The Final Tap Page 3

  “Let me know how he is!” I called as he shut the door.

  Chase gave me the briefest of nods and turned to his patient.

  Officer Sonders, Benji, and I watched the ambulance disappear down Maple Grove Lane with its lights flashing.

  “I need to secure the scene,” the young officer said.

  “Do you think it was foul play?” Benji asked.

  In other circumstances I would have chuckled at her use of the words “foul play,” but not today. I wrapped my arms around my middle as if to hold myself together. Another death on the Farm in less than a year. How was that even possible?

  Officer Sonders was neutral. “I don’t know. More police are on the way, and you’ll probably be hearing from Detective Brandon.”

  I grimaced. The detective and I weren’t the best of friends, or anything close to resembling friends. “Do you need anything else from us?” I asked. “We have a school visit going on, and I should be returning to the visitor center.”

  “I need your statements about how you found Beeson and why he was here.”

  I heard sirens and figured it must be the backup Sonders had called. The patrol car pulled up in the space along Maple Grove Lane where the ambulance had been. I was grateful that they parked there, where the school children would not be able to see them.

  Officer Sonders spoke to the other policemen for a moment, then returned to Benji and me for our statements, which were brief. Finally, he said we could go but warned again that I would be hearing from the detective. Something to look forward to. Benji and I walked back to the visitor center in silence.

  Judy met us at the automatic doors. “I saw the ambulance leave.”

  “They’re taking Dr. Beeson to the hospital. He’s going right into surgery.”

  Judy clicked her tongue. “Godspeed to him then. When Benji came running in here shouting that there was a man with a drill sticking out of his chest in the woods, I almost fainted dead away.” She straightened her shoulders. “And I’m not one to faint, Kelsey. I raised six children. I’ve seen a whole host of disturbing things in my day.”

  I didn’t doubt it. “Is Gavin with the school group?”

  Judy nodded. “He should be. He wasn’t here when Benji came running in, so Jayne ushered the children straight to the sugarhouse like Benji directed her to do. They were already there when the ambulance arrived.”

  “Good,” I said, wondering where Gavin was. I placed a hand on my forehead. I needed to think. I was still reeling from finding Beeson, but I had the Farm to operate at the same time. I couldn’t believe this had happened. I’d just been arguing with cantankerous Beeson that morning and now he was at the hospital fighting for his life. Something my mother said to me once came to mind: “If you don’t know what to do, do the next thing.” My father would have called it shifting in autopilot.

  Judy peered at me over her glasses. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I forced a smile. “I should go to the sugarhouse and tell Gavin the coast is clear and he can bring the children back for the program in the visitor center any time.”

  Judy cleared her throat. “That’s a good idea, but you might want to change your coat before you greet those children. You’re covered in blood.”

  I looked down to discover that my light blue ski jacket was blood stained. Immediately, I felt woozy. I had a five-year-old son and I’d seen some pretty unappealing things in my day, just as Judy had, but the sight of Beeson’s blood on my coat made me dizzy.

  Benji was at my side. She didn’t have any blood on her. Then again, she hadn’t been kneeling beside Dr. Beeson trying to hear whatever it was he had to say. I was still worried about that. I knew whatever he’d wanted to tell me had been important, or he wouldn’t have been so desperate to get it out when he was clearly in tremendous pain.

  “Are you going to pass out?” Benji asked.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Judy added.

  The director of Barton Farm did not pass out or sit down in times of crisis. There were school children on the grounds, and it was my responsibility to make sure they had the best visit possible. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are,” Benji said, clearly not believing me for a moment.

  “I’m fine, and Dr. Beeson will be fine too,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. “I have another coat in my office. I’ll go change into it before I go off to the sugarhouse.” I glanced around the visitor center. “It looks okay in here, but can the two of you go around and check to make sure there’s no sign of what happened?”

  “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 drink.

  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 ther
e 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.