Killed on Blueberry Hill

by Sharon Farrow

  Next, I passed the little green cottage that served as the rescue organization’s administrative office. Amy, the executive secretary, stood on the porch with a family who must have just adopted two puppies. The excited children took turns holding the pups while Amy handed the parents the requisite Humane Hearts Adoption Kit: samples of recommended dog food, names of referred vets, squeaky toys, and a metal water bowl with the shelter’s name on it.

  To avoid running over a flock of wild turkey on the front lawn, it took longer than expected to make my way up the winding drive. In the seventeen years since Aunt Vicki had owned the property, she had transformed it from a bankrupt farm into a state-of-the-art animal shelter, with annex buildings, dog runs, kennels, an aviary, a barn, even a spanking-new stable currently housing three rescue horses, a donkey, and two llamas. The entire property stood as testament not only to Vicki’s fierce determination to save animals in jeopardy, but also to the devotion of Humane Heart’s many volunteers and generous donors.

  When I came to a stop in front of the yellow farmhouse, I could almost see my younger pigtailed self on the bottom porch step, eating fresh-picked blueberries from a pail. It seemed a lifetime ago. But also as recent as last month. I heard barking and spied two volunteers walking dogs in the field by the barn.

  “What brings you here in the middle of a workday, Marlee?” My aunt stood on the porch, a wide grin on her tanned face. Seeing her reminded me of my dad: both were blond, blue-eyed extroverts. Circled about her were three Doberman pinschers named Buffy, Willow, and Xander. Aunt Vicki was a diehard fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  Fighting back a stress headache, I got out of the SUV and went to meet her as she literally leaped off the steps. A full-figured woman, Aunt Vicki nonetheless moved with the agility of a champion gymnast. With a few dozen rescue dogs always kenneled on the property, she and her volunteers spent most of their day exercising the animals. It kept them as strong and muscled as Aunt Vicki’s Doberman pinschers, which guarded the shelter more effectively than the Secret Service.

  The three Dobermans ran up to me, and I crouched down to give them a little attention. My aunt had rescued them from a drug dealer who kept the dogs chained day and night to protect his contraband. After his arrest, the malnourished dogs were slated to be put down until Aunt Vicki read about them in the paper. She fell in love with them—and they with her—making the Dobermans a part of Vicki Jacob’s permanent animal family.

  “My turn now,” she said, holding her arms wide.

  I meant to only give her a quick hug, but when she put her arms around me, I burst into tears.

  “What’s this?” She patted my back as if I were a colicky baby. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You can tell your Aunt Vicki.”

  After a few minutes, I stopped crying. Feeling drained, I wiped my cheeks. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re upset.” Taking me by the arm, she led me onto the wide wooden porch. “Let’s sit down on the swing and talk about this.”

  After we settled back on the swing, she put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “What’s wrong?”

  With their heads cocked to one side, the Dobermans sat in front of us as I told my aunt about Ryan’s dislike of Porter Gale, the tug-of-war brawl, the police interest in his possible involvement, and his access to insulin. Because I was in a confessional mood, I also described my fluctuating feelings about our upcoming marriage. After I finished, I was met with silence and the panting of three Dobermans.

  “What do you think?” I asked. “Should I contact a lawyer in case Ryan is arrested?”

  “Don’t be silly. They won’t arrest Ryan.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because Ryan didn’t kill Porter Gale.”

  “I know that, but the police regard him as a suspect.”

  “They need a motive, Marlee. Porter cheating at tug-of-war is a laughable motive, and they know it. It wouldn’t hold up in court. Or in the court of public opinion, either.” She took my chin in her hand and made me look directly at her. “I have a feeling it’s not only the police who think he’s a suspect. Be honest. Do you believe Ryan could have killed Porter?”

  “Of course not.” I hesitated. “At least not in cold blood. It did scare me when he flew into a rage yesterday. For a moment, I actually thought Ryan might end up choking Porter to death. I don’t believe he was aware of what he was doing. That’s how angry he was. As soon as he calmed down, the two men made up. And Ryan had no reason to murder him later that night. But because of that stupid fight at the tug-of-war, the police suspect him. And they know he could have laid his hands on an insulin vial. By the way, that’s the first time I heard anything about his mother being a diabetic. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “It depends. How often would something like that come up in conversation? It’s not like he has the disease.”

  “I wonder if Ryan would tell me even if that were the case. He kept his drug use as a teen hidden from me. Along with his time in rehab. I had to find that out from Piper.” The recent Strawberry Moon Bash murder case uncovered more than a killer; I’d learned shocking secrets about several Oriole Point residents. One of those secrets had involved Ryan.

  “Ryan might want to forget his past, Marlee. Don’t be too hard on him.”

  “The problem is that people aren’t hard enough on Ryan. He’s good-looking and charming. And he knows it. That cuts him a lot of slack where the women in his life are concerned. He’s also his parents’ favorite. Even his brothers admit it.”

  She chuckled. “So speaks a pampered only child.”

  “Yes, I’m my parents’ favorite. By default. And this isn’t the first time Ryan’s kept something from me. What else about his life am I unaware of?”

  “He’s a man, sweetie. Lower your expectations.”

  “If I have to lower them that much, I don’t know why I’m getting married.”

  She stroked my cheek. “Because you love him?”

  “I do.” The admission gave me little comfort, however. “But how blind should love be? I’ve asked Ryan to be honest with me. Except I keep learning there’s something else I don’t know about him. Or don’t understand. We’ve been engaged for eight months. You’d think we’d know everything about each other by now.”

  “You should know a fair amount. Especially since you both grew up in Oriole Point.”

  “He’s four years older than me. By the time I got to high school, he had graduated. And I didn’t pay much attention to Ryan back then. He lived in the country and I lived in town. Then I left for New York and by the time I came back, ten years had passed. We were almost strangers to each other.”

  “I assumed the two of you got to know each other during one of your visits back home.”

  I shook my head. “He’s never been part of my group of friends. When I first moved back, I saw him at the farmers markets, where he was friendly and flirtatious. He had a reputation as a charmer, so I didn’t think it meant anything. And I was busy getting The Berry Basket up and running. I had no time for romance. Then he began to visit my shop, and the flirting got more intense. All that charm finally worked. Once we started to date, he got serious about our relationship quickly. I think he decided to marry me on our first date.”

  “He probably had his eye on you for some time. Why wouldn’t he? You’re a catch.”

  “I wish I’d been living here during his first marriage. I’d love to know what kind of person his ex-wife was.”

  Aunt Vicki thought a moment. “I have a vague memory of a redhead with a lot of cleavage. Nothing like you. And I mean that in a good way.”

  “People told me she was quite the looker. I must seem like the ordinary girl next door.”

  “Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, Marlee. I won’t put up with that. Not when you’re such a beauty. Stop making that face. It’s true. My goodness, you remind me of Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality, bu
t after she had her beauty makeover in the movie.”

  Despite my headache, I laughed. “I’m flattered you think so.”

  “I know so. You also remind me of Kate Middleton. The two of you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.” She gave an admiring look at my long dark hair, which I had worn loose around my shoulders today. “You look more like Kate than her own sister, Pippa.”

  My aunt and I were longtime royal watchers, and our admiration for Prince William’s wife knew no bounds. While I didn’t believe that I was remotely as pretty as the Duchess of Cambridge, it pleased me that Aunt Vicki thought so.

  “Now that we’ve decided who my celebrity doppel-gängers are, let’s get back to my fiancé. Who may end up being arrested for a murder he didn’t commit.”

  “He won’t be arrested,” she said. “Although if you keep saying such things, you might make people suspicious about him.”

  “Ryan’s not a killer. I’ve met a few, so I should know. But his animosity toward Porter seems unwarranted. I’ve dated Ryan since last summer and never heard him say a word about Porter Gale. Not one word. Where did this hatred of Porter come from?”

  “There was a business rivalry between the Gales and the Zellars before you were born.”

  “No, this thing between Ryan and Porter seemed personal. And Porter kept needling Ryan yesterday. I got the feeling something else was wrong between them.” I lowered my voice, as though the police might eavesdrop. “Ryan was happy to learn Porter had died. You should have seen his face. A normal person would have been shocked or subdued. The death was so unexpected.” I felt like crying again. “But Ryan laughed. Who acts like that?”

  I could see this troubled her. “Someone who’s emotionally immature?”

  “Or a sociopath. Am I marrying a sociopath?” I shut my eyes. “It can’t be true. I feel like my world is about to implode.”

  “You’re too stressed out. And I know the perfect remedy for that.” My aunt stood up.

  “If you’re going to offer me something alcoholic to drink, no thanks. I have no appetite, either.”

  “I have something much better than food or drink.” She took my hand and pulled me up to stand beside her. “Dogs.”

  * * *

  I stood in the middle of a field to watch a family of bufflehead ducks glide on the pond. Aunt Vicki was right. A little quality time with canines did wonders for the mind and soul. She and I had spent the last twenty minutes walking two recent rescues: a one-eyed beagle and a timorous sheltie. And we’d done so without a word of conversation. I felt calmer now and ready to figure out what the next step should be.

  I tugged gently at the leash to distract the beagle from chewing something inedible. “Thanks. This has helped. I forgot how much I liked exercising your dogs. As soon as tourist season is over, I promise to get out here more often.”

  She smiled. “One day I might even get you to adopt one of them.”

  After the dogs completed their business, we resumed our walk. “I work too many hours to have a dog. I bring Minnie to the store now, but I couldn’t keep a dog at the shop.”

  “While I admire your work ethic, you’ll need to slow down a bit once you have children.”

  “Ryan and I want children. But I’m not ready for that yet. I’m still trying to overcome my nerves about getting married.”

  “To be honest, I don’t blame you. The statistics aren’t encouraging. I’ve got two bad marriages behind me and have no intention of trying for a third. Joe says he’s happy to hear that, but I think he’s a little disappointed.”

  “I like Joe. Maybe you should reconsider. Third time’s the charm, as they say.”

  She laughed. “Says the girl who hasn’t even walked down the aisle once.”

  “Well, I don’t know a lot of happily married couples.”

  “You know more than you realize, starting with your parents. And ‘happily married’ doesn’t mean there are never problems. Serious ones. But a good marriage is worth saving.”

  “Then why did you get divorced twice?” I asked her.

  Her expression turned sad. “Because neither of them was a good marriage.”

  We walked for a few minutes, watching the dogs sniff everything in sight. “I don’t think I’m afraid of marriage,” I said finally. “I think I’m afraid of marrying Ryan. What if I’m not the right person for him? The relationship takes so much work. I feel like I’m always making an effort. It’s why I haven’t shopped for a wedding gown yet.”

  “Your mom and I have been concerned about that.”

  “As soon as we got engaged, everyone insisted we choose the florists, invitations, bridesmaids, ushers, honeymoon locations. It didn’t leave much time to think about the actual relationship.” I frowned. “And Ryan’s driving me crazy about the lake house. He insists I sell it as soon as possible.”

  She grabbed my arm. “Sell the lake house? What are you talking about? I know he wants you to move out to the orchard, but I didn’t think he expected you to sell the house. You can’t do that. That is Great-great-grandma Lotte’s house and it is to be passed down to a Jacob female. I gave it to you because I never had daughters.”

  “I have no intention of selling the house. And I’m not moving out to Zellar Orchards, either. I’ve told this to Ryan a thousand times, but he doesn’t believe me. That’s part of the problem. He’s always gotten what he wanted, and without a lot of effort.”

  “Marlee, I don’t care how much effort he puts into this, he is not doing what he wants with Lotte’s house,” Aunt Vicki snapped. “The nerve of that man! Perhaps you’re right. Ryan Zellar may not be the right man for you to marry.”

  I burst into laughter.

  She turned an offended face in my direction. “What’s so funny?”

  “I tell you the police suspect Ryan may have murdered someone, and you advise me to not be so hard on him. I tell you he wants to sell the lake house, and you want me to kick him to the curb.”

  “And so you should.” She sniffed. “Sell the lake house! Who does he think he is?”

  “He thinks he’s my future husband and entitled to half of everything I own.”

  “Ryan Zellar is not entitled to Lotte Jacob’s home. You do know how much that house is worth, don’t you?”

  “A three-story Queen Anne Victorian overlooking Lake Michigan with a private beach? A lot. That’s another reason Ryan wants me to sell the house. He thinks the property taxes are too high.”

  “Of course they’re high,” she told me. “The house and waterfront property are worth over a million dollars.”

  I stopped and faced her. “It can’t be worth that much. Six hundred thousand at most.”

  She gave me an exasperated look. “The house alone is worth more than half a million. Add on a beach with two hundred feet of lake frontage and the price doubles. That is a legacy house. And not only because Jacobs have lived there for over a century. Should circumstances ever grow dire, it can serve as the family’s safety net. I passed it on to your stewardship.”

  “Please know I take that seriously. Sooner or later it will sink into Ryan’s thick head that I am not going to sell it. Of course, he thinks I’m crazy for loving the house the way I do. If he had his way, he’d tear it down and put up something modern. Thinks we’d get a better price if a brand-new house came with that private beach.”

  “Tear the house down? It’s on the Historic Register!” She grew even more agitated.

  I put my hands on her shoulders. “Aunt Vicki, I swear on the soul of every dead Jacob that I will never sell the lake house or tear it down. I give you my word.”

  “I trust you, sweetheart. I always have. But now I don’t trust Ryan.”

  “Don’t worry. He can’t sell it without my permission.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “Now I’m glad you never got around to putting the house in your own name. Tell him the truth. That when I first transferred the property, you were only thirteen so your parents’ names were put on t
he title. And they refuse to sell. It may stop him from pestering you.”

  “I’m afraid that’s no longer true. When I visited Mom and Dad in Chicago last month, we went to the lawyers and had my name put on the title. Since I’m the one paying the taxes, insurance, and utilities, we thought it was time that the house be legally mine.”

  “And so you should.” She patted my arm. “I’m being foolish.”

  “Please relax. I’ll make Ryan see reason. Besides, he doesn’t need the money. Zellar Orchards is quite successful. And two years ago, Ryan’s dad decided to give his sons their inheritance. He wanted the pleasure of watching his children enjoy it while he was still alive. The orchard acreage was divided among all five sons and put into their own names. Ryan’s father also gave them an equal share of money: one hundred fifty thousand dollars each.”

  This seemed to disturb her even more. “If Ryan has all those acres and a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, why is he pressuring you to sell your house?”

  I regretted telling any of this to her. Ryan was my problem to deal with, not Aunt Vicki’s. “He has plans to buy additional acres in the county so Zellars can expand. He also wants to produce and sell hard cider. Ryan worships his dad, and I think he wants to make the Zellar empire even more secure for his own children.”

  “Ryan might find a way to sell the house, no matter what you say.”

  “He can’t. The property is in my name.”

  “You always joke about how charming he is, how he always gets his own way in the end. Maybe he will again. Maybe we’ve all been wrong about Ryan.” She looked positively stricken. “And maybe the police are right. What if he did kill Porter Gale?”

  Chapter Eight

  I left Humane Hearts more worried than when I arrived. Fearful that Ryan would be dragged into a murder investigation, I didn’t expect my aunt to plant more doubts. My normal sense of certainty had been off-kilter for a while: a combination of bridal jitters and too much proximity to dead bodies. Porter’s murder now made my life even more complicated and unclear.