“Relieved. And devastated. They’ve never gotten over their child’s death. Now the family is being forced to relive the tragedy. Once the forensic tests have been completed, they’re flying in to retrieve her remains.”
“How terrible and sad,” I said. “I don’t know how anyone in law enforcement deals with this on a regular basis.”
“It’s not easy. But if we don’t deal with it, the guilty will never be captured and punished.”
I hoped the guilty person who murdered Sienna Katsaros would be one of them. And I wanted to help in any way I could. Holt and I spoke little for the rest of the way. It was hot, and we had to pay attention in order to avoid the all too prevalent poison ivy. I’d been lucky I hadn’t fallen into a patch when I was here last time.
“This is it,” Holt announced as we entered a small clearing.
Checking the time, I noted that it had taken us twenty-five minutes to walk here from the farmhouse driveway. As I suspected, the distance was not so far from the farm that no one would have found this place. But it was distant enough that few people were likely to stumble on it, as I had done.
“The police have been busy,” I remarked. The spot where Sienna had been buried was cordoned off, and the ground thoroughly excavated. I noticed paw prints everywhere, obviously left by the cadaver dogs. Other spots had been dug up as well. The police were looking for further clues: another body or a buried weapon perhaps.
Holt watched me as I walked around the clearing. “Why did you want to come here?”
“To make certain of what I saw.” I turned to him. “Last night I had a vivid dream about the burial site, and it reminded me of something that might be important.”
His expression turned even more serious. “Go on.”
I stroked the overgrown bush beside me, then pointed to three other bushes nestled among the borders of the clearing. “These are wild blackberry bushes. I remember eating the berries while I was waiting for the police to arrive. I didn’t think anything of it then. Wild blackberries are common around here. But now that I know Sienna went to BAS, it takes on meaning. My dream last night reminded me of it.”
“You think there’s a direct connection between the burial site and the Blackberry Art School?”
“I do. I think this site was deliberately chosen by the murderer.” I scanned the burial site. “And I suspect the murderer is part of BAS.”
“We’ve come to the same conclusion. The only tie Sienna Katsaros had to this area was the school.” He grimaced. “And Gordon Sanderling.”
I sat down on the fallen log where I had watched Charlie dig up the body just five short days ago. “It’s more than that. Look where the body was buried. A small clearing surrounded by wild blackberries.” I bit my lip. “This is hard to explain unless you’ve been a BAS student.”
Holt sat down beside me. “I’m listening.”
“The area where the art school was founded has always been covered with blackberry bushes, both wild and cultivated. It’s why the bayou and the school were named after the berries. If we had a mascot, it would probably be a giant blackberry bush. Everything at BAS is connected to the berries.”
I reached over and plucked one of the blackberries from the bush beside me.
“The cabins at the school are grouped according to age and are referred to as ‘Brambles,’” I continued, looking down at the berry. “The Black Butte Bramble houses students aged twelve to fourteen. Those fifteen to seventeen live in the Black Pearl Bramble, while students eighteen to twenty call Black Diamond Bramble their home. Adults twenty-one and up live in the Bayou Bramble cabins, which are more spacious than those assigned to younger students. By the way, those are all names of different blackberry cultivars. Then there—”
“Wait a second,” Holt interrupted. “You said students are housed according to age. Theo Foster was seventeen when he was at BAS, and Sienna a year older. According to your description, that would have put them in different housing groups.”
“True. But the classes held students of all ages.”
“Then there’s interaction between the age groups?”
“Yes. And we ate meals at the same time. Still, BAS is as cliquish as high school. The upperclassmen treat younger students with a mixture of affection and disdain. In fact, students aged twelve through seventeen are referred to as ‘Drupelets,’ while those eighteen to twenty are known as ‘Drupes.’ Adults are called ‘Canes.’”
He swatted away a deer fly. “This sounds like gibberish.”
“It makes sense to people who are fruit growers. But even the newest BAS student realizes all the terms are related to blackberries. We’re also given berry-themed nicknames by our fellow Drupes and Drupelets.”
I saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. “And what was your nickname?”
“Everyone at BAS called me ‘Raspberry,’ or ‘Razzy’ for short.” I smiled. “I was a bit of a smart ass and liked to give people the raspberry.”
He chuckled.
“My best friend, Tess, never makes a decision until she mulls it over about thirty times,” I went on. “So her berry nickname was derived from the mulberry; we called her ‘Multessa.’ The Cabot brothers work for me; they also went to BAS for a summer. Because Dean liked to poke fun at people, he was dubbed ‘Poke,’ a shortened version of pokeberry. And Andrew apparently hit on every cute guy at BAS. His nickname became ‘Wolfie.’” I noted his confused expression. “After the wolfberry.”
“If all the BAS students were given berry-related names, I wonder what Theo’s was.”
“I don’t know. I hope he was given one, but it’s usually your friends and Bramble cabinmates who name you. It’s possible he kept to himself so much that no one thought to give him a nickname.” The idea made me sad. “Again, what you need to remember is that virtually everything at the school is linked to blackberries.” I paused for emphasis. “Everything.”
He shrugged. “We already assumed a person at the school had something to do with Sienna’s death. A fellow student or instructor. Maybe a workman who visited the campus.”
“Maybe. But I think someone in Sienna’s Bramble group knows what really happened to her. Of course, it depends on how long the group was together. Students can register for weekly and monthly sessions, or stay the whole summer. Near as I can figure from talking to Theo, he was here the entire summer semester: early June to late August. If Sienna and her Bramble mates were, too, that’s significant.”
“Why?”
“The school is a world unto itself. Kind of like a summer art camp version of Hogwarts—without the magic wands. Those who stay all summer forge strong bonds. And the bonds between Bramble cabinmates can last a lifetime. The two girls Tess and I roomed with our first summer returned the following year. We became as close as sisters. In fact, Emma and Alison are coming in for the centenary and staying with me at my home. Many of us also honored our time at BAS by marking our bodies permanently.”
I pulled up one of my jeans’ legs and pointed. My right ankle boasted a delicate purple tattoo of four blackberries.
He shook his head. “This sounds less like a school, and more like a cult.”
“Leave it to the police to see something sinister in this,” I said with a laugh. “It wasn’t. BAS attracts kids more creative than those attending most summer schools or camps. And we were given a great deal of freedom. Famous artists taught us, we lived in the woods beside a lovely bayou, and the lake beaches are an easy walk away. Waking up each morning to the smell of pine and paint. Being with your friends all day, creating art, having fun, discussing the meaning of life as only teenagers can do.” I sighed with pleasure at the memory. “If cults were that wonderful, I’d join one in a minute.”
“So we should pay particular attention to the students in Sienna’s Bramble,” he said.
“That’s the logical place to start. The Bramble cabins each house four students. Those students know you the best.” I nodded. “Even Theo referred to Sienna’s B
ramble yesterday when I visited him. He mentioned two names: Christian and Leah. I’m betting Leah was one of Sienna’s cabinmates. And Christian was probably a student in her Bramble group.”
“By the way, thank you again for calling me yesterday after you talked to your baker. Greg and I checked the records at the school this morning for the information you gave us. We think the students Theo referred to are Leah Malek and Christian Naylor. Both of them RSVPed to the school that they plan to attend the centenary next week.” He leaned forward, his arms clasped over his knees. “We’ll question them as soon as they arrive. As we intend to question everyone who attended BAS that summer. Especially those in her age group.”
“I’d pay particular attention to Gordon.”
“We are. After all, the body was found on his farm.”
“More than just on his farm. It was found right here.” Frustrated, I gestured to the clearing. “If you’re a teenager spending an entire summer at a school obsessed with blackberries, this would be ideal. It’s private, it belongs on the property of a BAS student, it’s filled with blackberry bushes. A perfect place to hide out with a fellow Bramble member.” I narrowed my eyes at the burial site. “Or maybe more than one.”
“For what purpose? Sex? Drugs? Partying?”
“All of the above. There are a fair number of chaperones on campus because some of the kids are as young as twelve. However, Sienna’s Bramble group would have been eighteen, nineteen, and twenty. I’m sure they were looking for a place to sneak away to. Gordon had to have known about this clearing. Sanderlings have lived here for decades.”
“Now we only have to prove it.” He shot me a rueful smile.
“Theo said the Sanderling family threw a birthday party for Gordon on the farm that summer. Lots of BAS students were invited. Any of them might have wandered into the woods and found this spot. Or maybe Gordon took some of them here.”
“Maybe. But this is no more than conjecture, Marlee. Yes, we found the remains, which we were able to identify. Someone at BAS either killed her, or knows who did. But the murder happened twenty years ago. This is a cold case and we may never solve it.”
I got to my feet. The clearing felt more and more like a graveyard, one that we were disturbing with our conversation. “When will the newspapers reveal the name of the murder victim?”
Holt stood up, too. “The forensics results came in yesterday. The big news outlets in the state will include it in their Sunday edition tomorrow.”
“And the centenary celebration begins the day after.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Therein lies your only advantage.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the murderer plans to attend the centenary, this person should be here by Monday. That will be the first time they hear of the discovery of Sienna’s remains. Don’t you see? The news will come as a complete shock. Whoever killed Sienna may be thrown off balance by this unexpected turn of events. Perhaps the murderer will make a mistake. One big enough to allow the police to catch him.” I recalled Theo’s mention of Leah. “Or her.”
“There is another scenario.” His smile was friendly, but world weary. “The murderer may be so upset by the news that he might feel compelled to kill again.”
Chapter 10
On Monday, I could almost hear the gnashing of teeth at the tiny editorial offices of the Oriole Messenger and Oriole Point Herald as they both got scooped by the bigger news outlets. As Holt had surmised, every news service from Grand Rapids to Detroit carried the story in their Sunday editions. There wasn’t a person in the village who wasn’t talking about it, especially Gillian. She pestered me all morning about any further details regarding Sienna that she could pass on to her father.
The only ones uninterested in the case were Dean and Andrew. Instead, the brothers had taken to asking me random questions about painting and sculpture. I felt as if I were trapped in an art-themed version of Jeopardy. If it hadn’t been so busy in the store, I would have sent both of them home. I was thrilled when Andrew’s boyfriend called him up with some floral-related emergency. I quickly gave him the rest of the day off. One down, two to go, I thought, as Dean asked me for the name of the woman who posed for Goya in his Naked Maja painting.
“Caitlyn,” I replied as I bagged blueberry soap for a customer.
“Be serious.” He shook his head at me. “You’re not even trying.”
“And you’re trying my patience. Now stop with the questions and get back to work.”
“I only hope Tess is prepping for the road rally. Otherwise we’re likely to finish last,” he grumbled before heading off to wait on a customer at the pastry case.
When I turned my attention to the next customer in line, I gave a yell at the sight of Emma Kanin, all five feet eleven of her. “You’re here!”
“We both are,” a voice replied. Much shorter than Emma, Alison Smollett peeked around her friend’s shoulder.
I ran out from behind the counter. For the next few minutes, we jumped up and down in a boisterous group hug.
“Where’s Tess?” Alison asked after we’d hugged and jumped ourselves breathless.
“At Oriole Glass. Let’s go over there right now.” I was about to remove my chef apron when I realized the shop was filled with people. The ever-present sound of the blender meant Gillian was making smoothies, and I spied Dean slicing blackberry cobbler for a customer. Three people stood at the counter, ready to have their purchases rung up.
“Sorry, I can’t leave. But you know where Tess’s studio shop is.”
Emma gave me another hug. “Not to worry. We booked our flights to arrive at O’Hare around the same time. After the two-hour drive, a walk around downtown will do us good.”
“Both of you are staying with me this week,” I reminded them. “I don’t want to hear you’ve changed your mind and booked a B&B or prefer to stay in a BAS cabin.”
Alison laughed. “We’re staying with you. I’ve been looking forward to that more than the centenary. It will be like a weeklong pajama party.”
“We put together a pajama party grocery list on the drive from Chicago.” Emma looked down at her phone. “Potato chips, chip dip, popcorn, chips, wine, salsa, chips, dark chocolate, chips. Am I leaving something out?”
“Chips?” I suggested.
Swamped with pastry-loving customers, Dean cleared his throat to get my attention.
“You need to get back to work,” Emma said. “We’ll go bother Tess.”
“If it slows down, I’ll call your cell. I’d love to have lunch with you guys.” After a last group hug, I hurried back to the register.
With a frantic wave of his silver pie cutter, Dean hissed at me. “If another person walks in here, we’ll be in violation of the fire code.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just summer in Oriole Point,” I answered while ringing up the next customer. Although, to be honest, it seemed busier than usual. Looking around, I noticed quite a few BAS shirts. The art school alumni were arriving in droves. If this was any indication, the centenary would be great for business. Better than even Piper hoped.
For the next two hours, I looked up expectantly at every person wearing a purple BAS T-shirt. Several I recognized, but many I didn’t. And I couldn’t help but think that one of these returning students may have murdered Sienna Katsaros.
* * *
Emma and Alison held off on lunch until store traffic slowed down for both Tess and me, which meant we didn’t sit down to eat until after two o’clock. The afternoon rush over, we were able to find a table at the popular Boatswain, a large moored riverboat on the Oriole River. All of us were starving. In addition to our sandwiches, we ordered crab and artichoke dip appetizers, along with cups of chicken gumbo. Except for Tess, who requested a proper vegetarian meal of three-bean soup, followed by a sweet potato and quinoa salad.
I sat back, enjoying the first moment off my feet since morning. A double-decker vessel, the Boatswain’s outer decks were filled with tables. Because
most of the lunch crowd had left, we snagged a ringside table at the railing. The view was appropriately picturesque and waterborne. The sunny eighty-degree day prompted dozens of boaters to take their cabin cruisers, fishing skiffs, pontoons, and whalers out to the lake. And the brisk summer breezes were responsible for the tall elegant sailing vessels streaming past us.
“This is nice.” I sipped my iced tea as a schooner, sails billowing, glided only a few yards away. “I love that business is booming in summer, but it means I have to spend lots of gorgeous summer days inside. Sometimes I wish I had a boat like this to sell my merchandise from.”
“Like one of those junks in Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbor.” Emma’s glamorous, globe-trotting job involved handling marketing and overseas promotion for Ralph Lauren. If any of us had questions about junks in Victoria Harbor—or the best espresso bar in Budapest—we went to Emma. Or her husband, Stefan, who also traveled around the world for business.
Alison tapped a spoon on her water glass. “Time to get serious. Who has big news they haven’t shared yet? We know Marlee’s finally getting married this winter. Any wedding dress details? And are you having a berry wedding cake? If so, I hope it’s blueberry.”
“Things have been so busy at the shop, I haven’t had much time to think about it. Besides, we’re not having a big wedding. Ryan prefers something small and intimate. Only close friends and family, which includes you and Emma. Remember, he’s been married before.”
“You haven’t,” Emma said. “If you want a big fancy wedding, you should have one.”
“I don’t.”
Tess cleared her throat. “For the record, you should know Marlee has a wedding board on Pinterest with over a thousand pins.”
I gave my friends a sheepish grin. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t mind a big wedding with the bridesmaids dressed in winter white, and a white chocolate cranberry cake decorated with pine cones, and centerpieces of white branches and hanging crystals—”
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