Death of a Bad Apple Read Online Free PDF Page A

turning rice and fish into Wayne Thiebaud works of food art, I managed to end up with misshapen rolls that looked more like something Pablo Picasso would have made. I took a picture with my cell phone so I could send it to the “Nailed It” section of Pinterest.
    Jake’s efforts, on the other hand, were suitable for his own TV show. He presented me with an amazing masterpiece that was sculpted to look like a panda bear, made from crab, shrimp, avocado, and rice with black olive accents. To my surprise, nothing was made from raw fish. He’d known all along my dislike for most sushi and stuck with the cooked stuff.
    The man was incredible.
    After a delicious and delightful evening, fueled bywine and filled with laughs, we headed to the upstairs loft for a little more creative fun.
    The next morning I drove home early to take a shower and get ready for another day in Aunt Abby’s busterant. I asked my aunt if she’d heard anything more from Detective Shelton about the fire at the bed-and-breakfast inn—or any other fires. She relayed what the detective’s counterpart at the Apple Valley Sheriff’s Department had said: The sheriff there suspected arson.
    Who, I wondered, would want to burn down a warehouse full of stored apples?
    I didn’t have time to think about it during the weeks that led up to our getaway. The days were filled with school bus food and Apple Fest preparations, broken up by too few dates and dinners with Jake. We were both so busy and tired from the business of food truck service, we hardly had time to enjoy each other’s company in the hours we had leftover. My expectations for relaxation and recreation grew each day, and by the time of our departure on Thursday night, I had a bucket list of a dozen things I wanted to do with Jake while in apple country. Not all of them were about sex.
    â€œAll loaded?” Aunt Abby asked me after whipping up a simple but satisfying dinner of tomato-basil angel-hair pasta and salad. After clearing and rinsing the dishes, I’d gone back to the Airstream and retrieved my packed-to-capacity suitcase.
    â€œReady!” I said. “Suitcase is in my car, along with an audiobook, two bottles of water, and a box of See’schocolates to help keep my energy up on the two-hour drive. You?”
    She gestured at the three matching Minnie Mouse suitcases in the entryway. “Now if I can only get Dillon out of his cave and into the car, we’ll be off.”
    â€œI’ll help you out with the suitcases,” I said. “Is Detective Shelton able to join us?”
    Aunt Abby sighed. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I’m hoping he can get away tomorrow, if nobody gets murdered in the city between now and then. We’ll see.”
    I grabbed two of the suitcase handles while Aunt Abby pulled the third. She yelled down the hall, “Dillon! Come on! We’re leaving.”
    â€œI’m coming! Jeez!” he yelled back. “What’s the rush?”
    Dillon appeared from his room wearing Ninja Turtle pajama bottoms and a hoodie zipped up to his neck, the hood hiding his hair. He carried a large paper bag in one hand and his laptop in the other.
    â€œI want to get up there and settle in so we can get an early start tomorrow,” Aunt Abby said.
    I pointed at the paper bag Dillon held. “You’re kidding. Your stuff is in there?”
    â€œYeah,” he said. “I don’t need much. And the bag’s recyclable.”
    As if he really cared about that.
    â€œLet’s go,” I said, before the paper bag ripped and dropped his “stuff” all over the entryway.
    Aunt Abby led the way out the door, with her little Basil following at her heels. She’d made arrangementsfor him to stay at a posh doggy spa for the weekend, figuring he’d be bored cooped up at the B and B all day. One of the suitcases was devoted just to his toys and food.
    After helping her into the bus,