Mulberry Mischief

by Sharon Farrow

  What I needed next was to eat something that wasn’t covered in chocolate or drenched in sugar. I returned to the kitchen where I had earlier put together a kale salad with grilled chicken. I sat at my kitchen island and dug in.

  I welcomed the sudden silence as much as the healthy food. Last night’s pajama party had been fun and wonderfully distracting. And we had all stayed up much too late. However, I was used to living alone. I needed solitary time. Time to hear my own thoughts.

  I glanced over at the small white box that Piper’s security team installed on my wall yesterday. It had never occurred to me to worry about security, especially in Oriole Point. But after Cameron Sable revealed that my house had been searched, I saw the wisdom of such measures. At least while he and his cronies were in town.

  And they were still a threat. Kit called earlier and told me Ellen’s relatives were demanding answers about her death. Too little, too late, I thought. But their demands had compelled the police to instruct the Sables to remain in Oriole Point a few days longer. That sounded great for the investigation. Not so great for me.

  While I ate my salad, I went over what I’d learned about the Nanny Murder. Why did Ellen become so unhappy during her last week on Mackinac Island? Ainsley had been unhappy enough to fire the nanny. And given how she described the French girl to me yesterday, it was clear Ainsley had been jealous, and not just over the baby. She implied Laeticia Murier was accustomed to getting her own way with men. Did that include Patrick Sable?

  The nanny was unhappy, too, and apparently had been since their extended stay on St. Lucia. She found herself catering to a recuperating Ingrid, a depressed Ainsley, and a newborn. At least she’d found contentment in caring for the infant. In fact, the arrival of the baby helped her forget how miserable she was, at least according to Ingrid. Ingrid also said Laeticia threatened to leave several times that last summer. But she didn’t. Why not? Was it really because she had grown fond of the lavish lifestyle of the Sables? Or was there another reason for her to stay?

  I stopped eating. What if she had an added reason to care about the child? I thought back to the timeline of the final year of the nanny’s life. She, Ingrid, and Ainsley spent the last five months of Ainsley’s pregnancy on the island of St. Lucia. And remained there two months longer. Supposedly because they were concerned about Ainsley’s extended morning sickness, followed by postpartum depression.

  But what if Ainsley had never been pregnant? A child emerged out of the situation, so someone was pregnant. What if it was the nanny? If that were true, who was the father?

  “A Sable,” I said aloud. It had to be, otherwise why would Ainsley pretend the child was her own? And the rest of the family must have known. Had to have known.

  But which Sable fathered the child? The teenaged Keith, perhaps. Or was it Patrick, Ainsley’s husband? Joshua did look like the Sable men, even if he was better looking. In fact, there was a distinct resemblance between him and the photos of the young Laeticia Murier. Had Ainsley agreed to adopt the child fathered by her own husband with the nanny? It seemed outlandish, unless one had seen how much Ainsley wanted to please and emulate her mother-in-law. If Ingrid Sable told her to adopt the child, I felt certain Ainsley would.

  But there was another Sable male who might have sired the baby. My stomach turned at the idea, but it was possible Joshua was the son—and not the grandson—of Cameron Sable.

  This line of reasoning made me lose my appetite. I marched over to the sink to rinse my plate. As soon as I saw Kit tonight, I’d talk this over with him. See if I was completely crazy or if the scenario made sense.

  Barking from the front of the house broke my train of thought.

  I hurried down the hallway and peeked out the window beside the door. Two chocolate Labradors gamboled on my front lawn. They belonged to Doug Washington, my next-door neighbor. With a relieved smile, I stepped out on the porch.

  Clapping my hands, I called out, “Pan! Cleo! What are you two doing?”

  They galloped onto my porch, threw themselves against me, licked my face, then jumped off the porch once more.

  “Don’t mind them.” Doug came into view. “I had them inside during the trick-or-treating. Now they’ve got energy to burn. I thought I’d play a few rounds of Frisbee with them.” He held up a Frisbee. “But they prefer chasing each other at the moment.”

  “Looks like you gave them shots of espresso, too.” I laughed as the dogs raced back and forth over my lawn, weaving around the jack-o’-lanterns.

  “Big babies. We got back from Chicago this afternoon, where they were cooped up in my brother’s apartment. I wanted to be here for Halloween though. I love to give out candy. And of course I can’t miss the parade.” He lifted up his arms to better display his black cowboy outfit. “I’m the bad guy this year. But you look like the forces of good. Daenerys, right?”

  “Right. And Kit is coming as Jon Snow.”

  The dogs ran up to him, both trying to reach the Frisbee he held. “Oh, now you want to play.” Doug sent the Frisbee flying.

  The dogs dashed after it. The nearest street lamp was half a block down so I had no idea how the dogs would find the Frisbee in the dark. Doug threw it in the wrong direction too, at least for a game of night Frisbee.

  Although my house faced Lake Michigan, Lakeshore Drive ran between it and the stairs that led to my beach. The narrow road didn’t see much traffic, and I wasn’t worried the dogs would get run over. However, the Labs might have a hard time finding the Frisbee on the wide grassy patch that overlooked the lake.

  “Get back here,” he called to them. “We’ll find the Frisbee in the morning.” He turned to me and shrugged. “I think they’ve lost interest in the Frisbee. They’re jumping over your Adirondack chairs. Probably peeing on your mulberry trees, too.”

  “What did you say?” I said sharply.

  “I was only kidding, Marlee. But they shouldn’t be running wild on your property anyway. I’ll get them.”

  While he ran to collect his Labs, I hurried into the house. When I ran out again, I held a flashlight. Doug had managed to get the dogs to follow him. They now decided to play Frisbee once more, but on his front lawn instead.

  I headed for my mulberry trees. A week ago, I had my first conversation with Leticia. All of it focused on mulberries. When she requested a great quantity of the berries, I told her it was too bad she hadn’t come to me in summer when the mulberry trees on my property dropped hundreds of berries. She claimed that was further evidence of the special power my mulberries had. My mulberries.

  And at the conference center before the smoke bombs went off, I asked her where the manuscript was.

  “Safe with the mulberries,” she told me. “Your mulberries.”

  I wanted to knock myself on the head with the flashlight for only remembering that now. She knew there were other special mulberries besides those I had left on her porch. And those mulberry trees were literally right in front of me all this time.

  When I reached my four Adirondack chairs, the area surrounding both them and the trees was visible in the moonlight. As was the lake glimmering below me. Still, I switched on the flashlight and swept it over the ground. Dead leaves were piled everywhere and I kicked them away. I walked around each mulberry tree, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The nearby barking of Pan and Cleo continued unabated, which felt comforting.

  I debated going to my garage for a shovel. But I didn’t see anything suspicious on the ground, so where would I start digging? I almost sat down on one of the Adirondack chairs before remembering I had already slipped canvas covers on them, in preparation for winter.

  I looked at the covered chairs. They sat directly beneath the biggest mulberry tree. Kneeling on the ground, I lifted each of the canvas covers. The beam from the flashlight revealed nothing under the first two. Beneath the third chair sat a metal box.

  Holding my breath, I slowly pulled it out. The metal box wasn’t locked. When I opened it, I saw a laptop computer. C
overed in white mulberries.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I wanted to make a mad dash to the house with the metal box. But in my long skirt, I worried I might trip and fall, damaging the computer. I also worried someone could be watching from the moon-dappled shadows around me. Clutching the box to my chest, I carefully walked back to the house. Doug and the dogs still played Frisbee on his lawn. Thank God for the boisterous Pan and Cleo. If they hadn’t been out there, I might have grown panicky.

  Still, my paranoia ran high. I gave a prayer of thanks to Piper when I punched in my new home security code. I’d turned the system on when I ran out to the mulberry trees, and felt confident no one lay in wait for me inside.

  Once I locked the door behind me and set the laptop on my home-office desk, my anxiety worsened. If the Sables sent someone to watch me, they would have seen me take a suspicious box from beneath my trees. Under cover of night, too. It wouldn’t take a Mensa scholar to know it held the laptop. I listened for any furtive sounds while hooking up the computer.

  Fortunately, Ellen and I owned the same model MacBook Pro. But she had taken no chances and included the charger in the box. Before turning it on, I suddenly hurried to the living room, where I had left the mulberry bracelet Ellen gave me. After I slipped the elastic band onto my wrist, I grew calmer. The bracelet’s dried mulberries might not possess any special magical power, but they reminded me that, despite all her troubles, Ellen had wanted to keep me safe. I felt that she was nearby and watching out for me. And on All Hallows’ Eve, too.

  Sitting down at my desk, I turned on the computer. As the iconic apple appeared on the screen, I phoned Kit. When I got his voicemail, I groaned. I had no idea if he was still at the sheriff’s department or had already gone off duty and went home to get into costume.

  “Kit, I found the laptop,” I said when the voicemail beep sounded. “She left it in a metal box under my mulberry tree. Please call me as soon as you can.”

  With the computer now on, I sighed when I saw the photo she had chosen for her screen saver: a haunting image of Lake Michigan. It wasn’t enough for her to go to the beach to stare at the lake. She looked at the lake every time she used her laptop.

  The tragic sadness of her life and premature death struck me again. I told myself this was not the time to grieve. Not when I had the story someone was willing to kill for right in front of me. Leticia had left it in my custody, knowing I would let the public know the truth about the Nanny Murder. First, I had to learn what that truth was.

  Although the desktop displayed folders labeled “Felix Bonaventure,” “Sable Family,” “Mulberries,” and “Nanny Murder,” the one I clicked on was “Mischief and Murder.” In the folder I found the manuscript itself, which began with a dedication: To Laeticia Murier, who has waited too long for the truth to be known. I have never forgotten you. I never will. I hope this book makes you rest easier. I am no longer afraid. And justice will be done.

  I began to read the first chapter, and soon lost track of time. When my mantel clock chimed at nine o’clock, it startled me. It also served as a reminder that I still hadn’t heard from Kit. Maybe he was too busy to check his phone and intended to meet me as planned at my shop before the parade. Since the parade began at ten o’clock, I needed to read faster.

  Soon after, I sat back, shaken. I now knew who killed the nanny. When I called Kit again, he picked up. I quickly told him what had happened, and he instructed me to stay put until he got to my house. He had just changed into his costume and could be at my house in less than half an hour.

  I listened to the silence in my house. Was it too silent perhaps? No doubt I was spooking myself, but I felt like a sitting duck. Yes, I had a security system, but it wouldn’t stop anyone from breaking in. The killer could finish me off and grab the laptop long before Kit even left his apartment in New Bethel.

  “I think I’m safer waiting at my store. There are thousands of people right now on Lyall Street, in town for the parade. I’ll lock myself inside the store and wait for you there.”

  He promised to be there as soon as he could.

  Picking up the metal box, I got ready to unplug the computer so I could take it with me. I stopped. What if I was waylaid between here and Oriole Point, even if it was only a three-minute drive? I needed to make certain the manuscript wouldn’t be lost even if the computer was.

  Opening Leticia’s email app, I attached the manuscript file to a message and sent it to myself. Once I retrieved the message on my computer, I dashed off an email of my own. I’d send this message to Kit, the state police, and Chief Hitchcock. Next, I attached the manuscript to the message. Just as I was about to send it off, I remembered someone else I’d be wise to mail it to. After checking the email address on my phone, I added Delta Marsh to the message. I hit Send.

  The laptop might end up stolen or destroyed. But I’d made certain the manuscript survived. Now I had to make sure I survived as well.

  * * *

  I heard the crowds in downtown Oriole Point before I reached Lyall Street. People came from all over Michigan and Illinois for this night. With many more traveling here from Indiana, Ohio, and Wisconsin. It was our version of Mardi Gras. Judging by the rowdy noise of the thousands thronging downtown, it was clear they had been celebrating for quite a while.

  The cross streets to Lyall were closed to traffic, forcing me to take a circuitous route by the marina, then illegally drive over a patch of harborside lawn in order to reach the small parking lot behind my store. Everyone would be fighting for parking tonight, so I’d left two traffic cones in my shop-owner parking space. Accompanied by a sign warning people they would be ticketed if they parked there. It wasn’t true, but it often worked. Tonight it did.

  After I went in the back entrance to The Berry Basket, I made sure to not only lock the door behind me, but placed several rolling bakery shelves in front of it. If someone tried to break in from the back, the falling shelves would alert me.

  I looked down at the metal box I held. Kit would be here soon, but I wanted to hide it nonetheless. Who knew what was in the rest of the files? My small cramped office would be the first place someone would look. The storage room ran a close second. There were few places to tuck anything away in Theo’s immaculate kitchen.

  In pursuit of a hiding spot, I walked into the shop. The only illumination inside came from a string of orange lights I’d draped around the front counter. However, the town put up large lights along the sidewalk for the parade, almost as bright as the lights seen on outdoor film sets. These cast more than enough light inside the store.

  I wandered about the shop, taking care to sidestep the decorative pumpkins, scarecrows, and hay bales scattered about the floor. The shelves were too small to conceal a laptop, and they were crammed with merchandise besides. Behind the counter would be as obvious as my office. So where to put it?

  I went to the front window to look at the hordes of costumed people on the sidewalk. No one looked back. Indeed, everyone was too busy fighting for a place closer to the curb. The crowd was already three deep and growing. Most of the revelers wore costumes, even if they didn’t plan to be in the parade. The restaurants and bars held costume parties and contests afterward, with drinks flowing freely. It was time to party. The noise level was high and not just from the crowd. A sidewalk sound system blared Halloween music and spooky sound effects. Right now, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” thundered outside.

  I wished I could be out there enjoying it as I usually did. This was my favorite night all year. Much more fun than New Year’s Eve. Instead I found myself hiding in my store. And hoping the killer avoided downtown tonight.

  Someone dressed as a scarecrow walked past. That prompted me to straighten the hat of the scarecrow that sat in my front window display. A scarecrow wearing a Berry Basket T-shirt, of course. I cast a rueful eye at all the straw scattered in the window. I really had gone overboard. There was enough straw in there to bury the scarecrow.

  Or a lapt
op.

  After I made certain no one outside was looking at the window, I quickly buried the laptop and metal box beneath a virtual mountain of straw. Placing a big cloth pumpkin over it, I gave it a pat. Then I touched my mulberry bracelet for good luck.

  I stood watching the crowd. No one cast a suspicious glance at my store. Good. The laptop and I should be safe until Kit arrived. I didn’t bother to call the police. Virtually every officer was on crowd control duty tonight. The parade would be over by eleven o’clock, at which point, I’d find Chief Hitchcock. At the moment he had his hands full trying to control drunken revelers. I just needed to sit tight until then. Besides, I had already told Kit who the killer was, at least according to Mischief and Murder. I didn’t ask what he intended to do with the info, but I hoped it included sending a sheriff’s car to the hotel where the Sables were staying.

  The Phantom of the Opera walked past my window and peeked in. He suddenly stopped, his mask turned toward me. I hoped it was merely someone who admired my Game of Thrones costume. It had been a mistake to stand here in clear view outfitted as Daenerys. Dragons, included. I was hardly unobtrusive.

  The Phantom waved. I cautiously waved back. This encouraged him to walk to the shop entrance and pull on the locked door.

  I froze, hoping he would go away. He knocked. Maybe it was a friend. Someone I could convince to leave.

  He seemed persistent. I went over to the glass shop door. “Sorry, we’re closed.”

  The Phantom removed his mask. It was Theo. “Let me in, Marlee.”

  After ushering him inside, I locked the door again.

  “Why are you in the store?” he asked. “It’s more fun out there.”

  “I’m waiting for Kit.” This wasn’t the time to explain about the hidden laptop and the killer looking for it.

  “If you want to march in the parade, you have to go to the end of the street and get in line.” He wore a worried expression. “You don’t want to be late.”