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I
’d previously planned to ask Mom to loan us her SUV for the excursion to the corn maze, but since John also had an SUV and volunteered to drive, I thought that was a better option. We were all in high spirits on the way there, but Jackie still vehemently refused to go through the corn maze.
“The rest of you have at it,” she said. “I’ll be sitting by the bonfire eating s’mores when you’re finished. Or you can call me from inside the maze, and I’ll ask someone to fish you out.”
Roger volunteered to stay with Jackie.
Although the corn maze was designed to look like a tractor from the sky—as evidenced by the drone photographs the Ostermanns had commissioned—it just looked like a bunch of foggy paths between corn stalks from our perspective. Fog machines kept the ground spookily covered and helped hide the wires attached to animatronic spiders that jumped out at us as we entered the maze.
Within the maze, there were more creepy things, such as tombstones with hands that rose from graves. Some paths led to dead ends, and some led to more choices...which either led to even more dead ends or more choices. Navigating the labyrinth somehow wasn’t as fun as I’d expected it to be.
John and Sarah were both analytical. John had a notepad and a pencil, with which he documented our every wrong turn so that we could go back and get on the correct path. To me, this made no sense whatsoever. We were still just as lost. The only way John’s directions would help us was if we decided to go through the maze again...which I definitely did not want to do. On the other hand, if we got lost, the directions could lead us backward out of the network of paths.
At various points within the labyrinth, actors would pop up and either scare you or offer you a riddle to guide you along the way. I was fairly sure Scott was supposed to scare us since he popped out from behind a hay bale in a werewolf costume with his arms raised up over his head.
But when he saw us, he broke into a wide grin. “Amy! It’s me—Scott!”
“Hi, Scott. How do you find your way out of here?” I asked.
“I just walk through the corn, dudes. If you get tired of following the maze, just start moving toward the outside.”
“Right or left?” The corn stalks were higher than our heads. “How do you know where you’ll come out?”
“You’ll come out wherever you come out, Amy-girl. It’ll be somewhere on this farm. Then just look around and get your bearings.”
“Makes sense,” Ryan said. “But we’d like to try it the old-fashioned way first.”
“Cool. Go back and take the right turn and also take the next right,” Scott said.
“Thanks.” I smiled, relieved that those were two dead ends we wouldn’t run up against.
“It’s the least I can do.” Scott gave us two thumbs-up. “See you tomorrow morning.”
John dutifully recorded the two turns Scott had given us on his notepad.
Ryan waited until he was sure we were out of Scott’s range of hearing to ask, “What did he mean by see you tomorrow morning? Is he helping the Ostermanns at the farmers’ market?”
“Actually, he’ll be helping me out in the café,” I said. “But I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss it. Why don’t we talk about it once we get out of the maze?”
“Oh, we certainly will.”
I knew that, like Jackie, Ryan would not be happy that a suspected arsonist would be helping out at the café. I wanted to put off any discussion about that for as long as possible.
After we finally made it through the corn maze, we went to the bonfire to find Jackie and Roger. John offered them his notes on how to get through the maze quickly and without facing any dead ends.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Roger asked. “I might steal a kiss at one or two of those dead ends.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Sarah said. “They have actors jump out at you in most of them to try to scare you or to annoy you with some silly riddle.”
“Why don’t we get some ice cream?” Jackie suggested. “This fire has made my throat scratchy.”
“Sounds good to me,” John said. “Let’s head for Abingdon.”
Ryan and I remained quiet on the drive. When we arrived at the ice cream parlor, we decided to sit outside on the patio. Since it was a cool night, the six of us were the only people out there.
I’d hoped Ryan would wait until we were alone to bring up the issue of Scott working at the café tomorrow, but he didn’t. Right there in front of everybody, he asked, “Now, Amy, would you like to tell us why you hired a suspected arsonist to work in your café?”
I blew out a breath. “It’s only for tomorrow. I’m hoping he’ll let something slip about the fire...or Ms. Pridemore’s death.”
Roger looked at Jackie. “Are you all right working with this guy?”
“I tried to talk Amy out of it,” Jackie said. “But she knows what she’s doing.”
I appreciated the valiant effort, but I also knew Jackie wasn’t as sure about me knowing what I was doing as she was trying to let on.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” I smiled at Jackie. “And, in fact, Scott has already admitted to me that he was at the Pridemore house at the time of the fire.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “He did?”
“He did. He caught up with me today in the parking lot of the Down South Café when I was on my way to deliver cookies to the firefighters who were so sweet to Aunt Bess last night,” I said. “Scott said he was there and that he believes Malcolm Pridemore set the fire.”
“Scott could be employing a classic defensive maneuver,” John said. “He could be providing an alternative suspect to deflect suspicion.”
“I agree.” Roger wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Did he realize you believed he was there before he mentioned Malcolm Pridemore?”
“I don’t know.” I stirred my sundae with my spoon. “I told him Aunt Bess was there taking photographs and that I’d made cookies as a show of my appreciation for the fire crew’s kindness to her. Scott then told me that he believed the fire was set deliberately by Malcolm Pridemore in an attempt to get the Ostermanns to sell the property to him.”
“If Scott has evidence against Malcolm Pridemore, then he needs to go to the police,” Sarah said.
“If he did have any evidence, he’d have come to us with it already,” Ryan said. “I don’t trust the guy. Either he’s guessing or shifting blame, and I don’t know why either of those scenarios would induce Amy to offer the man a job.”
“He’ll be working at the café for one day,” I said. “And I’d made my decision about that before Scott ever confessed to me that he’d been at the Pridemore house at the time of the fire.”
“As busy as we were last Saturday, what do you hope to learn from Scott in one day?” Jackie asked.
“Maybe nothing,” I admitted. “But, at least, he’ll be an extra pair of hands tomorrow. If we are as busy as we were last Saturday, we’ll need all the help we can get.”
ON SATURDAY MORNING, the farmers’ market proved to be even more of a draw than it had been the week before. Word had spread; and by eight a.m., the crowd circulating among the vendors had already doubled what it had been all day the previous week.
I waved to Madeline Carver, who was selling Landon Farms honey. She merely smiled, having both hands full and being unable to wave back.
I saw the Ostermanns selling produce like crazy, but Nadine waved me over.
“Amy! Get over here!” she called.
I went over and bought some tomatoes, apples, peppers, and a pumpkin from the Ostermanns. I then bought fresh eggs and cucumbers from another vendor. I didn’t have time to stop at Ryan’s mom’s booth, but as I passed by, I told her I’d try to get back out later.
She gave me a cold shrug and turned to greet a couple of browsers.
I told myself she wasn’t actually giving me the cold shoulder...that she was just busy. But a nagging feeling in my gut told me otherwise.
I hurried into the kitchen using the café’s back door and began putting away the produce I’d bought. Jackie was working at the grill.
“I’ll take over for you as soon as I get squared away,” I told her.
“Don’t worry about that,” Jackie said. “It’s going to take us both to keep our heads above water today.”
Shelly appeared at the window between the kitchen and the dining room. She had a stack of orders for us. “Amy, that gorgeous man who was with HJ Ostermann the other day is here asking for you.”
“That’s Scott,” I said. “Send him back.”
“To the kitchen?” Shelly asked.
“Yes.”
Scott entered the kitchen with his arms outstretched. I was glad to see he had his hair pulled back.
“Good morning! How can I help?” he asked.
“You’ll need an apron and an order pad.” I handed him one of each. “Oh, and a pen.” I looked around frantically.
“By the register,” Jackie said.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know. I’m a whiz at chopping.”
“Good to know,” I said.
“We might actually need a chopper soon,” Jackie said. “It’s going to be all the two of us can do to handle the grill.”
AT AROUND TEN-THIRTY that morning, Scott poked his head through the window into the kitchen.
“Guru Guy is here for his sausage biscuit,” he said. “Told me there was no need to waste a sheet of paper on it.”
“He’s right,” I said. “It’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Cool.”
When I had Homer’s sausage biscuit ready, I took it out to him. Scott was refilling Homer’s coffee cup.
“Who’s your hero today, Homer?” I asked.
“Les Brown,” Homer said.
“Dude has some powerful words of wisdom,” Scott said.
I frowned slightly. “Homer or Les Brown?”
“Exactly.” Scott jabbed an index finger into the air and took the coffee pot around to see if other patrons needed a refill.
“New hire?” Homer asked.
“For today.”
“I kinda like him.” Homer poured creamer into his coffee.
I turned to go back to the kitchen but saw Ryan from the corner of my eye. He was striding toward the counter, and his mouth was set in a hard line.
“Hey,” I said. “Coffee?”
“No. I need to get back outside in a second and try to pacify my mother.”
“About what?” I glanced toward the door, but I couldn’t see the vendors very well from where I was standing.
“When you agreed to allow Hilda Dinsmore to participate in the farmers’ market, did you realize she sold the same type of merchandise as my mom?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t think I even asked Ms. Dinsmore what she was selling. I mean, I’m sure I glanced at her registration form, but I didn’t give it a lot of thought.”
“Hilda and my mom go way back. I don’t suppose you’d consider asking Ms. Dinsmore not to return next Saturday,” he said quietly.
My jaw dropped. “You are kidding, right?”
“Yeah. I am.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.
“Is it really that bad?”
As if in answer to my question, I heard a shriek of anger.
“There it is,” Ryan said, as he turned and strode out of the café.
I followed close on his heels.
“You always have to act like you’re so much better than everyone else, Michelle,” Hilda Dinsmore was shouting at Ryan’s mom.
Michelle, her russet red hair gleaming in the sun, leaned closer to Hilda’s face. “I might not be better than everybody, but I am better than you!”
“Ha! You’d better be glad my arthritis is acting up today, or else I’d come across this table and slap you silly.” Hilda raised her chin.
Given her wide stance and clenched fists, I thought Ms. Dinsmore did look ready to fight. I, for one, was glad her arthritis was acting up. But apparently, Ryan’s mom was not.
“Oh, yeah?” Michelle scoffed. “You and what flock of old hens?”
“Ladies, please.” Ryan stepped between his mother and Hilda Dinsmore’s table.
“Uh-huh.” Ms. Dinsmore snorted. “Good thing that boy of yours came to rescue you.”
Michelle tried to push Ryan out of her way. “Let me at her.”
“Mom, come on.” His voice was quiet but firm.
Ms. Dinsmore hurled a blue hacky sack across the table at Michelle and hit her in the face. Michelle growled in frustration and somehow managed to reach around her son and flip Ms. Dinsmore’s table over.
“I’ll sue you for my damaged merchandise!” Ms. Dinsmore screeched.
“Like I’m going to miss that one-dollar bill. I’ll have you arrested for assault.” Michelle looked up at Ryan. “Go on. You saw her throw a projectile at me.”
I stepped forward. “Ding, ding. That round is over. Please go back to your respective corners.”
“Amy’s right,” Ryan said. “You weren’t injured, Mom, and Ms. Dinsmore’s merchandise appears to be intact. Why don’t we go back to your table?”
With one last look of disdain at Hilda Dinsmore, Michelle said, “Fine.”
I helped Ms. Dinsmore right her table before going back inside.
“What was that about?” Jackie asked as I went back into the kitchen.
“Ryan’s mom and Hilda Dinsmore were scuffling in the parking lot.”
A few minutes later, Shelly brought me a note. It was from Ryan.
I’m sorry. Are we still on for dinner?
I wrote back: I’m game if you and your parents are. I was afraid that Michelle might not want to be anywhere near me since I’d helped her archnemesis put her table back in order.
AT THE END OF THE DAY, I was disappointed to see that there wasn’t much left in the bakery display case. Still, I don’t think I was half as disenchanted as Oscar was. The young man had worked the register for us again, and his face fell when he saw that there were no cookies left.
I looked around at the remaining staff members. Shelly and Donna had both left already. Scott, Jackie, Oscar, and Luis remained.
“Could the four of you stick around for an extra job?” I asked.
Jackie tried to hide a smile, but she didn’t have much success. She knew I was up to something. “What job is that?”
“Cookie and brownie tasting,” I said. “No extra money, but while you wait, I’ll grill some cheese sandwiches.”
“I’ll stay for a cheese sandwich,” Scott said.
I explained to Scott that we normally divide what’s left in the display case among the employees on Saturday. “But, as you can see, there’s not much to divide today. I have some cookies in the freezer that are ready to bake, and I can have a batch of cola brownies ready to go into the oven in five minutes.”
“You do that, and I’ll make the grilled cheese sandwiches,” Jackie said.
“Nah,” I said. “Luis can help me. You stay out here and talk with Oscar and Scott. After today, I’m afraid neither of them will come back to work for us next week.”
“All right.” Jackie nodded, letting me know that she understood my reason for wanting her to stay behind and talk with Scott.
Later, after we’d had grilled cheese sandwiches and divided the cookies and brownies, I encouraged Scott, Luis, and Oscar to go on home.
“No way,” Scott said. “You need our help cleaning up.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “You’ve all worked hard enough for one day.” I went ahead and paid Oscar and Scott for their one day of work. Both agreed to work again next Saturday.
“Did you learn anything from Scott while Luis and I were making the sandwiches?” I asked Jackie after they’d left.
“Not much. He told Oscar and me that he’d moved to Abingdon from New Mexico a couple of months ago.”
I frowned. “How in the world did he get from New Mexico to Abingdon?”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t in that awful little car he drives.” Jackie laughed. “That thing would have probably pooped out a little less than halfway. But, seriously, he said he moved here to be near his sister.”
I wandered behind the counter and got some cleaning supplies.
“We can do that Monday morning,” Jackie said. “If you’re as tired as I am, it’s all you can do to put one foot in front of the other.”
“I am that tired. Want a drink?”
“Bring us a drink in a to-go cup so we don’t have to worry about washing it. I’ll settle for anything cold.” She sat at the table we’d shared with Luis, Oscar, and Scott. “So, tell me about the fight in the parking lot. I figured a couple of the farmers were throwing punches, but you said it was Ryan’s mom and another woman.”
I brought us both a sweet tea and sat across from her. “I’m not sure who started the ruckus, but Ryan’s mom and Hilda Dinsmore were both selling crocheted and knitted items. And it was obvious that the two of them have butted heads before. When I went outside, Ms. Dinsmore was accusing Michelle of thinking she was better than everybody.”
“And then what? Give me the play by play.”
“It all happened quickly. Ms. Dinsmore threw a crocheted hacky sack at Michelle—Ryan’s mom—and then Michelle turned Ms. Dinsmore’s table over. That’s when Ryan managed to get his mom to go back to her booth, and I helped Ms. Dinsmore tidy up.” I sipped my tea. “I didn’t even realize what Hilda Dinsmore was selling or that she and Michelle Hall knew each other when she signed on as a vendor. She’d been to Gladys Pridemore’s funeral, and I thought maybe she could tell me something pertinent about Ms. Pridemore.” I expelled a long breath. “Contrary to what I’m sure Ryan and Sheriff Billings believe, I’m not trying to interfere in the investigation, Jackie. I only want some justice for that poor woman.”
“I think you’re still beating yourself up because we didn’t get there in time to make a difference.”
Closing my eyes momentarily, I said, “I didn’t want to go at all.”
“Yes, you did. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have agreed to do it.” She sighed. “I’m the one who’d have told her no.”
I opened my eyes to see Jackie running her fingertip back and forth along the edge of the table.
“We can’t help what happened,” I said. “It wasn’t our fault. We didn’t—” I faltered. “Wait...no one has ever actually said how Gladys was murdered. Was she poisoned?”
“I don’t know.” Jackie gave me a half grin. “But I’ve got a feeling you’re going to find out.”
I received a text message and looked down at my phone. “It’s Ryan. He wants to know if he can pick me up for dinner at six.”
“You were supposed to have dinner with his parents tonight, weren’t you?”
I nodded.
“So, that’s still on?” she asked.
“As far as I know.”
She snorted. “Well, that should be fun.”
When I went behind the counter to get my purse, I saw a watch with a broken band. I picked it up and showed it to Jackie. “Do you know anything about this watch?”
“Yeah. It’s Scott’s. He must’ve forgotten it.”
“I’ll drop it off at the Pridemore house,” I said.
“Anything to weasel out of dinner with Ryan’s parents, eh?”
“No, I’m still going.” I shrugged. “I’m just not in a hurry to get there.”
“What’re we making for lunch tomorrow?”
I sighed. I wasn’t ready to think about making lunch for Mom and Aunt Bess. I was still trying to get over making lunch for half the county. “How about a brunch-type menu?”
“Sure,” Jackie said. “Eggs, ham rolls, hash brown casserole...”
“Maybe some mini quiches. Lots of fresh fruit.”
“I know Granny needs the fruit, but we’d better have some chocolate fondue for her to dip her fruit into so she doesn’t fuss.”
I smiled. “That sounds really good.”
“It does. Kinda makes me want it for dinner.”
“Me, too. If I get stood up by Ryan, would you and Roger like to meet me at the big house for dinner?”
“You won’t get stood up,” she said.
“How do you know?”
She scoffed. “Because Ryan is crazy about you.”
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