Free The Final Tap by Amanda Flower Page B

see me do it. It wasn’t a habit I wanted my son to pick up. I wished I could break it myself. “Have a seat.” I pointed to the kitchen table.
    Chase did as he was told. I felt him watch me as I dished out two hearty portions of stew. My stomach grumbled as I did. I’d only had a granola bar for lunch.
    I set the bowls on the table and went back for a loaf of bread that Alice had made the day before in the Farm’s breadmaking machine, plus two glasses of water.
    â€œCan I help?” Chase asked. “I’m very good in the kitchen. I do a lot of the cooking at the firehouse during my shifts.”
    â€œI’m fine,” I said as I took the seat across from him. I pointedly ignored his comment about being good in the kitchen. He was a terrible flirt, and I had to remind myself of that. “Do you have to go back to the firehouse?” I asked as I set everything on the table and took a seat.
    He blew on a spoonful of stew. “Nope. Since I just came off of a twenty-four -hour shift, I have forty-eight hours free. I thought I could help you out.”
    I picked up my spoon. “Help me with what?”
    â€œThe maple sugar professor’s death. I assume you want to find out how he died, since it happened on your watch and on the Farm.”
    Chase was right. I did want to know what happened, mostly because of Gavin’s situation. I couldn’t believe that my staffer could kill anyone. Had it been Shepley, I wouldn’t have been that surprised. But Gavin? It just didn’t fit into what I knew about him.
    â€œYou’ve gotten involved with a police investigation before,” Chase said when I didn’t respond right away.
    I didn’t need him to remind me of that. Beeson’s death was the third suspicious death related to Barton Farm in less than a year. It wasn’t true that any publicity was good publicity. These events were not good publicity for the Farm.
    Chase set his water glass on the table. “I’ve been thinking that you could use these unfortunate events to your advantage. If this keeps up, you could always start giving ghost tours of the Farm. It might be a real moneymaker for you.”
    â€œNot funny,” I said. “Barton Farm isn’t haunted.”
    â€œThat’s not what I’ve heard. There have always been rumors about one of Barton’s daughters wandering the Farm grounds at night.” He wiggled his fingers near his face in a spooky gesture that made me think he’d been a Scooby Doo fan as a child. “I heard about her when I was a kid.”
    â€œThere is that story,” I admitted. “But Barton Farm is not haunted by any twenty-first -century ghosts. Nineteenth-century ghosts are fine.”
    He grinned. “I can tell you’re giving the haunted ghost tours some real thought.”
    I frowned because he was right. The future of a nonprofit like Barton Farm was never certain—one bad storm or tornado coming through the grounds would take us out permanently. I really hoped that wouldn’t happen. I loved the Farm so much, I’d married myself to it for fifteen years. I couldn’t let it go down on my watch.
    Chase wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned back into his chair. His stew bowl was empty, and I hadn’t even taken a bite of mine yet. “So, what do you plan to do?”
    â€œI have a proposition for you.”
    He grinned from ear to ear. “And what’s that?”
    â€œIt’s not what you’re thinking.”
    â€œWhat do you think I was thinking?” The corner of his mouth twitched.
    I told him what I’d learned about Gavin’s history with Conrad Beeson, and Detective Brandon zeroing in on Gavin as her number one suspect. “I need to go to the Sap and Spile meeting tonight to see if anyone else might have had a reason to kill Beeson,” I finished. “I was wondering if you could stay with Hayden while I’m