff’s Department T-shirts peppered the area, peeping under apple trees and kicking their boots through weeds in search of clues to the identity of Mrs. Cooper’s attacker. Or maybe, I thought, they were just looking for proof Granny was a cold-blooded killer. Either way, I had work of my own to do.

  The sheriff spotted me as I approached the front gate, and he pushed it open for me. I gave him a little wave, and he watched intently as I passed, his gaze warming my cheek. Would he stand guard at the closed gate all day turning customers away? What would folks say? It could only be interpreted one way. Badly. I dared a look in my rearview mirror before making a left onto the quiet country road at the end of the drive. He hadn’t moved, still staring, eyes trained on my departure. I half-expected him to make a run for his cruiser and follow me. I wondered idly if he could catch me if he tried.

  I cracked my window open as I put some distance between Sheriff Wise and me. It was currently 8:15 a.m. and forty-nine degrees, still chilly from a cold night, but the sun was up and fast burning dew off the land. The weather report predicted a high near seventy, and I couldn’t wait. A gentle morning breeze wiggled trees along the roadside, tossing a rainbow of autumn leaves into the air. The scarlet and gold confetti cartwheeled and careened around me. I tipped my nose toward the window and inhaled the crisp cool breeze as it blustered over the glass and through the space inside my car. The scents were heady and nostalgic. Decaying leaves, dampened earth. The telltale tinge of chimney smoke from homes fighting the seasonal chill with fire.

  I took another left onto the county road through town and passed a dozen silent businesses that would open promptly at nine and close again at five. The Sip N Sup, situated on Oak and Main, wasn’t one of them. The diner’s parking lot there was already full and probably had been since dawn. Sally would be among the parked cars tonight. With the orchard closed and the sheriff’s department scouring the grounds, there was bound to be plenty of gossip for me to consider. Maybe even something that would help me clear Granny.

  The road widened outside the downtown area, and the speed limit increased. I pressed the gas pedal with a little more purpose, floating around curves and over hills toward the national park entrance where Mrs. Cooper’s hiking club met weekly before taking to the trails.

  I slowed at every trail head, peering into the parking lots and reading the signs until I found one marked WILDCAT TRAIL. Seven vehicles and ten people filled the space. Walking sticks and water bottles leaned against a short wooden fence beside a dark green portable potty. Several women performed a variety of stretches in the nearby grass. “This looks like the place,” I told Sally and angled her into the first open spot.

  The group turned to look as I hopped out to join them. “Hey, y’all,” I said with my brightest smile in place. “Are you the Sole Sisters?”

  A willowy brunette cut through the line of onlookers and gave me a quick hug. “Winnie Montgomery, what are you doing here?”

  I pulled back and felt my smile turn genuine. “Jenny Mencer,” I said, relieved to know at least one of the Sole Sisters before I began asking my questions. I’d known Jenny most of my life. Her wide brown eyes, dark wavy hair, and model-like figure had always reminded me of the contestants on beauty pageants, but she could shoot, rope, and ride with the best of them, which had made her my hero through middle school. Jenny was a few years older than me, and that had kept us from running in the same circles, but she’d played the role of my babysitter a number of times. “I didn’t know you were a part of this hiking club. How are you?”

  “Better,” she winked. “About one hundred seventy pounds lighter.”

  A little snort of laughter burst from my nose. Jenny had publicly dumped her ex-husband after a local football game last fall, and everyone had had front row tickets to the show. Whatever he’d done that night had apparently been the last straw, and she’d exposed him for the controlling, manipulative snake he was via the band director’s borrowed microphone. Folks had talked about it for weeks, months even. Her ex would never get a date in our town again, which was probably why he’d moved, and she’d become an unintentional beacon for all mistreated and unappreciated Blossom Valley women.

  “I was just talking to my mama about you,” she said. “It’s just terrible what’s been going on over at your Granny’s farm. How are you holding up?”

  “Okay,” I said. “The sheriff’s there now. Hunting for clues. He thinks Granny is a suspect because she and Mrs. Cooper fought all the time. That’s why I’m here. He can waste his time searching our orchard if he wants, but I’m trying to find something that can move this horse forward.”

>   “Good for you,” she said. “How can I help?”

  “I didn’t really know Mrs. Cooper outside her arguments with Granny, so I thought it would help if I talked to folks who did.”

  Jenny nodded solemnly. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

  I scanned the curious faces around me. “You all knew her?” I asked.

  “Hiked with her once a week for years,” a short redhead in gauchos said.

  I nodded, considering the fact. I wasn’t sure how much talking happened while hiking, but this group had clearly spent more time with Mrs. Cooper than I had. Surely someone could provide insight into her life and the heated argument she’d allegedly had with their trail master.

  A plump middle-aged blonde moved to stand with Jenny. Her face was screwed into a knot. “Nadine told me that hiking was how she stayed so fit. I joined this group a year ago and it still ain’t helping.”

  “Oh, Alice,” Jenny smiled, “I think you look great, and I’ve heard you say you sleep better and have more energy.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Talk to me when I can button my pants.”

  Jenny snickered. “Alice is the funny one,” she told me. “You should ask her about her pie shop sometime.”

  I looked to Alice. “I will,” I said, but meanwhile, I was on a mission. “I only knew Mrs. Cooper through Granny,” I began.

  The collective moan that followed said everyone present was up to speed on what that meant.

  “Every time I saw her she was all wound up,” I continued. “The version of her I knew was formed through personal bias of her relationship with Granny. I’d love to know what she was like when she wasn’t mad.”

  The group looked at their neighbors. No one spoke.

  A man in cargo pants and a fitted olive-green T-shirt marched in our direction. He stuffed a cell phone into his pocket with one hand and smashed a fishing hat onto his head with the other. “Let’s move!” he called, bypassing us completely for the narrow dirt trail into the woods.

  The group dispersed immediately, grabbing their water bottles and walking sticks with a hop to their steps. They fell in line behind the man and quieted like a row of children on a field trip.

  Jenny nudged me and smiled. “Ready?” she asked. “It’s a beautiful day for a hike, and this is one of my favorite trails. It’s rigorous and Oscar leads at a brisk pace, but the workout is fantastic, and we’ll go right under the Emerald Falls eventually. The mist feels like heaven once when we get there.”

  My tummy clenched. “We’re climbing to the falls?” I pried my swelling tongue off the roof of my mouth. “That’s really high and the path down to it is nothing but water-slicked stones.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said and beamed. “It’s a perfect fall adventure, and on a sunny day like this, that mist will have the whole sky painted in rainbows.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Sally, nestled safely in the shaded, level parking lot and wondered if waiting with her for the group to return was a smarter move.

  “Come on,” Jenny called, already several yards ahead of me and quickly catching the tail end of the group.

  I reminded myself this was for Granny and fell into step behind Jenny.

  A canopy of trees arched over us, shading the morning sunlight and dimming the rocky terrain. I tried not to twist my ankle on loose stones or exposed roots while racking my brain for a line of useful questions. I had a captive audience to quiz about Mrs. Cooper, but I wasn’t sure what to ask.

  A few minutes later, the quiet forest path turned toward the forking river. Trees fell away on my right, exposing the rushing water far below. The angry roar of a powerful current echoed through the mountains, amplifying the sound and rattling my waning calm. I tried not to imagine rolling over the hill and being carried to my death among the rapids.

  “This,” the trail master announced, “is Wildcat Ridge. Elevations here are some of the highest in the state. The path is one of the narrowest in the park, so take your time, watch your footing, and stay hydrated. We’ll rest at the falls in about an hour.”

  An hour? My burning calves were already in need of a break, and we’d only been in motion fifteen minutes. Hiking was nothing like the hours I spent on my feet at Sip N Sup. I’d hoped my nightly cardio around the diner would translate to something useful this morning, but I was colossally mistaken. Burning calves aside, I wasn’t sure I could remain upright and alive for an hour along the treacherous high-altitude path. A line of sweat formed on my brow and rolled over my temples.

  “It’s a beautiful view,” Jenny said, walking easily at my side.

  The others had fallen into single-file formation along the ridge but seemed to have plenty of room. Meanwhile, I walked a tightrope.

  “I normally hike for the escape,” Jenny said, “and I appreciate the exercise, but this sort of thing always clears my head. It’s like running away for a while.”

  “Really?” I asked, thinking of a lot of other, safer ways to escape the world for a couple hours, like curling under a tree with a good book or soaking in a tub with bath oil and lavender. Maybe even taking a long drive on a warm day in a convertible.

  I considered the hikers ahead of us on the trail. Why did they hike? Why had Mrs. Cooper? I couldn’t help wondering if there had been something she might’ve wanted to escape lately?

  “Did you know Mrs. Cooper well?” I asked.

  “No.” Jenny made a sad face. “We were friendly, and she was nice enough most days, but that was the depth of it.”

  “Any idea what was on her mind while she hiked?”

  Jenny wrinkled her brow. “She always had a lot of advice to offer.”

  The women ahead of us nearly choked on quiet laughter.

  I made a mental note to ask them about it as soon as we stopped somewhere my life wasn’t in imminent danger. “I heard she had a big argument with the trail master last week,” I told Jenny. “Do you know what that was about?”

  “No. You’d have to ask Oscar about that.”

  I strained for a look through the long string of hikers and spotted the ugly fishing hat as it bobbed up ahead. “I will,” I said, putting Oscar on my mental chat list as well.

  The path grew steeper, and I forced my screaming muscles to push on. I clung to the inside track, while Jenny walked carelessly along the gorge. She hummed softly, easily adjusting her strides to the incline, calmly trailing her fingertips over the too-short, utterly inadequate fence on her opposite side.

  A few minutes later, I slowed to watch as the folks ahead of us moved around something in the path. Surely if it was a log, a rock, or a root they would’ve stepped over it. Wouldn’t they? I couldn’t bring myself to move any closer to the rickety fence and roaring river. So, if I couldn’t get around whatever it was some other way, I’d have to return to the lot and wait for the group to come back. The shameless chicken in me hoped that would be the case.

  No sooner had I made my decision to turn back if necessary, the blonde woman I’d met at the trailhead came into view. She was seated on the ground, drinking from her water bottle and dabbing sweat from her brow with one forearm. She smiled encouragingly as each hiker stepped past her.

  I stopped. “Alice, right?”

  Jenny waved as she went on. “See you at the falls!”

  Alice nodded, patting the ground in encouragement and welcome. “Winnie, yeah?”

  “That’s me.” I lowered myself to the ground beside her. “Tough climb.” My body sang in sweet relief as I pressed my back to the sturdy hillside behind me and let my aching legs flop across the path.

  “Yeah.” She panted between gulps of water. “Would you believe this is twice the distance I was able to go before stopping on my first trip with this crew?”

  I smiled. “Wow.”

  “Yeah. I guess Nadine Cooper was right,” she said solemnly. “Exercise helps. Maybe my pants don’t button, but it’s certainly not because of the hiking. Without the hiking, I might not be able to get them on.” She
finished her first bottle of water, then traded it for a spare in her backpack and waited while her breathing slowed. She gave me a long careful look. “Nadine was at least twenty years older than me, but she looked like someone I could’ve graduated with. She said her secret was communing with nature. All the fresh air and sunshine.” She made a show of looking around at the beautiful scenery. “I figured those things are free and just about everywhere, so maybe I’d do what she did and start looking half my age too.”

  “And why not?” I said with a shrug. “It can’t be bad for us.”

  She chuckled. “No, it’s all fine and dandy until I have a stroke climbing this blessed mountain and Oscar has to call in Life Flight.”

  I laughed.

  A woman with platinum blonde hair headed our way, one hand over her head as she moved back through the line of hikers. “Everything okay?”

  Alice pushed onto her feet and dusted her backside with her palms. “Just a little break.”

  I extended my hand in greeting. “Hi. I’m Winnie. Did you know Nadine Cooper?”

  “Libby,” the woman said. She made a sour face and slid her eyes toward Alice before turning her attention back on me. “Well enough. We met at spin class.”

  “That’s nice,” I said, forcing a smile and wondering how much weekly exercise Mrs. Cooper had gotten.

  “Nadine introduced herself with her age tacked to the end, as if it was part of her name,” Libby said, her words dripping with disdain. “I wasn’t sure what to say, so I complimented her on her appearance and asked her if she’d found a fountain of youth I could visit. She told me to spend more time outdoors.”

  “See,” Alice said, “That’s what she told anyone who asked her how she did it. She was always fishing for compliments, then blowing us off when we wanted her secret.”

  Libby fussed with the cuff of her sweatshirt. “I don’t get it. I watch everything I eat, drink a gallon of water every day, and hike weekly with this club. Sometimes I use the gym too. I still look exactly my age.”