Bad Apples
Lena turned onto the gravel driveway and stopped to peer through the windshield as far as the headlights allowed. It wasn’t fully dark yet, but the light disappeared quickly, as if absorbed into the black soil. She could just make out the faded letters on the old mailbox. Thompson Farm.
“Bea, we’re here.”
Bea lifted her head from the folded jacket she’d used as a makeshift pillow and pushed at the waves of her stylishly mussed bob.
“Whoa,” she said, but not like she was impressed. More like appalled. Lena had to admit that the orchard wasn’t making a great impression. “Welcome to North Carolina!”
Leafless trees hunched on either side of the narrow drive, unpruned branches reaching out like gnarled hands ready to claw the sides of the car. Lena rolled slowly, the gravel crunching and bouncing the women about in the deepening gloom. The drive appeared to vanish, but Lena crept forward, remembering that the road dipped and curved to the right, through a cluster of tall maples with similarly naked branches.
“Whoa,” Bea whispered again as the house came into view. Lena flushed. Peeling paint glowed ghostly white in the light from the car. My house, she reminded herself.
“Your haunted house,” Bea said, and Lena realized she’d spoken aloud. It was dark now. Dark, dark – not city dark. And silent except for the hooting of an owl from somewhere in the gloom. The house seemed tired. Lena could relate. She looked up to the second-floor window and could imagine a pale freckled face against the glass, eyes wide under crooked bangs, while blue flashing lights distorted the front yard. But there were no lights now, only darkness, so they stepped carefully across overgrown weedy grass and the worn porch to the door and then Lena was inside, feeling for the light switch.
No ghosts were revealed in the weak overhead illumination, just tidy well-worn furniture and cardboard boxes. Bea wandered, flipping switches as she found them, and soon the house felt almost normal. With floodlights now illuminating the way, they emptied the car of essentials – a bag for each of them, the road trip cooler of drinks and snacks, and Bea’s camera equipment. Lena found clean sheets in the hall closet upstairs, and in no time both women were asleep.
***
“Well,” Lena said, “let’s see what we have to work with.”
“First things first.” Bea passed over a steaming mug of coffee. “No sense going out there all uncaffeinated.”
“You found a coffee maker?”
“God, no. Didn’t look. Brought my own.” Bea waved a hand at a small French press, a bag of coffee, and several bottles of water. “I did use the kettle though. We need to get some groceries today. My emergency rations won’t last.”
“Let’s start a list. Oh my God, this is good. Where did you get creamer?”
“Gas station yesterday. Give me the tour and let’s figure out what we need.”
Lena knew Bea meant more than just groceries. She’d gotten the news the prior week that her grandfather had passed away at a local elder care facility. His will had stipulated cremation without a service so there had been no funeral. That might have been the end of it, except that an Emmett Collins, Esquire sent word of her inheritance.
“How long has it been since you were here?” Bea asked, trailing after Lena as they examined the first floor, peeking in cabinets and closets and jotting notes.
“Twenty years, I guess. I was eleven.”
“And you haven’t seen your grandfather since then?”
“No.” Lena had reached out a few times, but her grandfather had made it clear he did not want to see her or her mother again. After her mother died, she sent a note but received no reply. “My dad died and… well, things changed. Mom and I moved to Orlando.”
The house was clutter-free except for the small office in the back where boxes were stacked in piles and the old roll top desk had papers crammed in cubbies. Cardboard tubes leaned in the corner, but they were empty. Bea opened a narrow door off the kitchen to steep wooden steps to complete darkness. The cellar. She shut it with a “Nope” without even thinking it over. They went upstairs to three bedrooms and a single bathroom. Her grandfather’s room was empty aside from the bed and a small side table marked with water rings. The closet contained only a couple of blankets on the top shelf.
“What’s that?” Bea pointed at a string dangling from the ceiling.
“Attic.”
“Check for skeletons later,” Bea mumbled, scribbling in her notebook. They crossed the hall. “Your old room?”
“Yeah.” Lena ran her hand along the small desk where she’d done her homework as a child. The drawer was empty.
“What have we here?” Lena turned to see Bea digging through a box in the closet. “Nancy Drew?” Lena peered over her shoulder to see old books, some posters, and other items that had adorned her room years ago. Her grandfather had packed it all but kept it.
“We can hit up some thrift stores and pick up a few items to warm up the place before I photograph it for the listing. It should look inviting instead of, well, whatever this is. No offense.”
“I don’t think Grandpa was here recently. They’d have taken his clothes to the facility, and I guess everything else was packed up or put away. Let’s look around outside and then we can go to town and get some breakfast.”
“What am I smelling?” Bea asked as they stepped onto the front porch. She pulled a hoodie on against the March morning chill. It read: Every Hour is Happy Hour, Epcot World Showcase.
“Rotten apples. They weren’t harvested last season.” Lena turned the key in the lock and then gestured toward the apple trees visible from the house. “See, they are just sitting on the ground.” They walked to the left through scrubby weeds to get a closer look. Lena could smell damp clay along with the decaying fruit.
“Creepy trees. They look dead. Full on Snow White trees.”
“Not dead, just sleeping. They’ll bud out soon. They are way less scary with leaves.”
Bea didn’t look convinced as she snapped a few photos with her phone. “I’ll take some better pictures later. Some ‘befores’ so we can see the progress once we make this place beautiful—wait, is that what I think it is?” Bea stopped short and Lena ran into her. It didn’t break her concentration at all. “A barn? An actual honest-to-goodness, Little House on the Prairie barn?”
Lena nodded, laughing.
“Come on, Laura Ingalls, let’s go get some pancakes. We’ll see the barn later.”
The diner was about 15 minutes away in the general direction of Asheville, which was another 40 minutes or so up the highway. They passed other farms and orchards, a small commercial area near the highway, and then neighborhoods, dense with churches and small businesses closer to a historic downtown. In a snap, they had a table by a large window to the parking lot and mugs of acceptable coffee. Over plates of pancakes (Bea) and eggs and cheese grits (Lena), they discussed next steps. They’d stop at Ingles for food and cleaning supplies before returning to the house. Bea would start her list of pre-sale recommendations. Lena would go through the office. They could then check out the barn.
As Lena noted items for the list, she looked up to see a large, bearded blond man grinning at her. A linebacker in flannel and work boots, like a Brawny ad.
“Mason?”
“Lee!”
Lena found herself engulfed in a hug and lifted off the floor.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to run into you the first time we step into town, but I am. Bea, this giant is Mason Bryson. We went to elementary school together. He was slightly smaller then. Mason, meet Bea, real estate genius and coffee snob.”
“Enchanté,” Mason bowed, taking Bea’s hand, eliciting giggles as Lena rolled her eyes. He pulled a chair from an adjacent table and straddled it. “Lee, sorry about your Pops. I know you weren’t close, but still. That’s tough. Look, I can come by tomorrow, help out a bit, yeah?” He stood, looming over the table, and Lena half expected him to whistle for Babe, the Blue Ox. Facebook really didn’t prepare her for him to be so grown up. “We’ll figure out what you need, okay?” he said, before turning for the door.
Lena called after him. “See you tomorrow!”
“Yeah, tomorrow,” Bea said, her brown eyes wide. “What just happened?”
Lena laughed. “You just met Mason. Let’s go.”
That afternoon, Bea took photos inside and out and sent up a drone for aerial views of the property. The orchard was not large at just under 50 acres compared to surrounding farms, but trees hugged beautiful hills with mountain views, the barn was a Hallmark movie lover’s dream, and the house could essentially be refreshed with little more than paint and a few personal touches. Unlike other orchards they’d passed, this one didn’t have a farm stand on the main road or kitschy signs promoting jelly or cider donuts. Just a rusting mailbox and an unpaved road. Bea continued the drone along one side of the property when something caught her attention. Was that just a branch? She moved in for a closer look, realizing that the creepy twigs were too evenly spaced to actually be creepy twigs. She was looking at a human ribcage.
***
Lena sat on the porch step and watched Sheriff Calloway speak to a deputy he called Boyd, another drawling blond giant who loomed over the older man listening and nodding before departing for the recovery area. That’s what the cops were calling the tree with human bones tangled in its roots. The Sheriff appeared to be about fifty, a little soft around the middle, so the heavily laden utility/gun belt was doing him no favors. His thinning hair and flushed complexion were almost the same color making his light blue eyes and suspiciously even white teeth stand out from a forgettable and soft face and body. She stood as he ambled over bracing for another “little lady” conversation. Bea kept her seat, not about to go through it again. Instead, she fiddled with her phone, though there was no signal at the farm. And no wi-fi, which had been one of the first tasks on her list.
“Miss Thompson, my boys will wrap up out there by mornin’. If y’all could steer clear, please, until we can be certain that no further collection is necessary?” His expression made it clear that he wasn’t asking.
“What happens now? Do you know who it is? Was there, uh, ID?” Lena stood wrapping her arms around her body against the evening chill. The Sheriff studied her for a moment, his ruddy face darkening so fleetingly, Lena wondered if she’d imagined it.
“We’ll run all the tests, but no need to worry. Those bones are decades old. I think we can take care of this quietly. No need getting’ the community in a tizzy ‘bout somethin’ that happened so long ago. I hear you are looking to sell? Prob’ly not so helpful to go spreadin’ wild tales, eh?” Lena wasn’t sure what to say, so she shrugged. He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and held it out between two stubby fingers like he was going to do a magic trick. “Call me directly if there’s anything you need.” Lena took it, saying nothing, but part of her brain wondered if “directly” meant personally or quickly in western North Carolina. Calloway nodded to Bea on the steps before heading to his car without a backward glance.
“Wine,” Bea said behind her. Lena turned.
“What?”
“Wine, woman! We need a drink!” Bea got up and moved to the kitchen. “I always travel with a corkscrew, but—hey! Screwtop!” She splashed white wine into two mason jar glasses and set them on the table. “So…you grew up… here?”
Lena laughed, the tension starting to leave her body. She picked up the glass and took a sip.
“Mmm, I don’t remember getting wine at the store today.”
“I also always travel with a bottle. For emergencies, which I think we have here.” Bea propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on upturned hands, her brown eyes boring into Lena’s soul, like a puppy. Okay.
“My dad,” Lena started then took a drink and began again, tucking her caramel hair behind an ear and avoiding Bea’s eyes by staring into her glass. “My dad was a teacher, like my mom, only he taught history, and my mom taught English. That’s how they met. He died in a car accident when I was eleven. His car went over a bridge, I guess. Sheriff Calloway, the other one, came out here to tell my mom and my grandparents the night it happened. I was supposed to be in bed, but the flashing lights woke me up, so I was at the window when I saw the gun. Mom was crying and grandma took her inside the house. It was just the Sheriff and Grandpa and for a minute, they were just talking, and then they were angry and shouting, and he pushed him against the car with the gun mashed up against his face, right under his eye. I must have screamed or made a noise because when they saw me in the window, it was just over.” Lena took another drink before glancing up.
Bea’s mouth hung open in shock. “Okay first, the other one? There’s another Sheriff Calloway?” Lena swallowed a healthy swig of wine.
“Yup, father of this one.”
“And he pulled a gun on your grandpa in front of your house after coming to tell your mom that her husband died in a car accident? What the actual…”
“No.” Lena held up a hand. “My grandpa had the gun.”
“Whoa.” Bea leaned back in the chair.
“Grandpa changed that night. He could no longer look at us—my mom and me. Told her it was time to move on or something. Like, if my dad was dead that we weren’t family anymore. We left for Florida right after Dad’s funeral. Stayed with my aunt until mom started teaching again. Haven’t been back since, not even for my grandma’s funeral. I didn’t even know she died until two years after it happened. He never said a word.”
“And then he left you the orchard and the house in his will.”
“Yeah.” They both sipped in silence for a while.
“What happened to the Sheriff? The other one, I mean. The one your grandpa almost shot in the face?” Lena pressed her hand against her mouth to keep from spitting wine with the giggles. She must be getting a little tipsy.
“Dead. That was his son today, running the family business, I guess.”
“Dang, girl. Pour us another glass and I’ll make us some spaghetti.”
As they ate, Lena told Bea that she didn’t find anything of interest in the office or her grandfather’s room. “But there was something odd. In my old bedroom, in that box you found. There were pictures, photographs I mean, of me, but not me as a kid. Me in high school, college, working a summer job at the parks, mom’s funeral. All tucked away in an old book of mine. Weird, huh?”
“Weird, for sure.”
Lena stood. “Mason texted that he’ll be by in the morning so better go get your beauty rest.”
“Shut up! But what time did he say he’d be here?”
Lena laughed as she placed their plates and glasses in the ancient dishwasher and turned it on. “Goodnight,” she called as she went up to her room. Bea leaned to look up at her.
“Seriously, what time?”
***
Mason arrived at 10 am, with three other guys. Two wore baseball caps and old work clothes, with leather belts holding gloves, pruning shears, and short curved saws. The other was clearly a lawyer. A sweaty one, in a tweedy suit and glasses, both too large for his small frame.
“So, you hear that the Sheriff was here and you bring me legal counsel? That’s some real hospitality, Mason. Wow. He was dead before I got here, I swear! I’m innocent!” She threw her hands up in mock surrender.
Mason didn’t seem to be getting the joke, and the lawyer looked downright alarmed. Mason held a hand up, silencing Lena as he spoke in rapid Spanish to the other two men who headed in the direction of the barn. He then ushered the lawyer to the porch and through the screen door, calling out to Bea in the kitchen. He caught Lena’s elbow, preventing her from following the man in the suit, speaking discreetly.
“The Sheriff was here? Sheriff Calloway?”
“Yeah, with half his department by the look of it,” she said slowly. “You really didn’t know? Bea found some bones and they turned out to be human. Out there, in the orchard. Sheriff says they are old and nothing to worry about.” Lena hooked her fingers, air quoting the last part.
“Bea found human bones in your orchard? And you didn’t call me?”
Was he angry?
“We called the police, well 911, and the Sheriff and a bunch of deputies came out. They were out there all afternoon and much of the night. I’m sorry, I thou–”
Mason walked past her and into the house. Bea had worked her coffee magic with the French press and was chatting amiably with the man in the suit. In the distance, Lena could hear a mower or leaf blower turn on in the orchard. She turned back as she realized that Bea was talking to her.
Focus.
“Lena, this is Mr. Collins, your grandad’s lawyer.”
“Mr. Collins, I, uh, apologize. It’s been a strange couple of days.”
The lawyer set his coffee cup to the side and placed his briefcase on the table. It was old-fashioned with brass clasps that snapped open as he pressed with his thumbs. Lena sank into the chair opposite Bea and Mason took the one at the end.
“Miss Thompson, your grandfather left this letter in my care to pass on to you after his death. I also brought his personal effects from the assisted living facility. Another resident was holding them.” As he spoke, he placed a hand on a padded manila envelope that was three or four inches thick and a standard white envelope with Helena scrawled in spidery writing.
“I understand that you are interested in selling your gra–, your orchard? As it happens, I was approached last week by the Dupree family,” he paused for a moment, as if to see if the name was recognized, before continuing, “with a generous offer should the beneficiary wish to sell quickly. They’d like to avoid a bidding war should the property go on the market publicly.”
Lena looked at the envelopes, her mind racing. She wanted to tear into it now, but instead, she stood, the envelope clenched in her left hand while extending her right to Mr. Collins. He shook it and then stood himself, pressing the briefcase closed again.
“Of course you will want to look these over. Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance.” He left his card on the table, and Mason walked him back to the truck, promising over his shoulder that he’d return in an hour or so with some lunch.
Lena looked at the envelope, slightly crushed and damp from her grip, and sank back into her chair before sliding her finger under the flap. She pulled out single sheet of paper, folded in the center, with three lines in that same spidery script.
I did what I had to do to keep you and your mother safe after they took my boy. You’ll have to protect yourself now. Even young girls can help to right a wrong if they are clever, so be smart, smart like your dad who loved you so very much.
After they took my boy.
Lena pushed the paper away and pressed her hand across her mouth to prevent all that she was feeling from tumbling out. There was no time for that. Bea picked up the paper and read it as Lena reached for the larger envelope. Inside was a worn ledger with scribbled information about the orchard going back years. Notes on yearly harvests, apple varietals at the farm, losses due to weather or disease, equipment, and other information regarding orchard operations.
Next, there was a folder with news clippings, several in Spanish, which Lena couldn’t make out. One, however, hit her like a gut punch. It was the grainy image of a car being pulled from a river in a deep gorge. National Park and Historical Monument stickers were still visible on the rear bumper and window. Her father’s car.
Lastly, several large, folded maps of the orchard with scribbled notes in colored pen she couldn’t make out. Perhaps these had been in those cardboard tubes by the desk?
When Mason returned, he balanced a very large pizza box in one hand and two cardboard beverage carriers precariously stacked in the other. Bea went out to collect the drinks—iced tea and lemonades in large styrofoam cups—but shouting arose from the orchard before they reached the house, followed shortly by the two men. They went straight for Mason talking over each other in Spanish and pointing back toward the trees. Mason, stunned, handed the pizza box to Lena. She set it on the porch floorboards and moved closer, her brow furrowed. The two men kept repeating the same words: huesos, huesos humanos. Lena silently cursed herself for choosing French over Spanish in high school.
Mason was asking rapid questions and Lena caught one word she recognized, dondé - where? He gestured for the men to show him where the problem was, but they refused, one pulling a phone from his pocket and repeating the same word she’d heard before. Huesos.
“Come on,” Mason said. “We don’t have much time.” He set off at a jog toward a section of the orchard close to a deep drainage ditch, about 30 yards from the main road. A zero-turn mower sat awkwardly in the center of the aisle, about three rows in from the outer edge. The trees here were untrimmed like the others, but the roots were more exposed, perhaps due to the proximity of the ditch and possible floodwater. Caught up in the twisted wooden tendrils was the unmistakable form of a human skull.
***
“There had been rumors of disappearances for years, like urban legends, you know? Stories parents whisper to keep their kids in line or scary stories to share while drinking beer out in the woods or smoking weed as a teenager. But I never really believed them.” Mason reached for another slice of pizza, now cold and stiff, the pepperoni glued to the cheese with congealed grease. Lena picked at the crust, eventually separating it from the rest of the wedge and eating it like a breadstick.
“No one investigated? How was Dateline not all up in your business here?” Bea asked. Mason shrugged.
“We see a lot of seasonal workers here. People who follow the harvest seasons up and down the US, oranges in Florida, apples here, wherever and whenever farms need help with crops. I think if people went missing, the locals might just write it off as part of the transient nature of the running a farm.”
“Well, Dateline might come calling now,” Bea said, tipping her Styrofoam cup toward the half dozen law enforcement vehicles lining the gravel road. Huesos, Lena learned, meant bones. So much for avoiding a tizzy.
“My grandfather’s orchard is full of human bones,” Lena said, her voice flat. “Was he a serial killer?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Mason said. “All we know is…”
“That my grandfather’s orchard is full of dead people.”
“Well, yeah,” Mason said, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, you can’t stay out here while all this is going on. I’ll take you into town with me.” He stood, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans. “Go get your stuff, and I’ll clear it with Sheriff Calloway.” Wearily, the women rose and made their way into the house. Lena paused to scoop up the documents Collins had brought. As she gathered the envelopes and their contents, she was struck by a thought.
“Bea,” she said slowly. “Who is a clever girl who rights wrongs?”
“What are you talking about?”
Bea wrinkled her brow before following Lena’s gaze to the ceiling. Lena rushed up to her bedroom, pushing her suitcase aside and tugging on the closet door. She pulled the box out into the light carefully lifting items out one at a time and placing them on the bed. She stopped at The Secret of the Old Clock. The Nancy Drew books had been a Christmas gift from her grandparents. Now photos were tucked in the pages of this one, photos of her. What did it mean?
Frustrated, Lena dropped the book in her suitcase and gathered her toothbrush from the bathroom before dragging her luggage down the stairs. Through the screen door, she could see Mason talking closely with a uniformed man, not the Sheriff. It was the deputy who had been there the previous night. Boyd, maybe? Something tickled Lena’s brain. The two men were separated from view of the others swarming the grounds, like they didn’t want to be seen. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, so Lena crept through the living room and peered out the window next to the fireplace. Yeah, they were definitely in cahoots and definitely hiding it. She still couldn’t make out what they discussed, and it suddenly became clear that she really was an outsider here. Mason glanced up toward the house and Lena instinctively moved away from the window, clutching the fireplace mantel and listening hard.
Nothing. Just Bea bumping around upstairs, gathering her things. And then, right there in front of her face—her grandfather’s old clock. Lena lifted it and laid it carefully on the couch, examining as she turned it slowly over, and there it was. The access panel on the back, held in place by two small screws. Frantically, she looked around for something she could use to get it open. Bea’s corkscrew had a foil cutting blade that popped out like a penknife. Lena used it to carefully work the screws out. Paper stuffed the inside to the point that the clock could not have functioned. Some were newspaper clippings, some photocopies and other scraps of documents. Lena took them all and stuffed them in Bea’s large, handled grocery bag and replaced the clock, minus its back panel on the mantel just as Mason’s boots clomped up the porch steps. Lena forced herself to move casually with the shopping bag to where the French press sat in the dish rack. Just packing up, nothing to see here. After placing it inside, she also gathered up the coffee, a bag of chips, and some granola bars and dropped them in the bag too, covering the papers at the bottom.
“All set?” Mason asked. “Here, I’ll get that Lee,” he said, gathering the shopping bag in one hand and her luggage in the other before depositing both in the back of his truck. He returned to gather and stow Bea’s suitcase too. Mason offered to help Bea with her camera cases, but she politely declined, stating that she preferred to keep her equipment close by. Instead, Bea circled around Mason, carefully placing the camera bags in the rear seat of the crew cab before climbing in herself.
As they made their way down the bumpy gravel drive past the county’s various crimefighting departments, Lena noticed the arrival of a man and a woman in street clothes stepping out of a dark sedan and walking toward Sheriff Calloway. He didn’t look happy.
“Who is that?” Lena asked.
“No idea,” Mason said. Lena wasn’t sure if she believed him.
Mason dropped them off at a small house two blocks from the historic main street, explaining that it was a vacation rental owned by a friend, currently empty because it was off-season. They could have it for the next few days until they could work out what to do. He gave them the door code, wrestled their bags to the foyer and promised to deliver Lena’s car the next morning if she’d be willing hand over her keys. The Subaru had been hopelessly blocked in by vans and techs and mobile command stations, but here, at least, they could easily walk to restaurants, shops, and taverns. Lena passed over her keys and soon the women were alone again.
“Bea, look at this.” Lena pulled the wad of papers from the shopping bag. She explained where she’d found them and together, they started to organize the papers across the dining room table.
In an hour, they had a jumbled collection of missing people, some with photos, others just scribbled notes. Some dated back twenty-five years or more. Lena felt sick. Had her grandfather been burying people in the orchard that he hoped no one would miss? Why? At least a couple of the names appeared to belong to prolific criminals according to Bea’s Google searches. Is this what her grandfather had meant by “protecting” them? They picked at cold cuts and cheeses with crackers from the previous day’s grocery shopping and tried to find anything in the documents that helped them understand what happened. Lena touched the clipping about her father’s car being recovered from the Green River Gorge. His body hadn’t been in the car when they found it, but she remembered there was a casket at the funeral. A closed casket. Was he even in there? Might he be buried in the orchard and not the cemetery by grandpa’s church?
Lena couldn’t think anymore, and Bea headed upstairs for a hot bath. Lena turned off the lights and curled up on the plush living room sofa, pulling a blanket from the back and huddling beneath it. She stared out the bay window in the darkness. Not much car traffic in this small town, just neighbors walking dogs, people coming home from work. One car slowed to a stop in front of the house for a few moments, but no one got out. A full minute passed and then it slowly rolled on. Lena stood and watched as it went under a streetlight a few houses down. A police car. After another hour or so, she fell into a troubled sleep.
In the morning, as Bea brewed her amazing coffee, Lena puzzled over what she might be missing. Something felt off, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. The pair walked to breakfast at a charming café in the historic district. Everyone was polite, even friendly, and the food was delicious. They walked the length of Main Street before heading back to the house. Nearly all the storefronts were local businesses, mostly shops and eateries, with few national brands. One caused Lena to stop in her tracks. A mobile phone carrier.
On the walk back to the rental house, Lena explained what had been bothering her about the clippings they discovered. One of the missing had been tracked to the area by nearby cell phone towers before the signal was lost, meaning the phone had been turned off or the battery had died. An idea formed in her mind, but could it be possible? She needed to verify a few notes to see if she could be right about what had happened at the orchard. As they reached the block for their temporary home, Lena glimpsed a car rounding the corner out of sight ahead.
“Was that a police car?”
“Where? I don’t see a police car, but I see yours.”
Sure enough, Lena’s dusty Subaru now occupied the driveway. As she punched in the access code for the front door, Lena wondered if anyone else had let themselves in and if so, had they come to the same realization she had after seeing the documents spread across the table. And right there, next to the most recent missing people sat Lena’s car keys.
“I have an idea,” Bea said. “And a confession. But first I think we need to make a call.”
Two hours later, Lena pulled her Subaru up to the house where she’d lived so long ago. She stepped out and walked into the orchard. The smell of rot was strong in the midday sun. The neglected trees still hunched in twisted, scratchy domes of gray limbs with only hints of future apple blossom buds. Lena chose a row and followed it toward the drainage ditch, following the folded map in her hand. Someone nearby ran a chainsaw, and Lena caught the scent of a woodfire in the distance. It was not unpleasant. In fact, Lena knew that a market existed for applewood, specifically for its smoke for curing bacon and ham. She’d have a lot more to learn if she decided to hold on to the orchard.
A car door closed not too far away. That didn’t take long.
Lena moved slowly down the row, checking her position on the map before tucking it and her hands in her jacket pockets. She thought about all that had been buried here for so long. More than just bones.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Here we go.
“I’m being careful,” Lena said without turning around. If he had a gun pointed at her, she might not be able to do this. “I certainly have no desire to compromise evidence.” Lena kept her attention on the trees her grandfather had planted and nurtured. “Though I imagine they already have everything they need.”
“What are you talking about? Who has what they need?”
Lena let herself face him, hands still tucked away, no threat to anyone.
“The NCSBI. The two agents here yesterday. I looked up the North Carolina State Bureau of Investigations and do you know what they are called in for? A list of things, really, but one thing stood out: Public corruption.”
Silence. He didn’t seem perturbed at all by this. Keep at him.
Lena sighed. “You know I remember your dad. He was here the night my dad died. I saw my grandfather press a gun into his face right in front of the house and I thought he was going to kill him. He might have done it, if they hadn’t seen me standing at my bedroom window. I suspect that means that my father was never in that car pulled from the river. Maybe he didn’t die in an accident like I was told. Is he here—somewhere?”
Calloway’s mouth worked over those artificial teeth, but no words emerged.
“Maybe your dad wasn’t the sharing type.” Lena said quietly, looking at the ground. Not a threat.
“I imagine you were about the same age I am now back then, right? Maybe old enough to see what was going on. Maybe old enough to get into trouble yourself? Knowing your daddy would never let anything too bad happen to you. These days a DUI can really wreck a man’s career, but then? Might not even be recorded unless there was a witness or an accident. I don’t imagine a man like your dad would be too forthcoming about his activities with a son like that, who kept disappointing him.” Lena let that hang between them, keeping her eyes slightly averted, her posture non-threatening.
“He told me, at the end.” Calloway finally spoke. “When he was dying and he knew it. Not because he got religion, but because he wanted me to know how he’d cleaned up this county. Rid it of grifters, thieves, child abusers, wife beaters, rapists, and yeah—drunk drivers. He made them all disappear. He was proud of it. Easy enough to slip onto a small place like this and just bury the garbage.” Calloway shifted his weight from foot to foot in some agitation, those stubby fingers flexing at his sides. Lena wasn’t sure if he was reacting to his memories or his current situation. She suspected the former as he wouldn’t consider her much more than an annoyance.
“Anyway, doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago. They can hardly build a corruption case against Dad now”
Lena smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry. They’re not here for him. They’re here for you.”
The Sheriff’s face hardened and closed like it had done before. Lena continued carefully. Just two people talking in an orchard.
“My grandfather sent us away. Not sure if that was at your father’s direction or if he was just avoiding collateral damage. He might not have talked about what your dad was doing, but he gathered as much as he could get on who might be dumped here. He was careful. Those photos of me, I guess they were sent to remind him to turn a blind eye? You know, a couple of those are too recent to have been orchestrated by your dad. He was already sick or dead, so I guess he did talk to you.
“The house was pretty clean. The only place that was untidy was the office and nothing was still there, because he hid it for me to find. Funny enough, those photos told me where to look. And his business records were with another resident at his care home, where you wouldn’t have known to look. He kept meticulous notes.” Lena slowly pulled the map from her pocket, unfolding it so he could see what it was. “I looked up a few terms–Phytophthora, a fungus that causes root rot. He literally noted which trees should have their trunk and root system excavated and inspected.”
“This has nothing to do with me.”
“But it does. My grandfather continued to collect data on missing people after your dad retired, after he got sick, and even after he died. Why? We found a few who disappeared during your tenure as county sheriff. And those dates also align with Phytophthora noted in the orchard log, so it should be a simple task of some cadaver dogs and familial DNA testing.”
The sheriff took a step forward, but Lena held up a hand and he stopped again, though clearly agitated now.
“If you are getting ideas about adding to my family’s root rot problem, there’s one more thing you should know. When I said the NCSBI was here for you, I meant here for you. As in right now. Listening and watching.”
He glanced over his shoulder and scanned the apple trees before smugly returning his attention to Lena.
“My friend Bea is more than just an exceptional real estate agent and photographer, she’s also quite the drone pilot.”
As if on cue, a small plastic platform dropped from the sky and hovered between them, no louder than a hummingbird or a fat bee, easily disguised by neighboring yard maintenance.
And then it advanced on him like a giant hornet and Calloway couldn’t help himself. He turned and started to run. His own deputy, Boyd Bryson, Mason’s cousin, put him in handcuffs and advised him of his rights. Calloway got the silent part right anyway, sullen and not speaking in the back of the cruiser.
Later, Bea would tell Mason how she’d left the drone on the roof of the barn as soon as they knew that 911 had been called the second time, partly out of curiosity and partly to document what happened next. Trail cameras she’d brought hoping to capture deer or bears had quickly been relocated to the area where Lena waited for Calloway. Bea hadn’t let Mason carry her equipment cases because they were empty, the cameras already set up.
“Thank you for trusting me and making that call,” Mason said. “So, you’re staying, then?”
“Maybe,” Lena said. “Maybe so.”
