Cherry Pies & Deadly Lies

by Darci Hannah

  She paused for a moment, pressing her knuckles to her lips to keep them from quivering. Her hand came away. “If they’d come straight to the front desk, we might have been able to contain the murder a little longer. But they didn’t. They ran straight to the lounge, and you know how fast bad news spreads in a lounge. If they hadn’t gone into the orchard last night,” she continued, “Jeb’s body might not have been found until later today.” A slight shiver took her at the thought, but I really didn’t see how that development could have made such a tragedy any better. “At least if we’d been the ones who found him, we could have done something about that mallet.”

  “Mallet? What mallet, Mom? You didn’t say anything about a mallet last night.”

  She looked at me, frowned, and whispered, “Your father’s croquet mallet, dear. The gold-plated one Dr. Engle gave him on his fiftieth birthday.”

  It was then that her words hit me with force. “Holy cobbler!” I exclaimed. “Tell me that Dad’s mallet wasn’t the murder weapon.”

  “I … I can’t do that, dear. Oh, how I wish I could, but I can’t. I can’t because it was lying beside the body when they found him.”

  “And … and so they think it is the murder weapon?”

  “It appears so,” she replied, and bit her lip.

  I could feel all the blood drain from my face. “But … but surely that doesn’t mean Dad killed him, right? It just means somebody took his mallet. Who could have taken his croquet mallet?”

  Mom looked stunned, like a deer in headlights. “Well, that’s just the thing. Your father loves that mallet. He was using it before dinner, and he claimed he left it locked in his office after that. It didn’t help matters any that he was seen arguing with Jeb a couple of hours before he was murdered. Oh dear, it doesn’t look good. Not at all.” Her lip began to quiver again. The reality of Jeb’s death was finally breaking through her stoic Midwestern sensibilities.

  “And whose idea was it to sweep this calamity under the table?” I asked.

  “Well, I suppose Officer MacLaren is responsible for that. He wants all the guests to remain here while he looks into the matter—at least until tomorrow.”

  “Officer MacLaren?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “Who the heck is he?”

  “Excuse me.” At that very moment a soft, vaguely familiar voice came from the hallway somewhere behind Mom. “Perhaps I can clear that up for you, Whit-less?”

  There was only one man on Earth who would have the nerve to call me Whit-less, even in such a teasing manner. Still holding the tray, I pushed past Mom, only to come face-to-face with a tall, trim, incredibly handsome ginger-haired police officer.

  “Holy cobbler!” I breathed, staring unbelievingly into the face of my old friend and academic rival Jack MacLaren. Time, and the better part of a decade, had done wonders for him. He used to be a gangly, geeky, know-it-all boy and the top student in our school. I stood before him, marveling. “Either somebody’s actually gone and made you a cop, or you like dressing up as one.”

  Jack took a glass off my tray, grinned knowingly, and poured himself a mimosa. He then allowed his honey-colored eyes to scan my body from head to toe. Amazement blazed, then gave way to a simmer of appreciation. I was pleased, purely from the shock of his reaction.

  “Does it give you any satisfaction to learn that the uniform’s real?” He raised an eyebrow, took a healthy swig of mimosa, and added, “Blame the folks down in Milwaukee if you like.”

  “Clearly, they have a sense of humor.”

  Lowering his voice, he replied, “Unlike the ad people in Chicago.” He winked. Nothing could have humiliated me more.

  “You … saw my ad?” It was a stupid question. I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth.

  “I did. Several times, in fact. I saw it watching the game. I saw it again the next morning, although not as an ad per say, and it popped up again during a video game I was playing. For the record, I thought it was very convincing.”

  Great. Was there any person on earth who hadn’t seen that ad ? Apparently not, and the fact that Mom’s smile was beyond disingenuous was even more upsetting.

  “However,” Jack continued, grabbing my undivided attention once again, “you’ll be happy to know that once the folks in Milwaukee realized their mistake, I moved up here. I’m Cherry Cove’s only man in uniform. Actually,” he said, pretending to think, “I’m the only cop stationed on the entire peninsula. But don’t worry. I have backup. My boss resides in the police station down in Sturgeon Bay. Good thing I’m here, though. Right? Because there’s been a murder.”

  Hearing the word again caused an electric bolt of dread to shoot down my spine. And the thought of Jack MacLaren as head cop on Dad’s case sent the tray in my hands shaking like a paint mixer. Jack took it from me, a look of concern crossing his compelling adult features.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I worked as a detective in Milwaukee. This isn’t my first rodeo.” The wink he tacked on to the end of this statement was as disconcerting as his grin.

  Thankfully I didn’t have long to contemplate it, because just then my father’s booming voice rang out from the vicinity of the sunroom.

  “Jani, for God’s sake,” he cried, “where’d ya get off to with those drinks? Young MacLaren’s chomping at the bit to get on with it!”

  “Dad?” I strained to see around the tall, alarmingly fit detective.

  My dad, Baxter Bloom, a trim, successful, smartly dressed man in his late fifties, came bursting into the hallway. At the sight of me his feet faltered, his light gray eyes bulged, and his face turned the color of his sleek, silver-white hair. “Whitney?” he uttered, as if I’d just been resurrected from the dead. Apparently Mom, who’d never been known to keep a secret in her life, had failed to mention that I was coming home.

  “Dad!” I ran forward to give him a long overdue hug. “Oh, Daddy! I was so scared when I heard they believed you’d murdered Jeb.”

  But here Dad stopped and cast Mom an accusatory look. “You told her, Jani? And after I told you not to?”

  At least Mom had the courtesy to blush. “She has to know, Baggsie. You can’t hide something like murder from your daughter.”

  “Oh, fer cripes sake! How many times do I have to tell you people? I didn’t murder anyone!”

  “I know, Daddy. I believe you. And I’m here because I’m going to find out who did.”

  Five

  It was eight in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the wall of polished windows that looked out across the bay. It was going to be a beautiful, temperate day in Cherry Cove and I wasn’t enjoying it in the least. I sat curled up like a fetus in a floral-cushioned wicker chair nursing a mimosa that I realized after the first sip was of the non-alcoholic variety. I cast Mom a look of extreme disappointment. I felt entirely cheated … or maybe it was the fact that the man in uniform sitting across from me in the sunroom was actually Jack MacLaren, my childhood friend. He had brains; I had to give him that. But finding him back home? I would have thought that after Milwaukee he’d have aimed a bit higher. After all, what respectable young man would choose to toss away the most productive years of his career in a sleepy little village like Cherry Cove? A lazy one, I mused, and realized that my father’s fate rested in his hands. The thought, like the non-alcoholic mimosa I was sipping, was utterly depressing.

  “Mr. Bloom,” Jack said, leaning forward in his chair with a pen and notepad ready. The crumb-speckled plate on the table beside him indicated that he’d already polished off a piece of coffee cake—cherry, of course—and he was now on his second mimosa. I wondered if he realized there wasn’t any alcohol in his own drink. Did he know the difference between ginger ale and champagne?

  “I know this has been a troubling time for you, sir, but I need you to walk me through last night once again. Your initial statement was rushed, and
since you’ve called your daughter up here from Chicago”—he cast a look at Mom—“and since she’s stated she’s going to be the one to actually find the person responsible for Jeb’s death”—the look he gave me as he said this was dripping with sarcastic sweetness—“I’d like you to recall the events of last night with as much detail as you can remember.”

  Dad was clearly not looking forward to this, but really, he had no choice. Releasing a long breath, he said, “I feel … I feel just sick about Jeb’s death. It’s bad enough my croquet mallet was found by his body, but how are we going to get along here without him? Jeb was invaluable to us, MacLaren.”

  “I know, sir. As far as I know, there isn’t a person in Cherry Cove who wasn’t fond of him. I think you’ll understand that for the sake of his life and his memory, we need to find out who’s responsible for his death. Therefore, I’ll ask you to bear with me as I ask you once again to state your movements between eight and ten thirty p.m. last night.”

  “Like I told you before,” Dad said, “I was making sure everything was running smoothly at the inn. Dinner was a private affair. The dining room was reserved for the guests and any locals participating in the Cherry Blossom Festival. Dinner went until eight o’clock. After that I went into the lounge for a spell. A good many of the guests had retired there. I made my rounds, welcoming everyone, and sat for a while with the Hansons, a charming couple up from Green Bay. They come every year. We were catching up. Brisbane came by as well and sat with us. Shortly thereafter Gabby, our waitress, came over and handed me a piece of paper. It was a note from Jeb. He wanted to speak with me in private.”

  “That would be around eight thirty?”

  Dad nodded.

  “Is that a usual way for Jeb to communicate?”

  “No. He usually comes to me himself, or sends me a text. I didn’t have my phone on me at the time.”

  “You mentioned earlier that Mr. Carlson was in one of the processing sheds. Did you leave immediately or did you make any stops before meeting him there?”

  “Went straight to the shed,” Dad replied.

  “Through the main doors of the inn?”

  Here Dad hesitated. “No. Wait.” A thoughtful look crossed his face as he replied, “I went to get my phone. The moment Gabby slipped me that note I realized, I didn’t have it.”

  Jack’s eyebrows rose in question. “So, you didn’t go straight to the processing shed?”

  “Once I found my phone, I did.”

  Jack then asked where he’d found it, to which Dad replied, his office.

  “Your office in the family wing? Just down the hall from here?” Dad nodded. “Was it locked last night?” Dad shook his head. “Do you remember locking it when you left again?”

  “Don’t lock my office. Don’t need to. It’s in here,” Dad said, indicating the family wing.

  Jack scribbled something in his notebook, then asked, “After retrieving your phone, you went to meet Mr. Carlson. Where was he?”

  “Outside the smaller shed, the one where we keep all our tractors, harvesters, and Gators. He was working late. Had to prepare the hay wagon for the orchard tour.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “When I found him, he was. Erik had been helping him, but he’d sent the boy to the inn with the message Gabby gave me. Jeb thought Erik would head home after that, but he must have lingered a bit.”

  “You’re referring to Erik Larson?”

  Dad nodded.

  Jack flipped through his notebook, landing on a scribbled page. “Erik Larson stated that he heard you two arguing last night. He came forward shortly after the body was removed from the orchard. What were you arguing about.

  A sheepish look crossed Dad’s face. He cast a sideways glance at Mom and finally said, “Wine. We were discussing wine.”

  “Wine?” Jack looked confused. “Why was wine significant, sir?”

  “Because Jeb and I were dabbling in it.”

  “What?” It was the first time Mom had stirred since Jack began his questioning. “You were dabbling in wine?” Her high, round cheeks were glowing red with indignation. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Obviously, this was news to her.

  Dad cast Mom an apologetic look. “They make cherry wine down in the Door Peninsula Winery. Since we serve it here, we thought we could do better. Save some money as well. It’s becoming quite a hot seller, and Jeb and I decided to make a few barrels from last years’ harvest and see what all the fuss was about. We set up the whole operation in the old lighthouse. Jeb thought it would give our wine some mystique and enhance the flavor. We were going to call it Cherry Point Lighthouse Winery. I was going to hire Whitney here to design our label and help with marketing. We were going to unveil it at the wine and cheese tasting this afternoon. Anyhow, those were our plans. Jeb kept an eye on things for us. We didn’t want to say anything until we had a viable product.” He looked at Mom. “I wanted it to be a surprise, Jani. However, last night when I went to speak with him, Jeb looked pretty upset. He was downright troubled. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that when he went to check on the wine, he found that someone had broken into the lighthouse and taken every last cask of it. Nobody knew it was in there!” he stated forcefully, looking squarely at Jack. “Nobody knew what we were about, and it was Jeb’s job to keep watch! All that work and secrecy for nothing!”

  Jack gave Dad a hard stare. “You never said anything about this last night. I suppose you don’t have a permit to make wine or to distill spirits on the premises?”

  “Well, not yet,” Dad snapped. “Not until we know if we have a knack for it. What’s the use spending more money?”

  A wan smile crossed Jack’s lips and he scribbled something in his notebook. “You say that you and Jeb were the only ones who knew about the wine in the old lighthouse. Obviously, somebody else knew about it too. Do you have any idea who could have taken the wine?”

  Dad shook his head. “I tell my wife everything, MacLaren, and if Jani didn’t know about our wine, why would you think I’d tell anyone else?”

  “Not you, sir. Jeb. Could he have told anyone about the wine?”

  Dad thought about that a moment. “I didn’t think so, but I suppose he could have. Come to think of it, he did seem rather nervous when we talked—as if he wasn’t telling me the whole story. Something was bothering him, but naturally I assumed it was the fact that all our wine had been taken.”

  Jack nodded and scribbled something in his notebook. “What did you do after speaking with Jeb?”

  “We went to have a look at the orchard records in Jeb’s office, to see if we missed anything. Then I went to the lighthouse to have a look myself. I stayed down there for the better part of an hour, searching the place. We had ten barrels in there, MacLaren. That’s a substantial amount of wine. I can’t imagine anyone taking that much. After having a good look around the old building, I walked along the shore, up and down aways, to see if I could figure out what happened and if whoever took it happened to leave one behind. But it was dark by then, and I didn’t find much of anything.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Oh, I don’t know? Ten I suppose.”

  “I’m going to want to have a look at your operation,” Jack told him. “Until I do, don’t let anyone near the lighthouse. Also, and this may sound odd, but when you met Mr. Carlson, were you carrying your croquet mallet?”

  “Of course not!” Dad looked affronted. “I did use it earlier, during the croquet tournament. After that I put it back in my office and went to attend to other matters of business.”

  “You said you went back to your office to retrieve your phone before you went to speak with Mr. Carlson. Do you recall seeing your croquet mallet in there?”

  “Don’t know. I wasn’t looking for it. But I assure you I didn’t touch it again after the croquet tournament. Why would I?” The
re was the slightest hint of challenge in Dad’s voice. Jack wisely refrained from stating the obvious, which was that somebody had used it to murder Jeb. Instead, the detective came back to the topic of Dad’s office and the fact that he had left it unlocked.

  “Do you know of anyone who would have taken it from your office?”

  Dad gave a glum shake his head. “I don’t, but it wouldn’t be hard to do. You know what it’s like up here, MacLaren. Cherry Cove is still the type of place where folks don’t feel the need to lock the doors, or much of anything else.”

  “That may be true, but now, after so brutal a murder and the theft of so much illegal wine, I believe things are about to change. Pity,” Jack added, and the men exchanged a weighted look. It was then Jack asked what Dad had done once he came back from the lighthouse.

  “I came back here to the family quarters and went upstairs to the bedroom. It had been a long day. With the doings of the festival, seeing to all the guests’ needs, and the fact that I’d just discovered all our wine missing, I was exhausted. Jani came in shortly after I did. That would have been around ten thirty. Imagine our surprise when a short while later we got a call from the lounge. It was Gabby, her voice hysterical as she told me that the McSweenys had found a body in the orchard. That sent the hair on the back of my neck on end! We feared it was one of the other guests, and then doom struck when I heard the name Jeb Carlson.” Dad looked more dejected than I’d ever seen him. He took a deep breath and hung his head.