For Sue, my sister, my friend
ONE2023
Aimee
I brushed back a lock of my golden hair, highlighted naturally by hours spent in the sun, and adjusted my sunglasses. I stole a glance at my husband, Archie, sitting in the driver’s seat of our newly purchased SUV, black with leather interior. His golden hair was slightly darker than mine; he wasn’t the outdoorsy type like me. Sure, maybe a hike here or there, but I was a daughter of nature. I crave the sunshine, fresh air and want to be part of all that is alive around me. Allow me to place my fingers into the life-sustaining earth and feel the burn of heat in the blue sky on my body, and life would spring from me.
Archie turned and flashed a smile at me. A trickle of sunshine traveled from his left temple across his sunglasses down to his mouth of perfectly straight white teeth. Not only did we share golden hair, but, in my mind, we were a golden couple. I’d been waiting to find my partner for a long time. Life threw me some curves, but when he entered my orbit everything looked brighter.
Kismet stepped in on the day we met. Me, toiling away at my barista job, still living with my aged aunt in her Philly townhouse on Society Hill, and Archie coming in to pick up a large coffee order for a local elementary school where he was a third-grade teacher.
The chemistry was undeniable. Something I hadn’t felt in years. When you click with someone, feel that strong connection, it’s something you’ve always craved but wondered if you would ever find it. That’s how it was between us. We married quickly soon after my aunt passed away leaving me a sizable inheritance.
“What are you thinking about?” Archie asked now, his voice breaking into my thoughts, still smiling.
I touched his hand lying on the console. “You. When we first met. I can’t believe we’ve been married a year already.”
He nodded. “I know, it went so fast.”
“And now we’re really doing this. This move is going to be such an adventure for us.”
“Yeah, we’ll be there soon.”
I took a contented sigh and looked out the window at the passing scenery. Cornfields with neat, small green stalks lined the right of the road, hopefully knee-high by the Fourth of July, as I heard some locals say when we stopped by town last week, and grasses of alfalfa, still in their infancy, lined the left, a few strands blowing in the warm early summer breeze. White, puffy, cotton candy clouds hung high in the clear blue sky, their vastness seemingly endless.
Even though the air conditioning blasted inside the vehicle, I hit the automatic button and the passenger car window rolled down. Sweet-smelling summer air entered the SUV. Honeysuckle, I guessed. I’d noticed it growing along the road as we drove along. Ahead in the distance, a large blue and white sign was visible. Bright orange and yellow marigolds surrounded its base.
Welcome to Poplin, Pennsylvania
“We’re here,” I said to Archie. Finally, starting our adventure and moving into the small farm I’d salivated over since spotting it on one of the many real estate websites I’d browsed in the evenings in my aunt’s townhouse. I wasn’t a city girl. I wanted to be among the trees, plants, and birds. I wanted to look out my window and see endless farmland spread out like a beautiful painting, but it would be my painting, our painting. A few months ago, I found the jewel that we would call our first real home as a married couple. Sure, we lived in Aunt Lou’s townhouse together, but this house was the first home we purchased together, making it so special to me, to us. A stunning, gothic-style farmhouse that sat on forty acres of land. My dream. Our dream.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” Archie continued to drive, passing a few homes and the elementary school where he would teach third grade, starting at the end of August. A little farther down the road, we entered Main Street, with its picturesque stores and restaurants, many boasting bright gingerbread trim in blue, pink, and yellow. Tall, white globed streetlights lined the street among large planters filled with bursts of flowers in an array of summer blooms.
I paid particular attention to the couple of stores with a For Rent sign in their polished windows. Angela, the realtor who sold us the property, had mentioned a few spots were available when I told her about wanting to open a small, organic market in town. I planned to sell produce I would grow on the farm and from neighboring farms, once we were fully moved and settled in. I never realized how many details needed to be taken care of when you purchased a property. Luckily, Aunt Lou’s inheritance gave us a nice cushion to do things at our own pace.
One location stood out to me every time I drove through town. Nestled between a thrift boutique and hardware store, a small, white storefront with bright yellow trim and two large windows. An equally bright yellow double door provided entry. An ivy wreath adorned each door. It was perfect, and though it was faster than I’d meant to move, I made a mental note to mention it to Angela when we met her at the house. I wanted that store, and even though I had about a month of work to get the house ready first, I couldn’t bear for anyone else to snatch up the property. I could already imagine my fresh vegetables, homemade jams and fresh-baked goods lining the shelves. And eggs. I planned to have many chickens, so was sure I’d have a good egg supply to sell to my customers.
The charming downtown was left behind us as we turned right just outside of town. Only a few minutes away, Archie pulled the vehicle onto the paved lane of our new home. I took a deep breath, the same thing I’d done the first time we toured the small farm. I’d always imagined myself living in the country, among cornfields and lonely country roads. The space and the quiet of the environment appealed to me in so many ways. Nobody too close to bother us. Only Archie and me, really all I needed in my life. This beauty was the home of my dreams. Neatly clipped grass stretched out on either side of the quarter-mile lane. Two tall oak trees struck a stately presence on each side of the lane. Dark mulch encircled the trunks, bright red geraniums sprang from the mounds. As we neared the house, I absorbed its beauty again. A two-story classic, gothic-style white farmhouse. Large, wraparound porch, freshly painted, Victorian-style turret to the rear right of the house. White gingerbread trim throughout and, my personal favorite, at the highest peak of the house, in the attic, triple stained-glass windows. The house was well maintained, but some updates were needed, although nothing that would have deterred us from making an offer on it though. I was in love the moment I saw the property. Almost as if it was waiting for me. I could still hear its whisper to me.
The lane curved to the left and ended at a detached three-car garage, also white and gingerbread trimmed. Two large terracotta planters sat on either side of the garage, bursting with dark purple petunias and white impatiens. A small, gray sedan sat parked next to the flowerpot on the left.
“That’s not Angela’s car,” Archie remarked, putting the SUV into park.
“No,” I replied. “I wonder who it is.”
As I spoke, a short, balding man emerged from the house, our house. He wore a rumpled white dress shirt, dress pants, and a loosened polka dot tie. He appeared anxious.
“You must be the Greencastles.” He gave us a smile. “I’m Ned from Poplin Realty. I’m here to give you your extra set of keys and see if you have any questions.”
“Oh, hi, Ned.” Archie opened the car door and stepped onto the driveway. He shook the man’s outstretched hand.
I waved. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m confused,” Archie said, “I thought Angela was meeting us today?”
Ned fumbled with his already loose tie. His face reddened and he sighed. He seemed on the verge of tears. “She would have been here, but Angela was murdered two days ago.”
TWO2023
Aimee
“Murdered!” I gasped, moving closer to Archie. He put his arm around me. “How?”
Ned sighed, clearly trying to keep his emotions in check. “She was shot, um, at a house she was showing, right outside of town.”
“Wow, that’s crazy,” said Archie; surprise colored his voice and his eyes widened. “Any leads on who did it?”
“No, the police have tried tracing the phone call of the person requesting the showing, but the call came from an untraceable phone, so no luck. The name in her calendar was just Mrs. Smith.”
“This is such sad news,” I said sympathetically. “Why would someone want to kill Angela?”
Ned shrugged. “I can’t imagine. She was a beautiful person, inside and out. And she was a great realtor. She sold most of the homes in this area. I’m more like her helper, or was, I guess.”
I nodded, remembering seeing Angela just three weeks before when Archie and I had our final walk-through in the house. She was an attractive woman with strawberry blond hair cut in a sleek bob who dressed more upscale than the rural farm town she represented. She was always friendly and ready to answer any question we had about the property. A very sad story, indeed. I would have liked to have gotten to know her better. For a second I wondered about the safety of our new town, but it sounded like someone had targeted her specifically, from what Ned mentioned about the house showing.
