Because I’d only visited Blueberry Hill once for an outdoor charity event, I’d never been inside the house itself. Since I might never be here again, I took the opportunity to examine the two-story white house. The six tall columns, pediments, painted plaster exterior, and decorative transom marked it as Greek Revival. Unlike my 1890s home, however, this one had been built in the mid to late twentieth century. While attractive, it couldn’t compare with the beauty and charm of my historic blue Victorian with its turret, gables, and third-floor tower.
As I walked up the steps to the front porch, I switched the wicker basket I held from one hand to the other. It felt like I’d packed half my store. But a gift of food for Jacqueline and the family seemed appropriate. I rang the doorbell and waited.
The door swung open. “Marlee, I’m happy you could meet with me,” Jacqueline said with a smile. “Please come in. A shame you couldn’t be here for the luncheon.”
I hadn’t expected Jacqueline to answer her own door. Due to the size of the Blueberry Hill fortune, I assumed a housekeeper would handle such mundane tasks. Then again, my experience with rich people largely involved Piper, who employed a staff of six. And that didn’t include her gardeners. Certainly, Piper’s five-story Italianate mansion on a bluff overlooking the lake far surpassed this one, both in size and splendor.
“I wanted to bring you something from my shop.” I handed her the basket.
“How sweet of you. And it’s so heavy. You shouldn’t have given me this much. Thank you.” She scanned its contents, which included berry-flavored wine, syrup, muffins, candy, and jam. “Let me leave this here so we can have our tea.” She placed the basket on a wooden bookshelf in the foyer. Above it hung a four-by-four oil painting of blueberries nestled in leaves against an amber background.
“This is nice.” I nodded at the painting.
“My late husband wasn’t much for art, but he did love that painting. He told me he bought it ten years ago from a visiting artist who taught at the Blackberry Art School. A woman called Judith Sanford.” She lifted an eyebrow at me. “Eric did not spend money on anything he couldn’t find a use for, so he must have been impressed to purchase this. As far as I know, he never purchased another work of art. Everything else on the walls was bought by his first wife.”
The foyer walls didn’t hold any other artwork on its Wedgewood blue wallpaper, but a peek into the living room revealed a number of unimpressive, framed watercolors. And I glimpsed a framed painting at the top of the curving white stairway near the door.
“I asked the caterers to set up a tray for us on the terrace.”
I followed her along the hallway through what looked like a study and into a glassed-in terrace at the back of the house. I found it a cramped room, filled with too much furniture and at least six potted plants too many. But the sunny space did look out over a colorful garden blooming with roses and lilies.
“Please sit.” She gestured at a blue and white floral love seat. After I did so, Jacqueline sat at a matching love seat across from me. Between us sat a low table holding trays of tiny quiches, small crustless sandwiches, pastries, and a white teapot. “I hope you’re hungry. I am. The luncheon stressed me out so much, I couldn’t eat. Because I’m not from around here, almost everyone who came were strangers. I get anxious making small talk with people I don’t know.”
“I hope our conversation won’t stress you out. You don’t really know me.”
“That’s true. But I know all about you. Eric talked about everyone in the county who had anything to do with berries, and that includes Marlee Jacob, owner of The Berry Basket.” She poured a cup of tea for me.
“I’m sure you heard what happened after you left the church.”
Her polite smile vanished. “Cara couldn’t wait to tell me. And not just me. She ranted to every guest at the luncheon. People were literally running to get away from her.”
This sounded worse than I imagined.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone that angry,” she continued. “Her daughter and son were so embarrassed, they left after only twenty minutes. Brody finally got her to calm down, but she started up again when Sloane arrived.” Jacqueline took a sip of her tea. “At that point, I asked Cara to leave. I had no choice; she was making everyone at the luncheon uncomfortable. Everything went fine once she was gone.”
“How did Sloane hold up?” Although I’d eaten a late lunch, the quiches looked too good to resist and I put several on a plate. “I drove her home this morning from the service. She didn’t want to be near Cara.”
“As soon as Sloane arrived at the luncheon, Cara began to yell at her. I sent Sloane into the house until I could convince Brody to take his wife home.” She frowned. “I’m afraid everyone at the luncheon will be talking about it for some time. Including the caterers. When I planned the event I never had any idea it would turn out like this.”
“No one expected Sloane to announce she was pregnant.”
“I already knew.”
“You did?” I asked through a mouthful of quiche.
“Sloane came to me yesterday. She said she’d taken several pregnancy tests since last week, all of them positive. But she wanted to make one hundred percent certain. Since I work at a clinic part-time, she asked what other tests she could take. I suggested a blood test and another urine test. And of course, a pelvic exam.”
“Will she do it?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“I don’t know. And you can’t blame Cara for being upset and angry. The same week Porter dies, Sloane discovers she’s pregnant, which means she inherits all of Blueberry Hill. It seems a little convenient.”
“Tragic too. A young man died in suspicious circumstances. Now I feel bad that my stepson and I weren’t close. He ignored me during the months I took care of his mother. And he disapproved of his dad marrying me. Understandable. A younger woman marries an older rich man, one in poor health. I’m sure everyone thinks I’m a conniving gold digger who seduced the dying Mr. Gale.” She sighed. “If they only knew.”
Although Sloane fit the gold digger profile, I had a hard time viewing Jacqueline as a scheming temptress. She seemed like those watercolors I’d glimpsed in the Gale living room: pale, limpid, washed out. A polar opposite to Sloane’s vibrant glamour. And I had to agree with the disagreeable Wyatt: Jacqueline needed a makeover. If we were friends, I’d suggest she style her honey-blond hair in something other than a wispy pixie cut. And buy clothes that enhanced her figure, instead of hiding it. Even a little blush and mascara might do wonders.
“The gossip will shift to Sloane now,” I assured her.
She shrugged. “It’s nothing to me. I’m leaving Oriole Point.”
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere but here. There’s no reason to stay. Eric left me enough money to start a new life. The house doesn’t belong to me, which means I don’t have to worry about selling it.” She plucked a cucumber sandwich from the tiered tray. “Yes, I could live here until the day I died, but why would I want to? I’m all alone in this place, except on the days the housekeeper works. I haven’t made many friends. And I hate living on the property. It’s huge. Even though the farming operation is acres away, they’re always hiring new people to work, which means more strangers coming on the property. I don’t feel safe living here by myself.”
“But Sloane lives really close.” Because I drove her home that morning, I knew the house she lived in with Porter was no more than a five-minute walk away.
“Sloane and I hardly see each other. She thinks I’m dull.” Jacqueline gave a sad laugh. “And I am.”
“Don’t take it personally. She probably thinks everyone over twenty-five is dull. But you may grow close now that she’s pregnant. After all, it’s only the two of you now on Blueberry Hill. Sloane told me that she’d like to leave as well, but that could be because of all the drama of this past week. If she stays, I bet she’d like you to remain. After all, she’s going to have a baby
. And she doesn’t seem to have any family, aside from an older sister whom she misses.”
“Let her sister move to Blueberry Hill to keep her company. I’m leaving. I should have done it months ago, but I’ve wrestled with depression since Eric passed away. I didn’t have the energy to do much, except help out at the clinic now and then, and putter about here.” She shook her head. “But I’m too young to live like a retiree. It’s time I left Blueberry Hill and got on with my life.”
Since this seemed a wise move, I didn’t bother to dissuade her. “Will you stay long enough for the police to discover who killed Porter?”
Jacqueline shuddered. “Absolutely not. It’s awful enough to have been here this past week. What with Sloane being upset, and the police questions, and not knowing who the murderer is. Another reason I don’t want to stay in this house alone much longer. What if the killer has a grudge against the Gale family? That puts me in a vulnerable position. No. I have to leave. And as soon as possible.”
Brushing quiche crumbs from my fingers, I sat back. “I have to leave soon myself. I’m working at the fairground tonight. Maybe we should talk about why you wanted to see me today.”
“You’re right. I didn’t ask you here to discuss Sloane and my plans to leave.” Jacqueline got up to retrieve a folder from an étagère by the door. Before she sat down again, she handed the folder to me.
I opened it up. “These look like legal documents. Loans.”
“Some are copies of the paperwork my husband had drawn up when your fiancé borrowed money from him last September. Eric was in poor health at the time, and I can’t help but think Ryan took advantage of him. The financial arrangement he brokered with Porter is in there, too.”
I tried to examine the papers, but my hands shook. What had Ryan done?
She must have noticed my distress. “Those are copies of the originals. I’m giving them to you, Marlee. As his future wife, you should be aware of all this.”
“I’ll look these papers over later. But could you simply tell me how much Ryan borrowed from Eric and Porter?” I swallowed. “Exactly how much?”
“Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”
I gasped. “That can’t be true!”
Jacqueline looked regretful. “I dreaded having to tell you this. Ryan made it clear to Eric and Porter that these loans were to remain secret. No one was to know.”
Fighting to get my breathing under control, I asked, “How many times did he come to the Gales for money?”
“As I said, he asked my husband for a loan back in September. A hundred seventy thousand dollars. Ryan made monthly payments on the loan, with interest. After Eric died, the money owed on the loan legally belonged to the Blueberry Hill estate, which meant Ryan made the payments to Porter. In January of this year, he borrowed more money, this time from Porter.”
I felt dizzy and disoriented. Maybe I wasn’t hearing her correctly. “Wait. If Ryan needed money, why did he go to the Gales? He hated Porter. Why not go to a bank?”
“I asked Eric about that. He said Ryan didn’t want his family to know he needed to borrow money. That he’d do anything to keep them from finding out he’d gotten himself into debt. If he did it privately, he hoped to keep it private until the loan was paid off.”
“But Ryan must have known Porter would make sure everyone knew.”
“There’s a contract in that folder that says if either Eric or Porter made details of the loan public, the loan became null and void. Ryan obviously insisted on such a clause. And it worked. Oh, Porter hinted around the family that Ryan had borrowed money from him, usually after he’d drunk too much beer. But no one knew exactly what he was talking about.”
“Did Porter or your husband know how Ryan got himself into debt?”
She nodded. “Gambling.”
I hung my head in despair. It all made terrible sense. Ryan had been addicted to crystal meth as a senior in high school; he spent months getting clean at a rehab center in Texas. I’d only learned this in June, and not through Ryan. When I had confronted him, he swore his drug problem was in the past. And apparently it was. However, he had replaced one addiction with another. No wonder he lied about those bi-monthly gambling trips. He probably hoped to win back enough money to get out of debt, but instead he only sank deeper. And he needed almost half a million dollars to get out of this hole.
This meant he must have gambled away the hundred and fifty thousand dollars that Ryan’s dad gave each of his sons two years ago. I now understood why Ryan was desperate to keep this from his family. Their respect meant everything to him.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of this news,” Jacqueline said. “And I only found out the final details in the past few days. The family lawyers were at Sloane’s house this week, going over legal paperwork regarding the estate. I was there, along with Porter’s sister, when we learned the full extent of Ryan’s debts. The lawyers strongly advised us to pass on this information to the police. Which is what we did. Since you’re going to marry him—”
“I’m not. Ryan and I broke up last night.”
This startled her. “I had no idea. You and Ryan were so affectionate with each other at Trappers Corner. Porter even told the two of you to stop being so lovey-dovey.”
“A lot has happened since then.”
Her eyes clouded over as she no doubt remembered that was the night Porter died. “Even though the police have these financial records, I don’t think Ryan killed Porter over something like this. Why would he? Because he has assets to use as collateral, his family doesn’t have to be any the wiser.”
“I don’t understand. What assets would Ryan use as collateral?”
“The assets he used this past May. When he couldn’t make one of the payments to Porter, he put up the property he owns at Zellar Orchards as collateral.”
If I hadn’t been so shocked, I might have screamed. Ryan had not only lost all his money, he’d handed over the Zellar land bequeathed to him by his father. And he’d given it to his enemy.
Jacqueline may not believe Ryan killed Porter. But I did.
Chapter Twenty
I threw myself into work with such single-minded dedication, Ebenezer Scrooge himself would have given me a raise. And he wouldn’t have needed any visits from ghosts to prompt it. Following my conversation with Jacqueline, I went straight to the fairground, where I operated my bounce house, worked at my vendor booth, then volunteered to judge that night’s blueberry muffin contest after one of the judges called in sick. If they’d let me, I would have spun cotton candy and juggled. Anything to keep me from thinking about Ryan’s gambling addiction and how he’d foolishly put himself at the mercy of Porter Gale. Which gave Ryan a powerful motive to murder him.
When I got home that night, I popped two Benadryl, which knocked me out quicker than a mallet to the forehead. Although it left me groggy the following morning, without their sedative effect, I’d have lain awake all night. Minnie certainly found me a sleepy companion the next morning at breakfast, and it took hours working with Gillian at The Berry Basket before I felt like I had finally woken up. By then it was time for me to return to the fairground for the last big day of the Blueberry Blow Out. Tomorrow, crowds could enjoy the downtown parade and the antique car show, but today we basically wrapped things up. And with a bang, too.
The fireworks for the Blow Out rivaled that of the Fourth of July, only these took place at the fairground, not over Lake Michigan. While the fairground had seen a record number of visitors this week, for me the Blow Out was a bust. The only good thing: Kit and I admitted our feelings for each other ran deeper than friendship. But we hadn’t seen each other since our kiss at my shop. Given what had happened since then, I couldn’t make time for this new romance. Especially since the last man I’d been involved with looked to be a murderer.
While I took tickets from the parents of their bouncing children, I kept thinking about Piper’s Blueberry Fun House. That’s what my relationship with Ryan had turned i
nto: an experience that promised fun and excitement, but instead threw one unwanted surprise after the other at me. I felt like I’d been traversing a fun house with Ryan the whole time, from a distorting hall of mirrors where nothing was what it appeared to be, to a pit one fell into without warning, then had to struggle to get out of. Even a graveyard, where all my dreams of a future with Ryan died and were buried.
“You look too worried for someone at a carnival.”
I glanced over to see Kit Holt smiling at me. “Actually, I was thinking about the Blueberry Fun House.”
“Is the fun house that scary?”
“Yes. I’ve been inside and have no wish to repeat the experience. Although I give Piper and Lionel an ‘A’ for sheer audacity.”
He looked closer at me. “Is everything all right? I haven’t seen or heard from you since Thursday night.”
“Wait a sec while Rex and I change shifts,” I told him as my carny replacement arrived. After exchanging a few words with Rex, Kit and I left the bounce house, the cries of delighted jumping children echoing behind us.
“I wish we had more time to talk, but I have to relieve Andrew at my vendor booth.”
“I understand. I’m on duty, too.” Kit leaned closer. “If I weren’t, I’d hold your hand.”
Despite my sad mood, I smiled. “Would you have kissed me, too?”
“I’ll do that no matter what.” He took me by the chin and kissed me. I kissed him back. “Thanks, Kit. I needed that.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Too much to talk about here. But I broke up with Ryan after I saw you on Thursday.”
His expression revealed both surprise and pleasure. “I’m sure that was difficult for both of you. And I won’t pretend I’m not glad, Marlee. You know how I feel about you.”
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