Blackberry Burial

by Sharon Farrow

  I felt myself blush, not something I often did.

  “I’m surprised he’s not with you,” Holt continued.

  “Soon after we arrived, Ryan and I bumped into three of his cousins from out of state. Neither of us had any idea he had relatives who once went to BAS. Ryan was thrilled to see them, and he hasn’t left their side since. Ryan is extremely tribal. And he’s not comfortable with anyone outside the Zellar tribe.”

  “Except for you,” Holt said, although it sounded like a question.

  I watched Ryan disappear into the gazebo, his arm slung around the shoulders of a cousin introduced to me as Little Pete. “Of course. I’m part of the tribe now.”

  While I had no qualms about joining the Zellar clan, I hoped Ryan’s reluctance to spend time with anyone outside his family would lessen. As an only child, I learned early to make friends and hone my socializing skills. The result was an ever growing network of people whom I regarded as much my family as my Jacob and Rossi relatives. But Ryan was one of five sons, all of them dedicated to the orchards and each other. It was no secret the women who married into the Zellars were expected to accommodate themselves to how the family lived and worked. I had already been told that if I wanted to see my parents on major holidays they would have to come to the Zellar farm and celebrate it there.

  When I first heard this, I assumed they were trying to make a joke about how close knit the Zellars were. But the longer we were engaged, the more I realized the family really didn’t need anyone outside of those related by blood or marriage. It was like joining the British royal family—or the Corleones. I hinted to Ryan that my complete transformation into a Zellar was unlikely, but he regarded my comments as amusing. This didn’t amuse me.

  “I heard something earlier today about Gordon Sanderling,” I said. “It seems he was charged with stalking a woman about sixteen years ago. Possibly his ex-wife.”

  His expression turned wary. “Where did you hear this?”

  “A friend.” I had no intention of ratting out Suzanne. It might get her fired from her job at the police station. “But this person seems confident the rumor is true.”

  “Rumor is the word for it. And a garbled version, too.” Holt lowered his voice as a group of people strolled past. “Marlee, this is an official police investigation. While it’s beneficial if you have information that could throw light on the case, spreading unsubstantiated rumors is harmful. Especially to the person being gossiped about.”

  “It seems pretty serious gossip. I was told Gordon’s ex-wife has disappeared.”

  “This is why gossip can be so damaging to a case. Let me assure you that Gordon’s ex-wife is alive and well. She remarried years ago and is about to run for city council in Duluth.”

  I reminded myself to set Suzanne straight the next time I saw her. But I wasn’t willing to totally concede defeat. “You did mention the stalking rumor was garbled. Does that mean part of it is true?”

  He stared back at me.

  “Okay, okay. I’ve concluded the question part of the program tonight.”

  “Good. Now you can answer some questions for me. Exactly how big is this school?”

  “A hundred and thirty acres. You can only see a third of it from here. Those uphill trails lead to the workshops and studios. Beyond that are the Bramble cabins where students and faculty sleep. Staying in those cabins was the most fun. Except for the mosquitoes.”

  “Why weren’t you a day student? Ms. Kapoor explained that most local students went home at night.”

  “Tess and I knew we’d miss out on too much fun if we weren’t here all the time, especially after dark. We bugged our parents until they agreed to let us remain on campus all summer, even though they had to pay more tuition. A small price to pay to shut us up.”

  “You both sound like a handful.”

  I gave him a wink. “I prefer to think of us as two girls who knew what we wanted and were determined to get it.”

  “I suspect that’s still true. Is it also true the Blackberry Art School is one of the most prestigious art summer schools in North America?”

  “Absolutely. The faculty comprises well-known artists and instructors from all over the country: the College for Creative Studies in Detroit, the Rhode Island School of Design, Yale’s School of Art, the Academy of Art University in San Francisco.”

  “No one connected to the Art Institute of Chicago’s school?”

  I laughed. “Our neighbor to the north snagged that plum. The Art Institute runs the Oxbow Art School in Saugatuck.”

  “And where are all these blackberries you were telling me about?”

  “Follow me.” I led him to a long row of bushes that lined the path leading to the bayou pier. “These are blackberry bushes.” I touched one of the leafy branches heavy with fruit. Even before I plucked the berries, their sweet fragrance wafted toward me. “Taste one.”

  Holt ate far more than one blackberry, as did I. The berries were bursting with flavor.

  “Tastes like summer to me. Especially summer at BAS.”

  “Are they wild blackberries?” Holt reached over to pluck a few more.

  “No, these have been cultivated by the school.” I squinted at the berries in my hand. “This one looks like the Chester Thornless variety. I’m surprised they’re doing so well this close to the water. Blackberries like well-drained soil. As for wild blackberries, there are dozens of bushes up by the cabins. And if you like blackberries, I saw blackberry cobbler at the buffet. The school cooks make certain to serve a blackberry dish every day. They’re quite creative. I still remember the night we got blackberry chili.” I wrinkled my nose. “Not one of their more successful attempts.”

  “I’ll take a pass on the chili, but I wouldn’t mind some blackberry cobbler.”

  He followed me to the buffet, where we were soon enjoying slices of cobbler. Occasionally I lifted a fork as someone called out a greeting to me. It was breezy, which made the humidity more bearable. I smiled as two guitarists began to play near the gazebo. I expected to enjoy myself tonight, but I never thought Holt would be the person I’d be enjoying it with.

  “Don’t the students ever get tired of the blackberry theme?” He scraped the last bit of cobbler from his plate. “Seems like overkill.”

  “Nah, we loved it.”

  “I see now why you run a business called The Berry Basket. You’re obsessed.”

  I craned my neck to look at something over his shoulder. “My phantom baker just showed up.” Theo Foster stood half hidden by a pine tree near the path leading to the parking lot. I noticed he wore a purple BAS centenary shirt.

  A thin woman with tousled blond hair suddenly swept Theo up in an embrace. Although it was no surprise when Theo didn’t return the hug, I was impressed he hadn’t pulled away.

  “That’s Leah Malek,” Holt told me. “Theo was telling the truth about knowing her.”

  “Theo always tells the truth. Or at least the truth as he sees it.”

  Holt watched them for a moment. “I’m glad Theo showed up. I’d like to ask him a few questions about Christian Naylor.”

  I put my hand on his arm. “Let me talk to Theo first. He’ll take off the minute he sees you coming toward him. Then he’ll hide in his cottage for the rest of the night.”

  “You’re probably right. I don’t want to send him into another panic attack in front of all these people. But he has to speak with the police again, whether he likes it or not. I’ve also been told Gordon Sanderling has been spotted here tonight.” He frowned. “Marlee, I don’t want you getting any more involved in this. Asking questions could land you in trouble, particularly if you’re talking to the murderer.”

  “Don’t worry. Theo is not the murderer.”

  He shook his head at me. “You’re too trusting, Marlee.”

  “And you’re too cautious.” I grabbed another slice of pastry. “Have another piece of blackberry cobbler. Fruit and sugar make everything better.”

  Before he could pr
otest, I was striding toward Theo and the blond woman. Theo appeared visibly relieved at my approach. “This is Leah,” he told me when I joined them.

  Leah turned an expectant face in my direction. “Hi. I’m Leah Malek. Are you a friend of Theo’s? He and I were students at BAS about a thousand years ago.”

  “It was only twenty years ago,” Theo said.

  “I stand corrected.” She grinned. “It just feels like a thousand.”

  “Marlee Jacob.” I shook her hand. “I own The Berry Basket on Lyall Street. Theo’s my baker.”

  Theo looked over my shoulder at Captain Holt, now making his way to the administration cottage. “I saw you talking to the policeman. I hope you told him to stay away from me.”

  Leah’s smile dimmed. “Tina introduced me to him earlier tonight. He wanted to question me about Sienna. I still can’t believe her body was discovered last week. What a horrible thing to happen. And after all this time.” She turned a sad gaze in my direction. “Did you know Sienna? Probably not. You don’t look familiar.”

  Before I could say anything, Tina Kapoor stepped onto the wide, polished base of an oak tree cut down years ago. The stump was known as Speaker’s Corner, and anyone who stood atop it had to be accorded attention. Although Tina did not need Speaker’s Corner to attract notice. A tall woman with a hawkish profile and black hair worn in an elaborate braid, she resembled a Madras version of Louise Nevelson. Her career promised to be nearly as impressive as Nevelson’s as well. Not yet fifty, Tina had achieved worldwide fame for her clay sculptures, with recent exhibitions in Berlin, London, and the Whitney in New York.

  Tina tapped on her live microphone, and the music and conversation died away. “Ladies and gentlemen, teachers and alumni of Blackberry Art School, I want to welcome all of you back to your artistic home along the bayou.”

  A wave of applause and cheers greeted this.

  “Hundreds of former students have made their way to the beautiful village of Oriole Point once again to celebrate the art and friendships forged here in the heat and glory of past summers. One hundred summers have passed since the first artists came to the bayou determined to make this a learning ground for painters, sculptors, glassworkers, ceramicists, and anyone with an eye for beauty and a hunger to create. And far more than one hundred artists have emerged from our exciting summer sessions.”

  I glanced over at Theo, who stared solemnly at Tina. He claimed he was a potter once. I wondered how talented he had been, or if he kept any pieces from his summer at the bayou. Or was the memory of that summer too painful to bear?

  “As you can see from the schedule posted on the studios and cabins,” Tina went on, “we have a number of activities planned for this centenary. I hope all of you spend part of your time in the studios making art. I don’t care if you haven’t sat at a kiln or picked up a brush in decades. That hunger to create still resides within each of us. Let it reawaken this week.” She paused. “Twenty years ago, one of the students at BAS, Sienna Katsaros, disappeared at the end of the summer session. For those who haven’t seen today’s newspapers, you should be aware the remains of Sienna Katsaros were recently discovered in a wooded area several miles away.”

  It became so quiet I could hear frogs croaking.

  Tina’s habitual stoic mask seemed to twist with pain. “It is suspected she met with foul play, which makes Sienna’s death even more tragic and incomprehensible. We hope the police finally learn what happened to our Sienna and are able to bring some measure of peace and justice both to her memory and to her family. Now I would like all of you to observe a moment of silence for our youthful friend, our artistic sister, our Sienna.”

  She bowed her head and we all followed suit. When the long minute passed, I raised my head and looked over at Theo. He was gone.

  “Where’s Theo?” I asked.

  Leah sighed. “I never could understand why that boy did anything.”

  “He’s not a boy now,” I reminded her.

  “Isn’t he? I swear he hasn’t aged at all. And I don’t think he’s changed much in any other way, either. He still doesn’t seem comfortable around people.”

  “I believe he likes you,” I said. “And I know he cared for Sienna.”

  “Ah yes, Sienna. The boy had a huge crush on her. Then again, he wasn’t the only one.”

  This didn’t surprise me. The newspapers published a photo of Sienna on the front page this morning. She had been a remarkably pretty teenager: straight dark hair, heart-shaped face, delicate features. And it appeared at least two girls in their Bramble were attractive. Leah boasted a casual, almost brazen, beauty. Although she was far too thin, like a human greyhound.

  “He was really upset to learn Sienna’s body had been found.” I took a deep breath. “In fact, I was the one who accidentally discovered the remains.”

  Leah looked appalled. “How terrible for you.”

  “Theo blames himself for not being in Oriole Point when Sienna disappeared. Now he thinks he should have been here all along trying to find her body.” I sighed. “Or her killer.”

  She closed her eyes, as if the idea was distressing.

  “It’s hard to get information out of Theo,” I continued. “And the less I know, the more difficult it is to help him. But he did mention you. And Christian Naylor.”

  “Yes, Christian was part of our group of friends. There were seven of us: four boys, three girls. But Theo was too young to be a member of our Bramble.” She shrugged. “And too odd.”

  “Why only seven in your group? The school assigns four students to a cabin. I’ve never known a Bramble cabin to house only three.”

  “Dawn, Sienna, and I shared our cabin with Amanda Dobson, a watercolor student from Detroit. We all liked her, especially Christian. We were bummed when she had a severe reaction to poison ivy and had to be sent home. It took Christian weeks before he cheered up.”

  “Is Christian here tonight? If you could point him out to me, I’d be grateful.”

  “I’m the only one of our group in Oriole Point at the moment. According to my phone texts, the rest of the gang arrives later tonight or tomorrow.” Leah’s face took on a faraway expression. “Of course, Gordon is here. We had a lovely reunion. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed him. Now I’m looking forward to seeing the others.”

  The sudden hooting of a barn owl reminded me of my conversation at Crow Cottage with Theo. “This may sound stupid, but Theo said you taught him how to summon birds. He gave me a demonstration by calling a crow. He described what you did as ‘old magic.’”

  “Poor guy. Leave it to him to think learning bird calls was magical. It’s kind of endearing. But it only proves how out of touch with reality he is.”

  “You spent a summer with Theo. I hoped you could help me understand him better.”

  “Marlee!” Ryan emerged from the gazebo and waved. “Little Pete wants to talk to you.”

  I waved back. “Are you free at all this week? We could meet for coffee or something.”

  “How about tomorrow for breakfast?” Leah asked. “Eight-thirty maybe?”

  “That would be great. Meet me at the Sourdough Café on Lyall Street.”

  “Done. Anything to help a former Drupe.” After giving me a friendly wink, she made her way toward a group of alumni by the bayou pier.

  Now to figure out where Theo went. Why did he slip away while Tina Kapoor was honoring the memory of Sienna? Had Tina’s speech upset him? I looked back to where Ryan stood waiting. Holding up my hand, I yelled, “I’ll be there in a few minutes!”

  Not waiting for Ryan’s response, I started down the curved path that led to the parking area. It was the only place Theo could have disappeared to without us noticing. I wondered if this was what it was like having a child. I certainly felt overprotective about my baker. And unreasonably worried.

  Several people passed me on their way to the BAS campus. I reminded myself there were dozens of cars in the parking lot tucked away among the trees. I would n
ot be alone, even if only three lampposts provided illumination. As I walked among the parked cars, the voices and music from the campus faded. The shadowy lot made it difficult to identify one car from another. But there was enough light to discern two figures standing by a Volkswagen a few yards away. One of the figures was tall and bulky, dwarfing his companion. When I drew near, I was certain the car was Theo’s VW. Which probably meant the slight person pressed against the car was Theo.

  I heard Theo say in a trembling voice, “I didn’t do anything.”

  The larger figure appeared to grab Theo and give him a shake.

  I broke into a run. “Hey! What’s going on here?”

  Both figures jumped at my appearance. Now that I was close, I recognized the large hulking figure as Gordon Sanderling. His fist was clutched about the collar of Theo’s T-shirt.

  “Take your hands off him!” Furious, I grabbed Gordon by the arm and yanked him away.

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” I asked Theo, who was shaking. At this rate, the poor man would suffer a nervous breakdown.

  “He said I was telling lies to the police,” Theo said, his breathing jagged and worrisome. “But I told him I didn’t. I’m afraid of the police. I would never talk to them. Never.”

  “It’s fine, Theo. You’ve done nothing wrong. And Gordon won’t bother you again.”

  “I didn’t do anything to him,” Gordon said.

  “Don’t lie to me.” It was all I could do not to smack Gordon across the face. Yes, I knew this man had possibly killed Sienna Katsaros twenty years ago, but I had inherited an Italian temper from my mother that was difficult to control. “I saw you shaking him. You were threatening him, weren’t you? Why?”

  “This is none of your business.”

  I took a step toward him, causing Gordon to take an involuntary step back. “Theo is my friend. I won’t allow you to frighten him. He’s going through a hard enough time since Sienna’s body was discovered. The last thing he needs is anyone making him feel worse.”

  “You think he feels worse about Sienna than I do?” Gordon gave a hollow laugh. “You’re as simpleminded and stupid as he is.”