Dead and Berried

by Karen MacInerney

  I was suddenly glad I had stuffed myself with Emmeline’s cookies. It was a good excuse not to choke down any more culinary offerings.

  Benjamin took my elbow and escorted me to the dining room, where he had laid an elaborate table. A candle flickered. The centerpiece was a dozen huge red roses.

  “Where’s Candy?” I asked.

  “Oh, after the kayaking, she decided to take a nap.”

  “Benjamin,” I said. “This is too much.”

  “Nonsense.” He pulled a chair and guided me to it, his hand caressing my back. I remembered the night at Z Tejas with a stab. “I’ll be right back with your champagne.”

  “Champagne?” I turned in my chair. “But Benjamin...”

  He had already disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Frank Sinatra, who was giving it his all from the stereo in the parlor.

  Benjamin backed through the door a moment later carrying two flutes of champagne. “Dom Perignon,” he beamed. “Only the best for you.”

  I took a small sip, and an image of John’s face popped into my head. “The lady is a tramp,” crooned Frank in the background. If I didn’t make a stand now, Frank could be right.

  I set the flute down on the table. “This is all wrong.”

  Benjamin glided over to me, hurt in his blue eyes, and reached for my hand. At that moment, the door to the kitchen opened, and John poked his head through.

  “Natalie? Your kitchen is smoking...” His eyes took in the roses, the candles, and Benjamin, who hung onto my hand as if it was a life preserver. “Oh. Sorry to interrupt.”

  I yanked my hand out of Benjamin’s and jumped up, bumping the table with my knee. My champagne flute toppled over, spilling about $50 worth of champagne onto the floor. “John! Just the person I wanted to see!”

  I turned to Benjamin. “Benjamin, this is my neighbor John. John, this is Benjamin.” They shook hands like prizefighters about to enter the ring.

  I smiled at John, hoping the champagne had washed any remaining chocolate off of my teeth. “Benjamin just surprised me by cooking dinner. It looks like he made a ton of food. Won’t you join us?”

  John took a step back. Whether it was a reaction to the prospect of spending an hour in Benjamin’s company or to the possibility of having to eat what he’d just seen in the kitchen, I wasn’t sure. “Oh, no,” he said. “I couldn’t.” He turned to me. “I just came by to tell you that the medical examiner called. You were right. There were four bullets in the gun, not six.”

  “How many bullets did they recover during the autopsy?”

  “Only one.”

  “Then where’s the other bullet?”

  He shrugged. “It was a semi-automatic, and they only retrieved one casing. Maybe the gun wasn’t fully loaded.”

  “There was a box of bullets in her dresser drawer. Did anyone count them?”

  “It’s considered a suicide, Nat. They hardly looked at the house.”

  “Won’t they now?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  Well, the police hadn’t, but I would.

  Benjamin stepped forward. I had forgotten he was there. “Are you in law enforcement?” he asked John.

  “Among other things.”

  “How interesting. I’ve always wondered. Is it lucrative, being a policeman?”

  John stiffened. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I once considered it, but decided that business was a far better bet. So far,” he chuckled, “it’s worked out pretty well.” Benjamin turned to me. “Now, darling, are you ready for the first course?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, watching John’s face. “I had an awful lot of cookies at the church.”

  “Well, I’d better be going,” John said. His eyes were on me. “Have a nice evening.”

  “Are you sure you won’t stay?”

  “Positive. Bon appetit. Sorry to interrupt.” He wheeled around and disappeared through the kitchen door.

  As I stared at the door, Benjamin clapped his hands together and beamed at me. He pulled out my chair, tipped my glass upright, and refilled it. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll be back in a moment with the first course?” Then he vanished into the kitchen. While he was gone, I took a few long sips of bubbly. After what I’d smelled in the kitchen, I needed all the courage I could get—even if it did come in liquid form.

  By the time Benjamin backed through the door a few minutes later, Sinatra had moved onto Dinner at Eight. “Blackened shrimp scampi,” my former fiancé announced with a flourish, and produced a platter of what looked like charcoal briquettes swimming in a pool of aged automotive oil.

  I poked at one with a tentative fork. “I’ve never heard of blackened scampi.”

  “It’s a brand-new recipe,” he said. “It kind of developed during the cooking process.”

  I steeled myself and took a small bite. Then I reached for the champagne.

  “Wait till you see what’s next. I’ve prepared you a full three-course meal.”

  I smiled weakly and drained my glass.

  ___

  Two hours later, I crept up the stairs and downed a handful of Tums and some aspirin. Benjamin had lobbied hard to join me, but after “blackened” shrimp scampi followed by hockey-puck- style filet mignon and ending with a baked Alaska that looked and tasted like burnt Styrofoam, it had been easy to say no.

  My stomach gurgled threateningly as I climbed into bed. I lay down and almost crushed Biscuit, who shot me an irritated look and rearranged herself in the small of my back. I eased my head onto the pillow and hoped the Tums would do their magic soon. I didn’t want to think about anything—Polly, the flooded rooms, Benjamin, Charlene, my kitchen....

  I groaned. I had forgotten about the kitchen. Thanks to Benjamin’s culinary fireworks, I needed time to sandblast the place before I started making breakfast. The room spun around me as I reached to set the alarm clock for an hour earlier. Then I groaned a second time and fell back into the pillow.

  Whether because of the champagne or the charred cuisine, I quickly fell into a set of lurid dreams. One moment I was stuck on a rotisserie, with Benjamin, John, Candy, and Charlene roasting marshmallows and poking at me with a meat thermometer. Then they all morphed into trees, and I was at the bog again, staring down at Polly. A cat mewed urgently, but I couldn’t find it. As I stood transfixed, Polly’s brown eyes faded to gray, and the contours of her face melted into features I didn’t recognize. I tried to back away, but my limbs were frozen. I watched with horror as the bloodless lips began to move. “Natalie,” the dead woman whispered. “Help me...”

  I sat up panting, my nightshirt clinging to my sweaty body. I wiped my hair out of my eyes and tried to slow my breathing. Biscuit mewed in protest and burrowed further under the covers. I lay back down, resolving never again to eat anything that Benjamin had cooked, and closed my eyes.

  I had just drifted off when the ceiling creaked.

  My eyes flew open. Biscuit uttered a low growl and dug her claws into my back.

  I heard a slithery sound, like something being dragged, from the ceiling above the window. Then a creak. Biscuit hissed as I pulled her off of me. My mouth was sour with fear and stale alcohol as I cowered under the covers, listening as the slithering sound moved closer. I held my breath until it had almost reached the ceiling above my bed. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I yelled.

  “STOP IT!”

  The dragging ceased instantly. Biscuit leaped from the covers and scrambled under the bed. Footsteps rushed down the hall.

  Gwen burst through the door and flipped on the light. Biscuit shot past her legs and bounded down the stairs.

  “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Did you hear anything just now?” My throat was raw, and the words came out as g
asps.

  “Just you. Are you okay?”

  “You didn’t hear anything?”

  “No. Why? What’s wrong?”

  I sagged back against the pillow. Was I suffering from hallucinations? “Nothing. It must have been a dream. I had too much champagne with dinner.”

  Gwen peered at me. “Maybe you need to cut down on the drinks. You don’t look so good.”

  I scowled at her. “Are you going to tell me I should stop eating sweets and start an exercise program, too?”

  “Might not be a bad idea,” she said. “Adam’s getting me hooked on running.”

  I lay back and pulled the pillow over my head. “I can’t think about running right now.”

  “Maybe you could come with us some afternoon.”

  Maybe I could stick hot skewers under my fingernails, too. “I’m too old to run.”

  “You should give it a try sometime. It’s fun.”

  “Yeah. Like getting a skin graft.”

  “Good night, Aunt Nat.” She flipped off the light and closed the door behind her. I pressed the pillow to my head. Had it been the champagne? Or had it been something else? I remembered the woman in the dream and shuddered. Maybe the inn was haunted. I squeezed my eyes shut. Soon, sleep crept up on me, and I slipped back into queasy dreams.

  ___

  My stomach still hadn’t recovered when I shuffled down the stairs at 6:00 the next morning. The kitchen was at least as bad as I had remembered it. Filthy pots and pans littered the countertops, and the whole room smelled like the aftermath of a grease fire. I made an extra-large pot of coffee and filled the sink with soapy water. Then I started scraping something that looked and smelled like tar out of my best omelet pan. As if dinner last night wasn’t bad enough, I thought sourly, now I had to clean it, too.

  Two cups of coffee and a half a container of dish soap later, the place was beginning to look recognizable. I was doing better, too; the pounding in my skull had diminished to a more manageable roar, and my stomach had stopped gurgling ominously. I glanced at the clock; breakfast started in less than an hour. I hadn’t succeeded in chiseling off the stovetop yet, but that would have to wait.

  Before long, the grease-fire aroma was, if not completely eliminated, at least masked by the smell of bacon sizzling on the stovetop and lemon-raspberry muffins browning in the oven. As I pulled a few wizened apples and a bag of grapes from the refrigerator, I realized with a sinking feeling that it was time to place another grocery order. I’d put off going down to Charlene’s store as long as possible, but I had to pick up the mail and restock the fridge eventually.

  As I chopped the apples and dropped them into the bowl with the grapes, the dream I’d had the night before flashed into my mind. A chill crept down my back. I wanted to believe that what had happened in my bedroom was the product of an alcohol-steeped imagination, but Biscuit’s reaction suggested that I wasn’t the only one who had experienced something weird. I still hadn’t seen her this morning. If the nocturnal noises continued, I might have to follow her lead and start sleeping on the couch.

  I tossed a few orange segments and banana chunks into the bowl and topped the whole thing with paper-thin slices of the lone, wrinkly kiwifruit I had found in the back of the drawer. It wasn’t the most beautiful fruit salad I had ever made, but it would do.

  When I pushed through the door to the dining room a few minutes later, Benjamin sat alone at his usual table.

  I deposited the fruit salad on the buffet table and retrieved the coffeepot. “Where’s Candy?” I asked.

  “I think she had an early morning appointment,” he said.

  “On the island?”

  “I didn’t ask.” He grimaced. “Sorry about the kitchen, by the way. I meant to get up early and clean, but I overslept.”

  “It’s okay,” I said with a tight smile. “I took care of it.”

  As I filled his coffee cup, he reached for my free hand. “We still haven’t really talked, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “About us.”

  I sighed. “Benjamin, I’ve already told you. There’s nothing to talk about.”

  He squeezed my hand and released it. “I’ve got something to show you.” He reached down and retrieved a sheaf of papers from the chair next to him. “Take a look at these.”

  I set the coffeepot down and picked up the stack of papers. It was a list of properties in Austin.

  “What is this?”

  “I ran a search on everything for sale in Austin. Some of these are already bed-and-breakfasts, but I included the ones that had potential, too. I tried to talk to you about it last night, but you kept changing the subject.”

  I leafed through page after page of stunning Victorian homes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “I know you’re pretty heavily mortgaged here. I’ve got some investment capital kicking around, and I think real estate is the place to put it. You could start a new inn, mortgage-free,” he said. “We could leave town for a month in the summer. Come back here to visit, if you wanted to.”

  I leafed through the pages of properties, pausing at a grand two-story Queen Anne Victorian, right in the heart of Austin. I eyed the sweeping front porch, the leaded glass windows, the red roses ablaze under the white painted railings. No monthly mortgage payments to dread. No more sleepless nights, wondering if I’d have enough bookings to make it through the winter. I put down the stack of papers and sank into a chair.

  Then Benjamin reached into his pocket and pulled out the diamond ring I had returned to him eighteen months ago.

  “Oh, God.”

  His deep blue eyes were liquid. A lock of his dark hair fell over one eye as he leaned toward me. “I know I screwed it up last time,” he said softly. “I know I hurt you terribly. I don’t know if you can forgive me, but it’s what I want, more than anything.” He caressed my fingers lightly. “Say the word, and we can start over. Just the two of us.”

  Benjamin dropped to his knees on the floor at my feet and folded my hand in his own. His familiar smell, leather and cologne and a faint spiciness, wafted over me. I closed my eyes. This couldn’t be happening. His next words floated toward me as if from a long distance away.

  “I’m asking you for the second time, Natalie. Will you marry me?”

  I was saved from answering by a delicate throat-clearing from the doorway. Benjamin leaped to his feet and slipped the ring back into his pocket as Candy entered the dining room. She wore a skin-tight blue miniskirt, and the slogan on today’s clingy rhinestone-studded top was “I Kiss Better Than I Cook.”

  Her corkscrew curls bounced as she sashayed over to the buffet table. “Is it time for breakfast?”

  Benjamin raked his hair back from his face. “I thought you had an appointment this morning.”

  “It got delayed.” She cast a doubtful eye at my bottom-of-the-fruit-drawer salad. “Is this all there is?”

  “No, there’s plenty more,” I said. “I’ll go get it.” I pushed through the door to the kitchen, grateful for the reprieve. I was happy for any excuse to avoid giving Benjamin an answer. On the other hand, it would have been nice to get through an entire morning without seeing Candy.

  The door swung closed behind me, and I sagged against the kitchen wall. Until now, I had thought Benjamin was toying with me. I was staggered by his offer of marriage... and of a new inn, debt-free. I walked over to the sink and looked out the window. A lobster boat chugged along the water, trailed by a few seagulls, and the mountains rose like craggy beasts in the background. Did I really want to leave Cranberry Island and go back to Texas?

  I loved my life on the island, but there were no guarantees that the Gray Whale Inn would succeed. In fact, now that the insurance company was threatening to stick me with the bill for Candy’s flood, I was worried
about making it to spring. A major outlay could bankrupt me.

  I sighed. Despite my problems, I had dreamed of moving to the coast and starting my own inn for years. That dream was finally a reality. Did I want to give it all up now? I squinted at the boat on the water, but my mind floated back to the beautiful Queen Anne Victorian with the bright red roses. And long drives through the Texas countryside, with Benjamin’s hand warm on my leg.

  Did I trust Benjamin?

  My eyes drifted to John’s carriage house. Did I even want to try?

  I turned away from the window. Decisions or no decisions, at least two hungry guests were waiting for me.

  A minute later, I backed through the door holding a basket of muffins and a platter of bacon. I set them down next to the fruit salad and headed toward Candy, who had slid into her customary chair next to Benjamin. “You have your own boat?” she cooed at Benjamin. “Oooh, how lovely.”

  “If you’re ever in Texas, let me know,” Benjamin said cheerfully. “I’ll take you out on the lake sometime.” While Candy gazed starry-eyed at Benjamin, I retrieved the coffeepot and filled her cup. Benjamin winked at me.

  “Eggs are to order this morning,” I said briskly. “Would you like them scrambled, poached, or fried?”

  Candy tore her eyes away from Benjamin and peered at the buffet table. “What else is there?”

  “Lemon-raspberry muffins, bacon, and fruit salad.”

  She frowned. “I’d like one egg, poached, and a slice of wheat toast, dry.”

  “Two eggs over-easy will do it for me,” Benjamin said.

  I glanced at Candy, who was checking to see that her curls were in place. “Don’t worry, Benjamin,” I said. “I remember how you like them.” Candy gave me a dirty look and scootched her chair closer to Benjamin’s.

  When I brought the eggs and dry toast in, Russell glowered at me from the corner table. I strolled over and filled his cup. “Good morning!”

  He grunted in response. I took his order—three eggs, scrambled—and walked back to the kitchen. The developer had never been overly friendly, but since I had overheard his phone conversation, he was positively frosty. I could feel his eyes boring into my back as I reached the kitchen door. So much for my fantasies of relaxing mornings with charming guests.