Free Golden Malicious (Apple Orchard Mystery) by Sheila Connolly

fell.”
    “Defensive wounds? Signs of a struggle?”
    “Jeez, people—listen to yourselves,” Bree said, laughing. “Who’s playing Sherlock Holmes now?”
    “I’m trying for Columbo,” Art said with a smile. “Make people think I’m harmless and then I zap them with the right question.”
    “Bree, we’re just trying to work out how it happened,” Meg protested. “Was there blood, Art?”
    “Oh, ick, you all—we’re making dinner here,” Bree said.
    “No blood. You want me to cover putrefaction next, Bree?” Art asked.
    To forestall that subject, Meg jumped in. “Have they figured out
when
he died?”
    “Best guess, maybe twenty-four hours before you found him, which would make it Sunday sometime. Now, Marcus did confirm that Clapp was working for the logging company that Nash uses, but nobody there sent him out on a Sunday. Although his crew said their next cut was scheduled for the end of the month, so Clapp could have been out there tagging trees for that. He lived close enough that he might have stopped by to get ahead of the game.”
    “So let me get this straight,” Seth said slowly. “David Clapp, who was familiar with the site, goes out to check out the trees and tag for the next cut. Either he falls over backward, hits his head, and crawls away from the path, or somebody comes up behind him and whacks him in the head, then hides the body?”
    “Maybe. If that’s what happened, the attacker didn’t do a very good job of hiding Clapp’s body. It was out of sight, but not all that far from a path that’s used regularly. Even Meg noticed the, uh, evidence. On the other hand, could be Clapp tripped over a root and fell over backward, hitting his head, then got up again and stumbled his way under a bush,” Art said amiably.
    “Come on, Art—what’s your guess?” Seth challenged.
    Art sighed. “I don’t think he fell,” he said carefully, “but it’s not ruled out. And that, I’m sorry to say, was Marcus’s conclusion. He hasn’t exactly closed the file, but he has no reason to suspect anyone else was involved, and no evidence to work with.”
    “I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed,” Meg said. “We already knew he wasn’t robbed, because Marcus retrieved his wallet while we were there. Has he looked into why on earth anyone would want him dead? Any enemies? What do we know about David Clapp?”
    “The state police are still interviewing his colleagues, family, friends,” Art said. “There’s nobody obvious, like an ex-wife or a jealous workmate. Good family man, couple of sons. If you’re wondering why nobody was looking for him, sometimes he spent a couple of days in different areas in this part of the state planning for the next cuttings, so he wasn’t always home at night. He hadn’t been where you found him for long, Meg. You’d be surprised how fast decomp sets in, especially in weather like this. Anyway, he had no debt beyond his mortgage. No criminal record—not even a speeding ticket. Most people said they liked him, and he pulled his own weight on the crew. Model citizen all around.”
    “What if he stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to see?” Bree chipped in, mixing herbs and spices in a food processor.
    “Out in the woods? Like what? A Druid coven performing human sacrifice? There’s nothing there but trees. No rare, exotic flowers or birds or snakes that would interfere with their harvesting trees. Just woods.”
    “No buildings on the property?” Seth asked.
    “Nope. There’s a portable john for picnickers near the parking area, and that’s it.”
    “You people are ridiculous—why do you
want
to think it was anything more than an accident? He was a good guy and it’s too bad he died, but that’s all there is. And you chop way too slowly. Hand it over—I want to start cooking,” Bree demanded.
    “So where does that leave us?” Meg asked. “An ordinary guy going about his business dies or is killed—by