Cherry Pies & Deadly Lies

by Darci Hannah

  “You already know what it is, Ma, but you won’t allow yourself to see it!”

  I was confused. Ashley glared at her mother.

  “You don’t want to see it because you don’t want it to be true. But it is true, Mom. It is. Erik’s back on drugs again—just like Cody, and Kenna, and her sister, and Finn. Mostly Finn! He’s the one they all go to.”

  “Finn? Who’s Finn?” I asked.

  “He’s the new guy. The hot bartender all the girls are trying to sleep with.”

  “Oh God!” This, Lori and I uttered at the same time. She was aghast at the fact her daughter was trying to sleep with a man. I was aghast at the fact that I knew exactly who Ashley was talking about. And, dammit, not that I hadn’t thought about jumping in the sack with him too.

  “You know this guy?” Lori rounded on me.

  “I … I don’t really know him. It’s more like I know of him.” Lori’s eyes widened. “I mean … I know him if by ‘Finn,’ Ashley’s referring to a dark-haired Irishman with flirty aqua-green eyes?” At her nod, I continued. “Yep, I saw him yesterday. He was chatting up two high school girls.” I looked at Ashley. She blushed. “Oh dear, you were one of the girls he was hitting on, weren’t you?”

  Lori, who was already whimpering, let out a loud gasp.

  “Oh for cripes sake, Mom. Get ahold!” Ashley’s pink, glossy lips twisted in disgust. She looked back at me. “Yeah, I was talking to him. Who wouldn’t? He’s smokin’ hot, and I hear he’s a really great kisser. Anyhow, maybe Erik went to see him, you know, to get some more drugs or something?” Lori gasped again.

  “Where does Finn live?” I asked.

  Ashley shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m not sleeping with the guy, and I certainly don’t do drugs. But I’d bet my iPhone that slut Kenna knows.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Kenna. I needed to talk with Kenna and hoped she was still waiting for me. If anybody knew where this Finn guy lived it would likely be her, I thought, running down the stairs. I leapt down the last two steps and made for the door, nearly colliding with Jack.

  “Whitney!” he said, holding me by the arms. “They said you were in here with Lori. What’s the rush?” He looked up at the stairs, expecting Lori. She wasn’t coming just yet. Lori and her daughter were having a little heart-to-heart in Erik’s room.

  “Let’s go in here,” I said, pulling him into the old farmhouse kitchen. The smell of cherries took me by surprise until I spotted a pie on the messy counter. The crust was lumpish and under-baked. I suddenly felt sorry for Lori. Her son was missing and her pie was a flop. She’d never win the Gilded Cherry with a pie like that. Jack saw it too and shook his head. Then I handed him Erik’s cell phone and filled him in on what I had learned.

  There was a part of Jack that was obviously miffed I’d gotten there first, and a part of him that was truly grateful. The guy had a lot on his plate.

  “Gotta be honest,” he said after listening to all I had told him. “I’m gravely concerned about the kid. The way I see it, it can go one of two ways. The boy’s terrified and he’s running from someone, or he’s been involved in all this nasty business from the start. I’m not sure which.”

  “Those were my thoughts exactly. Do you really think Erik murdered Jeb?”

  “God, I hope not. But whenever drugs are involved anything’s possible, even the unthinkable.”

  “But why? Why would a boy like Erik do such a thing?”

  “Same reason he was stealing bicycles and selling steroids to his teammates last year. Money. You told me about his room. Lori told you that her son bought all that stuff? I know my gaming systems, Whit. And with a fifty-inch TV and all those games? That doesn’t add up.”

  “Erik does have a job, Jack. He works at the orchard and inn.”

  “True. But a pusher makes just a wee bit more money than a busboy or day laborer.” Jack was being sarcastic, but I got his point. Still, the notion of anyone murdering their best friend over something as senseless as drugs just didn’t make any sense to me.

  “This Finn guy,” Jack said. “I’d like to speak with him. Maybe your dad can help with that.”

  ∞

  “What’s the verdict? Is the boy in there?” Dad looked anxious. He and Dr. Engle had joined my friends on the porch, all six of them holding what looked to be the rest of the village at bay.

  Jack shook his head. There was no easy way to say it. For a town where crime was virtually unheard of, a murder and a poisoning within two days had everyone on edge. Now they were about to learn that another employee of the Cherry Orchard Inn was missing. One look at Dad’s face and I could see he was keenly aware that his dream of keeping his beloved inn was swiftly slipping from his grasp.

  Dammit! I could not let that happen!

  “Was he abducted?” Carleton asked.

  “No,” Jack answered, then announced to the crowd, “Erik went missing yesterday and never came home. That’s all we know. We need to find him.” He stopped talking, and I realized he was staring at someone. I followed his gaze.

  “That’s Kenna,” I whispered. “Erik’s girlfriend.”

  Kenna looked up, locked eyes with Jack, and turned. She was trying to get away.

  “I got this,” I said. “Give me your keys.”

  “What?” Jack hesitated.

  “Look, you’re the law. You have to manage this crowd. You have to let them know what’s going on and how they can help. That’s not my bailiwick, and we both know I’m far better at talking to girls than you are.” Jack raised a brow at the insult and dropped his keys in my awaiting hand.

  Kenna was fumbling with the keys to her own car when I grabbed her by the arm. “Wait!” I said. “We need to talk.”

  “I can’t! I can’t talk to you,” she cried, looking scared. Apparently Kenna had had a change of mind. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “I promised I wouldn’t.”

  “Did you promise someone you wouldn’t talk to the cops?” Kenna’s response was a deer-in-the-headlights look. “Well then, we’re good, because I’m not a cop. Come on. We’re going to sit in that Jeep and have a little chat. Erik’s life might very well depend on it.”

  We were securely seated in Jack’s Jeep, which, aside from a bag of uneaten Danish and the prevailing smell of cherry-stuffed pastry—with a hint of wet dog—was remarkably tidy. I opened the bag and offered it up. “Who made you promise not to talk to the cops, Kenna? Erik or Finn?”

  She pulled out a Danish. She was just about to take a bite when she replied, “How do you know Finn?”

  Ah, so it was Finn. A man that hot who was working over a couple of teenage girls had to be up to no good. I applied my friendliest smile. “I don’t, really. I saw him at the bar during yesterday’s event. He’s kind of hard to miss.”

  She swallowed a bite of Danish. “Totally. He’s so raw, so wild. He’s not like the others, ya know?”

  “I get it. I really do,” I said, nodding my head. Unfortunately, I actually did get it. “I grew up here too,” I told her. “A man like Finn’s not quite the same as a boy like Erik or Cody.”

  “Right?” she agreed, pronouncing the word as a question. There was a dreamy look in her eye as she continued nibbling the pastry.

  “Probably has a tattoo.” This I said out of mere selfish curiosity.

  “Yeah. He does. Right here.” She brought her right hand over her left breast. “It’s so badass.”

  My heart, blast it, was beating a little too rapidly as I said, “Don’t tell me. It’s a gold-dusted Quidditch ball, isn’t it?”

  “What? No! God, that’s so flippin’ lame. It’s a wolf!” she declared, with a look that let me know she had at least seen the guy shirtless. “With mesmerizing aqua eyes, just like Finn’s. It’s so hot, looking at that wolf. It’s like you’re staring right into his soul, or something.”

  �
�Hmm,” I mused aloud, conjuring the image. It sprang to mind a bit too easily, and I had to admit it was kinda hot. I shook my head, attempting to expunge the thought. “So, you and Finn are pretty tight. You guys hang out together and smoke pot?”

  Kenna narrowed her eyes and took another bite. She stared at me in silence, measuring me up as she chewed.

  “Look, I’m not a cop,” I said. “I don’t judge. But I do need you to answer the question. Does Finn give you pot?”

  The girl, coming to some conclusion, swallowed the Danish, then sneered with attitude as she said, “Finn gives me whatever I want.”

  I didn’t know quite what to make of that, although I assumed that whatever Kenna wanted from the bartender was probably illegal. “Does Erik know that you hang out with Finn?”

  “Yyyeahhh. He, like, introduced me to the guy. He’s the one who brings us there. It’s not like I’m sleeping with him or anything.”

  “Who else goes with you?”

  “Me, Brynn, Bill, sometimes Kayla … ” She looked at me and frowned. “Cody used to.”

  I gave a respectful nod and pressed on. “And where does Finn live?”

  Kenna grew quiet, suddenly losing interest in the half-eaten pastry. She set it down and stared at me. “Like, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

  This threw me for a moment. How could she not explain where the guy lived? “Kenna. This is very important.” I placed my hand over hers, forcing her to look at me. “We’re all worried sick about Erik, and I know he was selling drugs, drugs he got from Finn. I need to talk to Finn. You’re going to have to try to explain where he lives.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You … you think Erik was selling drugs? No. No way. Why would he? He’s got a good job. He works at the orchard and does odd jobs for Mr. Vander Hagen.”

  Erik worked for Tate? Tate never mentioned this. Interesting, I thought, and asked, “But if Erik wasn’t selling drugs, why was he hanging out with Finn?”

  She looked at me as if I had just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Duh, because Finn’s a total badass. He gets us, and he gives us whatever we want. Who wouldn’t hang out with him?”

  Who wouldn’t indeed! It was a dangerous combination—a badass-hottie-dirtbag with an unlimited supply of drugs and alcohol, and a pack of bored teenagers. Yet if I had learned anything from my stint in advertising it was that nothing, nothing, is ever really free. My God, hadn’t any of these kids watched Pinocchio? What happened to foolish little boys (and girls) when they went to Pleasure Island? Sure it was all fun and games … until they all turned into donkeys. And what do donkeys do? Donkeys do whatever their handler tells them to do, that’s what.

  I had a sinking feeling that Cody, Erik, Kenna, and whoever else had fallen under Finn’s spell were now essentially nothing more than his donkeys. And donkeys were expendable.

  “Kenna, I’m not joking.” I stared into her large brown eyes. “Where does Finn live?”

  “I … I don’t know where he lives!” she snapped. “I only know where he stays, where we find him.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “In the woods.”

  Her declaration made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The man stayed in the woods, and I would bet my iPhone he would know how to walk through them silently and not be seen. I had looked right at him yesterday, and he had looked right at me. He knew who I was. I opened the glove box and searched for a pad of paper, knowing Jack would have one. He did, and a pen. “Here,” I said, and put the paper and pen in her hand. “Draw me a map. Show me how to get there.”

  I watched as Kenna sketched a rough outline of Cherry Cove, and I watched as she carefully placed an X in the vicinity of the place they meet Finn.

  The pieces of the mystery were beginning to fall into place.

  Thirty-Nine

  The crowd in front of the Larson house was breaking up as Kenna and I finished our conversation. I made her promise that she’d go home directly, lock her doors, and not leave until Erik was found. Despite the glaring moments of pubescent-stupidity, Kenna was a sweet kid, and I could tell she cared deeply about her friends. She also promised to call me if she heard anything regarding Erik.

  Shortly after Kenna left the Jeep, Jack opened the passenger-side door and got in.

  “The search parties have dispersed. Everyone’s been instructed to keep an eye out for Erik and to call me if they find anything. So, how did it go with Kenna?”

  “Surprisingly well.” I handed him the pad of paper. Jack buckled up. “Where should we go?” I asked.

  “Police station. I met your friend Giff. He told me you left your car there, and also said to remind you to stop playing detective and get your pie ready for the bake-off. It begins in two hours, I’m told. As for Mr. McGrady himself, he’s getting a ride back to the inn with Tay and Hannah. Your dad took Carleton. So, what am I looking at?”

  I put the key into the ignition and started the Jeep. “A map. Kenna drew it. That’s where they meet Finn.”

  Jack stared at the picture a moment. “Oh, it is a map—a really crappy one, though. Nothing’s to scale.”

  “So Kenna’s not an artist. However, lucky for us she happens to be a minor with a penchant for weed, alcohol, and bad-boy hotties.”

  Jack turned his fiery head to me. “A girl after your own heart.”

  “Funny. But I don’t do drugs.” This I added while strategically omitting the fact that I didn’t really do the whole bad-boy hottie thing either, but I’d hardly admit that to him.

  As I drove us back to town, I told Jack everything that Kenna had told me about the high school kids and their relationship with the inn’s new bartender, Finn. When I was done, Jack looked impressed. I don’t know why, but that look, coming from him, filled me with pride.

  When we reached the police station, I parked the Jeep next to my car. I marveled anew at the sixteenth-century Scandinavian log cottage replica, complete with its decorative carvings and blooming window boxes. And I marveled a little at the man sitting next to me.

  “So,” I said, “now all we have to do is find this Finn character. I think he’s the key to everything that’s been going on at the inn. I can’t believe you live here,” I added, not sure why I’d said it.

  “Yeah. I live here. It’s got electricity.” Jack shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

  “And plumbing?”

  “Supposedly. It’s rumored to have all the modern conveniences, including an eco-friendly roof maintenance system.”

  I peered out at the thick sod roof and grinned. “Ah, for your ‘kids.’ I met them when I dropped off MacDuff.”

  “The goats prefer to be called by their names, Thing One and Thing Two.” Jack grinned back. “Although I’m not entirely sure which is Thing One or Thing Two, but they know. Duffy knows too. He’s the alpha. But enough about my awesome police station and cool pets. Back to this Finn character, if that even is his real name. The first thing we have to do is find the guy. Did you actually look at this map? It makes no sense. Look where she put that X. It’s clearly on state land, but Whit, there’s a lot of state land here. Another thing—I doubt the guy lives in this spot. It’s more probable that the place he brings the kids to is a makeshift campsite, or party den, and not his actual home. Believe me, he’s not the first one to think of partying on state land. And then there’s the problem of motive,” Jack continued. “So, we know that Finn is a squatter, a drug pusher, and likes to party with underage teens. There are many violations here, clearly, but it doesn’t necessarily make him a murderer.”

  “But what if he has bigger plans, Jack? What if he’s masterminding a lucrative drug ring and he’s using our cherry orchard as his base? Maybe that’s what Jeb overheard? Maybe Finn was the guy Cody was going to squeal on? And maybe he’s the person Erik is running from?”

  Jack nodded, t
hen added with a troubled look, “Or running to. The point is, we’re never going to know until we find him. And, little thanks to this map, we still have to figure out how to do that.”

  “Brock Sorensen!” I said. “He does the payroll. He’s got to have contact information for every employee of the inn.”

  “You’re right. Excellent thinking, Bloom.” Jack took out his phone.

  “I got this,” I said, and called Dad. A moment later I had Brock Sorensen’s phone number. I watched as Jack made the call. He scribbled an address and phone number next to Kenna’s map and thanked Sorensen.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Sorensen doesn’t have much on the guy. Name’s Finn Connelly. Says he picks up his checks at the inn. No phone number for him, and the only address he has on file is the same one he has for the other bartender, Bill Bachman. He assumes they live together, because he’s seen them drive to the inn together on occasion. Sometimes, he says, Finn just shows up, no car, no bike. He just shows up.”

  “Interesting. I assume you got the address for Bill Bachman?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Buckle up,” I told him and started his Jeep back up.

  “What are you doing? Don’t you have a pie to bake?”

  “Don’t worry about my pie. I’m a professional. I have two hours, and you have an address. Between you and me, I believe I can help you find this creep Finn and win a pie bake-off.”

  “Such confidence. Such drive. Now that’s the Whitney Bloom I know.”

  ∞

  As we raced across the peninsula in search of Bill Bachman, Jack searched Erik’s cell phone, calling some of his contacts. None, unfortunately, were very helpful.

  “No one’s seen Erik since he left the inn yesterday afternoon. Another thing of interest? It doesn’t appear Erik or any of his friends have any contact information for Finn. It’s actually pretty smart on Finn’s part, especially if he’s engaged in illicit behavior. The guy knows how to cover his tracks, which means he’s no amateur. And get this. No one’s actually seen him in the town of Cherry Cove. The only place this Finn person seems to exist is at the inn and on state land. It’s as if the guy’s a ghost or something.”