Chapter Twenty-Three

The drive out to the Applebaum’s on Monday afternoon doesn’t take me more than ten minutes. I checked with my mom to see if Cornelia still lives in the original farmhouse and I’m glad I did. Turns out Cornelia turned the homestead over to one of her son’s and had her own house built half a mile away on the same farm property. Chickens run across the graveled drive as I pull in front of the Craftsman style house, which looks more like a beachside cottage.

I’m greeted by no less than three cats as I climb the wide porch steps, admiring the simple yet effective autumnal decor. Three large pumpkins, one a traditional squash, one white, and the other a Cinderella pumpkin—which is really a gourd that makes delicious soup—are arranged about a bale of hay. An oak leaf garland hangs over the doorframe, with matching wreath on the gray painted door. I press the doorbell and stand a bit back, so that I’m in view of the security camera. I want to make sure Cornelia doesn’t think I’m a solicitor or other unwanted visitor.

The door opens wide without warning and a tall, distinguished woman with cream cookie hair grins at me.

“Is that you, Angel Warren?”

“Yes, ma’am. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you, but wondering what on earth brings you out here on such a blustery day. You’ve got a shop to get opened, don’t you?”

“I do, but I need to ask you some questions if you have a few minutes.”

“You caught me in between my Bible study and golf.” She stands back and ushers me in. “Go ahead and sit down. Would you like something to drink? And I’ve got fresh pumpkin pie from the store. I don’t bake myself any longer, why bother when they use my recipes?” Her laugh tinkles through the living room, where I sit on a well-worn and very comfortable blue gingham sofa.

“Oh no, I’m not here to be entertained. As much as I love Applebaum’s bakery. You know I’ve ordered several items for the grand opening from here.”

“Oh, have you? That’s wonderful.” She sits across from me. “I’m not involved in the business at all these days, but I do like to hear when a customer is happy.”

I don’t believe her for one nanosecond. According to my mother, Cornelia is the rock of Applebaum’s Market to this day. She may not run the numbers or place orders, but she is the creative muse that makes it a success.

“You’re being too modest, but we can argue that another time. I’m here because of what happened in my shop last week.”

“The murder.” She nods. “My study group was buzzing about it. I find it hard to believe they haven’t caught the murderer yet. Stonebridge isn’t a big town. Of course, it could have been a random break-in, I suppose.”

Whoa. “I see you’ve given this a lot of thought, then?”

“It’s hard not to, when my Liza went through all that she did with those two.” She smooths her blue jeans over slim thighs. “I’m just grateful Liza quit before she ruined her life. She’s moved on to better things, for certain.”

“Oh?” I want to know everything about Liza, but first things first. The Stonebridge Museum. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m here to clarify what exactly was going on with the plans to build the Stonebridge Museum. Specifically, on your property.”

“I’ll tell you where it’s going—nowhere.” Exasperation twists her mouth. “I’m not against bringing more people into town. The more tourists, the merrier! But Frannie was barking up the wrong tree on that one. We haven’t established if the eel weir is ancient or not, and even if it is, it’d take years to come up with an effective way to highlight it. It is underwater, after all.”

“I heard that the town was going to try to take some of your property alongside Jacob’s Run for the project?”

“That was Frannie’s hope, but according to my lawyers, it’s moot. There are plenty of other locations around Jacob’s creek that can be used, the vast majority of acreage belonging to the state.”

“Stone Cliff State Park.” Of course! I’d overlooked it because it shares its boundary with an adjacent town.

Cornelia nods. “Yes. What’s better? Because the park runs across the back of Silver Maple’s border, the project can be a joint one. Two towns bring more to the money pot than one.”

“That makes total sense. To be honest, I feel a little stupid that I didn’t think of that.”

“You just moved back, and you have a business to run. Why would this abstract plan of Frannie’s be in your sights? Except of course, with her murder in your building, it’s your primary concern.”

“It is. I appreciate your understanding, Mrs. Applebaum.”

She waves at me as if batting a gnat. “Please. Call me Cornelia. You’re not a little kid begging for a sample of candy apple any longer.” She refers to the confection of the season’s crispest apples dipped in a clear red syrup that hardens into a candy shell.

“I used to love those!” Until one dislodged a baby molar when I was eleven.

“We all did. But they’re hell on a dental bridge!” We both laugh, Cornelia more robustly. I’ve noticed that septuagenarians and older find humor in things that still horrify my mid-life sensibilities. No one’s getting younger but I’m not ready to rush into the second half of my life.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. About your property.” Unbeknownst to Cornelia, she’s occupied my suspect list for the shortest time of anyone. And now she’s a definite cross-off.

Which leaves one significant possibility.

“Anytime, Angel. I’m so sorry that Frannie met her end the way she did, and in your store. Just awful. But if I can, I’d like to give you some advice. Take it or leave it.”

I’m all ears. “Okay.”

Her eyes shine with conviction behind red cat-eye frames. “Nothing good happens in that real estate office. Liza lost herself when she worked there, and took the blame for things that Frannie and her husband were responsible for. A marriage gone bad is like poison that hurts the surrounding family and friends a heck of a lot more.”

“What is Liza doing these days, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“We FaceTime every week. She’s such a dear. Let’s see, last week she was learning how to make dresses from recycled fabric. That’s on top of her regular job, working with and teaching the locals how to install and maintain an irrigation system.”

“Where is Liza, Cornelia?”

“Namibia, Africa. She’s in the Peace Corps.”

Which explains why I haven’t been able to find her. No social media accounts under Liza Wiegela exist according to my recent search.

“I had no idea. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“I’m happy to. It took her longer than my other grands, to find her way. She figured out that office work isn’t for her.”

“I am sorry about her experience at Schrock Real Estate. Do you think she’d have time, or be willing, to talk to me?” I don’t have to ascertain an alibi from her, not if she’s in Africa. But I still have some unanswered questions about her time in with Ken and Frannie.

“I don’t see why not. She is very busy, though.”

“When is she coming home?”

“She’s halfway through. In another year.”

We exchange phone numbers and I invite her to my grand opening, with the promise of a stellar spread of Applebaum caramel apples, pumpkin pie, and their signature gingerbread ice cream that I plan to serve from a vintage French Champagne cooler I found at the Tongeren flea market in Belgium.

“I’ll be there on Saturday, Angel, rain or shine!” Cornelia waves from the front porch as I reverse out of the drive and turn onto the road back into the center of town.

As the farm fields give way to lumbering oak trees that tower over Stonebridge’s residential streets, I realize I’m most likely not going to be the one to solve Frannie’s murder. I’m totally okay with this, as long as the murderer is caught, tried, and justice is served. Before I second-guess myself, I call Trinity via my hands-free phone.

“Colson.”

“Hey, Trin, how are you doing?”

“Fair to stormy.” We both laugh. “What’s up?”

“I’ve found out some things I think you should know. Any chance you’ll have a spare fifteen minutes today or tomorrow?”

“Is any of this urgent?”

“No, not really. I’m following up on my promise to let you know what I’m up to.”

“And I appreciate that. How does tomorrow morning work?”

“Perfect. Where and when?”

“Your shop, eight o’clock?” Trinity knows I’m an early riser and am working ’round the clock right now.

“I’ll have the coffee waiting.”

“Bye.”

We disconnect as I pull into my parking space behind the shop. I sit in the quiet under the bare limbed maple and mentally review all I’ve learned since Frannie died. I may not have solved the crime, but I’ve gotten to know Stonebridge in ways I couldn’t have unless something major prodded me. I’d planned to keep to my corner of the world, love my girls whenever they were home or visited, be there for my family.

Now I know that it wasn’t enough. Being present, listening, getting to know folks is what matters at the end of the day. With the engine off the inside of the car quickly chills, and I chuckle to myself as I get out and walk to my building.

I can tell myself all the sweet sentiments I want to, but the truth is that I want Frannie’s murder solved in the worst way. It would be nice to have this behind me before Saturday. Heck, before Wednesday, when the girls get home.

What about before tomorrow night?

I can’t add solving the murder to the pressure of my first date with Nate. It wouldn’t be right. But it would be so very nice.