Mulberry Mischief

by Sharon Farrow

  “Maybe Mom has so much dirt on Leticia, it requires a good hour to pass on. Or Dean got distracted and is now interviewing someone for his blog.”

  Andrew’s older brother ran a popular blog called The Dean Report. The blog’s witty, irreverent take on life along the lakeshore had made the Top 25 Blogs List in Chicago Magazine. And Dean had just begun his own podcast. A year from now, I expected he would be too busy to even work his part-time hours at the shop.

  “I’m not looking for dirt on Leticia.” I finished scooping my ice cream and took a moment to enjoy that first delectable spoonful. “I’d just like to know more about her before I deliver the mulberries. Her full name would be a good place to start.”

  After my encounter with Leticia on Saturday, I called my best friend Tess and my aunt Vicki. Neither had much information on her. Aunt Vicki believed she kept bees. Like everyone else in town, they had witnessed Leticia staring out at the lake like the melodramatic heroine of The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Although I doubted a tale of troubled romance lay behind Leticia’s fascination with the lake.

  Denise Redfern, owner of the Tonguish Spirit Gallery next door, did have a little info. Three years ago, Leticia fell off her scooter and badly scraped her arms and legs. Because the accident took place right outside her shop, Denise tried to help. But Leticia would not get into the ambulance that was called, nor would she let Denise take her into the gallery to clean her wounds. Instead, she accused the paramedics and Denise of trying to trap her. In the end, they’d had no choice but to let Leticia get back on her scooter and drive off.

  Whatever story lay behind Leticia’s behavior, it must be a sad one.

  The shop door swung open, revealing a rain-drenched Dean. A tall thin man with a receding hairline stood behind him.

  “It’s about time,” Andrew said.

  Dean and the stranger stepped inside.

  “Welcome to The Berry Basket,” I said to the man, who gave me a cursory nod. I wondered if he was a customer or someone Dean knew.

  “Why are you even open, Marlee?” Dean pushed back the hood of his rain jacket. “Every local news station along the lakeshore is at the conference center. Along with most of the people who live here. Half the shops on Lyall have closed for the day.”

  “Are you serious?” I hurried over to the door and peeked out. He was right. Many of the stores had taken down their OPEN flags. I kicked the door closed. “Well, that is just bad business. I’m sure there are lots of out-of-town visitors here for the fair. They might think our shops don’t stay open past the summer season.”

  Minnie cocked her head at Dean. “Whassup, punk?”

  He grinned. “Glad you asked, Minnie. At this very moment, Cameron Sable should be speaking at the Lyall Center on the pursuit of happiness. The Pilates Queen is demonstrating her latest machines. The winners of last season’s Dance with Me are giving tango lessons—”

  “No way! I love that show.” Andrew shot me an accusing look. “Marlee, why are we open? We’re missing all the fun.”

  “He has a point. No one will be interested in shopping while the health fair is in full swing.” When Dean spied Andrew’s ice cream cone, he made a beeline for the ice cream counter, where he proceeded to scoop some for himself. Of course he chose the same flavor as Andrew.

  Although eleven months apart, the Cabot boys looked and often acted like twins. Both were tall, attractive, auburn haired, and obsessed with fashion. The only difference is that Andrew was gay, and Dean was a straight man with impossibly high standards in women.

  I turned to the fellow who had followed Dean into the shop. He seemed occupied with shaking the raindrops from his umbrella. “Please let me know if I can help you with anything. Unless you’re a friend of Dean’s.”

  “Oh, no. I never met the young man before.” He finally turned his full attention to me.

  “He came into the police station when I was there,” Dean said. “He’s been asking around about a person he thinks lives in Oriole Point.”

  “I got into town last night,” the stranger said. “I’m looking for a woman, but I only have her PO box address. And her phone number.”

  “Why don’t you simply call her?” I asked.

  “She’s not answering my calls. I need to get in touch with her about business.” He stepped toward me, hand outstretched. “I’m sorry. My name is Felix Bonaventure.”

  I shook his hand. “Your parents gave you a fortuitous name.”

  He smiled. “Literally.”

  “How so?” Andrew asked.

  “‘Bonaventure’ means ‘good fortune’ in Latin,” I said. “And ‘Felix’ is Latin for ‘lucky.’”

  “My father believed our last name was responsible for what he regarded as his charmed life,” Felix said. “To increase our family’s good luck, he chose his children’s names with care. My sister is called Felicity.”

  “My mother’s taste in names is more whimsical,” I said. “She was rereading A Christmas Carol when she went into labor with me on Christmas Eve.”

  He looked dismayed. “Your name’s Ebenezer?”

  The Cabot boys laughed. “No, thank the Lord,” I said. “Our last name is Jacob, so I was named after Scrooge’s miserly partner, Jacob Marley. Only with the name switched around to Marlee Jacob.”

  “If my father were here,” he said, “he could probably explain what your name means.”

  “We’re pretty sure it means trouble,” Andrew told him.

  “Ignore him,” I said. “Why don’t you tell us who you’re looking for?”

  He sighed. “No one has been able to help me so far. And I’ve been to almost every shop in downtown Oriole Point, although many were closed today. None of the shopkeepers had a clue as to how to help me track this woman down.”

  “What’s her name?” I asked.

  “Ellen Mulberry.”

  Andrew made a strangled sound behind the counter.

  “When I mentioned Ms. Mulberry’s name, several shopkeepers recommended I stop at The Berry Basket.” Felix scanned the items in my store. “But I can see that you simply sell berry products. Unless you do know a person by the name of Mulberry.”

  I sat down at the bistro table. “I’ve never heard of anyone called Ellen Mulberry.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Dean said.

  “She has to be somewhere in the area. I receive mail from her postmarked New Bethel.”

  “New Bethel lies at the northern tip of the county,” I explained. “Why are you looking for her in Oriole Point?”

  “I spent the morning in New Bethel, which as you no doubt know, is much smaller than this village. No one knew who Ellen Mulberry was. And the woman working at the post office refused to release any information about the people who have boxes there.”

  “Again, why come to Oriole Point? The county has a number of small towns.”

  “Ms. Mulberry has mentioned Oriole Point to me several times. She calls it her home.”

  I snuck a peek at Andrew and Dean. “Maybe if you told us what she looked like.”

  “We’ve never met in person. All our business is done via phone and email.”

  “What exactly is your business?” Dean asked.

  Felix opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. “I’m not at liberty to say. We have a confidentiality agreement. Only some of our business details have gotten complicated recently. Even though Ms. Mulberry prefers we not have a face-to-face meeting, I’m afraid circumstances now demand that we do. If you have any clue as to where she is, I’d be grateful.”

  Andrew, Dean, and I once more exchanged looks. All three of us shook our heads.

  “Sorry,” Andrew said. “Never heard of her.”

  Felix reached into the pocket of his brown jacket and took out a business card. “Let me leave my card with you. I’m staying in South Haven at the Hampton Inn. All the hotels in Oriole County were booked due to that health fair.”

  I ran my finger over the embossed lettering on the card.
r />   “If you hear anything about Ms. Mulberry, please call me. I must find her.”

  After he left, we sat in silence. Except for Minnie repeating, “Never heard of her.”

  “I assume we all think Ellen Mulberry is Leticia the Lake Lady,” I said finally.

  “She must be.” Andrew leaned over the counter. “Although before this weekend, I would never have connected the Lake Lady to anyone called Ellen Mulberry. But now . . .”

  I nodded. “It’s too much of a coincidence. A strange man shows up looking for a woman by the name of Mulberry two days after Leticia asks for enough mulberries to cover her house. And ‘mulberry’ is part of her email address.”

  “What if she’s right about someone wanting to kill her?” Dean asked.

  “Do you think this Felix guy is the one she’s afraid of?” I tapped the business card.

  Andrew shrugged. “Who knows? What does his card say?”

  I looked down at it again. “It only contains basic contact information. No mention about any sort of business.”

  “That’s weird,” Dean said. “Where’s he from?”

  “Philadelphia.” I slipped the card into my jeans pocket. “I thought Leticia was delusional. But Mr. Bonaventure has made me rethink that assumption. And he didn’t really explain why he needs to find her. Saying he’s here on business is pretty vague.”

  “Can you fly?” Minnie asked me.

  “Even though I promised Leticia I wouldn’t go to the police, I should let Kit know.” Atticus “Kit” Holt was an investigative officer for the sheriff’s department. For the past two months, he had also been my boyfriend. I would have told him already, except three days ago, he flew down to Texas for his brother’s wedding.

  “When’s he coming home?”

  “Tonight,” I told Dean. “He doesn’t go back to work until Wednesday, so I can spend time with him tomorrow. If he’s not too tired, he says he might join Theo and me on our early morning hike with the Lakeshore Birders.”

  “You’re such a nerd,” Andrew said.

  “This from someone who wore face paint and camouflage to his laser tag birthday party.”

  Dean laughed. “You tell him, Marlee.”

  “Now that you’ve finished scooping your ice cream, how about giving us the scoop on Leticia the Lake Lady?” I asked him. “What did your mother say?”

  “Nothing. She wasn’t at the police station.” Dean took a big bite of ice cream.

  “What do you mean Mom wasn’t there?” Andrew threw his brother a frustrated glance. “Where have you been for the past hour?”

  “Oh, I’ve been at the police station.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Your mother is at the conference center.”

  “Got it in one,” Dean said. “Officer Davenport was the only person left at the station.”

  I made a face at the mention of Janelle Davenport’s name.

  “Janelle told me that Mom went to see the dance couple and get autographs,” he continued. “And Chief Hitchcock signed up for the happiness workshop Cameron Sable is giving. Who knew our police chief was interested in pursuing criminals and happiness?”

  “Did Janelle have any information about Leticia?” I asked.

  “Oh, I got an earful when I mentioned her name. Janelle went off on a rant about the weirdoes and degenerates in Oriole Point, which includes Leticia and Old Man Bowman. She’d like to see them all run out of town.”

  “By a mob waving pitchforks, no doubt.” I had little use for Officer Davenport, who had moved here from Milwaukee several years ago. Her suspicious and often hostile attitude seemed more suited to the mean streets of a big city. “What’s her beef with Leticia? She keeps to herself, except for her visits to the beach.”

  “It seems she’s got cats running all over her property. And a bunch of wild turkeys.”

  “Big deal,” Andrew said. “The Carver couple have fifteen pet squirrels. And they’re hoarders. The Carvers, I mean. Not the squirrels. Although the squirrels probably hoard nuts.”

  “What else did Janelle say?” I asked.

  “In the middle of her rant, a call came in about a fender bender on Huron Street. It sounded like road rage was involved. Janelle took off, leaving me alone at the police station.”

  “Where I hoped you did your duty and snooped around,” I said.

  “Of course I did. First, I logged onto a couple computers—”

  “How do you know the police passwords?” I asked.

  “Hello? Mom has worked there for twenty years. She knows everyone’s password.”

  “She tells us the passwords, too. In case she forgets.” Andrew finished his cone.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted too many details. “What did all this covert activity produce?”

  Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering. “There was nothing on any of the computers about Leticia. Although there’s a file on Chief Hitchcock’s computer named BURIED TREASURE. Do you know there are supposed to be three buried hoards of gold in the county?”

  Andrew whistled. “Maybe we can put together a treasure hunt. I’d love that. So would Oscar. Marlee, are you in?”

  “Forget about the buried treasure right now. I want to know about Leticia or Ellen Mulberry or whoever she really is. Dean, did you learn anything helpful?”

  “I sure did. After I searched all the computer files, I went through those ancient filing cabinets. And lo and behold, I found a LAKE LADY file folder.”

  Andrew and I waited. Dean clearly enjoyed dragging this out.

  “Her real name is Ellen Clark. Married to an Anthony Clark, who died four years ago. She moved to Oriole Point a few months later and bought those fifteen acres by the woods.”

  “Fifteen acres doesn’t come cheap. I wonder how she afforded it,” I said. “She also walks around with a wad of hundred-dollar bills in her pocket.”

  “Insurance policy?” Andrew looked at his brother. “Was her ex-husband some rich guy?”

  “The file says he was a correctional counselor.” Dean paused. “At the state prison.”

  “Uh oh.” I bit my lip. “Some ex-convict who knew Anthony Clark might be after her. Does the file say anything about what her maiden name is? Or when she was born?”

  “Didn’t have time to go through the rest of it. Chief Hitchcock came back. I barely got the file drawer closed in time. Luckily, Felix Bonaventure arrived and distracted the chief long enough for me to get the file folder back and sneak out of his office.”

  This information had increased my worry. “So Leticia was married to a man who worked in a prison. Now she fears for her life. Think of all the criminals her husband worked with who may had have a grudge against him.”

  Andrew looked concerned. “What if a homicidal maniac is on his way to Oriole Point?” What if he’s just been in the store talking to us?”

  “Poor Leticia,” I murmured. “I need to tell Kit. He’ll know what to do to keep her safe.”

  “I saw enough of her file to know that Leticia isn’t defenseless,” Dean said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Leticia, a.k.a. Ellen Clark, was one of the criminals Anthony Clark counseled at the state prison. She was an inmate there. He married her after she was released.”

  For a moment, neither Andrew nor I spoke. Even Minnie remained silent.

  “What was she in prison for?” I asked finally.

  Dean frowned. “Murder.”

  Chapter Four

  “You can’t go out there alone,” Andrew said to me as we loaded boxes of dried mulberries into my SUV.

  Chris Farnsworth and his wife had arrived fifteen minutes earlier with Leticia’s order. Eager to check into their B&B, the couple dropped off the boxes and were off again with barely twenty words exchanged between us. The Cabot boys made up for it by trying to dissuade me from driving out to the cabin.

  “At least let one of us go with you.” Dean gave me a worried look.

  “Speak for yourself,” Andrew
said. “I have no intention of visiting some woman who was in prison for murder. Call me kooky, but there it is. And neither of you should either.”

  I didn’t wholly disagree with him. Still, Leticia was frightened for her life, rightly or wrongly. And having these mulberries might bring her some comfort. Besides, I had given her my word that I would deliver them.

  “If she was going to be dangerous, don’t you think it would have happened by now?”

  “Maybe all she needed was some sort of trigger.” Andrew grew more exasperated. “What if she knows this guy is looking for her? What if her terror pushes her over the edge?”

  “Why should Marlee be a target?” Dean asked him.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Because Leticia is crazy!”

  I rearranged the boxes in the back of the SUV, then slammed the door. “If she was still a threat to society, why would they release her from prison?”

  Andrew looked frustrated. “Right. Because ex-convicts never repeat their crimes.”

  Dean sighed. “I wish I’d had more time to go through her file. Maybe she killed someone out of self-defense. Or she was under the influence.”

  “Don’t sugarcoat it, big brother. She was in prison for murder.”

  “What I read didn’t specify if it was first- or second-degree murder. That makes a difference, doesn’t it?”

  “The longer I put off going out there, the more nervous I’ll be.” I held up my cell phone. “I already texted to let her know I was bringing the mulberries.”

  “Did she reply?” Dean asked.

  “No. But at least I won’t take her by surprise.”

  “Marlee, I’m tempted to go to Chief Hitchcock right this minute to tell him that you’re about to visit a murderess,” Andrew warned.

  “Don’t you dare,” Dean said. “Hitchcock would figure out you only knew that because I’d snooped in his files. After all, he just saw me at the police station.”

  “What’s he gonna do? Jail you for snooping? Marlee’s safety is more important.”

  “Thanks for your concern, guys.” I zipped up my sweater jacket. The temperature had dropped below sixty. “But I’m off to deliver these berries.”