Page 51 of Toxic Apple Turnovers
“I’m safe,” I say in an effort to comfort him, but at the same time it feels as if I’m trying to comfort myself.
We head on in and not much is out of place, just a few cooking utensils knocked to the floor. The office looks like a whirlwind blew through it, but they couldn’t open my ground safe.
“I guess they didn’t get away with much.” I shudder. “But just knowing they were in here gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“I’m not leaving, Lot. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
A sheriff’s deputy approaches us. “There’s a call about a break-in at the church. I think we’re going to head over.”
Every muscle in my body freezes.
“Good call, I’ll take it from here.” Noah waves them off. He looks my way and opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, then pauses abruptly. “Lottie? Why do you have an extremely guilty look on your face?”
“Oh? I—I’m not guilty.” I shake my head a little too vigorously.
“Lottie?” His tone is suddenly curt, and very official, which sponsors a bout of giggles to strike.
“You’re actually going to find this a little funny.”
“What am I going to find funny?” Noah doesn’t look humored in the least.
“Okay, fine. I was at the church.”
“What?” He takes a full step back. “Lottie, you were the one who broke into the church? Were you digging for info on Pastor Gaines?”
“Yes.” I bat my hands in an effort to keep his voice down. “I found this.” I quickly produce the pictures on my phone. “It’s his application. I’ve got his social security number and his last place of employment.”
“Lottie, I am not looking to hire Pastor Gaines.” He gently braces me by the shoulders. “Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to casually tell those deputies not to worry about fingerprints because I don’t want you to be incriminated.”
“Good thinking,” I pant at the thought of going to prison for simply looking up Pastor Gaines’ employment history, never mind the breaking and entering. “But I’ve already wiped my prints from the window that I may have accidentally broken.”
“What about the computer where you swiped this information? Did you wipe down your prints there, too?”
“Gah!” I do a little odd tap-dance fueled by my fear of orange jumpsuits. “Make a few calls, Noah. I’ve got an owl to yell at.”
After the kitchen is cleared and I’ve sterilized it to the hilt, I get right to baking up a bazillion apple turnovers for the Apple Festival tomorrow. And in addition to that, I bake a beautiful three-tiered cake with white roses cascading up and down the front for my bestie and the beast she’s looking forward to sharing her life with—Bear. I can’t believe Keelie is going to be Mr. Otis “Bear” Fisher one day. It has a nice ring to it.
Sort of like Mrs. Noah Corbin Fox.
Or Mrs. Essex Everett Baxter.
I just hope when I do get married someday there won’t be a bride with two grooms as a topper on my wedding cake.
And as horrible as it sounds, a part of me doesn’t think it would be all that bad.
Chapter 17
The Grand family owns the apple orchard, and it sits nestled high above Honey Hollow with its behemoth barn that pulls double duty as a souvenir shop. The hilly terrain is beautiful this time of year, and everywhere you look there seems to be miles and miles of orchards filled with every variety of apple you can imagine. In fact, it’s the Grands’ own Golden Delicious apples that I use to make all of my apple desserts. The Golden Delicious is buttery in flavor, soft, and melts in your mouth like a sugar-laden dream.
Once Noah, Everett, and I arrive, the festivities are already well underway. The entire orchard is decorated with banners and balloons. It’s almost evening, and twinkle lights are strung out like stars over an expansive area that acts as a midway.
It’s body to body out here. The throngs have turned out for tonight’s festivities. Crates of apples lie everywhere you look. There are hayrides and booths serving hot apple cider, an area with a press in which you can make your own apple beverage, pony rides for the younger sect, and craft booths where you can make your own fall wreaths out of fresh fallen leaves. And there are even appletinis being served for the adults.
Noah and Everett have essentially been my bodyguards ever since the day of the break-in at the bakery. Noah kindly asked me to confess my sins to Everett about my own break-in, and let’s just say my boyfriend, the judge, did not appreciate the fact I’m fostering the criminal facet of my talents.
Noah gets a call and drifts off.
“Lemon.” Everett wraps his arms around me. “How’s it going with—” He ticks his head toward Noah. “Any luck in finding closure?”