Chapter 4
As I feared, visions of skulls and giant dogs marred my dreams that night. My subconscious had clearly been shaken by memories of that buried skeleton. I woke up three times, breathing hard and shaking. Ryan slept soundly no matter how much I tossed and turned, and it was a comfort to hear him snoring beside me. Although maybe I could have done with a little less snoring. Still, I was grateful for his reassuring presence.
The next morning I dressed quickly, eager to leave for beach yoga. If ever I needed a few relaxing asanas and a session of guided meditation, it was today. Just the walk along the lake on the way to class did wonders for lowering my stress level. I sent up a prayer of thanks that I lived so close to the water.
The Jacobs had owned a charming Queen Anne house on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan since 1895, and I was the most recent family member to live there. Not only was the view breathtaking, but a long wooden stairway led to our private stretch of beach. I headed down those stairs five days a week to attend yoga class at the popular public beach, only a fifteen-minute walk away. This morning, I was the first student to arrive. After unrolling my yoga mat on the sand, I settled into a lotus sitting position. Rowena, the instructor and owner of the Karuna yoga studio, gave me an approving nod.
The sight of Rowena Bouchet helped nudge me into a Zen state. The twenty-five-year-old always appeared beatific and serene. I’d be happy all the time, too, if I looked like her. Not only did Rowena boast the sleek, trim body of a yoga instructor, she had the most luminous hazel eyes I’d ever seen. And her gleaming blond hair was so long it reached her waist. During yoga, she wore it in a braid, but I’d seen her hair loose a few times; it brought to mind liquid gold. Every time I saw her, I felt like I was setting eyes on Titania, Shakespeare’s Queen of the Fairies. A shame she didn’t have magical powers and could somehow erase the image of that awful skeleton from my mind. I’d have to rely on my own powers instead, and by the time the other students arrived, I had managed five minutes of much needed meditation.
Normally we averaged a dozen students, but in summer many tourists signed up as well. At least twenty of us now sat cross-legged before our instructor. Although it was early, people were already setting up their beach umbrellas and spreading towels on the sand. Several children ran past us, plastic pails and shovels in hand. Their delighted squeals as they stepped into the water made me smile. Even during the first week of July, Lake Michigan often retained its chill. Depending on the weather, the water temperature might not turn balmy until August.
As Rowena began the session, I turned my gaze from the lake. Before I closed my eyes for Mountain Pose, I noticed two sailboats bobbing on the horizon. Time to focus.
Somewhere in the middle of Triangle Pose, my body relaxed and I was able to view what happened yesterday with detachment. The skeleton in the woods had been buried for years. It was an unhappy coincidence that Charlie had discovered it. A shame he wasn’t a smaller dog. Ryan’s beagles would have taken hours to dig up that skeleton. I took several deep breaths as we moved into Cobra Pose. The sand beneath my yoga mat felt warm and had a soothing effect, as did the sight of the blue glittering waters of Lake Michigan a few yards away.
As Rowena’s soft voice guided us into the stretch of the pose, my thoughts drifted to yet another brush I’d had with murder. Only a few years ago, I’d been a successful producer of Sugar and Spice, the most popular cooking show at the Gourmet Living Network in New York City. I had even been the person to discover the husband-and-wife cooking team of Evangeline and John Chaplin at a food expo in Nashville. Within three years of our first meeting, both the show and everyone connected with it seemed headed for TV superstardom. Our meteoric rise came to a crashing halt when Evangeline learned her husband was having a steamy affair with one of the show’s interns. A resourceful and vengeful woman, Evangeline used her superb pastry skills to bake a wedding anniversary cake for John . . . with a surprise ingredient of arsenic.
The subsequent murder trial became the cooking world’s version of the O.J. case. This spelled the end of Sugar and Spice, Evangeline’s freedom, and my career in television. After the judge sentenced Evangeline to life in prison, I returned home to Oriole Point, Michigan, and opened The Berry Basket. I hoped to never be involved with crime and killers again. But with the Bowman murder and this grisly discovery in the Sanderling woods, I feared my propensity for being around deadly events had surfaced once more.
“Let’s lie back in Savasana for our final minutes,” Rowena said, the cries of nearby gulls accompanying her words.
I couldn’t help but remember that Savasana was also known as the Corpse Pose, which called to mind my first look at the skeleton. Although I no doubt appeared calm as I lay on my yoga mat, my thoughts were a fevered jumble of dead bodies, skulls, and poisoned cakes. I sighed as I heard the others around me get to their feet. While I might have managed a few moments here and there of peaceful stillness, most of the thirty-minute session had left me agitated and worried. I had a long way to go before I achieved anything resembling detachment.
After exchanging greetings with some of the regulars, I set off for home, yoga mat tucked under one arm. I put my head back and smiled at the clear blue sky overhead. It would be busy in town today, with every hotel, B&B, and private rental snapped up for the long holiday weekend ahead. I chided myself for wasting a minute on the skeleton. It was high season in Oriole Point, I was walking along my favorite lake in the world, and my sales at the end of the day were certain to be impressive.
By the time I reached my small stretch of private beach, I was more relaxed than at any time during yoga class. I shouted hello to my next-door neighbor playing Frisbee with Cleo and Pan, his chocolate Labradors. With a last look at the lake, I headed for the thirty-plus steps of my wooden stairway. Because my beach angled sharply, I had to plow uphill through a sand dune to reach the stairs. It felt as if I were marching through snowdrifts, but it was a great cardio workout. As was my stairway. When I reached the top landing, I bent over to catch my breath.
A burst of laughter greeted me. “You’re really huffing and puffing,” someone called out. “Maybe you need more than beach yoga to stay in shape.”
I turned to see my best friend Tess Nakamura stretched out on one of my white Adirondack chairs. “I have nothing to be ashamed of,” I said. “Members of the high school track team have collapsed after running up those dunes.”
My other good friend Natasha waved at me from the chair beside her. “I think maybe you need a smaller lestnitsa,” she suggested. A former Miss Russia, Natasha Rostova Bowman was a beautiful young woman with an instinct for self-preservation and a tenuous grasp of the English language. “I have money now. I will buy for you.”
I joined my friends beneath the mulberry tree that shaded my lawn chairs and fire pit. “I’m assuming you offered to buy me a stairway with fewer steps.”
“Da. But of course.”
“Spasibo.” Expressing thanks was the extent of my Russian. “But that would only make the stairs steeper, causing my hamstring muscles to explode on the way up. Besides, the exercise is good for me.”
Natasha pouted in response. “Bah. You must come to my spa for such things.”
“You have a spa?”
“Nyet, but I will soon. When I find a zdaniye big enough. I need much room for all the pretty spa things.” Natasha flung her head back, a gesture she employed to allow the rest of us to better appreciate her lush mane of almond brown hair. Once a beauty queen, always a beauty queen, as evidenced by her impeccable make-up, sculpted nails, and designer summer outfit. Because I once had the funds to buy runway wear, I guessed her camel brown shorts and double-breasted belted top belonged to the latest resort collection of Michael Kors.
Natasha could afford it. After marrying a rich older man soon after competing in Miss World, Natasha had lived well for eight years—at least in a material sense. However, her sugar daddy turned out to be a violent brute with too many enemies; one of
them murdered him last month. Now Natasha was wealthy, independent, and enjoying her status as a merry widow. I didn’t blame her, even if some people in the village were put off by her hyperbolic view of life. But Natasha was bighearted, generous, and entertaining. Too honest and impulsive for her own good, perhaps. And I worried she might run through her new bank account with alarming speed.
I sat in the Adirondack chair facing my friends. “Please don’t start buying property without getting expert financial advice. Cole’s will has barely been read. You need to think carefully about what you want to do for the rest of your life.”
“The rest of my life? Do not be psikh. Crazy. I am too young to think like that.”
No point reminding her that she was twenty-eight, two years younger than me. I hoped the money lasted until she found her next husband. Natasha seemed like the type who would end up at the altar a good three or four times—an attitude light-years away from both Tess and me. While I planned to marry Ryan next January, there were moments when the idea terrified me. As for Tess, she and David had been a couple since they met as eighteen-year-old college students. Twelve years later, they were as close and loving as ever. And in no hurry to make it legal.
I pointed to my lovely blue house across the narrow road. The bluff and lakeshore view served as part of my front lawn. “I’d ask the two of you inside for coffee and breakfast, but I barely have time to shower. Theo is whipping up new pastries to celebrate the Fourth. Since I found the recipes in a Colonial American cookbook, I have no idea how tasty they’ll be. We may need to come up with something new in a hurry.”
“No problem,” Tess said. “I have a ten o’clock dentist appointment.”
“As much as I appreciate the visit, why are the two of you here? Has something happened?” Tess and Natasha only spent time together if I was part of the group.
“We ran into each other at the grocery store an hour ago,” Tess replied.
I turned to Natasha next. If she wasn’t working at Kitchen Cellar, the shop she and her late husband owned, Natasha usually slept till noon. Since Cole’s death, she hadn’t worked there at all. “Seems pretty early for you to be grocery shopping, Miss St. Petersburg.”
“I must buy food for my malenkaya kukla.”
“Who?”
“My little doll.” Natasha reached for a large white straw purse and pulled it onto her lap. “Her name is Dasha.”
Two tiny ears peeked out from the purse. A second later, the rest of the dog’s head appeared.
“You have a dog?” First Piper, now Natasha. “Let me guess. My aunt Vicki had something to do with this.”
Natasha took the dog out of her purse, showering kisses on its scrunched-up face. “I ask your tetya Vicki to find me a dog many months ago, a little sweet one. And she bring me such a beauty two days ago.” When she cradled the dog, Dasha closed her eyes in apparent bliss. “We are in love. I dream of a dog just like this. Is she not prelestnyy? Adorable?”
“Very prelestnyy.” I reached out to pet her. “Looks like a Yorkie. Is she a puppy?”
Natasha kissed Dasha again. “She is my puppy, my rebenok. My baby. Only seven months old. And I love her.”
“At least she’ll be easier to carry around than Piper’s new dog. She and Lionel adopted a Great Dane.”
“Piper has a dog?” Tess asked in obvious disbelief. “Last year, she tried to get Lionel to institute a sunset curfew for dogs. She claimed barking after dark was a form of noise pollution.”
“She should expect plenty of noise pollution at Lyall House from now on. Her dog’s voice box must be the size of a laptop.”
“Wait a second. Was this dog with you and Piper yesterday?” Tess asked.
“How did you know I was with Piper? I meant to call you, but my shipments came in yesterday and things got super hectic. Then we got slammed with customers right before closing. It was after ten before I could lock up. Wait till you hear what happened with Piper and her dog.”
This time it was Tess who reached for her purse beside the chair. “As of this morning, all of Oriole Point has heard.” She handed me the latest issue of the Oriole Messenger. “It says a skeleton was dug up on the Sanderling property. Given the size of a Great Dane, I assume Piper’s dog played a role.”
Scanning the article, I felt relief at its brevity. After all, there were few details available, aside from skeletal remains being uncovered on the forested section of the Sanderling farm. Unfortunately, the article also claimed Berry Basket shop owner Marlee Jacob was the person to discover the remains; Piper merited a brief mention when the reporter explained she was there checking out a starting location for the Blackberry Road Rally.
“I can’t believe it made the paper the very next day,” I said.
Tess laughed. “That’s how newspapers usually work. Cindy from the cheese shop told me that one of the Sanderling plumbing supply guys was there at the same time the police arrived. It looks like he was the person who contacted the Messenger.” She raised a wary eyebrow. “This won’t go over well at the Oriole Point Herald. They’ve been scooped.”
Even though our village was small, it supported two weekly papers. The rivalry between the papers approached operatic proportions, and I feared there would be an inordinate amount of interest directed toward this skeleton business now.
“That is why Tess and I come here after we see newspapers at grocery store.” Natasha cuddled her puppy. “We must know you are safe.”
“I figured you’d be at morning beach yoga,” Tess added, “so we sat and waited for you to return. Are you okay? Finding a skeleton must have been an awful experience.”
“I’m fine. Although I could do without the memory of that skull being uncovered.” Mindful of my upcoming pastry meeting with Theo, I quickly told them what happened at the Sanderling farm. While Natasha seemed amused, Tess looked troubled.
“Someone must have been murdered and then buried in the woods,” she said.
“Most likely many years ago. Which means it’s nothing for us to worry about.” I got to my feet. “Now I have to hustle my butt into the shower. I have tons I need to get done today.”
Tess left the comfort of her Adirondack chair as well. Since she wore black jeans and an Oriole Glass T-shirt, she clearly planned to go to work right after her dentist appointment. “I don’t know what’s more shocking: you finding a skeleton, or Piper owning a dog.”
I grinned. “He’s huge, Tess. You know how I try to match up people with their fictional counterparts?”
“All too well. You view me as Elinor Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility. And Natasha is Jasmine from Disney’s Aladdin.”
Natasha looked up from cooing over her little dog. “Who is this Jasmine?”
“A beautiful, exotic woman,” I told her. No need to mention it was a cartoon character.
“What does this have to do with Piper’s Great Dane?” Tess asked.
“He reminds me of the Hound of the Baskervilles. Only lovable.”
She didn’t look happy. “Be careful, Marlee. You’ve already stumbled upon two dead bodies this summer. If this keeps up, you may need Sherlock Holmes to get you out of trouble.”
* * *
The Berry Basket smelled like pastry heaven. As usual, Theo had been baking in my shop kitchen since dawn. The desserts at The Berry Basket were berry themed, with three to four different kinds each day. This morning, he had worked his magic on the Colonial recipe I’d found for peach raspberry strudel. When I entered the kitchen, I headed for the cooling racks. Inhaling the mouth-watering aroma of peach, raspberry, and buttered crust, I grabbed a knife and sliced a small piece. It was still hot, and the baked fruit burned the top of my mouth. But it was delicious. I cut another small piece.
“You should let it cool,” Theo warned.
I was too busy savoring my second bite. “You’ve outdone yourself,” I told him. “And the golden raisins make it even fruitier. If this is an example of eighteenth-century pastry, I would have loved s
itting down to dessert with Abigail Adams.”
He nodded. “You can really taste the ginger.”
“The nutmeg, too.” I gazed in approval at the sheets of strudel on the steel counter. “Another thirty minutes and this will be cool enough to slice.”
“The turnovers are ready to go out front now.” Theo nodded at the trays on an adjacent counter. “I filled them with blackberries, raspberries, and the last of the strawberries.”
I didn’t need to taste those pastries because Theo and I ran a test batch yesterday morning. The mixed-berry and cream cheese turnovers were sinfully delicious, and probably my least healthy offering in the shop. But it was a holiday week. Most people would be pigging out on barbecue, ice cream, and a whole lot of beer. No reason to turn down Theo Foster’s rich Fourth of July pastries. It would be unpatriotic.
I scanned the pristine kitchen. Theo Foster was not only a dazzling baker, he was compulsive about cleanliness and neatness. “How about the cupcakes?”
He pointed to the rolling racks where large trays of vanilla-frosted cupcakes were stacked. “There are two dozen left to frost. I’ll be done by the time you open.”
“It’s early. I’ll help you.” Each of us grabbed a small rack of cupcakes. As per my instructions, the cupcakes were filled with blackberries and raspberries. While these weren’t Colonial recipes, the dark blue and red fillings combined with the white frosting would satisfy my Red, White, and Blue holiday theme. Especially once I stuck a tiny American flag in the center of each cupcake.
We worked in companionable silence for a few minutes until Gillian arrived.
“Greetings, fellow berry lovers.” She donned her store apron. “I can smell the strudel from the back parking lot. If they taste as good as they smell, we’ll be sold out by noon.”
“They’re fantastic,” I assured her. “When you get the chance, please put the lingonberry jams out on the shelves. My supplier got them to me sooner than expected. I’ve priced them, so they’re ready to go. Same with the tins of strawberry tea.”
Blackberry Burial Page 5
