There was one in each generation. The one to take up the mantle of this land that had been in their family for so long. Rose was the one. Paul was thankful, because he and his other sisters—even Faye, with all her hands-on business sense—weren’t suited for it.
Rose was the shortest in the family, barely topping five feet. All the height was used up before we got to you, sweetheart, I’m sorry, his dad used to say with a laugh. Her blond hair was like corn silk, and her little nose was always just a bit pink, because she forgot to wear her hat while working in the orchard.
“Faye and Georgia inside?” he asked.
“Mom’s making meatballs,” Rose said. “And Mara Skyped in. You missed it.”
Their middle sister, Mara, was currently overseas working with Doctors without Borders. An OB/GYN, she provided vital maternal care in war-torn countries, which meant she’d missed almost as many family events as Paul had, something the two of them had bonded about through the years.
“Is that Paul?” Georgia peeked her head out of the screen door. “Faye! Paul’s here!”
There was the sound of skipping footsteps, and Faye, his bombastic, wild, ready-for-anything sister came bounding out. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head haphazardly, and she was wearing an apron that said KISS THE COOK.
“Finally,” Faye said. “What took you so long?”
“Abby,” Rose replied.
“Ah,” Faye said knowingly.
“It’s always Abby, isn’t it?” Georgia asked with a pointed grin.
“All of you, stop,” Paul said. “Abby is a friend. And she is going to be here in about ten minutes with one of my colleagues from work, so please don’t embarrass me.”
His sisters all blinked innocently at him, and Rose got up to stand next to her sisters, linking arms with them as they smiled at him. “Us?” Georgia batted her eyes.
“Embarrass you?” Faye said.
“We’d never!” Rose added.
Oh, God. He was so doomed. Why had he let his mother talk him into this when he called to cancel lunch?
“Oh, look, there they are!” Georgia called out, looking over his shoulder.
Paul turned, to see Zooey and Abby making their way up the drive. Abby spotted them and waved. She was holding something in her hands—it looked like banana bread. How she’d managed to pull that together in the time it took him to get Cass’s case file, he had no idea.
Abby always had a certain kind of capable magic about her. Maybe it was because she’d grown up without a mom; she’d kind of been forced to mother herself.
“Abby!” Rose bounded down the steps, hugging her. Paul hadn’t realized the two had grown close, but he guessed it made sense. Abby had an entire orchard on her hands now, and Rose did more and more of the day-to-day work for their mom these days. The two probably had a lot in common now.
“You must be Zooey,” said Georgia with a warm smile when the women made their way up the steps. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Seriously, we never get to meet Paul’s co-workers,” Faye said. “I’m Faye. This is Georgia. And Rose.”
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Zooey said. “I’ve heard a lot about all of you.”
“You better not be tellin’ stories about us,” Georgia scolded Paul.
“All good things,” Zooey reassured her, winking at Paul.
“Now I know she’s lying,” Faye joked, drawing Zooey inside the orchard house.
His mother had always prided herself on making a warm home—and she’d always succeeded. Filled with light and with art—a potpourri from a local artist, drawings by each of her children when they were little, and even a few prints of her favorite fairy tales—it was a bright, cheerful home with old, creaky wood floors and seven different ways of sneaking out, if you were clever and quiet.
“You must tell us why you’re here,” Faye was saying to Zooey.
“It’s business, Faye,” Paul said warningly.
Faye rolled her eyes. “Next thing you know, you’re gonna be all, ‘It’s classified, Faye.’” She lowered her voice in a mimicry of Paul’s, making the rest of her sisters and Zooey laugh.
“Hey.” Paul grabbed Abby’s hand as his sisters brought Zooey into the kitchen to introduce her to their mother. He tugged her into the space under the stairs, where it was quiet and secluded. “I got the file.”
“Did you check the ME’s report for the missing pages?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not yet. But the evidence from the case, it wasn’t in the records room. I’m gonna have to go tomorrow and get it out of the basement.”
Her eyes widened. “You think Sheriff Alan will let us have it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Clay was there, by the way. Christ, that guy’s grown into an even bigger ass since I last saw him.”
Abby sighed. “Yeah, I know. Ever since Georgia beat his dad in the mayor’s race, he’s gotten an even bigger chip on his shoulder. I think that’s one of the reasons he joined the department. He wanted to feel like a big man again.”
“That’s the worst reason to join law enforcement,” Paul said, disgusted. “It’s dangerous.”
“I know,” Abby said. “But it is what it is. I don’t think Ryan’s actually a risk to anyone. He’s just a jerk.”
Paul didn’t want to tell her about how Ryan had steered the conversation toward her. She didn’t need that on her mind—not with everything else happening. “We can go over the file after dinner at your place,” he said as his mother called, “Abby? Paul? Where are you two?”
“Coming, Mom!” he said.
He looked down, realizing he was still holding Abby’s hand, and he let go, feeling a strange sense of loss when he did. He cleared his throat. “We should go.”
“Yeah,” Abby said. She licked her lips, and his eyes darted to the spot, unable to look away for a moment. “Meatballs await.”
Chapter 17
My dear Paeon, Another two years have passed. Doesn’t time fly?
Or maybe it doesn’t, for you. Apologies. There I go again, making the mistake of thinking we are the same.
The years have made it very clear we aren’t. After all, you are who you are. And I am who I am.
The Harvest is coming. Can you feel it? So much fruit, ripe on the vine, ready for the picking. The choices are dizzying. The array bright and beautiful and endless in its possibilities.
And it’s all mine.
Does that rankle you? That your student outpaced you in every way? You rot in there, while I’m out here, with the harvest to myself.
You should have listened.
You should have learned.
Have you learned, dear friend?
Or must I teach you another lesson?
Yours, sincerely, Antaeus
Chapter 18
Antaeus—
A sweet little fox visited last week. I sent her your way.
Happy hunting, my young pupil.
This time, the lesson to be learned is yours.
—Paeon
Chapter 19
The next morning, Abby, Zooey, and Paul met at the Winthrop farmhouse to pore over the ME’s report. But their triumph at securing the original file was short-lived.
“This is the same exact one with the missing pages,” Zooey said in frustration, tossing the file on the desk.
Paul frowned. “Files get moved, things get lost. You know how it is.”
“I want to talk to the ME,” Zooey said. “This . . .” She leaned over to look at the report. “Dr. August Jeffrey. Is he still the ME?”
“Yep,” Abby said. “He’s where I got my version of the file.”
“Okay, so he’s friendly,” Zooey said, looking hopefully at Paul. “I need to know all the facts here, Paul, in order to discover anything science-wise. There could have been forensic evidence they didn’t have the money to test. The FBI took over so fast, things could’ve got lost in communication. There’s a million reasons things can get overlooked on a rural case like this, so why not go straight to the source?”
“I can take her to talk to Dr. Jeffrey while you search the basement for the evidence boxes,” Abby offered.
“Okay,” Paul said. “It’s a plan.”
“You ready now?” Abby asked Zooey.
She nodded, getting out of the chair and grabbing her bag, slinging it over her shoulders.
“Good luck at the sheriff’s station, boss,” she said.
“Feed Roscoe for me, will you?” Abby asked.
“You’re always trying to get me to do your chores, Winny,” he said, with a roguish smile that made her stomach twist.