A Berry Horrible Holiday

by A. R. Winters

  A Berry Horrible Holiday

  A.R. Winters

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Sneak Peak: Killer Cruise

  Chapter Two

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  Chapter 1

  “Zoey? Zoey! You’re breaking up!” The video feed of my newest and bestest friend froze, faded to black, and then burst to life again on my cell phone screen. “Ah, there you are.”

  Zoey was surrounded by open sky and lazy white clouds. I fooled myself into thinking that if I listened close enough, I’d be able to hear birds singing.

  My name’s Kylie Berry—owner and operator of The Berry Home—but I was miles away from my little café at that moment.

  With Joel behind the wheel of our rental car, the two of us were headed north for a romantic weekend to a B&B in Vermont.

  It was a long drive from Camden Falls, Kentucky, but thankfully it had been truncated with a plane ride tucked into the middle of the trip.

  “Brad was a wreck when you left,” Zoey said.

  I glanced sideways at Joel. There was no escaping him hearing every word of the conversation.

  He was wearing a big self-satisfied grin at the mention of Brad’s distress. The two had been rivals for my affection almost from the day I’d set foot in Camden Falls. I was worried—and a little guilty—about what accepting this weekend trip might do to my relationship with Brad.

  Meanwhile, Joel didn’t seem to share my reservations. Instead, as far as he was concerned, trouble between me and Brad meant happier days for him.

  “Is he still upset?” I asked, keeping my voice low even though I knew it wouldn’t do any good with Joel mere inches away.

  Zoey put on her brightest smile. “He got over it.”

  “Oh.” I was crestfallen—hurt, even—though I had no right to be. We’d both made our choices. I’d decided to go on a romantic weekend with Joel, and Brad had decided to push me emotionally to the side. Good for him. A much healthier response than pining over me.

  I wanted to cry.

  Enough of that, I chastised myself. I needed a distraction. If I kept thinking about Brad, I’d embarrass myself for sure.

  “Is Jonathan doing okay with the café?” I asked, glomming onto the first thing that came to mind. Jonathan was my right-hand man, the person who made running the café possible, so of course I left him in charge. He was a much better cook than me and good with the customers. And he’d been as reliable as a rock since getting through his daughter and granddaughter’s custody drama with that scary ex.

  “Couldn’t say,” Zoey said.

  I frowned. That wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. Zoey wasn’t the type of person to not be in the know. World leaders could call her in as a backup expert in closed-room secret conversations dealing with events designed to shape the coming decades. Her not knowing how Jonathan was handling things at a café she frequented multiple times a day didn’t add up.

  I opened my mouth to grill her on her sudden lack of information, but an incoming text message flashed across my screen and stopped me. It was from Agatha, an octogenarian goddess and one of my regulars at the café. The text included a picture of a young smoky tortoiseshell cat with golden-green eyes. She was crouched, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting sprig of ivy, and Agatha’s text said: Sage is settling in fine. Enjoy your trip!

  “Settling in fine?” I mumbled. I refocused on the video call and Zoey’s image. “Zoey, what’s Sage doing with Agatha? She’s supposed to be staying with you.”

  “What was that? You’re breaking up,” Zoey said in an exaggeratedly loud voice.

  My frown deepened. The image and voice clarity of the call was fine. “Zoey—”

  “Can’t hear you! Losing connection! Gotta g—”

  My phone went blank.

  “There a problem?” Joel asked.

  “She’s up to something,” I told him, tucking a strand of my red hair behind my ear.

  Joel chuckled. “I’m sure whatever she’s up to, Brad is watching her like a hawk.”

  On our way to our destination, we drove through some of the most beautiful, picturesque landscape I’d ever seen. The gentle hills were covered in trees canvased in autumn-colored leaves of orange, gold, and red. The small towns belonged in paintings full of country wonder. It was idyllic.

  Adding to the joy of the scenery was the pleasure of Joel’s company. Our banter was gentle and friendly, with long stretches of comfortable silence coupled with heartwarming hand holding. Despite my concerns about alienating myself from Brad’s affections, I was glad I’d come. Very glad.

  “Right on time,” Joel said an hour and a half later when we turned down a long, narrow lane.

  He pulled into a tucked-away gravel parking lot within short walking distance of an enormous house. A hinged sign hung from the outstretched arm of a wooden post a few feet away. Bright gold letters on a deep red backing announced we’d arrived at the Red Maple Apples Bed and Breakfast.

  It was all I could do to sit and stare. Everything about the place was absolutely charming. The white three-story home had a charcoal roof dotted with merlot-colored shingles. Shutters matching the merlot shingles winged the windows of the second and third floors. A deep porch wound itself around the home, with gazebos marking each corner.

  A round, short woman in her late fifties or early sixties stood at the bottom of an enormously wide set of stairs. A young couple who were googly-eyed for each other stood by her side, and an older man and younger woman were carrying their luggage up from the guest parking lot to join the group.

  Joel and I got out of the car, got our luggage, and followed suit.

  "Hello!" the round woman said as we walked the last steps necessary to join the group.

  Her salt and pepper hair was cut short. Her plump cheeks had a vibrant glow with not a wrinkle on them. It was immediately evident that she was the matriarch of the home. She had an air of gentle authority and sense of belonging about her. "I'm Mama Hendrix, and this is my place." She waved a hand to indicate the gorgeous house and the land around it. "Welcome! I’m happy and grateful for the opportunity to make my home your home."

  There was a murmur of thanks from the group at her open-armed invitation.

  "I know you’ve all been on the road a long while and are probably ready to settle in and get some rest,” Mama Hendrix said.

  The young couple at her side giggled. I was pretty sure there was some out-of-sight tickling involved. It was obvious that rest was not what was on their minds.

&
nbsp; Mama Hendrix smiled and winked at the pair. "I promise to keep the tour short. But first, does anyone have any questions before we get started?"

  "How did you decide on the name Red Maple Apples Bed and Breakfast?" asked the young woman who’d arrived with the older man.

  I could see a resemblance between the two. She was every bit as tall and broad-shouldered as he was. She had long auburn hair that cascaded down her back past her shoulder blades. His short hair was mostly grays and browns, no doubt brought on by age, but the light caught the glint of red here and there. The similarities continued from there, but Mama Hendrix’s voice pulled my attention back to her.

  "My late husband—George—and I bought this place as newlyweds," she said with yet another giggle from the young couple standing to her side. They couldn't keep their hands or eyes off each other, and gleaming new wedding bands decorated their ring fingers. Mama Hendrix’s smile was wistful as she glanced their way before continuing. "There wasn't anything here when we bought the land, just the maple and apple trees, and those apple trees had the prettiest red apples on 'em I ever saw. We started calling the place red maple apples, and it stuck. But enough about that. You all introduce yourselves, and then I'll give you the penny tour." Mama Hendrix turned her full focus on the young woman who had asked the question. "And of course I know who you are, Rita, but you might as well fill in the rest of the group."

  A door swung open, and a man stepped out onto the wide porch at the top of the stairs. He was lean with smartly trimmed hair that would have fit completely under a fisherman’s knit cap. The angles of his face were sharp with hollow cheeks and sunken, dark-circled eyes. Yet the stark sight of him didn’t detour Rita, as named by Mama Hendrix, from smiling big enough to dimple her cheeks when she looked past the group and saw him.

  The man’s response was not as congenial. It fell firmly in the category of shell-shocked, if you asked me. His steps came to a sudden halt when he saw us, and his eyes adopted a hunted wariness. “I forgot my—uh…,” he said in a low, tremulous voice. The reveal of what he’d forgotten never came. Instead, he disappeared back inside the house.

  Rita’s smile faltered, and uncertainty flashed across her face.

  “Don’t pay him no mind, hun,” Mama Hendrix reassured her. “That’s just my anything guy, Lucas. He takes care of anything that needs taking care of.” She rattled off some examples with the flip of her hand. “Mow the lawn. Unclog the gutters. Fix a wobbly chair…”

  “Oh… Oh, right. Okay.” It took a beat for Rita to recover her composure, but she managed it. "Thank you for your wonderful welcome, Mama Hendrix." She turned her attention to the rest of us and put a hand over her heart. "Like Mama Hendrix said, I'm Rita, Rita Sutton. This is my Dad, Michael Sutton." She rested a light hand on our host's arm. "Mama Hendrix here was kind enough to allow us to visit her and soak up some of her hard-earned wisdom. I’m a firefighter and Dad’s a retired history teacher, but our real passion is our maple syrup orchard in Pennsylvania, but well…" She threw her father a hesitant look, and he spoke for the first time.

  "We hit a snag two and a half years ago." Michael shoved his hands deep down into his jean pockets. "Our orchard failed, then our business failed. Worst timing ever." His jaw was tight, and the line of his mouth was thin. "It was going to be my legacy, what I’d leave to Rita."

  "It still is," Rita told him, and then to the group she said, "We've been rebuilding, and now we're adapting our business plan. Making it stronger. That's why we're here." Her words were loud, defiant even. "We're going to start a B&B, just like Mama Hendrix. With the combined income from the syrup we get from the still-healthy trees plus the B&B, we'll be okay."

  Michael's shoulders were practically up to his ears. He stared at the ground and shuffled his feet. It seemed as though he and his daughter might have different ideas about how bright their future looked.

  Mama Hendrix shifted the group's attention to the young couple at her side. "And I’m more than a little eager to hear more about you two," she said teasingly, earning her yet another giggle from the young lady.

  "We are Mr. and Mrs. Bryan Marland," Mrs. Marland cooed as she stared up into Mr. Marland's eyes.

  Mr. Marland managed to tear his attention away from his new bride with some effort. "You can call us Monica and John," he told everyone.

  I took a wild guess as to which name went with whom.

  It was Joel's and my turn next. When Mama Hendrix turned her expectant gaze on us, I glanced up at Joel as a way to invite him to speak for us both.

  "I'm Joel and this is Kylie," he said with an arm draped low across my back.

  I let myself lean into his warmth and strength. The anonymity provided by being away from our little town of Camden Falls was downright intoxicating!

  "How long have you two been married?" Monica asked.

  My face heated in a blush. My back stiffened, and I pulled away from the man whose company I'd been enjoying only a second before.

  Joel's arm stayed casually and easily around me. If he was bothered by Monica's question, he didn't show it. "We're taking things a bit slower than that," he said.

  Monica's expression was the picture of confusion, but it quickly morphed into comprehension with wide eyes and a soft "Oh!" But her attention thankfully shifted back to her husband, rendering Joel and I immediately forgotten.

  Mama Hendrix gave me a wink then clapped her hands, soaking up everyone’s attention once more. "Now that we've got that settled, how about that penny tour?"

  Surprise had me speaking up before anyone else had a chance to say anything. “Are we the only ones here?” Mama Hendrix’s B&B was a very large place. The lot of us came to only six guests. I thought about my question a little more and realized I’d be overwhelmed if I had to cater to six houseguests. I felt suddenly foolish.

  Mama Hendrix’s answering laugh was a warm sound that chased my embarrassment away. “Don’t you worry, hun. The house will be plenty full, but we’ll get to that. First, I want you all to leave your bags where they are. We can get to them later. The house sits kind of high, so we'll make a big sweeping stroll around it, and I'll point out everything you need to know out as we go."

  True to her word, the tour was short but informative. The land sloped gently away at the edge of the B&B's spacious yard. As I'd suspected, the porch really did go all the way around the house. It had sitting and visiting nooks here and there providing the opportunity to socialize while giving plenty of opportunity for private reflection.

  Below the house on all sides were trees and gentle hills that stretched as far as the eye could see. Mama Hendrix pointed out the expansive patches of apple trees and explained that the maple trees blended seamlessly with the surrounding forest. There were also mulched trails throughout with tiny solar lanterns to mark the way and even a tree swing hanging from the ancient limb of an enormous sycamore tree.

  I was mesmerized by the beauty of the whole place and ate up every morsel she told us. Joel had found me heaven on earth. I guess that was why it was so startling to round one of the house corners and discover a young man being given the chewing out of a lifetime by another slightly older man. The slightly older man had a tight waist and shaggy brown hair. The younger man had a crew cut and was powerfully bulky without looking like he had an ounce of fat on him. Words like "idiot," "useless," and "imbecile" punched the air as they spewed from the slightly older man’s mouth.

  Mama Hendrix paused and gently cleared her throat. That was all it took to get both men's attention. They turned and spotted us. The younger man grinned with self-satisfaction then dropped his gaze to the ground. The slightly older man froze and then paled as he took us all in.

  Yep, his barrage of insults had had an audience.

  Part of me thought I should feel sorry for him. Another part of me thought he'd gotten exactly what he'd deserved! Busted by the boss in front of guests. I was sure he'd get an earful about his poor management style later.

  Without looking a
t what he was doing, the older man's arm shot out to backhand slap the thicker man in the chest. "Let's go fix your screw-up," he grumbled. He headed off down the gentle slope in long strides toward the sprawling orchards below. The younger man followed, still wearing the same grin but with eyes that were hard and cold.

  "Sorry about that," Mama Hendrix said, turning to face us once more. "That was Doug and Tim. Doug's my tree guy. He gets a bit passionate about his orchard." She mimed air quotes when she said "his," but it was accompanied by a good-natured laugh. She went on to tell us about the breakfast, lunch, and dinner schedule, but her words became mere noise in my ears as my eyes fixated on the absolutely enormous white tent in the yard. It could have seated a group of fifty. It was huge. Still, as big as it was, it only managed to take up a fraction of the available yard space.

  But its grand size was not what had me so fixated. My eyes were telling me what they were seeing, but my brain refused to believe it.

  Zoey and Brad! They’d crashed my romantic weekend!

  The two of them stood at the tent's open flap, shoulder to shoulder with their arms crossed. Their eyes were pinned on me, and their lips were stretched in Cheshire Cat smiles.

  "What the..." Joel started to say, but his voice became a distant sound. I was already halfway across the lawn. My head was spinning, and my fists were tight.

  Zoey and Brad had a whole lot of explaining to do. Doug chewing out Tim was about to look like a mild scolding compared with what I’d have to say to them.