Killed on Blueberry Hill

by Sharon Farrow

  “It’s too late. You’re going to die. And Ryan is going to prison.”

  With the last bit of strength I possessed, I pushed myself to a standing position. After a wobbly second, I reached up to grab the feet of the skeleton directly overhead. I gave a yank and sent the skeleton clattering to the floor around me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jacqueline asked as I crouched down among the bones.

  Thank goodness Piper had not removed the butcher knives she had supplied her skeletons with. I picked one up now, then forced myself to stand once more.

  “Out of my way.” I pointed the knife in her direction.

  Jacqueline took a step back. She backed up even more when she tried to grab for the knife and I slashed at her arm. A red line of blood instantly appeared.

  “You cut me, Marlee!”

  “I’ll do more than that. Move aside.”

  After an excruciating moment, she did. Refusing to turn my back on her, I brandished the knife while walking backward to the exit. I prayed I wouldn’t pass out before then. Almost there, I repeated. Almost there. One more step. Two more steps.

  A horrendous growl sounded behind me. Startled, I dropped the knife. Too late I remembered that stupid wolverine robot by the exit. Both Jacqueline and I reached for the butcher knife, but she got to it first. I was so dizzy and out of it, I could only slump to the floor.

  “You’re a fool to push me like this, Marlee. I helped Sloane kill Porter. Do you think I’d hesitate to gut you right now?” She stood over me, the knife’s sharp tip pointed at my throat. “I swear if you try one more thing before blacking out, I’ll plunge this into your heart. With luck, the fire will cover up any injuries I inflict.”

  A sharp noise rang out.

  Jacqueline screamed and dropped the knife. As weak and disoriented as I felt, I saw that her hand was now covered in blood.

  “Who shot me?” she cried out.

  What was going on? As much as I wanted to know, I felt too weak to raise my head off the floor. I heard footsteps and voices. One of them was Jacqueline, wailing that she was hurt. Kit Holt’s frightened face appeared above me.

  “She wants to set the fun house on fire and leave me to die,” I told him. “And she gave me a shot with a needle.”

  “Call EMS,” someone ordered.

  Spots swam before my eyes. I tried to grab Kit’s collar to pull him close. “She killed Porter. Sloane did, too.”

  “Don’t try to talk.” Kit stroked my brow. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

  “Can they save people with cat drugs?”

  He looked even more concerned by my question.

  “Is my Marlee okay?” Natasha now appeared and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Did I hear a gun?” I hoped I wasn’t hallucinating all this.

  “You sure did,” a man said. It sounded like Greg Trejo. “Natasha shot the knife right out of Jacqueline Gale’s hand.”

  I could barely see Natasha hovering over me as I slipped into unconsciousness. “Incredible,” I mumbled.

  “Incredible?” Kit stroked my brow again. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it.”

  The last thing I heard was Natasha saying, “Why is everyone so surprised? I am shark shooter.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I’ve never been so glad to see the summer season in Oriole Point officially come to a close. Given how perilous that season had been, I decided to celebrate with a rollicking beach picnic at the lake house. No one was more grateful to be sitting on the beach eating grilled hot dogs and corn on the cob than I was. I actually closed The Berry Basket for the day, even though Labor Day always resulted in healthy sales. But after my latest brush with death, I decided it was healthier to enjoy at least one holiday away from the demands of my shop. As I watched friends and family eat, swim, and play volleyball on the beach, I understood—maybe for the first time—why leisure time was as necessary as work.

  “Here’s another hot dog, baby girl.” My mother placed a hot dog slathered with mustard on my cardboard plate. “And your dad wants to know if you’d like a hamburger, too. He just put them on the grill.”

  Because I had a mouthful of corn, I could only shake my head in response. Mom gave me a kiss and a hug.

  She had been doing that a lot these past two weeks. So had my father. After I was rushed unconscious to the hospital following my misadventure in the fun house, Tess alerted my parents. They made the two-hour trip from Chicago in record time. Soon after I awoke from the anesthesia that Jacqueline had injected me with, they were at my bedside, tearful and relieved. Fortunately, I recovered quickly from the ketamine. But they refused to leave my side for the next two weeks, even coming in to work with me and Minnie. I had enjoyed every minute of being fussed over. But autumn was nearly here, which meant my parents had to get back to their life in Chicago. Mom had classes to prepare for, and the hotel Dad managed had several VIPs expected within the week. Time for life to return to normal for all of us.

  I took a big bite of what was now my second hot dog. My last for the day. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have room for the desserts Theo had baked for the picnic: blueberry lemon cake, strawberry tarts, and blackberry crumb bars. It made me happy to see Theo here. I only wished he didn’t feel compelled to stand guard over the makeshift pastry table he set up on the sand. But I’d noticed him conversing—and even laughing—with everyone who stopped by his table. I also convinced him to take a break and toss Frisbees with Aunt Vicki, her boyfriend Joe, and Lionel. Who knew our mayor was such an expert Frisbee player?

  I was just as surprised by the sight of Greg Trejo building sandcastles with his three children. Although I sent his family an invite, I didn’t expect them to show up. It delighted me when they did, especially since his children were boisterous and his wife was a sweet, relaxed woman who reminded me of her brother Kit. Indeed, with her curly brown hair, large expressive eyes, and endearing smile, she could be no one else’s sister.

  As for Kit, he had spent almost as much time with me since the fun house incident as my parents. With the three of them hovering about, Kit and my parents had become quite friendly. He bonded with them in a way Ryan had never been able to. Then again, Ryan had no interest in any family except the one he had been born into. I feared that attitude was making his life even more difficult now.

  After the police arrested Jacqueline and Sloane on suspicion of murder, they were taken into custody. The state police brought in Ryan as well. That’s when he learned the two women planned to frame him for Porter’s murder. Since I was in the hospital when this occurred, I didn’t see his reaction. But according to Greg Trejo, Ryan was by turns shocked, outraged, and desolate.

  I knew how great Ryan’s desolation must be. He could no longer keep his debts and gambling addiction secret from his family. Their approval and respect meant everything to him. Because he refused to admit he needed help with his addiction, he had compromised his integrity, his inheritance, and his family’s respect. He’d also nearly been sent to prison for murder. Of course, he had also lost me, but I suspected that didn’t pain him at all, which saddened me.

  We’d been together for over a year, and engaged to be married for over half that time. I had loved him. A part of me still did. But had I ever known the real Ryan Zellar? Perhaps I’d fallen in love with someone who never existed. A man who asked me to marry him only because he needed the money from the sale of my beloved lake house.

  Just when I thought that was the most hurtful thing Ryan could do, I learned he had been sleeping with another woman. And for a reason as mercenary and cold-blooded as the one that prompted him to pursue me. I’d been a fool for trusting a single thing about Ryan. But as Tess and Natasha reminded me, Ryan was as skilled a con artist as Jacqueline and Sloane. By marrying me to get my inheritance, hadn’t he been playing a long game just as expertly as they had with the Gales? Yes, his betrayal hurt. But I had stopped blaming myself. I’d been manipulated by a man lo
ng accustomed to deception.

  It did help that a decent, honest, loving man had entered my life. Without the comforting presence of Kit Holt, I’d probably be licking my wounds over my relationship with Ryan for a long time. I might even have grown bitter and cynical about romance. But I refused to become disillusioned, not when I lived in such a beautiful village and had such wonderful parents and friends. And Kit.

  I smiled as Kit sat down beside me at the picnic table. His plate overflowed with potato salad, a hamburger, a hot dog, two ears of corn, and a wedge of watermelon. “You know, you’re allowed to take more than one plate,” I told him.

  “And call attention to my hog-like appetite? I don’t think so.” He took a big forkful of potato salad. “I’m counteracting all the food I plan to eat by swimming every thirty minutes.”

  “I’ll join you. It’s a holiday and I’m having as many of Theo’s berry desserts as possible.”

  Although I hadn’t yet gone into the lake today, I wore my bathing suit: a new orange one-piece, daringly cut. Maybe a little too daring for my parents’ tastes, but Kit had not been able to keep his eyes off me. And I appreciated the sight of Kit in his dark blue swim trunks. But then, I simply appreciated Kit. Without him, the Ryan debacle would have caused me even greater pain than it had.

  The Cabot brothers sat across from us, their plates piled with slices of watermelon.

  “Is this some new fad diet?” I asked.

  “Not really,” Dean said. “A nutritionist in Ann Arbor claims that if you eat fruit before every meal, you’ll lose weight. And all your snacks must be fruit.”

  “Sounds like a silly fad diet to me,” I said.

  Kit chuckled. “A fruity one, too.”

  Dean threw me an exasperated look. “Anyway, I’m trying it for a week so I can feature it on my blog. I’ll let my followers know if it actually works.”

  I turned to Andrew. “And you’re helping him with the experiment?”

  He frowned. “No. I’m hoping it works. I’ve pigged out on Theo’s desserts all summer. Now my jeans are too tight. And I can’t allow that. If I put on just five pounds, I’ll look like a blimp next to Oscar. Having a boyfriend with the body of a runway model has its downside.”

  I looked out on the lake where the aforementioned Oscar stood on his paddleboard. His lean physique didn’t seem to intimidate another man on a paddleboard floating past him: Old Man Bowman. Although I had to admit that Old Man Bowman was in good shape for a seventy-year-old. Those regular hunts for Bigfoot kept him spry and fit.

  “What’s the latest on Wyatt O’Neill?” Dean looked at Kit. “Do you think he’ll do any prison time?”

  Four days after Lucas Hendriksen collapsed in front of the harvester, his father convinced him to tell the truth and admit that Wyatt had sold him the drugs. Kit and a fellow deputy went to the O’Neill Farm, where they charged him with possession and sale of a Schedule One drug. He was currently out on bond.

  “He’s a first-time offender, so he won’t get the maximum sentence,” Kit replied. “Five years is likely, along with a fine.”

  I sighed. “I feel bad for his parents. Cara must be inconsolable.”

  “Furious is how I’d describe her,” Kit said. “She believes Lucas worked out a deal with the sheriff’s department to receive probation. A deal that may see her son locked up. I have a feeling she’ll spend a lot of Blueberry Hill money trying to keep Wyatt out of prison.”

  A volleyball landed on our table, smashing one of the open bags of potato chips. “Hey!” Andrew shouted. “Let’s keep the ball away from the food.”

  Tess and David ran up to retrieve their ball. “What do you care?” David laughed. “You’re only eating watermelon.”

  “Aren’t you two going to eat?” I asked them.

  “We need to finish the game first,” Tess said. “I wish now we had picked Gillian for our team. She’s the reason our games have been so close. Her team might actually beat ours.”

  Tess tossed the ball up and down, eager to get back to the game. In addition to being accomplished glass artists, Tess and David were volleyball fanatics. I suspected that after they finally broke for food, their fellow players would be faced with several more hours of blocking, jump serves, and top-spins. I had played volleyball enough times with the couple to familiarize myself with every aspect of the game.

  After David and Tess ran off to resume playing, Kit asked me, “Do you normally have such large get-togethers?”

  His gaze took in the more than fifty people currently enjoying my beach. Because I only had one picnic table, everyone else ate beneath cabanas and on beach blankets spread on the sand. Piper held court in the biggest cabana: one set up by her pool boy, who was also serving as her personal butler today. It didn’t surprise me to see that Suzanne Cabot had claimed a place beneath that cabana. Knowing Piper, she welcomed it for all the gossip she would glean from the Cabot boys’ mom.

  “I usually work on holidays, except for Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas,” I told him. “Closing on Labor Day is a big deal for me, so I decided to invite everyone. Gillian’s parents are here, along with her brother and sisters. And her new boyfriend.”

  “His teeth are too big,” Andrew remarked.

  I ignored him. “Aunt Vicki invited half the volunteers of Humane Hearts. And Max brought along his two buddies from Riordan Outfitters. And they brought dates.”

  Because I still felt the tiniest bit guilty for breaking up with Max in high school, I’d been pleased to see Max arrive with a woman. They looked to be getting along wonderfully, too. Although he might regret volunteering for that volleyball game with Tess and David.

  Looking out over all these people, I realized this gathering would never have occurred if I’d married Ryan. It would have been Zellars only, for every holiday, every get-together. Even if his betrayal hadn’t occurred, at some point I would have called off my wedding to Ryan. I needed more people in my world than those who lived at Zellar Orchards.

  “What’s the latest with our pair of grifters?” Dean asked. “I love that we had actual grifters in town. It’s like that movie with John Cusack and Anjelica Huston.”

  “Don’t forget Annette Bening,” Andrew said. “I love Annette Bening.”

  “Jacqueline looked a little bit like Annette Bening,” Dean said between bites of watermelon.

  “And I thought she had a Mia Farrow vibe. Apparently, she looks like a lot of famous people. The carny told me she resembles Faith Hill when she’s not trying to make herself look so plain.” I looked at Kit. “I know Sloane is out on bail, and that she got Jacqueline out, too. It seems unfair for Sloane to use her Blueberry Hill fortune to make bail for them.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty,” he reminded me. “Although the prosecutor is trying to freeze her assets, for now she has access to the Blueberry Hill fortune. That’s how she was able to pay the twenty-million-dollar bail for herself and her sister.”

  “Never dreamed the two of them were sisters,” I said. “But Sloane did tell me the only person in her family she was close to was her big sister. I just never figured out her sister was literally close to her.”

  “Did either of them confess?” Dean asked.

  Kit shook his head. “Not during the official interrogation. But Jacqueline admitted everything to Marlee in the fun house. Naturally, the defense attorneys will claim Marlee’s memory was compromised by the drug.”

  “That’s not true. She told me a lot of it before she stuck me with the needle.”

  “I know, Marlee. I’m only telling you what the defense is likely to say.” Kit squeezed my arm. “Luckily, Greg, Natasha, and I were in the Blueberry Burial Ground when Jacqueline was about to use the knife on you. We heard her say that she helped Sloane kill Porter. When a state police detective and a sheriff’s deputy hear you confess to a crime, it’s difficult to talk your way out of it.”

  “They might buy their way out of it,” Dean suggested. “With the Blueberry Hill money at t
heir disposal, Sloane and Jacqueline could assemble one hell of a legal defense team.” He looked behind me. “And here’s just the man who might know.”

  We turned to see Chief Gene Hitchcock. As longtime friends of the family, I had invited him and his wife.

  “If you’re curious about the con artist sisters,” he said, “they’re wanted for a number of other crimes, including manslaughter. Pete Hensley, that carny who recognized Honey at the carnival, has been most helpful. We ran a check on him. He’s wanted in two states for identity theft. In exchange for immunity, he’s agreed to tell us everything we need to know about the colorful lives of Honey and Britney Lynch, which are their real names. Trust me, the two of them will go to prison.”

  Although relieved to hear this, I also felt sad. “What happens to the baby Sloane is carrying?”

  “We’ve learned there’s another Lynch sister; she’s nothing like the other two. Joely Lynch Weaver is a thirty-five-year-old schoolteacher in Missouri with two children. Her husband is a firefighter. She hasn’t seen or heard from her sisters in years. We checked her out. Her background is as clean as it gets. Naturally, she was upset to hear that her sisters were accused of murder. But not surprised. When we told her about the baby, she asked if she could apply for custody. There are so few Lynches remaining, she’d hate for this baby to suffer for the sins of her family. The court may very well agree to her request.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if the baby was Ryan’s. “Will they do a paternity test?”

  “Cara O’Neill insists on it,” Hitchcock said. “If it turns out to be Porter’s, the baby inherits Blueberry Hill. And if that’s the case, Cara will certainly fight Joely Weaver for custody.”

  “How ironic if the baby turns out to be Porter’s and the court gives custody to Joely,” I mused. “That would mean the only honest, law-biding Lynch sister ends up with access to the Blueberry Hill fortune.”