Home on Apple Blossom Road (Life in Icicle Falls) Page 6

  He frowned and backed down the road. “Never mind. You’re probably right.”

  “I can see how you might think that paper was a clue,” Mia said after a moment, trying to turn the conversation in a more positive direction. In fairness to Colin, the treasure hunts Grandma Justine concocted for them when they were young had often involved clues in obvious places—propped in front of her sheet music on the old player piano or sitting on the kitchen table. Except the ones in plain sight outdoors had also been carefully anchored.

  “I jumped to conclusions,” he admitted, rubbing his arm.

  Typical, she thought, but kept it to herself. “This is her last treasure hunt. I suspect all our clues will be elaborate and carefully planned. But easily accessible, either by her or your aunt.”

  “Or Uncle Mark,” Colin insisted. “I bet they suckered him into helping them.”

  “True,” Mia agreed. Uncle Mark was easygoing and fun loving, and he’d always gotten a kick out of giving Gram and Beth a hand.

  “Still, none of them would’ve gone stomping into the underbrush, stirring up a yellow jackets’ nest.”

  “You wouldn’t have, either, normally,” she said, ready to be magnanimous.

  “It’s this whole weird situation. It’s... I don’t know,” he finished lamely as they pulled up in front of Beth’s house.

  It was weird, being thrown together like this, and it was hard work dragging around their complicated past. What had Grandma Justine been thinking, anyway?

  “What on earth?” Aunt Beth greeted them.

  “We encountered a slight setback,” Mia said.

  “Yellow jackets,” Colin put in.

  “So I see,” his aunt murmured, taking in his neck and arms. “Good thing you’re not allergic. Ibuprofen is in the medicine cabinet,” she told Mia. “Come on out to the kitchen,” she said to Colin. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

  By the time Mia returned with the pain reliever, Aunt Beth had made a baking soda paste and was applying it to Colin’s wounds while he sat at the kitchen table, an ice pack pressed to his neck. “Where were you two?” she asked.

  “Memory Lane,” Colin answered.

  “Obviously not the right one,” Aunt Beth said with a smile.

  “Obviously. You want to give us a hint?”

  “Tsk, tsk.” She shook a playful finger at him. “You know the rules. No outside help.”

  “You’re not outside help. You’re family.” This was accompanied by the charming smile no woman in Icicle Falls could resist, especially Colin’s aunt.

  Still, she managed. “Between the two of you, you should be able to figure this out.” She handed the paste to Mia. “I’ll leave you to finish up your treatment. I’m busy altering a wedding gown for a wedding at Primrose Haus next month,” she said, and left the room.

  Colin cleared his throat. “So what should we try next?”

  Mia handed him the bottle of pain pills. “Obviously, we have to go back to thinking symbolically.”

  “Not the attic.”

  “No, not the attic,” she agreed.

  He filled a glass of water and washed down a pill, then stood looking out the kitchen window. “Well, duh.”

  “What?” she prompted.

  “If we’re going to go down Memory Lane and it’s not in the photo albums and it’s not in the attic...”

  “The tree house?”

  “We’ve got a lot of memories there.”

  “I think that’s it,” she said.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  “Maybe we should find out who owns the apple orchard now, call and see if it’s okay if we come over,” Mia suggested.

  “We’ll explain who we are when we get there, and it’ll be fine.” Then, without waiting for any further argument, Colin was out the door and on his way down the walk.

  Mia hurried after him, hoping he was right. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed seeing Tilda, but two visits from the police in one day would be overkill.

  * * *

  It didn’t take long to drive to his grandparents’ old place on Apple Blossom Road, which was just as well. The sooner they were done with this treasure hunt, the better Colin would like it. Being around Mia was downright uncomfortable, the emotional equivalent of what he’d experienced with the yellow jackets. Memories both good and bad swarmed him, and their sting was ten times worse than what the wasps had delivered. Yeah, the sooner they found whatever Gram had left them and divided the spoils, the better. Then they could go their separate ways. He’d move on, take whatever he got and maybe finally get to start that sustainable orchard he’d envisioned about a million years ago.

  That took care of the business dreams. The dreams of the heart were a different matter. Well, he wasn’t in any hurry to rush into anything when it came to a binding relationship with someone of the opposite sex. He’d learned his lesson. True love and fool’s gold had a lot in common.

  “There it is,” Mia said.

  The orchard. Seeing those rows of trees growing Gala apples was enough to put a lump in Colin’s throat. For years his family’s life had centered on that orchard. It was more than a source of income; it was part of the fabric of their lives. Gram had a million apple recipes for everything from pies and fresh apple cake to apple crisp, which she made in the fall, to mulligatawny soup, a winter staple. No Halloween party was complete without bobbing for apples or trying to grab a bite from one dangling from a string in Aunt Beth’s basement, which often served as Party Central. Colin had had many conversations about school and sports and life in general with Gramps in that orchard.

  He could still see himself working side by side with Gramps and his pickers, harvesting those Galas at the end of August, carefully putting them into fruit bins. At the end of the harvest, the apples had gone to the warehouse where they’d be stored in a temperature-controlled environment, then packed and shipped to buyers. Harvest was a busy time and everybody worked. The men picked while the women sold fruit at the fruit stand. In addition to apples, they’d also grown cherries and pears, and plenty of people drove over from the western side of the state to enjoy freshly harvested fruit and a mountain getaway.

  Colin had earned money to pay for gas and car insurance by picking apples. He and Mia had chased each other in and out of all those rows of trees. He’d kissed her in the orchard—and they’d almost gone all the way...

  Their whole history after puberty seemed to be one of almosts. He sneaked a look at Mia to see if her first glimpse of the old place was having the same effect on her. She was wiping at her eyes. Yep, it was. They passed the old dirt road that ran through the orchard and kept going, finally turning down the drive that led to the farmhouse.

  Apple trees laden with fruit lined one side of the road. The misters were on, keeping the apples from getting sunburned. In another three weeks it would be harvest time. Colin wondered who did the harvesting now.

  A minute later the old house itself came into view, a two-story structure painted yellow with white trim. The porch was surrounded by flower beds filled with shrubs and Shasta daisies. The battered old truck parked in front of the house made the place look like one of those paintings that hung in the windows of antiques shops in Eastern Washington. There was the old red barn, and there was the vegetable garden, still growing veggies, and the raspberry patch. And the yard with the old maple still holding their childhood tree house. Who did own the place now? Whoever it was had done a good job of maintaining it. The house had been freshly painted and the lawn mowed. The only thing showing its age was the tree house.

  “I don’t know,” Mia said dubiously, looking at it. “The wood’s probably rotten.”

  “Uncle Mark would still find a way to hide a clue there, no problem,” Colin said.

  No problem with the tree, but what was this? A German shepherd h
ad just run around the corner of the house, barking, and that brought someone out the front door—a heavyset middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and thinning hair, wearing faded jeans, a T-shirt and cowboy boots.

  “Uh-oh,” Mia said. “I think we should’ve called before we came.”

  “It’s okay. His tail’s wagging.”

  “Not the man’s,” Mia said, pointing.

  The guy didn’t exactly look friendly. Neither did the shotgun Colin noticed leaning against the doorway. But nobody in Icicle Falls would shoot someone for dropping by.

  Colin got out of the car and bent to pet the dog that was happy to lick his hand. He hoped the man would be as easily won over.

  “Can I help you?” he called as he picked up the gun.

  “Yeah,” Colin called back. “My grandma used to own this place.”

  The man leaned the gun back against the house and started down the front porch steps. “Was your grandma Justine Wright?”

  Colin nodded.

  The man smiled, showing a missing incisor. “Great lady.”

  Mia had now decided it was safe to come out. She joined them and received some doggy kisses, as well.

  “Beth told me you’d be coming by,” said the man. He held out a hand. “Butch Garvey.”

  “Colin Wright. This is Mia Blair.”

  “I know all about you kids. I’ve been expecting you.”

  “So our next clue’s here?” Colin asked.

  Garvey nodded then spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Oh, yeah. It’s around here somewhere. I helped her with it. That’s some treasure your grandma has you looking for. Make yourselves at home,” he added, and walked off across the yard.

  Some treasure. What did that mean? It was all Colin could do not to go after Butch Garvey and ask. “So,” he said as he and Mia crossed the yard, the dog dancing alongside them, “if he helped Gram, the clue could easily be in the tree house.”

  “You’re liable to fall through the floor,” she cautioned.

  “Nah,” he said, and began climbing up the tree.

  The tree house was nothing more than a rotting four-by-six platform surrounded by equally decayed plywood walls, one with a door and another with a small window cut in it. Looking in, Colin could see all the bent nails testifying to his childish lack of carpentry skills. He remembered when this was his fortress. He could still see the dent in the wall where he’d kicked it with his foot that late June night. And there, still tacked to the wall, was the old, faded photo of him and Prince. He remembered the last time he’d been in this tree house...

  * * *

  Colin gave the plywood wall of the tree house an angry kick. And then another. He swiped at the tears coursing down his cheeks. Twelve was too old to cry, but he couldn’t help it. Prince was dead, and he shouldn’t be. Yeah, he’d gotten banged up real bad when Gramps accidentally backed over him with the truck, but he could have been fixed. Dad had no right to let the vet put him down. They’d had him since Colin was four and, next to Mia, Prince was his best friend. He kicked the wall again, denting the wood.

  “Colin?”

  He jumped at the sound of Mia’s voice. Crap. He was crying. He couldn’t be caught crying. “Go away,” he said, his voice breaking. He’d come here to be alone and that meant even from her.

  She didn’t leave. Instead, she came in and he turned his face so she couldn’t see the shameful tears.

  “I didn’t want you to be alone. I won’t tell anybody you’re crying. Cross my heart and hope to kiss a pig.”

  He hugged his knees and buried his face in his arms and just let go.

  She scooted next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll miss him, too.”

  “It’s not right. Dad shouldn’t have had him put down. They could have operated. They should have. I don’t care how much it cost!”

  “I’m real sorry,” she said. And then scooted to the opposite wall. That was when he saw she had something in her hand. It was a picture of him and Prince, his handsome German shepherd, on the front porch of Gram’s farmhouse. He was grinning and it looked as if Prince was, too.

  He wiped away tears and watched as she stuck the picture in the wall with a thumbtack. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Prince was a good dog.”

  He sat a moment, staring at the picture, then at Mia, trying to sort through all the feelings he was experiencing. Humiliation took top priority. “You really won’t tell?”

  She shook her head.

  He nodded and focused on the picture again. “Thanks.”

  She leaned back against the wall and sat there with him, looking at Prince.

  * * *

  Mia had stayed in this tree house, keeping him company until it got dark and the adults found them and made them come inside. That had been the last time they’d gone in it. School had started shortly after, and Colin had gotten involved with the new adventure of middle school.

  It was too bad that the day of Prince’s death was his last memory of this kid haven, because there’d been plenty of good ones, too. Eating snickerdoodles, the first cookies Mia ever made—she’d put in too much sugar and they were great—and pretending that they were marooned on a desert island with nothing else to eat, hiding from pesky little Tommy Watkins, spying on Gram as she weeded the flower bed, working their way through a book of hidden-object games.

  Since the tree house had played such a big part in their childhood, he was surprised there was no clue here.

  “Find anything?” Mia called from down below.

  “Nope.”

  “I’ve got another idea,” she said. “Come on.”

  He started making his way back down. Just like the tree house, some of the branches were getting old and brittle. One protested the burden of his weight, snapping under his foot. He grabbed for another to catch himself, but that one, too, let him down, breaking in half. He lost his balance and fell, crashing into Mia in the process and bringing them both to the ground, him on top of her.

  The Urge to Merge Control Center in his brain went into action, putting every bit of testosterone in his body on full alert. There were those lips of hers, soft and begging to be kissed.

  “Get off,” said the lips.

  Colin’s face caught fire. His gram had obviously designed this treasure hunt to make a fool of him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, scrambling off her. “Are you okay?” he asked as he helped her up.

  She rubbed an elbow. “I think so. Come on.”

  She hurried across the yard, walking in the direction of the orchard. He fell in step with her. “The orchard?”

  “Yes. Remember that picture in the photo album?”

  “We looked at a lot of pictures in a lot of photo albums.”

  “There was one of the orchard.”

  “So?”

  “So, you’ll see,” she said.

  Another few minutes, and they stood at the edge of the orchard, by a row of trees.

  “Okay,” he said, “what am I looking at?”

  “The same thing that was in the picture,” she said, pointing.

  “Trees.”

  “No.”

  And then he saw it. “A lane.”

  “Memory Lane.”

  It did look like a shady lane between those trees. But with rows and rows of them, how many lanes were there? They’d be here forever, and if they didn’t find anything they’d have wasted the rest of the day. Still, he didn’t have any better ideas.

  “Well, let’s start at the road and work our way down,” he said. “I’ll take one end and you take the other, and we’ll meet in the middle. Yell if you find anything.”

  An hour later he heard her calling his name. He jogged down the dirt path for a couple of rows and found her looking up into a tree.

&nb
sp; “Got it,” she said, and pointed to a branch where a Mason jar hung suspended. Sure enough, inside it was a pink paper, folded into a small square.

  “All right! Way to go,” he said, and started to climb the tree.

  “Maybe I should do that,” she suggested.

  “I can handle it,” he assured her.

  This time he was more careful, hanging on the bough like some kind of jungle snake and inching out to where the jar hung. It had been secured with wire and required some fiddling to free it, but he finally succeeded.

  Since she’d been the one to spot it, he gave her the honor of pulling out the clue. She unfolded it and there was Gram’s spidery writing.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed your walk in the orchard. Did it bring back any memories?

  Did it ever. There was something enchanted about this orchard. A guy could imagine he’d stepped back in time. Colin could still see the flash of long dark hair as Mia ducked behind a tree when they were playing tag, could see himself helping Gramps and his hired workers with the harvest. And then there was the day he and Mia had come so close to teen heaven. He could still remember the smell of her hair, the feel of her lips under his, how perfect she’d felt in his arms. The sun had been warm on his back, the warmth spreading through his whole body. It had been just the two of them, caught up in their own world.

  He looked at her. Her cheeks were suddenly pink.

  He moved closer and breathed in a fresh whiff of her perfume. Oh, yeah. Perfume was such a turn-on. “What are you remembering?” he asked softly.

  “Playing hide-and-seek out here.”

  That wasn’t what had made her blush. “What else?”

  She leaned toward him. Subtle, just an inch, but he noticed it. They could relive that moment when everything had been so close to perfect, and this time there was no one to stop them. With one kiss they could turn back the clock...

  His cell phone rang, breaking the spell.

  October 6, 1993

  Dear Mother,

  Thank you for sending your recipe for apple cake. I made it for our family at Sunday dinner and it was a great hit. Jimmy ate two slices. He’ll be with us through November and then he’ll probably be going back to his mother. I’m certainly going to miss that little boy! You’ll get to meet him when you come.