I wasn’t following directions as I ran—just kept going and going. Turning left and right without thinking, where it felt natural. And I ended up here.
Absentmindedly, I inch closer and closer. It’s as if the long metal spikes on top of the gate are like long claws reaching out, piercing my skin, and tugging me toward it.
It’s magnificent and obscure.
It nags the curious part of me.
Unable to keep my eyes from wandering the entrance, I take a couple more steps toward it until a small, delicate voice somewhere in the distance stops me. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
The statement has my head turning toward the source, a small elderly woman with a hose watering the soft pink and maroon flowers lining her sidewalk. Her glasses rest on the curve of her nose. She smiles at me.
It’s seven a.m., and she’s already out here early doing yard work. I peek behind her at the impeccable white home with modern black window frames and facades. By the looks of it, I’m assuming she moved with a husband—maybe—and retired here.
I was so focused on running and captivated by this oddly dark and elegant property entrance that I didn’t realize the houses kept increasing in size as I neared.
“By the way you’re staring at it, I assume you’re not from around here, hun,” she presumes.
I flick my eyes over her petite figure in the wine-red shirt that hangs loosely on her frame. Her loose jeans have splotches of dirt from gardening, based on the pile of weeds on the sidewalk beside her.
Turning back toward the gate in the distance, I respond, “No. No, I’m not. I just moved here.”
“Lindenvale Hill.”
I twist my head back to her slowly.Why does that sound vaguely familiar?“What?”
She compresses her lips and nods. As she approaches me, the woman places the hose down and removes her gardening gloves one at a time.
I scrunch my brows.
She twirls a finger in circular motions near her temple. “I see the gears turning in that head of yours.”
How can this dainty old woman send shivers down my spine? I fight the urge to wrap my arms around myself when a breeze skims my body. My bare legs break out into goosebumps.
“Lindenvale Hill Orchard is the largest apple producer in the country. I’m sure you’ve seen their labels before.” I ponder what she is saying a little harder. “The crow and the apple?”
The crow and the apple…
The familiarity hits me. “Oh!” I react, unable to keep the light bulb moment from registering in my tone. She nods again. “I mean, I’ve seen their label in grocery stores before, but I don’t know anything about them.”
She stays silent.
Flashes of their branding filter through my mind, remembering the black background logo with a red apple and the outline of a crow. “Kind of a dark aesthetic for an orchard, don’t you think?”
She shrugs, slowly wriggling her hands back into the pink floral gardening gloves.
She doesn’t answer me, so I ask another question. “Aren’t orchards usually open to the public this time of year? With a company as big as this one, I’d assume—”
“Hasn’t been open to the public for some time now. Five years, I believe.” My mouth snaps shut since she catches me off guard. Her admission piques my interest. “Not sure who would want to visit anyway. It doesn’t stop customers from buying the apples, though. I think they even gained more popularity after the incident.”
Incident?
“What incident?”
She peers around at our surroundings and lowers her voice to a whisper. We are the only ones on the sidewalk, and everything else around here is motionless and quiet besides the leaves in the trees rustling from the light breath of the wind.
“Christian, the CEO of Lindenvale Hill Orchard, was arrested and sent to prison for the murder of Jane Lindenvale after she disappeared.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Jane Lindenvale?” I ask.
