In Farm's Way, page 17
The advantage of growing up in Cherry Glen was I knew every nook and cranny of it. Even with the new businesses and shops on Michigan Street, the layout of the town was the same.
With my shoulders back, I returned to my truck like I didn’t have a care in the world.
When I reached where I had left my truck, I walked toward the brewery door.
Chief Randy stomped out of the building. “Find her!” he shouted at Jake.
“Find who?” I asked.
The police chief spun around. “You! Where were you?”
“I went for a walk,” I said. “I thought you went home, Chief.”
His face was bright red. “I had to come back.”
“Oh?”
His chest heaved up and down, and his mustache wiggled on his upper lip. He pointed at me. “Stay out of this, you hear me.”
“I hear you,” I said, but that didn’t mean I was going to follow his directions. “I guess I’ll go home then,” I said and turned to walk back to my truck.
The chief called after me, “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, Shiloh.”
When did I ever do that?
As I climbed into my father’s truck, I wondered where the sheriff had been all that time I was inside of the brewery. Had he really gone home?
I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was return to my farm, hustle through my chores, and take a well-deserved nap. I drove straight home with a lot to think about. Who would want to kill Wallace Fields? Because I was certain that same person had hit Kent over the head. But why attack Kent when he was such a great scapegoat for the crime? Why didn’t the attacker kill him? I rubbed my forehead. None of it made sense.
When I walked into the farmhouse a little while later, I found Huckleberry and my father watching cable news. The commenter on the screen shouted about the state of the country and blamed the president, congress, and his mailman. It was amazing to me how much he was paid for being angry all the time. My father loved it.
“Tell it to him!” Dad shook his fist at the screen.
Huckleberry looked at me with wide pug eyes in alarm. To be honest, pugs looked alarmed the majority of the time. When they didn’t, they were asleep.
“Dad?” I asked.
“Congress has to do something,” my father said to the screen. “Bunch of cowards. What is this country becoming?”
“Dad?”
“The pioneers didn’t live and die for this!”
“Dad?” I shouted this time.
“Wh-what? Shiloh? Why are you yelling?” He turned and looked at me standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
Huckleberry jumped off my dad’s recliner and ran over to me. I leaned over and patted his head.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m home.”
“Oh well, did you have to interrupt my program for that?” He wanted to know.
I sighed and picked up my dog.
“Did you and Kristy settle your women’s issues?” he asked.
I gritted my teeth. “If by women’s issues you mean her husband being hit over the head with a beer bottle? Then no, no, we haven’t.”
He stared at me for a long moment and then his mouth opened and closed as if he had something to say but didn’t know how to form the words. Finally, he said, “What did you say?”
I picked up the remote and turned off the TV. It was giving me a headache. It wasn’t like my father was going to miss anything. The same man would be angry at the world tomorrow too.
“I had to rush to town because Kent was attacked at the brewery,” I said.
“Is it related to the murder?”
“I think so.”
“What are the police saying?” Dad asked.
“Chief Randy isn’t saying anything.”
“The police chief doesn’t know anything about anything. Remember when he thought I was a killer? Me? On my walker?” He shook his head. “The whole world has gone crazy. You would know that if you watched the news.”
I sighed. “I have chores to do and then I’m going to lie down.”
Dad nodded and turned the TV back on. This time he turned the volume up to the sound barrier.
Huckleberry and I didn’t need any further encouragement to leave. Outside, I checked on the chickens. Dad had fed them and collected the eggs as promised. I forgot to ask him if Hazel had been there to help, but someone had cleared the path between the barn and the chicken coup while I was gone. I assumed it was Quinn. If not Quinn, then it had to be my cousin Stacey.
I wrinkled my brow. Stacey had been the one who reported the lights on in the brewery at an odd time. It seemed like I was due for another conversation with my cousin.
Before I could face that, I needed a nap.
***
My phone rang, or I thought it rang. I was lying facedown on my bed like a sea lion on the beach. I pushed my hair out of my face. “What time is it?”
Esmeralda sat at the bottom of the bed, washing herself. She looked at me as if to ask why I was bothering her. It was a question the Siamese cat asked a lot.
“You were so sweet when you first moved to the farm. Your power went to your head,” I told her.
She went back to grooming herself.
The phone rang again. It took me a moment to find it in the twisted pile of sheets and blankets. By the looks of it, I’d had a restless nap.
“It’s about time you picked up the phone. What were you doing?” Stacey barked into my ear.
I rubbed my eyes. “Napping.”
“Napping. What are you napping for? Don’t you have work to do, or is the farm ready for the world to see it?”
“Stacey, I had a long night and was up early this morning.”
“Well, you’re in store for a long night again.”
“I am? Why?” I asked.
“Did you really forget about the MOBA meeting tonight? The meeting you invited me to?”
I groaned. I had forgotten. “The meeting that you invited yourself to?” I corrected for the record.
Huckleberry whimpered on the floor, and then climbed up the set of benches and pillows I made for him to get up on the bed. Esmeralda watched him as if she could not believe he needed such help. It wasn’t easy being a pug.
“I’ll even do you a favor. I don’t want to roll up in Traverse City in Uncle Sully’s old truck. I have a reputation to uphold in the arts community in this county.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was grateful she couldn’t see me. I would never be dumb enough to do that directly in front of her.
“I’ll drive,” she said. “The meeting is at seven. I’ll pick you up at five-thirty. That should give us plenty of time to find a parking spot.”
“What time is now?” I still felt groggy.
“Three. Be ready.”
Three? I couldn’t believe I slept that long. Grandma Bellamy always said if a person slept like that, it was because they needed it. I did feel refreshed, but I wasn’t ready to go to this meeting. Since moving to Cherry Glen, I had spent a good amount of time alone with just the animals or my dad—when he wasn’t being a grump—for company. I found that I liked the change.
The last few days between the brewery and the ice fishing derby had just been too people-y for me, and now, I had to attended an association meeting. It sounded horrible.
I flopped back down on the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stacey was never late. Instead, she was always early. Which to be honest was an annoying habit of hers, and she usually caught me unprepared. That evening was no different. I rushed through my chores on the farm and got ready for the meeting. And even though I made it to the farmhouse with twenty minutes to spare, she was already inside.
I found my cousin sitting in the kitchen chatting with my father. Dad had one of his old Michigan history books in front of him and was examining the page with a magnifying glass. The pair of them looked so comfortable with each other. Far more comfortable than I ever felt around my dad. I reminded myself that Stacey—who had lived on the other half of Bellamy Farm, which was now Tanner Birchwood’s Organic Acres—had spent more time with him than I had in the past fifteen years, and he was her uncle, not her father. As his niece, she had some distance from his grumpiness that I never had.
Stacey looked like she was ready to go on a date. Her blond hair was curled and teased. Her nails were painted red, and she wore jeans, knee-high leather boots, and a form-fitting sweater.
I, on the other hand, looked like I was going to an association meeting. I had brushed my hair—this was noteworthy because since becoming a full-time farmer I was hit or miss with the brush and usually wore my hair in a messy bun—and wore a blazer with slacks left over from my other life. At least they were a nice blazer and slacks.
“There you are,” Stacey said, making a point of checking her phone for the time.
I didn’t bother to tell her I was early. There wasn’t much point to having the argument, and I was going to be trapped in a car with her for next thirty minutes. It was best to make that experience as painless as possible.
“I was just telling Uncle Sully about the Michigan Organic Brewers Association meeting we’re going to.” She eyed me. “He said you hadn’t mentioned it.”
With everything else going on, I wasn’t up for another lecture of him telling me why changing Bellamy Farm into an organic venture wasn’t going to work. This was a case where I had to believe in my vision and not my father’s opinion.
“It must have slipped my mind,” I said. “Dad, can I leave Huckleberry with you?”
“Sure, sure,” Dad said. “He likes to watch cable news with me.”
Huckleberry looked up at me and whimpered. He did not enjoy cable news.
I squatted and scratched his ears. “Grandpa will give you lots of treats.”
He licked my face. The treats would make up for the assault on his ears by the television.
“Where’s Esmeralda?” Dad asked.
“She opted to stay back in the cabin.” I shrugged. “I guess she needs alone time.”
“She’s a very peculiar cat.”
I agreed.
Stacey stood up, grabbed her winter coat off the back of the chair, and put it on. “I expect both of you are coming to the showing of The Wizard of Oz on Tuesday? And Shiloh, I need you to help.”
I gritted my teeth. Stacey never asked me to pitch in at the theater, she just told me I needed to help. The truth was I didn’t mind helping. I loved that she had brought the historic gem back to the community, but it would be nice to be asked to help and not told.
She hugged my dad and went out the door.
“I’ll stop by and pick up Huckleberry when I get home.”
Dad nodded and went back to examining the book in front of him with a magnifying glass.
When Stacey and I were in her SUV, she started the engine. “Uncle Sully looks like he’s exhausted. I can’t believe you let him spend two full days outside at the ice fishing derby like that.”
I gritted my teeth and looked out the window. “It’s what he wanted to do. He wasn’t alone. Hazel and Quinn were with him the whole time, and Quinn is an EMT.”
“That may be true, but he’s going to be stiff for days from fishing. I was just telling him that he should start up physical therapy again for his back.”
“And how did that go?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. My father hated physical therapy.
“He told me he’d think about it.”
He’d think about it because Stacey had mentioned it. But I knew he had no intention of going. If I had asked, it would’ve been a straight no.
I pushed my irritation down. For a long time, Stacey had looked after my dad while I was in LA. As irritating as she could be at times, I couldn’t lose sight of everything she’d done for us.
“Thank you for talking to him about it. He listens to you,” I said.
“As he should,” she said.
I kept looking out the window so she couldn’t see my face.
Relief swept through me when we pulled into Traverse City. Growing up, I had always thought it was the perfect size city. It was big enough to have all the amenities a person would need, but modest enough to still feel like a friendly small town. That feeling was reiterated when I moved to LA, an enormous city that was completely overwhelming in all it had to offer.
Maybe I liked limited choices. During the winter in Traverse City, those choices were narrowed down to outside winter activities, and cherries. But who really knew what they would do in that situation when fear takes over? A person couldn’t know prior to the event.
Right on time, I received a text message from Chesney. Talking points for MOBA meeting. I smiled. She never disappointed. Her list read: cherry production, crop in most need, timetable of supplies, and new flavors. It was brief and to the point.
Even on a Monday evening, the city was busy. It was the middle of ski season, and an ice sculpture contest was taking place at the lakefront along Lake Michigan all week. The whirl of chainsaws broke through the night and muffled the laughter of the onlookers.
The bay water hit the ice along the lakeshore and sent spray as far as the parking lot on the other side of the street. The ice sculptors and spectators didn’t seem to mind. These were hardy Michiganders. Freezing water would never chase them away.
I hopped out of the SUV, grateful to make it here without getting into an argument with my cousin. She carefully stepped out in her platform boots. Her footwear had good tread. If you grew up in northern Michigan, you knew tread came before fashion. But Stacey’s platform soles were so high, they were still a bit precarious to walk around on. As she navigated the icy and salt-sprinkled parking lot, she reminded me of a newborn calf finding her legs.
The sidewalk was much clearer, and I gave a small sigh of relief when we walked up the hill on from the waterfront to Front Street.
Along the block, there were still remnants of Christmas as twinkle lights glistened in all the trees and pine garland wrapped its way up the lampposts. There was a fresh dusting of snow on everything, but the street and sidewalk were both treated vigorously with deicer.
In the winter around here, deicing was a full-time job.
“The meeting is above the Cherryland Boutique,” I said as we walked down Front Street.
“I know where it is,” my cousin said. “It’s right there on the corner. I’ve been to the speakeasy on a few dates before.”
This was news to me. Stacey never talked about her dating life. She had been so focused on the theater lately; I hadn’t even considered she might be seeing someone.
I was curious. I was her little cousin after all, but I pushed any questions about her social life away. They would not be well received.
The Cherryland Boutique was closed for the night. Through the storefront window, I could see anything and everything I could imagine that was made with cherries: cherry pop, cherry candy, cherry syrup, cherry bread, cherry ice cream. The list went on and on.
A lit metal arrow pointed to the right around the corner of the building.
I was glad I was with Stacey because she followed the arrow as if it made perfect sense. There was a set of metal steps on the side of the building that led to a metal door on the second floor. There was no signage to indicate there was anything of interest at the top.
Stacey started up the stairs. “Be careful,” she warned. “The stairs are slippery. This is a death trap waiting to happen.”
I didn’t find her caution encouraging.
We reached the top, and Stacey knocked three times on the door. Knock, knock, knock. The knocks were perfectly spaced out and purposeful.
An eye slot opened, and I could just see the nose and eyes of a man. “What do you want?”
“A Shirley Temple, sir,” Stacey replied, as if it was the most logical answer in the world.
The eye slot closed and the door opened.
We stepped inside the room and found ourselves in a dance hall of sorts. There was a buffet table with appetizers on one side and a table with local beers on the other. There was no bar and no drinks other than beer, but I supposed that made sense considering the business everyone in the room was in.
I removed my coat and hung it over my arm. “I’m not sure I would have gotten in if you hadn’t been here. I didn’t know you had to have a password.”
Stacey glanced at me. “I’ve been to this building before. The password is always the same. They didn’t tell you? Maybe they didn’t really want you to come.”
I sighed.
A man called my name. I turned and saw Tanner Birchwood walking toward me. He had a big smile on his face and a beer in his hand.
Next to me, my cousin fluffed her hair and smiled prettily at my neighbor. It could be she had a crush on him. This was good news for me. Stacey could distract him while I made my escape to do what I really came here to do, which was learn how my farm could be a supplier to this association. And oh, find a killer too. No big deal on either assignment.
“Hi, Tanner.”
His smile wavered. “How did you hear about this meeting?”
“I was invited by some of the members.”
“Oh,” he said. “That is so funny. I was too. I know they’re looking for suppliers. I thought I was the only one who was asked.”
I shrugged. “Just a little healthy competition.”
“Yes, right.” He forced a smile.
Across the room, I spotted Sidney, who I’d met at the ice fishing derby. “Tanner, why don’t you tell Stacey your plans for Organic Acres?” I said. “After all, it was her home for so many years. I’m sure she’s interested.”
Stacey brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I am. I would love to hear about your plans for my family farm.”
