A Berry Clever Corpse_A Laugh-Out-Loud Kylie Berry Mystery

by A. R. Winters

  Everyone standing, Zoey and myself included, found a chair. That left ten chairs full and what looked like another thirty-five chairs empty. It was a modest and sad turnout.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” the man at the front began, then stopped when there was the sound of more attendees coming down the hall. To my astonishment, in walked Derek, Winnie, Patty, and Manny—the homeless people who had been living in the park next to Mike’s house. They were some of the few people to who Mike had shown kindness, so I didn’t know why I was so surprised that they would come to pay their last respects.

  “Dearly beloved,” the preacher began again, but once more stopped upon the entrance of yet another newcomer. It was Conrad. He didn’t spot us. He simply took a seat in the front row, and the preacher continued.

  “That’s Conrad. Are you sure you don’t know him?” Zoey whispered to Claudia by twisting around in her seat.

  Claudia studied Conrad, then shook her head. “No.”

  Chapter 13

  Mike's funeral had been short and filled with generalities. There hadn’t been anything specific about it. It was clear that the preacher hadn’t known Mike, and no one in attendance had stood up to reminisce about his life. It had been a cold, sterile event, and it made me think that the funeral itself had probably not been much different than the days he’d spent in the morgue, waiting for his final farewell.

  “Where to next?” Zoey asked when we were back in the car.

  “Let's go see Susie. She hadn't reopened her shop the last time I talked her, but maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe she'll know who Emily is or maybe she'll know of someone else who would know who Emily is.”

  When we reached the road where Susie’s shop was, not only was Susie’s shop open, but all the other little shops on both sides of the road were open as well. Agatha had said that Mike had bought up the store fronts on both sides of the road. If that were true, then that meant that it was business as usual for all of Mike’s renters. It was yet another testimony to the lack of positive impact that Mike had had on the people in his life. No one was actively trying to remember him or celebrate his life. He was like a stone that gets thrown into a pond. The stone sinks but doesn’t make a hole. That water simply fills in above it so that a person would never know it had even been there.

  It made me wonder: if I were to die at this point in my life, would my disappearance go unnoticed as well? Would there be anyone who would feel my absence?

  “We're here," Zoe said, putting the car in park and turning off the engine.

  Looking over at her, I realized that she was the person who would miss me. In fact, she was my person. My go-to person. My where-the-heck-are-you person anytime anything went good or bad in my life. Thelma and Louise. Lucy and Ethel. Romy and Michelle. It had happened so fast that I wasn’t even sure when it had happened. But it had. And because of that—because of her—no matter what, I knew that I’d be missed if something happened to me. Not just mourned, but missed.

  “What?” Zoey asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. I guess that I’d stared at her a little too long as I marveled over what our friendship had grown into. Zoey wiped at her face. “I got a booger on my nose or something?”

  “Just a small one,” I teased. I waved my finger at her face near the end of her nose. “Right here.”

  Zoey rubbed at her nose.

  “Ewww,” I said, making face. “You just smeared it.”

  Zoey yanked the rearview mirror in her direction, saw that her face was clean, then smacked me on the arm. “Payback’s a b—”

  “Bucket of chicken? Please say it’s a bucket of chicken.” There wasn’t a reception after the funeral—which meant no food—and I was hungry.

  “How are you so skinny?” Zoey asked. “I’ve never seen anybody as small as you eat so much.”

  “Hazards of the trade,” I shot back. “I gotta taste the food to know if it’s any good.”

  “I’m amazed your taste buds still work after torturing them with your cooking. You need new taste buds… attached to a chef. A really cute chef who used to be a male stripper and who like to cook in only an apron.”

  “Hey! I run a family-friendly business. He has to at least wear boxers.”

  We got out of the car and headed toward Susie’s Clip & Dye. The “Open” sign was flipped outward. Inside we found Susie with a client. Susie’s eyes were shiny and red-rimmed, and her hand shook as she held the tips of the woman’s hair between her fingers in preparation to cut.

  “Hi,” I said. I instantly regretted not coming with something in hand, something like chocolate muffins or a to-go order of lasagna from the café. Comfort food. Susie looked terrible. She looked like she could use a little chicken soup for the soul. “I know you’re with a client, but do you have a minute?”

  “Sure,” she said. If anything, Susie looked relieved for the interruption.

  We followed her to the back of her shop and through a door that led to a little room. Every inch of wall was lined with shelves, and all the shelves were packed full of hair care product. The air had a slight chemical scent, and I guessed it was from the hastily rinsed bowls containing hair dye mixture in the small room’s utility sink.

  Susie sat down on a low step stool. Her knees were high and pressed together and her feet were splayed far apart. She slouched, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if a cigarette had magically materialized in her hand. She looked like she needed one.

  “I was a little surprised to see you open today,” I said. She did not look together enough to be here.

  “Betty across the street has been trying to steal my customers ever since I opened shop here. She’s such a… a… whatever you can think of that’s bad, she’s worse. I had to come in or I’d have no clients left by the time this all gets sorted.”

  “How are things going?”

  “Not good.” She ran a shaky hand through her glossy brown hair. “They had me in for questioning for eight hours yesterday. Eight hours straight!” Even her voice shook, and it sounded as worn thin as she looked.

  “When’s that last time you slept?” I asked on a hunch.

  “Almost none at all, not since Mr. Pratt got killed.” She swiped a tear away from her cheek. “I keep having nightmares. I keep seeing him die. His hand reaching out, all desperate and scared.”

  It was quite the image, and I couldn’t help wonder if it were a memory rather than a product of her imagination.

  “Is that the way it happened?” I asked.

  “The way what happened?” Susie asked.

  “Is that how Mr. Pratt looked as he died?”

  Susie turned instantly indignant. “How the heck would I know? You think I did it, don’t you? Just like everybody else.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. She was certainly top of the list, but we were doing the best we could to find a person to replace her as suspect number one.

  “Do you know anyone named Emily?” Zoey asked with a calm voice. It helped to diffuse the sudden anger that had filled the room.

  “Emily? What about her?”

  Bingo!

  “We had some questions,” Zoey answered.

  Susie’s wounded, accusatory gaze cut to me. “You’re investigating this, aren’t you? Even after I told you to stay out?”

  I knelt down so that I could be more at eye level with Susie. I put a hand on her knee. “Is us not investigating helping you any?”

  Susie closed her eyes, and a couple more tears slipped free. She shook her head no.

  “So what’s the harm in if we talk to people?”

  Susie opened her eyes and pinned me with a stare full of so much fear that it was hard not to look away. “This is my life, Kylie. It’s not a game. If you mess things up for the cops, if you get in the way, where does that leave me? What if the killer gets away because of something you do? You’re amateurs, Kylie. Both of you. You got lucky solving those other two murders, but I don’t want you taking those risks with my life. If
you mess this up, it’s me that goes away to prison. Not you. Me. I’d rather take my chances with the professionals.”

  “But Susie, the professionals think that you did it. They’re looking into every possible way to connect you to Mike Pratt’s murder.” It was honestly a guess. I was sure that I wasn’t being fair to the police’s investigative process. But it was Susie who they’d questioned for eight hours yesterday. That sounded like they were trying to get her to crack, trying to get her to confess. If that were true, they probably weren’t considering any other possibilities.

  Susie had been there the day that Mike had gotten killed. In fact, she’d been there twice, and she’d had a big argument with him because he’d been trying to ruin her financially. He’d also had her trapped in a contract that she wanted out of. He was even threatening a lawsuit. On top of all of that, her fingerprints were all over the murder weapon—the shredder.

  Means. Motive. Opportunity. Susie had them all. I couldn’t blame the police for making her the focus of their investigation. Everything was pointing to her.

  “But I didn’t do it,” Susie said, sounding like a lost little girl. “I’m innocent.”

  “Then let us help the police see that,” I said. “Let us help you.”

  Susie didn’t seem convinced. Her lips were pinched tightly together.

  It was Zoey’s turn to press again. “Where can we find Emily?”

  Silence hung in the air for so long that I almost shattered it by saying that she knew where to find us if she decided to talk. But then she cracked. She gave us what we needed.

  “Emily owns the bath and candle shop down the street, but I don’t know why you want to talk to her. I don’t think she even rented her space from him.”

  “Thanks, Susie,” I said, standing up in preparation to go.

  Susie grabbed my hand. “Don’t screw this up for me, Kylie. I don’t want to go to jail.”

  Chapter 14

  One of the biggest differences between Camden Falls and Chicago was that in Camden Falls everybody drives everywhere. There is no bus. There is no train. There is no public transportation beyond taxis and services like Uber. And if a person was to decide to walk, they'd do so at their own peril. Once you got off of Main Street, none of the roads had shoulders or sidewalks. There was road and then there was dirt and grass—if you were lucky. Sometimes there was road and then there was air from where the ground would suddenly drop away from the side of the road by ten feet or more. No guard rail.

  So instead of walking just down the street to Emily’s store, Scented Delights, we drove. This time there was a small parking lot, and we parked in front of the store and headed in.

  As soon as we opened the door to the little shop, a wall of scents washed over us. Instead of being overwhelming, though, it was nice. I could pick out cucumber, melon, lavender, pumpkin, pine, and vanilla. There were other scents, too, but they were lost to me, hidden among the others.

  “Thank you. Come again,” the woman at the cash register told a customer as she handed over a bag made heavy with its contents. I guessed her to be in her mid to late thirties. She was taller than either Zoey or me, but I wouldn’t call her tall. She was slender but not skinny, and she had a pleasant and inviting face. She looked like the type of person you’d feel comfortable striking up a conversation with in the checkout lane of a store. She had a button nose, wore round, hippie-style glasses, and had dimples. But the feature that stood out to me the most was her thick black hair. The cut was different than the picture of the woman who was on vacation with Mike, but it could definitely be her.

  I was sure that this Emily was the same Emily who Mike was rumored to have been in a serious relationship with.

  Zoey and I looked around while the store’s only other remaining customer finished shopping. As I looked around, I really hoped that Emily was not Mike’s murderer. Her shop was really cute! She had shelves that spanned from countertop to ceiling, and they were all filled with things that I wanted to buy and take home. She had candles of every scent imaginable with all natural hemp, cotton or wood wicks. She also had bath salts, bath balms, lotions, and shampoos and conditioners. Most of the lotions and hair products were pre-scented, but you also had the option of coming up with custom scents.

  I was absolutely in love. I wanted to come back here and spend every dime that I didn’t have. I was tempted to give Zoey my purse so that she could guard my wallet. After all, I had a train engine-sized boiler to pay for.

  “Thank you. Come again,” the woman at the cash register said to the only other customer in the store. That person left, and then the cashier focused her attention on us. She came out from behind the checkout counter and headed our way.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before,” she said as she reached us. “I have a large line of items for relaxation and self-pampering, and I do custom gift baskets as well.”

  “It’s a beautiful store,” I said. Please don’t be the killer. Please don’t be the killer. Please don’t be the killer. I wanted to buy at least one of everything she had, but I couldn’t afford any of it. I’d have to wait. But if she was the killer, I wouldn’t be able to get any of it… now or later. “Is this your store?”

  “It is. I designed most of the products here. I’m Emily Winston.”

  Zoey spoke up next, which relieved me. I was too smitten with all the beautiful candles and already daydreaming of sinking down into another hot bath with one of her bath bombs fizzing away.

  “Will you have to relocate your store after the death of the property owner?” Zoey asked.

  “The what?” Emily asked, looking a bit blindsided. “I own this property.”

  “Oh!” I said. It was time to prime the well and see if I got anything out of it. “It was our understanding that Mike Pratt owned this property.”

  “No, I purchased the property from Mike a few years ago.”

  Yay! We’d managed to establish a connection between Mike and this particular Emily. Now to see if she was the Emily who had been involved with Mike. “Was that before your relationship with Mike ended?” I asked.

  Emily looked from me to Zoey and back, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Who are you? What’s this about? I bought this property. I’m the deed holder, and I can prove it.”

  Shucks. She’d gone on the defensive without giving us any new information.

  “We believe you,” I said, hoping to soothe her sudden distrust of us. “We’re friends with Susie up the street. She runs Susie’s Clip & Dye. We know that Mike owned most of the property on both sides of the road. We’d just assumed that this was part of it.”

  “That still doesn’t tell me who you are or why you’re here.”

  I hadn’t managed to put her at ease at all.

  “We’re looking into Mike’s death,” Zoey said, and I wished she hadn’t. We still needed to talk to Mike’s other tenants, and I didn’t want word about what Zoey and I were doing to get out. If the killer found out, knowing that we were coming would give them time to work on their story and cover their tracks. Zoey and I didn’t have the benefit of DNA evidence or even fingerprints. All we had in our bag of tricks was talking to people and hoping they revealed a tidbit of information that would get us one step closer to figuring out the truth.

  “What’s that got to do with me?” Emily asked. Her defensiveness hadn’t eased, and it was time to bluff.

  “You and Mike were a couple,” I said. “You’d been in a serious relationship, and you went on vacation together. Yet you didn’t even bother to go to his funeral.”

  Emily’s arms dropped to her sides. “Our relationship ended almost three years ago.”

  I heard a note of guilt in her voice. I guessed it was because she didn’t go to pay her final respects. “Why weren’t you at the funeral?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “You’re going to have more customers coming in sooner or later,” Zoey said. “I’m guessing that you’d rather us not b
e here, asking you these questions when that happens.”

  Emily glanced at the door as her lips thinned with stress and disapproval. Zoey was right. Someone was bound to show up sooner or later. Talking about a dead body lying in the cold, hard ground would be a bit of a buzz kill for her feel-good business.

  “Like I said, it’s none of your business. Mike and I ended years ago.”

  “Then you won’t mind talking to us about him,” I said, “given that it won’t be too upsetting for you.”

  The woman looked as though she wanted to call me a few choice words, but she chewed them around her mouth instead without letting any of them out. “What do you want to know?”

  “Mike sold you this property. Why?” Zoey asked. “He hasn’t sold off any of this other property.”

  Emily shrugged. “When our relationship ended, Mike was hurt. His pride was hurt. But, I think he was relieved, too.”

  “So you’re the one who made the decision to end it?” I asked.

  “I did. Mike had been there when I needed someone in my life. And, things were great at first. He was the sweetest guy… to me. But the more time I spent with him, it was like the mask would slip and I’d get a peek at the person behind it. He was horrible. He was so mean.”

  “But not to you?” I asked.

  “No, not to me. He was always good to me. I, uh, never asked him for anything, you see. I think that might have been it. I finally noticed it in his dealings with others. He was great to people but as soon as they asked him for anything, he went from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. He’d turn mean. Gleefully mean. It made him happy.” Her face was scrunched like she’d just eaten something distasteful.

  “So what happened between you?” Zoey asked.

  Emily shrugged. “I gave his ring back. We didn’t get married. And he let me buy this place from him as, I don’t know, a breakup gift. I think that he cared what I thought about him and wanted me to think well of him and that that was why he let me buy this place. I’ve, uh, heard stories from some of his tenants. Not good stories. I know that he could be difficult.”