Cherry Pies & Deadly Lies

by Darci Hannah

  The moment Jack alighted from his car, I waved. “Down here, and you’re not going to believe this.”

  “Whitney Bloom,” he marveled, staring at the wreckage and the smoke-filled orchard beyond. “What have you done now?”

  “Caught the real killer, just like I told you I would. It’s Carleton Brisbane, aka Francis Flannigan. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  Jack nodded. “Tay called. Told me all about it, including the fact that you were with him. Whit, what were you thinking?”

  “Well, obviously I didn’t know about this until a few minutes ago.”

  Jack gave a curt “got it” shrug and added, “Nice work, Bloom.” He looked truly impressed and, quite frankly, a little disturbed by what he saw. He joined me by the Gator and peered beneath it.

  “Carleton Brisbane, aka Francis Flannigan, I’m placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, MacLaren!” Carleton barked. “Just slap me in handcuffs and get me out of here. This whole town’s crazy!”

  “Mister, you don’t know the half of it.” Jack winked. “Just hope backup gets here before that fire does or we’re going to have to bail. You’ve managed to drug the main firefighter in Cherry Cove, and everyone knows better than to mess with the fearless Whitney Bloom. And, for the record,” Jack continued, staring at the trapped killer, “I thought that ad was hilarious.”

  Forty-Nine

  It had been a long, emotion-filled, heart-pounding few days, and yet for the first time since graduating college, I wasn’t in any rush to leave the beautiful little village of Cherry Cove. In fact, as I drove down Main Street, I realized it was quite the opposite. A real sense of joy swept through me at the sight of the charming array of buildings nestled along the lakeshore. I felt at home, at peace, because I was staying.

  This wasn’t entirely due to the fact that Mom and Dad needed me, which they did. Carleton Brisbane, aka Francis Flannigan, had burned down a quarter of the orchard in his final attempt to destroy my family and me because of that ad—that fifteen-second, misplaced feminine hygiene product ad. It had been a stunning blow to learn that something as insignificant as that ad had instigated all the corruption, murder, and mayhem at the cherry orchard and inn. It shook me to the core and rattled my confidence. Of course, Mom and Dad didn’t blame me. And Jack and Giff had soundly convinced me that Brisbane and his tragically hot Irish nephew were total psychopaths. Still, the situation got me thinking. Brisbane had almost gotten away with it. Both Hannah and I had been infatuated with him, and I’d been flirting with him online for over a year, although I hadn’t known it. Holy cobbler, what a couple of suckers we were, and all because of a handsome face and a super sweet yacht! The yacht, we learned, was the only asset Carleton had left, and it was still moored in Tate’s marina. Mrs. Cushman had just moved onboard, partly out of spite, but mostly to care for Carleton’s little West Highland terrier, Molly.

  Due to the current state of the orchard and the fact that we no longer had the wisdom and guidance of Jeb Carlson, Dad had decided to step away from his duties at the inn and focus all his attentions there. This left an opening at the inn for me, and how could I refuse an offer like that? I’d be working with Mom and Grandma Jenn. I’d be able to help restore the image of the Cherry Orchard Inn, in addition to continuing with Bloom ’n’ Cherries! I’d have a professional kitchen to work in, and the best tart cherries in the country at my doorstep. No longer having to pay my high Chicago rent would be pretty cool too.

  It was all wonderful, but it wasn’t the whole reason I’d decided to stay. There was another factor too, a more personal thing that I couldn’t quite put into words. Tay and Hannah were definitely a part of it. It would be great living in the same town as my best friends once again. Then there was Tate, dear Tate, who’d finally persuaded me he deserved a second chance. That had been his first request while coming out of his tranquilized stupor. He’d looked so earnest and contrite that I couldn’t refuse. He was also covered head to toe in bruises from the Gator chase. I agreed to give our relationship one more try, but this time, I knew that my heart wasn’t entirely in it. And that’s what I couldn’t understand. That’s what intrigued me the most. Had I finally conquered my infatuation with Tatum Vander Hagen? I was heading to the Cherry Cove Marina to figure that out, but I had a stop to make first.

  The moment I pulled into the little parking lot, the screaming began. I got out of my car and peered up at the police station roof. Thing One and Thing Two had stopped their brotherly antics and were now standing on the edge of the thick sod, welcoming me in their own disconcerting way. Somewhere inside, MacDuff started barking. It was a sure sign that Jack was in the building. I lifted the tailgate and retrieved the basket of goodies Mom and Gran had prepared for him and his dog.

  I’d taken only a few steps when the police station door burst open and Jack flew out with MacDuff at his heels. “For Christ’s sake!” he cried. “Would you two demon spawns stop your rack … ” He saw me and fell silent. “Whitney. What a pleasant surprise! I’ve been meaning to call you. I still need you to sign your statement.”

  “That’s why I’m here. That and to give you this.” I held up the basket.

  “For me?” He looked genuinely surprised, and then he smiled.

  My heart started beating a little faster because of that smile, and there might have been some fluttering in my stomach as well. I ignored both, adding, “For you and MacDuff.” I handed Jack the basket, then reached down to stroke MacDuff’s long, silky ears. “It’s a little thank you for all you’ve done for us at the orchard, and, of course, for arresting Brisbane.”

  “As much as it pains me to admit it, you had a pretty big hand in that too.” Jack cast me a teasing grin and peeked under the lid. “Whoa. There’s a lot of vacuum-packed New York Strips in here … and a container of bacon-topped mashed potatoes, Caesar salad, French bread, home-made dog cookies—”

  “And a cherry pie,” I added. “Wouldn’t be dinner without that.”

  “No it wouldn’t,” he agreed. “Did you make it?” I nodded. “Now I feel honored—to have a pie made by the Gilded Cherry winner herself. So many surprising talents, Ms. Bloom.” Jack’s grin was wide and slightly teasing.

  Thing One and Thing Two, having fallen silent after being reprimanded, realized Jack wasn’t paying attention to them any longer and started back up with their weird bleating goat-scream. MacDuff retaliated by barking at them. Jack ignored them all. He was too busy staring at me. Then he took me by the hand. “Come inside, Whit. The kids’ll stop screaming, eventually.”

  He grilled two steaks while I prepared the salad. I’d had no intention of staying for dinner, but I did. I couldn’t help it. Jack insisted. Besides, he’d opened a bottle of wine just for me.

  “I wanted to thank your friend Giff,” he began, putting a steak on each plate. He then placed the lid back on the Webber. “But I was told he left this morning.”

  We sat at a little table in the garden and began eating. “He had to get back to work,” I explained. “He didn’t really want to, being a hero of sorts and all, but the pull of bragging about his cyber-sleuthing skills to his boss, Mr. Black, was pretty strong. Also, Mr. Black told him that if he didn’t get back soon he’d lose his job. The man’s an unbending tyrant.”

  “Well, thank God that he and Tay are good at snooping around on the internet. The scary part is that Briz wasn’t even on my radar. I never made the connection between him and Finn. It was Giff who thought he’d recognized Brisbane from somewhere. Turned out to be an old article he read in Fortune magazine featuring Francis Flannigan.”

  “Giff has a passion for magazines and one heck of a memory.”

  “Thank God for that,” Jack said reflectively. “Without Giff’s hunch and Tay’s dogged expertise on the web, I might not have gotten to you in time.” He looked at me, all trace of h
umor gone from his face. “That’s the thought that keeps me up at night, Whitney.” And by his pensive, intimate expression, I knew that it did.

  I swallowed, producing a watery smile. “Thank you. But I’m pretty resourceful, you know.”

  “I do know,” he said, raising his bottle of beer in a toast. I returned the gesture with my wineglass. “So,” he continued, deftly changing the subject. “When are you heading back to Chicago?”

  “Friday,” I told him, and watched his reaction to my news. My old pal Jack MacLaren was visibly disappointed by the thought of me leaving—so disappointed that he stood up from the table and actually began clearing the dishes.

  “So soon?” he remarked, unable to look me in the eyes as he busied his hands. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer.”

  “Well, I’m coming right back.” I waited until these words had sunk in. Holding our two plates and an empty beer bottle in his hands, Jack stilled. And then he looked at me. “Didn’t I tell you? I thought I told you,” I said.

  “No. No you didn’t. Why are you coming right back?”

  “Because I’ve decided to move back home for a while. You know how it is. I mean, things are going great in Chicago and all,” I glibly lied, “but I feel totally responsible for what’s happened, and my folks could really use my help with the inn. I’m also taking you up on your suggestion. I’m going to run Bloom ’n’ Cherries! out of the inn bakery. You won’t have to order online anymore, using your mom’s name and address. You can just swing by any time you like.”

  “I will,” Jack promised, grinning. “I’m amazed. You’re really doing this? You’re really moving back?”

  “Why is that so hard to believe? I’m not as self-centered and heartless as you seem to think I am, Jack MacLaren.”

  “I’ve never thought that.” He was trying his hardest to look sincere. “Your folks must be thrilled.” He turned and, to my horror, set the plates and serving dishes on the ground where they were immediately set upon by the eager tongues of his awaiting menagerie. “Come,” he demanded. “The boys’ll take care of these. I’m taking you out for ice cream. This calls for a celebration!”

  Before I knew it, I was in his arms, being whisked off my feet for a celebratory whirl in the garden. When my feet were back on firm ground once again I realized that Jack’s arms were still holding me tightly. Then, with his soft, honey-brown eyes holding my own, he slowly, very slowly, brought his lips down to mine.

  Time stopped. My knees became jelly. Every nerve in my body burst to life with a heady, all-consuming tingle. Then my entire backside started vibrating. Somewhere close by, above the sound of animal tongues lapping up steak scraps and leftover salad, piano music tickled the air with a familiar, melodic riff. With his lips still attached to mine, Jack slipped his hand into the back pocket of my jeans.

  The vibrating stopped.

  “Hello,” he said huskily, momentarily removing his lips from mine.

  I looked up. Jack was holding my iPhone. Dear God! Jack had answered my phone!

  The look in his eyes was intimate and playful as he replied to the voice on the other end. “This is Jack. Who’s this? Yeah. She’s right here. Hold on a sec, bro.” The playful look turned to one of suspicion as he looked down at me and whispered, “Were you, by chance, supposed to have dinner with Tate tonight?”

  Holy cobbler! I’d forgotten about Tate and the marina. Completely! As Jack’s eyes bore into mine, a wave of white-hot embarrassment coursed through my veins. My ears burned, my face grew uncomfortably hot, and I found that for once I was utterly speechless.

  “Whitney, were you heading over to Tate’s place tonight?” Jack asked again, this time sounding suspiciously like an interrogating cop. “Because I thought you two were broken up? I had the distinct impression, just now, that you were over him.”

  Still breathless from his kiss, and feeling like a guilty criminal under his pointed stare, I stammered, “I … um … I’m sorry, Jack,” and took the phone from his hand. I held it to my ear, watching as Jack’s expression oscillated between pleasure and humiliation.

  “Babe. You were supposed to be here, like … hours ago. I was getting worried. Hey, quick question. Why’s MacLaren answering your phone?”

  “Long story. I’ll be over in five,” I told him, ending the call. I shoved my phone back into my pocket and looked at the man standing before me.

  “Jack. I’m sorry.” I could tell he was angry and he wasn’t buying it. “Look,” I said a little defensively, “you kissed me.”

  “I did. And you didn’t seem to mind it.”

  “I didn’t—not one bit. And I’d like to stay, really I would, but I … can’t.”

  “Because you’re still not over Tate?”

  Wasn’t I? I thought I was, but maybe he was right. I was so confused. “Look,” I pleaded, “I don’t have any good answers for my behavior. I have a lot on my plate right now, but you of all people should know that eventually I will figure it out. All I ask is that you please, please bear with me.” I took his face between my hands, stood on my tiptoes, and pulled his lips down to mine. This time Jack was the one who was left breathless. “Bear with me,” I told him again, and let him go.

  I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed for the garden gate, MacDuff and the goats following me. My hand was on the latch when I suddenly froze. What the heck was I doing? I turned back around, ready to abandon all my plans.

  But I was too late. Jack was gone.

  I closed my eyes and released the breath I’d been holding. With one last look behind me, I left the garden, grateful that I had made the decision to stay in Cherry Cove.

  Recipes

  Whitney’s Cherry-Tastic Recipes and Other Delights

  Decadent Deconstructed Cherry Pie

  Makes 6 generous servings

  Who doesn’t love cherry pie? No one that I know of, surely. However, there are times when a slice of pie just isn’t enough to wow that epicurious foodie who really likes to push their taste buds to the limit. That’s why I came up with this little gem. It’s got all the basic elements of a great cherry pie, but with a hint of brandy in the cherries and two layers of almond cream. Yum, yum! Go on, give it a try. You know you want to.

  Ingredients

  For the Filling:

  5 cups fresh Montmorency cherries pitted (or any variety of baking cherries will do). If using canned cherries, drain

  cherries, keeping one cup in reserve.

  1 cup sugar

  ¼ cup Kirschwasser (cherry brandy)

  ½ teaspoon cinnamon

  1 teaspoon lemon zest (lemon rind)

  3 tablespoons butter

  3 tablespoons corn starch

  For the Phyllo Dough Crust:

  10 sheets phyllo dough, thawed

  ½ cup butter melted

  ½ cup sugar

  2 tablespoons cinnamon

  For the Sweet Almond Cream:

  4 oz cream cheese, softened to room temperature

  ½ cup powdered sugar

  2 teaspoons almond extract

  1 cup heavy whipping cream

  For the Whipped Cream Topping:

  1 cup whipping cream

  ¼ cup powdered sugar

  ½ teaspoon vanilla

  Make the Filling

  Preheat oven to 375°F.

  Put fresh cherries in large bowl. Add 1 cup sugar, ¼ cup cherry brandy, 1 teaspoon lemon zest, and ½ teaspoon cinnamon. Stir and let stand for 20 minutes.

  Put the cornstarch in large saucepan over medium heat. Drain the juice in the fresh cherries and add to cornstarch, stirring until blended. Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally until liquid becomes thick and bubbly.

  Turn off heat and add cherries. Stir to blend.

  Put cherries in an oven-safe dish. Dot with the three tablespoons
of butter and cover loosely with tinfoil. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove tinfoil, stir, and bake for 10 more minutes. Remove from oven and let stand.

  Meanwhile, while cherries are baking …

  Make the Phyllo Dough Crust

  Brush cookie sheet with melted butter.

  Lay one sheet of phyllo dough on the baking sheet, keeping the rest covered with damp paper towels to keep them from drying out while you’re working with the dough.

  Liberally brush phyllo layer with melted butter, then sprinkle with cinnamon sugar mixture. Repeat the layers.

  Bake in 375°F oven for 10–15 minutes, or until golden and crisp.

  Cool completely.

  Meanwhile, while the sugared phyllo crust is baking …

  Make the Almond Cream

  In mixer, mix the cream cheese, powdered sugar, and almond extract. Beat until soft and creamy. Transfer to bowl and set aside.

  In mixing bowl, beat heavy whipping cream until soft peaks form. Gently add the cream cheese mixture a quarter at a time, mixing until stiff peaks form. Store in fridge.

  Time to Assemble!

  Carefully cut phyllo dough into 12 squares. Place one square of sugared phyllo directly on dessert plate. Place a dollop of almond cream (I like to pipe it on using a pastry bag) and carefully spread on crust. Next, add a spoonful of cherries. Repeat this layer.

  Top with a dollop of freshly whipped whipping cream and serve immediately!

  Some fun variations I make for my friends:

  Whenever I make this for Tay I add an extra splash of brandy to the cherries. What can I say? She loves her brandy!

  Another fun way to make this deconstructed pie is to make a very simple version of it, one that’s perfect for a quiet dinner or intimate gathering of friends. I made this version when Giff came over once and I was out of my fancy phyllo crust. Since I still had plenty of the cherry filling I whipped up a quick batch of Grandma Jenn’s trusty pie crust (see recipe below), rolled it out, cut it into wedges, sprinkled a little sugar on top, and baked it at 375°F for 10–15 minutes—just until the wedges were a nice golden brown. I then placed a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a dessert dish, topped it with a generous helping of the warm, brandied cherry filling, and finished it off with a decorative pie dough wedge. Although not as elegant as the original version, it’s still delicious, and Gifford McGrady couldn’t get enough of it!