Mulberry Mischief

by Sharon Farrow

  “What did she look like?”

  “Une belle femme,” Piper said with a sigh.

  I took out my phone and googled Laeticia Murier. I found her linked to the Nanny Murder. I lingered on the photos posted of her. Laeticia had lively dark eyes, pale skin, and chin-length black hair worn in a feathered style typical of the 1980s. Heads would have turned at the sight of that alluring gaze, upturned nose, and voluptuous bee-stung lips that Angelina Jolie might envy.

  I threw my phone back into my purse. “What happened?”

  “Cameron and Ingrid Sable flew in for Labor Day weekend and chartered a yacht to celebrate the end of summer. They also wanted to celebrate the fact that Keith had managed to hold down a responsible job for three whole months. An amazing feat for him.”

  Engrossed in the story, I reminded myself to finish my steak. Heaven knew, it cost enough. After another bite, I said, “Did they celebrate their son’s engagement as well?”

  “They must have made an attempt to welcome her into the family. After all, Ellen was invited on the yacht trip.”

  “Where were they traveling to?”

  “Chicago. From there, they planned to fly back to Palm Beach.” Piper speared one of her potatoes. “Except for Ellen. Keith had rented a car so she could return to college in Michigan.”

  I frowned. “Why charter a boat when they had the money for a private plane?”

  “The boat was a luxury yacht the Sables were considering purchasing. They own several yachts, kept in various marinas around the world. The trip from Mackinac to Chicago was a test run, a way to decide if they wanted to buy it. They even flew in several people who crewed their yacht in Florida.” Piper gave me a knowing look. “They also thought a long cruise on the Great Lakes sounded charming. They were wrong.”

  As magnificent as the Great Lakes were, they were also hazardous. Weather changed on a dime. If the wind picked up, waves on the lake surpassed those on the oceans. And a yacht trip from Mackinac to Chicago could take the better part of a day. Not the place to be if bad weather hit. Especially thirty years ago when Doppler technology wasn’t as advanced.

  “They left Mackinac behind schedule. Toward evening, they ran into a thick fogbank,” Piper said, “followed by rain and high winds. People began to get seasick, prompting everyone to go belowdecks. Soon after, the nanny went missing.”

  “Why assume she was murdered? If the nanny decided to go on deck in bad weather, she may have accidentally fallen overboard.” The steak was delicious. I took a few minutes to enjoy it before adding, “And why assume Leticia did it?”

  “She caught Keith in a compromising position with the nanny earlier that day. Everyone on the boat testified as to how upset she was, crying and carrying on.”

  “I still don’t see how that proves the nanny was murdered.”

  “The police reports claim Ellen was terrified of water. Her relatives back in Coldwater confirmed that she never learned to swim. Why didn’t she stay in her cabin during the rainstorm? This was a yacht of considerable size, after all. She’d feel safer below. There was no reason for Ellen to venture out on deck with the nanny unless she meant to harm her.”

  I thought about this while I ate. Something about the story bothered me.

  “By the way, court testimony revealed the nanny was afraid of water, too,” Piper added. “Please explain how two girls afraid of drowning were out on deck during a storm? And at night, too. It’s clear one of them wished the other harm.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Or someone else lured them there.”

  “Then tell me who else had a motive to want the nanny dead,” Piper demanded.

  “I have no idea, but they weren’t the only people on the yacht.”

  She sighed in exasperation. “One of the crew members heard shouting around the time the nanny went missing. I don’t remember the specifics. He may even have seen what happened. Like you said, this happened a long time ago. But Keith Sable told police that Ellen suddenly took a dislike to his family in the week before the yacht trip.”

  I couldn’t help but play devil’s advocate. “She might have had good reason. After all, Cameron and Ingrid had misgivings about the upcoming marriage. They probably wanted Ellen Nagy to go back to Coldwater and leave their son alone. I’ll bet they made their antipathy known to her. And Keith’s brother and sister-in-law may have felt the same way.”

  “Talk about spinning a tale.” She guffawed.

  “You also told me that Ainsley’s family founded Fontaine Pharmaceuticals. Which means she grew up with a Tiffany silver spoon in her mouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was less than thrilled to have some kid from Coldwater join the celebrated Sable clan.”

  “You always insist on thinking the worst of rich people, Marlee.”

  “They make it way too easy for me. Did they find the nanny’s body?”

  “Yes. She had a contusion on her right temple, which the police speculated may have been caused by a blow to the head.”

  “Or by the nanny hitting her head on the boat when she fell.”

  Piper glared at me. “Why do you persist in taking Ellen’s side? You barely know her.”

  “Why do you persist in thinking the worst of her?”

  “Because she killed Laeticia Murier.” She looked like she wanted to shake me.

  “What if she didn’t kill her? What if the Sable family framed her?”

  “You’re making up quite a colorful story, Marlee. It will make a great Lifetime movie one day. Except Ellen Nagy, otherwise known as Leticia the Lake Lady, murdered the nanny.”

  “You don’t know that for sure.”

  “Of course I do. Don’t you understand? She confessed to the crime!”

  Piper collected herself before adding in a quieter voice, “Sorry, my dear, but Leticia murdered Mademoiselle Murier. Just like she murdered Felix Bonaventure. She’s not simply crazy. She’s a killer.”

  Chapter Ten

  By the time I drove to Leticia’s house the following morning, I had downed a gigantic vanilla latte from Coffee by Crystal and chewed three espresso candies. I still felt exhausted.

  Blame it on Piper’s disturbing dinner revelation about Leticia’s confession to the murder of the nanny. But I also stayed up long after midnight putting together my berry talk for the health fair. I had created what I hoped was an amusing but informative PowerPoint presentation on the health benefits of berries. Now I only had to stay awake long enough to give the talk. My nervousness over the prospect of doing this in front of the Sables would help keep me alert.

  I also wanted to feed the cats before I opened The Berry Basket. The drive to Leticia’s home normally took a half hour, but I made it there in twenty minutes. I blamed my speeding on all the caffeine.

  On the way, Kit called to say he was at Leticia’s house and had fed the cats for me. Touched by his gesture, I decided to go out there anyway. It gave me a chance to see him before both of us got swept up in what promised to be a busy workday. Especially Kit, who planned to drive quite a distance to speak with the staff at the prison where Leticia had been an inmate.

  And it gave me the chance to ask Kit about the Nanny Murder and Leticia’s confession. He would now be privy to all the details since the sheriff’s department had assigned Kit to investigate Felix Bonaventure’s death.

  A morning mist hung over the fields, which made the changing leaves along the highway even more beguiling. Given our long Indian summer, this was the first week it felt like autumn. The lake breezes held a nip, reminding us the days were growing shorter and cooler. I welcomed the seasonal shift with all that it signaled: apples, cider, fiery foliage, a quieter energy. Life had been intense since June, and not only because summer was high season for our resort town. Too many tumultuous events had transpired. Lives had ended. So had relationships.

  I looked forward to autumn’s slower pace and the chance to recover and recharge. No wonder the trees and bears needed a long winter sleep. Hibernation sounded appealing,
especially after learning of another tragic story of murder and the wreckage it had left behind.

  The past few months had taught me that murder destroyed more than the person whose life was taken. If she had killed the nanny, Leticia not only lost fifteen years of freedom, she’d lost touch with reality. And if she was innocent, Laeticia Murier wasn’t the only victim.

  I thought back to the man who had visited my shop on Monday. Less than twenty-four hours after our short conversation, Felix Bonaventure lay dead in a field. Somehow the tendrils of that long-ago murder had reached out and killed him. Had it also killed Leticia? Or was she at the deadly heart of this?

  This time when I pulled up the driveway to Leticia’s house, the wild turkeys barely moved out of my way. The past day had no doubt been filled with a constant stream of law-enforcement vehicles. The birds seemed to have lost their fear of us. Knowing what humans were capable of, I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

  Kit quickly came to greet me. Today he wore his dark brown sheriff’s uniform. It made him look even sexier, especially when paired with the cap. I have a thing for men in uniforms. My first movie crush was Josh Hartnett in Pearl Harbor, who left quite an impression on my prepubescent self. So did every Scottish warrior in Braveheart, but I rarely encountered kilted men in Michigan.

  Three sheriff’s cars were already here, but I only saw Kit. After we hugged and kissed, I took a step back and looked around.

  “I don’t see the scooter. Guess that means Leticia hasn’t shown up.”

  “We’re still checking out the woods,” he said. “Maybe she’s hiding somewhere in the forested part of her property. However, there’s no sign of tire tracks anywhere but on her driveway. If she did head for the woods, she walked there.”

  “Still doesn’t answer the question of where her scooter is.”

  “The county is filled with farms. Some are abandoned. She’s lived out here for four years and might know where they are. If so, she could be hiding in one of them.”

  “Or she’s long gone by now.”

  We looked at each other before Kit said what we were both thinking, “Or she’s dead.”

  I shivered, even though I wore a sweater.

  Kit pulled me close. “Are you cold?”

  “No. I’m worried. If only she’d been right about how mulberries were protective. They might have protected Felix Bonaventure. Did the police find the bow that shot the arrow?”

  “In the field, about thirty yards from the body. The killer must have tossed it there when they left. And you were right about the composition of the bow and the arrow.”

  I stepped out of his embrace. “They were made of mulberry wood?”

  “Yes. Speaking of that, there’s something I want you to see.” He took my hand.

  I thought he was going to lead me to the house or the place where the body had been found. Instead, he pulled me toward the birch grove bordering the left side of the drive.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Next door. It isn’t far, and there’s a path through the birches.”

  “What’s so interesting at the Rasmussen pumpkin farm?”

  Busy batting away low-hanging branches, he glanced back at me. “How do you know about the pumpkin farm?”

  “Aunt Vicki.” I related what she had told me about the retired couple Jill and Norbert Rasmussen. And how we worried there might be even more feral cats in need of rescue there. Since the Rasmussens spent half the year in Arizona, the cats would have the run of the place.

  “The sheriff’s department sent officers over here yesterday to look around,” he said.

  We emerged from the trees to find ourselves on a concrete drive. To our left sat a sage green cottage-style ranch house. I shook my head at the cats curled up on the front porch, and those wandering among the bushes beneath the front windows. Humane Hearts would need to send an army of volunteers to round them up.

  I eyed the house with suspicion. “Kit, if Leticia knows the Rasmussens leave every autumn, she knows their house is vacant. What if she’s hiding inside?”

  “Already checked. We contacted the Rasmussens in Phoenix yesterday to inform them a man had been killed next door. Since their neighbor was missing, we needed to search their property, which includes the house. They told us the address of a friend in the area who keeps a spare key and gave permission for us to go inside.”

  “I take it you didn’t find anything.”

  “No sign of any intruder inside.”

  Kit led me past the garage toward the field. At one time, the entire acreage had probably been devoted to pumpkins. I did spy something orange as we walked toward what I assumed was the only section that still grew the popular autumn crop.

  “Please don’t tell me you found another body in the pumpkin patch.”

  “No.” He squeezed my hand. “After we checked out the house yesterday, we did a search of the fields. There aren’t many pumpkins left.”

  “The Rasmussens donate their crop to the church for their annual sale in September.”

  “A few are still out here.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Along with something else.”

  A small black cat ran past us. How appropriate for the season. The cat stopped a few yards ahead and meowed. The meow sounded thin and high. Not the sound of a full-grown cat.

  I knelt down. “Come here, baby.”

  The kitten stared at me with beautiful green eyes. I had to gather these cats up soon. Especially any felines that were all black. With Halloween on the horizon, black cats were at risk from sadistic teens who found it fun to torment them. Adult cats had a better chance at escaping, but not kittens. And certainly not this adorable baby who watched me so attentively.

  “Maybe if we had a treat to offer. Or something interesting,” Kit suggested.

  I glanced down at my silver necklace, a Christmas gift from Denise Redfern.

  Knowing how much I loved birds, Denise had made a pendant fashioned of three cardinal feathers she found while hiking in the state park. I noticed how the kitten’s eyes followed the feathers as they swayed in the breeze.

  Slipping off the necklace, I swung it in front of me. The kitten took a few short steps toward me, its gaze transfixed by the crimson feathers. Another endearing meow followed.

  I tossed the necklace onto the grass in front of me, then slowly pulled it back.

  The excited kitten took a step closer.

  With each toss, the kitten came nearer. The last time, I let it pounce on the feathers. Now that I was near enough to pet the kitten, I did. A purr was the response. A few strokes later, and I scooped the kitten in my arms.

  “This baby’s not wild,” I told Kit with a grateful smile.

  As the cat purred against my chest, I took a peek and added, “This baby is a ‘he,’ too. I think I’ll call him Panther because he’s as brave as a jungle cat. The superhero, too.”

  Kit smiled. “Whoever ends up adopting the cat might want to name him.”

  “So they have. I’m adopting him.” I kissed the kitten now batting my feathered necklace.

  Although I’d always claimed to be too busy working to adopt a pet, that belief had been shattered when a talkative parrot entered my life this past June. Minnie had brought only happiness into my life. And Panther chasing after us showed that he had chosen to come to my attention. How could I refuse?

  I looked back at the house. “I didn’t see any black cats yesterday or today. I wonder if Panther’s mother has been killed. He looks about three months old. Maybe a little younger. So he’s been weaned. But he’s in good shape, although the vet needs to check for fleas. I’ll drop him off at Aunt Vicki’s on the way to the store and have her take him to Dr. Fitzgibbon.”

  Giving a kiss to my new kitten, I turned to go back the way we’d come. “If I didn’t have to speak at the health fair this afternoon, I’d do it myself.”

  Kit caught me by the elbow. “Wait. You haven’t seen what I brought you here for.”

  �
��Sorry. I got distracted. Show me what you found.”

  When we reached the fenced-in patch, I saw only thirty pumpkins remained. A pumpkin roughly eighteen inches in height sat on a weathered fence post. That was not remarkable. But the arrow stuck in the pumpkin was. The wooden fence was studded with three more.

  I looked at Kit. “You found this yesterday?”

  “After we searched the Rasmussen house.”

  I turned my attention to the rest of the patch. Arrows stuck out of two other pumpkins.

  I knelt down to examine one of the pumpkins on the ground. Panther wriggled out of my arms. I thought he might run off, but instead he sniffed the pumpkin.

  “Looks like the same wood as the arrow that killed Felix Bonaventure,” I said.

  “All the arrows are made of mulberry. We tested the first arrow for prints, but got nothing. We’ll do the same for these, but whoever shot the arrows may have used gloves or wiped them clean.”

  Panther scampered back to me with a plaintive meow. I picked him up. “The pumpkins were used for target practice.”

  “We asked the Rasmussens if they had shot the arrows before they left, or if they had seen these arrows. They said no. And they were shocked to learn someone had been on their property shooting arrows into their pumpkins.”

  I shot to my feet. “Oh no.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Ask your men if they’ve seen any dead cats on Leticia’s property. Or this one.”

  “They have. A dead cat was found in the field next door. Shot with an arrow.”

  I held Panther even closer. “A black cat?”

  “A female.” He scratched Panther’s head. “Might have been his mama.”

  This whole bizarre scenario made me ill. “Why use an arrow to kill someone?” I asked.

  “A gun can be traced, but not this.” He gestured at the arrows in the pumpkins. “It’s also a quiet method of murder. Unless the victim takes a long time to die.”