Page 33 of Dangerous Secrets
Plumper and sweeter than blackberries,they were prolific producers.
She and Oscar had built trellises andinstalled an irrigation system, and in the three years since they’dplanted the strip of land closest to Mill Creek Road with bare rootberries, the plants had fully matured.
When the fruit ripened, visitors tothe farm would buy baskets to fill with deep purple berries.Hopefully, they’d also buy jams and jellies, pies and syrup, andother products the farm offered, and then come back in Septemberfor apple season.
One of the best parts of her job waswatching the enjoyment kids got filling their baskets, stains ontheir chins evidence they’d been sampling the bounty.As far as shewas concerned, a trip to Cider Mill Farm made for the perfectfamily outing.
Tapping the iPad screen, she set theirrigation levels, checked the intervals, and saved thechanges.
The farm ran on well water, and so farsupply had been plentiful.
But the development planned by theNorris company would include condos, and that meant swimming poolsand landscaping.Residential neighborhoods were water intensiveenough, but add in the planned golf course, and water usage wouldbecome an issue.
As far as she was concerned, golfcourses were water hogs and an abomination in the drought-pronewest.All the planned development meant the aquifer they alldepended on would be dangerously depleted.
Already the persistent drought hadforced some residents to dig deeper as the shallower wells they’drelied on for decades went dry.
She steered the side-by-side along theroad and circled a low hill separating the big house and theMcGrath cabin from the area that would be open to the public in afew short weeks.By the end of June, the boysenberries would beready for u-pick, which meant the open field off Mill Creek Roadthey used for parking would be full of minivans and SUVs, andparents would be pushing toddlers in strollers up the gravelpath.
The apples in the orchards blanketingthe rolling hills that stretched behind the mill to the edge of thevalley and the steep slopes of Payback Mountain would be ripe byLabor Day.Since allowing the public to tramp through the orchardsand pick their own apples often resulted in damaged trees, theylimited visitors to a few acres closest to the mill and the retailarea.
Bordering the boysenberry field was awide swath of grass they called the picnic meadow.Couples andfamilies often brought picnic lunches or the donuts and pies they’dbought at the bakery to the tables and benches shaded by a halfdozen leafy chestnut trees.
In addition to everything else he did,Oscar Ortiz kept the grass in the field mowed.Oscar and his wife,Francesca, had been at Cider Mill Farm as long as Delaney couldremember.They lived in the largest of workers’ cottages nestled ina copse of aspen trees behind the retail area.
Delaney bumped along the road to whereit ended at the heart of the operation: century-old buildings thatover the past half decade she and Clara had restored andtransformed into the modern Cider Mill Farm.
For her senior project in college,Delaney had developed the idea of adapting the farm’s businessmodel to sell directly to the public.Up to that point the farm hadbeen barely profitable, but even given that it’d taken time andpatience to convince Clara the plan was a good alternative toselling acreage to stay afloat.They were still paying off theirinitial investment, but if sales could increase by a measly fifteenpercent over the previous year, they’d meet their targetgoals.
The cider mill was a large buildingthat looked like an oversize barn.Delaney had found a photo of themill from when Clara’s grandparents operated it in the 1940s, andhad reproduced that look by painting the building white andrepainting the big block letters reading “Cider Mill Farm” on theside.
Inside were the presses where appleswere milled into a pulp, then the juice squeezed out by a hydraulicpress before being drained into stainless steel vats where it waspasteurized, then bottled as cider.
In the last year, they’d also begunmaking apple cider vinegar.Sales had been surprisingly good sothey planned to expand vinegar production with this year’s crop.Oscar was the master of making cider, and she planned to hireanother full-time employee to take over some of Oscar’s other jobsso he could focus on the production side of thebusiness.
The original apple packing shed stoodadjacent to the mill.The space in front had been transformed intothe farm bakery café and gift shop.The conveyor belts in the backwere no longer in use as they paid a third party to pack and shipany unused apples.
Delaney had worked with the localhistorical society to put up interpretive signs explaining theoperation to visitors.She passed through the open sliding barndoor to enter the shop, the exposed beams giving it a spaciousfeel.
A three-quarter wall partitioned theretail and bakery areas, with a wide walkway between the spaces.Another door from the bakery opened onto a deck with outdoorseating.
The smell of coffee, dark and rich,filled the air.They made coffee daily, and anyone working at thefarm or visiting vendors were welcome to a cup.Soon there’d be thearoma of cider donuts and freshly baked pies to add to the homeyatmosphere she was striving for.
Delaney did a quick survey of thearea, feeling the rush of pride at the warmth and charm of thespace James had helped her design.Their goal had been to preservethe rustic appeal and historical character of the buildings whilestill making them efficient business spaces.She thought they’d hitthe mark.
The place was only more specialbecause James had done the finish carpentry, adding special touchesto everything from the railings to the workspaces and displayracks.All were stamped with James’s beautifulcraftsmanship.
A young woman stood at the far wallnear a display of cookie cutters and the Cider Mill Farm cookbook,which contained many of the recipes used in the bakery.She heldthe cookbook open in her hand, head bent as she slowly turned thepages.Her hair was hidden under a dark beanie and her drab-greencanvas jacket hung loose on her thin shoulders.
Delaney hadn’t seen a car parked infront and they weren’t close enough to town for the woman to’veeasily walked there.
Delaney approached, casting anassessing eye over the woman.“Can I help you?I’m sorry but wewon’t open for business for a couple weeks.”
The woman gave an involuntary startbefore turning.Striking blue-green eyes studied her, and Delaneyhad the impression of being carefully assessed.“Um, yes.Hello.I’m Cam.Um, Camilla.Camilla Barton.”Her hands clutched at thecookbook, then, as if realizing the movement gave away hernervousness, she carefully replaced it on the display.“I’m lookingfor work and wondered if you’re hiring.”
The woman’s voice held a husky tone,like maybe she didn’t use it often.Now that she had a better look,Delaney realized her earlier age assumption of around twenty wasoff.Camilla Barton was closer to the later end of hertwenties.
Francesca came from the backstoreroom, the box she carried almost as big as she was.“Delaney,this is Cam.She says she can work hard and knows how to bake.Weneed a baker.You should hire her.”Francesca had never been shyabout stating her opinions.
