Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Read online

  “Are you sure about that?” I stared at Timothy.

  My new car wasn’t the only item on Billy’s property covered in duct tape. So was his screen door, his mailbox, a line of milk crates that doubled as chairs, and his tool cabinet.

  “You must like duct tape,” I said.

  “I love the stuff,” he said. “I even made my wallet out of it.” He removed a duct tape-covered wallet from the back pocket of his low-slung jeans. “See. I only use the silver kind. It comes in colors now, but I’m a purist.”

  “Wow.” It was all I could manage.

  I circled the car. The bumper was held on by what else? Duct tape. “Are you sure this is the car my insurance company approved?”

  “’Course it is. Then again, it was the only one I had available. Not too many people rent cars around here. Everyone has a junk truck or two they use for backup, and the Amish aren’t interested in my cars.” He laughed. “Timothy was the exception. He was over here all the time poking around in my shop even before he gave up his suspenders.”

  “Billy taught me everything I know about cars.”

  “Of course I did.” Billy chuckled. “Glad to see we have another redhead in town. We look enough alike to be brother and sister.”

  I don’t think so. I smiled.

  “If this is the only car you have, I guess I’ll take it.” I made a mental note to call my insurance company that night to straighten this out. The sooner I was away from the Prizm, the better. “Where is the paperwork?”

  “Oh right,” Billy said. “Be right back. I’ll step into the office and grab the forms for you. We have to make sure we charge your insurance company.”

  “We do.” After sending me to this dive, they deserved every surcharge Billy tagged on the bill.

  Billy disappeared inside the shop, and I turned to Timothy. “Seriously, is this safe? Because I’ve had enough car accidents in my life and don’t need another one.”

  “Another one? Has there been more than one?”

  I stared at him.

  The duct-taped screen door slammed shut. “Got your paperwork right here, Miss Chloe.” He handed me a duct tape-covered clipboard with the documents clipped to the front. He pointed to the papers. “If you could sign here, and here, and initial here.” He left a greasy mark every spot he touched on the paper.

  I signed, and Billy fished a set of keys out of his pocket. “She’s all yours. Treat her well. She’s one of my favorites.”

  I looked at the previously-red car. “I’ll try.”

  “Shame about the accident. I read about it in the Mount Vernon paper.” He rubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “Real sorry your sister’s in this mess, Tim.”

  Timothy thanked him.

  “Does she need a lawyer? I’ve got a good one. He’s real good and cheap to boot.”

  Timothy started to shake his head, but I interrupted him. “She does need a good lawyer. They assigned her a public defender, but I’m worried that person won’t fight hard enough for her.”

  “You’re probably right about that. My lawyer’s name is Tyler Hart. His office is just outside of Mount Vernon. He’s helped me out of a jam or two.”

  I wanted to ask Billy what those jams were but thought better of it.

  Timothy pursed his lips. “My father wouldn’t like it.”

  “Your father’s not talking to Becky right now, and he’s hardly speaking to you. We have to think about what is best for your sister.” I faced Billy. “Do you have his phone number?”

  “I know it by heart.” He tore a scrap of paper from the bottom of my rental form and scribbled a phone number onto it. “That’s his cell.”

  An alarm went off in the shop.

  “Whoops!” Billy jumped into action. “Nothing to worry about! That’s just one of the compressors. I’ll see you all later.” He galloped toward the shop.

  “Are you going to call that lawyer?” Timothy asked me over the alarm.

  “Yes.” My firm tone left no room for argument. “And we need to pay a visit to Mr. Mathews. It may turn into another dead end, but we have to check it out.”

  Timothy agreed. “I have a job in Sunbury tomorrow. I can’t go until Thursday.”

  “I could go myself or take Becky.” I was eager to talk to the developer. The sooner I did, the sooner I could cross him off my list.

  “I don’t think so. It won’t hurt to wait a day.” He inspected my “new” car. “There is no way this thing will make it all the way to Columbus and back.”

  I poked a fist into my hip. “I thought you said it was safe.”

  “Not that safe.”

  I sighed. “Okay, Thursday it is. I can get off work early. I’ll be ready to go at three.” I thought of Joel’s smart remark back in the office. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

  He nodded. “Why don’t you drive off first? I want to make sure the car will make it all the way to Harshberger.”

  I gave him a look.

  “You can never be too careful.” Timothy grinned.

  I climbed into the car. The interior smelled like wet socks. I leaned over the seat and rolled down the passenger side window. Then, I rolled down the window on my side of the car. I turned the key in the ignition, and surprisingly the car started right up. I waved to Timothy, who watched me through the windshield of his truck, and eased the Prizm onto the road. I tapped the brakes a few times, and the car reacted as it should. Timothy may have been curious about my stop-and-go driving, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  The car had a couple of hiccups on the road but did not stall. I supposed I could make do with Billy’s work of art until my insurance company sent me a check to replace my totaled car. Who knew how long that would be? I certainly wouldn’t be making any trips out of Knox County until I had some new wheels.

  Timothy followed me all the way back, and I was comforted by his presence. As I turned into campus, he beeped his horn and waved before driving off.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  After returning to my office, I went online to find Grayson Mathews’s company website. Most of it crowed about his victories as an Ohio State football star back in the late 1980s, the colors scarlet and gray prevalent on his site. If all the hype could be believed, Mathews was a savvy businessman.

  I clicked on a link called Success Stories. He developed a planned community south of Columbus and another in Licking County, just west of Knox. Were there really enough people to live in all the mini-mansions Mathews planted across central Ohio?

  The plans for the Knox County Community sat dead center on a page called Future Communities. It boasted a clubhouse with gym, swimming pool, and even a general store. The fine print at the bottom of the plans read, “pending.” Pending what? Pending because he didn’t own the land, that’s what.

  I clicked on an aerial view of the planned community. I zoomed in to find the Troyer house and the Glick farm. My jaw clenched. I’m sure Mathews knew there was no risk of the Amish seeing his master plan since they had no access to the Internet. I printed the pages and tucked them in a folder. I had a feeling I’d need them for our meeting with Mathews. I also e-mailed his Web site link to my phone for good measure.

  Next, I checked the Knox County bar association website for information about Billy’s attorney recommendation, Tyler Hart, and found glowing references—even one from Chief Rose. I removed the scrap of paper Billy gave me from my purse and called Tyler Hart’s office. My call went to voicemail, so I left a message and asked him to call me back.

  I looked out my office doorway to see the conference table still littered with camcorder parts.

  Miller caught my eye. “It’s a goner, boss.”

  “I know. We’ll get a new one.” I made the promise not knowing if I could keep it.

  Joel peeked o
ut from his cubicle and scowled. “With what money? Or are you too busy with your boyfriend to read campus e-mails.”

  “Man,” Clark said. “Lay off.”

  Joel scowled at him, but to my relief, he slid back behind his fake wall.

  I shook my head and called Becky at work.

  “Little Owl Greenhouse. How may I help you?” Becky’s voice held a slight tremor, as if unsure of herself.

  “Hi, Becky.”

  “Chloe!” She sounded relieved. “Cookie asked me to answer the phone, and I’ve been dreading the calls all day. You were my first one.”

  The greenhouse’s first call was at four in the afternoon?

  “How’d I do?” she asked.

  “Excellent.” One call or not, I hoped I reassured her. “I got my rental car and thought I’d pick you up from work tonight.”

  “Really? That’s great. I’m off at four thirty.”

  Instead of avoiding Butler Road as Timothy had, I let Pepper take me that way to the greenhouse. I pulled over on the side of the road before reaching Becky’s work. “Continue one point two miles.” Pepper’s instructions came with her usual irritation.

  “I’m glad you didn’t lose any of your spunk in the accident.” I exited the car. Didn’t everyone talk to their caustic GPS guide?

  The tree that the bishop hit was badly damaged. Most of its front bark had been torn away, revealing soft white wood underneath. A bright orange spray-painted X marred the wood, indicating that the county thought the tree, which I guessed by its broad leaves to be a sycamore, had suffered too much damage to be saved.

  In the mud below the tree, I saw what looked like hundreds of shoe prints. Probably police and other first responders. There were hoof prints there, too, and two deep ruts cut into the earth where the buggy’s wooden wheels had been pushed off the road.

  Nothing else from the accident remained, not even a shard of glass. I wasn’t surprised. Chief Rose was very good at her job. I wasn’t a crime scene tech and wouldn’t know a clue if it sat up and said, Look over here! Clue!

  And yet I couldn’t stop searching.

  A chill ran down my spine as I remembered another accident scene. My mother’s. On the day of her funeral, my father drove to the scene. A condemned tree marked with orange paint had stood there as well. Nothing else about the scene would tell you there had been an accident. As a family, we hadn’t placed a white cross with ribbons as a makeshift memorial on the side of the road like so many others had done. Dad would not allow it.

  My father turned off the car. We sat there on the side of the road, snow falling. Cars blared their horns at us as we sat in my father’s car on the other side of the curve. The curve that had been covered in black ice the day my mother died, sending her small car spinning into the tree.

  “Daddy?”

  He didn’t look at me. “This is all your fault.”

  I started to cry. “Daddy. I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

  “We won’t speak of this again.” He started the car.

  I shook the memory from my head and concentrated on the scene in front me. Could Grayson Mathews have had something to do with the accident? It seemed far-fetched. Surely there was enough countryside in central Ohio to satisfy his craving to develop if the Amish in Knox County wouldn’t sell.

  There was also another small fact I kept coming back to. If the bishop was the intended victim, how could the perpetrator know Becky and the bishop would be on the road at the same time? Who knew about her interview at the greenhouse? The police said the brake line had been recently cut. What if someone knew Becky would be the next person to drive the car?

  At four thirty on the dot, I turned into the empty parking lot next to Little Owl Greenhouse, my mind still whirring. Scotch was out front watering the hanging baskets. He put down his hose as I exited the car. “From Uncle Billy’s?”

  I nodded.

  “Been there.” He removed a red bandana from his overall pocket. “Phew, it’s a hot one today. Big storm is comin’. You can bank on that.”

  The sky was periwinkle blue without a cloud in sight. “Did you hear that on the news?”

  “Naw, I don’t put much stock in weathermen. Bunch of suits sitting in the air-conditioning. What do they know? The plants tell me, and they say a big storm isn’t that far off.”

  O-kay.

  Becky walked out of the greenhouse store wearing dark blue eye shadow from her eyelashes to her brows, hot pink lipstick, and red blush. She could double as a circus clown. Cookie followed her out.

  I gasped. “What happened to you?”

  Her face fell. “You don’t like it.”

  I glanced over at Cookie. She folded her arms over her ample chest. The Cookie makeup treatment. I plastered a smile on my face. “It’s colorful.”

  Cookie nodded. Her oversprayed, overdone hairdo attracted a bee, and she swatted it away. “That’s right. I thought I should teach Becky the way around a makeup counter, seeing how she’s never worn any before. I think she came out real good. I did the right side of her face, and she did the left. You can’t even see any difference, and she did it with her left hand too.”

  “I don’t notice any difference at all,” I said.

  Becky stared at the Prizm sitting in the parking lot. “Chloe, is that your car?”

  I nodded.

  “Wow.”

  That pretty much sums it up.

  Scotch hooked a thumb at the car. “One of Uncle Billy’s.”

  “Thought so,” Cookie replied.

  “Since I have a car now, such as it is, I can pick up Becky from the store each day. Can you still give her a lift here? I leave for work much earlier than she does.”

  “No problem at all,” Scotch said. “Becky is a real delight to have around the shop. We are real proud of her.”

  Becky still beamed under his praise as we left the parking lot. “We deserve a girl’s night out,” I said.

  She bounced in her seat. “Really?”

  I nodded. “We need to celebrate your new job and my new car.”

  She scrunched her nose. “This thing is worth celebrating?”

  “Sure. It is has wheels. It moves. What more do you want?” I grinned at her, then turned in the opposite direction from Butler Road, hoping Becky didn’t notice. “But,” I added, “before we go anywhere, you need to wash your face. I’m not going out on the town with you looking like that.”

  She examined her reflection in the visor mirror. “You don’t like it.”

  I bit my lip. “Let’s just say it suits Cookie, not you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Becky glowed as we stepped out of the only department store in Mount Vernon. It wasn’t Neiman Marcus or even Macy’s, but it worked in a pinch. Becky’s cosmetics had been professionally applied by a woman at the makeup counter, and she wore jeans and a blue knit top, which matched her eyes. “Chloe, I can’t thank you enough. I will pay you back as soon as I get my first paycheck.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It was a gift.”

  “I mean, Chl . . .” She pulled up short.

  “What is it?”

  She pointed at my car. Chief Rose sat on the hood.

  “Nice car.” Chief Rose swiped a hand across the hood. “I like the duct tape. It’s one of Uncle Billy’s, I presume.”

  “I’d be careful if I were you.” I ignored the smug look on her face. “You might be stuck there.”

  She hopped off the hood.

  “Are you following me, Chief Rose?” I walked around the car and unlocked the trunk. It sprung up, nearly hitting me in the face.

  Becky placed our purchases inside.

  “You can call me Greta. How do you know I’m not following Becky?” She nodded at Becky. “Nice makeover,” she
said. “Jeans too. I like it.”

  Becky blushed.

  I rested a hand on my hip. “Are you here to talk to me or Becky?”

  “You. Nottingham told me about your little run-in with Curt and Brock on Monday. I would have tracked you down sooner, but I was assisting the sheriff’s department on another case over the last couple of days.”

  Becky slammed the trunk shut. “Curt and Brock? What’s she talking about, Chloe?”

  “She didn’t tell you?” The police chief crossed her arms at her chest and asked. “Okay, Humphrey, I want to see your shoulder.”

  I backed away from her. “You have the pictures.”

  “I know, but it’s been a couple of days now, so I expect it to be nice and purple.”

  Becky’s eyes were wide. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Let me see it,” Chief Rose said.

  The sun had begun to fall behind the department store. “It’s getting too dark to see it.”

  The police chief took a step toward me. “There’s still enough light left.”

  “Fine.” I pulled at the collar of my yellow T-shirt to show where Brock had pinched the upper part of my shoulder.

  Becky gasped.

  Chief Rose whistled. “That’s quite a bruise.”

  I gave my head a tight shake. “It’s because I’m so fair.”

  Becky wrapped her arms around herself. “What happened?”

  Chief Rose answered for me. “Your roomie here had a little run-in with Curt and Brock.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I thought I told you to call me if you saw them again.”

  I bristled. “I reported the incident to the police.” I didn’t want to share my real reason in Becky’s presence.

  “The way Nottingham tells it, you only did that after Timothy Troyer made you.”

  “Timothy knew about this?” Becky started to shake. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Becky, you have enough to worry about.”

  She glared at me. “There you go protecting me again. I’m an adult. I don’t need it.”