Killed on Blueberry Hill
Page 23
“I know. Only I have a lot to sort out at the moment. Until that’s all taken care of, I don’t think I’d be the best company.” Especially if the police arrested my former fiancé for murder.
“I’m a patient man. If what we have is real, we should take it slow. I’m sure you don’t want to repeat a mistake any more than I do.”
“Amen.” I gave him another kiss, this time a quick one. “Are you working until close?”
“They called in added security from the sheriff’s department. A suspect we’re tracking may be at the fair tonight, so I’ll be here until the end. But we should watch the fireworks together. I heard they’re pretty spectacular.”
“They are.” I smiled. “The fireworks start at ten. And speaking of the Blueberry Fun House, why don’t we meet there about ten minutes before? It’s a good viewing spot.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Kit gave me a wink before heading off into the crowd on the midway.
Needing sustenance, I bought a blueberry lemonade and a large bag of popcorn to fortify me for my upcoming shift at the vendor booth. After six days at the fairground, I’d grown accustomed to the constant bells, whistles, and calliope music from the carousel. The carousel suddenly reminded me of the Zellar family, and I wondered which Zellar was running the attraction at the moment. Could it be Ryan? Or had Ryan been taken to the police station?
I peeked around the side of the stand selling nachos and pizza. The carousel spun twenty yards away, its painted horses bobbing up and down. Although his back was to me, I knew it was Ryan who watched the ride. Ryan, the man I had agreed to marry. The man I loved despite his lies and his weaknesses. But had he ever loved me? I didn’t think so.
With tears filling my eyes, I left before Ryan turned around. It seemed painfully clear why Ryan had been interested in me. He must have been gambling long before I moved back to Oriole Point, his debts growing greater each year. And there I was with my million-dollar beach house. A single girl who had been through too many bad relationships must have seemed easy pickings. Despite all the time I devoted to my business—or maybe because of that—some part of me was ready to be bowled over by Ryan Zellar.
Little did I know he had borrowed money from Eric Gale last September. Needing more money by January, he next borrowed from Porter. It was also the month he proposed to me. I was his insurance policy if he got into more debt. Rather, my money from the sale of my house was his insurance. That’s why he pushed so hard for me to sell the house, why he wanted us to marry sooner rather than later. And when I refused to sell, he had no choice but to put up his Zellar acres as collateral, hoping to reclaim them later when he convinced me to sell the house.
I felt like a clueless heiress in a gothic novel, romanced by a suave gentleman caller driven by greed, not passion. How could I have been unaware of what lay beneath Ryan’s easy charm? Everyone from Piper to Theo to the Cabots was unimpressed by Ryan. Why was I fooled? My English literature professor mom often quoted from her favorite writers. I recalled one in particular from novelist William Makepeace Thackeray: “Love makes fools of us all, big and small.” I was proof of that. And I qualified as one of the big fools, too.
* * *
I never thought to be going from tears to laughter within an hour. But I didn’t expect Natasha to join me at my booth for the entire shift. Needing a place to sit, she convinced a portly man selling blueberry seedlings to let her borrow his folding hair. As she sashayed off with his chair, he regarded her with a stupefied expression. I suspected he’d go to bed tonight wondering if a shapely beauty in a white halter, lavender short-shorts, and gladiator sandals actually had appeared at his booth. Maybe he had dreamed it.
She greeted me with a flurry of kisses on both cheeks. “I am here to keep you company. It not good to be alone when heart is breaking over man. Even a man who does not deserve you.”
“You’re a sweetheart.” I glanced up at the customer who waited to purchase a bag of blueberry coffee from me. “But I’m hardly alone.”
She tossed back her gorgeous mane of hair. “Customer not same as friend.”
“You’re right. Thank you, Natasha.” After making change for the woman, I turned my attention back to her. “Where’s Old Man Bowman?”
“He says one night at fair is enough. Also his favorite TV show about Bigfoot hunters is on. So I come by myself.”
“I’m surprised. The two of you have been joined at the hip since Cole died.”
“Is not true. We spend much time apart, especially since I do not fish or hunt. And he does not like to shop. But I am fond of him. He is my dyadya.”
“What’s dyadya? A boyfriend? Lover?”
Her brown eyes widened. “Ty sumasshedshiy? Are you crazy? Dyadya is uncle. And Wendall was uncle of my dead husband. That make him my uncle, too.”
“I guess that’s true.” I glanced down at her handbag on the ground. “It looks like a Yorkie is missing as well. Where’s Dasha?”
“Carnival not good for Dasha tonight. There will be fireworks, and loud noises scare my little baby. I leave her home. But I tell myself to come to Blow Out so I can be with Marlee so she does not cry.”
“I think I cried myself out the night I ended things with Ryan. But I’m glad you’re here. It seems I learn more secrets about Ryan with each passing hour.”
“Ryan sounds like my dead husband. Cole lies to me from moment he judges my beauty contest. I learn later I marry a liar and pig. One who hurts me, too. Ryan only keeps secrets.”
“I’m afraid he’s keeping more secrets than the KGB.”
Natasha leaned closer, pointing at the man who examined my berry jams on the table. “Shhh. Do not say KGB name so loud. You do not know who listens.” She sometimes forgot she no longer lived in Russia.
“Anyway, I’ve learned there’s more Ryan has kept from me.” I told Natasha what I had learned during my visit with Jacqueline yesterday. When I was finished, she nodded.
“Is sad Ryan not honest with you. My cousin Irina marry handsome man she meet during vacation on Black Sea. He says his father owns much oil in Russia. Says family is so rich, they have houses all over world. Even Beverly Hills. Then she find out his father is drunken street cleaner in Strezhevoy. And that new husband Boris is, too. Irina angry. Never forgive.”
“Did they divorce?”
“Nyet. She love him. But Irina tells her brothers to beat Boris up. They do such a good job, Boris has two broken arms. But it teach him not to lie to Irina.”
This didn’t surprise me; Natasha’s anecdotes about Russia usually involved beauty pageants, bribes, or violence. Sometimes, all three. “I’m not interested in having Ryan’s arms broken. And he has to find a way to deal with his gambling problem and his debts without me. But I am hurt that he proposed to me only because he wanted to sell my house for the money. How desperate Ryan must have been to get free of his debt to Porter Gale. I’m afraid he may have been desperate enough to kill him.”
“Marlee, you are wrong. Da, Ryan not tell truth. And maybe he only want to marry you to get money from house. And if he did, I would break one of his arms myself. But I don’t think he kill Porter.”
“Sorry. I may only be an amateur sleuth, but it looks like Ryan had motive and opportunity.”
“But house is worth million dollars. More than enough to pay Porter and get his land back. And you say Ryan never stops asking you to sell. He even asks this week. That means he thinks he can convince you to do what he wants. So why would Ryan kill the Porter blueberry man if he believes he gets all the money he needs when he marries you?”
She had a point. Why would Ryan rush to murder Porter if he still thought there was a good chance I’d finally listen to him and sell my house? After all, hadn’t I said a hundred times that Ryan always got his own way, especially where women were concerned? Yes, Ryan was a gambler and a liar, but maybe I’d judged him too harshly.
The man interested in my berry jams ended up buying three jars. After he left, I sighed. “L
et’s talk about something else besides Ryan and Porter. I need a little distraction.”
Wearing a wide grin, Natasha pulled out her cell phone. “I have distraction. My friend who was Miss Bulgaria text me last week to tell me about YouTubes I must see. You will love.”
She was right. Someone had posted video of all the beauty contests Natasha had ever competed in throughout Russia and Europe. In the earliest contests, she was barely fourteen—sort of a Soviet version of Toddlers and Tiaras. We both howled with laughter at the dizzying makeup and costumes she appeared in over the years. Some contests had a talent portion of the program, which treated audiences to Natasha’s attempts at tap dancing, gymnastics, magic, and ventriloquism. I found it “must see” viewing, particularly the Miss St. Petersburg swimsuit competition, when Natasha’s right breast popped out of her bikini top.
It turned into a busy, enjoyable night as I sold Berry Basket products while taking every free moment to watch YouTube with Natasha. Eventually we had to stop. Both of our phone batteries finally died. And I sold out of every item I had brought.
“That’s it,” I said to Natasha when the last customer left my table. “We’re out of battery power and stuff to sell. Now, we have an hour until fireworks.”
“What we do until then?” she asked.
“How about if we take the cashbox back to my car, then you and I can find something delicious and unhealthy to eat.”
“I am liking those ears of elephants.”
“Our appetizers.” I put the empty cardboard boxes in the recycling barrels provided, while Natasha cleared off the booth table. “And churros for our entrée.”
“What is this churro?”
On the way to the parking lot, I explained the finer points of carnival churros, funnel cakes, and chili cheese fries. Natasha had just launched into a description of a Russian treat known as plyushka when I spotted Ryan in the parking lot. He was talking on his phone and didn’t notice us. Farther up the lot, I saw his pickup with ZELLAR ORCHARDS on the side.
“Is Ryan leaving?” I asked Natasha in a stage whisper. “That’s weird. His family not only sponsored the carousel here, they paid for the fireworks display. Whoever does that receives a plaque on the fairground stage right before the fireworks go off. All the Zellars planned to be there.”
“Maybe he needs something from his truck.”
But after Ryan got into his truck, the headlights came on.
“He’s leaving,” I muttered. “God only knows what he’s up to now.”
Natasha grabbed my arm. “My car is right there. We follow him. Like sloths.”
“Sleuths,” I corrected her. Ryan began to back out of his parking space.
“Da, let’s be sleuths.” Natasha pulled me to her vehicle, which was only three cars down. Like me, she had recently bought a new car; hers was a silver Audi.
I got into the passenger seat. Before I could buckle my seat belt, Natasha had already pulled out.
“He will not know we follow. I am good driver.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I told Natasha. “No matter how much you might doubt Ryan killed Porter, it’s possible that he did. I don’t want to put either of us in danger.”
“We only follow. I stay far away from Ryan. Besides, I can protect us. Look in my purse. I have something in zipper pocket.”
As we followed Ryan out of the parking lot, I rummaged around in Natasha’s capacious handbag. Shocked, I pulled a gun out of her purse. “You carry a gun?”
“Da. Uncle Wendall tells you the other day. He gives me a gun so I feel safe. And I am good shot. Shark shooter, he call me. Don’t worry. I protect us.”
But I had a feeling nothing good would come of getting in a car with a “shark shooter.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“You’re good at this,” I said in amazement as Natasha tailed Ryan’s pickup. From the moment we left the fairground parking lot, Natasha drove far enough behind Ryan so he wouldn’t realize he was being followed. Even if another car got between us, she kept Ryan’s car in sight and always managed to catch up.
“I learn from man I date in St. Petersburg. He works in Ministry of Justice, but at night he sell kontrabanda on black market. Because he is government minister, he is followed—even when on dates with me. But they never catch us. Oleg is best driver. He teach me.”
“Someone needs to make a movie out of your life.”
“I would love such a thing. Selena Gomez should play me.” She smoothly passed the van in front of us. Up ahead shone the rear lights of Ryan’s truck. In the growing dark, we could barely see the outlines of his vehicle, or the fields and farms we passed.
“Where is he going?” I asked.
“Maybe to Zellar farm. We are in countryside.”
“No. Zellar Orchards is in the other direction. But we are in fruit country. We drove by Janssen Blueberries a mile ago.”
Ryan turned left. When we did likewise, I caught my breath. “Hold on.”
Natasha briefly took her eyes off the road to look at me. “Kakiye?”
“We’ve just entered Blueberry Hill territory. See those bushes on either side of the road? This all belongs to Blueberry Hill. The long gray building on the horizon is where they process the berries.” I pointed to my right. “The narrow road leads to the U-Pick.”
Ryan’s truck slowed, then turned up a driveway.
A feeling of foreboding swept over me. “That takes you right to the Gale homes. Is he going to see Jacqueline? Sloane maybe?”
Natasha braked when we reached the driveway bordered by two stone columns. One column held a street number; the other bore an elegant sign announcing BLUEBERRY HILL. “I turn off headlights now. Ryan may stop truck when we don’t think and he will see us.”
“You’re safe to proceed. I was here yesterday. The property’s huge, mostly gardens, tennis courts, a couple swimming pools, a lot of rolling lawn. Jacqueline’s house is closest to the road, but you have to drive for about a minute to get there.” I tried to see in which direction Ryan’s truck went. “Sloane’s house is a little farther past Jacqueline’s.”
With our headlights off and night falling, Natasha had to take it slow as we made our way along the winding drive. Ryan’s rear lights disappeared for a moment behind a stand of Norwegian pine. After we made the same curving turn, we spotted him once more.
“Looks like he doesn’t plan to visit Jacqueline,” I said when his truck went past the Greek Revival house I had tea at yesterday. There were several lights on downstairs at Jacqueline’s. “Not that I understand why he’d come out here to meet with Jacqueline or Sloane.”
“I worry security people watch us and we do not know. Is Blueberry Hill family not rich? If this is Russia, guards would stand at gate. And cameras everywhere.”
“This is Oriole Point. No one has security guards, including the banks.” I touched Natasha on the arm. “He’s parking at Sloane’s house. You need to pull over.”
Natasha parked the car behind a welcome screen of lilac bushes. “What we do now?”
“I’ll wait until he goes inside, then sneak up to the house to see if I can hear anything.”
“I come, too. And bring gun in case Ryan do something crazy.”
“No. You and your gun stay in the car. I’ll only be a few minutes, long enough to figure out why Ryan is here.”
“Is good.” Natasha took the handgun from her purse. “I be lookout.”
“Just look out that you don’t accidentally shoot your foot off with that thing.” Holding a finger to my lips to caution her to remain silent, I turned off the car’s overhead light to enable me to get out without anyone seeing. I left the door ajar; the slamming of a car door might alert Ryan.
Crouched like every cat burglar I’d ever seen in the movies, I made my way to the house up ahead. Hiding behind a privet, I observed Ryan ring the doorbell. Sloane opened the door.
I was close enough to hear him say, “Sloane, what happened to your face?”
Ryan looked over his shoulder. “I’m nervous about this. Why did you ask me to come here? We agreed not to be seen together.”
“We have to talk,” she said. “And please say you deleted my text message.”
Once they’d gone inside, I raced up to the house. Luckily, Porter had built himself a contemporary home constructed of numerous floor-to-ceiling windows. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to safeguard his privacy since none of the windows on the ground floor appeared to possess drapes or blinds. By staying in the shadows, I followed the movements of Ryan and Sloane as they walked through the dining room and a state-of-the-art kitchen. When they reached the back of the house, Sloane opened the sliding glass door to a patio.
Before they went outside, Ryan pulled Sloane close and kissed her.
I forgot my spy behavior and pressed myself against the window to watch. How long had this been going on? For a shocked second, I wished I’d brought Natasha’s gun. Not to shoot them. But what I wouldn’t give to scare the daylights out of the cheating pair.
At last, they stepped away from each other. Ryan followed Sloane out onto the back patio. The landscape lighting enabled me to tiptoe through the daylilies and reach the patio a moment after they did. I peeked around the corner of the house. Sloane and Ryan sat on a cushioned wicker couch. Despite the passionate kiss, she avoided his gaze.
It took every ounce of self-control not to jump out of the shadows and accuse them of cheating on their partners. No matter how betrayed I felt, I reminded myself to be cautious. If Sloane and Ryan were romantically involved, had they plotted to get rid of Porter? They each had a reason to benefit from Porter’s death. Did Ryan hedge his bets in case I didn’t sell my house and give him the money? Had Sloane—and all the money she’d inherit—served as his backup? It made me sick to think Ryan had turned his persuasive charm on Sloane. I wondered if he’d worked out a deal with Sloane that when Porter died, she would forgive his debts to the Gale family. Before this week, I would have sworn Ryan was incapable of such deception. Now I feared he might be capable of anything. Even murder. I had to get back to the fairground and tell Kit. Along with Greg Trejo and Chief Hitchcock . . . and everyone else in the county.