The Final Tap Page 6

  As a parting shot, he added, “And don’t come to the meeting tonight. You aren’t wanted.” He stomped down the path.

  I let him go, but I was more determined than ever to be at the Sap and Spile meeting.

  Gavin stepped out of the sugarhouse, closing and padlocking the door behind him. He waved to Hayden, who was still playing tag with Tiffin in the trees, before walking over to me. “I’m sorry about my dad barging in like that. He’s worried. That’s all. I wasn’t the easiest kid to raise. He did it on his own. My mom walked out when I was in preschool.”

  “Oh, Gavin, I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It is what it is. Just don’t be angry with my dad for stomping in here, okay?”

  “He and I can make up at the Sap and Spile meeting tonight,” I said.

  Gavin shook his head like I hadn’t understood a word he’d just said. “Kelsey, you can’t come to the meeting. It’s for members only.”

  “They can make an exception under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

  “You don’t know these people.” He zipped up his coat.

  “What time is the meeting?” I asked.

  He sighed. “Seven, and the only reason I’m telling you is because I know you’ll come no matter what. But what are you going to do about Hayden? He can’t come. No kids allowed. The men at Sap and Spile take the business of maple sugaring very seriously.”

  “Let me worry about Hayden,” I said, hoping my father could come over to watch him. Dad was a drama professor at the local college. During the summer months when he wasn’t teaching, he lived with Hayden and me on the Farm, but during the school year, he stayed in college housing. Now that I thought about it, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to talk to my father anyway. He and Beeson worked at the same college. Even though Dad was in the drama department and Beeson was in horticulture, he might have some insight on his colleague. He might even have some suspects for Beeson’s murder, if it was murder.

  “Kelsey, I really don’t think this is a good idea.” Gavin still hadn’t given up trying to talk me out of the meeting.

  “It’s the only idea I have, Gavin,” I said. “If my hunch is right, Detective Brandon has promoted you to prime suspect in Beeson’s death. We have to find other suspects before she gets too stuck on the idea. Trust me, I know how she operates. She’s like a dog with a bone when she makes up her mind. You said that your club meets at the shelter house in the park, right?”

  He nodded, resigned to the situation.

  I decided that Gavin had been through enough interrogations for one afternoon. “I’ll meet you there at seven sharp,” I said as I headed to the door. “I have to take Hayden and Tiffin home. Seven o’clock. Don’t forget.”

  “How could I possibly forget?” he muttered.

  A few feet away, Tiffin lay on the path that led to our cottage, panting softly, and Hayden had flopped into the snow, making a half-hearted snow angel. I gave him my hand and he grabbed it. I pulled him to his feet. “Let’s go home. I bet you’re ready for a snack.”

  He perked up. “Can I have ants-on-a-log?”

  “Sure.” I laughed. My father had taught him to call celery with peanut butter and raisins “ants-on-a-log.” It had been one of my favorite snacks as a kid too.

  As we walked the snow-covered path that led through the sugar maple grove, I found myself checking the woods more often than I usually did. I didn’t know what I expected to see. Some masked man brandishing a hand drill, perhaps? Even though the Farm was isolated, I’d never felt frightened over living in the woods, but now, a tiny bead of fear crept into my brain. Most of that was for Hayden.

  Inside our cozy cottage, Frankie, Hayden’s one-eyed tabby cat, hissed at us when we entered. Neither of us thought much of it. Hissing is just the way Frankie, named after Benjamin Franklin, chose to communicate. Hayden scooped up the cat and gave him a squeeze. Frankie tolerated this with a scowl and nothing else. Had I picked him up like that, I’d be heading to the emergency room. Frankie and I had an understanding: I left him alone, and he left me alone. It was a good arrangement.

  Hayden set his cat on the couch. Tiffin happily yipped at his boy, shaking his tailless rump with everything he had. Hayden rolled on the floor with Tiffin while I made his snack. The pair’s earlier fatigue was all but forgotten. Frankie watched them with a curled lip of disdain before dashing up the stairs, most likely to lie in wait under Hayden’s bed.

  I called my dad, planning to ask him to watch Hayden tonight during the Sap and Spile meeting. There was no answer. I left a message asking him to call me, but I wasn’t hopeful that he would get it. As an actor, my father had an artist’s temperament and was hard to nail down at times.

  I grimaced. The last thing I wanted to do was call my ex-husband, Eddie, and ask him for help. Benji was another babysitting option, but I knew she had class on Thursday nights.

  I’d just set my cell phone on the kitchen counter when it beeped. I snatched it up, expecting to see a text from my dad. It wasn’t from Dad; it was from Chase: My twenty-four-hour shift ends at 5:30. I will come to the Farm.

  Not necessary. I’m fine, I texted back. I wasn’t the kind of girl who needed a guy to run to her rescue. I’d been rescuing myself for a long time and was pretty good at it. A memory nagged at the back of my head … maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Chase had rescued me from the Barton House cellar last summer when someone had trapped me in there. I frowned. But that was just one time, and I would have made it out on my own eventually. I’d had a plan. He just beat me to it.

  The phone chirped again with a new incoming message: See you at 5:45.

  I frowned. How typical of Chase not to listen, but this could work to my advantage. Maybe Chase could stay with Hayden while I went to the meeting. That might require a bribe. Food would work. If he was coming straight from the station, I bet he’d be starving. I started gathering ingredients to make a vegetable stew. It sounded good to me on such a cold night, and after spending so much time in the frozen woods.

  The stew was made from root vegetables and dried herbs, all from the Farm. Despite his less-than-charming personality, Shepley knew how to care for plants, and the Farm had enjoyed one of its best harvests ever that fall. I was already plotting events we could host around the vegetable harvest next year. We could have gardening and harvesting classes and cooking classes too. Maybe something with “organic” in the title? That would catch people’s attention. I wasn’t above succumbing to trends to raise the number of visitors to the Farm each year.

  The trick would be getting Shepley on board. I frowned. That was no easy feat. Shepley would be much happier if no one came to the Farm and he was left alone with his plants. But if that happened, there would be no Farm at all and Shepley would be out of a job. We’d received a nice endowment and trust from the Cherry Foundation last November, upon the death of Cynthia Cherry, the Farm’s original benefactress, but that alone wouldn’t be enough to sustain the Farm. We had to be self-sufficient to keep our doors open. It was something I was determined to do, especially since I had committed the next fifteen years of my life to Barton Farm. One of the stipulations of the trust was that I had to agree to stay on as the Farm’s director and live in the cottage for the next fifteen years. It’s one thing to have job security, but it’s quite another to be tied to your job with iron chains.

  Yet I knew Cynthia had set it up this way not only to protect the Farm, but to protect me. She’d cared about Hayden and me and had spent thousands to renovate the old caretaker’s cottage into a home for us. The cottage was small, and the kitchen, living room, and dining room spaces were all one room. Behind the kitchen, there was a large pantry that we’d converted into a spare room for my father during the summer. There was one full bathroom on the lower level, and a half bath and Hayden and my bedrooms upstairs. That was it.

  I hadn’t asked for much, but everything I requested
, Cynthia made sure happened. By tying me to the trust, she’d ensured my job until Hayden was well into his college years. I blinked away tears. Cynthia had been like a much-beloved aunt to me. I teared up every time I thought of her, even this many months later.

  I wiped a tear from my eye and set Hayden’s snack on the coffee table, along with a cup of apple juice. He sat on his knees in front of the couch, zooming his favorite Matchbox cars back and forth over the cushions. Seeing him there, so happy in our home, made me all the more grateful to Cynthia for what she’d done—and even more determined not to let her down. She’d believed in the Farm and in me. Barton Farm had to thrive.

  I told Hayden about his snack and went back to the kitchen to work on the stew.

  My son jumped to his feet, grabbing two ants-on-a-log with the motion, and walked into the kitchen. He watched me chop carrots and toss them into a large stew pot. I already had butter, onions, and herbs melding together at the bottom of the pot.

  “Is that for me?” Hayden sounded like he’d much rather eat real ants than whatever I was cooking.

  “I thought you liked vegetable stew,” I teased.

  “Yuck!”

  “The stew is for Chase. He’s stopping by after work. Since I doubt he’ll have eaten by the time he gets here, I thought I would make him something.”

  Hayden wrinkled his nose. “And you’re feeding him that?” He acted like serving Chase vegetable stew was the greatest insult I could think of bestowing on the paramedic.

  I laughed. “Adults like this kind of stuff. It’s perfect for a cold winter’s night.”

  He didn’t look convinced and popped a raisin in his mouth.

  “Don’t worry. You’re eating mac and cheese.”

  He pumped his fist. “Yes!”

  nine

  Hayden was finishing his mac and cheese when there was a knock on the cottage’s front door, promptly at 5:45. I gave the stew pot one final stir before I replaced the lid and caught myself checking my reflection in it. I dropped the lid onto the pot and told myself to snap out of it before marching across the living room to the front door.

  I opened the door to find snow falling all around Chase, giving him an ethereal look. If a faceless man could be considered ethereal, that is. His scarf was wrapped so tightly around his head that all I could see were his warm chocolate brown eyes, which seemed to be in a constant state of amusement.

  I broke eye contact and stepped back. “Come in before you freeze to death.” The temperature had dropped with the setting of the sun.

  He stomped the snow off his boots onto the front porch as best as he could before stepping over the threshold. I shut the door behind him, and he started the long process of removing his winter gear: scarf, hat, gloves, coat, and down vest. I held out my arms and he piled them on.

  He placed his hands on his flat stomach. “Do I smell dinner cooking?”

  Hayden looked up from his mac and cheese. “I got mac and cheese. Mom made stew for you.” He wrinkled his nose. “You can’t have my mac and cheese.”

  Chase’s laughing brown eyes met mine. “You made dinner for me?” He lowered his voice so that Hayden couldn’t overhear. “May I consider this a date?”

  I hung his coat and winter gear over the back of the sofa. “I thought you might be hungry if you just got off work. I would do it for any friend.”

  He grinned and stepped out of his boots, leaving them by the front door. “Your friendship is a start.” He winked at me.

  I turned away to hide my blush. “Hayden, if you’re finished eating, you and Tiffin can watch TV on my bed until Chase and I finish dinner.”

  My son’s eyes sparkled, and he gulped down the last of his milk. It wasn’t often that I let him watch television on a school night. As much as I wanted Chase not to get the wrong idea and think this was a date, I still wanted to talk to him about Beeson before bringing up babysitting, and I couldn’t do that with Hayden in the room.

  As if he was afraid I would change my mind, Hayden shouted for Tiffin, and the pair galloped up the stairs. I listened until I heard the bedroom door slam.

  “He must really like TV,” Chase said.

  “It’s a special treat. I don’t let him watch much.” I shrugged.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me? I can tell you’re one of those kinds of moms,” he teased.

  I put my hands on my hips. “What does that mean?”

  He held up his hands as if in surrender. “It was a compliment. You’re one of those moms who are all about your kid. I respect that and find it very attractive.”

  I rolled my eyes, and for the second time that day, I was glad that Hayden wasn’t there to see me do it. It wasn’t a habit I wanted my son to pick up. I wished I could break it myself. “Have a seat.” I pointed to the kitchen table.

  Chase did as he was told. I felt him watch me as I dished out two hearty portions of stew. My stomach grumbled as I did. I’d only had a granola bar for lunch.

  I set the bowls on the table and went back for a loaf of bread that Alice had made the day before in the Farm’s breadmaking machine, plus two glasses of water.

  “Can I help?” Chase asked. “I’m very good in the kitchen. I do a lot of the cooking at the firehouse during my shifts.”

  “I’m fine,” I said as I took the seat across from him. I pointedly ignored his comment about being good in the kitchen. He was a terrible flirt, and I had to remind myself of that. “Do you have to go back to the firehouse?” I asked as I set everything on the table and took a seat.

  He blew on a spoonful of stew. “Nope. Since I just came off of a twenty-four-hour shift, I have forty-eight hours free. I thought I could help you out.”

  I picked up my spoon. “Help me with what?”

  “The maple sugar professor’s death. I assume you want to find out how he died, since it happened on your watch and on the Farm.”

  Chase was right. I did want to know what happened, mostly because of Gavin’s situation. I couldn’t believe that my staffer could kill anyone. Had it been Shepley, I wouldn’t have been that surprised. But Gavin? It just didn’t fit into what I knew about him.

  “You’ve gotten involved with a police investigation before,” Chase said when I didn’t respond right away.

  I didn’t need him to remind me of that. Beeson’s death was the third suspicious death related to Barton Farm in less than a year. It wasn’t true that any publicity was good publicity. These events were not good publicity for the Farm.

  Chase set his water glass on the table. “I’ve been thinking that you could use these unfortunate events to your advantage. If this keeps up, you could always start giving ghost tours of the Farm. It might be a real moneymaker for you.”

  “Not funny,” I said. “Barton Farm isn’t haunted.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard. There have always been rumors about one of Barton’s daughters wandering the Farm grounds at night.” He wiggled his fingers near his face in a spooky gesture that made me think he’d been a Scooby Doo fan as a child. “I heard about her when I was a kid.”

  “There is that story,” I admitted. “But Barton Farm is not haunted by any twenty-first-century ghosts. Nineteenth-century ghosts are fine.”

  He grinned. “I can tell you’re giving the haunted ghost tours some real thought.”

  I frowned because he was right. The future of a nonprofit like Barton Farm was never certain—one bad storm or tornado coming through the grounds would take us out permanently. I really hoped that wouldn’t happen. I loved the Farm so much, I’d married myself to it for fifteen years. I couldn’t let it go down on my watch.

  Chase wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back into his chair. His stew bowl was empty, and I hadn’t even taken a bite of mine yet. “So, what do you plan to do?”

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  He
grinned from ear to ear. “And what’s that?”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “What do you think I was thinking?” The corner of his mouth twitched.

  I told him what I’d learned about Gavin’s history with Conrad Beeson, and Detective Brandon zeroing in on Gavin as her number one suspect. “I need to go to the Sap and Spile meeting tonight to see if anyone else might have had a reason to kill Beeson,” I finished. “I was wondering if you could stay with Hayden while I’m gone.”

  Chase frowned. “I thought they didn’t even know for sure if he was murdered.”

  “They don’t. At least, not officially, but it looks that way. That’s what the chief said.”

  “Wait a second.” Chase removed his cell phone from his pocket and placed a call. “Hey, Uncle Duff,” he said. “How’s it going?” He listened for a moment and laughed at something his uncle said. “I’m calling because I was wondering if you had any news about Conrad Beeson. I was one of the EMTs on the scene, and I heard he died. Do you know how?” There was another pause. “Oh.” Chase sounded disappointed, and he met my gaze across the table.

  My heart sank. I knew what Chief Duffy was telling his nephew. He was telling him that Conrad Beeson had been murdered.

  “And it’s certain?” Chase asked. He was quiet for a few minutes as he listened to his uncle. “All right then. I’ll see you Saturday.” He hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

  “He was murdered?” I asked.

  Chase nodded. “My uncle said that the medical examiner believes that he had a heart attack.”

  “That’s not murder,” I said.

  Chase held up his hand. “True. But someone stabbed him in the chest with the drill while he was still alive, and that’s what killed him.”

  I covered my mouth with my hand. “Who could do such a thing? Is the medical examiner sure?”

  Chase nodded. “The angle of the wound indicates that it came from above when Beeson was lying on his back. There’s no way he would have gotten that injury from accidentally landing on the drill.”