Mulberry Mischief

by Sharon Farrow

  I texted back that I would leave now, which meant I’d be there in about a half hour. The sorry news of Leticia’s death could wait until I saw my aunt face-to-face.

  The day had grown colder, with clouds scudding across the sky. As I drove out into the country, gusty winds blew dead leaves over the road. The weather felt funereal. How fitting, given the circumstances.

  After I parked in front of Leticia’s log cabin, a sense of unease came over me. I didn’t know if it was grief or the fact that Aunt Vicki and her volunteers hadn’t arrived yet. My guilt over not being able to protect Leticia returned. Although I didn’t believe in magic, I wished my mulberries had somehow been able to protect her.

  Because the winds were brisk, I zipped up my suede jacket before getting out of the car. I stared at the porch where I’d left the boxes of berries on Monday. Kit removed them the night we found the boxes torn open and took them to the sheriff’s department.

  I considered the possibility that Leticia might have taken those missing bags of berries for something other than trimming her costume and making that bracelet. Perhaps she buried the manuscript and laptop on her property, covering the ground with mulberries in case something happened to her. A clue only I would understand, to point out where she’d hidden them.

  Before I could begin to search for suspicious mulberries, I heard tires on the graveled driveway. Expecting to see Aunt Vicki and her Humane Hearts van, I watched in surprise as a shiny silver vehicle came into view. It rolled to a halt behind my SUV, allowing me to see it was a BMW. During my dinner with Piper, the Sable sons mentioned that they had rented BMWs for their stay in Oriole Point.

  My breathing quickened. I had been so distracted on the drive over, I hadn’t noticed anyone following me. I considered getting back into my SUV and racing out of here. But Aunt Vicki and her volunteers would be here any moment. No need to panic.

  A tall, husky man got out of the front passenger side of the car. He looked more like a bodyguard than a personal assistant. “My employer would like a word with you,” he said.

  “Who’s your employer?”

  The back window rolled down. “He works for me,” a cultured voice replied from within.

  I walked over to where I could see into the open window, making certain to keep a healthy distance from the car. “Hello, Dr. Sable. I’m surprised to see you here.”

  He sat alone in the backseat by the opposite window. “You have spoken with all the members of my family, except for me, Ms. Jacob. Given all that has occurred, I thought it time to speak with you. Privately.” He nodded toward the leather seat beside him.

  I gestured to the leaf-strewn lawn. “Why don’t you join me out here?”

  Cameron Sable gave me a thin smile. “Too chilly for my old bones.”

  The husky man opened the back door. “If you would, miss.”

  “I’d rather not.” No way was I getting into that vehicle.

  “Dennis,” Cameron said in a tone I recognized as an order.

  The man grabbed my arm and shoved me into the car. It happened so quickly, I only had time to land one good kick at his shin. His yelp of pain gave me a tiny bit of satisfaction.

  After he pushed me inside, the door slammed shut, followed by the click of the locks. I tensed up, fearful I was about to be spirited away.

  “Look, Dr. Sable, I don’t appreciate being manhandled by your minions. And if you plan to abduct me, I’m going to put up one hell of a fight.”

  “No one is being abducted, my dear.” His sonorous voice seemed designed to soothe.

  “Then why is the car still running? If you want to talk, tell the driver to hand me the keys.”

  Looking amused by my request, Cameron turned to his driver, who stared out the front window. “Give the young woman your key, Peter. And step outside the car.”

  “Yes, sir.” The driver switched off the motor, then held the key behind his head. Once I snatched the key fob with the BMW logo, he exited the car.

  The car felt even more confining after he shut the door behind him. Maybe because Cameron Sable appeared so in control of the situation. He sat, legs crossed, relaxed. His hands, which I noticed were long and tapered, idly stroked the brown scarf that hung about his neck. I hoped he didn’t have plans to strangle me with it.

  “Do you make a habit of forcing strangers to have conversations with you?” I asked.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced, but I’d hardly call us strangers. As I said, you’ve met my family. And I assume you’ve heard of me.” That last was said with a hint of arrogance.

  “I also assume you’ve been following me.”

  “Me, personally? No. But after the police questioned my family at The Beekman today, I thought it best to speak with you. My driver was taking me to your lakeshore home when you rode right past us. Your Berry Basket vehicle is difficult to miss. Naturally, we followed.”

  “Naturally.” I had to stop daydreaming when I was on the road. “Have I been watched the entire time you’ve been in Oriole Point?”

  “We weren’t aware you needed watching until you found Mr. Bonaventure’s body.” His gaze lazily swept over me. “Although I would enjoy watching you. I have a fondness for spirited, young women with silky black hair and long legs.” He leaned closer. “You’re quite enticing.”

  I reached for the locked door, but the husky man was leaning against it. “Let me out of here. Now!”

  Being trapped in the car with the Sable patriarch—with his men just outside—sent my heart racing. Would I be the second dead body found on this property?

  He gave a low laugh. “Frightened an old man like me will seduce you?”

  “Seduction wasn’t the word that came to mind. Let me out.”

  “You will be free to go soon, my dear. As soon as we’ve had our conversation.” He settled back against the leather seat. His calm expression revealed that he was enjoying my nervous reaction. I felt like I was in the car with Mephistopheles, albeit one outfitted in a beige turtleneck, camel brown tailored suit, and cashmere scarf.

  Escape seemed problematic. “You haven’t put me in the mood for a casual conversation.”

  “I never said anything about a casual conversation. I intend for this to be a serious one.”

  “I assume you wish to speak about Leticia.”

  He bridled. “That is not her name. Please refer to the deceased as Ellen Nagy.”

  “No matter what we call her, she’s dead. The question is why.”

  “I have a question, too.” His smug smile vanished. “Why are you here? What possible reason could you have for coming alone to the property of a woman who died earlier today? You’re not a relative, nor are you a policewoman. I can’t imagine what would draw you here. Unless you’re looking for something.”

  “I’m here for the cats. My aunt runs an animal rescue organization, and she and some volunteers are on the way here now. We plan to trap the feral cats so we can have them spayed and neutered.”

  “Cats?” Cameron shook his head. “You can do better than that.”

  “Just wait.” I glanced down at my watch. “They’ll be here any minute.” With luck.

  He cocked his head at me, uncertain if I had told him the truth.

  “While we wait, we can discuss Ellen,” I said. “And why she died.”

  “You seem a woman of boundless imagination. Why do you think?”

  “I think it had something to do with the death of your former nanny, Laeticia Murier.”

  He didn’t look surprised. “You believe a Sable is responsible for Ellen’s death?”

  “Yes.” If I’d said anything else, he wouldn’t believe me. “I think a Sable family member wanted to silence Ellen about what she knew of the nanny’s death.”

  “You are aware Ellen confessed to the crime?”

  “I am.” I shrugged. “But she didn’t confess for weeks. I’ve researched the case. Reports claim Ellen was in shock when the police boarded the yacht. And she became hysterical on
ce she was arrested for the crime, all on testimony given by your family.”

  “And one of the crew members,” he added. “The bosun.”

  “Your employee.” I gestured at the men who stood guard on either side of the car. “People paid to do as you ask.”

  “Are you accusing me of bribing my staff to give false testimony?” He laughed.

  “I have my suspicions. By the way, I’ve passed on those suspicions to the police.”

  “I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t. Do you have evidence to back them up?”

  “If I did, I’d make certain the right person was arrested for the murder of Laeticia Murier. And Ellen Nagy.”

  “Ellen died in an unfortunate accident,” he said. “No one can prove otherwise.”

  “Perhaps. But there may be proof Ellen didn’t kill the nanny.”

  Cameron looked bored. “We’re back to that, are we?”

  “We never left. The nanny’s murder is behind Ellen’s death. And Felix Bonaventure.”

  “This is why I needed to talk with you, Ms. Jacob. Such slanderous nonsense must stop before it gets out of hand.”

  “Two murders in one week?” I said angrily. “It’s already out of hand.”

  “Unfounded rumors can cause this to spiral completely out of control. The Sable brand is dedicated to natural living, holistic practices, positive energy. We cannot be tarnished by a murder. Not again. The financial repercussions could be irreparable. That’s why you need to give me Ellen’s computer. It contains the file of that book she wrote with her collaborator.”

  I gave him a suspicious look. “Don’t you also want the copy of the manuscript Ellen had in her house?”

  His expression turned impish. An alarming sight. “Not any longer.”

  “So you found it.” I felt like the Sables had landed another blow.

  “My family and I have been discussing various hiding places Ellen might have chosen. One of them ended up being correct.” He looked over at the porch where the boxes of mulberries recently were.

  If only I had thought to look through all the boxes when I had the chance.

  He stroked my arm. “Make it easy on yourself and give us the computer.”

  I slapped his hand away. “I don’t have the laptop. And if your family is innocent, why are you so concerned about the manuscript?”

  “Truth is a victim in any scandal. And I don’t intend for my family to be victimized. The last thing we need is Ellen’s bizarre version of events to become public.”

  “A TV series about the murder is soon to go into production. It will be dredged up regardless.”

  “Ah, yes. The series.” He seemed irritated at the thought. “We weren’t pleased to learn that poor girl’s murder was about to exploited again. However, we have been assured their script will adhere to what actually happened. One can only hope. If not, we shall take legal action. As I am tempted to do against you.”

  I looked at him as if he was crazy. “Me? What have I done?”

  “If you think we will let you sell that book to the highest bidder, you are mistaken.”

  “And I think you’re deluded. For the last time, I don’t have her laptop.”

  “You’re not a convincing liar. Now where is it? We’ve learned it wasn’t in her house.” He poked his finger hard at my shoulder. “From what I’ve gathered, you were one of her few friends. You and that old man who keeps talking about Bigfoot.”

  “We didn’t know her well enough to be friends. She simply came to us for help.”

  “A remarkable coincidence that she did so the same week we arrived here.”

  I returned his threatening stare with one of my own. “I don’t think there was anything coincidental about it. I suspect your family knew where Ellen Nagy lived. However, I don’t know how long you’ve been aware of her collaboration with Felix Bonaventure.”

  Where were Aunt Vicki and her volunteers? There was only so long I could keep up this bold front.

  He sighed. “We knew Bonaventure had collaborated on a book with Ellen. He and the Sable family shared the same literary agency, although his agent is farther down the company food chain. We were informed as soon as he contacted his agent with the proposal.”

  “Didn’t he know your agents worked for the same company?” I asked.

  “If he didn’t, he soon realized his mistake. When Bonaventure told his agent he’d written a book with Ellen Nagy about the Nanny Murder, it caused concern at the agency. The Sable books have made a fortune for them. It is in their best interests to keep us happy. A libelous version of the murder would not do that.”

  “So the agency refused to handle the manuscript.”

  “Not immediately. His agent informed our own agent there. She told us. We didn’t even have to mention lawsuits. They had no intention of angering us. Or losing us as clients.”

  “But there was nothing to stop him from submitting it elsewhere.”

  “True. That’s why we instructed the agency to hold off on giving him an answer. They told him the proposal would be sent to committee to look into legal issues. It bought us a little time to decide how to handle the manuscript.”

  No doubt it did. Time enough to arrange an extended stay in Oriole Point, the better to coerce Ellen. And time enough to ransack Bonaventure’s condo.

  “Eventually he pressed the agency for an answer, which is when he learned he had been dropped as a client.” He leaned closer. “That same day, someone broke into his condo and stole his computer and all his copies of the manuscript. Such a shame.”

  “I’m sure Bonaventure knew your family was behind the break-in and his rejection by the agency. Then he learned the Sables would be here for the health fair. He was probably worried you planned to pressure Ellen about the manuscript. Also she had the only remaining copies.”

  “That she did,” he said in that mellifluous voice I had already grown to hate.

  “You planned to scare her into giving you the book. But your arrival backfired. It did scare her, but only to go into hiding. Taking the only other copies of Mischief and Murder.”

  Cameron seemed nonplussed. “Ellen has always been unpredictable.”

  “And after you sent someone to Bonaventure’s home in Philadelphia to remove any trace of the book, you followed him here and got rid of him.” A chill went through me.

  “Don’t be tiresome. It’s one thing to retrieve information. It’s quite another to kill someone over it.” He frowned. “Ellen obviously killed the man out of some paranoiac fear.”

  I was tired of his suave bullying and his lies. “And I bet you asked Victor Kang to bow out so the Sables could take his place.”

  He shrugged. “Simply a fortuitous turn of events. And Victor will say the same thing.”

  My frustration grew. “How long have you known Ellen lived here?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Doesn’t the agency have a copy of the manuscript?”

  “No. Bonaventure told his agent the general outline of the book and that it was ready to be sent to publishers. He only called so they could discuss which houses to submit it to. All he emailed the agency was a one-page summary of the book.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, searching for any sign of Aunt Vicki. “If you have both Bonaventure’s and Ellen’s copy of the manuscript, then you already know what’s in it.”

  “Of course we know,” he said in a weary voice. “That’s why we need her computer. We sent someone to search Mr. Bowman’s cabin and treehouse today while the police had us detained. He found nothing. You’re the only other person she would have given it to.”

  “I’ll take you to my house right this minute and you can search all the rooms.”

  “That was done yesterday while you were at the conference center.” He smiled at my shocked cry. “Didn’t even know someone was in your house, did you? That’s how expert my people are. Able to paw through closets and drawers and not leave a thing out of place. Nor did they leave any prints. They found your
parrot and kitten amusing. And they were tempted to eat the leftover Kung Pao shrimp in your refrigerator, but wisely refrained.”

  To think strangers had invaded my house, gone through my things, and played with my animals sent me into a rage. “Why are you telling me this? To prove how despicable you are?”

  “I’m telling you because our patience is at an end. We know you have the computer. Or that you know where it is. We’ll pay you well for it. Along with your silence.”

  The driver rapped on the window and pointed. We looked behind us. Two Humane Hearts vans pulled up the drive. A tsunami of relief washed over me.

  “Are we done with our conversation? Or should the animal shelter volunteers join us?”

  “We’re done,” he said. “I’ve made my position clear. And you can pass on our conversation to the police. It won’t matter. There’s no way to prove anyone broke into your house. Or Mr. Bowman’s. My people are quite adept at their jobs.”

  “I plan to tell the police the same literary agency handled you and Bonaventure.”

  “I assume they already know. If not, they soon will. I’m not concerned. Our agency did the rational thing by rejecting the manuscript. The irrational element in all this is Ellen Nagy.”

  He paused to give me a searching look. “And you.”

  “Three people are dead,” I said in disgust. “Don’t you feel any responsibility?”

  “My only responsibility is to protect my family from ruin.”

  “And that justifies the break-ins you ordered? The lies?”

  “Ms. Jacob, the truth does not always set you free. In fact, it’s much more likely to get one thrown in prison.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Or killed.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “A warning. My family leaves tomorrow. If you’re as clever as I believe, you will hand over the computer. If not . . .”

  I didn’t ask him to elaborate.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Although my day began with a shocking death, it ended with a pajama party. Such is life in Oriole Point.