Blackberry Burial

by Sharon Farrow

  “Sure thing.” Gillian made her way to the adjoining storage room, where the boxes of yesterday’s shipments were kept. Before she disappeared inside, she turned to face me. “Maybe it’s not such a good time, seeing as we have to open soon, but I wanted to let you know my dad’s a little upset.” She didn’t meet my gaze, which worried me.

  Twenty-one-year-old Gillian Kaminski was an earnest, hardworking young woman. A student at Grand Valley State University, she had been my first hire when I opened The Berry Basket two years ago. While she only worked part-time during the school year, she pulled almost as many hours as I did at the shop during the summer. She was dependable, sweet, and far more sensible than either Cabot brother. If she was troubled, something must be wrong.

  “Why is he upset? Are things fine at home? Is your mom sick again?”

  Gillian bit her lip, looking even more uncomfortable. With her long, curly blond hair, blue eyes, and determined expression, she always reminded me of Alice in Wonderland. Just now, she looked as young as Lewis Carroll’s Alice, too. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s really none of my business. But Dad called me this morning.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Today’s story in the Messenger surprised him. His feelings are hurt.”

  Gillian’s father was the editor of the Oriole Point Herald, chief competitor of the Oriole Messenger. The two weekly papers fought over readership like boxers in a ring. In a small town like ours, finding a skeleton buried on a nearby farm qualified as big news. Because Gillian worked for me, Stephen Kaminski probably thought I would go straight to him with any juicy journalistic tidbits.

  “I never spoke to a single reporter from the Messenger, and since there are only two of them, I would know. Someone from the state police or sheriff’s office must have talked about the discovery. Plus Gordon Sanderling was there yesterday, and at least one of his employees.” I bent back to the task of frosting the cupcake in my hand. “After the publicity about the Bowman murder, I’d do anything to avoid talking to the press again.”

  “I told Dad that, but he’s manic about the Messenger. They’ve scooped him.”

  “The Messenger comes out on Tuesday, and the Herald three days later. If something newsworthy happens early in the week, they’ll scoop your father’s paper. But it works the other way, too. If a house burns down on Thursday, the Herald is the paper of record.”

  “I agree, but my dad is still upset. He wants to interview you.”

  I shook my head. “The only response I intend to give about all this is ‘No comment.’ And that includes your father.”

  “What happened on the farm?” Theo now looked as anxious as Gillian. “I don’t read the newspaper. How did you find a skeleton?”

  This wasn’t good. According to his resume, Theo Foster was thirty-seven years old but looked much younger. He also acted like a boy still in his teens: insecure, uncommunicative, nervous. And in the seven months he had lived in Oriole Point, few had ever seen him in the village. In fact, I would be shocked if he had a single friend. There were times I suspected he had a form of Asperger’s. Then again, our village embraced more than its fair share of eccentrics. Theo could simply be a younger version of Old Man Bowman and Leticia the Lake Lady. Whatever happened at the farm, I didn’t need to upset my industrious and talented baker. Not during Fourth of July week.

  Taking a deep breath, I explained how Piper and I needed to scout out a new location for the Blackberry Road Rally. I threw in a quick description of the road rally and why it was being held in honor of the BAS. I was about to explain what the Blackberry Art School was when Theo surprised me.

  “I know about BAS. I was a student there,” he said. “Twenty years ago.”

  “Really? I didn’t know you’d ever been to Oriole Point before this winter.” I tried to recall the details on his resume. I did remember that his last address was Champaign, Illinois.

  He grew even more serious, which was saying something. “I was here the whole summer. My mother thought I should learn more about pottery. I was a potter.”

  I exchanged glances with Gillian, who seemed as surprised as me. “I had no idea.”

  “I don’t make pottery now. I bake instead.” He looked down at the tray of cupcakes he was icing. “How did you find a skeleton?”

  “To be honest, I wasn’t the one who found it. Piper’s dog did.”

  “Piper has a dog?” Gillian sounded as stunned as Tess had.

  Eager to put this whole episode behind me, I described what happened at the farm yesterday, which was little more than what was printed in the newspaper.

  “The police have no idea who this person was?” Gillian asked when I was done.

  “The medical examiner could have answers once the forensic tests are done. But it looks like there’s little for the police to go on.” I paused, wondering if I should mention it. Then again, it would be a tiny scoop for Gillian’s dad. “Except for the bracelet found buried with the body.”

  “Bracelet?” Theo and Gillian asked at the same time.

  “A gold charm bracelet, although only the bracelet links are gold. The charms themselves are ceramic and painted to look like tiny crayons.”

  With a startled cry, Theo pushed himself away from the counter. The violent movement sent the tray of cupcakes crashing to the floor.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked in alarm.

  “I made that bracelet,” he replied with a stricken expression.

  “What?”

  “I made the bracelet at the school that summer. I know who’s buried in the woods.”

  Chapter 5

  I didn’t want to appear callous, but the last thing I needed was another murder. Even one that was twenty years old. Fourth of July was three days from now. Since the holiday fell on a Friday, it promised to be a long and profitable weekend. Every shop and restaurant would be open later than usual and only festive tourists sleeping off hangovers were likely to get much rest. The long-range weather forecast was also ideal, which meant anyone who owned an Oriole Point vacation home or rented a boat slip at our marina would be in town. And that didn’t include the thousands of visitors drawn to our gorgeous beaches. I didn’t have a second to waste on anything but business.

  After Theo’s shocking revelation, however, I had little choice but to inform the authorities. I also needed to get the store ready to open, frost the cupcakes that hadn’t been knocked to the floor, and put out the lingonberry jam, strawberry tea tins, and new shipment of ceramic berry bowls. Gillian was not available for those tasks since she was busy speaking with her dad on the phone. I now knew what the headline of the Oriole Point Herald was going to be this Friday.

  It took over five minutes to calm Theo down. The normally stoic fellow became so overwrought I feared only a sedative would do the trick. If Piper had been here, I would have borrowed one of those Xanaxes she always carried with her. I had no sooner convinced Theo to sit quietly and try to relax when Ryan’s sister-in-law Beth showed up to drop off the dozen fruit pies she delivered from Zellar Orchards each morning. I had time to exchange only the briefest greetings with her. My attention and concern were still focused on Theo, who now sat silent and unresponsive on a metal stool near the oven.

  I needed to decide which law enforcement agency to call. The Oriole Point police were ill equipped to handle serious crimes, as evidenced by their handling of the Bowman murder. Besides, the remains had been found out in the county, which meant it fell under the jurisdiction of the state police and the sheriff’s department. Because I had no desire to enjoy Greg Trejo’s Dementor-like presence twice in two days, I retrieved the card Atticus Holt gave me yesterday. Like a heroine from the Old West, I was counting on the sheriff to help me out of this mess. Or, in this case, the head of the sheriff department’s investigative branch.

  Thankful when he picked up on the second ring, I told him about Theo’s claim. Holt assured me he’d be here as soon as possible. I looked forward to handing this whole prob
lem over to him. It was now fifteen minutes past opening and we had six customers lined up outside. As soon as I unlocked the front door, they all headed straight for the ice cream counter.

  In the morning, we had a number of people who stopped in for fresh-berry smoothies, available with ingredients such as protein powder, wheat germ, flaxseed, and chocolate chips. Later in the day, ice cream cones and sundaes would be even more popular, but morning Berry Basket regulars craved breakfast smoothies and Theo’s pastries. One of us had to man the ice cream counter and power blender, while another took care of the register. Gillian was already scooping blackberry frozen yogurt for a smoothie, a position she was likely to be occupied with for some time. Only I couldn’t stay out front to help her, not with Theo catatonic in the kitchen and a sheriff’s captain en route.

  After ringing up the first of my smoothie-loving customers, I made another phone call. I knew Andrew worked at Beguiling Blooms today, and Dean was in Zeeland interviewing someone for his blog. Tess would be up to her ears in customers at the glass studio, which only left one person to contact on such short notice. I breathed a sigh of relief when my call found Natasha about to have a pedicure at Nirvana Nail Salon just down the block. Before I could finish cashing out the next two customers, Natasha burst into the shop, giving a gracious wave as if she were parading down the stage at Miss World.

  “Dobroye utro! Good morning! I am here to help sell berries.”

  Gillian regarded me with an expression of horror. “You’re letting Natasha work here?”

  “Only until I’m done with things in the back. She’ll be fine. After all, she and Cole both worked at their store.”

  Natasha swept me up in a long hug, followed by kisses on both cheeks.

  “You did actually work at Kitchen Cellar, right?” I asked her in a low voice.

  She tossed her long hair back. “Mainly I am what Cole called ‘window dressing.’ But I work sometimes, too. Only I do not have fun.”

  I touched the computer screen of my register. “And you know how to ring up purchases?”

  Natasha shrugged. “Kitchen Cellar is not exact same as Berry Basket computer. But I just hit numbers of what people are buying, da? Ding, ding, ding. Is easy.”

  I felt a stress headache “dinging” its way to me. Three more customers entered the store at the same time I heard knocking on my back door. Captain Holt had arrived.

  I took off my Berry Basket apron and handed it to Natasha. “Here, put this on. I’ll try to take care of things as fast as I can. And if you run into trouble, Gillian will help you.”

  Gillian looked like she wanted to cry.

  It was my turn to give Natasha a hug. “Spasibo. Thank you for helping me out like this. And I’ll treat you to your next mani/pedi.”

  Natasha slipped the chef apron over her head and tied the belt behind her. It was a shame the apron completely covered her designer summer outfit. “You are my friend, Marlee. My best friend in world. Dasha and I want to help.”

  A small yip erupted from the white straw purse on the counter, and a Yorkie head popped out to look at me. I’d forgotten about the dog who now lived in her purse.

  “I can’t have a dog in the shop. Especially since I serve food.” My mind raced as to where I could put Dasha. Not in the kitchen, and my storage room was jammed with delivery boxes. I did have a tiny office, even if it currently was awash in artwork I had worked on for the road rally. The knocking on my back door grew louder.

  Natasha heard the knocking, too. “Go talk to sheriff man. We will be fine. I keep little Dasha in purse.” She laid the purse on the floor at her feet. “My baby stay there. She not move.”

  With a prayer that the Health Department wasn’t about to make a surprise inspection, I hurried to the back room to let Captain Holt in. On my way through the kitchen, I noticed that Theo still sat motionless on the stool. I feared I might have to alert a medical professional.

  My worry must have been apparent since Captain Holt’s first words were, “Are you all right, Ms. Jacob? You’re looking a little pale.”

  “I’ve been stressed out since the whole skeleton thing. Now I’m worried about my baker. I’ll take you to him.” As he followed me, I glanced over my shoulder. “And please call me Marlee. When people use Ms. or Miss in front of my name, I automatically think I’m in trouble.” I’d had attorneys and the judge refer to me as Ms. Jacob so many times during the Chaplin trial, I cringed whenever anyone called me that now.

  “How long has Mr. Foster worked for you?”

  “Since December eighteenth of last year,” I answered as we walked into my airy professional kitchen. Before The Berry Basket moved into the building, it housed a business called Cookie Monster for ten years. I was forever grateful the previous owner had outfitted the kitchen with state-of-the-art baking equipment.

  Although Captain Holt and I now stood a few feet away, Theo didn’t even raise his eyes in our direction. “Theo, I called Captain Holt to come talk to you,” I said in a gentle voice, not wanting to alarm him further. “He works for the county sheriff’s department. I told him that you might know who the bracelet belonged to.”

  No response. At times like this, Theo Foster reminded me of the passive and bewildering clerk in Herman Melville’s Bartleby the Scrivenor. I only hoped things worked out happier for Theo than they did for Bartleby.

  “Mr. Foster, I need to ask you a few questions.” Holt kept his voice as quiet and nonthreatening as mine. “If you knew the person who was buried in the woods, I understand this may be upsetting. But it appears a crime has been committed and you could have some answers for us.” Again no response from Theo. Holt turned to me. “I may have to question him at the sheriff’s office.”

  I shook my head. “Taking him there will make him clam up even more.”

  “I don’t see how that would be possible.” Holt allowed himself a rueful grin.

  Theo made a jerking movement, as if he had been sleeping and just awoke. “Are you here to arrest me?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  “No. I only want to ask you a few questions,” Holt said. “Unless you’ve done something I should arrest you for.”

  Theo flinched. “No, no, no.”

  I gently touched his shoulder. “Can you tell Captain Holt what you told me? Please.”

  After a long pause, he answered, “I made the bracelet. I made it for her. For Sienna.”

  “Who is Sienna?” Holt asked.

  “I loved her.” Despite the heartfelt sentiment, his voice was devoid of emotion. “That’s why I made the crayon bracelet for her. Because her name was Sienna.”

  “I think I understand,” I said to Holt. “Her name was the same as a crayon color, the one that’s a brownish orange. It must have been a cute little joke about her name.”

  Theo shook his head. “The bracelet wasn’t a joke. It was a gift. Because I loved Sienna and wanted to make her happy.”

  “Was she happy with your gift?” Holt asked.

  “Yes. She wore it all the time. She must have been wearing it when she died.” He now looked at us, his gray eyes wide. “When someone killed her.”

  Both Holt and I stiffened. “Who killed her?” Holt whipped out a small pad and pencil from his shirt pocket.

  “I don’t know. There were a lot of them there that summer.”

  “Why do you say she was killed?” Holt narrowed his eyes at my baker.

  Theo’s clean-shaven face hardened, and I could see his jaw tighten. While his voice betrayed no emotion, it was clear his feelings about Sienna ran deep. “Everyone said she drowned. But how could she have drowned if Marlee found her body in the woods? I always thought it wasn’t true. They lied.”

  For a moment, Theo looked like the middle-aged man he was, and the wild desolation on his face was wrenching. But as quickly as the despair appeared, it was gone. Theo once more reverted to his impassive, childlike state. “They lied,” he repeated.

  “Who are these people who lied?” Holt asked. “Do t
hey live in Oriole Point?”

  “They did twenty years ago. They were at the school with me.”

  I remembered how Theo surprised me earlier by revealing he had been a summer student at BAS. “Do you mean the Blackberry Art School?”

  “Yes, I was there. So was Sienna. I made pottery. She painted.”

  “What was Sienna’s last name?” Holt had his pencil poised over his notebook.

  “A beautiful name. Katsaros.” He paused. “Sienna was beautiful, too.”

  I searched my memory for anyone with that name but came up with nothing. Then again, if something happened to a girl called Sienna Katsaros twenty years ago, I would only have been ten years old. At that age, I spent all my time learning to ride horses and having desperate crushes on boy bands. I looked at Theo, sitting hunched over in what was almost a fetal position. If he was thirty-seven now, that meant he was a seventeen-year-old art student back then. I wondered if he was more open and animated as a teenager. I hoped so. Most students lived at the school compound during the summer session and, like all teenagers, they could be cliquish. Tess and I had thoroughly enjoyed our two summers at BAS, but neither of us were shy or easily intimidated. A socially awkward person like Theo might have had a difficult time there.

  Holt wrote something down, then looked up. “Why would anyone kill Sienna Katsaros?”

  “She was the best artist at the school,” Theo replied. “No one was as good as Sienna. Everyone was jealous. But not me. I loved her.”

  “Did she love you?” I asked.

  “I think so. When I gave her the bracelet, she kissed me.” He touched his right cheek. “Right here.”

  “Do you remember the names of the art students who were jealous of her?” Holt asked.

  “I remember the painter. He was a Christian.”

  “What was his name?” Holt had his pencil poised to write again.

  But like morning mist over the lake, Theo appeared to be drifting away from us. The news about Sienna’s burial in the woods had upset his fragile equilibrium. “Leah shouldn’t have been jealous, though,” he said in a bewildered voice. “She could do magic.”